“You can sit behind me,” he told her.
“All right.” She mounted the horse, sitting behind him, relieved that she wouldn’t have to endure the hard pressure of his body against her hips on the ride back to the ranch.
Within a few minutes, Joanna slipped her arms around J.T.’s waist in order to keep her balance as they rode down the side of the mountain. She found herself wanting to lay her head against his broad back and hug herself tightly to his big body.
What she felt was wrong, she thought; her overwhelming need for this man—this stranger. J. T. Blackwood might be wearing Benjamin Greymountain’s ring, but he was not Joanna’s dream lover. He couldn’t be!
CHAPTER TWO
“NOT TONIGHT, ELENA. Please.” Joanna clutched the portable telephone in her hand. “I’m tired from today’s ordeal with my Jeep. I just want to take a nice long bath, look over the sketches I did at the reservation, and go to bed early.”
“But this is J.T.’s first night home and I’ve planned a special dinner,” Elena pleaded. “You don’t have to stay long after we eat. But come over for a while. I was counting on your being here.”
“I’ve already met your brother. Remember, he’s the one who gave me a ride back to the ranch.”
“I don’t know what happened between you two, but whatever it was, I’m sure we can straighten it out tonight.”
“I don’t want to ruin your plans, but—”
“Then don’t ruin my plans. Just come eat dinner and you can leave as soon as we smooth things over between you and J.T.”
Joanna breathed a deep sigh. Stepping up on the raised floor of what had once been the back porch of the old bunkhouse and was now her huge bathroom, Joanna began unbuttoning her dirty blouse.
“There’s nothing to smooth over between your brother and me. We understand each other perfectly.” Joanna leaned over, turned on the faucets and watched the water flow into the big, pedestaled, cast-iron bathtub she’d found at an antique shop in Albuquerque. “Mr. Blackwood and I have agreed that we don’t like each other, that we aren’t each other’s type and that we have no intention of allowing you to play matchmaker.”
“Just what did J.T. say to you?”
Joanna opened a bottle of scented bubble bath, sloshed a generous amount into the running water and set the container down on the unfinished, wide-plank floor.
“He told me that you’d been trying to get the two of us together for several years now and he has avoided coming to the ranch except when I was out of town.”
“That no-account brother of mine!” Elena said. “He had no right to say something like that to—”
“Why on earth would you ever think your brother and I would be interested in each other? If I were looking for a man, I’d want someone more like your Alex. Gentle and kindhearted. A fellow artist. And someone who loves New Mexico the way I’ve come to love it.”
“Oh, Jo, you need someone special in your life and so does J.T.” Elena let out an exaggerated sigh. “All right, so I was wrong to hope you two were a perfect match. Come to dinner and I promise no more matchmaking.”
“Not tonight.” Joanna finished unbuttoning her blouse and dropped it to the floor, then unzipped her jeans.
“You’ve become my best friend,” Elena said. “And J.T. is my only brother. Even if there can’t be anything romantic between the two of you, I’d still like for you two to be friends. J.T.’s taking a real vacation and he’s going to be staying a couple of weeks this time.”
“If he’s going to be here a couple of weeks, then there’s no hurry in our getting to know each other, is there?”
“Isn’t there anything I can say to get you to change your mind about dinner tonight?”
Tell me your brother isn’t going to be there, Joanna thought. “No, I’m afraid not. But…well, I’ll come to dinner one night before Mr. Blackwood leaves. Okay?”
“Mr. Blackwood? He must have really made you angry today,” Elena said. “Look, his bark is a lot worse than his bite. J.T.’s pretty cynical about life, and he’s stubborn as a mule, but underneath, he’s a good guy. After Mama died, he came to the reservation and brought me back to the ranch with him. He didn’t have to do that.”
“Look, Elena, I know how much you love your brother. That’s fine and good, but just because you love him doesn’t mean everyone else has to.”
“Whew! He really pushed all your buttons, didn’t he?”
