Slowly, slowly reality returned, intruded. Courtney fumbled for her clothes.
Jack cursed. “Why did you let me?” he demanded. “For God’s sake, Courtney, you were a virgin.”
“I wanted...”
“What? Points for a construction worker? Was this part of sorority pledge week?”
“Don’t say that. Don’t spoil it. Please.”
“Spoil it? My God! I don’t do virgins.”
He was angry, furious. Hurt? She didn’t know. She was too busy trying to decipher her own feelings. In the throes of passion, she’d never felt more needed, more wanted, more cherished. But now...now... Lord above, what had she done? She didn’t even know this man. She’d always sworn she would be a virgin on her wedding night, keeping Roger at arm’s length for over a year now. And yet here she was, in Jack Sullivan’s bedroom, in Jack Sullivan’s bed. A man she had known scarcely a week. She must be out of her mind.
“I’m not sure what happened,” she said forlornly.
“Honey, neither am I.” He sat up and tugged on his clothes. “Neither am I.”
“It doesn’t...I mean...we can see each other again. Can’t we?”
He started to say something, then must have noticed how shaken she was, how undone by her own emotions. He pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Help me look for my mind, will you? I seem to have lost it somewhere in this room tonight.”
She smiled, just a little, cupping his face in her hands. “I could love you, Jack Sullivan.”
He closed his eyes. “Maybe we should just start with a movie, okay?”
She smiled shyly. “Okay.”
“How about?—”
The phone rang. Jack grimaced. “I’d better get that. It could be my mother. She might need a ride home from work.” He rolled out of bed and headed downstairs.
Courtney rushed to get dressed. Her emotions were still too raw, too new to explore. She sat on the bed and waited for Jack. Several minutes passed before he returned. He paused briefly in the doorway, looking shaken, grim, but it must have been a trick of the light, because when he came closer, the unease she had sensed was gone.
“Was it your mother?”
“No.”
“Is something wrong?”
“It was just a buddy of mine, wanting to go out for a beer tomorrow night.”
She came over to him. “When will I see you?”
“You won’t. I’m leaving Butte.”
Her heart dropped. “What?”
“I’ve got a friend in L.A. He invited me down. He thinks he can get me some work.”
“When? I mean, when did you decide this?”
“Three days ago.”
“But you just said...”
“It was a pipe dream, Courtney. It took a few minutes, but I’ve managed to regain my senses.”
“But...”
“Don’t get hysterical on me. I didn’t ask you to come here.”
She swallowed back tears. This couldn’t be happening. How could everything have disintegrated so quickly? The tender, considerate lover of only moments before was gone, vanished, replaced by this man, who it seemed couldn’t wait to have her gone.
Too numb to even think, she followed Jack down the stairs. She would call him later. Or he would call her. It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be.
But he didn’t say a word as he pushed open the screen door and they stepped out onto the porch. Still bewildered, hurting, she turned back to him. “Jack, I...”
She was interrupted by a buxom woman of about twenty who came bounding up on the porch. Without preamble she brushed past Courtney and planted a big, wet kiss on Jack’s mouth, a mouth that had so recently brought Courtney to ecstasy. “Am I late, Jack?” the woman asked.
“No, Christal,” Jack said, curving his arm around her waist, “I’d say you’re just exactly on time.”
Christal giggled and tugged at Jack’s belt buckle. “I got off the second shift.”
Jack looked at Courtney. “Was there something else, Miss Hamilton?”
Bile rose in her throat. He intended to take this woman to his bed? To the very same bed in which... “No,” she managed, summoning a wellspring of pride she hadn’t even known she possessed. “No, nothing else, Mr. Sullivan.” She turned to leave, then stopped, straightening her spine. “As to your earlier question, the one where you asked how many points for construction workers. The answer is none. Zero. Because that’s exactly how much a man like you is worth.”
The light on the porch wasn’t good, so she could never be certain, but for just an instant she could’ve sworn she’d cut him straight to the bone.
But her victory was a hollow one. In one night she had fallen in love with him. In one night he had broken her heart.
Two months later she married Roger Winthrop.
* * *
Courtney lay in bed in Jack Sullivan’s mountain cabin, staring up at nothing. Things happen for a reason. Is that what she had so cavalierly announced to Jack earlier today? What amazing arrogance. It had been ten years, and she still hadn’t figured out the reason for that long-ago night.
By all rights she should hate him. She wanted to hate him. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. And for the life of her, she didn’t understand why.
And now he was back. And she didn’t understand that, either. But if life was indeed a test, then Jack Sullivan was her doctoral thesis.
Things happen for a reason.
Her spirit, she assured herself, was up to the challenge. But God help her, if that kiss tonight was any indication, even after ten years, she couldn’t be so sure about her heart.
Chapter 6
Courtney started awake, her every sense alert. This time it was no painful dream that roused her, but something else. A noise. A sound. Something not in sync with the normal night rhythms of the cabin—the crackle of logs in the hearth, the soughing of the wind, Jack Sullivan’s deep, even breathing in the sleeping bag five feet from her bed.
