by Mindy Neff
“Heard ’em talking about it last night at Gatlin’s.”
Nausea welled, pounding through her. “Oh, no. I did cause this.”
Tanner frowned. He didn’t like the look of distress that came over her smooth features. “What are you talking about?”
“I shouldn’t have gone. I just wanted one night. Something different. I shouldn’t have flouted convention on the eve of my wedding.” She rubbed her temples. “I didn’t think anyone would recognize me.”
“You’re thinking the plot was hatched on the spur of the moment?” Tanner, for one, was extremely glad she’d gone. That dressed-for-sin outfit had given him a sleepless night, but he wouldn’t have wanted to miss it. Or the sexy, sultry dance, the confidence. The woman was dynamite. And hell on the nerves. But obviously still suffering from a headache.
“What other explanation is there?” she asked.
“Several. But that’s not one of them.” He got up and rummaged through the cupboards. “I heard them talking in the parking lot. This was planned—poorly, to be sure. But it wasn’t spur-of-the-moment. Here, take these.” He shook a couple of pain relievers into his palm, held it out.
She accepted the tablets. “The way I’m feeling, it’ll take something a lot stronger.”
He told himself he wouldn’t touch her. Though his body went rigid from the effort to resist, his feet moved of their own accord, his hands automatically reaching for her temples.
He was burning to ask what exactly she’d wanted last night. “One night, ” she’d said. “Something different. ” His mind supplied myriad answers—all of them slanted toward the carnal.
Standing behind her chair, he pulled her head back to rest against his chest, his fingers diving into her mass of hair, kneading her scalp. A couple of hairpins scattered.
She tried to pull away. He held her steady. “Relax. I’m just giving the medicine a little help.”
Jordan wasn’t certain she could comply. She was an only child and her parents weren’t the demonstrative type. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had ministered to her this way—unless she’d paid them.
It took everything in her to keep from purring...or drooling. His touch was heaven.
She might have imagined the restraint she felt in his touch, but at the moment, she couldn’t work up the energy to give it adequate thought.
His fingertips moved to her temples, her closed eyelids, her hairline. She felt him hesitate, hovering as though weighing a decision.
She opened her eyes. Looked up.
With her head tilted back, resting against his stomach, she gazed at him. And he was staring back.
The fire in those whiskey-colored eyes made her heart pound, made her forget all about her headache. Mouth dry, she could not look away.
Did his head move closer?
The moment spun out like a videotape put on freeze-frame. Her lips parted. Just once, she thought. How many times had she imagined how that sensual mouth would feel against hers? Had ached for the feel of it.
Without thought, she reached up, covered his hand.
And waited.
The back of her head pressed against his firm belly. Yes. Just bend down.
He stepped back so fast she nearly got whiplash.
“So, what were the big honeymoon plans?”
Jordan was mortified. He probably thought she was sex starved, looking at him all moon-eyed. And really, what did she expect? After her performance last night, and now... Well, she’d definitely given him the wrong impression. This was no way for a woman to act on her wedding day—at least, not with a man other than her groom.
Now, not only would Tanner think she was spoiled, he’d think she was a shallow runaround to boot.
Nothing could be further from the truth, but the damage was already done.
She stood and took their dishes to the sink. “Randall had some business deals pending, so we were only going to take a few days and drive over to Big Sur.”
“A few days? Pity. Thought the man had better sense.”
She glanced at him sharply. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As it was meant.”
His expression gave away nothing. Still, when he moved to help her with the dishes, she waved him back. She didn’t trust herself not to climb right up his body. Yes, Tanner was a man who’d want a much longer honeymoon.
And she wasn’t going to spend time on that image just now.
“I think I can handle a couple of plates and glasses.”
“Suit yourself.” Ankles crossed, he leaned against the counter, watching her.
Making her nervous.
Jordan racked her brain for conversation. She didn’t want to talk about Randall. Those reckless, restless feelings were welling again; the yearning for freedom—to start something she wasn’t free to start.
With Tanner Caldwell.
She cleared her throat. “Who owns this house?”
“A raven-haired Goldilocks,” he murmured, and she thought he was ignoring the question. His penetrating gaze rested on her hair, slowly moved downward. “We’ve already settled in and helped ourselves to the porridge, and you’re just now getting around to asking about the owners?”
By any other man, that blatant visual inspection would have been insulting. From Tanner, it had the power to set her terribly off-balance.
“You ate,” she reminded. “I didn’t.” Dear Lord, she wished he wouldn’t look at her that way.
“Mr. B. would be offended. He’d think you were refusing his hospitality.”
“Mr. B.?”
“Samuel Bartholomew. A man I worked for. It’s his house.”
“Oh. Your boss.” Relief that their hideaway was owned by a male friend rather than a female was greater than it should have been. “It’s nice of him to let you use the place.”
Tanner noted that she’d misunderstood—she’d thought he’d used the present instead of the past tense. For some reason, he decided not to correct her assumption that Mr. B. was still his employer.
