Jane Bonander (17 page)

Jackson studied a scuff on the heel of his boot. “It all depends.”

“On the lovely woman I met earlier?”

A note of caution crept into Jackson’s voice. “What makes you say that?”

His father smiled. “Corey mentioned that you’d suggested she marry you.”

Jackson muttered a curse under his breath. “She hasn’t accepted.”

“Son, I’ve been around women a long, long time, and I can tell you right now that very few, except the desperate, will jump into marriage, no matter what the circumstances.”

“What am I going to do, then? She’s more of a mother to my daughter than I am a father to her,” he grumbled. “And Dawn Twilight won’t come with me willingly if her mother doesn’t come too.”

“It’s no longer up to you to decide,” his father said quietly. “But I have a feeling your Liberty O’Malley will come around.”

A sprout of hope. “Whatever gives you that idea?”

“Women like her are selfless, Jackson. She’ll do what’s best for the daughter you share, even if it’s not in her own best interest.”

“But I don’t want her to be reluctant. I want her to come willingly.”

“Don’t expect too much right away, son. You know, I may be an old fool, but I detected something between the two of you. I think your mother did, too.”

Jackson felt it, too, but he wasn’t ready to announce it to the world. During their flour fight in the kitchen, he’d sensed her coming out of that taut shell she’d protected herself with. His attraction to her grew, but he could still never promise to love her.

“Did you fall in love with Mother the first time you saw her?”

His father’s smile was warm. “No. I’d been sent to bring her back in for supposedly murdering her husband, remember?”

“Oh, right. And she didn’t fit the profile of a cold, calculated murderess.” Jackson laughed quietly. “I can’t imagine anyone thinking she could do such a thing.”

“It was easy to believe until I met her,” his father replied.

“Susannah had been beaten, son. Even when I began to fall in love with her, I saw such a haunted look in her eyes every time I got too close that I had to back away. And Corey, poor tike, was only three years old, yet I saw evidence of the abuse he’d received as well.”

“I don’t think Libby’s marriage was abusive, but it sure as hell wasn’t happy. Or normal.” She still hadn’t confided any of the details about her marriage, and on some level he knew he had no right to know. But he wanted to. And he hoped that at some point she would have enough faith in him to tell him. Of course, a lot had to happen between them before that would occur. In spite of everything, he felt pleasure every time he remembered that he’d been the first. And he felt a restless need to be the only man to have her.

“Your mother would be the first one to remind you that all women don’t want the same things out of life.”

Jackson was resolute. “Libby wants what’s best for Dawn Twilight, and since I have custody, what’s best is that she take me up on my offer.”

“That may be obviously what’s best for you and Dawn Twilight, but is marriage to you best for her?”

Jackson stared into the waning fire. What he’d offered Libby had been generous, and he’d meant every word. And after having her, he knew he’d want her again. And again.

The following morning Jackson and his father stopped at the bank. Ethan Frost met them. Although the banker’s manner was cool, Jackson sensed tension beneath the suave veneer. His eyes, as usual, were expressionless.

He offered both men chairs in his office.

Without preamble, Jackson asked, “Have you found my money?”

Frost’s gaze went from one to the other, and Jackson detected a brief flash of fear in his flat eyes.

“I’ve had my people searching the records, but we haven’t come up with anything, yet.” Frost’s gaze was focused somewhere between the two men. He didn’t look Jackson in the eye.

He’s lying, Jackson thought.

“It’s amazing to me that there’s no record anywhere of my daughter’s trust fund,” Jackson mused.

Frost fidgeted slightly behind his desk. “My father wasn’t quite right toward the end. The whole transaction could have been misplaced.”

Jackson bit back an angry retort. “He seemed fine to me when I left.”

Frost gave him a cool smile. “You didn’t know him like I did.”

