Wyoming True

by Diana Palmer

“Funny, you don’t think about commandos having families. I mean, it’s a high-risk profession, right?”

  “Very high risk.” His eyes took on a faraway look, full of remembered horror. “We found one of them at an outpost we were occupying. The insurgents had...” He stopped abruptly before he told her what had been done to the man. It wasn’t fit conversation for anyone who hadn’t been in combat.

  “It was something very awful, I gather?” she asked.

  “Very awful,” he conceded.

  She smiled. “Thanks for not sharing it. I don’t have a strong stomach.”

  “You must, to be able to understand quantum mechanics,” he teased.

  She laughed. “It’s mostly mathematics,” she pointed out. “I had a good brain for that.”

  “So did I, years ago. Now my head is filled with weight-gain ratios and marketing strategies.”

  “It’s still math,” she reminded him.

  “So it is.” He studied her quietly. “You could still teach.”

  “What, quantum mechanics?” she teased.

  “No. High school math. Or science. Or both.”

  She made a face. “It would require more education, and I don’t want to bury myself in academia. I like having free time. Maybe it’s frivolous, but I’ve spent a lot of years in what felt like confinement.”

  “Do you like to travel?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said at once. “When I was married to Charles, I climbed up to Machu Picchu in Peru, I walked all over Chichen Itza in Mexico, I followed in the steps of Zane Grey in Arizona, I stood at the ruins of Great Zimbabwe in Africa, and traced Rommel’s advance in Algeria...”

  “Whoa,” he said at once. “Rommel?”

  “World War II, North Africa campaign, 1942,” she said.

  “Well, damn!”

  He was cursing, but he was smiling. “Is it an interest of yours?” she asked.

  “My grandfather was with Patton’s division in Africa. Rommel had already gone back to Germany, sick, but his strategies were still being followed. My grandfather came back full of stories about Rommel that he had from other soldiers and from German captives. It fascinated me as a boy.”

  She laughed. “My dad was a history buff. One of his relatives, not sure which one, fought in North Africa, as well.” She smiled. “Small world.”

  “Isn’t it?” he chuckled.

  They finished supper. Then Jake had the driver take them out to a long stretch of deserted beach. They got out, while the driver settled in with his book.

  Ida took off her shoes and walked barefoot in the sand, her eyes on the glistening waves, the half-moon bright in the distance.

  “Pirates must have sailed here in the distant past,” she mused as they walked along.

  “No doubt. These days it’s good for deep-sea fishing.”

  “I’ve never been. I can’t imagine trying to pull in something that weighs fifty or sixty pounds.”

  He glanced at her. She had a small frame, although she was medium height, and her injuries would never allow her to do such a strenuous thing as deep-sea fishing. “It would be difficult for you. Those fish fight back, and it takes a lot of strength to land one.”

  She turned to him. “You’ve done it,” she guessed.

  He chuckled. “I have. I pulled in a marlin that weighed a lot more than sixty pounds. By the time I got him aboard, I was sweating and shivering with strained muscles and all out of my best cusswords.”

  “Did you have him mounted?” she asked.

  “I tossed him back in.”

  “You did?”

  He laughed at her expression. “I don’t take trophies.”

  She smiled. “I knew you were a nice man.”

  “Nice.” He rolled his eyes and started walking again.

  “It’s not a bad word,” she pointed out. “Would you rather be thought of as a scoundrel?”

  “In my experience, scoundrels have a lot more fun than nice men.”

  “I don’t know,” she sighed. “I’ve pretty much had my fill of scoundrels.” She moved forward, a little gingerly, but the ibuprofen was doing its job. So she danced in and out of the foaming surf, laughing, her face almost radiant in the moonlight, her pretty figure outlined without the coat she’d left in the car, which she hadn’t really needed here. But the water was still cold, because it was October.

  “You’re going to catch cold,” he told her. “It’s too cool for wading.”

  “Spoilsport,” she teased. “I’m having fun. Don’t spoil it.”

  “When you’re sneezing your head off and coughing...”

  “I know, don’t blame you. Don’t worry. I won’t.” She laughed. “Life is short,” she said, dancing back into the water. “I’m going to live it to the very fullest. Nobody is guaranteed tomorrow, you know.”

  He felt an odd sense of kinship with her. He’d lost his mother, whom he’d loved dearly. She’d lost her own parents. They were both orphans. Adult orphans without anyone to share their triumphs and tragedies.

  She glanced at him, curious. “What’s wrong?”

  “I was just thinking that we’re both orphans.”

  She stopped playing in the surf and came back to stand just in front of him, holding her shoes in one hand. “We are, aren’t we?”

  He bent, framing her pretty, flushed face in his lean, beautiful hands. “All alone in the dark...”

  His mouth brushed over hers with a tenderness that brought stinging tears to her eyes. She stood very still, so that he wouldn’t stop.

  But he felt the tears in his mouth and lifted his head, shocked.

  “Why?” he asked, worrying that he was going too fast.

  “I’m not used to it.”

  “Used to what, Ida?”

  She swallowed. “Tenderness.”

  He smiled. “You might not believe it, but neither am I.”

