by Jeannie Watt
“You know what I meant.”
“And I agree.” He looked past her. “Totally agree.” He met her eyes briefly, pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. “I was out of line.”
“Yeah. We both were.” She gave him a look, then brushed by him and headed toward the house, leaving Jordan wondering just what the hell was going on. With him. With her.
With everything.
CHAPTER NINE
JORDAN’S PAINED EXPRESSION when she’d made it clear she didn’t want to be touched stayed with Shae. He’d totally misinterpreted what she’d meant and that bothered her. Not because he’d thought she was grossed out by his hand, but because it showed the direction of his thoughts. He thought he grossed people out.
He probably did, to a degree. A rotten thought, but true. Shae could still recall her stomach tightening in a sickening way the first time she’d seen him a few weeks ago. And she remembered staring. She’d stared openly, trying to equate the Jordan Bryan who was standing before her with the physically perfect guy she remembered. How had he taken it? Had he assumed she was studying him like a freak in a sideshow?
That hadn’t been her intention, even though she’d been openly stunned. She’d been trying to process and for that she’d needed information, so...she’d stared.
Damn it, Shae. Get a clue.
How would she feel if she had an injured face and people stared openly at it?
She wouldn’t like it one bit. She and Jordan might not be each other’s favorite people, but she hadn’t intended to hurt him. And the odd truth was that his injuries didn’t bother her so much anymore. Not in the way he thought they did, anyway. When she’d seen his back today, sympathy had been her chief emotion. That and perhaps a touch of empathy, which no one seemed to think her capable of. The pain he’d gone through had to have been tremendous...and now here she was adding to it.
Something to think about, but she knew that even if she gave up this contract, Miranda would bring someone else in. Someone who wasn’t beginning to feel a growing concern about Jordan’s well-being.
It was well after midnight when Shae finally dozed off, only to be brought bolt upright in her makeshift bed in the truck by an anguished yell followed by a silence so heavy that for a moment she thought that she’d dreamed it.
Ears straining, Shae sat perfectly still. No noise other than the brush of the pine boughs against one another in the night breeze. But she hadn’t imagined the yell. Jordan had cried out.
Shae forced herself to get out of the truck, the damp grass uncomfortable on her bare legs. Silently she pulled her pants on and then slipped her feet into her shoes. She approached the house, which now had one light burning in the room that had to be his bedroom. The window was open so she called out.
“Jordan...?” There was no answer, so she called again, more loudly. “Jordan! Answer me.”
“What?” His voice was thick and raspy.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
“For real?”
“Leave it alone, Shae.”
“Fine. Whatever,” she called back. “Scare the crap out of me and then tell me to leave it. I don’t care. Just part of the package.” She stalked back to the truck and got inside, pulling her wet shoes off on her sleeping bag, heedless of the wet grass and soil sticking to them.
But once she was back in her sleeping bag, she lay awake, listening. The night remained silent except for the pine boughs and occasional night noise, but she couldn’t sleep. Jordan must have had one hell of a nightmare, but wouldn’t allow himself any comfort—at least not from her. That she understood. What she didn’t understand was her need to offer that comfort.
Since when had she been the comforting kind?
* * *
JORDAN WORKED THE buckskin early the next morning, then took her out for a long ride along the same trail he and Clyde had hiked the previous evening, prior to the nightmare. It seemed like a decent plan since he was awake before dawn, unable to go back to sleep. And it wasn’t the nightmare that kept his mind revved—it was the fact that Shae had heard him and come to check on him.
That he couldn’t deal with.
The buckskin sensed his tension and mirrored it, dancing unnecessarily as she made her way down the trail, spooking at objects she’d walked by the day before with no concern. Jordan made a concerted effort to relax and the horse relaxed, too, but finally he called it quits and headed home. Maybe if he pulled the shades, he could sleep this morning, make up for the sleepless night. But he’d damn well close the window...or better yet, maybe Shae would go back to town. She’d never stayed for more than two nights in a row, so it was time.
When he got back to the ranch, Shae was waiting for him at the corral, where she was grooming her mare, and he quickly deduced from the way she was brushing the horse with quick deliberate flicks and not looking at him that she was deep in thought. It didn’t take much to figure what she was thinking about. She kindly waited until he had unsaddled and brushed down the buckskin before she approached and stood behind him, waiting for him to acknowledge her.
Leave it. Don’t ask me to talk.
Too much to ask for, of course.
“What happened last night?”
What if he just told her? What if he simply said, “I have nightmares. I can’t control them”?
Yeah. What if he did that?
He couldn’t face feeling that vulnerable. Not around someone who had the power to hurt him. And he wouldn’t risk Miranda finding out. Hell, she’d probably try to get him kicked off the property as a danger to paying clients. He wouldn’t put anything past her.
Shae leaned against the edge of a stall, watching as he untied the buckskin. “You have nightmares.”
“What of it?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Understandable.” A humorless half smile curved one side of her mouth. “You mentioned going to hell. I imagine that sticks with a guy.”
