The other experiences could be written off as an active imagination, but how had she known his nickname? Standing, he shook off the niggling doubts settling over him. Maybe he didn't want to know.
Dressed and ready for the day ahead, J.T. left his bedroom, glancing toward Caitlan's closed door. A streak of light at the bottom of the door told him she was up, and he walked over and knocked lightly, wanting to get this awkward conversation about protection and pregnancy over with.
"Yes?" she answered softly.
"It's me. I need to talk to you." He grimaced at the clipped tone of his voice and deliberately softened it. "Can I come in?"
She didn't reply; not that he could blame her. He'd been anything but congenial on the walk back to the house from the barn. Guilt weighed down his conscience when he recalled how cold he'd been, and how he'd all but deserted her at her bedroom door without so much as a good night, an apology, a promise, a curse… nothing.
"Caitlan?"
"Go away, J.T.," she said wearily. "I'll be downstairs in a bit."
Okay, he deserved that. He almost turned away, but a streak of stubbornness held him there. Testing the knob, he found it unlocked and slowly opened the door and looked inside.
She sat on the bed, knees pulled up under the covers, drawing on that pad of paper she coveted. Her hand stilled and she glanced up, but she didn't glare at him as he'd expected her to. Like he wished she would, so he wouldn't feel like such an ass. No, her features were delicately somber, her violet eyes wide and glossy. The bedside lamp haloed her dark tousled hair, and he detected a faint smudge of weariness beneath her bottom lashes. She looked extremely vulnerable, and achingly beautiful.
A sudden emptiness consumed him, leaving him emptier and more desolate than ever. As he held Caitlan's gaze, something elemental shifted within him, making him too susceptible to this woman who'd intrigued him from the very first. He denied his growing feelings for Caitlan, that he was coming to care for her in a way that he hadn't cared for anyone in a long time. She made him feel, and he couldn't afford to. Besides, she'd only get hurt.
Pushing aside the tenderness and warmth crowding their way into his heart, he stepped inside her room without an invitation and shut the door quietly, wanting privacy for their discussion.
She returned her attention back to her drawing, the tip of her pencil scratching across the paper. "What do you want, J.T.?"
You. The word came without provocation; it was the absolute truth. All he wanted at that moment was to strip off his clothes and hers, push her back on the bed, and sink deep inside her, losing himself in her damp softness and heat. He wanted to see passion and desire flare in her eyes, wanted to experience again those ripples of pleasure that clutched him when she reached that crest.
He'd been right: once with her wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. God, he hated this weakness he had for her.
Business, Rafferty, he reminded himself. Walking to the side of her bed, he braced his shoulder against the wall, silently vowing he wouldn't touch her again.
He cleared his throat of the thick need gathering there. "We need to talk about what happened earlier."
She tensed but didn't look up at him. Instead, her pencil increased in tempo-quick, short, abrupt strokes slashing across the page. "I'd rather not."
He leaned forward slightly to get a look at what she was drawing but she held the pad at such an angle that he couldn't make out the sketch. "I'm not giving you a choice, Caitlan. I didn't protect you."
Finally, she glanced at him, confusion darkening her eyes. "Protect me?"
Damn. She couldn't be that innocent! "Yeah, I didn't use a condom, so what I want to know is if you're on some kind of birth control. The last thing I want is for you to end up pregnant. I don't think you'd want that either."
She blushed at his bluntness and averted her gaze back to her pad. "Don't worry about it, J.T.," she said quietly.
A shaft of white-hot jealousy lanced through him when he thought of her on contraceptives for some other man. He should have let the subject drop, but a possessiveness he had no right to feel provoked him into pressing for more answers. "So you're on some form of birth control then?"
His tenacity earned him a sharp look from her. Then a raw pain flickered in the depth of her eyes. "No. I can't get pregnant."
Shock rippled through J.T. Her confession momentarily stunned him speechless. When he recovered he silently berated himself for being so callous. "I'm sorry, Caitlan. I didn't mean to be so insensitive. It's just that…" He shoved his fingers through his shower-damp hair, now wishing he'd never broached this subject with her. "It's just that after what happened with Stacey I don't care to make the same mistake twice."
