by Diana Palmer
“Why was he in jail, Ida?” he asked quietly.
“Proprietary information,” she replied, her voice barely audible. “Thanks for transporting me back and forth to Pam’s.”
“Thank you and good night?” he mused.
She sighed and forced a smile. “Something like that.” She started to open the car door, but she was slow.
He beat her to it, opening it for her. She struggled to get out. Her back was painful, like her hip. She ground her teeth together at the pain.
“You okay?” he asked and sounded concerned.
“It’s going to rain, or snow, or something,” she predicted. “My bones hurt really bad when the weather changes.”
“A complaint I hear from my cowboys,” he replied. “They have all sorts of injuries. Working around livestock carries its own dangers.”
She nodded. “My father was thrown from a horse when he was very young. He broke a rib, which punctured a lung. They barely got him to the hospital in time.”
He walked her to her door. “Are you going to be all right?”
“A heating pad and one of those horse pills will ease the pain. Thanks for asking.”
He tilted her face up to his with a big hand under her chin.
“You really are beautiful,” he murmured as his head bent, his coffee-scented breath going right into her mouth seconds before his chiseled lips moved down and settled right on it.
CHAPTER FOUR
IDA’S ONLY RECENT memories of kisses came with terror and pain. She was wary of Jake this way, and it showed.
She felt as stiff as a board under the big, warm hands that settled on her shoulders as his hard lips brushed her soft ones.
He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes under the porch light. His own eyes were shuttered under the wide brim of his Stetson. “You’re frightened,” he said softly. “No need. I don’t have to beat a woman to make me feel like a man.” He said it with absolute disgust.
Her lips parted and the breath she’d been holding sighed out. “Sorry,” she bit off. “I’ve...I’ve had some problems.”
“With a brutal husband.”
She hesitated. Then she nodded.
“So you wear a mask, to keep men at bay, so they won’t know that you’re afraid of them.”
She shifted restlessly under his hands. “It usually works.”
“You’ve damaged your reputation in the process. Doesn’t that matter?”
“I was...rather desperate at the time, when I first came back here. Everywhere I went, men came on to me. Not in droves, but even one was frightening. I wanted to be left alone. I tried to tell them, but of course, nobody believed it. So I developed this personality...”
“The happy hooker,” he mused and actually laughed softly.
“Something like that. You know, I’m so good in bed that I judge men, and almost all of them come up lacking, and then I gossip about them.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “It really worked.”
“Almost too well,” he said under his breath. He cocked his head. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Not so much anymore.”
His fingers smoothed over her cheek. She had exquisitely soft skin, and when she was vulnerable, like this, she made him ache.
“That’s nice to hear.”
As he spoke, his fingers were toying with her mouth, teasing the top lip away from the bottom, arousing her.
She barely recognized the feelings. She’d only really had them for Bailey before they were married. Then, so quickly after the ceremony, he’d brutalized her over and over during their brief marriage. She didn’t trust desire. It had already betrayed her once.
She started to step back, but Jake went with her.
Her long-fingered hands pushed at his shirt with leashed fear.
“I won’t hurt you. Not ever,” he whispered, one big hand covering hers where they rested on the soft cotton of his shirt.
Under the shirt she could feel hard muscle and curious indentations. She recalled that he’d been shot and that he never took his shirt off with women. She blushed at the memory, which had embarrassed her with his telling of it. There was something soft over the muscle. Hair?
Unconsciously, her long nails were teasing his skin as she stood there in the circle of his arms, nervous but trusting.
“I really like that,” he said, his deep voice husky. “So it might be a good idea to stop.”
“Stop?” She looked up with wide-eyed curiosity.
His hand pressed hers closer. “What you’re doing with your nails.”
She realized belatedly that she’d been exploring him. She gasped. “Oh, my gosh!”
He stilled her backward movement with a soft chuckle. “Don’t panic,” he said gently. “It wasn’t really a complaint. I’m being protective. Of course, that’s frowned upon in our enlightened modern society.”
“I...don’t mind it,” she replied.
He cocked his head and smiled. “You don’t?”
“I’m not really conventional. At least, I used to be that way. I was always happy, always laughing. I loved life...” Her face clouded.
He put his thumb over her lips. “Bad memories can be nudged aside by good ones,” he pointed out.
“Good...ones?” she repeated. Her heart was racing madly. Her breath was coming in little gasps. Did he know?
He knew. He was experienced and she certainly wasn’t. Not in this. One husband who didn’t like women, a second who made her afraid of men. And this was the result, this quiet, inhibited woman who was frightened of physical contact with a man, any man. But she was reacting to him in a normal, healthy way, and he loved it.
His head bent again. “You know,” he breathed against her parted lips, “the only certain thing in life is its uncertainty.”
“It is?” She was staring at his chiseled mouth as it came closer, not really listening to what he said.
“You never know what to expect.”
She nodded, but she was still staring at his mouth.
