by Naomi Horton
"I'm apologizing here, in case you hadn't noticed," he rumbled.
"You've got a long way to go yet, mister."
"You're turning blue, Kath." A hint of laughter warmed his mouth. "If I take much more time with all this apologizing, you're going to catch a godawful cold."
"Let me worry about that."
"I said I was sorry, and I meant it. I said a lot of things I shouldn't have said." The smile widened. "Come on, Kath, cut me a little slack here. How many times do you want to hear me say I'm sorry?"
"You can't count that high."
But even as she said it, she felt the anger slipping away. Part of her wanted to stay furious with him, to hold him at a distance so he couldn't hurt her again. But another part didn't want to hold him away at all.
"Come on, Kathy, you're not going to freeze to death just to make a point, are you? Don't you think it's time you got out of there and dried off?"
"And you're offering to help, no doubt."
He looked up at her from under the wide brim of his hat, his gaze filled with unexpected humor. And then he grinned slowly, not saying a word.
Not having to.
But then, he'd never had to. Sixteen years, and that grin was still as lethal as ever. It was about a case of beer and a pickup truck and some time on your hands. It was about parking on a side road on a cold night with the radio turned down low, and steamed-up windows, and deep kisses that turned you inside out. But mostly it was about young love and wildfire sex, and even today, a lifetime later, she could feel that old familiar heat blossom low in her belly.
To her surprise, it made her laugh. "God, you're still bad news! I thought you'd be too old for that sort of thing by now."
"A man's never too old for that sort of thing," he said, the grin widening. It did something to his eyes, something warm and teasing and just a little dangerous.
"Is that so?" She grinned, laughter bubbling up through her. She couldn't believe he was flirting with her! And that she was flirting back. Old times.
His eyes held hers for a heartbeat, glinting with deep mischief; then he just laughed and got to his feet. And slowly, deliberately, started popping open the pearl snaps on his Western-cut flannel shirt.
* * *
Chapter 6
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"Kendrick, what are you doing?" Still laughing, Kathleen gave her feet a kick and took a couple of backward strokes.
He just grinned and pulled the shirt off, then waded into the shallows and held it up like a bath towel.
Kathleen considered it for a moment. "Close your eyes."
"You never used to be this shy."
"Yeah, well, with age comes wisdom. And the inroads of gravity." She grinned. "Things have moved a little south since those days. So close your eyes or risk going blind."
He gave a snort of laughter and wisely kept his mouth shut. But he did close his eyes. And finally, deciding it was take him up on his offer or risk freezing to death, she waded into the shallows and scampered into the welcoming depths of the shirt.
Jett wrapped it around her like a blanket, laughing again as she started to shiver, teeth clattering like castanets. "Remember now why we never used to go skinny-dippin' in May?"
"Oh, shut up," she managed to get out between chattering teeth. "It was either go s-skinny-dipping or walk home caked head to f-foot with mud."
Jett's big, warm hands were rubbing her back briskly, and Kathleen closed her eyes, trying to ignore the broad, naked chest not four inches from her nose and the warm scent of him, still so familiar after all these years that it made her breathless.
"Come on." He wrapped one muscled arm around her and started wading back to shore. "You could probably use a cup of coffee."
"C-coffee? You've g-got coffee?"
And he did, to Kathleen's delight. A thermos-ful of a dark, strong brew cut with real cream, still hot enough to burn her tongue. Bundled up in the plaid picnic blanket she'd tied behind her saddle that morning, she cupped the plastic mug between her hands and sipped at the coffee greedily, feeling it start to fight off the chills as she watched Jett light a small fire.
"Warming up?"
Kathleen nodded and handed him the cup. He downed a swallow, then handed it back to her and rummaged through one of his saddlebags until he found the paper bag containing his lunch. "You're in luck, Slick." He took out two stacks of sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper. "Turkey or ham?"
