Intimate Secrets

by B. J Daniels

  Funny how times had changed.

  Keeping her face turned away, she drove away from the café—and Clay—down to the end of the street and doubled back, taking side streets until she was clear of town.

  She told herself that the man Mildred had seen at the grocery store had to have been Clay. But he wouldn’t have recognized Ivy as being Josie’s. Or guessed who the father was. He had more pressing concerns than a fourteen-month-old toddler with pale blond hair and dark eyes. Or that baby’s mother. But just in case, Josie would stay close to the ranch and keep Ivy close as well.

  She peeked in on Ivy when she reached the cabin, only to find her sleeping, looking like an angel. She bent down and kissed her warm, plump cheek and breathed in her smell, smiling at the sight of her precious daughter. She felt blessed.

  For a few moments, Josie let herself think about Ivy’s father, then quickly banished the thought. Some things were best left buried, she thought as she closed the door softly and asked Mildred if she would like to stay over.

  Mildred looked tired and worried, but she didn’t ask what Josie had found out in town. She readily accepted the invitation to spend the night on the couch. Josie wondered if Mildred stayed because she was concerned about her and Ivy. That would be like Mildred, Josie thought as she went to get the older woman a pillow and some bedding from the closet.

  Too restless and wide awake to sleep, Josie went out on the porch and sat down on the step to stare up at the stars.

  A pine-scented breeze skittered coolly across her bare arms, making goose bumps rise on her skin. She hugged herself. She’d done the right thing two years ago. The only thing she could do. No reason to start doubting herself now.

  But she felt uneasy and knew it was more than just knowing Clay Jackson was in town or seeing some man in the trees the night before. It was the unshakable feeling that her past had come looking for her before she’d finished what she had to do. Before she could go home to Texas and face it as she’d planned.

  She leaned back against the step and began counting the stars overhead, anything to distract her from thinking about Clay. Or worse, worrying about why he was in town.

  Just an unhappy coincidence.

  Right.

  She caught the flicker of a light below her on the hillside not far from the stables and the creek.

  Must be the owner of the ranch, Ruth Slocum, since she was the only other person here besides Mildred, and Mildred was snoring on the couch.

  Josie sat up straighter. The faint light moved like a firefly through the dark. She watched it quickly disappear into the stables. Something must be wrong for Ruth to be in the stables this late at night. Odder yet, why had she come from the creek instead of her ranch house, which was in the opposite direction? Had one of the horses gotten out?

  Worried, Josie got a flashlight from her truck and started down the hill.

  The moon crested the mountains in a sky shot with stars. The breeze whispered through the tall, dew-damp grass, sending up the sweet scent of spring. Grass pulled at her boots, the night sky at her soul, making her feel small and insignificant.

  She pushed open the stable door, surprised to find darkness. Reaching for the light switch, she stopped herself.

  Through a crack in the tack room door at the end of the stables, she saw the flicker again of a flashlight, followed by a rustling sound.

  She frowned and clicked on her own flashlight, keeping it aimed low at her feet as she moved slowly forward. Ruth wouldn’t be rummaging around in the tack room at this time of the night. Not with a flashlight. Ruth had recently broken her ankle; even with her cane and walking cast, she had trouble getting around.

  Just as those thoughts took hold—and their possible significance—Josie reached the tack room door. It hung open only a few inches, just enough that she could see a shadow moving around behind it and hear the thump of saddles being dropped to the floor.

  But it was another sound that made her freeze.

  This one behind her. The stable door she’d just come through opened with a rush of cool night air.

  Startled, she swung around, banging the flashlight into a post with a resounding thud. The flashlight went out.

  From inside the tack room, something fell or was dropped. The narrow beam of light blinked off, pitching the stables into a dense, silent dark.

  She could feel the presence of the person who’d just entered the stables but couldn’t see him. And she knew someone was still in the dark tack room, closer by. She held her breath, afraid to move.

  Suddenly the tack room door flew open and a large, solid body hit her, sending her sprawling to the floor, knocking the air from her lungs. Whoever it was bolted for the nearby back door. A little of the yard light spilled in as a man-sized figure ran out, the door banging behind him.

  Before she could get to her feet, someone tripped over her. She heard a loud male curse, then the sound of his body hitting the dirt. He quickly scrambled to his feet and ran toward the back door of the stables. The back door banged open again.

  Before it could bang closed, the sound of a car engine roared to life, followed by another male curse. Then the sound of boot heels, slowly working their way back to her as the door banged shut again.

  She was on all fours when the stable lights flashed on. She looked up to see a large cowboy silhouetted against the bright light, his Stetson shadowing his face.

  “What the hell?” the cowboy cursed.

  She didn’t need to see his face. She knew that body and that voice. Had heard that tone used in connection with her on numerous occasions.

  Inwardly groaning, she hoisted herself to her feet, and dusting her backside, blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright light. If anything, this close, he looked more handsome. Dark from his thick black hair to his eyes. His Spanish blood, although two generations removed, still fired passionately in his eyes. Unfortunately, that passion was almost always anger. “Hello, Jackson.”

