Accidental Heiress

by Lauren Nichols

  He would not look toward that door. He would not watch her step inside. He would not watch her blue eyes shift uncomfortably as she walked around, feeling out of place and pretending to have a good time. She was just one more city woman playing cowgirl until she could get back to her A-list parties and the ballet, and he had no intention of making her slumming escapade at Dusty’s any easier. Tonight he was into indulging himself. Only himself.

  Yeah, right, he thought, damning his lack of resolve and sliding a surreptitious look toward the entry door. Jess swore under his breath at what he saw. She’d taken only two steps inside, and already half a dozen men were wandering toward her, probably assessing their chances. It made him feel a little better when Casey smiled and extricated herself from the converging cowboys to join Sharon Temple, who seemed to be holding a seat for Casey at her table.

  Enlightenment dawned, and suddenly he realized that Casey had planned to meet Sharon all along. He should have known that the part of her that still came up shy once in a while wouldn’t come to a bar without a safety net—in this case, Sharon. All that stuff about two-stepping the night away with Pruitt had been for Jess’s benefit. But why? To make him jealous?

  Jess watched her thread her way to her table, much as he had that first night a lifetime ago. Except tonight she wore a white western-style long-sleeved blouse tucked into snug jeans, and she had never looked prettier. He scowled. He didn’t want her to look pretty; he wanted her to look like a wrinkled, shriveled-up old hag. That way, half the stag line wouldn’t be circling her table like starving coyotes stalking a succulent young lamb.

  The first jerk to coax her out on the dance floor was Jerry Riggins from the Rafter Z Bar. The next was a cowhand from Moe Jackson’s place, who held her loosely in his arms and—lucky for him—didn’t press for closer contact. Then Ray Pruitt showed up, full of attitude, dressed in black, mirrored hatband and all.

  Nerves curling into knots, Jess watched as Ray took her hand, drew her into his arms and started moving her around the fenced-in perimeter of the dance floor. They danced well together, and suddenly Jess was so close to decking Pruitt, he didn’t know what in hell to do with himself.

  Spinning on his stool, he faced the back bar again and dug into a bowl of pretzels. But Pruitt’s and Casey’s reflections mocked him from the mirror. Her soft shag of white-blond hair and white blouse were like a beacon in the sepia wash of the roadhouse’s lights, making it easy for him to follow their path around the dance floor. Making his gut tense with every turn she made in Pruitt’s arms, every smile she sent the creep. Every word her mouth formed just for him.

  Brenda Larson’s heavy perfume hit him a full moment before her chesty frame filled the mirror and she slid her arms around Jess’s neck. Breasts the size of ripe cantaloupes flattened against his shoulder blades. “Haven’t seen you around for a while, Jess,” she murmured, sliding a curious index finger inside his shirt and drawing it back and forth along his collarbone. “Where you been keepin’ yourself?”

  The air she exhaled was warm and sweet... whiskey and cherry candy. And though his interests were definitely elsewhere, Jess’s neglected libido stunned him with its enthusiastic response. He drew a cautious breath. “Oh, here and there, Brenda. Something always needs to be fixed, fed or fenced at the ranch. How’re you doing?”

  She leaned closer, and a cloud of red hair brushed his cheek. “Could be a whole lot better if a good-lookin’ cowboy in a black hat was t’ take me home tonight.”

  Jess smiled and shook his head, but didn’t disengage the arms looped around his neck. “Sounds tempting, but I’m really beat. All I want to do tonight is get a little drunk and fall into a nice, soft bed.”

  “Silly man,” she cooed. “Now isn’t that what I just said?” Laughing huskily, she turned his stool around to face her, then stepped between the spread of his legs. She slid her hands up his thighs, and nimble fingertips traced the outside seams of his jeans. “You know, there’s a lot better things you could be doin’ right now than listenin’ to them yowlin’ tomcats on the bandstand and drinkin’ Dusty’s beer.” Her green eyes stroked him, and her voice dropped low. “I got a satellite dish, an’ cable’s got rodeo tonight. We could watch a little bronc ridin’.”

