Lone Star Rancher (4 page)

 

“I really don't see why I have to come along,” Jessica said on Sunday afternoon.

“So I can keep an eye on you,” Clyde answered.

“No one knows where I am. Except your family,” she added. “Now everyone will.”

“The people in Hanson Park probably won't recognize you,” he said calmly. “Keep your sunglasses on and the hat pulled low.”

She felt like a latter-day Mata Hari, on a mission and trying to keep up a pretense of disguise. Clyde had insisted she attend the funeral of Christopher Jamison rather than stay at the ranch alone all afternoon and evening. It would be very late before they returned home, he'd said.

His parents would be with Ryan Fortune and his wife, Lily. Miles was coming in his own truck. She and Clyde
were in the station wagon, which was clean and more comfortable for the trip than the pickup, he'd told her.

She didn't recall his being so bossy years ago.

After flicking a piece of lint off the navy blue pants suit, she sighed, settled into the seat and gazed at the landscape, a cloud of depression hovering over her. Funerals were hardly joyous occasions.

Unfortunately, where the rich and famous congregated, the press also made an appearance.

“I told you I shouldn't have come,” she muttered.

“The police will keep the reporters at bay,” Clyde said, driving through an ornate wrought-iron gate to a private parking area after an officer had checked his identity and waved them through.

Two reporters pushed forward, but they were ordered back behind the police barriers that cordoned off the lane leading to the church and cemetery.

When she and Clyde got out of the station wagon, Jessica kept her wide-brimmed lacy hat on, effectively covering her hair, which she'd twisted up on the back of her head. Very dark sunglasses hid her trademark blue eyes.

The funeral chapel was filled to overflowing. The entire Fortune family was there, it seemed. Jessica recognized most of those from Texas. Ryan's twin daughters, Vanessa and Victoria, were present with their husbands.

Jessica nodded to them, then to Lily, Ryan's wife. His third wife, she recounted. Apparently they'd been in love long ago, but fate had intervened. Now they were together again and very happy in their marriage, according to Violet.

Clyde made sure she stayed close to him, as if he'd put a claim in on her. Whenever his suit sleeve brushed her arm, shimmering tingles flowed through her like champagne bubbles dancing through her blood. It was disconcerting to be so aware of another person.

The last time she'd felt so utterly alive, she'd been nineteen and in the throes of her first great love.

With him.

“Clyde, Jessica, this is Blake and Darcy Jamison,” Lacey introduced the parents of the deceased young man. “You've already met Clyde. Jessica is a longtime friend of our daughter, Violet.”

“How do you do?” she said politely. “I'm terribly sorry for your loss.”

She really was. She couldn't imagine a worse pain than losing a child. Violet had told her of the death of a patient and the woman's unborn child just before Jessica left New York. It had been a terrible case, and the family had blamed Violet and the neurosurgeon who'd performed the risky surgery for the tragedy.

The Jamisons' son had been a handsome young man in his prime and a respected teacher. It was sad.

“This is our youngest son, Emmett,” Mr. Jamison said.

Emmett Jamison was around Clyde's height and had the muscular build of someone who stayed in shape. He had short dark hair and attractive green eyes that seemed to take in everything going on around him without overtly noticing anything in particular. From the slump of his shoulders, he seemed overwhelmed by the death of his older brother.

During dinner the previous evening, Jessica had heard Lacey mention that Emmett was with some government agency now, but he'd once had a career as a legal advisor on Wall Street.

An interesting career change. She wondered what had prompted it.

There was also another Jamison brother, according to Lacey, one who was estranged from the family and hadn't been seen in a long time. Jessica couldn't imagine delib
erately cutting herself off from her parents, sister, a very nice brother-in-law and two adorable nieces.

At least a dozen reporters stood at the fence to the Hanson Park cemetery and jotted down notes as the silent group gathered inside the lovely grounds for the last ritual of the service.

Jessica noticed eyes on her—it was impossible to disguise her height although she wore flats—and the photographers who snapped pictures of everyone who passed through the gate. She hid behind Clyde's greater bulk as much as possible in an attempt to keep her identity unknown.

