J.T. lifted a brow at his daughter’s comment, then whispered to Caitlan, “Why don’t we finish this discussion down in the kitchen?”
Nodding, Caitlan slid off the bed. She adjusted the covers over Laura and placed a light kiss on the girl’s soft cheek. “Sweet dreams, honey.” Glancing at J.T., she found him watching her with a caring and warm glimmer in his eyes.
Shaking off the bout of awareness shimmering over her, she passed him as she moved through the doorway. “Let’s go,” she said, too aware of how quiet the house was, now that Paula had left a half hour ago.
He caught up to her on the stairs. “Who in the hell is Tommy?” he growled like an overly provoked papa bear.
Caitlan grinned at J.T.’s prickly attitude in relation to boys and his little girl. “Probably a boyfriend at school who pulls her hair to get her attention.” She shot him a pointed look. “Don’t embarrass Laura by asking her about it.”
“A boyfriend?” he said incredulously, dogging her steps through the living room. “She’s only twelve years old, for crying out loud!”
Caitlan laughed softly, amused. “A very pretty twelve-year-old,” she stated emphatically, then gave him a sidelong look. “How old was Amanda the first time you kissed her?” She flicked on the kitchen light and turned to face him.
“Uh, twelve. Damn!” He scowled. “If this Tommy kid so much as touches Laura, I’ll break his legs.”
For a moment Caitlan wished she could be around when Laura started dating, just to be a buffer between an overprotective father and his daughter. “I sure pity Laura when she starts dating. Are you going to be the kind of father who greets Laura’s dates with shotgun in hand?”
His brows lifted a fraction, considering her suggestion. “Not a bad idea.”
Caitlan shook her head and dropped the subject, not wanting to be held accountable for planting these wild ideas in J.T.’s head. Laura would never forgive her. Opening the refrigerator, she retrieved the Sloppy Joe mix Paula had prepared for supper, but no one had eaten because of all the earlier chaos. Under the circumstances Frank and Kirk had gone home for supper.
Turning on a burner, she scooped enough meat for J.T.’s meal into a saucepan. “What did you find out about the kittens?”
“Not much as far as who actually threw them into King’s stall.” He sat down on the bench, legs spread, elbows braced on his knees. Plowing all ten fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture, he stared at the floor between his booted feet. “Everyone seems to be accounted for when it happened.”
While the meat simmered, Caitlan pulled three hamburger buns from the bread box and put them on a plate. Placing a slice of cheese on each, she glanced back at J.T. “Where was Randal?” She strove to keep her tone neutral.
J.T.’s head shot up, his eyes narrowed. “Randal? You think he had something to do with this?”
Caitlan didn’t think, she knew for certain Randal had thrown the kittens into King’s stall as an act of revenge—toward her and possibly toward Missy for attacking him. Yet she had no concrete evidence beside her gut instinct, and Randal’s awful smirk, that he’d actually done the deed.
Heaping the meat onto the buns and cheese, she gave a casual shrug. “I’m just curious where he was when this happened.”
“He was with Hank and Sam down at the cookhouse when Laura started screaming.”
Great alibi, Caitlan thought, but how long had the kittens been dead before Laura found them? Caitlan set J.T.’s dinner on the table, along with a tall glass of iced tea.
J.T. turned around toward the table, glancing from his plate of Sloppy Joe’s to Caitlan, who’d taken a seat across from him. “Thanks. You didn’t have to make my dinner.” A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “I’m not such a lousy cook that I couldn’t have warmed the meat myself.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you could have, but you look exhausted and I really don’t mind.”
He picked up a sandwich, then looked back at her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry. Go ahead.”
He devoured the first Sloppy Joe with gusto and gulped down half his iced tea. After swiping his mouth with a napkin he said, “I’m still trying to figure out if this incident with the kittens has anything to do with what happened to me at the creek. I’ll be damned if I can think of any reason why someone would want me killed, or what killing those kittens would accomplish. It all seems like someone’s demented idea of fun,” He picked up another sandwich, a ruthless look entering his eyes. “I especially don’t like the thought that my daughter’s life could be in danger.”