He also noticed that she was nervous as hell. The way her gaze kept darting toward him, then skittering away, and the fine trembling in her fingers that she tried to hide beneath the soapy water, was making it hard to concentrate.
It was making him hard, period.
“Mr. B.’s the most generous man I know.”
“Will he be joining us?”
“No. This is just a getaway place for him.”
“And you use it sometimes?”
“Sometimes.” When the longing became a gnawing in his gut and he just needed to be close. To catch a glimpse of a dark-haired beauty who’d stuck in his mind and heart like the chorus of a favorite song, popping up, reverberating around and around until he could think of nothing else.
And when that happened, nothing helped. Not work or other women or the dangerous speed of the Harley on a wide-open road.
Those were the times when he came here. When he tortured himself even more by being so close—a mere half-hour drive from Grazer’s Corners—especially knowing he couldn’t make a move to seek her out, to touch her...to hope.
The episodes didn’t happen often. The agony of wanting this woman and being unable to have her was enough to last for a good long while.
So he’d kept himself busy, determined to make his security business—and his name—so successful, no one would ever dare to close a door in his face again.
And he’d done that, in spades; become a force to be reckoned with. Hell, he could buy that fancy country club Grazer’s Corners was so proud of and not even make a dent in his bank account.
But his pride was a lot bigger than he’d thought. He didn’t want to win Jordan by default. He wanted her to care. About him, the man. So he kept his mouth shut and let her think he was still the same old Tanner Caldwell, merely eking out a living on a scale one would expect of a high-school dropout from the wrong side of the tracks.
When the glassware was in danger of being worn
away by the running water, he reached over and shut off the tap, then passed her a dish towel.
He noticed the faraway look in her eyes and jammed his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to soothe.
“How long do you think I’ll need to stay here?” she asked.
“Could be a day or a week. Depends on what we can find out.”
“I’m worried about my horses.”
“Didn’t you make arrangements for someone to take over while you were honeymooning?”
She shrugged. “I told you, we’d only planned to be gone a couple of days. Daddy was going to take care of feeding them. But they need exercise.”
“You don’t have stable hands?”
“I’ve got a blacksmith and a vet. And a part-time trainer who helps out. I told him to take a vacation.”
“Why? Seems you’d need him there more than ever while you’re gone.”
“I don’t trust anyone with Bleu when I’m not around.”
“Bleu?”
“My stallion.”
He hid a smile. “Haven’t learned the art of delegating, hmm?”
“Oh, I know how. I just choose not to do it. Experience has taught me that no one cares the way I do. If one of the horses comes up with swollen fetlocks, I’ll make sure he’s all the way healed before he’s run. Outsiders aren’t as patient. They get around champions and can’t resist seeing what they’re made of.”
He frowned at the fierceness of her tone. “You’ve had a handler damage one of your horses?”
“More than damage.” She twisted the dish towel into a knot. “The mare died.”
“Oh, man. That’s tough.”
“It was. Dawn’s Lady had special needs. The vet said her dying was inevitable, but I don’t believe it. They called it ‘sudden death syndrome.”’
Jordan shook her head, the memory still sharp and stinging, even after all these years. “She had a slight heart irregularity, but we were controlling it. Until a flunky stable hand with too much testosterone and not enough brains got some wild idea that it’d be okay to run her flat out. Granted, in her day, Dawn’s Lady was a prizewinner, from Saratoga to the Kentucky Derby. But she wasn’t strong enough for that vigorous pace anymore.”
She folded her arms around her waist. “When I found her lying in the stall I thought she was asleep.” Her tone softened with raw emotion. “But she was gone. Since then, I’m very territorial about my horses and stables.”
“That’s a big responsibility to take on alone. Especially with the work you do in your father’s offices.”
Surprise stole her voice for a moment. “How did you know I work there?”
Where before his gaze had been steady, now it shied away. He looked as though he’d like to snatch the words back.
“Somebody once mentioned it,” he said. “I assumed you were still at it.”
Jordan wondered if he’d been keeping tabs on her. But why? She dismissed the notion as wishful thinking. “Part-time, yes. But my main income comes from the board of other people’s horses. Someday the breeding’s going to pay off, though. Bleu has top-notch bloodlines. He’ll sire winners.” She stopped, realizing she’d gotten wound up about her favorite subject. Tanner looked interested enough—his eyes weren’t glazed over in boredom like Randall’s had a tendency to do when she waxed on about her animals—but she felt like a chatterbox.
“Sorry, I get carried away when it comes to my horses.”
“No need to apologize. I like horses. Mr. B.’s got an impressive stable. The two of you would get along great.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. How about Russell—”
“Randall.”
“Whatever. He share your love of champions?”
She rolled her eyes. “From a distance. He’s allergic to anything with fur.”
His dark brow arched. “A statement like that gets me to wondering, Blackie.”
“About what?”
“Why you’d want to hitch up with a guy who doesn’t share your interests, your goals.”
She tried not to flinch, tried to push the doubts to the back of her mind. She’d made a promise, and once given, her word was gold.