"What is this, Kendrick's Catering?" Kathleen unwrapped one of the bundles and helped herself to a sandwich. Then she pulled her own set of saddlebags nearer. "What'll it be? Brandy pâté with French bread, quiche with tarragon, or—oh, hell!"
Nose wrinkling, Kathleen pulled out a rumpled brown paper bag and looked at it in dismay. "This isn't the lunch I packed! This belongs to one of the kids … oh, man … peanut butter and jelly!" She looked up at Jett and broke into peals of laughter. "I don't believe this! Right now my niece is at play-school trying to choke down quiche, and we're stuck with peanut butter!"
"Quiche?" Jett lifted his eyebrow. "I don't think so."
"Philistine."
"City slicker." He cut off a slice of beef jerky with his pocket knife and tossed it into her lap. "Pâté, cowboy-style."
It was hard to believe they were here like this, bantering over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as though the intervening sixteen years had never happened. It gave him an odd feeling, looking across and seeing her there.
She looked about sixteen again, wet hair slicked back and not a speck of makeup on. Wrapped in a plaid blanket, she was leaning against a weathered old log, bare legs stretched out in front of her to get the fire's heat, slender ankles crossed.
It was hard keeping his eyes off her. Hard not to think of the fact she was as naked as the day she was born under that blanket and flannel shirt, its tails demurely covering her thighs. Hard not to recall the way she'd felt under the cradling warmth of his hands when she'd first come out of the water. Or the things he'd suddenly found himself thinking. Things he hadn't thought in years…
He tried not to think of them now as he poured the last of the coffee into the cup and handed it to her wordlessly, forcing himself to ignore the little shock he got when his fingers brushed hers. He still didn't know what the hell he was doing here. He should have tethered her horse to a tree and gone the hell home instead of—
"Ready yet to tell me what you're up to?"
He looked at her sharply, realizing uneasily that she'd been watching him all this time. Trying to read his expression, maybe. See something in his eyes. "Meaning?"
Kathleen smiled around the rim of the red plastic cup. "You were ready to take on the whole Patterson clan with your bare hands yesterday. Today you're plying me with hot coffee and that not inconsiderable Kendrick charm." Her smile widened. "It makes me wonder about your motives."
A jolt of guilt went through him, sharp and hot. It was an opening, tailor-made for the truth. All he had to do was tell her. A few words, a handful of truths, and she would know. About her father. About him. Pam. Jody. The whole damn can of worms.
But he just shrugged and leaned forward to toss a handful of wood onto the fire. "Seeing you again brought up a lot of feelings I figured I'd put to rest a long time ago, that's all."
"I guess we both had some stuff to sort through," Kathleen said quietly. "I lay awake half the night thinking about what you said. About how you came looking for me." She smiled at him, feeling suddenly shy. "That meant a lot. Knowing you cared, I mean. Knowing that I had meant something to you and hadn't been just a … a trophy."
Jett whispered something short and profane and rubbed his forehead with his hand. Then he looked at her finally, his eyes glowing with a deep, healthy anger. "You were never a trophy, Kath. I liked the attention we got, I admit that. Every guy in town had the hots for you, and I got off on knowing you were mine. But it went a hell of a lot deeper. I think we could have had something real if we'd had the chance."
His words sent s
omething warm through her, like a hug on a cold day. "Yesterday you asked me why—if I'd really loved you—I'd gotten rid of the baby. Is that what you thought? That I'd had an abortion?"
"Adoption." The skin tightened around his eyes slightly as he stared into the flames. "I thought you'd given him away."
"They wanted me to." Kathleen heard the crisp bite of anger in her own voice and took a deep breath. "Mom and Dad tried to talk me into agreeing to an abortion, and when that didn't work, Dad started talking adoption."
She took another deep breath and looked up to discover that Jett had turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Just before the baby was due, he came to Baltimore to talk me into signing an adoption agreement. He kept saying how much better it would be for the baby, although I knew he meant how much better it would be for him. My uncle is a doctor, and Dad said how he had all these contacts, how easy it would be to find a good adoptive family."