His concern was a very realistic one, Caitlan thought, considering the fact that Randal showed no remorse for the acts of violence he’d already committed. “Are you sure there’s no one around here holding a grudge of some sort against you?” she prompted.
J.T. washed a bite of sandwich down with a long drink of iced tea. “The only person who’s held a grudge against me has been Randal, but it’s a personal grudge that has been ongoing since our childhood.” He waved a hand in the air, dismissing Randal as a possible suspect.
Caitlan ignored the subtle hint to let the subject drop. “Does Randal stand to gain anything if you should die?”
“You mean the ranch?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “No. If anything should happen to me, everything, right down to the last head of cattle, will go to Laura when she turns twenty-one. Until then Kirk and Debbie would have control of the estate and her trust.”
He finished off his last sandwich, stood, and took his dish to the sink and rinsed it. Wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he stared out the kitchen window to the darkened night beyond. Caitlan thought this was his way of ending their discussion until he turned around and propped his hip against the counter, looking at her intently.
Indecision warred in his gaze, then finally he said, “There’s one person I’m getting increasingly suspicious of.”
Startled by the possibility that she’d somehow been wrong about Randal, she sat up straighter. “Who?”
“Mike Peterson, a hand I hired a few months back.”
“What has he done?”
“Nothing, really.” Releasing a tight breath, he scrubbed a hand down the stubble shadowing his jaw. “At least nothing that I’ve actually caught him doing, but it’s the way he slinks around the place that annoys me. If anyone had a reason to throw those kittens into King’s stall, he did.”
“Why?” Caitlan found it hard to believe that someone else had as much motivation as Randal for killing those kittens.
“Remember when you came running out of the barn and bumped into me?”
“Yes,” she answered cautiously, trying to guess what he was getting at.
“Did you see Mike in there before you came out? He’s a lanky guy with dark hair, kind of brooding.”
Caitlan hadn’t seen anyone but Randal, but that didn’t mean Mike hadn’t been there, witnessing the argument between herself and Randal. If Mike had, wouldn’t he have said, or done something to help her? “No, I didn’t see him. Why?”
“Because after I sent you up to the house for a jacket I went into the barn and ran into him. He was smoking a cigarette in the tack room and got on his case about smoking in the barn. He knows better. One little spark and the place would go up like an inferno. He apologized and promised it wouldn’t happen again, but there’s just something about him I don’t trust. I’m thinking about letting him go, but I can’t prove he’s done anything.” He shifted on his feet, frustration rippling through him. “Hell, I don’t know anymore, Caitlan. I hate looking at my men, men I’ve trusted, and wondering if any of them are involved in these incidents.”
He whirled around and braced his hands on the counter, his gaze trained out the window again. The muscles across his shoulders bunched with tension, and it took deliberate restraint on Caitlan’s part not to jump up and go to him, to put her arms around his waist and offer quiet reassurance and su
pport.
After an eternity of seconds had passed J.T. swore harshly, his words bitter and succinct to match his mood, and pushed away from the counter. Mumbling something about going into his office, he disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Caitlan feeling alone, emotionally drained, and empty inside.
Somehow she knew J.T. felt the same.
Chapter Eight
Carrying a plate of fresh sliced bananas and a piece of toast, Caitlan knocked softly on Laura’s bedroom door, wanting to reassure herself that the girl was okay, since she hadn’t come down for breakfast.
“Come in,” Laura answered, her quiet voice barely reaching Caitlan’s ears.
Opening the door, Caitlan peeked inside. Laura stood in front of her dresser mirror, methodically running a brush through her long hair. Her face looked freshly scrubbed, and although sadness lingered in her eyes, the puffiness around them had diminished. In accordance with the unusually warm spring day, she’d dressed in pink shorts, a white shirt, and sandals.
