by Jeanne Allan
Luke had insisted her small car wasn’t up to ranch living. She’d be a virtual prisoner for three weeks. An eternity.
“I’d ask if you ever got around to skiing Winter Park, but I’m sure you avoided this area like the plague,” he said.
Her jaw stayed locked. Huge metallic snowflakes hung from light poles along the main street of the ski town. Luke knew she’d planned to go skiing with friends last year the weekend after he’d played hero. He also knew she’d sent regrets. She’d long ago lost track of how many times she’d cursed herself for that particular decision. And others. If only she hadn’t been in the stock barn at that particular moment. If she hadn’t stopped to talk to the little girl...
In Fraser, red-and-white bands wrapped the light poles to resemble candy canes. She’d heard the small town was the icebox of the U.S. No doubt Luke lived in an uninsulated, beat-up old house trailer. J.J. burrowed deeper into her down coat.
“If you’re cold, O’Brien, I can turn on the heater.”
She didn’t bother to acknowledge his concession to the loser. He’d only made it to point out the sissy little woman couldn’t take the cold. Unlike tough and macho Luke Remington. Besides, he probably needed the few cents he might save by not running the heater.
A sign to her right said they were ascending Willow Creek Pass. An occasional pickup or sport-utility vehicle passed from the other direction. No squirrels or other small animals scurried beside the road. No birds flew among the tall pines. A sign welcomed them to North Park. J.J. snorted under her breath. Welcome to three weeks of hell. Only colder. Much colder.
The pickup crested a hill, and North Park spread out below them, bathed in afternoon light. Mountains, intensely white with cobalt blue trees, surrounded the large, flat valley and threw blue shadows on the snow. Clouds sailed across the sky shading patches of the park’s windswept snow. Groups of cattle dotted the white landscape. The disconnected blades of a windmill spun helplessly in the wind.
“Alexander expects you to sleep with me,” Luke said in a conversational voice, turning the pickup off the main road.
The outrageous comment shocked J.J. from her silence. Jerking her head around, she stared at him. “What did you say?” A pickup passed, the occupants waving at Luke.
He waved back. “You heard me. When the three of us had dinner you absolutely refused to meet my terms. Then yesterday, you called me and agreed. It took me awhile to figure out why. Alexander thinks you’ve still got the hots for me, and he figured if you came up here, we’d sleep together and you’d get me out of your system.”
“I have no intention of going anywhere near your bed, and if that’s what you’re planning, you can pull over right now, and I’ll hitchhike back to Denver.”
“He didn’t apply pressure to get you to come?”
“Burton is a well-known, widely respected lawyer. One day he’ll be appointed to the bench. He doesn’t need me involving him in an unsavory divorce action.” Burton had never even hinted at such a thing, but she had no intention of telling Luke the truth.
“I can’t see Alexander worrying about the effect his wife’s divorce would have on his career. I’d have guessed he’d demand to be judged on his record.”
“I didn’t say Burton was worried. I came because...” If coming up here set Burton’s mind at ease, she’d do it. Burton’s voiced concerns about her first marriage flooded her memory. She wondered if Luke was right. Had Burton erroneously labeled what he thought he’d sensed between Luke and J.J. as sexual tension? If so, he was wrong. The only thing between Luke Remington and J. J. O’Brien was embarrassment and a stupid marriage license. “Call it my wedding gift to him.”
“An intriguing answer, which tells me exactly nothing.”
“I’m here. Why, is none of your darned business.”
Ahead a motley array of buildings hugged the landscape. Luke turned off the secondary road and drove beneath a huge log beam. Words, carved deep in the wood, spelled out Stirling Ranch. Esoteric ranch machinery littered the landscape around the cluster of buildings. JJ. glimpsed a long barn, two small houses and a trailer parked on cement blocks before Luke stopped in front of a two-story white-frame house.
“I probably ought to warn you, we weren’t expecting you.”
“I’m well aware of that.” She didn’t know much about Luke Remington, but one thing she was sure about. He’d been as surprised to see her at the gallery opening as she’d been to see him. “Just as I’m well aware your insistence on my coming here has nothing at all to do with me and everything to do with your childish pride.”
