He nodded, but didn’t move from the doorway.
“Did you drive?”
His lip curled mockingly. “Tristan’s waiting in the parking lot.”
“Oh.”
Squire tapped Emily’s arm with the box that had held the checkers. “Wake up, girl.”
She tore her eyes from Jefferson. “Hmm? Oh, right.” Heat engulfed her, and she scooted the pieces into the box, the game obviously over, and set it on the stand beside Squire’s bed. “Next time I’m gonna stomp you.”
“Sure you are,” he agreed dryly. “Go on with you. Let an old man get some sleep.”
“Old man my foot,” Emily muttered. She glanced at him briefly, wondering again what was between the two men. Then she leaned over and kissed his bristly cheek. “See you tomorrow evening.”
He grunted, tugged on a lock of her hair and settled back against his pillows.
Emily tried to draw up some of her anger with Jefferson from that morning. But it wouldn’t come. It was always that way. She gathered up the nearly finished paperback and her purse and went over to Jefferson. Her eyes clung to his, but he merely moved a few inches out of her way, holding the door open.
“Son.”
Jefferson stiffened and nudged Emily through the door. “I’ll be right down.”
“I’ll w—”
“Go.” He didn’t want her around to hear whatever it was his father would sermonize about this time. “Go on.” He cut off the protest forming on her soft lips.
She went silent and wheeled about, hurrying down the corridor, leaving Jefferson feeling as if he’d just kicked a puppy. “Dammit,” he muttered.
“Close the bloody door, son.”
Jefferson pulled his attention from Emily, who was now pacing in a tight square as she waited for the elevator. He looked over at his father. Except for the darkening shadow of whiskers and the wrinkled hospital gown covering the man’s shoulders, Squire looked almost like his old self. Right down to the autocratic expression in his icy blue eyes.
Jefferson folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. “What do you want?”
Squire looked from the still-open door to his middle son.
“Get to the point, old man. I’m no more thrilled with hanging around hospital rooms than you are to have me here.”
Squire looked pained. “That’s not true, son.”
Jefferson’s eyebrow climbed. A movement in his peripheral vision alerted him to the fact that Emily’s elevator had finally arrived. He watched her until she disappeared from view.
“You still can’t keep your eyes off her, can you?”
His eyes turned back to his father. “If that’s all you wanted to keep me up here for, you’re wasting your time and mine.” Jefferson straightened and took a step for the door.
“Just hold on there,” Squire said testily.
“I’m not going to listen to your lectures about Emily,” Jefferson warned.
“I never lectured—”
“Bull.”
Squire glared. Then coughed. And coughed. His color went pale.
In two quick steps Jefferson pushed his father’s water within easy reach, and after a few sips, Squire quieted. When he leaned back against the pillow, he looked as though he’d aged a few years. Jefferson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hell, Squire, I don’t want to fight with you.”
Squire sighed heavily. “’Cause you figure I’m too old now to take it?”
“You’re out of your tree, you know that?” Jefferson shook his head. “What did you want? Spit it out, or I’m going home.”
“Home. Well now there’s an interesting choice of words.” Squire’s long fingers tapped the mattress. “Does it mean you’ve finally come home? Quit wandering?”
“Why? You worried that I might decide to hang around here for a while? Afraid you’re gonna have to kick me off the ranch again? I’d think you’d be glad I might stay here in Wyoming, considering Em lives all the way out in California.”
“Stop twisting my words, boy,” Squire’s voice rose.
Jefferson’s voice lowered. “Then stop wasting my time. If you just want to rehash your disapproval of me, I’m not interested.”
“Dammit, boy, I never said I disapproved of you!”
“Gentlemen!” The stern voice interrupted them and Jefferson turned to see a nurse standing in the doorway, her hands propped on shapely hips. “Would you kindly keep it down? We can hear you down the hall!”
She strode into the room, rounding Squire’s bed. She flipped the bedclothes smooth with a brisk hand. “Visiting hours are over, you know.”
