by Naomi Horton
She hadn't realized just how dangerous until a couple of years later. She'd been not quite sixteen then, and he'd come into Vic's Café, where she and a bevy of girlfriends were comparing boyfriends over hamburgers and soft drinks. The entire group had gone silent when he'd come sauntering in, all tight jeans and broad shoulders and attitude, radiating sex like heat.
He'd sprawled on a stool at the counter and ordered coffee, then casually turned the stool to look them all over, dark eyes insolent. And then, with a hint of derisive amusement, he'd just turned his back on them.
To this day, Kathleen could remember the irritation that had flooded through her. She was Judge Nelson Patterson's daughter, pretty and rich and privileged, and she was not used to being so cavalierly dismissed by the likes of Jett Walking Tall. Most boys considered themselves lucky simply to get a smile; he didn't seem to think she was worth his time.
Piqued, she'd gotten up from the table and walked across to the counter, pretending she wanted another soft drink. Waiting for the waitress to get it, she'd leaned against the counter, the picture of pretty and bored, and glanced idly at Jett.
He'd looked back, eyes narrowed against the steam from his coffee. "See something you like, Slick?"
"Excuse me?" Caught, she pretended that she hadn't been looking at him at all but at something out on the street. "Did you say something to me?"
"Your daddy know you're down in this part of town?"
"What's wrong with this part of town?"
"Not the part you rich kids hang out in, for one thing." He took a swallow of coffee. "Or are you and your friends just lookin' for a little excitement?"
"My friends and I are having something to eat," she said icily. "Not that it's any of your business."
His mouth canted aside in a lazy smile, and he ran his eyes over her brazenly, taking his time, deliberately letting his gaze linger on her breasts.
She stood utterly motionless, refusing to let him bait her. "See something you like?"
"Maybe." Grinning insolently, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Can't tell from just lookin'. Woman's kinda like a buckin' bronc—sometimes the best-lookin' ones aren't worth throwing a saddle on."
Kathleen went stiff with indignation. She curled her lip and started to turn away. "Too bad you'll never find out."
"Oh, I figure if I wanted to find out bad enough, I wouldn't have much trouble convincing you to show me."
She gave a sputter, knowing she should just cut her losses and leave with at least some of her pride intact, but hating to let him have the last word. "I can't imagine why you think I'd be interested." She gave him a cool smile designed to cut him down to size. "I've heard all about you rodeo cowboys—you make love like you ride rough stock, hard, fast and done in eight seconds."
He gave a snort of laughter. "What the hell do you know about makin' love? You're what—fifteen?"
"Sixteen," she snapped. It seemed important, somehow, that he thought her sixteen.
"And never been kissed, I'll bet."
"Wrong again." She gave her head a toss, sincerely wishing she'd never started this but not sure how to retreat without making a complete fool of herself.
"Not by much." The grin faded, but he continued to look at her, eyes narrowed slightly. "You want to be careful playin' with fire, Slick. You could get burned real bad." He swung the stool away from her and planted his elbows on the counter, losing interest. "Come back in a year or two and maybe I'll take you up on your offer. And it'll take longer than eight seconds, darlin', I can guarantee that. A lot longer."
There was a husky undertone to the words that made her breath catch, and she opened her mouth to shoot back some smart-aleck reply, then caught herself. Sometimes it paid to just quit while you could. Biting her tongue, she picked up the soft drink the waitress had put in front of her and started to turn away.
"Tomorrow night."
He said it so quietly that she didn't realize for a moment that he was talking to her. She paused awkwardly. "W-what?"
"You heard me." He blew across the surface of his coffee, still not looking at her. "If you're not too scared, meet me here tomorrow night. Eight o'clock. I'll take you to a movie, and we can grab a burger after. And maybe," he added with a faint smile, "I'll give you your first kiss."
"It wouldn't be," she said a little breathlessly. It wasn't a lie, but somehow she had the feeling that kissing Jett would be unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. "But I—I couldn't get away that late. It's a school night and—" She bit off the words, nearly dying of embarrassment at sounding like such a prude.
