by Cait London
Harmony ignored the trembling of her fingers. She blinked in surprise, experiencing a wild urge to lock her fingers around his muscled neck and squeeze slowly. “I was consoling you, you jerk. Not making a move on you,” she stated sharply.
“Uh-huh.” His agreement lacked sincerity. “You call it what you want, and I’ll call it something else. I never asked for your sympathy.”
While Harmony dealt with her surprising anger, Jonah continued, “Put the doll back in the dresser and leave it alone. Come on, Shrimp. Let’s leave the lady to ignite, because that’s what she surely looks like she’s going to do in another minute. When you settle down, Miss Harmony, open the door. You’ll need the heat from the other room. I won’t bother your pretty little warm body.”
“Ugh,” she muttered flatly, curling her fingers into fists. “Ugh. You speak, I obey.”
He frowned. “What’s that?”
“Just a bit of my Christmas cheer shattering under your boots.”
Shrimp plopped to the floor and rested her muzzle on her front paws. She looked woefully up at her master as though he’d failed the simplest test. Jonah frowned at the dog, and then the bedroom door closed quietly behind him.
A second later, Harmony placed her fingers over her mouth to quiet a surprised yelp. She had just discovered that she had hopped onto the old creaking bed and had hurled both pillows at the closed door.
~**~
The lady was hopping mad.
Jonah listened to the silence of his house now that Harmony’s bedsprings had stopped squeaking. He’d had enough experience to recognize the sound of a restless body flip-flopping on the old bed. He eased from his rocking chair and opened the bedroom door to allow the heat to enter the room. She might be too stubborn, but he wouldn’t want to explain her pneumonia to Pax.
His hand tightened on the doorknob before he forced his fingers to slide away. Jonah inhaled slowly, catching a drift of her fragrance. He allowed himself to circle it, test the unfamiliar scent.
That warm, soft, woman scent.
He stood watching the flames in the stove’s small window. The firelight slid across the linoleum to touch his bare feet. Maggie, his wife, had had cold feet. Maybe all women did.
What did he know about other women? Maggie had been all he’d wanted after his marriage; before their love he’d floundered once or twice.
Harmony moved gracefully, like a dancer, flowing across the floor rather than walking. Her hands moved like swaying willows in the gentle wind, yet she was a strong woman, the delicate muscles moving beneath her sweater and jeans.
The shadows of the bedroom called to him. When Harmony was angry, the tiger woman leapt in her. Then she was soft, very soft, hurling herself into his arms with huge, tearful golden eyes.
When her emotions ran to caring, that generous rosebud mouth fit her face, the softness gently merging.
Jonah stroked his chin. He remembered holding her— all those wild, springy curls were fragrant and silky-soft as he had rested his chin on the top of her head.
He moved from her flowery, exotic scents into the living room. He shook his head, disliking the softening running in him now, the longing for Christmas as it was when Grace laughed. He dislodged and shucked free of the troublesome woman as he removed his outer clothing down to his shorts.
Inhaling impatiently, Jonah eased onto the sagging, uncomfortable couch. He preferred the squeaking, lumpy affair to a bed because it kept him from sleeping.
His eyes were dry, gritty from the need for sleep, yet Jonah stared at the firelight dancing on the ceiling. When a man clung to sanity by his fingertips, sleep could make him vulnerable to dreams. He inhaled sharply as he remembered the cupids he’d imagined were tumbling, laughing, rolling on his knee and flying around his hat.
The woman made cupids and that had probably set him off, he reasoned. That and the gleaming gold cupid resting over her breasts. If he could lay his head on those soft round shapes, he could sleep and rest. Could a woman be erotic and sweet? A tiger and a rosebud?
“I’m just a brick shy of a full load,” Jonah muttered, to hear the reassuring sound of his own voice and to silence the soft sigh of the sleeping woman in the next room. “Jingle bells and cupids. Now that’s a fine mix for a crazy cowboy.”
A woman’s scent, the memory of soft kisses and a warm curved, female body disturbed him. The taste of her lingered on his lips. He’d wanted to dive into her softness, to wallow in Miss Harmony Davis.