He took her arm at one point as they crossed the grass. From the glances of the Jamisons' friends, she was sure they thought she was with the handsome rancher as more than a friend of the family.

As she observed the Fortune and Jamison families, she saw that Ryan, now patriarch of the Texas Fortunes, and Patrick, of the New York Fortunes, and Blake Jamison seemed to have formed a close friendship.

From their mingled heritage—with Ryan being kin to Blake by blood and to Patrick by adoption—the three men probably had a lot to discuss concerning their family connections. It was puzzling that Blake's son, who was from Seattle, should have been found murdered and left in a lake near Ryan's ranch in Texas.

After the funeral, those connected by family ties returned to the Jamison home. Jessica quietly positioned herself in a side chair almost hidden by a palm tree and wished they would soon leave for the ranch. It was getting dark and the trip was lengthy.

A buffet dinner was ready for the mourners, and the guests talked quietly of happier times. Darcy Jamison related some mischief her three sons had gotten into when they were very young boys.

Clyde's mom had earlier told similar tales about her five children. Jessica especially liked the one about the triplets' lemonade stand that had been so successful they'd caused a traffic jam and neighbors had called the police on them.

A while later, while Jessica sipped an iced tea, alone, she overheard Clyde's smooth baritone. “I'm going to collect Jessica and head back to the ranch,” he said.

Jessica was relieved to hear this news.

“Good,” his mother replied. “Try to be pleasant to her.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” His voice was polite but carried a note of irritation.

“I mean,” said his mother, “that you ignore your guest to the point of rudeness. Your father and I noticed it last night at dinner. Then you glared at Miles when he talked to Jessica. You did the same thing when Emmett Jamison spoke to her earlier today. Jealousy isn't a becoming trait.”

“I'm hardly jealous,” he scoffed in a cool tone.

Lacey wasn't daunted. “Well, you act like it.”

“I'm keeping an eye on her—”

Jessica silently groaned as he stopped abruptly.

“Why?” his mom immediately asked.

His sigh was audible. “She had some problem with a guy in New York hounding her for a date. That's why Violet talked her into hiding out at the ranch. No one is supposed to know where she is. I would appreciate it if you would keep this information to yourself, okay?”

“Of course,” Lacey said in a very interested manner. “So you're protecting her?”

“At Violet's insistence,” he admitted.

“Good,” she said. “I'm proud of you for helping out. But try to be a bit more cordial to Jessica, won't you? Even if she is an unwanted burden you've taken on.”

Jessica's ears burned at this last assessment, but she'd known it was true from the beginning. She'd never wanted
others to know and feel sorry for her. That was why she was angry and embarrassed.

Slipping from the chair, she went the long way around the room and approached Clyde and Lacey from a different direction so they wouldn't suspect she'd overheard their conversation. She smiled as cordially as she could.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She nodded and bid his mother goodbye.

While Clyde went to say his farewells to his father and Mr. and Mrs. Jamison—Emmett had already gone—Lacey laid a hand on Jessica's arm. “Clyde was engaged when he was twenty-two. Sadly she died. He's slow to open up, but once he gives his loyalty to someone, he's a friend forever.”

“How admirable,” Jessica murmured, keeping her tone neutral. “It was wonderful seeing you and your husband again. Give my regards to Violet when you see her.”

“Didn't she tell you?” Lacey asked in surprise. “She went on a cruise and will be gone for a couple of weeks.”

“She's mentioned getting away before, but I didn't realize she'd already gone.”

“It was very sudden,” Lacey confided.

“There was a case…the mother and child died. It upset Violet very much,” Jessica told the other woman. “I was worried about her and tried to get her to come to the ranch with me. I think she needs some time alone.”

Lacey nodded, but worry still lurked in her eyes. “At least Steven is settled with someone he loves. They're getting married soon. Did Clyde tell you?”

“No, but Violet did,” Jessica said. “I understand his fiancée has been helping the governor plan charity events. That puts Steven into some pretty lofty circles here in Texas.”

“As long as they love each other, I don't care if Amy plans shows for prize pigs.”

Jessica laughed with the other woman. She liked Clyde's parents. They had never been pretentious or uppity about their wealth and social position.