“You should’ve closed the door like I told you to,” Squire groused.
“I’m not the one yelling,” Jefferson pointed out.
“You shouldn’t be exciting yourself,” the nurse chided. And before Squire could utter another word, she popped a thermometer into his mouth. Looking across the bed, she smiled brightly. “I’m assuming my patient here is your father, yes? Well, you can visit your father tomorrow.”
Squire took out the thermometer. “I’m not finished—”
“Yes,” she plucked the thermometer out of his fingers and tucked it into his mouth again. “You are finished. For tonight, anyway. Ah-ah-ah,” she lightly slapped his hand down when he lifted it again. “Be a darling and let me do my job.”
Jefferson felt an unwilling smile tug at his lips. “Good night then. Miss…?”
“Mrs. Day,” she provided.
Squire looked up at the white-clad curves standing over him. His eyes met Jefferson’s and despite the dissension between them, they shared a simple moment of purely male appreciation. “Pity,” Squire murmured around the thermometer.
There wasn’t a thing wrong with Mrs. Day’s hearing, and a cloud of pink suffused her high cheekbones. She merely arched an eyebrow and shook her head, making a few notes on Squire’s chart. With a nod toward his father, Jefferson left the nurse and patient to their business.
The minutes ticked by while he waited for the elevator. He eyed the entrance to the stairwell and stifled a curse. He should’ve been able to manage three measly flights. He even began to step toward the door, but his knee chose that moment to begin throbbing. Almost like a taunt.
Biting back a curse, he leaned his weight against the wall and tried to be patient. Each passing minute seemed to take longer and longer, until finally the elevator doors ground open and he stepped in. Something in his expression must have startled the couple already inside, for they both scooted right back against the wall.
Well, that suited him fine, too.
Tristan was behind the wheel when Jefferson made his way out to the truck. And he remembered why he’d suddenly told his brother he’d ride back to the hospital with him. Because he didn’t want Emily and Tristan cooped up, all alone, in the pickup cab.
And he’d accused his father of being out of his tree. Hell, Jefferson was already sprawled at the base of the tree, figuratively speaking. He jerked open the door. “Scoot over,” he ordered.
Emily, who’d been leaning back against the door, nearly fell out. “For crying out loud,” she said as she righted herself and slid to the middle of the seat. “Got a burr under your saddle?”
Jefferson pulled himself up into the cab and slammed the door shut. The yellow gleam of the parking-lot light glinted through the windshield, and he looked down into her face, surrounded by a silky cloud of dark hair. Desire slammed into his gut. It was all he could do not to kiss her right then and there. His fingers dug into his thigh, but he hardly noticed. “What’re you waiting for?” He looked over Emily’s head toward Tristan. “The first snow?”
His little brother grinned. “Snow might cool things off a bit,” he said as he started the engine.
The parking lot was riddled with speed bumps and Tristan jerked and rocked over each and every one. Emily tried not to slide on the seat, but it was nearly impossible, and more than once she found herself bumping over against Jeff
erson’s increasingly stiff form. Her legs angled toward Jefferson’s side, leaving room for Tristan to get at the gearshift sticking up from the floor. She tried holding on to the dashboard, but it did no good. Tristan jounced over the next bump, and her hips nudged against Jefferson’s. She felt, more than heard, him swear under his breath.
“I’m sorry, all right?” She snapped at him. “There’s no seat belt. Maybe you’d be more comfortable if I sat in the truck bed.”
The truck rocked again. “Pothole,” Tristan announced. Gleefully, Emily decided. She shot him a look, but he was oblivious.
They bumped over yet another bump and Jefferson’s arm darted in front of her, holding her against the back of the cab seat. “Cut it out, Tris,” he said.
“Hey, I can’t help it if the parking lot needs paving again,” Tristan said in defense. He turned out onto the smoother street and headed for the highway. “Is that better?”