Stepping inside the room, Caitlan smiled. “I brought you something to eat before we leave for your Aunt Debbie’s. How are you feeling?”
Laura put the brush down and shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Dad’s already been up here three times to check on me.”
“He’s just worried about you. We all are.”
“I know.” Tears welled in Laura’s eyes, and her bottom lip trembled slightly. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about what happened yesterday?”
“Absolutely.” Caitlan understood. The memory was still fresh and raw. Laura needed her own time to heal. “But when and if you do want to talk about it, I’d be happy to listen.”
Laura nodded, sniffling.
Caitlan gave her the plate of food, attempting to keep Laura’s mind occupied with other things. “How would you like me to French braid your hair before we leave?”
Laura’s eyes widened. “You know how?”
“Yep.”
Laura grinned. “That’ll be so cool!”
Pleased that her tactic had worked, Caitlan motioned for her to sit down on the bed while she retrieved a comb and an elastic band from the dresser. Coming up behind Laura, Caitlan sectioned off her hair and began the braiding and layering process.
“Tell me what to expect when we get to your Aunt Debbie’s today,” Caitlan said, purposely making her request sound more like interest, rather than a diversion.
For the next fifteen minutes, while Laura ate her snack and entertained Caitlan with tales of many Sunday afternoons past, Caitlan finished the French braid and secured the end with the elastic band.
Caitlan was so in tune with J.T., she felt his presence before she actually saw or heard him. Heat tingled along her nerve endings and a light flutter tickled her belly. While Laura chatted on, Caitlan glanced surreptitiously toward the doorway, already knowing what she would find.
Her gaze collided with J.T.’s. This was the first time she’d seen him since he’d walked out on her in the kitchen the night before and she had to admit he looked much better, the tension and frustration seemingly gone for the time being. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and she decided she preferred him without it.
Darker threads of gold warmed his green eyes, and the corner of his mouth curved in a smile so sexy and intimate, Caitlan’s body flushed with a startling excitement that robbed her of breath. Before she could find her voice to acknowledge him, his gaze drifted over the blue chambray shirt Debbie had loaned her, and down the length of her jeans-clad legs to her beige leather boots. When he looked back up approval and something much more primitive flickered in the depths of his eyes.
Casually, he strode into the room, as if he hadn’t just put her body in a state of nuclear meltdown. “You girls ready to go?”
Laura’s head whipped around to J.T., and she smiled up at him. “Oh, hi, Dad. Do you like my hair?” she asked, turning her head so he could check out Caitlan’s handiwork.
“Umm. I love it,” he commented, playfully tugging the tail of the braid.
Casting her father a tolerant look, Laura smoothed her hand over the intricate weaving. “I want to get a bow for the end of my braid. Wait here, Caitlan,” she said, then rushed out of the room. Seconds later the sound of drawers being open and closed echoed from the bathroom.
The smile on J.T.’s lips belied the accusatory arch of his brow. “What did you do to my daughter? I’ve been in here three times this morning trying to cheer her up, and each time I could barely coax a smile out of her.”
Caitlan gave him an upswept look injected with teasing charm. “It’s a woman thing.”
“Well, whatever it is, I like it.” He grew serious, his gaze warming with gratitude. “Sometimes I don’t know the right things to say or do to make it better for Laura.”
Caitlan heard the hint of insecurity in his voice. “I don’t think she’s all better, J.T., but at least the day at Debbie’s will give her a temporary diversion from what happened.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, just as Laura bounded back into the room and presented Caitlan with a pretty pink bow for her to clip on the end of her braid. Once that had been accomplished J.T. locked up the house and escorted them to his Ford Ranger.
He opened the passenger door for them and motioned toward the bench seat. “Slide on in.”
“Go ahead, Caitlan,” Laura said, smiling innocently. “I like to sit by the window.”
What difference did that make when windows encased all four sides of the truck? The difference, Caitlan presumed, was that she’d be sitting next to J.T.—very close to him, by the looks of the small cab. The mischievous sparkle in Laura’s eyes confirmed the girl’s intent.