He shrugged carelessly. "Suit yourself."
"I'd have to be home by eleven-thirty," she said all in a rush.
"I'll have you home by eleven-thirty."
"I…" She was out of excuses and simply stood there, heart hammering, suddenly scared to death but not wanting to show it. "I—I'll see." She swallowed, trying to look nonchalant. "If I don't have anything better to do, maybe I will."
"Like I said, suit yourself. You're more trouble than I need anyway."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
He turned his head and met her gaze evenly. "I'm Wild Bill Kendrick's half-breed bastard, and you're Judge Patterson's little girl. If your old man knew I was even talkin' to you, he'd have me gelded with a rusty razor."
"Don't tell me my father scares you," she taunted.
"Not half as bad as you scare me," he said very softly, his dark eyes holding hers. "You're trouble, honey—I can tell that just from lookin' at you. I reckon a man could get hurt real bad gettin' too close to you."
"Then why are you asking me out?" she asked irritably.
He paused for just a heartbeat of time, and Kathleen held her breath. And then, abruptly, he gave a snort of laughter and turned away again. "Hell, honey," he drawled, "trouble's my middle name."
An eighteen-wheel transport went roaring past just then, spray flying. Kathleen's rental bucked in the backwash of wind and muddy water, jolting her back into the present. The wipers struggled to clear the windshield, and she squinted through rivulets of water, heart hammering.
Not long now, she realized. Stumpy Jones's old lopsided barn still marked the county line, roofline canted across the sky at a gravity-defying angle. How it hadn't tumbled in on itself years ago, she didn't know.
She and Jett had made love there once or twice, hidden away in the loft on a bed of clean straw and blankets, so lost in the delights of each other that the place could have fallen down then and there and they wouldn't have noticed.
She had met him that night sixteen years ago, probably more to her own surprise than his. Although nothing much had happened. He'd taken her to a movie and then for a hamburger, and they'd talked a bit, both of them still wary, still prickly, and then he'd driven her home in his old battered-up blue Chevy truck.
He'd parked in the deep shadows under the massive oak tree by the side of the house, just out of sight of the front door, and when he finally turned and reached for her, she slipped into his arms as naturally as breathing.
She hadn't been too sure what she'd been expecting, but it hadn't been such gentleness—he scarcely brushed her lips with his. She shivered slightly, and he smiled, kissing her again, still lightly, sliding the tip of his tongue between her lips. And then he settled his mouth fully over hers, lips warmly parted, and in the next instant his tongue was against hers, moving, coaxing, sliding wetly, and she melted against him, dizzy and breathless as something hot and urgent blossomed inside her.
He'd touched her breast that night, no more than a feather touch of his fingers, and she'd gasped something, so startled by the electric sensation that shot through her that she felt dazed. Then he moved gently against her, and she realized that he was as turned on as she was, his body graphically aroused, and she shuddered at the touch of him, terrified and delighted at once.
Laughing softly, he took her hand and pressed it against himself without embarrassment, and she held her breath with shocked deli
ght, too unnerved to do more than blush.
"What … what should I do?" she finally whispered, mortified at being so inept, and he just laughed again and meshed his fingers with hers and took her hand away, kissing her lightly.
"Get out of here before I do something your old man'll shoot me for," he whispered against her ear. Teeth gritted, he leaned past her and opened the truck door, pushing it open.
Cool night air swirled around them, and Kathleen shivered again. "Will … I see you again?"
"Count on it," he growled, kissing her swiftly again with such searing intensity it made her heart almost stop. "Now get out of here before I—"
There was no need for him to finish the thought. Kathleen slipped out of his arms and out of the truck, and a few moments later he eased back up the lane, headlights off, engine just a muted growl. She watched until she couldn't see the truck anymore, then hurried inside, sneaking in the back door and up the stairs. No one had even realized she was gone.