Levering herself onto her elbows, Courtney held her breath and listened. But whatever the sound had been, it was not repeated. Sagging back onto her pillow, she closed her eyes, still shaken by an onslaught of memories, by fragments of the dream that seemed determined to stay with her, torment her.
You’re playing with fire, princess,
Would you burn me, Jack?
In a heartbeat.
It was almost as if her unconscious were trying to tell her something, something vital that she had overlooked. The feeling disturbed her, because with it came a very real fear. A foreboding. Something wasn’t right. But she had no idea what it was.
Her lips thinned. She was being absurd again. Her life was not some old Alfred Hitchcock movie. Every happenstance did not have to be loaded down with symbolism and significance. It had been a dream. An unpleasant, distasteful recollection of a night that for a time had been magic. Until Jack Sullivan had shown himself for what he was. A heartless, deceitful son of a—
A soft moan escaped Jack’s lips. Courtney’s head jerked in his direction. She watched his body shift restlessly within the confines of his sleeping bag. “Jack?” she inquired softly.
No response.
She let out a grateful sigh. Reliving the night they’d made love had stirred memories more intimate, more intense, than she would have thought possible after ten years. No way could she face him just now. She needed time to recover, regroup. Think.
No. Cancel that. She’d already done entirely too much thinking about Jack Sullivan. What she really needed was to give the subject a rest. Give her overworked emotions a rest.
Besides, her body’s physical requirements were clamoring for their own share of her attention. She needed to make another trip outdoors. A glance toward the window made her shiver even to think about it. The snow had stopped. The sky had cleared. But the crystalline brilliance of a billion stars illuminating that winter wonderland suggested that the temperature had also plunged precipitously. Perhaps an empty bladder wasn’t really that much o
f a priority, she thought, then shifted uncomfortably.
Yes, it was.
“Get it over with,” she muttered.
Tossing back her blankets, Courtney almost changed her mind when her feet hit the floor. The cabin temperature itself had dropped to meat-locker potential.
Altering her agenda, she hobbled first to the hearth and rebuilt the fire, taking care not to disturb Jack. This way, she mused, if she froze various unmentionable parts of her anatomy outside, she stood a better chance of thawing them out in a hurry. Gritting her teeth, she limped toward the door.
On her previous outdoor venture, she’d found an old parka and pulled it on. Now, since it was closer—and less disreputable looking—she shrugged into Jack’s sheepskin coat, then shoved her stockinged feet into his hiking boots. A search of his pockets for mittens or a cap yielded only a folded piece of paper.
Drawing in a deep, determined breath, she opened the door. A blast of Arctic air hit her square in the face. Take a note, Courtney, she told herself, stepping out into the bone-chilling night. The next time you’re kidnapped, have the bastards crash next to a five-star hotel.
Outside, she took care of business in record time, then stumbled back into the cabin and slammed the door. Hugging Jack’s coat tight against her, she hurried over to the fire, allowing a quick glance in his direction. The man should have wakened to the sound of her teeth chattering alone. But he slept on.
“Good thing I’m not a hungry grizzly.” She held her trembling hands in front of the fire. Minutes passed before she finally stopped shivering. She unbuttoned Jack’s coat and started to slip it off when she remembered the slip of paper she’d found in the pocket. Curiosity prodding her, she looked at it in the light of the fire.
On it was a series of numbers and letters, the first of which was CD-H-4791327-WR. Courtney frowned, wondering first why she’d even felt it necessary to read something she’d found in Jack’s pocket. Then wondering further why she felt cheated that the paper contained nothing significant.
Significant about what?
Annoyed, she stuffed the paper back where she’d found it. What had she been expecting? The names and addresses of her kidnappers? More likely it was a list of Jack’s myriad girlfriends encrypted so that no one else could steal them.
She took off the coat and started back toward her bed. Then she stopped cold. Names and addresses of her kidnappers? Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
She limped over to Jack and knelt down beside him. She needed to ask him something, and she didn’t want to wait until morning. But as she reached for him, she hesitated, remembering the scorching kiss they’d shared, remembering her own dream about the night they’d made love. Maybe the middle of the night in front of a glowing fire wasn’t the best time to disturb him.
She started to rise.
“No!” Jack’s voice.
Courtney gasped, then realized he was still asleep. As she watched, he began to shift restively again, mumbling something she couldn’t make out. His agitation increased, his unzipped sleeping bag slipping off his bare chest.
Courtney felt a niggling of irritation. Surely the man hadn’t stripped before he’d bedded down. The thought of him buck naked under there made her furious. He should have had some consideration for her sensibilities!
And what sensibilities are those, Courtney? she asked herself. The ones in your eyeballs that are currently glued to that chest?
It was as magnificent as she remembered, stirring sensations she would have sworn no longer existed, except in memory. Her marriage to Roger had wounded her in a lot of ways. Her pride, her self-esteem, her confidence in her own instincts about other human beings. But one wound she had actually considered a blessing was her loss of interest in the opposite sex. She’d assured herself she liked it that way. She could devote more time to her career, helping other women escape the cycle of violence that trapped them in abusive relationships.