“Drop it, okay? I’m not coming to dinner tonight and that’s final.” Joanna stepped out of her sandals, slid her jeans to her feet and kicked out of them. “Okay. But—”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Bye.” Joanna punched the off button on the telephone, tossed it on top of her discarded clothes and removed her underwear.
Standing naked in the middle of the stucco-walled bathroom, she stretched and gazed up at the slanted, split-log ceiling. She wanted to forget all about her disastrous encounter with J. T. Blackwood. She wanted to wash his scent off her hands and arms and face. She wanted to erase the image of him astride his Appaloosa stallion. And more than anything, she wanted to forget the way she’d felt when her body had been nestled intimately against his.
Joanna stepped into the warm, perfumed water, immersing her body beneath the layers of foaming bubbles. Reaching behind her, she lifted a gold washcloth from the black metal rack above the tub. She lathered the cloth with her moisturizing soap and scrubbed her face. After rinsing, she clutched the cloth in her hand and glanced down at the silver-and-turquoise ring on her finger. The ring Annabelle Beaumont’s lover had made for her.
Where had J. T. Blackwood gotten the matching ring? The one her great-grandmother had been certain Benjamin Greymountain wore till the day he died, as she had worn hers. Had some member of Benjamin’s family sold the ring years ago? Perhaps they’d given it away. Or—was it possible that J.T. was somehow related to Benjamin?
More than once, Joanna had been tempted to ask Elena if she had ever heard of a Benjamin Greymountain or if she knew how to trace his descendants. But despite her close friendship with Elena, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to share the secret affair her great-grandmother had written about—in great detail—in her diary. There were times when Joanna herself felt like an intruder when she read Annabelle’s words. Somehow it hadn’t seemed right to tell anyone else about Annabelle and Benjamin’s scandalous love.
But tomorrow, she would ask Elena about J.T.’s ring and explain her curiosity by saying she’d noted the similarity between his ring and her own. And she would ask Elena to come to her home; that way she wouldn’t have to go up to the main house and run the risk of seeing J.T. again.
THE SUN HUNG low in the sky, not quite prepared to set and put an end to the day. Approaching twilight washed an orange-gold translucence over the New Mexico landscape Joanna saw outside her windows.
After her long leisurely bath, she’d slipped into a floor-length pink-and-lavender cotton gown. Barefoot, she traipsed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and retrieved a large pitcher of iced tea she’d made yesterday. She poured herself a tall glass, added ice cubes and pulled out one of the Windsor armchairs at her dining table. Before she could sit, she heard a forceful knock at her back door. Who could that be? Surely, not Elena.
Walking toward the back door, she peeked out the window over her sink, but couldn’t see anyone. “Who’s there?” she asked. She never opened her door without taking every precaution, even out here on the ranch where she knew everyone. Even now, there were times when she checked under her bed and inside her closets after returning from a trip.
“It’s J. T. Blackwood,” his voice thundered, deep, rough and gritty.
“What do you want?”
“A minute of your time.”
“Go away.” She did not want to see him again. Not now. Not ever. And she certainly didn’t want him to see her in her simple cotton nightgown, her face scrubbed clean and her hair pinned atop her head in a disheveled mess.
“Joanna, open the door and talk to me.” He waited for her reply and when she said nothing, he chuckled, a dark, tough laugh that rumbled from his chest. “If you don’t talk to me, I won’t be able to go back to the house and face Elena. She’s convinced I was rude and hateful to you and said something that hurt your feelings. She sent me over here to apologize.”
“I never told her that you were rude and hateful. I don’t need an apology.”
“Dammit, woman, open the door, allow me to apologize and then call my sister and tell her you’ve forgiven me. Otherwise my vacation will be completely ruined before it even starts.”
Hesitantly, fearfully, Joanna opened the door. Just a narrow crack at first, but the moment she saw J.T.’s smirky grin, she flung the door wide open. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how nervous he made her.
“Come in.” She swept her hand through the air in a cordial invitation.
Her heart fluttered and her stomach twisted into knots. He was raw, proud, masculine beauty. Every line of his face was hard, chiseled perfection.