The couch creaked as he flipped a heavy quilt over himself. When a woman tasted like sweet honey, her lips pushing shyly against his, a man naturally got ideas.
There was something else. She disturbed his mind and it was tilted enough already. For a moment when she held him, Jonah’s taut nerves eased and he sensed a homecoming.
Her eyes haunted him— the specks darkening, filling the tawny shade. Or when her temper rose, her eyes became hard and glittering like flashing gold disks. While her lips had tasted sweet, Miss Harmony had a real temper brewing from the set of her jaw and the tender little pulse along her throat. Just for an instant, when Harmony lost her Christmas cheer and glared up at him as though she wanted to launch into him, Jonah felt like smiling.
“Herbs,” he muttered. When did he start thinking about potted chives and parsley on window shelves? The thoughts were peaceful, gentling and Jonah allowed his heavy lids to close. He trusted the elements, the seasons and the hard facts of ranch life, not the disturbing calm he’d felt in her arms, or the restlessness of his thoughts when she was near. Harmony Davis— city woman, cupid maker and jingle bell ringer— could just take her Christmas cheer someplace else.
Jonah leapt to his feet as the dish crashed against the wall. He wasn’t sleeping now, wrapped in his terrifying nightmares and the sound of the child crying.
He pushed his fingers through his hair, his hands gripping his head as another dish smashed against the wall. His heart beat wildly, rapidly, the sound of it galloping across his mind.
The child’s sobs were so aching, held such longing.
He breathed deeply, aching for his daughter. He realized suddenly that he had yelled a curse and that Shrimp had barked.
The woman was looking up at him, her face pale in the mass of long, golden curls, her eyes huge and worried. Bells tinkled as she reached to stroke his cheek, and he caught her scent swirling around him.
“Jonah? It’s Harmony. Jonah, you are dreaming,” she said in a low, soothing voice, her hand opening to rest softly on his cheek.
Jonah brushed the unfamiliar touch aside; he had all he could handle now with the child crying and the dishes smashing.
He shuddered, caught in the vise.
“Jonah?” she asked softly, stepping nearer to him, lifting her hand again to touch his cheek.
“Don’t touch me,” he whispered unevenly, realizing distantly that he had to protect her from the emotional storm within him.
Her fingertips smoothed his temple and her eyes were soft, caring, warm— “You won’t hurt me, Jonah. Shh. Don’t worry.”
“I’m—” How could he tell her he was losing his mind?
“Shh,” she soothed, the bells on her wrist creating a gentle music as she lifted her other hand to smooth his temple.
“You’re—” He wanted to tell her that she was safe. That even in his worst moment, he would not hurt her.
“I know I’m safe with you,” she whispered softly, her fingers creating slow, magic easing of the pain in his mind. “Jonah, you’re unsettled because the New Year always brings memories of those we love. You need rest to deal with what is in you— you need to sleep now. I want you to think of the summer wind moving through the wheat, slowly... slowly. Can you do that?”
Jonah realized his hands had locked in her hair, the soft silky warmth tethering him away from the abyss. He pictured the heavy heads of golden wheat, the wind creating waves like an ocean.
“That’s it,” she encouraged softly. “Waves like an ocean.”
He clung to the gentler images, fighting the rage within him: He had lost a daughter... he had never given her the doll she wanted so much… Where was Grace’s Christmas doll... ? Where was he?
His mind hovered between dreams and reality. His fingers tightened in Harmony’s hair, crushing it desperately…
Harmony. His fingers smoothed the shape of her head now, the curls tethering him gently to her. Harmony was real. Soft. Warm. He allowed himself to wallow in her scent. Flowers. Spring running green across the mountains... Christmas and giving and loving… So sweet... shy... warm...
“Jonah, you have to listen to me,” Harmony said quietly, firmly.
Her body warmed his. He’d been so alone, too cold for too long. His hand found the nape of her neck, stroking it. Soft skin. Soft woman. Gentle, loving heart.
She moved restlessly beneath his touch, the shape of her shoulders firm within the cup of his hands. Harmony was real.
