Brenda Jackson The Westmoreland Series Books 16-20

by Brenda Jackson

  Pamela didn’t say anything. She and Fletcher weren’t entering into their marriage under false assumptions. He knew she was not in love with him.

  She took a moment to reflect on a few things. She had left home upon graduating from high school with a full scholarship to attend the University of Southern California Drama School. It was during her sophomore year that Alma, her stepmother, had died. Her father had married Alma when Pam was ten, and Alma had been wonderful in filling the void after losing her mother.

  She had thought about dropping out of college and returning home, but her father wouldn’t hear of it. He was adamant about her staying in school and insisted that he would be able to care for her sisters, although Nadia had been only three at the time, the same age she’d been when she’d lost her own mother.

  “Pamela?”

  Pam blinked upon realizing Fletcher had called her name. “I’m sorry, Fletcher. I was just thinking about happier times, when Dad and Alma were both alive.”

  “And you will have even happier times once we’re married, Pamela,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand in his. “I know you don’t love me now, but I’m convinced you will grow to love me. Just think of all the things I can give you.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not asking for you to give me all those things, Fletcher. The only things I’ve asked for, and that you’ve promised, are to make sure my sisters retain ownership of our home and to put my sisters through college.”

  “I promise all of that. And I’ll promise to give you more if you would just let me,” he said in a low, frustrated tone.

  She didn’t say anything for a long moment and knew her silence was probably grating on his nerves, but she couldn’t help it. “I don’t want anything more, Fletcher, so please let’s just leave it at that.”

  Pam had met Fletcher four years ago on one of her trips back to Gamble to visit her family. After that, whenever she came to town, he would make it a point to ask her if she would go out with him.

  After her father died and she’d moved back home, he had come calling on a regular basis, although she had explained to him that friendship was all there could ever be between them. At the time, he had seemed satisfied with that.

  Then Lester Gadling had come visiting and dropped the bombshell that had changed her life forever. Fletcher had stopped by that evening and she had found herself telling him what had happened. He had listened attentively before presenting what he saw as an easy solution. She could marry him and her financial problems would be over.

  At first, she’d thought he’d fallen off the deep end, certain he had taken leave of his senses. But the more she’d thought about it, the more his suggestion had taken shape in her mind. All she had to do was marry him and he would see to it that her ranch was saved and would establish a trust fund for her sisters, so when the time came for their college, everything would be set.

  She didn’t accept his offer at first, determined to handle things without Fletcher’s help. She had gone to bank after bank trying to secure a loan but time and time again had been turned down. She had only accepted Fletcher’s proposal when she’d seen she had no other choice.

  Glancing down at her watch, she said, “It’s getting late.”

  “All right. Don’t forget to be careful around Westmoreland. There is something about him that I don’t trust.”

  “Like I said, Fletcher, I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded before leaning in closer to brush a kiss across her lips. As always she waited for blood to rush fast and furious through her veins, fire to suffuse her insides, but as usual, nothing happened. No stirring sensations. Not a single spark.

  For months she had ignored the fact that she was not physically attracted to the man she was going to marry. It hadn’t bothered her until tonight when she discovered she was very physically attracted to another man. And that man’s name was Dillon Westmoreland.

  * * *

  Dillon eased his body into a huge bathtub filled with warm water. Whatever amenities the little hotel lacked, he would have to say a soak in this tub definitely made up for them. There weren’t too many bathtubs around that could accommodate his height comfortably.

  He closed his eyes and stretched out, thinking he’d never been able to relax in a tub before. It had been a while since he’d been able to sit in a tub and not worry about being disturbed by some family member needing his help or advice.

  Family.

  Damn, but he missed them already. He wasn’t worried about the family he’d left in Denver since he’d left Ramsey in charge. He and Ramsey were only separated in age by seven months and were more like brothers than they were cousins. If truth be told, Ramsey was his best friend. Always had been and always would be.

  He couldn’t wait until he began digging into information about Raphel. He could have hired an agency to do it for him, but this was something he wanted to do himself. Something he felt he owed his family. If there was something in his great-grandfather’s past, then he felt he should be the one to uncover it. Good or bad.

  Dillon shifted his body. He kept his eyes closed while thinking that tonight he’d met the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. A woman who looked totally out of place in Gamble, Wyoming. A woman whose voice alone could stir something deep inside of him.

  A woman who was already taken.

  There was no denying he was attracted to her, but wanting her was taboo. So why was he thinking about her even now? And why in the hell was he so eager to see her again tomorrow?

  He inhaled deeply, wondering how Fletcher Mallard could get so lucky. It was easy to see the man was a jerk, a pompous pain in the ass. But Fletcher was no concern of his, and neither was the man’s engagement to Pamela Novak. Dillon was in Gamble for one thing and for one thing only. He was there to find out everything he could about Raphel, and not to encroach on another man’s property.

  He would do well to remember that.

