Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  Jessica snapped, “He’s not protective. He’s obsessive.”

  When they’d been dating, she had always refused to talk about her father. He was intrigued that she would use such strong language now to describe her only parent. Wes studied Jessica intently. “Really? Tell me about it.”

  “When he gets drunk, he calls me Rebecca. That was my mother’s name.”

  Okay. That was creepy.

  She continued, “Once, when he was talking to me like I was her, he told me he’d kill me before he would let me leave him. When I was a little girl, he used to say that she might have died and left him, but that he knew I never would. I used to think it was just his way of telling me he loved me. Now, looking back, it was a bit sinister.”

  Wow. That did go beyond overprotective a little too far. Aloud, he said carefully, “Your father does have a rather...extreme...personality.”

  Jessica snorted loudly enough that Number 19ꞌs head jerked up. She murmured to the cow, “It’s all right, girl. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

  He just shook his head. If Jess wanted to talk to his cows like they understood her, more power to her.

  “My father is big about putting up a good front for the rest of the world. Behind it, he’s an entirely different person, particularly when he’s under a lot of stress or he’s been drinking.”

  “I saw that at work with him. He was all jovial and friendly when anyone else was around. But get alone in an office with him, and more often than not, he was a born-again sonofabitch. Impossible to please. Obsessive about the tiniest details.” Wes added reflectively, “Do you think it’s fear of failure that drives him or something else?”

  Jessica frowned. “I always thought he secretly felt unworthy. Or felt like a fraud. I could never really put my finger on it, but it was as if he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t and was terrified of getting caught.”

  “Rough way to live a life,” Wes commented.

  “Agreed. That’s part of why it was so important for me to clear the air with you. I truly didn’t expect you to forgive me. I have no right to ask for that after what I did. But I wanted you to know why I did it and not obsess over why I turned on you like that. I saw what obsessing has done to my father. It has eaten him up from the inside out.”

  Quiet fell between them as they watched the newborn calf wake and stumble to its feet, still sorting out the whole business of managing four legs. Mama got up immediately and moved into position for the calf to nurse, nudging the little heifer with her nose. Wes smiled. “She’s a good mother. You never know with a first-time mama cow. Sometimes they get the hang of it right away, and every now and then, one doesn’t.”

  “What do you do with the calves whose mothers don’t take care of them?”

  “Bottle feed them. Ideally, you can milk the mother and feed the baby the milk it’s supposed to be getting. If a cow dies or doesn’t make enough milk, I’ll supplement the calf’s diet with milk from another cow or with a commercial milk substitute. But I like to try to get calves real milk as much as possible. If I’m lucky, another cow might have just calved and may accept the orphan calf as her own. I can tell you, it’s a rough, round-the-clock job, though, feeding a newborn calf every two hours.”

  “It sounds like fun.”

  He snorted. “It is until that alarm clock goes off at two in the morning for the fifth or sixth day in a row and you’re so exhausted you can hardly see straight.”

  “Sounds like new motherhood for human women.”

  He shrugged. “Any farmer who has hand-raised a baby animal can sympathize with a new human mother.”

  Jessica murmured, “You’ll make a good father someday.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You want kids?”

  He nodded, a little surprised to be doing so. He’d always assumed that family was a “sometime in the future” thing for him—when his career settled down and wasn’t quite so demanding of his time and mental energy. That, and he hated the idea of leaving a wife and kids at home while he went off to war for months on end.

  “What about you?” he asked Jessica. “Do you want children someday?”

  “I never thought about it much before now, but I guess I do. Assuming I can get it right and not mess it up like my father did.”

  Wow. She’d always been guarded and polite in the past when it came to talking about the general. Had that been because he worked for the guy? Maybe she’d feared that he would tattle to Daddy.

  He turned around with his back to the stall, leaning one hip against the oak boards. “What’s the worst thing your father ever did to you?”

  Jessica stared at him, her eyes wide, as if the question had taken her by surprise. He could practically count the memories scrolling through her mind as her expression changed from one moment to the next. Unfortunately, most of the memories were bad if the look in her eyes was any indication.

  She finally answered, “He didn’t love me when I messed up. Love has always been transactional for him.”

  “That’s pretty esoteric,” he commented.

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t pick a single thing as the worst. Overall, he mistook smothering me for loving me. Any number of my worst memories spring from that.”

  Wes frowned. “I can’t imagine anyone smothering you successfully. It would be like trying to bottle the wind. You have too big and free a spirit to contain for long.”

  She smiled sadly at him. “I wish that were still true.”

  Hearing something like that from her was shocking. Stunned, he replied, “Look, Jess. Don’t let what a low-life jerk tried to do to you snuff out your zest for life. Don’t give him that power over you. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  “My therapist said pretty much the same thing, but he took two months to say it and charged me a fortune.”

  Never, in a million years, would he have guessed he would ever see Jessica Blankenship beaten down emotionally or even depressed. Reluctant sympathy coursed through him.