Jonah shook his head, dislodging her fingers, and rage leapt to the doorstep of his mind.
“What are you doing?” he asked roughly, stepping away from her and shuddering with his emotions. She took a step toward him and his hand slashed the air between them, warning her to stay away from him. He didn’t understand what was happening! Who was this woman? Why could her touch calm his mind?
She frowned, her exquisite long fingers smoothing the hair he had just held. Harmony’s eyes were filled with sympathy… He didn’t need anyone’s pity. If he were going over the edge, he would do it by himself.
He looked down her body, his gaze moving over the T-shirt clinging to her breasts before falling to mid thigh, then the long pale length of her legs. Who was she? What did she know? Why did she disturb his thoughts?
Why had dishes smashed against the wall? Why was he chatting mentally with Shrimp? Why? Why? Jonah turned away from the woman, seeking the safety of what he understood: loneliness, quiet... He breathed deeply, painfully. He glanced at the broken dishes, praying that he had dreamed them smashing against the wall.
The pieces lay on the floor, evidence that they had flown against the wall. Had he thrown them in his sleep?
Harmony’s hand touched his back, tethering him to a tenuous calm. He shrugged it away, desperate for answers.
“I know. You’re frightened, fearing you are losing your mind. But those dishes really did hit the wall and, Jonah, you did not throw them in your sleep,” Harmony stated softly behind him. “Jonah, your subconscious and your conscious mind are very troubled. You may have broken those dishes by... by movement of objects without physical contact. It’s called psychokinesis.”
Taking a deep breath, Harmony continued softly, “Jonah, please listen carefully. I believe you have psychic powers.”
“Powers?” He rubbed his temples impatiently. Why had Harmony’s touch eased the tempest within his head?
“You sense things and there are images in your mind. If you concentrate, you could develop your psychic powers. Jonah, I think you have ESP, extrasensory perception,” she repeated slowly.
Jonah tossed away her statement, then was slowly drawn back to it. “Psychic? ESP? Sounds better than crazy, lady.”
Then with an oh-hell attitude, Jonah said tightly, “You want to know why I’m nuts, lady? It’s called guilt. My wife died when our daughter, Grace, was born. That was bad enough. Then Grace died in a blizzard five years ago. She was just eight. I never had a chance to give her the doll she wanted. Maybe if I would have given it to her that night, she would have—”
He swallowed, emotion tightening his throat. “Maybe Grace would have stayed inside tie pickup, played with her doll… and she’d be thirteen and alive right now.”
After running his shaking hands through his hair, Jonah turned to look at Harmony. Layers of control were ripping away from him, his painful scars giving way to fear. For a man who rarely talked, Jonah heard himself asking, “You want to know about powers, Harmony— Miss Cupid Maker, Miss By-Gosh, Isn’t Christmas Great? For the last six months, I can hear a child cry in my mind!”
Jonah waited for her reaction and eased back from her hand. He didn’t want her to touch him. “Well? Tell me I’m crazy. Or run off to your room and lock the door. Go on. Do it. Do anything but cut that extrasensory perception bull.”
Harmony inhaled slowly and squared her shoulders. “I understand your pain. But your anger and frustration is causing the dishes to fly through the air. I know, Jonah, because I have powers, too. It was painful discovering that I was so different from the other children. From other teenagers.”
He stared at her in disbelief.
Jonah, be kind to yourself. He shook his head, dislodging the thought that had slipped into his mind.
Swami, mystic bunk, he thought instantly and watched Harmony frown slowly.
I refuse to be angry with you. I understand your grief and your fears...
He slashed away the sense of kindness and sympathy with a curse. Her hands curled into tight fists as her frown deepened. “If you say that again, Jonah Fargo, I may just do something I’ll probably regret.”
“Listen here, little sweetheart, I’ve regretted many things, but telling you to keep your malarkey to yourself isn’t one of them.”
“‘Little sweetheart’?” she repeated in an uneven, ominous tone.
“Little darlin’,” Jonah corrected in a low drawl. The arch of his eyebrow and the slow, mocking curve of his lips dared her.