  CLAY STARED IN STUNNED disbelief. He couldn’t have been more shocked to see anyone. Hadn’t he thought he’d seen her a couple hundred times over the past two years? Each time gave him a start. A jolt of pure electric shock that jump-started his heart and made it take off like an escaped con at the sound of a bloodhound.

  “Josie.” Even to his ears it sounded like a curse. He stared at her, assaulted with too many thoughts, too many memories and feelings.

  Josie O’Malley. After all this time—and looking just as she had the last time he’d seen her. No, he realized as he studied her. She’d changed, although he couldn’t put his finger on exactly how.

  Her pale blond hair was still short and unruly, as if she’d just run her fingers through it. Her eyes were still that unbelievable blue. Clear as a Texas summer sky but unreadable as if the cool veneer masked a well of secrets. No doubt they did.

  And she still had that defiant look, of course. She’d always been a spitfire. Rebellious, head-strong and willful as a wild mustang. Her father had actually thought Clay could do something with her. It had proved an impossible task. One he’d failed at miserably.

  She was still slim and small, about five six in boots, but rounded. Actually more rounded than he remembered.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Josie?” he demanded.

  “What am I doing here?” she snapped, crossing her arms over the breasts he’d just been staring at. “What are you doing here is more to the point.”

  He jerked his gaze away, trying to make sense of this. But after one glance at the rear door of the stables, he narrowed his eyes at her again, seeing things a whole lot clearer. “You tripped me.”

  “Excuse me?” She hadn’t lost her Texas twang—or her temper. Her blue eyes fired like forged steel. That was definitely something time hadn’t changed.

  Her first instinct was to tell him it wasn’t any of his business. “I happen to work here.”

  “Work here?” he repeated, and glanced down the line of stalls.

  She knew what
he was thinking. That she shoveled manure—just as she had in his stables. What did she care what he thought? It made her more angry, though, that she did care.

  “You work strange hours,” he commented. “Or are you going to tell me that you just happened to be down here in the middle of the night, didn’t bother to turn on the lights and just happened to be on the floor to trip me?”

  She gritted her teeth, reminded of just how irritating this man could be. She bit off each word. “I saw a light and someone come in here so I walked down to check. I was just about to find out who when you came in and scared whoever it was away.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Whoever it was knocked me down and then you tripped over me,” she continued, daring him to interrupt. “But that doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.” What was he doing here? In Montana? But more important, on the ranch where she worked?

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  She stared at him, her heart pounding. “Anyone in particular?”

  “A thief,” he said grudgingly. “I’ve been following him for the past four days. Unofficially, of course.”

  For a moment she’d thought he’d come to see her—even though she knew from watching him in town it wasn’t true. When was she going to quit kidding herself when it came to this man?

  “He led me from Texas to this stable.”

  She didn’t like the sound of this. “Why would you follow a petty thief all the way from Texas?” She glanced toward the tack room. To this particular stable?

  He frowned. “Petty? I don’t think several million in jewels is petty, do you?”

  Her heart looped in her chest. Hadn’t she feared that the past had come looking for her? Worse yet, in the form of Clay Jackson, the one man she had reason to fear the most.

  Did he just imagine the surprise that flashed in her eyes? The worry? God knows, he’d read more in her expression than he should have in the past.

  She didn’t answer. If anything, she seemed to be doing her best to look innocent. It was a look she’d perfected, but he knew her too well to fall for it.

  “Actually, you know him,” he said. Maybe had stayed in contact with him. “An old friend of yours.”

  It was hard to tell if she really did pale under the harsh light in the stable. Maybe he just wanted to see guilt in her eyes. Suspected it. Expected it. The same way he suspected she’d purposely tripped him to allow the thief to get away. After growing up next door to her, he’d have said he knew Josie O’Malley better than anyone.

  But two years ago, she’d made him realize that he didn’t know her as well as he’d thought.

  “An old friend of mine?” she asked innocently.

  Yes, he definitely glimpsed a crack in her composure. He smiled at her, but there was no humor behind it. Something hot tore at his insides. “You remember Raymond Degas,” he said, studying her.

  No doubt about it. The last of the color drained from her face.

  “Raymond?”

  “Come on, Josie,” he prodded, his guts on fire. “You had to have heard about the jewel heist two years ago. Raymond and Odell were the number-one suspects. Raymond disappeared. Odell got himself killed. The jewels never turned up.”

  He felt frustration and anger burn in him. He’d held this woman at arm’s length for years until two years ago. After Maria, he’d sworn he’d never let himself feel like that for a woman again.

  But Josie had changed that. Damn her, she’d made him want her. Made him want only her. She’d dared him to love again, and just when he thought he might take the chance, she’d taken off. Without a word.

  What made it worse was she’d disappeared right after the jewel heist.

  It would have been suspicious enough if she hadn’t been thick as thieves with Odell Burton and his buddy Raymond Degas at the time.

  But Clay knew his suspicions ran much deeper. Deeper than he wanted to admit.

  He watched her swallow, her gaze sliding away from his.