Four months later she was pregnant with his child and on a plane to Baltimore. And not long after that Jett was sleeping with Pam Easton, and things had just gone downhill from there.
She shook off the feelings, annoyed at her wandering thoughts, and glanced at Jody. He was still sound asleep, looking about six years old under the bruises and adhesive tape, and she reached over and shook him gently.
"Jody? We're almost at the ranch."
He sat up groggily, wincing in pain.
"It'll get worse," she said cheerfully. "Have a long, hot bath tonight, and then take a couple of days off."
He managed a humorless laugh and retrieved his Stetson from the floor, groaning. "I don't figure my dad'll take kindly to that idea. I was supposed to be stringin' barbed wire this weekend, not headin' down to Silver Meadows for the rodeo. He'll be spittin' nails by now."
"You've got to let that arm heal properly. Your dad will just have to string that fence by himself."
Jody managed a ghost of a smile. "Guess maybe you don't know my dad very well after all."
It made her smile, although it had about as much humor as Jody's. "No," she said, more to herself than to him. "The truth is, I didn't know him half as well as I thought I did."
Even waiting for it, she felt her heart do a flip-flop when she came around a long curve in the road and saw the ranch gate looming out of the rain and mist. Sixteen years ago, when Jett's grandfather had run the Kicking Horse spread, there had been just a low gate here, with the ranch name and brand painted on a flat board. There was a full-fledged timber arch here now, with Kicking Horse Ranch—J. Kendrick And Son carved into a thick plank that hung suspended on two short lengths of chain.
"You can just let me out here and I'll walk in."
"It's nearly a mile," Kathleen said quietly. Jody gave her a curious look, as though wondering how she knew that, but didn't say anything as she flipped on her turn signal and slowed to make the turn.
She could handle this, she told herself calmly as she turned off the highway, the car bouncing across the Texas cattle gate set in the road. She was thirty-one years old, a successful attorney, respected among her peers. She'd handled the death of her baby, law school, a career … she should sure as heck be able to handle one worn-around-the-edges cowboy with no trouble at all.
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
Barbed wire. God, he hated barbed wire!
Jett swore under his breath as he tried to set a staple in the fence post, shaking his head to get the rainwater out of his eyes. He hit the staple off center, and it flew out of his cold-numbed fingers, and the coiled strand of barbed wire he was trying to hold taut slipped free and whipped past his face like a snake.
He snapped his head back, but not before one of the razor-sharp barbs caught him across the cheek, and he snarled an oath of anger and frustration, wiping the back of his gloved hand across his cheek. It came away smeared with blood, and he muttered another profanity and turned the collar of his denim jacket up against the pelting rain.
Time to call it a day.
Wearily, he walked across to his pickup truck and tossed the hammer into the toolbox behind the seat. The coil of barbed wire could stay where it was. It and Jody were going to be on a first-name basis by the time the week was over.
Jett swung into the truck and slammed the door shut, then started the engine and headed back to the ranch. He was going to wring that kid's neck one of these days. This wasn't the first weekend he'd gone off to ride in some small-town rodeo instead of staying home and doing his chores. It had been like this for almost a year now, ever since the kid had gotten it into his head that he wanted to be a champion bronc rider like his granddad.
Jett shook his head. He'd figured it wouldn't last. That after Jody had gotten thrown and stomped and slammed into the chute rails a few times, he'd decide ranching wasn't half bad after all. But he'd figured wrong. Riding the rodeo circuit was all Jody dreamed about these days.
Jett parked beside the big ranch house, pulling the truck in under the pines where it was sheltered. Thinking—as he had at least a million times in the past eight years—that one of these days he had to get around to building that garage he kept talking about. Time, that was what it always came down to. Somehow he'd figured that when Jody got older and took on more of the day-to-day work, there would be more time to get things done. But it didn't seem to be working out that way.
Especially now. The kid wasn't here half the time, and even when he wasn't off riding in some rodeo, his head was someplace else. You had to tell him everything twice, and even then he didn't hear you half the time.