For a moment he couldn’t come up with an answer. Finally he said, “It does,” and walked by her, leading the buckskin, hoping it was the end of the conversation. But it wasn’t. Shae followed him to the gate.
“You don’t need to feel self-conscious about it... I understand.” She hesitated for a split second before saying, “I used to have nightmares, too.”
“Somehow I don’t think it’s the same, Shae,” he said bitingly.
Her face instantly blanked out. “No. Of course not,” she said in a way that made him feel like a jerk because, well, hell, she’d been trying to make nice and he’d hurt her feelings. A month ago he would have said that wasn’t possible, but here she was looking as if he’d just slapped her. “I’m going to Missoula this evening. I won’t be back tonight.” She gave him a falsely bright smile. “Lucky you. You have the place to yourself.” Then she turned and started toward the bunkhouse.
“Shae.” He called her name before he could stop himself. She turned back, frowning, giving him a fleeting impression of vulnerability before she brushed the windblown hair out of her face and politely arched her eyebrows. It’d never occurred to him that Shae was at all vulnerable...not until a few minutes ago when she’d tried to connect and he’d slapped her down.
“Thank you for your concern,” he said, “but nothing happened last night.”
“Yeah. Got it. Nothing happened.”
And with that she walked away, stopping to reach down and scratch Miss Piggy’s head before she continued on to her truck, leaving Jordan feeling like even more of a jerk than before.
* * *
MIRANDA CALLED TO cancel their evening meeting just as Shae hit the Missoula city limits, so she called her parents and invited herself to Sunday dinner, the first they’d had as a family since the wedding had been canceled.
“Are you enjoyi
ng the chicken?” Vivian asked cheerfully several minutes into the oddly silent meal. She was always cheerful with Shae—more so even than with Liv, her own daughter. Cheerful, accommodating, eager to help. Whatever Shae wanted, Vivian helped her get. And Shae hadn’t been shy about asking for stuff. But the upbeat tone was forced today.
“Excellent as always,” Shae said, making an effort to dig in and do the meal justice.
“And are you okay?” Vivian asked tentatively a few minutes later.
Was she? No. But not for the reasons her parents probably assumed. Issues she’d never given much thought to were shoving themselves to the front of her mind...such as the effect she had on other people’s lives. People like Jordan, and her parents. How much of a strain had she obliviously put on their resources over the years? She couldn’t begin to tally all the ways they’d helped her out financially—particularly during the wedding planning. But Vivian was looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“I’m making headway on my contract,” she said honestly.
“How’s Jordan Bryan handling the matter?” her father asked in a tone that told her that this had already been a topic of conversation in the McArthur home.
“He’s quiet and keeps to himself. Just like he always did.” And he has nightmares. The thought of him reliving whatever had happened to him over and over again disturbed her.
“So he’s okay with this?” her father asked.
Shae could hedge, but she couldn’t flat-out lie. “Not exactly, but Miranda holds the rights of operation and so he doesn’t have a lot of choice.”
“He’s not belligerent or anything, is he?” Vivian asked in an uncharacteristically brusque tone.
“No,” Shae said on a note of surprise. “I couldn’t say he’s warm and welcoming, but he does his thing and I do mine.”
Her father sent Vivian an I-told-you-so look and her stepmother rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with being concerned,” she said to her husband, then turned to Shae. “I was in the Northtown Pharmacy the other day when he came in and let me tell you...he looked wild.”
“Wild?” Shae asked.
“Yes,” Vivian said carefully putting her fork down next to her plate. “I was startled by the scars, of course, but that wasn’t what concerned me most. He looked like he was going to lose control as he spoke to the pharmacist. I understand that he’s been through an ordeal, but sometimes things like that affect people permanently. And you’re up there working with him.”
“Around him,” Shae correctly absently.
“What?” Vivian asked with a perplexed expression before Shae’s father reached out to run a hand over her shoulder in a reassuring gesture.
Shae considered her words carefully before she said, “I think Jordan may not put his best face forward in public right now, but when we’re alone...” What? The tension ran high, but she didn’t feel threatened? She was starting to notice things about him she hadn’t noticed before? He had her thinking about him more than she wanted? “...he’s fine. I think you’re right about him dealing with issues from his injuries, but—” she lifted one shoulder “—he’s fine,” she concluded lamely.
Vivian did not look convinced, but her father seemed confident in her abilities to handle the matter, probably just as she’d handled every other obstacle in her life—by putting her head down and plowing through it.
“Hey, did you hear about how well Brant did last weekend?” her father said, shifting the subject in a none-too-subtle way.
“Tonight, as a matter of fact,” Shae said with a smile, grateful to not be discussing Jordan any longer. “But I haven’t heard from Liv lately.” Which wasn’t surprising. They’d never been all that close and she’d put her stepsister through the wringer during the wedding planning process.
Again Vivian and David exchanged glances, making Shae want to say, Really, I’m doing okay now. But she didn’t, because it was still hard to talk about. Better to change the subject one more time.
“Hey, Dad,” she finally said. “How about those Montana Grizzlies?”
