She bristled at his accusation. "Unlike yourself, I wasn't snooping. I was looking for a good book to read to pass some time and I saw the photo albums and looked through them. What crime is there in that?"
"You went through the cigar box." His voice was flat, his words more a statement than a question.
"Yes," she said very faintly. A shiver passed through her when she remembered all the momentos in that box, and her reaction to each of them.
He stared at her for a long moment. She could see him struggling to accept her tale for the truth. She prayed he wouldn't realize the sketches she'd drawn of him as a boy were exact duplicates of the ones he had stashed in the cigar box. Oh, what a tangled web she'd woven! And she couldn't even explain how or why.
"I don't like strangers going through my personal things," he finally said in a terse tone. "Stay out of my office unless I'm in there, Caitlan." Turning, he walked away, retaining her sketch pad.
Strangers. The word made her feel so lonely, so solitary. After everything they'd shared he still thought of her as an intruder in his life. But what had she expected from a man whose heart had been battered and bruised? A declaration of love? No, he'd warned her up-front that he didn't have a heart to give, and she had no right asking for it. The thought brought on an avalanche of feelings she didn't want to acknowledge.
Panicked at the thought of him having free access to study her drawings, she quickly caught up to him, breathless. "Can I have my sketch pad back, please?"
"No."
"It's mine," she argued heatedly.
He slanted her an uncompromising look. "It's mine."
Caitlan drew a deep breath, not knowing what to say. She walked silently beside him, watching him brood and think.
Minutes later the barn came into view, along with Frank, Randal, and Mike, standing in a semicircle in front of the structure. Loud, angry voices carried their way, and J.T. frowned, glancing at his watch. The hands weren't due back in for another hour. "I wonder what's going on now," he muttered, picking up his pace.
J.T. watched as Randal shoved at Mike. The other man automatically bounded back, fists raised, face contorted in rage.
"Come on," Mike challenged. "Give me a reason to plant my fist in that face of yours!"
A taunting smile curled Randal's lips. "You're nothing but a washed-up Marine," he retorted, puffing out his chest like a peacock.
"Both of you, cool it," Frank said, doing his best to stop the two men from brawling by insinuating himself between them. Randal and Mike yelled accusations and insults at each other until their language became descriptive and crude, and they shoved at Frank to get to one another.
J.T. swore, then glanced at Caitlan beside him. "Go on up to the house," he ordered.
"I'll be fine-"
"Now!" His tone brooked no argument. He gave her a gentle shove toward the walkway and strode purposefully to the group of men.
Knowing J.T. wouldn't appreciate her verbally refuting him at a time like this, she headed toward the house but stopped after a few yards. There was no way she'd leave J.T. unprotected when Randal had murder in his eyes. She stood off to the side, out of the way, but within hearing and viewing range, so she could monitor the situation.
J.T. reached the trio, tossed the sketch pad on a clump of grass a few feet away, and assessed the situation as best he could without knowing any details. Randal looked like hell, his face unshaven, his eyes bloodshot. The faint scent of stale whiskey reached J.T.'s nostrils, enough to confirm that Randal had been tipping the bottle while working. Mike looked like a formidable opponent, jaw clenched, the muscles across his shoulders bunched as he affected a boxing stance.
Who had provoked whom? J.T. wondered. "What's the problem here?"
Randal and Mike glared at one another, each declining to comment, both too intent on waiting for the other to make the first move.
J.T. looked at his foreman. "Frank?"
Frank shrugged and stepped to the side. "You'll have to hear it from these two, J.T. The details I have are secondhand."
"Either of you care to explain?"
Mike kept his fists raised and his gaze trained on Randal, ready for any sudden moves. "You've got a drunk working for you, and he's gonna end up hurtin' someone."
Randal tossed his head, malice darting from his gaze like sharpened daggers. "And Mike's looking for a piece of that woman you dragged home with you," he goaded with a sneer. "But I already told Mike you don't share."
Like an enraged bulldog, Mike emitted a low-throated growl and charged Randal, knocking him down into the dirt. Mike threw a punch, clipping Randal hard beneath the jaw, snapping his head back. Randal howled in pain, and Mike raised his fist for another blow.