Jett was listening intently, his expression fierce, as she went on.
"I told him I wasn't agreeing to that, either. That I'd take the baby and run away if I had to, but they weren't taking him away from me."
"Run where?" His voice was raspy. "You were a kid. Where would you have gone? How would you have lived?"
Kathleen shrugged and tossed the rest of the coffee into the flames. "I have no idea. I had no idea back then, either, I just knew I was keeping my baby—your baby." She sighed. "But it doesn't matter now, does it?"
Jett nodded very slowly, looking as though he was thinking about something else all together. "Do you think about him?"
It surprised her slightly. "Of course. I'll hear a baby cry, or see a woman pushing a stroller, or I'll be watching TV and a diaper commercial will come on … it never really goes away. But it's not so much grief anymore. It's just a sadness now. For him. For the life he missed. Like when I saw Jody for the first time."
Jett's face went suddenly blank. Careful, almost. "Jody?"
She gave him a rough smile. "I'll admit it was a shock, actually seeing him. I knew you and Pam had a son, but I hadn't realized he was only a few months younger than our son would have been if he'd lived. It…" She had to laugh quietly. "I don't know why I was so surprised. You never did have any restraint—that was part of your charm, if I remember."
Jett flushed and looked away, jaw going hard and stubborn.
"Sorry," she murmured. "That was a cheap shot." He didn't indicate he'd even heard her, and Kathleen reached out with one bare foot and nudged his knee. "Hey. I just said I was sorry."
"I never touched her while I was with you," he said finally, looking at a twig he was twirling between his fingers instead of at her. "Even if you don't believe anything else, I want you to believe that."
She wanted to say something to him, Kathleen thought. About how much it meant to hear him say that. About so many things. But he'd put a wall up suddenly, as though unsettled by the unexpected closeness between them.
He draped his forearm across his knee, the twig between his teeth. Staring now into the fire. Anywhere but at her.
"My father played us against each other sixteen years ago," she said quietly. "He lied to both of us and got exactly what he wanted. He was good at that."
Jett didn't say anything, still toying with that damned twig like it was something important. She could read the anger in the tautness of his wide shoulders, the tension in his jaw as he bit down across the end of the twig and spat it into the fire.
"He gave you money, didn't he? To leave Burnt River. To leave … me."
He gave her a startled glance, then looked away again, telling Kathleen all she needed to know. It had been a wild guess, right off the top of her head, with no reason to think it might be true beyond a chilling awareness of how her father's mind worked. "That's why you married Pam and moved to Arizona. Because my father gave you the money for a new start."
"Something like that," he muttered finally. Then he swore dully and sat up, raking his fingers through his hair. Still not meeting her eyes. "I'd just turned nineteen, I had a baby, a wife … hell, yes, I took his money. Burnt River meant nothing but grief to me back then. I got a job in Arizona with a stock contractor and put a down payment on a small spread of my own and—" He swore again and gave his head a weary shake. "Hell, Kathy, it's all old news now."
Kathleen nodded slowly, wondering why she felt so little anger at his admission of yet another betrayal. She found herself thinking instead of what it must have been like for him back then. He'd been cocky and self-assured, but in many ways—in crucial ways—still no more than a boy. He would have been no match for her father.
"Did you love her?" The question, never far from her thoughts, slipped out before she could catch it.
Again Jett gave her a startled look. And again she saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes before he looked away again.
"Of course you did," she said quickly. "I'm sorry. That was a stupid—"
"I tried." The words sounded torn from him. "I swear to God, I did that much. It was the least I could do."
"Jett, this isn't any of my business. You don't have to—"
"I thought you'd used me and walked away. I just wanted to get away from Burnt River and you and your old man and start over. Love was the last thing on my mind."
"I'm glad you did," she said softly. "Start over, I mean. I hope you and Pam were happy. And I meant what I said the other day about being sorry for your loss. And … the other thing I said." She flushed, unable to meet his eyes. "About how she deserved better. If Jody's anything to go by, you two had a good, solid marriage. She was very lucky."