Ignoring her words, Luke reached across and opened the passenger-side door. “You can get out here while I go take care of the horses.”
Before JJ. could object, she found herself standing on a deep, covered porch, which ran the length of the front of the house. And what exactly was she supposed to say to the owners of the ranch when they answered the door? An image of the ranch gate with the owners’ name flashed through her mind. Although tempting, “Mr. and Mrs. Stirling, I presume?” was hardly appropriate. Pressing the doorbell, she heard chimes peal inside.
Draperies in a nearby window parted slightly, then the door opened a couple of inches and a young, heavily made-up, female face peered out at JJ. “Yes?”
“I, uh, Luke told me to come here. He’s doing something with the horses.”
The woman twisted a dark brown ponytail around her finger. “I didn’t see Luke drive up.” Her gaze searched behind J.J.
Looking for Luke? Or for some sign from the heavens that J.J. belonged on the porch? J.J. headed for a wellworn bench on the porch. “I can wait here.”
“What?” The woman looked at J.J. as if she’d forgotten her. “It’s cold out.” She opened the door wider and stepped back.
JJ. took the opened door as invitation to enter. “Thank you. I’m sorry to intrude. I’m J. J. O’Brien.” She had to give some explanation for appearing at the Stirlings’ front door. Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “Luke’s wife.”
“His wife!” The woman clutched her swollen belly. “Ethel never told me Luke was married.”
“Ethel probably didn’t know,” JJ. said, too stunned to know what she was saying. A horrible suspicion turned her stomach as she looked at the slender, smallboned pregnant, woman leaning against the closed front door. J.J. doubted the girl was seventeen years of age. A baby about to have a baby.
“Do I have to leave?” Brown eyes brimmed with fear and panic. “Luke said I could stay.”
J.J. had thought when Luke warned her he hadn’t expected her, he’d meant his trailer was dusty or had dirty clothes laying around. Instead he’d cruelly dumped her off to discover his pregnant girlfriend. He’d done it because she’d told him she intended to marry Burton after the divorce. Luke must have laughed himself silly when he heard she hadn’t slept with Burton. Fury boiled over J.J. “You can stay.”
The woman gave J.J. an uncertain smile. “I’m Birdie. You sure you don’t mind me being here?”
“I’m sure.” This child wasn’t responsible for Luke’s actions. An unexpected sadness replaced her anger. Whatever good memories J.J. had had of her short, foolish marriage were now vilely tainted. Her eyesight blurry, J.J. blindly turned on her heel to leave. She took one quick step before slamming into a solid mass.
“Whoa, O’Brien. Where’s the fire? Where’re you headed?”
Strong arms held her against a masculine bulk, her nose pressed into the cold, rough surface of a heavy coat. For a millisecond, J.J. felt safe and secure; then she remembered, and struggled to break free, her anger rekindled. “Back to Denver.”
Luke let her move away, but he kept hold of her arms. “What’s going on?”
“I can only guess what’s going on now, but apparently quite a lot has gone on.” J.J. jerked her head behind her.
“Hi, Birdie,” Luke said. “I didn’t see you standing there. Where’s Ethel?”
“Her sister’s husband up
in Wyoming had a heart attack last night, and she went up this morning to help. I was starting dinner when this lady came in. I didn’t know you was married,” Birdie added plaintively.
“Damn. When’s Ethel coming back? Why didn’t she call me?”
“She tried. You’d left. She put a note on your desk.”
Luke led J.J. down a short hall on the left to a room that obviously served as an office. Inside he shut the door. “We’ll. talk as soon as I’ve read Ethel’s note.” Removing his coat and tossing his wide-brimmed hat on one of the elk antlers hanging on the wall, he picked up a white sheet of paper from the surface of a scarred old dining-room table. “Sit.” He pointed to an age-worn brown tweed sofa.