Besides, Randall was a respected man in the community. When every other financial institution around refused even to consider her father’s loan application, Randall had come through.
Or would come through.
Once they were married, once their family names were linked, the powers that be would see the paperwork in a different light.
And her father was desperately counting on that loan. If he didn’t get his hands on a sizable chunk of money soon, they’d lose the estate—and her stables along with it.
After all Maynard had done for her over the years, had given her, she owed him more than a slap in the face.
She owed it to him to keep her promise.
To marry Randall.
As usual, a weight of dread settled in her stomach. Oh, she cared for her fiancé, but there was a spark missing, a fire she’d always thought she’d feel toward the man she chose to wake up beside every morning for the rest of her life.
And sharing, she realized, her brows pulling together. She was happiest when mucking out a stall or hosing down a well-exercised horse. Randall hated to get his hands dirty.
But he had other qualities, she told herself. He treated her like a lady, had a great laugh, was attentive. And he was in love with her—not just her name.
It aggravated her that she’d allowed Tanner to stir up her doubts.
She shoved her hair off her face, deciding she was simply overwrought. Understandable after being manhandled and nearly snatched off the church steps by two strangers.
“Randall’s a good man.”
“There’s a saying about the character of people who don’t like animals.”
“I never said he didn’t like animals,” she defended. “He’s allergic to them. That’s not something he’s chosen.”
“Just an observation, duchess. No need to get snippy.”
“You’d be snippy, too, if you were worried sick over a church full of disappointed guests and a stable of horses depending on someone for care—”
“And a bridegroom left in the dark,” he reminded.
She squared her shoulders, met the amused sparkle in his ginger eyes, tossed the challenge right back at him. “I’d have gotten to that if you hadn’t interrupted.”
He shook his head and took the dish towel from her hands before she ended up shredding the thing. “I could almost feel sorry for good old Randall.”
When he left it at that, she curled her fingers into her palms, feeling bereft without something to hold on to. Reaching for Tanner wasn’t an option. “I’m sure you intend to clarify that—because I assure you, Randall isn’t a man who inspires pity.”
“He does when he’s third or lower on your list of worries.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous. Of course, he’s my main concern.” She’d have to stay on her toes around Tanner Caldwell. This bad boy with long hair and killer dimples didn’t miss a thing. “He’s probably beside himself wondering what’s going on. I imagine he’s already contacted the FBI.”
“I think there’s a twenty-four-hour delay before they’ll get involved.”
“Not when there were witnesses.”
“You got on my bike of your own free will, Blackie. Besides, I didn’t hear any talk of the feds being called in to look for Katie.”
The way he said Kate’s name made her pause. “Did you know Kate Bingham?”
“In school. She was a year ahead of me. Always focused and determined, a five-foot-two dynamo. I bet she makes a hell of a principal. Little surprised about the sheriff title, though.”
“You’ve learned an awful lot for just breezing into town.” There was no call for her to feel the zing of jealousy. Kate was spoken for. She and Moose Harmon had been sweethearts for years. Though Jordan had never witnessed a display of overt heat between the couple, she
’d expected—as had the whole town—that the two would marry.
Just as the town had expected Jordan to many Randall.
“Gatlin’s was buzzing with gossip,” he said. “Shoot-outs at weddings, Brockner being shoved into early retirement and taking off in a snit to dork around with his flowers, the school principal getting railroaded into the position of sheriff.” Twin dimples appeared in his cheeks. “The general consensus is a feisty photographer should have been the one to run for the job. Seems she’s got a dead-eye aim with film canisters.”
Jordan grinned. “That’d be Charity Arden.”
“Ah, Bud Arden’s sister. Local kids still sneaking out to their farm to get the pigs drunk?”
“Yes.” She controlled a giggle. “And I think that’s just awful!”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got more awful things to worry about right now. Like keeping you out of the hands of some seriously determined kidnappers.”
The statement snatched away her mirth. “You don’t think they’ll give up?”
“Not according to what I heard last night... and saw today.” He pulled the ransom note out of his pocket, rubbing the paper between his blunt fingers. “Makes you wonder about Grazer’s Corners. Bunch of nuts infiltrating. And I don’t mean the almond trees.”
Chapter Five
Tanner saw her eyes grow worried again, and regretted that he’d thrown the stark reminder at her. Even with the heels snapped off her shoes, she was still a fairly tall woman. The smooth definition of feminine muscles in her arms told him she was used to physical work. By her own admission, she preferred to do things herself, rather than rely on others.
So why was he feeling so protective? Human nature, he told himself. Aside from the emotions he had tied up in Jordan Grazer, it was in his blood to protect. He’d do it for anyone.
“I should call home,” she said.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“But Daddy will be worried sick.”
Once again, her concern was for someone other than her fiancé. He filed that information away, decided not to bring it to her attention. “I’d rather he worry and you be safe, instead of turning that worry into something real and dangerous. We’re a step ahead if we’re just looking for kidnappers. If we had to add you to the official Missing list, the stakes would be more dicey.”