“Maybe not. So let’s say you’re right. Let’s say your father completely mishandled the trust fund. So be it. No matter what happened on this end, I sent money to this bank for nearly twelve years.” He paused, pinning Frost with an icy stare of his own. “Where in the hell is it?”

“I told you. We have no record of having received any money from you. I saw your receipts and I believe you. I just can’t help you.”

Jackson fumed, but held his temper. The bad feeling he’d gotten from Frost at their first meeting intensified. Though tempted to threaten him again with the bank examiner, Jackson decided to try another tactic. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d continue to look into the problem.”

A flash of surprise. “Certainly, Mr. Wolfe. I’ll keep looking.”

“By the way,” Jackson began in an offhand manner, “do you hold the mortgages on most of the ranchland around here?”

There was another brief flash of fear in the banker’s eyes. “Certainly. I’m the only banker.”

Jackson gave him a wide, hungry smile. “Of course you are.”

Frost stood up and leaned across his desk. “Listen. If you’re trying to implicate me in the troubles the sheepmen are having …”

Jackson held up his hand. “I didn’t mean to imply anything, sir. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

A wariness spread over Frost’s features. “I’ve been perfectly willing to help those sheepmen out, Mr. Wolfe. I’ve extended them credit. What more can I do?”

“Yes,” Jackson answered as he moved toward the door.

“What more can you do?”

As Jackson and his father reached the door, Frost said,
“I’ll keep looking for your money, Mr. Wolfe, but I wouldn’t count on us finding it.”

The two men were silent until they exited the bank.

“The bastard is lying.”

Nathan nodded. “I’ve never met the man before, but I know his type.”

“I’ve got to make a trip to Eureka. Want to come with me?”

“Eureka? What for?”

Jackson muttered a curse. “It’s just a hunch, but I need some answers, and I need them now. I have a tense feeling in my gut that Frost is somehow involved in all the sheep slaughter, and I want to know why. I’ve had a bad feeling about him from the day we met.”

“What’ll you find in Eureka?”

“An ongoing poker game, I hope,” Jackson answered, crossing his fingers behind him. “Frost is lying about the trust fund, I’m sure of it.” He briefly told his father of his visit with McCann, the retired bookkeeper. “Frost is hiding something else, too. I can feel it. Hell, he’s so full of shit his eyes have turned brown.”

Nathan chuckled, slapped his son on the shoulder, and turned toward the street. “We’ll have to return to the ranch in a couple of days. Why don’t you ride with us as far as Eureka? After I’ve checked things at home, I’ll rejoin you.”

Jackson watched his father stride toward the rooming house, tall, handsome, and self-assured. God, but it was good to be with him again. He loved the man.

The hunch in Jackson’s gut about Frost wouldn’t let up. The only thing he feared was that the situation with the sheep ranchers would escalate before he discovered for certain who was behind it. He wanted to have the job done before someone got killed.

M
ahalia removed the bread from the oven, thumping the crust with her knuckles.

Chloe Ann sat at the table, paring apples for a pie.

Libby knew something was on her mind; Chloe Ann rarely had time to visit until after her lessons were done. Yet today she’d stopped in the kitchen immediately upon returning from the schoolhouse. They were alone, Jackson’s parents having gone to visit Vern Roberts and his wife. The girls were in Dawn’s room, sharing secrets. She hadn’t seen Corey all day.

“What do you think of Jackson’s brother, Libby?”

Libby cut the lard into the flour for her piecrust and hid a smile. So that was it. “He’s quite a catch, isn’t he?”

“Oh, y-yes,” she stammered. “He’s handsome and all, but he’s also brilliant, don’t you agree?”

“I’m afraid we haven’t discussed matters of much brilliance, Chloe Ann.”

Undaunted, Chloe Ann announced, “He’s writing a book on the flora and fauna of California. Did you know that? He has a publisher in San Francisco.”

Impressed, Libby nodded. “No, I didn’t know, but I guess I’m not surprised.”