He removed his tan Stetson and stepped forward; she stepped backward. He walked past her into her kitchen; she left the back door open.
He had showered and changed into clean faded jeans and a shirt of muted green-and-blue plaid. He smelled slightly of some manly-yet-expensive aftershave.
“Still rustic, but with every modern convenience,” he said, glancing around. “Nice. Very nice.”
“Thank you.” Joanna felt undressed and vulnerable, wearing nothing but her nightgown, and J. T. Blackwood wasn’t helping any by looking at her as if he found her greatly desirable. “Now, get the apology over with and then I’ll call Elena.”
“Aren’t you worried about insects?” J.T. nodded toward the open door.
Joanna wanted to slam it shut, but instead, she closed it slowly. “The apology?”
“Right.” He walked over to her, reached out and took her right hand in his.
She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held tightly. “Please release my hand.” She glanced down at their clasped hands and saw their twin rings, identical in every way except size.
“What are you so afraid of, lady?” He loosened his hold on her hand, allowing her to pull free.
“I’m not afraid of anything.” She enunciated each word clearly and distinctly. “I’m just annoyed that you disturbed me. I like my solitude and I don’t appreciate your bothering me.”
“This little visit was Elena’s idea,” J.T. said.
“So you’ve already told me.” Joanna swallowed, then looked her visitor square in the eye. “If you’re going to apologize, then do it and leave.”
“I’m sorry for whatever I said or did today that might have offended you. How’s that? Was the apology good enough for you to tell Elena that you and I are friends now?”
“Friends? You expect me to tell Elena that we’re friends?”
“She says that she’s given up her plans to unite us romantically, but she still would like to see us become friends. So how about it? Tell Elena a little white lie and get us both off the hook.”
J.T. watched the play of emotions on this lovely woman’s face, her expression going from one of surprise and agitation to one of amusement. She smiled at him. His stomach tightened; his body hardened. Hell! This wasn’t supposed to happen. Women’s smiles didn’t have this kind of effect on him. Not ever!
“Apology accepted,” Joanna said. “I’ll call Elena and tell her we’re friends now.”
“Thanks. It’ll make my life a lot easier.” J.T. allowed his gaze to follow the lines of her round, firm body, clearly silhouetted by the warm evening sunlight shining in the window and through the thin cotton material of her nightgown. Lord help him, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight. He grew painfully aroused just looking at her.
“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath. That was all he needed—for her to notice his arousal. She’d never call Elena and set things straight. And if he couldn’t pacify his sister, he’d just have to leave the ranch. In the twelve years since he’d gone to the reservation and brought Elena home with him, J.T. had grown to care for his half sister more than he’d ever thought he could care for anyone. He knew she meant well, trying to fix him up with Joanna. He couldn’t make her understand that marriage and family life weren’t for everyone.
“How long has Elena been trying to find you a girlfriend?” Joanna asked.
“Oh, she’s not looking for a girlfriend,” J.T. said. “She’s looking for a wife.”
“A wife? And she actually thought that I… I mean, she considered the possibility that you and I—”
“Despite being twenty-seven, Elena is still rather naive. She doesn’t realize that there are a lot of women who cringe at the thought of being married to a half-breed like me.”
“Mr. Blackwood, I didn’t mean…” Joanna gazed into his good eye, that golden brown glittering eye, filled with anger and pain and—passion. “Your Navajo ancestry has nothing to do with why I dislike you.” Indeed, his Navajo ancestry beckoned to Joanna, since it was another link, besides the silver-and-turquoise ring, that connected him to Benjamin Greymountain, and to the tender, gentle fantasy man she had dreamed of for over four years.
“I don’t care what you meant or why you dislike me.” He took several steps toward her.
Unmoving, she held her breath. Reaching out, he stroked her cheek. “You don’t like me, but you want me. Oh, yeah, I’ve known your type before.”
Without thinking about what she was doing, Joanna lifted her hand and laid it atop his while he caressed her cheek. “No, you haven’t known my type before. You’ve never known anyone like me.” She removed her hand.