  “I’m afraid I had other things on my mind two years ago,” she said. She looked at him again, nothing showing in her face or her eyes now, as if she’d dropped a curtain over her emotions. He recalled the last time he’d seen her do that. Had she been trying to hide something then, too? The thought unnerved him.

  But he had her now and he wasn’t going to let go until he got the truth out of her. About everything.

  Josie watched him glance toward the tack room.

  “What do you suppose Raymond was doing in your tack?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. She figured Clay had his own theories about that. She was shocked that Raymond had been here at all, let alone Clay.

  “Suppose we take a look?” he said, indicating she could go first.

  She thought about putting up an argument. Clay had no authority here. Nor did she take orders from him anymore—not that she ever had, without an argument. But she didn’t want him forcing the issue by insisting they call the cops or wake up the ranch owner. The fewer people who knew about Clay Jackson and her past, the better. And she had a feeling that the thief hadn’t found what he was looking for, anyway.

  The tack room had been ransacked, all the tack and saddles pulled down in a heap in the middle of the floor.

  “What would Raymond have wanted in here?” Clay said. “Have any ideas?”

  Oh, she had lots of ideas, but none she wanted to share with him. She remembered the Lincoln Continental he’d been watching from the café in town. Was it Raymond’s? But what would have brought Raymond to Three Forks? “Maybe he was looking for something to steal. You did say he was an alleged thief.”

  Clay smiled at her attempt at alleged humor. “Kind of a long drive to steal tack.”

  Had Clay really followed Raymond Degas all the way from Texas? All the way to the stables where she just happened to work? Quite a coincidence, if you believed in them. She had a feeling Clay didn’t.

  “Anything seem to be missing?” His tone made it clear he doubted it.

  “We must have scared him away before he had a chance to steal something,” she said, torn between despair and anger as he tried to provoke her.

  “Convenient.” He was eyeing her as if waiting for her to give him some answer.

  Damn you, Jackson, she thought. I don’t owe you any explanations. Well, at least not any she was willing to make. Including why she’d left Texas the way she had two years ago.

  “Convenient that you just happened to scare him away when I reached the stables,” he said, not willing to let it go. “And what a coincidence that Raymond Degas broke into the stable where you work.”

  She’d known that was coming.

  “On top of that, you just happen to trip me and keep me from catching him,” Clay finished, and crossed his arms, waiting, challenging her.

  How much did this really have to do with the robbery? Clay hadn’t wanted her, but he hadn’t wanted anyone else to have her, either. She felt all that old resentment rising like steam off a geyser.

  She thought of Ivy and blew out a long, heated breath. “You believe what you want. You always have.”

  She turned away and started out of the tack room. She’d clean up the mess tomorrow. “If it was even Raymond,” she added.

  He moved in front of her, reminding her how fast he was on his feet as he blocked the door, blocked her exit. “It was Raymond.” His voice was deep and soft and sent a chill through her as she was reminded of another time and place that Clay Jackson had been this close.

  “Raymond led me all the way from Texas straight as a shot to you,” Clay said, leaning closer, trapping her. “Come on, Josie. We both know what Raymond’s looking for.”

  He was so close she could feel his breath against her cheek, smell his too-familiar male scent. Everything about him seemed to radiate a low-frequency electricity. She felt a buzz when she was around him and always had. But it seemed stronger somehow. More so than she remembered it.

  “He’s looking for the jewels
.”

  She swallowed but said nothing, her nerves raw with the nearness of him. His body seemed to fill the tack room, making it as hot and sultry as a Texas summer night.

  “That’s right, you don’t know anything about the robbery,” he said, his tone clearly calling her a liar. “A rare collection of rubies, diamonds and emeralds, all irreplaceable. Intact, the jewelry would be impossible to fence. Too distinctive. Too easy to track. So what would the thieves do?”

  How would she know? Why would she care? She knew nothing about getting rid of stolen property. And why did Clay Jackson think she did?

  She shook her head, slowly, infinitesimally, afraid to move too much for fear of touching him. Or worse, him touching her.

  He smiled. A halogen smile against the dark stubble of a day’s growth of beard. He leaned so close it reminded her of the last time she’d seen him two years ago. He’d kissed her beside her barn in Texas. She didn’t need the reminder. Not now. Not anymore.

  She held her breath. But he didn’t kiss her, although she did wonder if he, too, had been reminded of that kiss. Had purposely made her remember.

  “It’s hard to believe a petty small-time criminal like Raymond could pull off such a score, isn’t it?” he said. “Even with the help of someone like Odell Burton.”

  She’d known Clay would get to Odell eventually. “I heard he was dead.”

  “Yeah, but he’d have needed an accomplice.”

  “Raymond.”

  He shook his head slowly, his smile gone. “I’m talking about someone smart. Someone who knew about the security plans and knew how to get them. Talk to me, Josie,” he whispered. “Tell me what really happened that night.”

  Something in his voice, a slight break that could have been born of passion or pain, made her wonder which night he was referring to. She looked into his eyes and felt that old familiar rush. Like standing on the edge of a cliff. A combination of danger and exhilaration. Fear and longing. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her heart drummed, the beat accelerating.