But the stirring of her blood as she watched Jack sleep was fast putting the lie to that rationale. As had that unfortunate kiss earlier. Her libido wasn’t dead after all. It was merely frozen, suspended. Held in check by a crippling fear she didn’t want to acknowledge even as it stared her in the face. A fear that because she couldn’t trust her own judgment about men, she was doomed to repeat past mistakes over and over. Better not to take the chance was the rule she’d lived by for four years. And the one she should adhere to now with this man—this man whom those very instincts had once prompted her to trust, only to have him betray her utterly.
“No! Didn’t mean...no...”
Courtney trembled, the words from Jack’s dream uncannily seeming almost a denial of her thoughts. Shaken, she decided against waking him. Her questions could wait until morning.
“No! Gun! Emmett...no!”
He was practically shouting now, though his tone seemed more anguished than angry. “Emmett, for the love of God. This can’t be happening...can’t be... Gun! Gun!” His voice broke on a strangled sob.
Courtney could feel the suffering in him, feel the hurt. Maybe she should wake him after all, put an end to the nightmare. Or would it be better to let him ride it out? To wake him now was to risk his wrath and his embarrassment. But she couldn’t bear watching this much longer. He was in agony.
She reached for him. At the same instant, his eyes flew open, though there was no immediate awareness in their blue depths. Slowly the images from his dream must have receded. She could actually see his face relax, feel the tension in him ease. And then he noticed her.
“Enjoy the show?” he asked tersely.
She bit back a nasty retort, saying instead as evenly as she could manage, “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Go back to bed. I don’t need a nursemaid.”
Courtney dug her fingernails into her palms. Had she actually been feeling sorry for this vile-tempered jerk? “Did the kidnappers have any IDs on them?”
“What?” He stared at her, still obviously tired and embarrassed, and now suffering just a bit of whiplash from her complete non sequitur.
“I was thinking about something tonight,” she went on testily, his mood freeing her from any concerns she might have had about his feelings. “About names and addresses. And it occurred to me that the kidnappers were probably carrying wallets. You know, with driver’s licenses, credit cards, video store memberships—that kind of thing. Did you check their pockets before you buried them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It didn’t occur to me to steal from dead men.”
She slapped her thigh. “It would hardly be stealing. I have every right to know who they were. Don’t you see? I might even recognize their names. Maybe one or both of them were disgruntled employees of Winthrop-Hamilton.”
“I’ll tell the police where to dig up the bodies.”
“No. I think you and I should go up there. Later today.”
“In a foot and a half of new snow? I don’t think so. You’d never make it on that ankle. Now could you please just go back to sleep?”
“How about in a day or two, then? When my ankle’s better? Or maybe when the snow melts a little?”
“We’ll see.”
“Good. Thank you.” She crawled over to the bed on her knees, determined now to give her ankle as much rest as possible. She was genuinely excited about at least the possibility of identifying her kidnappers. Corporate spies, money-hungry thugs—somehow putting a name or a motive to the men would help ease her mind. What she was really hoping for was a chance to allay her fears that their grudge might have been personal, not against her father, or the company, but against her.
And if it was personal?
She shuddered. She would deal with that, too. “Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think my father’s still alive?” It was a ridiculous question. Jack would have no more idea about Quentin Hamilton’s state of health than she did. In fact, less.
“A man as
arrogant and dictatorial and rich as Quentin Hamilton would need more than a heart attack to kill him.”
She managed a wan smile. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“You’re welcome.” He started to lie back down, then suddenly sucked in his breath.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s your arm, isn’t it?”
“It’ll wait ‘til daylight.”
“If you’ve got a first-aid kit, I could bandage it now. I’m not tired.”
He cursed. “Fine. Suddenly, neither am I.”
He flung back his sleeping bag and Courtney gasped, averting her eyes, recalling her earlier all-too-vivid notion that he was sleeping in the raw.
“Don’t worry, Miss Hamilton,” he drawled. “Your virtue will not be assaulted. I’m wearing my jeans.”
“You just never mind my virtue,” she snapped. “And put on a shirt. After the way you kissed me tonight, not giving a damn about the fact that I was completely unwilling—”
He laughed out loud. “Excuse me? I don’t recall any struggle. Nor, if memory serves, do I recall the word no being used.”
She’d walked right into that one. “Just see to it that it doesn’t happen again,” she said as haughtily as she could manage.
“I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
He brought a large box over to a scarred-up table, along with a kerosene lantern, which he promptly lit. Courtney pulled up one chair. Jack spun the second one around and sat down. “I’m all yours.”
Courtney refused to rise to the bait. Instead she rummaged through the kit, pulling out bandages, tape, scissors and anything else she thought she might need. “Looks like you’re ready for the next invasion here.”
“Pete believed in being prepared.”
“Pete Wilson?”
He nodded, obviously pleased that she’d remembered.
“Your cop friend. The one who straightened you out, set you on the right path in your life.” She gave a disdainful glance to their ramshackle surroundings. “Remind me to convey my congratulations. He did a spectacular job.”
Montana Rogue Page 10