Even though J.T. had the urge to do the same thing to his cousin, he grabbed Mike by the collar and hauled him off Randal before the other man could mutilate Randal's face.
With Frank's assistance, Randal stood, stumbling slightly to regain his balance. Touching his jaw gingerly, Randal winced, then shot Mike a menacing glare.
J.T. glanced from Mike to Randal. "I'll ask one more time for an explanation," he said in a succinct tone. "Mike?" he offered, allowing the hand a chance to go first.
Mike flexed the fist he'd just used to punch Randal. "I found Randal sitting beneath a shade tree drinking from a flask-"
"That's an outright lie!" Randal burst in, charging toward the other man.
J.T. pressed a hand to Randal's heaving chest, and his cousin backed down. "Let him finish, Randal, and then you'll have your say." J.T. felt like he was dealing with two small children. "Go on, Mike."
"I don't want some drunk watching my back during a roundup. When I told him to put the flask away he started getting abusive, insulting my work, and when that wasn't enough, he started saying some things about your lady friend I didn't care for."
"Such as?" J.T. prompted, a slow burn traveling through his veins.
"He thought maybe the two of us could show Caitlan a good time." He transferred his gaze to Randal, and J.T. somehow knew more had transpired between the two men than Mike was revealing.
Randal's eyes narrowed to slits. "More like the other way around. You were the one talking about how long it's been since you've had a woman and the things you'd like to do to the little lady." A sadistic smile transformed Randal's features. "Better watch Caitlan real careful J.T.-"
"Enough!" J.T. roared, enraged at Randal's insinuation.
Looking at both men, J.T. didn't know whom to believe. Their behavior was juvenile, but there was no doubt one had goaded the other. Why would Mike defend Caitlan when he didn't even know her? J.T. wondered. A code of honor left over from his Marine Corps days? Or hadMike been the one to make the slurs, as Randal had suggested? He didn't know, but there was no mistaking the fact that Randal had been drinking, or that problems had started arising since Mike's arrival a few months back. Both men were suspect.
J.T. decided a joint reprimand was in order. "I won't tolerate this kind of behavior from any of my men. Both of you are suspended without pay until next Monday."
Randal's face flushed bright red. "You can't do that!"
"I can, and I did. I've given you plenty of warnings to sober up. Maybe this will do the trick."
"Go to hell," Randal hissed, eyes glittering.
Spinning on his heels, he strode down the dirt drive toward his cabin.
J.T. released a long breath. He'd already been to hell and back today, without Randal's good wishes. Between his morning talk with Caitlan, finding her sketch pad, their confrontation, and now this, he was pretty well wiped out.
"I didn't do anything wrong," Mike said in a low voice.
J.T. looked from Randal's retreating back to Mike. Sincerity etched his features, but not knowing much about the man, J.T. couldn't give Mike his complete trust. "You're the newest hand here, Mike. This is the first time I've had a problem between my men."
Mike's jaw clenched, but he refrained from further comment. With a
slight nod of acceptance, made more mocking by the rage of injustice burning in his gaze, he turned and walked away.
"You did the right thing," Frank said, placing a reassuring hand on J.T.'s shoulder. "Kirk found them having it out, but we can't be sure who started the fight." Frank's gaze slid beyond J.T., his eyes widening in sudden surprise. "Uh, afternoon, Caitlan."
"Good afternoon, Frank."
J.T. jerked around upon hearing Caitlan's soft voice. Seeing her standing conspicuously off to the side, hands clasped behind her back, he realized she'd never gone up to the house as he'd ordered. The sweet, angelic smile curving her mouth did nothing to soften his sudden irritation. He was gonna wring her neck for not listening to him!
"I'll talk to you later, Frank," J.T. said, dismissing his foreman.
Casting a speculative glance from J.T. to Caitlan, Frank nodded, then headed toward the barn.
Grabbing the sketch pad he'd tossed to the ground earlier, J.T. strode purposefully toward Caitlan, scowling at her. "Dammit, I told you to go on up to the house."
Her chin lifted a fraction, and stubbornness sparked from her violet eyes. "I was worried about you."