Shaking his head in weary disgust, Jett slid out of the truck, ducking against a blast of wind and rain. He was halfway to the house before he realized a late-model gray car he didn't recognize had pulled in around front. And as he walked toward it, the passenger side door opened and who got out but Jody, moving so slowly and stiffly that Jett groaned inwardly.
Jody pulled the rear door open and started to pull out his saddle and duffel bag, and it was only then that Jett saw the cast on his son's left forearm.
He swore under his breath and started toward the car. "It's about time you decided to come home."
Jody looked up guiltily, and Jett got a clear look at his face. He swore again. "What else did you break?"
"Nothin'," Jody muttered sullenly. "Don't worry, I can still do my chores."
"Damn straight you can still do your chores. That fence down by the creek's been waiting all weekend—you can get started on it as soon as you put your gear away."
Jody's head came up, and he stared at Jett defiantly. "How am I goin' to string barbed wire with my arm in a cast?"
"Guess you'll figure out a way. Maybe you should have thought of that before you ran off to play rodeo hero."
Jody stared at him, mouth and chin stubborn. And then, very suddenly, all the fight went out of him. His shoulders sagged, and he just nodded and bent to pick up his gear, moving so slowly and painfully that Jett winced, remembering all too clearly what it felt like to come out on the losing end of a no-point ride.
He opened his mouth to tell Jody to leave his gear and get inside where it was warm and dry, then shut it again. No point wasting sympathy on him. The kid knew better, damn it.
"You're being awfully hard on him, aren't you?"
The woman's voice made Jett look up. He hadn't even realized that the driver had gotten out of the car, and he turned to give her a hard look, drawing a breath to suggest that she might want to consider minding her own business.
It was the hair he noticed first, a wind-tangled mane the color of spring wheat that fell just to her shoulders, aglitter with rain. Dark-lashed eyes met his evenly across the roof of the car, as blue as a summer sky, and he frowned slightly, an echo from his past making the hair along his arms stir.
The woman stood looking at him, a hint of humor warming a mouth as sweet and kissable as any he'd ever known. The cold had rouged her pale ch
eeks, and he swallowed, disbelief curling up through him as rank as smoke. He was wrong, he told himself calmly. Wrong as could be. She would never come back here. Not after what she'd done to him.
"Hello, Sundance."
Her voice was silken, and it was that—hearing his name from her mouth, the nickname she'd given him all those years ago—that made his heart careen to a stop.
And time along with it. He simply stared at her, his eyes telling him everything his heart refused to contemplate. The hair, the eyes, that creamy pale skin … the same. All the same. Even that amused tilt of her head, the full sweep of her mouth, the dimple in the middle of her chin.
"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was so rough with shock he scarcely recognized it.
She smiled and rested her arms on the roof of the car. "You never did waste time on small talk, did you?"
Mind still reeling, he started breathing again, ice cold and half sick. He clenched his fists at his sides, fighting for control. "Jody, get in the house."
"But—" Jody looked at him, then at Kathleen. "But I—"
"Get in the damn house!" Jett growled. "Now!"
Jody opened his mouth to speak, then saw something on Jett's face that made him close it with a snap. He started backing toward the house, mumbling something to Kathleen.
She smiled warmly at him. "Take care of yourself, Jody. It was nice meeting you."
Jody mumbled something else, then turned and headed for the house, limping badly. Only when he was safely inside and the door had banged closed behind him did Jett turn to look across the car at Kathleen again, teeth clenched so hard his entire jaw ached.
Her smile had faded, and she was looking across at him, face pensive. "It's been a long time, Jett."
"Not half long enough. What are you doing back here, Kathleen? What do you want?"
"Want?" She frowned, feigning innocence. "I don't want anything. I was just giving Jody a ride home."
"Sure you were." He said it derisively, fighting to look like a man who didn't give a damn one way or another. Like a man who was on top of things and had it all under control. "What did you tell Jody?"