“Much,” Emily ground out. Jefferson took his arm away, and she held herself still, trying to keep her knees from touching him.
After several miles Jefferson muttered beneath his breath and lifted his arm behind Emily’s shoulder. He shifted her until she was leaning gently against him. His firm hand on her shoulder told her not to budge. By the time Emily dared look up at him, his head was leaning back against the rear window, his eyes closed.
She tried swallowing the lump in her throat and tried to breathe more slowly. Hoped that her racing heart would slow. But his slackened fingers hung past her shoulder, grazing the upper curve of her breast, and her heart continued tripping along a path bumpier than the hospital’s parking lot.
Tristan caught her eye, and his teeth flashed as he grinned. Turning up the radio a notch, he shifted slightly, seeming to take up even more than his share of the bench seat and pushing her father against Jefferson.
“Stop it,” Emily jabbed him in the ribs viciously. She hastily looked up, but Jefferson slept on.
Tristan made a face, covering his ribs with his other hand. “Brat,” he accused fondly. “So tell me about that consulting garbage you were talking about this afternoon.”
“It wasn’t garbage,” Emily muttered. “Well, it wasn’t,” she added, when he shot her a disbelieving look. “Stuart told me that the ‘suits’ are going ahead with the reorganization.”
“I thought that was dropped.”
“So did I. But apparently the board of directors was more serious than anyone expected. You know they booted John Cornell out of the presidency not too long ago.”
“Have they replaced him yet?”
“Not permanently. Anyway, the board wanted to downsize and they’re doing it. Once John was out of the way, they were able to push their plan forward.”
“Which means…what?”
Emily felt a pain take root in her temple. “Bottom line? It means that unless I agree to travel, I’m going to effectively be out of a job.” She grimaced. “So much for job security, huh?”
“So, tell them to take a hike. You haven’t been happy there, anyway.”
“I’ve been perfectly content there,” Emily argued.
“Right.”
Jefferson listened to their soft conversation. What was it like to have someone to share your day with? To talk the simple and not-so-simple things over with? Envy curled through him, closely followed by disgust for being envious of his very own brother. Who was he to wish now for things he’d never wanted in the first place? Lord knew he didn’t deserve them. He certainly didn’t deserve Emily. He’d bring her nothing but pain. Just like he’d been doing for the better part of ten years now.
Beneath his arm, Emily shifted, and her cool fingers slipped through his, throwing his thinking offtrack for a long moment. He drew in a slow breath, feeling the faint scent of her hair fill his lungs, and recalling that it was the memory of that very same freshly innocent scent that had kept him sane when he’d been locked in a room the size of a closet.
His throat closed, and he cut off that line of thinking. But it didn’t matter whether he was thinking about it or not. The fact was that he didn’t deserve Emily. One way or the other, he’d end up hurting her.
But he absolutely could not stomach the thought of Emily with someone else. Not even his own brother. Particularly his own brother.
At long last the tires left the paved highway, crossed a series of cattle guards and crunched along the gravel drive. Emily slumped against him, genuine in her sleep, while he was not. Tristan parked and turned off the engine. Jefferson opened his eyes to meet his brother’s steady gaze. Jefferson might have fooled Emily, but not Tristan.
The brothers eyed each other, while the cooling engine ticked softly. Finally Tristan palmed the truck keys and reached for the door. “See you in the morning,” was all he said before he pushed the door closed with a quiet click and walked around to the back of the house.
Jefferson’s head fell back wearily against the seat. Emily was a sweet, warm weight against his side, and he could have happily stayed there for hours while she slept so trustingly against him. Sighing, he pushed open his door, gently dislodging Emily from his shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart, it’s time to wake up.”
She murmured unintelligibly and scrunched up her face when the interior light came on.
“Emily, honey, come on.” He started to take his hand from hers but her fingers convulsed over his.
“Don’t,” she murmured sleepily.
