by Janice Olson
He took a drag on his cigarette, pulling it deep into his lungs, allowing the fire to dissipate before releasing the smoke.
A good thing O’Connell showed up when he did. Otherwise the guy would have caught him with Goldilocks in his arms, pulling her up close, smelling her perfume, her warm body, before scarring her within an inch of her life.
More expletives filled the night air. If he wasn’t careful, this woman could become an obsession. He didn’t dare give vent to his wants. This was a job, nothing more.
Careful to stay in the black shadows and picking the well-known path parallel to the house, he headed toward the side gate of the estate. His eyes darted back and forth to the house and around the grounds.
Nah, that wouldn’t have been good if O’Connell caught me … not good for any of them. Would’ve caused more problems than bargained for. BJ … a pleasure. O’Connell … trouble.
Sloppy work tonight. And that wasn’t like him. But he knew why. Goldilocks. She was definitely a distraction. Otherwise, O’Connell couldn’t have slipped up on him so easily.
This won’t happen again. His attraction to the woman wouldn’t divert him from his purpose. She’d be alone next time. He’d make for certain. Couldn’t afford his cover blown. Just a little more time watching her, toying with her, then he’d get it over with.
One quick glance around, he slid through the gate where he’d removed the lock. The gate closed without a sound. When he knew no one could hear him, he whistled a tune. The walk down the hill didn’t take any time before he angled off the road onto the dirt path. Hidden behind tall shrubs and trees he climbed into his truck.
When the engine purred to life, he thought of his prey and smiled.
Chapter 31
Martha, thanks for the breakfast.”
The housekeeper and Sidney stopped talking and turned to look at BJ as she entered the kitchen.
“You’re welcome. Is there something special you’d like for lunch?”
“No. You won’t need to fix lunch or supper for me tonight. I won’t be back until quite late.”
“Would you like to take a lunch with you? I have a cooler and ice packs. I could send along some cold drinks and water too.” Martha looked at her expectantly.
“That would be nice, but don’t make a big fuss. I’ll gather my things then pick up the cooler before I leave. Can you have it ready in about fifteen minutes?”
“Certainly.” Martha began bustling around the kitchen, gathering things together.
Sidney set down his cup on the breakfast bar and moved off the stool. “I’ll pull your car around front.” He retrieved the extra set of keys from the drawer. “May I help you carry out your equipment?”
“That would be great. Meet me in my studio … say five minutes?”
“Will do.”
BJ rushed upstairs filled her backpack with what she needed. When she reached her studio, Sidney was there waiting.
“Oh, sorry to keep you. It won’t take me long to gather my equipment.”
“Don’t rush on my account. May I?” Sidney gestured at her photos and paintings on the walls and tables.
“Help yourself.”
“You do very nice work.”
“Thank you. Some of those photos you might recognize. I took them the first day I moved into The Rose. And those just last night.” She pointed over at the table.
“Yes, I do recognize this one of the lake. And this is off the path a bit by the weeping willow. I go there often.” He continued his perusal of her photos and the studio.
“The grounds are a great place to photograph. Especially when you get off the manicured trails.” BJ shoved her camera in the case. “But today I’m going to branch out a bit. Check out the countryside and see what I can find of interest.”
She grabbed extra batteries and memory chips, stuffed them into the side pockets of her camera bag before looking about the room for anything she might have missed.
Sidney stood by her desk, his fingers trailing over the top of her wooden music box, sliding over the smoother lacquered surface.
“Unusual, isn’t it? I’ve always loved the color. So different.”
Sidney flushed, dropped his hand to his side, then stepped away as though he’d been caught. “I’m sorry. I—”
“That’s all right. I don’t mind.” BJ moved over by him.
“It’s unusual. I don’t mean to be impertinent, but do you mind if I ask you where you got the box?”
“The box, along with this locket—” Her fingers pulled out the gold chain hanging around her neck from beneath her shirt. “—were left on the orphanage steps, along with me. Probably came from a relative, or at least that’s what I was told by the ones at Heritage House.” BJ shrugged, tucking heart-shaped necklace back inside her shirt, then reached past Sidney to open the lid.
