by Nora Roberts
She stared up, realizing how easy it would be to just pour out her thoughts and feelings. The worries, the fears, the problems, that seemed to build up faster than she could cope with them—how reassuring it would be to say it all out loud, to him.
She’d done too much of that with his mother, but somehow Jillian could justify that. It was one thing to confess fears and doubts to another woman, and another to give a man an insight on your weaknesses. At dawn they’d both be ranchers again, with a boundary line between them that had stood for nearly a century.
“Aaron, I didn’t come here to—”
“I know why you came,” he interrupted. His voice was much milder than his eyes. “Because you couldn’t stay away. I understand that. Now you’re just going to have to accept what comes with it.”
It was difficult to drum up a great deal of dignity when she was naked and warm beneath him, but she came close to succeeding. “Which is?”
The annoyance in his eyes lightened to amusement. “I like the way you say that—just like my third grade teacher.”
Her lips quivered. “It’s one of the few things I managed to pick up from my mother. But you haven’t answered the question, Murdock.”
“I’m crazy about you,” he said suddenly and the mouth that had curved into a smile fell open. She wasn’t ready to hear that one, Aaron mused. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the consequences of it himself, and decided to play it light. “Of course, I’ve always been partial to nasty-tempered females. I mean to help you, Jillian.” His eyes were abruptly sober. “If I have to climb over your back to do it.”
“There isn’t anything you can do even if I wanted you to.”
He didn’t comment immediately but shifted, pulling the pillows up against the headboard, then leaning back before he drew her against him. Jillian didn’t stiffen as much as go still. There was something quietly possessive about the move, and irresistibly sweet. Before she could stop it, she’d relaxed against him.
Aaron felt the hesitation but didn’t comment. When you went after trust, you did it slowly. “Tell me what’s been done.”
“Aaron, I don’t want to bring you into this.”
“I am in it, if for no other reason than that cut line.”
She could accept that, and let her eyes close. “We did a full head count and came up five hundred short. As a precaution, we branded what calves were left right away. I estimate we lost fifty or sixty of them. The sheriff’s been out.”
“What’d he find?”
She moved her shoulders. “Can’t tell where they took them out. If they’d cut any more wire, they’d fixed it. Very neat and tidy,” she murmured, knowing something died inside her each time she thought of it. “It seems as though they didn’t take them all at once, but skimmed a few head here and there.”
“Seems odd they left the one line down.”
“Maybe they didn’t have time to fix it.”
“Or maybe they wanted to throw your attention my way until they’d finished.”
“Maybe.” She turned her face into his shoulder—only slightly, only for an instant—but for Jillian it was a large step toward sharing. “Aaron, I didn’t mean the things I said about you and your father.”
“Forget it.”
She tilted her head back and looked at him. “I can’t.”
He kissed her roughly. “Try harder,” he suggested. “I heard you were getting a plane.”
“Yes.” She dropped her head on his shoulder and tried to order her thoughts. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to be ready until next week.”
“Then we’ll go up in mine tomorrow.”
“But why—”
“Nothing against the sheriff,” he said easily. “But you know your land better.”
Jillian pressed her lips together. “Aaron, I don’t want to be obligated to you. I don’t know how to explain it, but—”
“Then don’t.” Taking hold of her hair, he jerked it until her face came up to his. “You’re going to find I’m not the kind who’ll always give a damn about what you want. You can fight me, sometimes you might even win. But you won’t stop me.”
Her eyes kindled. “Why do you gear me up for a fight when I’m trying to be grateful?”
In one swift move he shifted so that they lay crosswise across the bed. “Maybe I like you better that way. You’re a hell of a lot more dangerous when you soften up.”
She threw up her chin. “That’s not something that’s going to happen very often around you.”
“Good,” he said and crushed his mouth onto hers. “You’ll stay with me tonight.”
“I’m not—” Then he silenced her with a savage kiss that left no room for thought, much less words.
“Tonight,” he said with a laugh that held more challenge than humor, “you stay with me.”
And he took her in a fury that whispered of desperation.
* * *
The birds woke her. There was a short stretch of time during the summer when the sun rose early enough that the birds were up before her. With a sigh, Jillian snuggled into the pillow. She could always fool her system into thinking she’d been lazy when she woke to daylight and birdsong.
Groggily she went over the day’s workload. She’d have to check Baby before she went in to the horses. He liked to have his bottle right off. With one luxurious stretch, she rolled over, then stared blankly around the room. Aaron’s room. He’d won that battle.
Lying back for a moment, she thought about the night with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. He’d said once before that it wasn’t as easy as it should’ve been. But could he have any idea what it had done to her to lie beside him through the night? She’d never known the simple pleasure of sleeping with someone else, sharing warmth and quiet and darkness. What had made her believe that she could have an affair and remain practical about it?
But she wasn’t in love with him. Jillian reached over to touch the side of the bed where he’d slept. She still had too much sense to let that happen. Her fingers dug into the sheet as she closed her eyes. Oh, God, she hoped she did.