He lowered his boots to the ground and jiggled her hand. “Em, we’re home.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Still more asleep than awake, she scooted toward him, looping her free hand over his shoulder. Her nose found its niche in the curve of his neck and shoulder, and she sighed deeply.
Jefferson stifled a curse even as his palm slid around her slender hip. Somehow or other he ended up standing outside the truck with Emily’s thighs hugging his hips as her cheek lay on his chest. It took every fiber of decency in him not to nudge her down onto the seat. Not to grind his aching hardness against her.
“Emily,” his voice was sharper than he intended, and her eyes flew open, staring blankly at him. She blinked a few times and cleared her throat. Brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, she pushed his shoulder and he moved aside while she slipped out of the truck. She weaved toward the house, then abruptly stopped, seeming to wonder for a moment where she was before correcting course for the back door.
Jefferson shut the truck door and followed her, scooping his arm around her waist as she nearly wandered into the side of the house. “Over here,” he murmured, guiding her up the steps and into the mudroom. By the time they made it through the darkened kitchen and halfway up the stairs, Emily was leaning against him again, all but asleep. He gave up the fight and scooped her off her feet to carry her the rest of the way.
It wasn’t smart. All this carrying her around. But what was a sharp pain in his hip or the dull throb in his back, compared to the gentle weight of her in his arms. He turned sideways and carried her into her bedroom and deposited her in the middle of the bed.
“Jefferson,” she whispered sleepily, her fingers tangling in his hair.
He knew he was a weak man when he let her pull his head lower until her lips found his. Her kiss was soft and sleepy and utterly bewitching.
His forehead met hers as he took a long, shuddering breath. Finally, he pulled her hands away and pressed them gently to the pillow beside her head. “Sweet dreams,” he told her softly as he allowed himself one last chaste kiss.
He straightened. Watched her sigh and turn onto her side, curling against the pillow. Turning on his heel, he went into his room, bypassed the bed and headed straight for a cold shower.
Sweet dreams, hell, he thought.
Chapter Eight
Emily woke well before dawn. She pulled off her shoes and slipped out of her clothes then climbed under the blankets again for a few more minutes of sleep.
The few minutes stretched into a few hours. When she finally pushed the pillow off her
head and looked around her, she knew the house was empty. Her face split in a yawn as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Outside her window a dog barked. An engine rumbled to life.
After a hasty wash and a tug or two with the brush, she pulled on a loose pair of shorts she’d made long ago by cutting the legs off an old pair of sweatpants. She added a sport bra and a muscle-T and with socks and running shoes in hand, headed downstairs.
She was standing in the mudroom, stretching her calf muscles, when the phone rang. She went into the kitchen and picked up the phone, but someone else had already answered on another extension. Maggie, she realized and hastily, quietly, hung up before she could overhear anymore of the softly hissed, angry conversation between Maggie and the caller. Joe. Emily returned to her stretching. When she felt loosened up, she headed down the porch and jogged past the barns and the bunkhouse, slowing ever so slightly as she heard the heated voice coming from within. Seemed like everyone was arguing these days. And judging from the clearly audible one-sided phone conversation that was obviously continuing, even Maggie and Joe were.
Turning a deaf ear, Emily picked up speed and returned the way she came, heading instead in the direction of the swimming hole. She hadn’t planned on going that direction. In her mind the spot was too closely linked with Jefferson. So she kept her eyes on the ground in front of her as she thumped past the trees and bushes. Eventually, winded and sweaty, she turned and headed back. But this time her eyes wouldn’t stay in front of her and she found herself crunching through the fallen leaves and twigs to the edge of the water.
Stretching, she lifted her clinging hair off her neck and eyed the water. Yesterday, it had been freezing. But she hadn’t been drenched in sweat, either. If she had more nerve, she would strip off and dive in. After a mental shrug, she pulled off the loose T-shirt and contented herself with dunking it in the cold water and pulling it over her head. It served the purpose of cooling her down, and she began walking back to the house.
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