“So you admire his mind,” Mahalia interjected with a snort. “Is that it?”

Chloe Ann leaned across the table, her expression rapt.

“Oh, yes. I’ve never met anyone like him before. He’s … he’s so different. So interesting. So intelligent.”

Mahalia made the telltale sounds in her throat, and Libby cringed, sensing what was coming.

“An’ the fact that he’s got a nice tight little butt don’t have nothin’ to do with it?”

“Mahalia,” Libby scolded, noting Chloe Ann’s blush.

Mahalia swung around, an empty bread pan in her fist. “Don’t ‘Mahalia’ me, Liberty O’Malley. I don’t know why you white folks don’t say it like it is. Hell, it’s just us women here. Can’t we at least be honest among ourselves?”

“But, Mahalia,” Chloe Ann argued, “I
do
admire his mind.”

“That might be true, girl, but don’t you be tellin’ me you’d be as enthused if he was bald and fat and broke wind at the dinner table.”

Libby threw up her hands. “Oh, Lord, Mahalia, must you?”

“I just don’t believe she ain’t noticed how nice he’d look wearin’ nothin’ but a smile.”

Chloe Ann’s blush deepened, but she allowed a shy smile of her own. “He is rather nice to look at, isn’t he?”

“Now, was that so danged hard to admit?”

Chloe Ann busied herself with the apples and continued to blush. “He’s asked me to go birding with him on Saturday morning.”

“Now, that sounds like a heap of fun,” Mahalia said with a smirk.

“Don’t be sarcastic, Mahalia,” Libby warned.

“I ain’t. I mean, think about it. Out in the woods, just the two of ’em. Why, there’s nothin’ more excitin’ than bein’ alone in the woods with a handsome man.” She made a whistling sound and fanned herself. “It gets my blood up, it does.”

The apple parer clattered to the table, and Chloe Ann gasped, covering her cheeks with her hands. “Oh, I hadn’t meant that—I mean, we don’t we won’t—”

Mahalia’s full-bellied laughter interrupted her. “But you will now, I’ll bet.”

Libby shook her head and sighed. “Did it ever occur to you, Mahalia, that they might actually be going out bird-watching? Not everyone is interested in, well, what you are.”

Mahalia continued to laugh. “Maybe not. But she’s sure gonna think about it now, ain’t she?”

“You are incorrigible,” Libby scolded.

“No, I ain’t. An’ when are you gonna admit you’ve done a little walkin’ in the woods yourself, Liberty?”

Now it was Libby’s turn to blush. “We don’t have to get into that.”

“Oh, I think we do. Grass stains on the back of a grown woman’s gown ain’t somethin’ I’m likely to forget.”

“Maybe I was merely sitting on the grass.”

Mahalia slanted her a wry look. “They weren’t just on the skirt, Liberty, they was
all over
the back of that dress.”

From beneath her flush, Libby shot her a stern look. “Isn’t it time to get the clothes in from the line?”

Mahalia left the room, still chuckling.

Chloe Ann continued to prepare the apples, but her gaze kept moving to Libby. “Are you going to marry him?”

Libby sighed again. “What are my choices?”

Chloe Ann stood and brought the bowl of apple slices to the counter. “Would marriage to him be so bad?”

Smiling sadly, Libby dusted sugar and cinnamon over the apples before placing them in the prepared pie tins. “Those usually aren’t the words that should accompany a question like that.”

Chloe Ann fixed herself a cup of tea, then returned to the table. “I know you haven’t asked for my advice, but … aren’t you being a bit stubborn?”

Libby should have been at least a little offended, but she wasn’t. “Yes,” she admitted. “Maybe I am. I don’t see any solution other than to marry him. It’s just that … well, I’m not all that eager for marriage, and I don’t want him to think I am.”