  Chuckling, Jess eased her away from him. He wanted the intimate touch of a woman’s hands, but these were the wrong hands. “Brenda, Brenda, Brenda, you’re making it tough. But I still have to pass. I’d be lousy company, anyway.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  When Brenda had moved away, with a theatrical sigh and a slow, predatory swing of her hips, Jess stood and stepped away from the bar. Just in time to see laughing, talking couples leave the dance floor—and realize that Casey was gone.

  He scanned the room, craned his neck around a sea of Stetsons to see the table where she’d been sitting. The only woman there was Sharon. His heart began to pound, and he pushed through the crowd toward the side door, muttering apologies, forcing smiles and waves when friends, shouted greetings. But smiling was a real challenge. Because as he searched the room for Casey, he’d discovered that Pruitt was gone, too.

  Jess vaulted down the outside steps and strode recklessly through the dark lot, his head on a swivel, looking for Pruitt’s red Blazer. He was seething, and not just at Pruitt. What woman with a brain in her head would come out here with a jerk like that? Couldn’t she see what he was? A cologne-drenched, womanizing opportunist who committed for the moment, then grabbed his fancy hat and hightailed it back to the bunkhouse.

  Headlights flared in the lot, and Jess moved instinctively toward them. Pruitt’s Blazer was pulling out, shiny as a patch of wet cranberries beneath the light poles. Jess bolted for the vehicle, then, furious with himself, stopped, spun away, and booted a rock out of his path. Let her go, if that’s what she wants, an inner voice growled. There are still plenty of women inside.

  He’d just go right back in, find Brenda and see if her offer of bronc riding to the all-sports channel was still on the table.

  Yeah, sure he would.

  Damning himself, Jess stalked through the lot to where his truck was parked, dug out his keys and yanked open the door.

  The dome light shone on a soft shag of white-blond hair.

  Casey sat there, ramrod-stiff, her arms folded across her chest and her blue eyes spitting fire.

  Jess climbed inside and slammed the door. “What were you doing out here with Pruitt?”

  “Nothing compared to what you were doing with your redheaded lap dancer,” Casey shot back. “Is she on her way out? Should I leave for a while so the two of you can use the truck?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t really care.”

  “Yes, you do.” Jess yanked her into his arms and covered her mouth with a demanding kiss that took only a heartbeat to become mutual.

  Casey pulled the black Stetson from Jess’s head and threw it on the seat behind her, then circled his neck with her arms and kissed him deeply, trying to blot out the vision of another woman’s hands on the thighs she wanted to touch. How she wanted him. She wanted to lose herself in his heat, feel the strong beat of his heart against hers, experience fulfillment in a way she’d never known before. That grabbing hunger was low in her stomach again, and tonight it would not go unsatisfied.

  One of Jess’s hands fumbled between them, and he made short work of the snaps at the front of her blouse. His hand moved inside, unhooking the front closure of her bra, then filling his hand with her breast.

  Casey trembled as he rained kisses over her face and neck, then found her mouth again, plunging his tongue repeatedly inside until the action had them seeking even closer contact. But there were too many obstacles in their paths. The gearshift, the steering wheel, the once roomy but now painfully cramped cab of the truck, all enemies preventing the flattening of their bodies against each other and the sweet friction they both craved.

  Headlights pierced th
eir closed eyelids as a vehicle pulled in, and they sprang apart, gasping for air. Quickly Jess pulled the folds of her blouse together. The intrusive headlights speared them for another half moment, then, mercifully, winked out.

  Casey tried to laugh as night gathered around them again, but it was a husky, scratchy sound she’d never heard in her voice before. “I hope that wasn’t anyone we know.”

  “Embarrassed to be seen with me?” he murmured.

  Casey shook her head. “No. But at thirty-one, I do feel a little silly.” She averted her eyes, smiling shyly. “I guess the lap dancer isn’t coming?”