He smiled gently. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
“Haven’t heard,” she said, nodding.
“What the hell,” he whispered, and his lips gently parted hers, hesitating when she stiffened, moving closer when she relaxed. Her fingers dug into his chest as he drew her closer, as his mouth grew slowly more invasive in the cold darkness, where he was the only warmth.
He felt her breath catch and knew it wasn’t prompted by fear. But a good horseman didn’t rush his fences, and a smart man didn’t grow overly ardent with a damaged woman. He drew away from her, very slowly.
She was staring at him, her heart beating like a butterfly in her chest, her china-blue eyes vivid, wide, fascinated.
His fingers trailed down her cheek. “What you know about men, Ida,” he said and watched her react as he spoke her name for the first time, “could be written on the head of a match.”
She was still staring at him, transfixed.
He put her away gently. “I’ll call you in a few days. We might go out to eat.”
She flushed. “Really?”
He stared down at her and hated the men who’d made her feel inadequate, when she was a treasure waiting to be discovered. “Really.”
She smiled. It was like the sun coming out. “I would...I would like that,” she stammered.
He chuckled. “I know some great restaurants.”
“I love good food.”
“So do I. You’ve still got my number on your cell, right?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes.”
“If you need help, use it,” he said.
She drew in a breath. “I don’t want to involve you in my trouble.”
His heart jumped. It was a very protective attitude. He liked it. “If I minded, I’d never have offered,” he explai
ned.
“Okay, then. Thanks.”
His eyes narrowed. “Or if you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, you can call me,” he said abruptly. “I don’t sleep much myself.”
She turned red. “Cindy told you,” she said self-consciously.
He nodded. “She worries about you.”
Her eyes lowered.
“It must be one hell of a bad memory,” he said after a minute. “We’ll make some better ones. Supper. Next week. I’ll text you.”
She looked up at him with a feeling akin to rebirth. Her breath sighed out and she smiled. “Next week,” she whispered.
He was tempted to pull her close and kiss the breath out of her, but she was going to need gentle handling. She was damaged. Odd, how much he wanted to protect her. It was a feeling he hadn’t indulged since Mina had been part of his life.
He smiled, tipped his hat mischievously and walked back to his car. “Lock the doors,” he called back.
She laughed. “You lock yours, too.”
He threw up a hand.
She went inside and locked the door, leaning back against it with a long, sweet sigh of pure delight.
* * *
THE DELIGHT WAS gone in an instant when her cell phone rang and she answered it absently.
“New man in your life, huh?” came an insulting, angry voice over the line. “Well, you belong to me, and he’s not getting you. Nobody’s getting you.”
“We’re divorced,” she said icily.
“A divorce you obtained through fraud, by blackmailing me,” he shot back. “I can prove that, in court. You owe me!”
She hung up on him, shocked and terrified. The phone rang again, but she darted to a side table where she kept pens and paper. She wrote down the number and phoned her attorney, Paul Browning.
“Calm down, now. It’s okay. Do you have Laredo’s number?”
“Laredo.”
“Your bodyguard,” he prompted.
“Oh. Him.” She drew in a breath. “Yes.”
“Call him right now and tell him what happened,” he replied. “I’ll get the wheels turning here. If Bailey Trent wants trouble, he can have it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Try not to worry. The laws are in place to protect you. There’s a restraining order. If he steps over the line, he’ll go back to jail. He knows that.”
“It doesn’t stop him from phoning me and terrifying me,” she blurted out. “I should get a new number!”
“He’d just find it out. He has a friend who works as a skip tracer for a detective agency,” he added. “Changing the number will do no good.”
“I feel so helpless,” she blurted out.
“Take a pill and go to bed. Make sure your doors are locked and sleep with the cell phone. Wouldn’t hurt to talk to the local sheriff, as well, and the parole officer on your husband’s case. I’ll do the latter. His parole officer is in Denver, where I am.”
“Thanks, Paul,” she said.
“We’ll take care of you,” he said warmly. “Try not to worry too much. It’s just a tactic. He thinks he’ll frighten you into paying him off.”
She didn’t tell him that it was working. But it was. “Okay,” she said instead.
“I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead. She looked around her with wide, frightened eyes. It was one thing to deny Bailey money, but she knew all too well what he was capable of. Would she never be free of him? She forgot to mention her injured mare to Paul. She’d have to call him in the morning and tell him.
Meanwhile, she phoned Laredo in the bunkhouse and told him what had happened.
“He can call you all he likes,” Laredo drawled, “but if he sets foot on the place, I’ll have him in jail so fast his head will spin. Don’t you worry, Mrs. Merridan. I’m on the job.”
“Okay. Thanks. Listen, do you think Bailey hurt my mare?”
There was a pause. “Well, anything’s possible. But I can guarantee you he hasn’t been on the ranch. I’ve got wildlife cameras placed in strategic locations and I monitor them. Uh, they went on your account at the local hardware store. Hope that’s okay.”