Still, the thought of marriage to Jackson filled her with an abundance of emotions, and now, after much thought, not one of those emotions was accompanied by reluctance. She did know, however, that she would not admit this to him, nor would she encourage him to share her bed. It wasn’t a matter of wanting to or not, it was the fear that accompanied her growing attraction to him.

Though she’d experienced a few heartaches in her life, she knew without a doubt that if she let Jackson Wolfe into her bed, she would fall totally and utterly in love with him. That would never do, for although he had promised to give her many things, love had not been one of them.

After a lively dinner, made so by Jackson’s exuberant family, Libby waited for everyone else to retire before informing Jackson of her decision. His family had announced that they would return to their ranch in the morning. Libby would miss them. In spite of her continued trepidation about Dawn’s growing closeness with them, she thought they were wonderful people.

Once the house was dark and quiet, Libby crept to Dawn’s room and peeked inside. The girls were asleep, one dark head facing the window and one blond head facing the door. The dog was curled up between them, and when Libby took a step into the room, he growled at her.

“Blasted mutt,” she murmured. She’d tried feeding the monster, and he took her treats, all right, but continued to growl while he gobbled them up.

She quietly closed the door and tiptoed past the Bellamy brothers’ room, relieved to hear them snoring soundly. Pulling in a breath, she took the stairs to the third floor and rapped gently on Jackson’s door.

He opened it and stood silhouetted in the lamplight. “Why, Mrs. O’Malley,” he taunted, feigning surprise, “I’m delighted that you’d seek me out in my bedroom.”

“Don’t be foolish.” She pushed at his chest to gain entrance, startled when she discovered he wore no shirt.
She tried to pull her hand away, but he trapped it against his warm flesh. The hair tickled her palm, sending goose bumps over her skin.

“You’ve wanted to catch me naked again for weeks, haven’t you?”

He refused to release her hand, and the teasing laughter she heard in his voice annoyed her because she liked it.

“You are nothing but an arrogant ass.”

“Come on,” he teased, taking both of her hands and rubbing them over his chest. “Wanna see my tattoo?”

She forcibly freed herself, stepping away to put much needed space between them. “Not if it means removing your pants.” As nervous as she was, she couldn’t resist a smile.

He returned a grin. “It’s inevitable, Libby. You’ll see it sooner or later.”

And wouldn’t that be a sight, she thought, continuing to gaze at his chest but envisioning his long, muscular legs.

Her smile slid away. “I’ve … um … come to a decision.”

His entire demeanor changed and he appeared to grow tense. “I see.” To her disappointment, he shrugged into his shirt, his gaze probing. Intense. “I’m not sure I like the way this sounds.”

She swallowed hard, and clasped her hands in front of her, wondering if she’d made the right decision, despite the fact that there ultimately was no other choice. “I will marry you, but …”

“But?”

She feigned an aloofness she would never feel when around him. “But you will not share my bed.”

He expelled a long sigh and slowly paced in front of the bed. “I see.”

Oh, he did
not
see! But she couldn’t very well tell him that if she slept with him again, she would surely fall in love.

“So this is to be another platonic marriage for you. Is that really the way you want it, Libby?”

She wanted to shout that it wasn’t what she wanted at all, but what she wanted he wasn’t able to give her. She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

He stepped close. Her body reacted to the intensity of their attraction, but she kept herself indifferent. At least on the outside.

“What if you’re already pregnant?”

Her head shot up, but she quickly glanced away, because she saw danger in his expression. Her pulse galloped; her blood raced. “I … I couldn’t be. It’s too soon.”

“You could be. Would that change your feelings for me?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. How could she respond to such a question? The thought of having his child caused an unbearable ache in her heart, for what woman wouldn’t want a child by a man like him?

“Your past history with babies doesn’t give me a lot of confidence,” she was able to say.

“Ah, dammit, I’ve promised you that won’t happen again. Why can’t you believe me?”

She forced herself to study the shadows that the lamp made against the wall. “I don’t know you well enough to believe you.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair and spat a mild curse. “You can’t deny the attraction between us.”