The birdcalls distracted her so that she looked over at the window. The sun poured through. But it wasn’t summer, Jillian remembered abruptly. What was she still doing in bed when the sun was up? Furious with herself, she sat up just as the door opened. Aaron walked in, carrying a mug of coffee.
“Too bad,” he commented as he crossed to her. “I was looking forward to waking you up.”
“I’ve got to get back,” she said, tossing her hair from her eyes. “I should’ve been up hours ago.”
Aaron held her in place effortlessly with a hand on her shoulder. “What you should do is sleep till noon,” he corrected as he studied her face. “But you look better.”
“I’ve got a ranch to run.”
“And there isn’t a ranch in the country that can’t do without one person for one day.” He sat down beside her and pushed the cup into her hand. “Drink your coffee.”
She might’ve been annoyed by his peremptory order, but the scent of coffee was more persuasive. “What time is it?” she asked between sips.
“A bit after nine.”
“Nine!” Her eyes grew comically wide. “Good God, I’ve got to get back.”
Again Aaron held her in bed without effort. “You’ve got to drink your coffee,” he corrected. “Then you’ve got to have some breakfast.”
After a quick, abortive struggle, Jillian shot him an exasperated look. “Will you stop treating me as though I were eight years old?”
He glanced down to where she held the sheet absently at her breasts. “It’s tempting,” he agreed.
“Eyes front, Murdock,” she ordered when her mouth twitched. “Look, I appreciate the service,” Jillian continued, gesturing with her cup, “but I can’t sit around until midday.”
“When’s the last time you had eight hours’ sleep?” He watched the annoyance flicker into her eyes as she lifted the coffee again, sipping rather than an
swering. “You’d have had more than that last night if you hadn’t—distracted me.”
She lifted her brows. “Is that what I did?”
“Several times, as I recall.” Something in her expression, a question, a hint of doubt, made him study her a bit more carefully. Was it possible a woman like her would need reassurance after the night they’d spent together? What a strange mixture of tough and vulnerable she was. Aaron bent over and brushed his lips over her brow, knowing what would happen if he allowed himself just one taste of her mouth. “Apparently, you don’t have to try very hard,” he murmured. His lips trailed down to her temple before he could prevent them. “If you’d like to take advantage of me . . .”
Jillian let out an unsteady breath. “I think—I’d better have pity on you this morning, Murdock.”
“Well . . .” He hooked a finger under the sheet and began to draw it down. “Can’t say I’ve ever cared much for pity.”
“Aaron.” Jillian tightened her hold on the sheet. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”
“Probably a bit past that by now.”
When he started to lean closer, she lifted the mug and held it against his chest. “I’ve got stock to check and fences to ride,” she reminded him. “And so do you.”
He had a woman to protect, he thought, surprising himself. But he had enough sense not to mention it to the woman. “Sometimes,” he began, then gave her a friendly kiss, “you’re just no fun, Jillian.”
Laughing, she drained the coffee. “Why don’t you get out of here so I can have a shower and get dressed?”
“See what I mean.” But he rose. “I’ll fix your breakfast,” he told her, then continued before she could say it wasn’t necessary. “And neither of us is riding fence today. We’re going up in the plane.”
“Aaron, you don’t have to take the time away from your own ranch to do this.”
He hooked his hands in his pockets and studied her for so long her brows drew together. “For a sharp woman, you can be amazingly slow. If it’s easier for you, just remember that rustling is every rancher’s business.”
She could see he was annoyed; she could hear it in the sudden coolness of tone. “I don’t understand you.”
“No.” He inclined his head in a gesture that might’ve been resignation or acceptance. “I can see that.” He started for the door, and Jillian watched him, baffled.
“I . . .” What the devil did she want to say? “I have to drive over and let Gil know what I’m doing.”
“I sent a man over earlier.” Aaron paused at the door and turned back to her. “He knows you’re with me.”
“He knows—you sent—” She broke off, her fingers tightening on the handle of the mug. “You sent a man over to tell him I was here, this morning?”
“That’s right.”
She dragged a hand through her hair and sunlight shimmered gold at the ends. “Do you realize what that looks like?”
His eyes became very cool and remote. “It looks like what it is. Sorry, I didn’t realize you wanted an assignation.”
“Aaron—” But he was already closing the door behind him. Jillian brought the mug back in a full swing and barely prevented herself from following through. With a sound of disgust, she set it down and pulled herself from bed. That had been clumsy of her, she berated herself. How was he to understand that it wasn’t shame, but insecurity? Perhaps it was better if he didn’t understand.
Aaron could cheerfully have strangled her. In the kitchen, he slapped a slice of ham into the skillet. His own fault, he thought as it began to sizzle. Damn it, it was his own fault. He’d had no business letting things get beyond what they were meant to. If he stretched things, he could say that she had a wary sort of affection for him. It was unlikely it would ever go beyond that. If his feelings had, he had only himself to blame, and himself to deal with.
Since when did he want fences around him? Aaron thought savagely as he plunged a kitchen fork into the grilling meat. Since when did he want more from a woman, any woman, than companionship, intelligence, and a warm bed? Maybe his feelings had slipped a bit past that, but he wasn’t out of control yet.