  Three

  Glancing out the window Pam saw Dillon’s car the moment it pulled up in front of the house. She took a sip of her coffee while watching him, grateful that the window was designed in a way that gave her a view of anyone arriving. From what she’d been told, her great-grandfather had deliberately built the house that way to have an advantage over anyone who came calling without their knowledge.

  Today she was making full use of that advantage.

  After he brought the car to a stop, she watched as he opened the car and got out. He stood for a moment to study her home, which gave her an opportunity to study him.

  He was tall—she’d noticed that last night. But last night she hadn’t had time to fully check him out. She couldn’t help but appreciate what she saw now. Nice shoulders. Firm abdomen. Muscled chest. Taut thighs. He was wearing jeans and a blue western shirt that revealed strong arms, and a black Stetson was on his head.

  She sighed deeply, thinking that inviting him to come back today might not have been a good idea after all, just as Fletcher had claimed. She glanced down at her hand holding the coffee cup and couldn’t miss the diamond ring on her finger, the one Fletcher had put there a week ago.

  Okay, so she was an engaged woman, one who would be marrying a nice guy in a few months. But being engaged, or married for that matter, didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a fine specimen of a man when she saw one. Besides, her best friend from college, Iris Michaels, would give her hell if she didn’t check him out and then call to give her all the hot-tamale details.

  She blinked as she nearly burnt her tongue on a sip of coffee when Dillon looked straight at her through what she’d always considered her secret window. How had he known about the side view? To anyone else it would appear to be a flat wall in the shadow of a huge oak tree.

  There was only one way to find out. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood. As she made her way out of the kitchen toward the living room, she decided maybe it would be better for him not to know she’d been sitting here watching him since he’d
arrived.

  She slowly opened the door and was afforded an opportunity to watch him unseen some more when his attention was diverted by a flock of geese in the sky. While he studied the geese, she again studied him, taking in the angle of his face while his head was tilted slightly backward. He was standing with his legs braced apart and with his hands in his pockets. There was something about that stance, that particular pose—especially on him—that made her just want to stand there and stare.

  While living in Los Angeles for five years she’d been surrounded by jaw-droppingly, stomach-stirringly handsome men, many from some of the world’s most elite modeling agencies. But none could hold a light to the man presently standing in her yard. His features were distinct—sharp facial bones, firm jaw and full lips. His hair beneath his Stetson was close cut and trimmed neatly around his head.

  A moment passed. Possibly two. When suddenly he turned his head and looked over in her direction.

  She had been caught.

  And she was immediately enveloped in his intense gaze. She was unable to do anything but return his stare while wondering why she was doing so. Why were her senses, her entire being, homed in on everything about him? This wasn’t good, she thought.

  At least that was what her mind was telling her, but her common sense hadn’t gotten there yet. It was being held captive within the scope of the darkest pair of eyes she’d ever seen.

  Somewhere in the not-too-faraway distance she heard the sound of a car backfiring and the sound ripped right into the moment. It was only then that she was able to slide her gaze away from his to look over across the wide expanse of yard.

  After taking a deep breath she returned her gaze to his, wrestled with those same senses she had lost control of earlier, placed a smile on her face and said, “Good morning, Dillon.”

  She wasn’t just off the boat, and knew that during the brief moment when their gazes had held, something had happened. Just as it had last night. She wasn’t sure of what, but she knew that it had. She also knew she would pretend that it hadn’t. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she added.

  “Yes, it is,” he said, turning to walk over toward her. Holy cow! she thought, swallowing deeply. The man’s strides were sure, confident and deliberately masculine. He had one hell of a sexy walk, and what was so disturbing about it was that it seemed as natural as the sun rising in the morning.

  He came to a stop in front of her and met her gaze fleetingly before glancing up at the sun. His gaze then returned to her. “It might rain later, though.”

  She nodded. “Yes, it might.” She knew they were trying to get back in sync and to lessen the intensity of what had passed between them.

  “I hope I’m not too early,” he said in a deep, husky voice, breaking into her thoughts.

  “No, you’re fine. I was just having my morning coffee. Would you like to join me?”

  With an ultrasexy shrug of his massive shoulders, he smiled as he removed his hat. “Umm, I don’t know. I feel I’m taking a lot of your time already.”

  “No problem. Besides, you want to know about Raphel, right?”

  “Yes. Is there something you can tell me other than he was your great-grandfather’s partner and that he ran off with your great-grandmother, Portia Novak?”

  Pam chuckled as she led him through the house and headed toward the kitchen. “Portia wasn’t my great-grandmother,” she corrected. “A few years after she’d run off, he met my great-grandmother and they married.”

  When he sat down at the table, she said, “I’m sure you’ve heard some stories about Raphel and Portia.” She proceeded to pour him a cup of coffee.

  “No, in actuality, I hadn’t. I’d always assumed my great-grandmother Gemma was my great-grandfather’s only wife. It was only after my Atlanta Westmoreland relatives showed up and explained how we were related that I found out about Portia Novak and the others.”

  Pam lifted a brow. “There were others?”

  He nodded. “Yes, Gemma was his fifth wife.”