"I understand," she said softly, flipping her sketch pad closed. "But there's nothing for you to worry about."
He should have been relieved by her reassurance, but the sadness lingering in her gaze touched a chord within him. She wanted children, he realized, but for some reason couldn't have them. The thought made him ache for her.
She opened the nightstand drawer and put her pencil and pad inside. "If you're done, I'd like you to leave so I can get dressed."
No, he wasn't done. He didn't like being dismissed, and he liked even less the sensation of something still unresolved between them. Unable to get a firm grasp on what that something was, he gave her a curt nod and crossed to the door, then let himself out of her bedroom.
As soon as J.T. left, Caitlan sagged against her pillow and closed her eyes, willing away the dull twinge in her chest. Her hand absently strayed to her flat abdomen. A baby. J.T.'s baby. The thought filled her with such a sweet sorrow she wanted to weep for all the things that could never be. Where had all this longing come from?
The answer eluded her.
Freshly showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a pink sweatshirt, Caitlan went downstairs to the kitchen, prepared to face J.T. again. Except he wasn't sitting at his usual spot, eating breakfast and drinking coffee. Dirty breakfast dishes were stacked by the side of the sink, along with a platter of leftover scrambled eggs, sausage, and pancakes. Paula stood by the counter next to the sink tenderizing a roast, engrossed in her task. The clock above the kitchen window read five-thirty in the morning. Where were the men?
Drawing a deep breath for calm, Caitlan pasted on her best smile. "Good morning, Paula." Stopping at the coffeepot, she reached into the cupboard and brought down a mug, then filled it with the steaming brew. This morning a double shot of caffeine would be just the ticket.
Paula glanced over her shoulder, smiling brightly. "Oh, good morning, Caitlan. I didn't hear you come in." She gave the meat a few more whacks with the mallet. "J.T. mentioned you were awake and would be down shortly. You're quite an early riser."
Caitlan shrugged, aware of the other woman's scrutiny. "Habit, I guess."
Paula nodded. "I know how that is. My body has its own natural alarm clock built in too." She placed the meat into a roasting pan and added peeled carrots and potatoes. "Sleep well?"
Startled by the question, Caitlan slopped a dollop of cream over the rim of her mug. Grabbing a paper towel, she soaked up the mess. "Uh, yes. Just fine." She hadn't slept a wink.
"Didn't seem like J.T. did," Paula commented, her lips pursed in disapproval. "That man had the temperament of a provoked bear this morning. Even his usual cup of coffee didn't help."
Smiling blandly, Caitlan leaned her hip against the counter and took a sip of coffee. I guess I bring out the best in him, she wanted to reply sarcastically but kept her thoughts private.
"We had a long day at Debbie's yesterday, and he was up late last night," she said as an excuse. Both accounts were true, the latter most likely being J.T.'s reason for being so grouchy. But he'd been the one to follow her into the barn, then seduce her in the early hours of the morning…
And you welcomed every one of his kisses and heated caresses.
"Did you have a nice time?"
Jarred from her intimate th
oughts by Paula's question, Caitlan stared at the older woman, wondering if she somehow knew what had transpired between her and J.T. "You mean at Debbie's?"
"Of course." Paula frowned at her as she rolled out a slab of dough for biscuits. "What did you think I meant? Did you go somewhere else I don't know about?"
Just paradise, Caitlan thought. Sheer, unadulterated paradise. But she wasn't about to divulge that information to Paula. "No, we didn't go anywhere else, and yes, we had a nice time." Before she could put her foot in her mouth any further, she asked, "Where's J.T.?"
Paula dusted flour on the rolling pin and continued spreading the dough. "He left about fifteen minutes ago. You just missed him."
"He left?" Caitlan echoed. A frisson of alarm shot through her. "Where did he go?"
Cutting out round discs of dough, Paula placed them on a baking sheet. "He said he had some things to take care of in town and that he wouldn't be back until this afternoon."