  “I’ll bet you leave trails of brokenhearted women behind.”

  “I used to. Not anymore.” He sighed. “I’m tired of buying the facsimile of affection with expensive gifts.”

  Her small hand went up to his cheek and drew it down. In the moonlight, she could see the anguish on his hard face. She was certain that he disguised it in humor with most people. But with her, he could let his guard down. It made her proud.

  “We’ve both lived through tragedies,” she said.

  He caught her hand and pressed it to his mouth. He scowled. “How do you know that I have?”

  “You have an expressive face, when you’re not pretending,” she said simply and gave him a sad smile. “I guess people who’ve known tragedy can see it in other people.”

  “Not many have ever seen mine,” he said curtly. Not even Mina had noticed, and she was sensitive.

  “Or mine,” she agreed. “Most people have enough trauma in their own lives, without adding my bad memories to them.”

  He smiled faintly, fascinated by her. “That’s the way I feel.”

  Her fingers traced his chiseled mouth. He dazzled her. “I don’t think I’ve felt safe with a man since my first husband died,” she said in a soft, husky tone.

  He glared at her. No man wanted a woman to feel just safe. He wanted her to feel passionate, hungry, all those things.

  She laughed softly. “Bad choice of words,” she said, when she saw the irritation he wasn’t bothering to hide. “Let me rephrase it. You’re the first man I’m not afraid of.”

  “Oh.”

  It was only the one word, but his face relaxed and lost its brief anger.

  “I know that you won’t hurt me,” she added. She smiled. “It may not seem like much to you, but it’s a world of difference to me.”

  He cocked his head. “You don’t flirt with me,” he pointed out.

  “You’d see right through it if I did,” she
replied. “You’re a no-nonsense man most of the time. Hard, when you have to be, but compassionate and kind.”

  There was a faint ruddy flush on his high cheekbones.

  “Now I’ve put my foot in my mouth again,” she sighed, grimacing.

  “You see too deep,” he said simply.

  “I get it,” she replied. She smiled up at him. “No peeking under that mask you wear, right?”

  “Right,” he returned. She made him uncomfortable with her surprising insight. He didn’t want people close. Not emotionally close. His only lapse had been Mina, whom he’d loved.

  She studied his drifting expressions with fascination. “You don’t want anybody close emotionally, do you?” she asked slowly. “I mean, I know you cared deeply for Mina. But you had to fight your instincts even with her. Somebody hurt you deeply, scarred you.”

  He withdrew his hand. He was glaring at her now.

  She moved away discreetly and turned back toward the ocean. The moon made a trail of sparkling light in its wake. The waves ran into the shore noisily with whitecaps grasping the white sand only for an instant before the ocean dragged them back out to sea.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said, her back to him. “My first husband was fond of beaches, and he had houses in Jamaica and the Bahamas, where I could stay when I liked. I spent a lot of time wading in the surf, just like here.” She ran back to the surf and danced in and out of the foaming whitecaps until her hip started to protest.

  She made a face and turned, walking slowly back to Jake, who had both hands in his pockets. He was still scowling, but now his attention was on Ida, not the past.

  “You’re limping,” he noted.

  She made a face. “I know better than to go dancing with waves,” she said and laughed softly. “My hip won’t permit much of that. Everything aches when I overdo.”

  He moved closer. “Hurting?” he asked softly.

  She nodded. She bent to put her shoes down and bit back a groan.

  “Here. Lean on me.”

  She did, while she got her feet back into her shoes. “Stupid, running through the waves like that,” she confessed.

  “Which I mentioned,” he pointed out.

  She drew in a breath. “So you did.”

  “Was it just your hip and thigh?” he asked quietly.

  She sighed. “Mostly.”

  He was reading between the lines. A fall like hers must have produced a lot of injuries. More than she’d admitted to. “And they let your damned husband out of jail,” he growled.

  “Ex-husband,” she reminded him. “Very ex.”

  “So he is.”

  She started to walk toward the car, very slowly and with obvious pain.

  “Come here,” he said gently. He bent and lifted her, holding her close while he walked.

  She looked up at his square chin, nicely shaven, and the scent of expensive cologne wafted down into her nostrils. He was warm and very strong. She’d never felt so safe in her whole life. She curled into him, her arms around his neck, and laid her cheek on his broad chest.

  That soft submission made his heart race, hardened his body. He was being drawn into a raging passion that he didn’t want to feel. He still adored Mina. There was no room in his life for another woman.

  But this one was soft, and cuddly, and damaged, and she appealed to him in ways he didn’t quite understand. He was wary of her. She had a scarlet reputation and he didn’t trust her. Was she pretending? But why would she need to? She had money of her own. She was rich. She wouldn’t be chasing him for anything he had.

  He was very quiet. She could feel his heart going at her ear, feel the wild beat of it. He was attracted to her. It made her feel like a girl again, all tingly and fascinated. But she was uncertain. Her second husband had been like this, tender and protective and kind. And once they were married, behind closed doors he became a monster.

  Her arms loosened their grip and she stiffened, just a little. She couldn’t afford to give in to desire. It was treacherous, even with a man who seemed safe.