He stared at her for a split second, uncertain whether he could believe her or not. Hell, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to allow Joanna Beaumont to get under his skin. While visiting the ranch, he’d find some way to avoid her or he’d cut short his vacation.
He grabbed her chin, tilting her face. “Call Elena and get me out of hot water, then I’ll stay out of your way.”
Joanna nodded. “I’ll stay out of your way, too.”
He made no reply, just turned, walked to the back door, opened it and left. Joanna stared at the open door for endless moments, then ran across the kitchen and slammed it shut. What right did a man like that have to wear Benjamin’s ring? Benjamin, a man who’d been capable of the deepest, truest, most unselfish love? It was plain to see that J. T. Blackwood didn’t know the first thing about love—real love, the kind Benjamin and Annabelle had shared.
AFTER HE’D SPENT several hours tossing and turning, J.T. gave up trying to get any sleep and got out of bed. His grandfather’s bed. Old John Thomas Blackwood. The meanest, orneriest son of a bitch who’d ever lived. The man his father had named him for. The man who had forbidden his only son to marry a dirty Indian. The man who hadn’t acknowledged J.T.’s existence until J.T.’s father had died and left the old reprobate without an heir. The man who’d come to the reservation when J.T. was five and taken him from his mother.
J.T., naked as the day he was born, threw open the double doors leading from his bedroom to the attached patio. The cool night air caressed his bronze skin. He ran his hand through his thick hair—hair he hadn’t worn long since his first haircut at the age of five.
“Can’t have you looking like one of those damned savages,” old John Thomas had said. “Bad enough you’ve got that woman’s coloring. But from now on, boy, you’re a Blackwood. And that means you’re a cowboy, not an Indian.”
And that was exactly what J.T. had become—a cowboy. He’d learned to rope and ride and herd cattle. Although there had never been any real love lost between him and his grandfather, he had come to love the ranch.
He supposed that was why—even though he couldn’t live in New Mexico, couldn’t face being torn between his two heritages—he always returned to the ranch. He loved this land, this wild, untamed wilderness, as mu
ch as the old man had loved it; as much as his Blackwood ancestors, who had fought and died to claim the countless acres that now comprised one of the largest ranches in northern New Mexico, had loved it.
And he loved the land as much as his mother’s people did. The Navajo. A people he did not know, except through his half sister. A people and a heritage his grandfather had taught him to deny.
From the side patio, J.T. could see the back of the old bunkhouse. Joanna Beaumont’s home. How long would it take for a society girl to tire of the West, to tire of painting the natives and return to Virginia where she belonged?
What had ever prompted a woman, whose mother was a Virginia senator and deceased father a renowned trial lawyer, to seek adventure in New Mexico? Had she fled from an unhappy love affair? Had she rebelled against her wealthy family? Elena had told him Joanna had come to Trinidad to paint, that she had chosen the town because her great-grandparents had once lived here for a whole summer while on an archaeological dig.
J.T. caught the glow of a light in his peripheral vision as he gazed out at the night, the land hushed and still. He focused his gaze on the light coming from a long, narrow window in the old bunkhouse. Joanna Beaumont stood in that window, looking up at the main house. What was she doing awake this time of night? Had she been as restless as he? As aroused and needy? Maybe she was thinking of him, and hating herself for wanting him, and yet was powerless to control that desire.
If he went to her now, would she accept him into her home? Into her bed? Into her body? J.T. shuddered with the force of his longing. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, drawing the fresh night air into his lungs. Opening his eyes, he took a last look at Joanna’s silhouette in the window, then he closed the double doors, turned around and walked across the room.
He fell into the bed. Lying on top of the covers, he stared up at the dark ceiling. Only the faint moonlight illuminated his room.
He had to stop thinking about Joanna. He had to stop wanting her. He’d come home for a good, long vacation, the first in years. He wasn’t going to allow some debutante to ruin his stay at the ranch. He would steer clear of her and she’d steer clear of him. And he’d make sure Elena didn’t interfere.
Til Death Do Us Part Page 3