Caitlan silently reprimanded herself for allowing her emotions to make her remiss in her duties to J.T. While she'd been wallowing in sorrow he'd left. Without her to protect him. "Did he go by himself?" Urgency tinged her voice, but she couldn't help it.
"He took Kirk with him." Paula sent her a curious glance. "You should have told him you wanted to go with him. He probably thought you'd be bored."
More likely he left without telling me so he wouldn't have to deal with me as a tagalong. Taking a swallow of coffee, she glanced out the window above the sink. A gray dawn was just breaking, and Caitlan could see the bustle of the hands down at the barn as they prepared for the day. She searched for her nemesis but couldn't find him. "Have you seen Randal this morning?" she asked in a neutral tone.
"No. I usually don't." Finished with her biscuits, Paula washed her hands and dried them on a terry towel, giving Caitlan a shrewd look. "Just a word of advice, Caitlan: Stay away from Randal. I don't know what's gotten into that boy lately, but he's a fuse just waiting to be lit."
Caitlan nodded and rinsed her cup. "I will."
"Good." Paula dismissed the topic as quickly as it had been brought up. Bustling to the pantry, she brought out a container of sugar and two cans of pineapple rings. "Ever made a pineapple upside-down cake?"
Caitlan smiled. "No."
"Well, you're about to learn." Paula handed her an apron from a kitchen drawer, winking at her conspiratorially. "It's J.T.'s favorite. Maybe it'll soften him up some."
Caitlan doubted it, but she was desperate enough to bridge the rift between them to try anything.
Paula left the house a little after two in the afternoon, once Caitlan had convinced her she'd be fine until Laura arrived home from school in an hour or so. The house was spotless, and dinner was ready to pop into the oven later that evening. The sweet, heady fragrance of the cake they'd made permeated the house.
Wandering through the big, quiet ranch house, Caitlan wondered what she could do to keep herself, and her mind, occupied so she wouldn't think about what had happened between her and J.T. last night, and this morning. Going to the barn to see King was out of the question; too many fresh, sensual memories lingered there. She didn't think she'd ever be able to smell the sweet scent of hay without thinking of J.T. and the way he'd made love to her.
She thought about sketching, but discarded the idea. She wasn't in the frame of mind to deal with the confusing visions that usually plagued her when she drew. Heading toward J.T.'s office, she decided reading a book would be the best way to divert her thoughts.
The floor-to-ceiling bookcase offered a variety of reading material. Perusing her way down the shelves, she discovered books on American history, accounting, cattle ranching, and literally a dozen other subjects. A set of encyclopedias occupied the second-to-last shelf, and below that were a row of photo albums.
Interest piqued, she sat cross-legged on the carpet and withdrew the first album. Opening the tan cover, she immersed herself in what she assumed was the Rafferty family. Pictures of J.T. and Debbie as children graced the pages, and there were even a few photographs with Randal in them. She realized Randal had the same belligerent, cocky air about him then as he did now. Picking out J.T.'s parents was easy to do; J.T. resembled his father and Debbie had the fair looks of her mother. She recognized a few shots of Frank and Paula, but other than that no one looked familiar.
Whiling away the next hour, she went down the line of albums, seeing the progression in J.T.'s and Debbie's childhood, all the way up to their teen years. When she pulled out the last album she noticed a cigar box tucked into the corner of the shelf, out of sight until she removed the last volume.
Sliding the album back into its slot, she picked up the box, then laid it on the carpet in front of her, debating on whether or not to open it. No tape or locks secured it, and there was nothing to indicate the contents were of a personal nature. Assuming it held more photographs, she lifted the lid and looked inside.
Her gaze inventoried a small stack of letters and papers, photographs, a lock of blond hair tied with a pink satin ribbon, and a black velvet ring box. Each piece of memorabilia shimmered with a strange life of its own, beckoning to a deep, secluded portion of her soul. Drawn by unknown forces, she picked up one of the letters and unfolded the page, realizing as she read the flowery script that it was a love letter to J.T. from Amanda. Her medallion warmed between her breasts, a tingle of warning she knew it was best to heed, but she couldn't put the letter down. The heartfelt words wove through Caitlan, and she closed her eyes and recited the rest of the prose out loud as easily as if she'd memorized the words, or written the letter herself.