  Dillon was more than curious about what had happened to a preacher’s wife, a woman by the name of Lila Elms. Although she was already legally married to the preacher, had she and Raphel pretended to be married for a spell before he dumped her for Portia, the wife of Jay Novak?

  And then what happened to Clarice, wife number three? And Isabelle, wife four? All four women’s names were rumored to be connected to Raphel in some say. If what they’d discovered so far was true, Raphel had taken up with the four women before his thirty-second birthday, and all had been married to another man or engaged to marry someone else. It seemed Raphel’s reputation as a wife stealer was legendary.

  Dillon took a sip of coffee, deciding for the moment not to inform her that the others, like Portia, were women who belonged to other men, legally or otherwise. But he would throw out the name of one she might have heard about already. “My goal is to find out what happened to Lila Elms.”

  “The preacher’s wife?”

  So, she had heard about Lila. “Yes.” He took another sip and then asked, “How do you know so much about this stuff?”

  She chuckled as she sat down at the table with him after refilling her own cup of coffee. “My grandmother. As a little girl we would spend hours and hours on the porch outside shelling peas, and she would fill my ears about all the family history. But the one subject she didn’t shed a lot of light on was Portia. For some reason, any conversation about her was taboo. Jay wanted it that way and my great-grandmother respected his wishes.”

  Dillon nodded, trying to concentrate on what she was saying and not on how smoothly her lips would part each time she took a sip of her coffee. How the bottom lip would hang open a little and how the top one would fit perfectly around the rim of the cup.

  He felt his gut tightening and took a sip of his coffee. When he had been standing out in her yard and he’d turned and seen her staring at him, he had tried not to speculate just what was going on in her mind. He didn’t want to even consider the possibility that it had been close to what had been going on in his.

  Her gaze had touched him deeply, in a way he doubted she even realized. Something about Pamela Novak was calling out to him in the most elemental way, and that wasn’t good. Since his divorce, he had dated on occasion. But if the truth be told, he’d made it a point to date only women who, like him, weren’t interested in anything long term. All of those women had been unattached.

  “Are you ready to go up to the attic?”

  Her question reined his thoughts back and he glanced over at her and immediately wished he hadn’t. Every muscle in his body immediately seemed to weaken yet at the same time fill him with an intensity that made him draw in a long breath. It was time to acknowledge it for what it was. Sexual chemistry.

  He had heard about it but had never actually experienced it for himself. He’d been attracted to women before, but it never went further than an attraction. What he was beginning to feel was an element of something greater than a mere attraction. There were these primitive vibes he was not only emitting but was also receiving. That meant Pamela Novak was in tune to what was going on between them, although she might choose to pretend otherwise. Of course, he understood her reluctance to acknowledge such a thing. After all, she was an engaged woman. And she didn’t come across as one who would deliberately be unfaithful to her fiancé.

  But still…

  “Yes, I’m ready,” he finally said. “But first I want to clear the air about something.” He watched her lips quiver nervously before she set her cup down and met his gaze. He tensed, trying to ignore the sensations rolling through him every time their eyes met.

  “Clear the air about what?”

  He’d been too busy watching her lips to pay any attention to the words flowing out of them. He fought back the urge to lift the tip of his finger and run it across those lips.

  He cleared his throat. “About last night. My showing up here without calling first. I think I may have rattled your fianc
é a little, and I regret doing that. It was not my intent to cause any problems between the two of you.”

  He watched as her shoulders gave a feminine shrug. “You didn’t cause any problems. Don’t worry about it.”

  She then stood. “I think we should go up to the attic and see what’s there. There’s a trunk that contains a lot of my great-grandfather’s business records.”

  Dillon nodded. She had responded to his question and in the same breath, had effectively switched topics, which let him know the subject of her relationship with Fletcher Mallard was not up for discussion.

  He pushed his chair back and then got on his feet. “I’m ready, just lead the way.”

  She did and he couldn’t help but appreciate the backside that strolled in front of him as he followed.

  * * *

  With his long legs, it didn’t take Dillon long to catch up with her, Pamela thought. Not that she was trying to leave him behind. But for a few moments she’d needed to get her bearings. The man had a way of making her not think straight.

  He was silent as she led him up the stairs and she couldn’t help looking sideways to gaze at his profile. What was it about him that affected her in a way Fletcher didn’t? Her heart rate accelerated when she noticed he even climbed the stairs with an ingrained sexiness that made her senses reel.

  When they reached the top landing he moved slightly ahead of her, as if he knew where he was going. “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you’ve been here before,” she said as they continued to walk toward the end of the hall that led to the attic stairs.

  He glanced down at her and smiled. “This might sound crazy but this house is very similar to mine back in Denver. Was it built by your great-grandfather?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that might explain things, since the house I live in was built by Raphel. I’m thinking he liked the design, and when he decided to build his home he did so from his memory of this one.”

  “That would explain how you knew about our secret window.” She regretted the words the moment they left her lips. She had just admitted to spying on him out the window when he’d arrived.