J.J. sat. Not because Luke told her to, but because she had a few things to say to Luke Remington before she left. While Luke read the letter, J.J. looked around the room. Piles of papers, magazines and books lay helterskelter on almost every flat surface. A computer, telephone, small television, a stack of newspapers, basket of mail and a heavy mug filled with pencils and pens vied for space on the table. Windows on Luke’s right faced ranch buildings backed by distant mountains.
Luke dropped the letter and walked around the table to lean a hip on the dark wood. He loomed over J.J. “Okay, O’Brien. I know the house isn’t up to your sophisticated standards, but that’s hardly cause to panic. I thought even you would last longer than five minutes.”
“Panic!” She took a deep breath. Screeching at Luke might give him the impression she cared. Which she definitely did not. “I was not panicking. As soon as I saw Birdie I realized I didn’t need to stay three weeks.” Unable to stop herself, J.J. blurted out, “Luke, she’s just a kid.”
“Who, Birdie? Seventeen or eighteen, I guess. What’s Birdie or how old she is have to do with you leaving?”
JJ. struggled to control her sagging jaw. “I married you without knowing enough about you,” she said slowly, “but I thought I knew what kind of man you were.” She hauled herself out of the chair, her muscles scarcely obeying her brain’s command. “I was wrong.”
Luke beat her to the office door. “Where do you think you’re going? We have a deal, remember?” His outstretched arm held the door firmly shut.
“Not anymore.” Luke Remington meant no more to her than she obviously had meant to him. J.J. didn’t need to stay three weeks or even three minutes to know her short, intense infatuation for Luke had been a terrible mistake. Once Burton heard about Birdie, he’d agree. There was no way J.J. could love a deceitful, immoral tomcat. She wondered how many other women he’d slept with since their ill-considered marriage. “You fight this divorce and try to drag my name through the newspapers, and I’ll destroy you. Our impulsive marriage was foolish and stupid, but your blackmail threats mean nothing now I know about Birdie.”
“Know what about Birdie?”
“She’s pregnant,” J.J. hissed furiously.
“I know she’s pregnant. I’m not blind.” Halfway through the last word, Luke burst out laughing. “You think, me and Birdie? I’m practically old enough to be her father.”
“Exactly.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with people of low moral character, lawyer lady.” Luke shifted, bracing himself with his hands pressed against the door on either side of J.J.. “Based on absolutely no evidence, you leaped to the crazy conclusion I’m the father of Birdie’s baby. Why is that, O’Brien? Don’t tell me you suffered a jealous fit at the thought of someone else sharing my bed.”
J.J. didn’t like his teasing conjecture any better than she liked his hard body crowding her against the door or the way his voice dropped seductively. She positively despised the sudden weakening in her knees. It wasn’t her knees that were weak; it was her brain. “If you’re not the father of the baby, why is Birdie so afraid I won’t let her stay?”
Luke ran his hands up J.J.’s arms and across her shoulders. “Birdie’s a timid little thing.” One hand encircled her neck, his thumb resting against the pulse at the base of her throat. “She’s been staying at Ethel’s place and helping out around here. She’s probably worried you’ll change how things are run.”
“I won’t be here long enough to change anything.”
“I never slept with Birdie, and you’ll be staying three weeks.” Luke captured her chin with his hand, spreading his fingers over her left cheek. “Disappointed?”
The heat from his hand penetrated her skin, spread. throughout her body and then coalesced deep within her. J.J. tried to meld into the solid wood door at her back. A year had passed, everything had changed, yet nothing had changed. A simple touch and this thing between them, this insane infatuation, immediately burst into renewed life. She wanted nothing to do with it or with Luke. He’d asked her something. “Disappointed? To learn you didn’t sleep with a child?”
Luke shook his head. “At losing your excuse for running away.”
“I wasn’t running away.”
His fingers tightened on her face. “You’re afraid. I can read it in your eyes. They’re greener.”
“The color of my eyes has nothing to do with fear. They change color according to what I’m wearing.”
A slow, sexy smile curved Luke’s lips. “You must be wearing green underwear. The rest of the stuff you’re wearing wouldn’t turn anything but someone’s stomach.”