Shocked by her ability to repeat each line word for word, she quickly returned the letter to the pile. Her heart pounded in a heavy rhythm and apprehension climbed up her spine. She now realized the purpose of the medallion's warming was to caution her, and possibly to protect her from discovering something. She ignored the warning, more determined than ever to find out what that something was. All her visions and emotions for J.T. were linked to the medallion, and she wanted to know why.
Reaching into the box again, she grasped the loose photographs and flipped through them, recognizing Amanda from her visions. The snapshots were of J.T. and Amanda as teenagers. They looked so in love with one another, Caitlan's heart gave a sharp twist of longing. Replacing the pictures, she found sketches of J.T., the paper yellowed by years, the pencil markings smudged. Upon closer inspection, she realized these sketches were the exact ones she'd drawn from her visions a couple of nights ago. How could that be possible, when she'd never seen these sketches before? Her hand trembling and her stomach clenching in trepidation, she returned the papers to their precise spot. Unable to stop herself, she touched the lock of silky hair, then fingered the ribbon. A deep, heavy pressure settled in her breast, and she swallowed back the sudden thickness in her throat. What was happening to her?
Pulling back her hand, she stared at the black velvet box. The urge to open the lid and see what it contained overwhelmed her. She chewed on her bottom lip, telling herself to put the cigar box back where she had found it and leave J.T.'s office. Without a doubt he'd be furious to know she'd gone through his personal momentos of Amanda, but stronger elements she didn't understand guided her.
The moment she touched the velvet box her medallion singed her skin. Gasping, she quickly brought the gold pendant out from her sweatshirt, but the heat was so intense it burned through the heavy cotton material. Ignoring the increasing heat, she defiantly opened the lid. A solitaire diamond engagement ring sparkled up at her, the gold band smooth and shiny. Impulsively, she removed the solitaire from the folds of velvet and slipped it on her left-hand ring finger. Instantly, a maelstrom of sensations invaded her body and mind, pulling her into a vortex of emotions so powerful she couldn't escape. The medallion burned like fire through her sweatshirt; then the startling heat slipped under her skin, spreading an unnerving tingle throughout her entire body. Her temples throbbed, and she squeezed her eyes shut
to block the confusing fragmented visions swirling inside her mind.
"Will you marry me, Amanda Hamilton?"
"Are you sure?" Amanda whispered in a voice mingled with happiness and insecurity.
"Absolutely." J.T.'s. eyes shone with love and adoration. "You've always been mine, Amanda… "
J.T.'s love poured over Caitlan, warm and sweet and pure. The emotion grabbed at her heart-a deep, abiding love that echoed her own devotion for him.
"Yes, John Thomas Rafferty, I'll marry you. I've loved you forever… "
The buried words escaped Caitlan's memory like a well-preserved keepsake. Heaven help her, she felt as though she had loved him forever.
"I want to feel you inside me. Please, Johnny…"
Caitlan gasped when the sensation of her and J.T.'s body meshing as one cascaded over her, their souls twining in an eternal devotion that superseded a mortal lifetime. Their union coalesced love and need and longing into a glorious completion.
She blinked her eyes open, her heart pounding in her chest. Shaken by the visions and feelings provoked by the engagement ring, she started to remove the solitaire. As the band slid down her finger, tragedy rushed in on her. A sharp jolt pierced her temples.
Screams echoed in her head, her screams and Amanda's. Or were they the same? The screech of tires, the grinding crush of metal, shattering glass, then the awful, wrenching feeling of being physically, spiritually torn from J.T…
"Where is she, Dad?" J.T. demanded from his hospital bed. A bandage swathed his forehead and a plaster cast encased his left arm. His eyes were glassy, but determination fired from his gaze. "I want to see Amanda. Now."
Heaven's Gift aka Kiss of an Angel Page 19