Music filled the room with To Dream the Impossible Dream. “The tune is an old one, but it’s one of my favorites.” She smiled up at Sidney and found an odd, almost painful expression, very near one of shock.
“Is there something wrong? Are you feeling ill?” BJ touched his arm. The tune continued to play in the background but began to wind down, getting slower and slower.
Sidney, in a stupor, shook his head. When he glanced at her, he smiled and looked normal again. “No. I’m quite well. Thank you.”
“Why don’t you sit down for a moment? I can take these things to the car.” BJ motioned to the overstuffed chair in the corner by the window, the one she liked to curl up in when she got tired or needed to step back from her work.
His unsteady hand shut the lid with care, cutting off the tune in midstream. Again, his fingers moved gently, almost caressingly, across the lid. Lowering his hand, he stepped back, embarrassed.
“It’s lovely. Did they tell you who left the music box?” He didn’t look at BJ, but moved to her bag and gripped the handle.
“The box was with me when I arrived at the orphanage. Probably from a relative, maybe an aunt or cousin, could have even been my mother, I can’t be sure.” BJ didn’t want to believe a mother could leave something so lovely while deserting her baby. “I’m very fond of the box, though. In fact, when I left Serenity, way back when, this was one of the few things I took with me. Sentimental probably.”
“I see.” He nodded his head, moving toward the door.
“I have fond memories as a little girl, winding the key, dancing around my room, playing make-believe. Sometimes I’d pretend I was a ballerina, other times a fairy princess and nothing could …” She stopped. Talking so candidly to a man she barely knew just wasn’t like her. “Oh, forgive me. I’m ready.”
BJ hurriedly gathered her things. Sidney followed her out the door. When she got to her car, she found the lunch cooler already sitting in the front on the floor, her county map on the passenger seat beside her, and a frosted water bottle in her cup holder. And Sidney stood by ready to shut her door.
“Thanks for your help.” She slid inside the Jeep.
“You’re welcome.” He returned the smile, but something still seemed odd about how he stared at her. “Have a safe trip.”
After making the half-circle drive, she glanced back. Sidney stood, unmoving, just watching. Odd.
With no particular destination in mind, BJ drove out of the estate grounds and hooked a right wanting to explore the country around Serenity. Who was she kidding? Her system couldn’t withstand another encounter with Jason like last night.
With the move and all, she had cleared her calendar. Next week was a different story. She’d be back on a schedule with very little time to spare for which she’d be thankful.
The decision to go to Fielder’s Pond where she, Jace, and their friends used to go swimming seemed a likely choice to take pictures. She wondered if she could find her way out to the old watering hole.
A couple of wrong roads, a U-turn or two, and one dead-end had her GPS practically calling her stupid. These were roads she should have known without difficu
lty, but they were challenging her patience. She topped a hill and found the spot she was looking for … Fielder’s Pond.
Smaller than she remembered, but still just as beautiful, the limestone cliff with its natural spring spilling over the rocks and falling to the water below, produced a smile and many fond memories. She marveled that as a teen she’d had the nerve to climb to the top of the cliff and jump into the spring fed water fifteen feet below. One rare occasion she managed to sink her feet into the soft sandy bottom in the depths of the small pond.
Looking at the deserted spot, she wondered if kids came here to swim. Did they sit on the ledge or venture into the shallow cave behind the veil of water? Were hers and Jason’s names still scratched into the rock wall of the cave?
Turning off the road onto another, the caliche dust kicked up a plume of white soft powder that trailed behind her Jeep. She slowed down when she saw a five foot pipe gate closing off the entrance to Fielder’s Pond.
“This is new, or at least not here fourteen years ago. Now what do I do?”