~**~
Chapter Three
She wouldn’t let him get to her— she wouldn’t— Harmony promised just before she cast cupids all over Jonah’s tall, rigid body.
She pictured the cherubs tugging at his worn boxer shorts and skidding down his broad bare shoulders. She sent one sliding down his nose; she studied his body, taut, muscled stomach, a lithe, lean man, with muscles toned by hard work, angular—
Harmony stiffened when she discovered that she wanted to nestle against him.
His eyes widened slowly and Jonah straightened. She couldn’t help smiling grimly at his surprised expression, the fierce glowering warlord surrounded by fluttering little pink cherubs.
He closed his eyes and luscious June instantly popped into Harmony’s mind. “Jonah, sex with June won’t help. Don’t be brick-minded. You have emerging powers, and I am getting a bit angry with your refusal to consider psychic existence,” she warned him. “At least, consider the possibility.”
He’d sealed her away from his thoughts, but she tensed as his smoldering gaze took in her body. Suddenly reminded that all she wore was Jonah’s T-shirt and her briefs, Harmony crossed her arms over her chest.
Shrimp hopped up on the couch and looked from Jonah to Harmony. The dog’s ears lifted with keen interest in the shifting tension and mood in the room.
“Mmm,” Jonah was saying appreciatively in a deep, husky, sexy voice as he considered Harmony’s body from head to toe. “Would you like to hug me like you did before?” he invited in a tone that caused Harmony to shiver.
Not that she didn’t know a man’s sensual needs. Not that she hadn’t been married and had experienced lovemaking— to a mild degree. Not that she hadn’t been held closely against a lover.
Harmony took a step backward and jumped when she bumped into the old rocker. It creaked back and forth while she considered Jonah’s expression. It was definitely that of a hungry male sighting down on a desirable woman.
Harmony blinked. Desirable? Her?
Her back met the wall and Jonah moved gracefully, firmly, through the night shadows toward her. He placed his hands on either side of her head, and looked down to study her.
“You kiss sweet,” he said slowly, thoughtfully. “Like a rose dipped in dewdrops.”
She shivered, her breasts bumping gently into his chest. She inhaled instantly, the hard warm surface exciting, stirring her as never before.
Then his hard thigh moved between hers, nudging her softness gently and he said, “Forget that ESP malarkey. There’s no such
thing. I don’t have it and I don’t want it. I believe in what’s real. And that’s you and me and now.”
Jonah’s fingertip stroked her cheek, slowly traced the shape of her lips and slid over her chin. The delicate, sensual pressure trailed to her cupid charm.
“Well?” he asked deeply, sensuously.
She shivered, unable to look away from Jonah’s dark gaze. He wanted her. He wanted to bring her lips and body against his and demand everything. Harmony’s throat tightened, causing her voice to lower huskily. “Well?” she repeated. “Well... what?”
“I haven’t been kissed in a long time,” Jonah returned, his gaze easing from her lips and down her body. “You are one lush lady, Harmony.”
Harmony blinked and straightened, trying on her “lush-lady” and “good-kisser” suit. It didn’t fit. It never had. Her body was tall and strong. She was a bit too broad through her shoulders; her muscles were defined by hard physical work.
Filled with an unfamiliar ache, she refused to consider the round firm shape of her breasts. They weren’t spectacular, pert or unusual. She considered her shape as matronly at best: compact, healthy, with hips and thighs that gathered inches like a magnet gathered iron.
Jonah stood there, simmering in his hungry male juices and waiting to pounce.
She refused to shiver one more time, her body’s needs lurching precariously toward what he offered. The only conclusion she gathered was that Mr. Lonesome for June was making a play for the only woman in his vicinity.
Harmony had never been a substitute player, nor did she intend to be. She blew away the curl that had been bouncing gently against her temple as she tapped her foot. “Because you are standing there in your shorts and I am standing here in your T-shirt does not pave the way for a romantic interlude, Mr. Fargo.”
He leaned to nuzzle her hair gently. Harmony stood very still, her emotions uncertain.
“Who said anything about romance?” he asked softly against her temple. “We’re a little old for that silliness, aren’t we?”