Rubbing her arms with her hands, she paced to the dry sink and straightened his towels. “I won’t acknowledge it.”

“The hell you won’t. Your response on the grass, when we were locked in each other’s arms and having wild, erotic sex tells me different. It tells me you want me as badly as I want you.”

Although she remembered it vividly, she pretended disdain. “Don’t be crude.”

He cursed again. “Crude? You think that’s crude? No, Libby O’Malley, crude would be to tell you that right now I could touch that place between your warm, soft thighs, that place that I know is covered with cottony brown curls, and find it wet, swollen, and hungry.”

“Stop it, Jackson.” Crude though his words were, they elicited a feeling of excitement within her.

“Crude would be to whisper in your ear that I could flip your dress over your head and bury my face against that place and make love to you with my tongue.”

The idea aroused her, which angered her. “Stop it!”

“I could even use a vulgarism for that soft, warm part of you, to prove what crudeness truly is, but I have more respect for you than to say the word even in jest.”

Heat raced to her scalp, sinking into the roots of her hair. “Be that as it may,” she answered, attempting to keep her facade intact, “we will not share a bed. If I am pregnant, which I sincerely doubt, we will deal with it when and if it becomes necessary.”

He studied her for a long, quiet moment, then went to the door and jerked it open. “If that’s what you want, then fine. I won’t try to bed you. Just remember,” he warned, “if you ever change your mind, you’ll have to tell me, because I damned well won’t force myself on you.”

Before she stepped into the hallway, she asked, “When do you want to do this?”

He shrugged, appearing to have lost interest. “It’s up to you. Isn’t the bride supposed to make the arrangements?”

“Fine,” she answered, moving into the hallway. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He closed the door, and Libby felt a heavy sense of sadness and regret. This wasn’t what she wanted. But she could live with it. It would be hard enough to keep from falling in love with him without letting him know how much control he had over her body. Once he had power over her mind as well, she would be lost.

Jackson stepped to the window and stared out into the moonlit night. He didn’t understand her. There was fire between them; she couldn’t very well deny that, when the flames had nearly consumed them both.

It would be different if she were a frigid, cold woman, but one look at her and he’d known she wasn’t. And one touch had confirmed it.

All right, so he couldn’t promise to love her. He wished he could. She’d already had one less than satisfying marriage; he understood her reluctance to have another. He had … very strong feelings for her. And they were compatible. They had chemistry. He could make her laugh, and when her defenses were down, she was damned desirable.

He wondered if she was punishing him for disrupting her life. For having the law on his side and taking Dawn Twilight away from her. For having a family with so much love to share that they’d taken his daughter in and made her feel that love immediately.

With a curse, he turned away from the window, picked up his boots, and pulled them on. There was no way he could sleep. Not tonight. Not after this.

He left his room, quietly feeling his way down the stairs in the darkness. As he reached the first-floor landing, he noticed a low light moving toward him, Libby carrying it.

She wore a shiny robe that cinched in her waist and accentuated her round hips. The moment their gazes met, his dropped to her breasts, which were pressed against the lapels that folded over them. The shadowy lamplight played upon her bosom, and her succulent nipples hardened before his eyes. He knew that her refusal to be intimate had nothing to do with her reaction to him.

He touched her breast, eliciting a gasp from her, but she didn’t move away. His thumb moved over her turgid nipple, and he felt her quiver beneath his touch.

“Whatever has provoked you to insist on a chaste marriage is going to be the death of you, Liberty O’Malley.”

Fear and distrust swam behind the desire in her eyes. “Oh, don’t worry,” he promised. “I’ll honor your request, but you didn’t ask that I not touch you.”

“Don’t … don’t touch me.” Her voice was a shaky whisper.

His hands roamed her hips, then her sweet, savory fanny. With one hand he stroked her low on her belly, feeling the curls beneath the fabric of her robe.