  He shrugged. “Happiness is a choice. Not always an easy one, but a choice. Choose to be happy and don’t look back. Do things that make you happy. Your whole life is in front of you.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’ve already made a new start and are moving forward. I feel stuck in a giant sinkhole and can’t get out of it. Every time I try to climb out, the sides collapse and I slide right back in.”

  It really bothered him to hear brave, irrepressible Jessica talk like this. Her wildness might be infuriating sometimes, but it was one of her most appealing qualities. “Tell me this. If there was one thing you could do right now—anything at all—that would make you truly happy, what would it be?”

  She answered quickly, without hesitation, “Redecorate your house.”

  A burst of reluctant laughter escaped him. “Man. I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

  She stood up straight. “I’m serious. I’ve actually had dreams about redoing your place. It goes against my interior designer’s religion for anyone to live in a home with so much undeveloped potential.” She warmed to the topic, speaking enthusiastically. “The bones are great. Classic ranch architecture. It just needs a face-lift. It would look so good—”

  She broke off, scowling at his broad grin. “Don’t laugh at me. I’m serious.”

  “I know you are. You always have had a passion for restoring old, broken things.”

  She glared at him. “If you don’t watch out, I’ll restore you, mister.”

  “Ha. I dare you.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew better. Jessica had never been one to turn her back on any kind of dare.

  “Now you’ve done it,” she replied archly. “I’m redoing your house, and then I’m coming after you.”

  Oh, Lord.

  Except, in the midst of his chagrin he noticed something el
se. A tiny sliver of—joy?—had taken root in his soul. What in the world had he just gotten himself into?

  CHAPTER 10

  Plans swirled in her head, stacking one on top of another so quickly Jessica could hardly catalog them all. She needed a notebook—and soon—to start making lists. She hurried back to the house and sat down at Wes’s kitchen table, sketching and imagining in a massive rush of excitement.

  She demanded a measuring tape and drafted Wes to hold the end of it while she measured his house from top to bottom. She’d never been in his bedroom before and stopped cold at the threshold. His bed was as beautifully carved as his front door, with stylized tree branches and leaves covering the whimsically shaped headboard and tall posts. The piece looked as if it belonged in an enchanted fairy glade.

  “Oh, Wes. It’s beautiful.” She ran her fingertips over the delicately carved wood. “I’m going to give you a bedroom worthy of this. It will be amazing.”

  “Don’t go too crazy, eh? I’m not made of money.”

  “Oh, really, Mr. Trust Fund?”

  “I’m not touching that money.”

  “Fine. I’ll behave.” And there was no law saying she couldn’t touch her trust fund, which contained many millions of dollars. Her mother had been one of only two heirs to a massive defense-contracting fortune, and money still poured into her accounts every year from the business. Jessica already gave away money hand over fist to historical preservation societies and to groups that prevented animal abuse, and she still had more money than she knew what to do with.

  Tapping a pencil against her front teeth, she stood in the middle of the otherwise Spartan bedroom and envisioned what the generous space could be. Oh, yes. It would be magnificent.

  “Stop. I can see your mental wheels turning. I just need the basics. A bed. A dresser. A closet. Maybe a chair to sit in by the fireplace.”

  “Let me write those down.” She made a note in her book and nodded to herself. “I have enough to get started on the design. I’ll work on it while I finish up your parents’ hunting cabin and will be ready to start on your place by the time I’m done with that.”

  He shook his head and muttered, “What the hell was I thinking when I asked what would make you happy?”

  She paused in front of him and laid her palm against his cheek. “You’re a good man, Wes Morgan.”

  “And a glutton for punishment, it seems.”

  She just smiled at him. She was going to give him a home worthy of his goodness whether he liked it or not.

  Deep into detailed sketching an hour later at the kitchen table, she was startled when a knock sounded at the front door. Wes leaped up and peered out the window cautiously before opening it to admit a man in a brown uniform and wearing a badge.

  “Jessica, this is my cousin, Joe Westlake. And as you can see by the khaki clown suit and tin star, he’s also the county sheriff.”

  “Always were a jackass, Wes,” Joe retorted cheerfully.

  Jessica rose to greet him and smiled at the way his eyes widened. Most men reacted that way the first time they saw her. But she only cared when Wes’s eyes lit up like that. “How can I help you, Sheriff?”

  “I need you to make an official statement describing what happened to you today. If you don’t mind, I’ll record you telling it to me and have it transcribed. You can read over it and sign it later. Most people find it easier to talk with me than try to write it all out.”

  She nodded and sank onto the sofa while he sat in the armchair. She recounted the events as she remembered them, shuddering in recollection of how terrified she’d been when she’d finally realized someone was trying to kill her.

  The sheriff nodded at the end of her recitation. “That pretty much jibes with the evidence I saw at the scene.” He paused, then asked gently, “Any idea who might want to kill you?”

  Jessica sighed and told the story of her drugging and near miss with being sexually assaulted. This time, she honestly described Wes’s part in rescuing her. She left out the bit where Wes nearly killed the guy. That was Wes’s story to tell or not as he chose.

  Joe looked grim at the end of her recitation. “You were lucky to get away unscathed.”