He stopped in front of her, his large build shading the sun from her eyes when she looked up to meet his gaze. I was worried about you. Her caring words took up residence in that isolated portion of his heart, making him ache for a more physical kind of connection, a touch, a caress, a kiss, anything to ease the fierce need dominating his emotions.
Shoving those tender feelings aside, he focused on his annoyance, which was quickly becoming as thin and wispy as the clouds above. "I'm a big boy, Caitlan. I can take care of myself and my workers."
"I never said you couldn't." Chewing on her bottom lip, she shifted on her feet, suddenly anxious. "I didn't mean to become a problem with your men. I know there aren't any unmarried women on this ranch, and I never meant to…" A pink blush swept her cheeks. "I mean, I'd never…"
"You, personally, didn't do anything to provoke them, Caitlan," he interrupted. "You're a novelty to the men and it's only natural they talk about you, but I won't condone this kind of crude talk and behavior. If any one of my men so much as touches you, he'll be off the Circle R so fast his head will spin." His tone was possessive, but he couldn't help himself.
"And what about you, J.T.?" she asked very softly. Her gaze probed his, searching past the barriers he'd erected around his heart to the man who'd branded her his the night before.
Will you touch me again? He could almost see the question reflected in her eyes. His chest tightened painfully, and he resisted the urge to show her how many different ways he could touch her, make her burn for him. A gentle caress. A slow slide of his hand. Bolder, more intimate stroking.
He swallowed back the thick need gathering in his throat and lower, swirling in his belly. "I won't touch you either, so you don't need to worry about it."
She glanced away, but not before he'd caught a glimpse of hurt and hopelessness shimmering in her gaze. "It's for the best."
"Yeah," he agreed, wondering who he was trying to convince.
After supper J.T. retired to his office, leaving Laura to finish up her homework and Caitlan to watch TV in the den. He wrote up individual reports on Mike and Randal, noting their suspension, then filed the slips of papers in each of their employee files. Impulsively, J.T. withdrew Mike's file from the cabinet and brought it back to his desk to peruse.
Shuffling through the contents, he pulled out Mike's employment application. A few lines had been left blank, mainly in the family-and-relative emergency information section, but that kind of vagueness wasn't unusual when hiring a seasonal hand. Most were drifters and had no family to call their own.
Mike's reference sheet listed the four previous ranches where he'd been employed. J.T. had called two of the spreads for references, and both told him Mike was quiet but a good hand. The first ranch laid him off due to lack of work, and the other ranch claimed there had been a personality conflict between Mike and the foreman, and Mike had opted to move on. A conflict in personalities was hardly a crime, J.T. thought, unless it interfered with work, as it had today.
Randal wasn't guiltless, J.T. knew. He had a volatile temper, more so these past months since his father's death and the debts that had been heaped on him. His flare-ups and bouts of drunkenness were increasing in frequency. J.T. hoped this suspension would force Randal to get his priorities together.
As for Mike's suspension, J.T. hadn't decided whether or not it would be permanent. He didn't know much about the man, not even if he was capable of setting up the sabotage attempt on his life. But what reason would Mike have for harming him? Mike had nothing to gain, unless he'd been hired by someone, which didn't make sense. J.T. didn't have any real enemies that he knew of. The "accident" down by the creek still confounded him.
Mike had the perfect motivation for tossing the kittens into King's stall-retaliation for J.T. reprimanding him for smoking in the barn-but J.T. had no concrete evidence that Mike had actually done the deed.
Maybe he ought to cut his losses and let Mike go with a week's severance pay. J.T. had no proof the man was guilty of anything, but he couldn't afford to keep Mike on and possibly risk a potentially dangerous incident that might involve his family. Tomorrow, he decided, would be soon enough to let the hand go.
J.T. scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Hell, when had his life become so complicated? Ever since a violet-eyed woman had drifted into his life and saved him from a certain death. Even her sudden appearance he still found hard to believe, although he had no reason to distrust her.
Tossing Mike's file aside, J.T. reached for the sketch pad on the corner of his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he opened the cover. The shock of seeing Caitlan's portrait of him as a young boy had worn off, but he was still baffled as to how she'd accomplished the detailed and oddly accurate sketch.