Stopping her car a few feet short of the gate, she turned the motor off and waited for the dust to settle. The fine white powder showered her car, making the black color turn a dusty grey. When the air finally cleared, BJ climbed out of the Jeep. She took special care as she stepped on the pipes of the cattle guard. Weak in the knees and a wobbly feeling in her stomach, BJ almost reconsidered her choice. Even as a teen she had never liked walking over cattle guards. The two-foot crevice below the steel pipes looked more like a deep canyon.
Lifting the heavy-duty padlock, she tested to see if it was truly locked. It was. She could understand why when she climbed the bottom pipe of the gate and got a better look. A herd of regal Texas longhorns stood grazing on the tall green grass several hundred feet away. Among the cattle were the cutest baby calves next to their mothers. Their modeled coloration of browns and blacks with patches of white had BJ itching for her camera.
Determined not to be denied, she retrieved her equipment from the back of the car. She gingerly stepped on the pipes of the cattle guard again before painstakingly shoving her equipment through the bars onto the ground. Next, she crawled through the two-foot span of pipes.
Picking up her tripod, her camera around her neck, BJ climbed the small knoll, careful not to disturb the cattle. She found a spot beneath a shady gnarled oak tree a little ways from the beautiful animals. With stealth movements, she arranged her tripod and camera then stepped behind, her eye searching through the viewfinder for the perfect angle.
The majestic longhorns cooperated. They ignored her, though she stood within easy charging distance. With each click, her Nikon captured the pastoral scene. Several young calves suckled from their mothers. The herd grazed as one lone bull stood off to the side giving BJ a hard stare. Slowly the cattle moved changing positions.
BJ took several shots from different angles, moving about cautiously, getting closer to the grand sire of the herd. His regal longhorns spanned three feet on each side of his head, curling up and out perfectly. His coloration was magnificent with patches of dark reddish-brown, tans, and white. One of the most beautiful specimens of longhorns BJ had ever encountered … obliviously painted by a master.
She angled around to the side, as the old fellow followed her movements with his head. She continued to shift around until she had a side rear view of the handsome Casanova. The herd grazing on rolling hills behind the regal stud, the background of white clouds in the cobalt sky gave the photo the look of tranquility she had longed for.
The bull turned toward her and pawed the ground once, let out a bellow.
BJ had second thoughts of being in his direct path. Hoping and praying the bull wouldn’t take it upon himself to chase her out of the pasture. She took a few more shots before capping the lens, not wanting to anger the big fellow.
Doing her best to calm her anxious heartbeats, BJ muttered under her breath. “Just stand there, old boy. I’m outta here. You can turn your attention to your lady friends.”
Chapter 32
What in the world is that fool woman doing out here?”
BJ. In the flesh. Knee-deep in his Costal Bermuda, cutting a path in the direction of the old swimming hole.
When Jason first saw her, he thought she was a figment of his imagination. But when she turned with her camera and tripod in hand, heading out across the field, he knew his figment was BJ in the flesh. He’d like nothing better than to give her a piece of his mind for being out here alone.
Bad enough that she had plagued his dreams, and unable to erase her from his thoughts he’d opted to work the range alone, but even that proved unsuccessful. Here she was—walking in the pasture among his cattle as big as life, where she had no business.
Without a doubt, washing her from his mind was proving harder than washing a dirty shirt with a stubborn stain—always visible. He drew the line at his ranch. She had no business here.
Pulling his hat snug over his forehead, he gave a clicking sound and a slight jab of his heels. Sandy’s ears perked up. She increased her ambling gait into a slow easy gallop. The smooth fluid strides of the strawberry roan gave him pleasure. The horse, in tune with Jason’s slightest command, cut the distance between them and BJ.
By the fence and a few feet away from BJ’s car, Jason caught a glint of metal coming from behind a large bush by an oak. At first he thought it nothing, but when Beauregard gave a deep roar of pain, bucked, tucked his head, and then charged straight for BJ, he knew she was in danger. Jason didn’t want to think what would happen if he didn’t get to her first.
BJ looked back, screamed, and then started running. The worst thing she could do.