  “Not a chance,” he whispered. “The woman I want is right here.” Jess kissed her again, deeply, thoroughly, and Casey felt those lovely fires light again along her nerve endings.

  But when he at last drew away, something had changed in his demeanor. His brows were furrowed, and his expression had grown troubled. “What?” she murmured, searching his dark eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  With obvious reluctance, Jess resnapped the buttons on her blouse, then squared himself in front of the steering wheel again. “I think we’d better take a drive,” he said, pushing the keys into the ignition and starting the truck. “We need to cool down a little.”

  Casey’s heart fell. Taking a drive to a spot that afforded a little more privacy would have been fine. But the last thing in the world she wanted to do light now was cool down. She tried to clear the huskiness from her throat, but didn’t succeed. “I thought adult lovemaking didn’t end in light petting and a good-night kiss.”

  Jess’s lean, shadowed features were grim with restraint as he faced her. “You need some time to think this through.”

  “I have thought it through.”

  “Not enough. Casey, nothing’s changed since you called a halt to things in Hardy’s doorway the other night. I still want you, I still care about you, but you have to know I can’t—”

  Casey pressed a finger to his lips. She didn’t want to hear how he would finish the sentence. Besides, he was wrong; something had changed between them. He just didn’t realize it yet. Three nights ago, he’d tried to convince, persuade and cajole her into his bed. Tonight, he wanted her to think.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing,” she said. “If we make love tonight, I won’t have any regrets.”

  A sharp rap at the driver’s side window jerked them apart, and Jess and Casey turned to see Cy Farrell standing outside the truck.

  Swearing under his breath, Jess rolled down the window. “What?”

  Farrell stared coldly. “Just checking to see that everything’s all right in here.”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “Maybe. But when a law enforcement officer sees a couple... tussling...in an idling vehicle, he needs to know if the woman’s a willing participant. Sometimes some men take what they want, and the woman ends up paying for it.”

  Jess started an angry response to Farrell’s insulting insinuation, but Casey clamped a firm hand on his arm, stopping him. The stilted words and the sheriff’s sudden abandonment of his folksy drawl made her think that if things got testy between the two men, Jess could spend the night in a jail cell. Protective feelings she’d never realized she had for Jess surged, and Casey met Farrell eye-to-eye through the open window. “Thank you for being so concerned for my welfare, Sheriff, but I’m all right. And if I may say so, the people of this county are blessed to have such a dedicated man looking out for their interests.”

  Jess snapped a disbelieving look at her, and Farrell started to smile. That smile faded quickly when she continued.

  “I’m from back east, and I suspect that a citizen’s right to privacy might have prevented our officers from approaching a vehicle the way you just did.”

  Farrell stared back, obviously seeing the censure in her praise. It didn’t stop him from pretending she’d been sincere.

  “Well, thank you, Ms. Marshall,” he. answered. “But I feel you still need to be warned to watch out for yourself.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Oh... things have a funny way of turning out bad when Jess is around women. If I were you, I’d think twice about spending time alone with a suspected felon.”

  Jess’s voice shook with the effort to control it. “I think you’d better leave, Cy.”

  Farrell tipped his hat to Casey, but his gaze barely left Jess’s face. “We’ll be talkin’ again, Jess. Real soon.” Turning to amble away, he paused for a parting shot. “By the way... did you ever find your granddaddy’s watch fob?”

  When the lawman had walked into the darkness, Casey turned to Jess again. The troubled, edgy look on his face said the night she’d hoped for probably wasn’t going to happen. But that was all right; there would be other nights.

  Casey slid her hand in his and spoke quietly. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s just an overgrown bully poking you with a stick because he can’t do anything else. I don’t know what the circumstances were with you and Farrell and the woman you told me about...but I do know you’re an honorable man. Whatever happened wasn’t meant to hurt anyone.”

  The brief smile he sent her said he appreciated her support. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  Jess continued to regard her for a long moment, while something that looked like indecision flickered through his eyes. Then he reached past her for his hat, tugged it low and dropped the truck into Drive. “Let’s go home and have a cup of coffee,” he said grimly. “I think it’s time you heard the whole story.”