“I promise I won’t bite,” J.T. murmured from behind Caitlan, his low voice sliding over her like heated honey. “At least not much.”
A shiver rippled down Caitlan’s spine, settling low in her belly. Mentally shaking off her foolishness—she was only going to sit next to him, for heaven’s sake!—she climbed into the truck and settled herself in the middle—and realized what a compromising situation Laura had actually put her in.
The small cab had been built to seat two comfortably, three if the middle person put one leg on either side of the stick shift, which Caitlan did, trying her best to keep her legs modestly together. She refused to let this situation affect her!
Her resolve liquified when J.T. slid into the driver’s side next to her. Her knee bumped his and the hard length of his thigh pressed against hers, the heat so intense Caitlan scooted subtly closer to Laura, giving her and J.T. an inch reprieve that lasted all of five seconds, when his hand brushed her hip—deliberately?—as he buckled his seat belt. A slow kind of fever found its way to the tips of her breasts, tightening her nipples.
The torture wasn’t over yet. J.T. reached between her legs to grab the stick shift, his forearm draping over her thigh. He attempted to put the stick into reverse but came up against her knee before he could shove the gear into the appointed slot.
Her breath caught, not so much from any pain he might have inflicted, but from the way his thumb caressed the inside of her knee, a slow circular pressure that quickened her pulse.
“Sorry,” he murmured, his tone more a husky purr than contrite. “You’re gonna have to spread your legs a little more.”
Heat scored Caitlan’s cheeks, and when she risked a glance at him she saw the silent laughter in his eyes. While she squirmed, he found her discomfort and embarrassment amusing, the cad! Doing as he requested, she widened her legs, giving him more access to shift freely, but leaving herself feeling too self-conscious, too aware of hands and fingers ... Oh, just stop it, Caitlan!
“Much better,” he said, grinning wickedly.
The man might not bite, Caitlan thought, but the heat wave that killer smile radiated proved just as dangerous.
Laura, grinning and singing along to a tune on the radio, looked out the window, oblivious to the charged energy between the adults.
Thankfully, the drive to Kirk and De
bbie’s neighboring house took less than five minutes, but for every one of those three hundred seconds she concentrated on the passing scenery and not the musky, masculine smell of him, the way denim stretched taut over his muscular thighs, or the way he’d cuffed back his shirtsleeves, exposing strong, tanned forearms dusted with dark hair.
Caitlan grit her teeth to stop the onslaught. Who was she trying to fool? The man was too masculine, too sexy, too ... everything, for her not to notice.
J.T. wheeled into his sister’s driveway and brought the truck to a stop next to a barn. He pulled the emergency brake, and before he could shut off the engine and unclasp his seat belt, Caitlan had scrambled out of the cab behind Laura.
Shutting the truck door, Caitlan glanced up and froze. Laura skipped up the walkway, calling for Caitlan and J.T. to hurry, but Caitlan barely heard her past the sudden roar in her ears. A peculiar sensation cloaked her, one she couldn’t clearly define or pinpoint. This house, this place, seemed so familiar, like she’d been here before.
Searching her memory for any recollection, Caitlan scanned the area. The house looked recently painted, a beige color with dark brown trim, and the front yard was well manicured. Planters of blooming flowers bordered the porch. To the side of the house three horses grazed in a small fenced-in pasture. Fuzzy, wispy images teased her mind, and she concentrated to bring them into focus.
“Earth to Caitlan.” J.T. waved a hand in front of her face.
J.T.’s voice snapped Caitlan back into the present before the vision had a chance to focus. Frowning, she looked up at him, wishing she could shake the images rushing through her mind.
J.T. snapped his fingers in front of her. “Hey, Caitlan. Are you with me?”
“I’m here,” she said, then continued cautiously, “I know this is going to sound weird, but I feel like I’ve been here before.” Yet when she sifted through her memory she found nothing.
“Déjà vu, huh?” He grinned at her.
“Yeah, something like that.”
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