The longer he studied the picture, the more it seemed familiar, as if he'd seen this particular drawing before. Putting the pad down on his desk, he sighed heavily. His gaze strayed to the bottom shelf of his bookcase, and he thought of the cigar box he'd stashed there, and Amanda's sketches of him tucked inside.
"Amanda," he murmured, waiting for the familiar piercing pain to lance through him at the thought of her. The sorrow was dull and distant, overshadowed by his feelings for another woman. Caitlan. Despite his resolve to keep her at arm's length, he cared for her. Deeply. More than he wanted to admit. Making love to her had changed him in intense, unsettling ways.
Shrugging off the thought, J.T. stood, wanting to compare Amanda's sketches to Caitlan's. Just as he reached the bookshelf, the phone rang, detering his quest.
He picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"J.T., I've got an emergency on my hands," Kirk said urgently. "A waterline in my basement busted, and I know you have some spare pipe-"
"I'll be there in five minutes."
"Great. Thanks."
J.T. hung up the phone, the cigar box and sketches forgotten. He strode toward the den to tell Caitlan he'd be gone for a while, and paused in the doorway. Laura sat cross-legged on the floor, her schoolbooks and homework spread out on the coffee table in front of her. Caitlan sat on the couch watching TV, legs tucked beneath her, arms wrapped around a throw pillow.
Caitlan's soft violet eyes slowly lifted to meet his, and everything in the world receded from his mind but her. The quiet longing in her gaze reached past his heart and into his soul, nestling there like a warm ray of sunshine. The powerful, unexplainable link between them tugged at his heart, wrenching it open, ultimately allowing her warmth and gentleness to breach the emptiness he'd lived with for sixteen years.
His breath hitched in his lungs. Lord. He loved her.
"What's up, Dad?"
Snapped from his startling revelation, he jerked his gaze to his daughter, trying to remember his original purpose for seeking out Caitlan. Certainly not to come to the conclusion that he loved her! When had he fallen in love w
ith her? Or had it been happening all along, and he'd been too blind to see it?
"Dad?" Laura tilted her head to the side, gaze curious. "Who was on the phone?"
J.T. gave himself a firm mental shake. "Kirk. He needs my help to repair a broken waterline in his basement. If I don't get going, he'll be up to his knees in water by the time I get there."
He looked at Caitlan and his pulse pounded, reverberating throughout his body. He loved her. The rusty words scratched his throat like barbed wire, yet he refused to give them release. His feelings changed nothing between them. She'd be gone in a few days, and he'd be smart to let her go now, unburdened with such a declaration, instead of a year down the road, when she decided ranch life wasn't enough for her. He had no right to shackle her here, and she'd given him no indication that she wanted to stay. She'd leave and he'd forget about her before the month was out. Not likely, his heart taunted.
He glanced at his watch. Eight o'clock. "I'll be back in an hour or so." Caitlan nodded, and he transferred his gaze back to Laura. "And if I'm not, I want you in bed by nine, Smidget. It's a school night."
"Okay," Laura said on a reluctant sigh.
His gaze flickered to Caitlan once more, and he struggled with the chaos raging inside him. Abruptly he turned and left the den before he said or did something that would make him look like a fool.
Caitlan watched J.T. go, hating the hollowness swallowing her up with his departure. For a fleeting moment she'd seen something soften in his eyes; then those barriers of his slid carefully into place, shutting her out. She shivered from the chill of loneliness and gathered the pillow tighter to her chest.
For the next half hour she tried to concentrate on the sit-com on TV, but her mind refused to cooperate. J.T. filled her thoughts, and all that had transpired between them in the last twenty-four hours.
A gradual uneasiness crept up on her, an awareness she couldn't shake. As if something evil was going to happen, but she wasn't quite sure what. After J.T.'s confrontation with Randal today she knew Randal was close to exploding in a mad rage. She'd seen the hatred in his eyes and sensed his building fury. She should have gone with J.T. to Kirk's, but she didn't believe the danger was with him, but lurked nearby instead, sharpening her senses to full alert.
Heaven's Gift aka Kiss of an Angel Page 21