  Jake noted the stiffening. Apparently, she was as uncertain as he was. Just as well. He wasn’t going in headfirst again, not with a woman who drew gossip like this one did.

  He put her down gently at the back door, which the driver was holding open for them. He helped her in and slid in beside her, nodding to the driver.

  * * *

  AS THEY DROVE back toward the airport, he noticed the pain on her face.

  “Do you have anything left to take for it with you?” he asked.

  She turned her head, surprised.

  “Any of the ibuprofen,” he clarified.

  She grimaced. “I only had one tablet with me. I left the rest at home. I didn’t think I’d need it. I’m all right,” she added quickly. “It’s just a little twinge, nothing major.” But she was lying through her teeth. She should never have run through the surf, no matter how tempting it was.

  “It won’t take us long to get home,” he said. She worried him. He didn’t like that. Most women left him cold. He’d been a rounder in his younger days, interested in women only for their bodies and not much more. Most of the females in his set were sophisticated and out for an evening of indifferent pleasure, much as he’d been.

  But these days he was thinking about a family, a place to belong, a woman to belong to. He’d never wanted children until he’d gone around with Mina. He could picture her as a mother, holding a baby and loving it. Loving him. But that hadn’t happened. He’d adored Mina. She’d liked him, but only as a friend.

  It had made him bitter and sad when he lost her to the Texas cattle baron. All his wealth and power had meant nothing at all to her. Mina wasn’t mercenary, as most of his casual affairs had been.

  The woman beside him in the back of the limousine was much the same, he realized with some surprise. She had money of her own, but she didn’t sport expensive clothes or expensive gems. She wore a gold ring with a small emerald on her right hand and a midrange watch on her left wrist. There was also a Celtic cross on a gold chain. Puzzling, for a scarlet woman to wear such a thing. But he was becoming convinced that whatever Ida was, it wasn’t a scarlet woman.

  “You don’t wear your wealth,” he said abruptly.

  She laughed, surprised. “No. I’m not like the Navajo, who really do wear their wealth,” she said quietly.

  “They do. I served with a man who had a fortune in turquoise and silver on his person, antique jewelry.” His face hardened. “He died beside me, in Iraq.”

  Her breath caught. “He was your friend.”

  He nodded. “It was a blow. There were plenty of others...” He stopped and glanced at her. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  She smiled. “I won’t ask,” she assured him. “I have my own bad memories. I don’t speak of them, either.”

  He didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing.

  * * *

  IT WASN’T A long flight. At least, it didn’t seem long. Ida and Jake spent the time discussing the upcoming local political race. Both were surprised to note that they felt the same way about the issues. They moved on to national government, and still they were in agreement.

  He laughed. “I never pictured you as a conservative,” he said.

  She grinned. “I don’t act like one, do I? Appearances can be deceiving.”

  “Tell me about it.” He studied her quietly at her front door, his head tilted to one side, his eyes hidden under the wide brim of his hat. “This was fun.”

  “It really was,” she agreed. She was hurting rather badly, but she didn’t show it. She didn’t want pity from this man. “Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “We might do it again one day.”

  That was disappointing, because he sounded as if he was putting her off. She just smiled. She had cold feet, too. “That would be ni
ce.”

  “Well,” he said, not moving closer. “Good night. I’ll let you get back to your pain medication. I expect you’re hurting.”

  She swallowed. “Quite a lot, I’m afraid. It was worth the pain. I loved dancing in the surf,” she added softly.

  “I enjoyed it all.”

  She smiled up at him. “Then good night.”

  She hesitated for just a second, but he didn’t come a step closer. She unlocked her door and went inside.

  He stood on her porch, his emotions in turmoil, his mind whirling. He’d wanted to kiss her good-night. So why hadn’t he?

  Because he didn’t trust her. She could be the reticent woman he’d squired around tonight, or she could be putting on an act. Had her husband really been brutal to her, or was she not telling the truth about him? Suppose she’d fallen accidentally, as her ex-husband had claimed, and she’d had him sent to jail out of spite, or distaste, or for some other reason?

  He didn’t know her. She seemed to be a lot of things that appealed to him, but he was wary of traps. He’d had his adventures with women who seemed like one thing and were actually something much worse.

  He turned and went back to the waiting limousine. Maybe he’d take her out again one day. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Just as he got into the car, he noticed her new foreman loping up onto the front porch and knocking on the door.

  He saw Ida smile at the man as she opened it and let him in. It closed behind them.

  Jake told the driver to go on. He felt angry. She was having a visitor at this hour, behind closed doors. The man, her so-called bodyguard, was handsome and well built. She’d welcomed him, although supposedly in great pain with her hip.

  He laughed coldly to himself. He was certain that he never wanted to see Ida again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “WHAT’S GOING ON?” Ida asked Laredo as she closed the front door behind him.

  “We’ve had a break-in,” he told her quietly. “Somebody got past the security cameras and beat one of the horses. He’s got deep cuts on his flanks, just like Gold.”

  “Again?” she exclaimed. “Which horse?” she added in horror.