He’d teased her before about her clothing. Her working clothes. Not her underwear. He’d never laughed at her underwear. Gleaming hazel eyes told her she wasn’t the only one remembering. Her skin grew hot, her breathing shallow. It was happening again. Just like the first time. He was nothing but a bunch of parts, she told herself desperately. Squinty eyes, black eyelashes too long and thick for a man, missed whiskers in the slight cleft in his chin, a stubborn jawline, weather-tanned skin, dark brown hair flopping into his face... A mouth he’d used to kiss her stupid.
J.J. pressed her palms against the door behind her and stared at the faded black shirt inches from her beige coat. She’d come to prove her foolish infatuation for Luke Remington had been a momentary aberration. She would prove it. Determinedly she met his gaze. “We need a few ground rules if I’m going to stay here three weeks, and the first rule is—”
“The first rule is, I make the rules.”
“The first rule is, you don’t touch me.”
“I like touching you.” Luke slid his hand around to her nape, his fingers weaving upward through her short hair. “You used to like me touching you. Are you telling me that’s changed, O’Brien?”
“We’re getting divorced,” she half whispered. “I’m going to marry someone else.”
A dark slash of eyebrow rose quizzically. “Alexander? He’s already having second thoughts. He knows he’s the wrong man for you.” Luke lowered his head.
His hands held her head captive, but she knew if she objected, he’d release her. This time. Better to let him kiss her. Once he had, he’d realize his kisses meant nothing to her. He wouldn’t kiss her again.
His mouth closed firmly over hers. If she’d ever forgotten his kisses, her lips remembered. And parted at the memory. Luke edged closer, his body barely touching hers. Layers of clothing, including her down coat, separated them, yet J.J. felt every beat of his heart, every breath taken into his lungs.
Somehow he knew she was burning up, because, without lifting his mouth, he peeled her coat from her shoulders and arms. When the bulky garment caught between her hips and the door, Luke tugged her closer. Her breasts tingled and she leaned into him, locking her arms around his neck. They’d always fit perfectly together in spite of his six-inch height advantage. The coat slid slowly past her hips, falling to the floor with a whisper.
Luke’s hands trailed slowly down the same path, stopping to cup the fullness of her hips. Then he gave her bottom a quick squeeze, lifted his head and took one step backward. “I’ve wanted to do that from the second I saw you the other night at the art gallery.”
“Pinch me?” asked JJ. in a shakin
g voice. Cold air filled the space between them. She couldn’t meet his eyes. In the V of his shirt his throat bore vestiges of a fading summer tan.
“Kiss you.” Luke laughed softly. “That wasn’t a pinch. I was making myself quit before I swept everything off the table and carried you over there to see if you were wearing green underwear.”
- Heated longing swirled around J.J., then disappeared as if it were a fast-moving storm. He’d kissed her; she’d survived. “All right. You kissed me.”
“We kissed.”
“We kissed,” she agreed, willing to concede one small point. “I’ll even admit I liked kissing you, but that doesn’t change anything. Marriage is about love, not kissing. Love doesn’t mean doing irresponsible things like marrying a man days after you meet him. All we thought about was the physical pleasure we took from each other. I didn’t touch you, kiss you, make, uh—”
“Make love,” Luke said deliberately.
“All right, for lack of a better phase. I didn’t make love with you to please you. I did it for me. We only cared about satisfying our own selfish needs, getting the other into bed. People can’t spend their whole marriage in bed.”
“We weren’t always in bed.”
J.J.’s face flamed as Luke’s words conjured up images of a woman as different from her normal, practical self as a woman could be. He didn’t know the real J. J. O’Brien. With Luke she’d been a playful, inventive, hedonistic, sensual woman. An impulsive woman. A woman who’d tumbled into bed with a perfect stranger. She tried to explain. “We never talked about the future. I don’t know anything about your family, where you grew up, your hopes, your dreams. You know nothing about who I am.”
“Hell, O’Brien, we lived together less than a week. Hardly time to relate our life histories.”