“Yehawww!” The yell and the spur with his heel, harder this time into Sandy’s flank, had the filly moving at top speed within seconds. He knew Sandy to be quick, but wasn’t sure if she would be fast enough to get between BJ and Beauregard. He hadn’t heard the sound of a gun, yet he knew the bull would never have chased BJ on his own accord. Someone had to have shot his prize bull to cause the reaction Jason had just witnessed.
Yelling at the top of his lungs and using the same calls he did while out gathering stubborn strays, Jason waved his hat into the air then slapped it against his leg, doing his best to draw the bull’s attention.
Nothing diverted Beauregard from his target. The old boy continued chasing BJ with a purpose and he was gaining ground. Jason could tell the bull thought the cause of his pain was the moving figure in front of him.
White-faced and staring at Jason as though he was a hallucination, BJ’s legs pumped at top speed and yet she was losing ground. One of her fists punched the air and the other was in danger of losing the tenuous grip on the tripod and camera that beat the side of her thigh and knee.
Jason slapped his hat on his head, spurred Sandy on to cross in front of the angry bull. He swooped down, grabbed BJ, dragging her up against the side of his horse. They crossed the path in front of the startled Beauregard.
The old bull stopped, bellowed, giving them one long, hard stare, then ambled back to his harem of heifers.
Jason pulled on the reins halting Sandy, allowing BJ to slide down the flanks of the roan. She slumped to the ground never losing her grip on the tripod, then looked up at Jason with huge, shocked eyes.
“What happened?”
“What are you doing in this pasture? Wasn’t the gate locked?” He gave her a look that, when seen, most of his ranch hands knew to scramble and get out of his way.
BJ sat there, shaking, staring at him as though she didn’t understand what he’d said.
“You could have been killed.” Jason knew he was hollering but the confounded woman had no idea how close she had come to being gored by the best prized bull in the county. One swift motion had Jason off of Sandy and his boots spread apart and planted solidly in front of a hapless looking BJ. So mad, he wanted to shake her.
“I should turn you over my knee and beat some sense into that pea-brain of y
ours. What in …”
One glance at her surrounded by grass, face still white, the words stuck in his throat. She looked pitiful with her ponytail hanging loose and about to cry. The gloss of tears edging her lashes pierced his armor as nothing else could do. And when the slight breeze caused a few golden strands to flow about her face he wanted to kiss her and make it better.
Stooping beside her, he inhaled deeply the soft fragrance of her shampoo mixed with fear.
“Oh, come here.” He brushed the hair from her eyes, held open his arms, and BJ flew into his chest almost knocking him over. The tripod slammed into his back. He did his best not to groan, but he knew he’d sport a purple bruise where the weight of the camera had bounced off his spine.
The sensation of her trembling against him made him realize … she felt good, soft in his arms, and he liked holding her close. He memorized the familiar smell and feel of her. Almost like the years had been rolled back and they were teenagers again.
For several moments he allowed himself the luxury of holding her close to him until he noticed she wasn’t as pliable. In fact she had stiffened in his arms.
He pulled back and witnessed distress in her eyes. Standing, figuring the change in her was due to him, he watched her transformation from shock to deep embarrassment turn into something else. Her fright replaced with a look of what? Terror? Abhorrence? Disgust? He wasn’t sure, but it had his blood boiling for giving her comfort in the first place.
She scrambled up off the ground, dusted her jeans with her free hand, then opened the legs of the tripod so it would stand on its own. With one graceful movement, she pulled the scrunchie that hung loosely to the tip of her ponytail, freeing her honey-colored hair. The thick waves fell freely down around her shoulders, making her even more appealing than her teary face. His desire for her increased. Disgusted that he couldn’t control his urges any better where she was concerned, he abruptly turned away and snatched his hat from the ground, ramming it down on his head. He gathered Sandy’s reins between his fingers, swung up into the saddle. When he looked down at BJ, he felt a tightening across his forehead as his scowl deepened.