“I told you to get whatever you needed,” she replied.
“Fine, then. I’ll keep an eye out. Good night.”
“Good night. Thank you,” she added.
He hung up.
She put on her gown and climbed into bed, still worried and upset.
Her mind went back to the dinner and Jake McGuire and the gentle, soft way he’d kissed her at the end of the evening. She could feel the hunger in him, and she sensed that it wasn’t the way he usually was with women. She didn’t think he’d ever be brutal. But then, how did she know? Men were different behind closed doors. She’d learned that the hard way. It was a lesson she was never going to forget.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING WEEK Paul Browning had investigators looking into her allegations about the threats Bailey had made, and she was getting ready for a dinner date with Jake.
He’d phoned her Thursday night. “I know this sweet little fish place in Galveston,” he began lazily. “It’s only a couple of hours away by jet. How about it Friday night?”
She laughed, delighted. “Oh, I love seafood.”
“So do I. I’ll pick you up about five. That okay?”
“That’s fine.” She hesitated. “What should I wear?”
“Suit yourself, but I’m going in jeans and a warm jacket. I hate dressing up when I don’t have to.”
She smiled. “So do I. Jeans it is.”
“I’ll see you then.”
She was trying to think up a sophisticated reply, but he’d already ended the call. Just as well, she thought. She wasn’t good at conversation anymore.
* * *
HE WAS WEARING jeans and a chambray shirt with a sheepskin jacket and a Silverbelly Stetson. He looked comfortable, but the jeans and boots were designer ones, and the sheepskin jacket probably cost more than the diamonds in Ida’s dinner ring.
“Ready?” he asked with a gentle smile.
“Ready. I fed Butler and left him plenty of cat food. He’s always starving.”
He put her into the car. “How did you end up with a battered old cat?” he wondered.
“He was a rescue,” she said. “I found him in the woods with a string tied tight around his neck, and welts all over him. I never knew exactly what had happened to him. He was afraid of me at first. But I coaxed him out of hiding and took him to the vet. When they had him back in good condition, I adopted him and took him home. He’s been my family ever since.”
“You like animals.”
She nodded.
“How about cattle?” he mused.
She laughed. “Well, I haven’t been around them very much. I love horses. I guess cattle are similar.” She glanced at him. “But I do love a good steak,” she added ruefully.
He chuckled. “I don’t run beef cattle on the property here, but I know a few ranchers who do.” His eyes met hers for a few seconds before they went back to the highway. “I can cook a steak.”
“So can I,” she said.
“I might let you prove that one day down the road.”
She hesitated. It was early days yet.
“No rush,” he added, as if he understood.
She let out a breath. “Okay, then.”
They drove in silence to the small airport at Catelow. It had a runway long enough to accommodate a small jet, but it was mostly for small aircraft. A lot of cattlemen used airplanes to help herd cattle. She wondered if Jake did.
He pulled up to a beautiful white aircraft with soft, elegant lines. “My goodness, it’s beautiful,” she said softly.
His eyebrows arched. “Didn’t you fly around on private jets with your first husband?”
She laughed softly. “He
was terrified of flying. He wouldn’t even go on a conventional airplane if he could drive. I flew commercial, when I was in college.”
“You aren’t afraid of flying?” he asked.
She shook her head. “When I was younger, we had a friend who rebuilt aircraft for resale. I rode in a homebuilt one and was strapped in with a jet harness. It was one of the most exciting things I ever did. Well, except for the skydiving thing.”
“Skydiving.” He stared at her. “Skydiving?”
“Oh, it was a rush,” she said, laughing, and her china-blue eyes sparkled with feeling. “I loved it!” The smile slowly faded. “Something I won’t ever be able to do again, I’m afraid,” she said, and the sadness was in her face as well as her eyes.
“I can’t ride bucking horses,” he said, after he’d introduced her to his pilot and they buckled themselves in for takeoff.
She looked at him curiously. “Did you use to do that?” she asked.
He nodded. “I won belts for it in my teens,” he replied. “After Iraq, it became impossible.”
“You have more than just bullet wounds,” she guessed quietly.
He hesitated. Sighed. Then nodded. “I have a metal rod in one of my legs.”
“Oh, my goodness,” she said softly. “The pain must have been terrible.”
He stared at her, surprised. He’d told a date about it, some years back, and she’d remarked that it must look absolutely horrible. Ida was more concerned with how much it had hurt him.
He studied her curiously. “How do you know that?”
She grimaced. “I have a metal rod and a plate and many screws holding it all in place.”
“My God,” he whispered.
She looked down at the purse in her lap. “It took two surgeries,” she remarked, “because I had complications.” She looked up. “How many did yours take?”
“Just one,” he said. “But mine was prompted by shrapnel from an IED. How did you get that much damage to your body?”
She managed a smile.
“If you say proprietary information again, I won’t feed you,” he threatened, but with twinkling eyes.