Her father caught his wife’s eye one more time at the mention of his favorite college football team, then took the bait, expounding on the team’s chances during the upcoming season. Shae made all the proper responses as she ate and Vivian stared unhappily at her plate.
Family dinner was not what it used to be.
* * *
SHAE SWISHED THE mop across the last stretch of floor. The interior of the bunkhouse was probably cleaner than it’d been in several decades and Shae felt as though most of the dirt was now stuck to her damp skin. She brushed the hair off her forehead with the back of her hand as she leaned against the mop and surveyed her handiwork. She’d stored all the tools and boards and whatnot into two of the small rooms and closed the doors. The other ten doors were open, the rooms airing out. The only thing that still concerned her was mice. Shae simply couldn’t handle sleeping with wildlife, so even though she’d yet to see a sign of them, it was the truck again for her.
She was supposed to go back to town tonight for a phone conference with Miranda, who was still on the other side of the state, but she had no intention of being home to take that call. Not until she’d had some time to think. Before she steamrolled over Jordan, refurbished cabins and buildings she might well have no legal right to refurbish, she wanted more information, like why she was beginning to wonder if Miranda was as much about harassing Jordan as she alleged he was about harassing her. Something wasn’t right.
Shae picked up the bucket of filthy mop water and carried it out the door, glancing around to see if she could spot Jordan. The palomino that’d dumped him a few days ago was back out in the field with her cronies, so that meant he could be anywhere. She emptied the water then glanced around as she let the hand with the bucket fall loosely to her side. No dog. Only the pig, snorking along the backyard fence.
Where was he?
The ponds, maybe?
She wanted to meet with him to settle a few things. To try once again to establish a middle ground—a plan where both he and Miranda could coexist, because the situation with him was eating at her. It floored her, but she felt guilty actively working against him. He didn’t like her. Made no secret about that, but she couldn’t stop herself from feeling as though she had no business adding to his private hell, whatever that might be. And that floored her even more.
How long had it been since she’d given a lot of deep thought to anyone’s feelings? She’d thought about Reed’s feelings, or at least she had until the wedding had taken over her life and she’d become oblivious to everything else and essentially written finis on their relationship. She couldn’t fix that situation; she’d realized almost as soon as he’d broken it off that it was better if she didn’t even try, but that hadn’t kept her from mourning and hurting or the wedding bills from rolling in. She’d screwed up and was paying the price. She wasn’t going to screw up again.
She needed to talk to Jordan.
Smoothing back her hair, she took a quick glance in the truck mirror. Who was the bare-faced brunette with the freckles scattered over her nose and the smudge of dirt on her cheek staring back at her?
She was the woman who was going to figure out a way for Miranda to have her ranch—because there was no way in hell she was giving it up—while causing Jordan the minimum amount of aggravation. Somehow. If he would talk to her about what he could accept and couldn’t, then maybe they could find a way to compromise. But first she had to find him.
Shae wiped the smudge off her face, then headed for the house, where she coaxed the pig into the backyard and closed the gate before walking down the path to the ponds. No sign of Jordan, but the water looked so inviting after more than an hour spent washing filthy windows and mopping the bunkhouse. Impulsively she kicked her shoes off, wondering if it was as cold as she remembered.
A fish broke the surface on the far side of the pond, snapping up a bug as Shae curled her bare toes into the damp, silty sand. Another fish rose, tickling a memory, reminding her of how her dad had taken her and Brant fishing at similar ponds when their mom had still been alive and recovering from chemo. Shae had not been a fisherman, but she’d liked being by the water, sitting with her mom and watching Brant and her dad pull in sunfish. She smiled at the memory, the first time she’d smiled in a couple of days.
Shae stepped into the pond, her breath catching as the cold clear water swirled around her toes. She brought her hands up to her cheeks, felt the traces of grime, then took a breath and dived in, surfacing a second later and shaking the water out of her eyes as her toes touched the graveled bottom of the pond. The water was so cold that it was hard to breathe, but she was no longer covered with sweat and dust and as she waded back out, she realized that she felt better for having taken the impulsive plunge.
No towel. Bad planning on her part, but the day was warm and felt even warmer now that she was out of the icy water. She and Brant had played in the pond after fishing time ended, fully clothed, just as she was now, then stretched out on the grass to dry.
Family time.
She missed family time. After her mother had died, her father had gone out of his way to provide for her and Brant—not so much experiences such as fishing or picnicking or camping, but things. They’d gotten lots of things, and the opportunity to do whatever they wanted. They’d been spoiled rotten.
She wouldn’t have believed it back then, but more camping, fishing and picnicking might have been good for her, good for the family.
And that was when Shae realized that she had a viable option for her much-needed plan B for the ranch.
Shae spent the next few hours first in the meadows, scouting locations, then sketching possible tent campsites on photo overlays. After that she searched the baseboards of the bunkhouse for possible cracks through which mice might get in. Tonight she was sleeping in the bunkhouse instead of in the mouse-proof truck. She’d seen no signs of mice after the initial cleanup and she couldn’t expect guests to sleep there if she wouldn’t.