Jett lifted his head slowly to look at her, his expression oddly bleak. "She was a good mother."
"It shows." She smiled. "He's a great kid."
Jett just nodded, thoughts in turmoil, only half listening. Thinking, instead, about Pam. About what she'd been like, once. Before the anger, the resentment. The drinking. She'd been eighteen and in love, and it had taken no effort at all to talk her into marrying him.
Oh, he'd been honest with her. Up to a point, anyway. He'd told her right up front about Jody. About how he needed a wife to make getting custody easier. She'd loved the idea at first, helping him beat old man Patterson and Kathleen at their own game. But he hadn't told her all of it. He'd never told her that he didn't love her…
"I'd give you a penny for them," a quiet voice said beside him, "but I have an idea I might wish I hadn't."
Jett glanced up and discovered that Kathleen was on her feet, the blanket draped loosely around her, her expression pensive as she looked down at him.
Shaking off the past, he just grinned lazily and reached up to tug on the shirttail dangling to just above her knee. "I've got a thought or two you can have free."
She tried not to laugh—he could see her fighting it. But finally she gave up and laughed softly. "You always did make every word you said sound like an invitation to bed."
This time it was Jett who laughed. He got to his feet, rising above her so she had to tip her head to look up at him, and he found himself thinking she was still one of the most gorgeous things he'd ever set eyes on. More so now. Sixteen years ago, she'd been a girl—pretty and sexy as hell, but still a girl. But the beauty looking back at him now had a woman's eyes and a woman's smile, and the body under that flannel shirt was a woman's body.
And again it made him think things he hadn't thought for a long, long while.
"Depends who I'm talkin' to," he told her with a grin.
"You're a liar. Flirting's like breathing with you."
Jett shrugged, letting his smile fade. "Once, maybe."
Kathleen didn't say anything. She looked up at him thoughtfully, her gaze taking in his features one by one. "We had some good times back then, Jett. Those few months with you that summer were some of the happiest of my life. I'm glad I've had the chance to tell you that."
He should be saying something, Jett thought distractedly. But for the life of him, he couldn't
think of what. Except how he suddenly wanted to touch her again. How easy it would be to take a half step forward and lower his mouth to hers and—
He caught the thought right there, but not before Kathleen had seen at least some of it in his eyes. A hint of pink washed across her cheeks—so faint he never would have noticed it if he didn't know her so well—and she moved away, letting her gaze slide from his, a troubled little frown wedged between her eyes.
"If you'll do the gentlemanly thing and turn your back for a minute, I'll get dressed," she said all in a rush. "I imagine you want your shirt back."
Not half as badly as he wanted what was in it, Jett found himself thinking with unexpected savagery. But he kept his mouth firmly shut and turned his back on her, trying to get his unruly thoughts corralled. Damn it, what did he think he was doing? She wasn't his to touch anymore. Wasn't his to kiss. Or even think about kissing.
Teeth gritted, he tried to remember what he'd been doing before finding her horse this afternoon. Calves, that was it. He'd been looking for a couple of stray calves. Behind him, the blanket fell to the ground. He could hear the click of the snaps on his shirt part under her fingers and tried, desperately, to ignore it.
Ranching, that was what he was supposed to be thinking about. Cattle. They had to get the last of the herd moved up to the summer range, for one thing. There was the whisper of silk on skin behind him, and he closed his eyes, telling himself flatly that it was his imagination.
Except imagination was worse than reality. In his mind he could see her sliding those pink silky briefs up one long slender leg, then the other. Could see her smooth them over her hips, settling lace around a waist he'd once been able to span with both hands.
He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. This was crazy. Sure, it had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. But that didn't explain why he was standing here thinking these kinds of things. Thinking of her sliding her bra straps up over her arms and those smooth white shoulders … remembering what it had been like taking it off her.