Pouring coffee, he drank it hot and black. He’d been around too long to lose his head over a firebrand who didn’t want anything more than a practical, uncomplicated affair. After all, he hadn’t been looking for any more than that himself. He’d just let himself get caught up because of the problems she was facing, and the unwavering manner with which she faced them.
The coffee calmed him. Reassured, he pulled a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. He’d help her as much as he could over the rustling, take her to bed as often as possible, and that would be that.
When she came into the room, he glanced over casually. Her hair was still wet, her face naked and glowing with health and a good night’s sleep.
Oh, God, he was in love with her. And what the hell was he going to do?
The easy comment she’d been about to make about the smell of food vanished. Why was he staring at her as if he’d never seen her before? Uncharacteristically self-conscious, she shifted her weight. He looked as though someone had just knocked the wind from him. “Is something wrong?”
“What?”
His answer was so dazed she smiled. What in the world had he been thinking about when she’d interrupted him? she wondered. “I said, is something wrong? You look like you’ve just taken a quick fall from a tall horse.”
He cursed himself and turned away. “Nothing. How do you want your eggs?”
“Over easy, thanks.” She took a step toward him, then hesitated. It wasn’t a simple matter for her to make an outward show of affection. She’d met with too many lukewarm receptions in her life. Drawing up her courage, she crossed the room and touched his shoulder. He stiffened. She withdrew. “Aaron . . .” How calm her voice was, she mused. But then, she’d grown very adept very early at concealing hurt. “I’m not very good at accepting support.”
“I’ve noticed.” He cracked an egg and let it slide into the pan.
She blinked because her eyes had filled. Stupid! she railed at herself. Never put your weaknesses on display. Swallowing pride came hard to her, but there were times it was necessary. “What I’d like to say is that I appreciate what you’re doing. I appreciate it very much.”
Emotions were clawing him. He smacked another egg on the side of the pan. “Don’t mention it.”
She backed away. What else did you expect? she asked herself. You’ve never been the kind of person who inspires tender feelings. You don’t want to be. “Fine,” she said carelessly. “I won’t.” Moving to the coffeepot, she filled her mug again. “Aren’t you eating?”
“I ate before.” Aaron flipped the eggs, then reached for a plate.
She eyed his back with dislike. “I realize I’m keeping you from a lot of pressing matters. Why don’t you just send me up with one of your men?”
“I said I’d take you.” He piled her plate with food, then dropped it unceremoniously on the table.
Chin lifted, Jillian took her seat. “Suit yourself, Murdock.”
He turned to see her hack a slice from the ham. “I always do.” On impulse he grabbed the back of her head and covered her mouth in a long, ruthlessly thorough kiss that left them both simmering with anger and need.
When it was done, Jillian put all her concentration into keeping her hands steady. “A man should be more cautious,” she said mildly as she cut another slice, “when a woman’s holding a knife.”
With a short laugh, he dropped into the chair across from her. “Caution doesn’t seem to be something I hold on to well around you.” Sipping his coffee, Aaron watched her as she worked her way systematically through the meal. Maybe it was too late to realize that intimacy between them had been a mistake, but if he could keep their relationship on its old footing otherwise, he might get his feelings back in line.
“You know, you should’ve bought a plane for Utopia years ago,” he commented, perfectly
aware that it would annoy her.
Her gaze lifted from her plate, slow and deliberate. “Is that so?”
“Only an idiot argues with progress.”
Jillian tapped her fork against her empty plate. “What a fascinating statement,” she said sweetly. “Do you have any other suggestions on how I might improve the running of Utopia?”
“As a matter of fact”—Aaron drained his coffee—“I could come up with several.”
“Really.” She set down the fork before she stabbed him with it. “Would you like me to tell you what you can do with each and every one of them?”
“Maybe later.” He rose. “Let’s get going. The day’s half gone already.”
Grinding her teeth, Jillian followed him out the back door. She thought it was a pity she’d wasted even a moment on gratitude.
The small two-seater plane gave her a bad moment. She eyed the propellers while Aaron checked the gauges before takeoff. She trusted things with four legs or four wheels. There, she felt, you had some control—a control she’d be relinquishing the moment Aaron took the plane off the ground. With a show of indifference, she hooked her seat belt while he started the engine.
“Ever been up in one of these?” he asked idly. He slipped on sunglasses before he started down the narrow paved runway.
“Of course I went up in the one I bought.” She didn’t mention the jitters that one ride had given her. As much as she hated to agree with him, a plane was a necessary part of ranch life in the late twentieth century.
The engine roared and the ground tilted away. She’d just have to get used to it, she reminded herself, since she was going to learn to fly herself. She let her hands lie loosely on her knees and ignored the rolling pitch of her stomach.
“Are you the only one who flies this?” This tuna can with propellers, she thought dismally.
“No, two of our men are licensed pilots. It isn’t smart to have only one person who can handle a specific job.”
She nodded. “Yes. I’ve had a man on the payroll for over a month who can fly, but I’m going to have to get a license myself.”