  Chapter 10

  “I think I told you she was a journalist who’d gotten her first job at a newspaper in Bozeman.”

  “Yes, at your aunt Ruby’s the other night.”

  The air was warm and still as they swung gently on the newly hung porch swing, the night full of chirping crickets. Soft whoos came from the great horned owl perched in the giant cottonwood behind the house. Overhead, stars spangled the sky, and a bright half-moon shone down, enabling them to read each other’s expressions.

  How could she have ever thought this place lonely and desolate? Casey wondered. How could she have ever yearned to leave it?

  Blue-jeaned thighs touched companionably as they sipped iced tea and Jess spoke quietly. “She wrote a variety of things, but one of her main duties was to cover cases that were tried at the county courthouse. That’s how she met Cy. She was beautiful and smart, and he fell hard for her. They’d dated for only a few months when Cy pressed for an engagement and she said yes.”

  The swing creaked on its hinges as Jess shifted his weight. “Unfortunately, she was one of those free spirits—liked to be on the go, try new things, feel her independence. Cy couldn’t handle it. He got jealous and possessive. It wasn’t long before she got fed up with his constant insecurities and suspicions and gave the ring back.”

  Ice cubes chinked against the sides of her glass as Casey sipped silently, letting Jess proceed at his own pace, reveal only the things he felt comfortable telling her. Part of her was a little uneasy, knowing that Jess would soon have a very intimate part in this unfolding story. But they both had past lives, and knowing his would help her to better understand him.

  “I guess it was seven or eight months later when I ran into Lydia at Dusty’s. She was with friends, but she came over to say hello.”

  Casey scarcely heard his second sentence. There was a sudden roaring in her ears, and her world tipped crazily on its axis. Lydia? Lydia? The woman he’d called for in his sleep only a little more than a month ago? The woman who was not his grandmother, not his housekeeper? A faintly sick feeling pooled in Casey’s stomach with the realization that the woman she had only recently ceased to wonder about had been Jess’s lover.

  “We’d known each other through Cy before,” Jess continued, obviously unaware that Casey was struggling to maintain her composure. “But this was the first time we’d actually talked on a personal level. She was educated and had a lot to say on a lot of different subjects—everything from k
iller bees to strip-mining, politics to religion. She ended up staying with me when her friends left.”

  Casey swallowed hard and tried to keep her tone impersonal and light. “And I guess you found out that you were soul mates, huh?”

  Jess grinned wryly. “Nope. We found out that we disagreed on just about every issue known to man, woman and CNN news. Especially when she got into the economic advantages of stripping for coal. The attraction was pure chemistry, nothing more. Anyway, that night we wound up in the same bed, she got pregnant, and I married her.”

  Casey pushed to her feet and walked a few steps away, nervous energy taking control as questions caromed through her mind. They’d been married? They’d had a life together? But how long ago? And why was he still calling her name in his sleep?

  Jess followed, concerned. “What’s the matter?”

  Casey groped frantically for an excuse. “Nothing. A bug flew at me. I hate bugs.”

  “Oh. So did Lydia. Bugs, and the smell of manure, and the isolation, and the—” He stopped. “Maybe it would be simpler to tell you what she liked. Lydia liked designer clothes, expensive jewelry and city life.” Jess took a long swallow of his tea, then ambled over to lean a shoulder against one of the carved support posts on the big white wraparound porch. His face, shaded beneath the brim of his black Stet son, was beautiful in its stark, sharp lines.

  Casey cleared her throat, finally arriving at a question she could ask. “So... what happened to the child?”

  “We lost her,” he said quietly, and Casey could hear the lingering regret in his voice. “Lydia miscarried in her fifth month—just about the time we’d started counting on the baby... making plans. But we decided that since we were already married, we’d give it a shot and see if we could make it work.” He turned around and shrugged. “We couldn’t. We were just too different. We tried it for three years,” he added. “But in the end, she applied for a position with a New York newspaper, was hired and hit the road.”