  “I have Wes to thank for that.”

  Joe glanced up at his cousin. “How come you didn’t tell anybody about this when you got home? Your old man thinks you left the military under a cloud. But you’re a hero, dude.”

  Wes’s blue gaze went as hard and cold as North Sea ice. “I did leave the military under a cloud. What Jessica failed to tell you is that I beat the crap out of the guy who drugged her. I damn near killed him. That’s why I got kicked out of the Corps.”

  She stared at Wes, wide-eyed. Why on earth did he admit that when she’d protected him and left it out?

  Wes’s jaw rippled as if he was clenching it. Hard. As if he’d heard her unspoken question, he muttered, “I hate lies and secrets.”

  His honesty and directness—to his own detriment—were a blatant slap in the face to her. Her gaze shifted to Joe and she asked glumly, “Is there anything else you need to ask me?”

  “I think that’s everything for now. Where will you be staying if I need to get in touch with you again?”

  When she opened her mouth to say that she would be at Runaway Ranch, Wes cut her off. “She’ll be here. Where I can keep an eye on her until you catch whoever shot at her.”

  Joe nodded. “Glad to hear it. No telling if this was a random thing or if the shooter will come after her again.”

  Wes snorted. “I’m not an ex-Marine for nothing. Anyone wants to meddle with Jess, they’re gonna have to go through me.”

  The sheriff left quickly after that, leaving the cabin in silence. Jessica turned to confront Wes. “Why do you want me to stay here with you? You hate my guts. Or at least you do anytime we’re not making love.”

  He pushed a distracted hand through his shaggy hair, standing it up every which way. “Hell if I know.”

  “I can go back to Runaway Ranch and stay there until I’m done remodeling the cabin—”

  “No! The last thing I want is for whatever danger is chasing you to follow you there!”

  She frowned. “But it’s okay if the danger comes here?”

  “It’s just me here. And I can protect myself.”

  “Your dad is ex-military, and the way I hear it, your mom’s as good a shot as he is. Not to mention there are a dozen ranch hands around at any given time, and I imagine most of them can handle a shotgun, too.”

  Wes shook his head stubbornly. “That’s my family. You stay away from them.”

  She knew he only meant to keep the danger she’d attracted away from them, but the words still hurt. He would never admit to having had a relationship with her, and he certainly wouldn’t share that they had smoking-hot sex practically every time they were alone for any period of time.

  Not that it meant anything at the end of the day. She would never be more than an...outlet...to him. He blew off his frustration with her by having sex with her. It was probably a really bad idea to keep aiding and abetting that habit of his. But darned if she could keep her hands off him when he got near her. She craved him like she craved food or water.

  It was probably a really awful idea to stay with him for any length of time. Given their track record, it could only end badly for them.

  But darned if she could bring herself to say no to him.

  * * *

  Wes fed the cows in a bit of a daze. What the hell had he been thinking, insisting that Jessica stay with him? He really was worried about her dragging violence to his parents’ ranch, but he knew as well as she did that it was not the main reason he wanted her here.

  What kind of sick idiot asked the woman who was worst in the world for him to shack up with him? He was a masochist, plain and simple. A dumber-than-dirt one.

  Wh
en he went inside in the gathering dusk, he drew up short at the sight of Jessica in the kitchen serving up plates of sauerkraut and sausage with some sort of green-bean-and-almond sauté on the side. “How did you manage to make something tasty out of the assorted crap in my refrigerator?” he demanded as he sat down to eat with her.

  She shrugged. “It just takes a little creativity and out-of-the-box thinking. I’ve always loved to mess around in a kitchen.”

  “I didn’t know that about you. We always went out to eat.”

  “That’s because you worked long hours and wanted instant food when you got out of the office. I couldn’t plan meals for you because I never knew when my father would unchain you from your desk.”

  Live and learn. She hadn’t known about his art. He hadn’t known about her cooking. He supposed they were even. “This is tasty. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. Maybe tomorrow we could make a run to a grocery store so I can properly stock your kitchen. I’ll meal plan before we go, if you’d like, so I don’t cook anything you hate.”

  He snorted. “After the grub I’ve eaten in the field during military deployments, there’s basically nothing you could make for me that I wouldn’t eat.”

  “Still. What’s your favorite food?”

  He frowned. “I’ve always liked a good steak. But I really like my mother’s beef Stroganoff. It’s an old family recipe.”

  She nodded and looked pleased.

  “Are you going to ask me my favorite color and zodiac sign next?” he asked wryly.

  “Blue and Taurus. I know when your birthday is, Wes.”

  “How did you know blue’s my favorite color?” he asked, surprised.

  “Most of your clothes have blue in them, and the few places where you’ve bothered to decorate in your house have blue in them. And your bathroom towels are blue.”

  He scowled. “I didn’t know I was so transparent.”

  She grinned. “If it would make you feel better, you can think of it as me just being incredibly observant.”

  He smiled back reluctantly in spite of himself. When she wasn’t being a total brat, she’d always been pretty good company. Although in her defense, she hadn’t behaved rotten once since she’d come to Montana.