“Ready to go?” Clyde asked, returning to the two women.

His mother kissed his cheek, then did the same to Jessica. “Be careful on the road,” she cautioned in the manner of mothers everywhere.

“I'm always careful,” he said with a rather rakish grin, then he turned to Jessica. “Let's hit the road before some other male makes a beeline for you.”

In the station wagon, she buckled up and waited until they were on the road. “It's because I'm so sweet,” she said.

“What?” He gave her a puzzled glare.

She flashed him her sweetest smile. “That's why I attract so many admirers. Because I'm so sweet.”

“Huh,” he snorted.

She smiled and slid deeper into the seat to enjoy the silent ride back to Red Rock and the Flying Aces spread. Not having grown up with brothers, she hadn't realized how gratifying it was to annoy the heck out of an arrogant male.

A
drizzle began to fall on the return trip. Clyde glanced at Jessica, silhouetted by the blackness of the night and dimly illuminated by the dashboard lights. The rain wouldn't do that silky outfit any good.

“Wait,” he said when they arrived at the ranch. “I think there's an umbrella in the car.”

He fished the old umbrella out of the back of the station wagon and held it over Jessica's head when he opened the door for her. He'd parked as close to the porch as possible so she wouldn't get wet.

There, that ought to prove to his mom that he was considerate.

He frowned as he opened the front door and flicked on the lights inside, brightening up the length of the foyer with wall sconces and a lamp in the living room.

The air inside the house felt cold compared to the
muggy ambiance outside. He saw Jessica shiver and wrap her arms across her middle.

“How about a cup of hot chocolate?” he asked, putting on a jovial air.

“You don't have to be nice to me,” she told him, giving him one of those dead-level stares she was so good at.

Since she was nearly his height, it was effective. With other men, it must be damned intimidating to be so calmly and unemotionally looked down on by a beautiful woman.

Correction—a striking woman.

Either way, she attracted a man's eye. It hadn't even occurred to him that she would arouse all his primitive instincts when he'd okayed her visit. However, he'd been expecting his kid sister's friend, not this…this…poised, silky smooth, graceful
female.

“Yes, I do have to be nice to you, or else my mother will pin my ears back,” he said, tossing his suit jacket and tie on the nearest dining room chair and heading into the kitchen.

Jessica, he noted, had stopped by the stairs.

“Why don't you change out of those damp clothes while I make the hot chocolate?” He managed to speak in a casual tone, but blood pumped hard through his lower regions at the images that sprang into his mind.

He could imagine those long slender legs tangled with his, wrapped around his hips, straddling his body….

“All right.” She disappeared up the stairs.

By concentrating on the task, he got the warm drink made without spilling milk and cocoa all over the counter, but it wasn't easy. His hands were actually trembling.

He muttered a word he couldn't use in polite company.

“I beg your pardon?” Jessica entered the kitchen and gave him a questioning look.

“Nothing.” He forced his eyes to stay on the cups he car
ried to the island counter. But part of his mind had already taken in the long blue nightgown that peeked out from the lacy blue robe with each step she took. The color was a knockout with those blue eyes of hers.

She slid onto one of the three stools and took a sip of the cocoa and declared it “delicious.”

He sat down, keeping one stool between them, and tried to think of something pleasant to say.

“The rain is getting heavier, and the wind seems to be picking up,” she remarked, her eyes on the windows. “It was raining Friday, too, when you picked me up.”

“It's that time of year,” he said inanely.

“Yes, June to November. Thunderstorms and hurricanes. I remember.” She paused, then asked, “What's wrong?”

He shrugged, irritated and frustrated with his barely controlled libido. “With the ranch? Nothing. With life? Who knows?”

“I think it's something to do with the funeral, or rather, with the death of Christopher Jamison.”

“The
murder
of Christopher Jamison,” he corrected, hearing the harshness in his voice.

“Do you know something about it?”

He gazed into her eyes and saw only sympathy. So she wasn't asking out of morbid curiosity. He frowned as some part of him softened fractionally. “I've got bad vibes about it. Nothing specific, but a feeling….”

He tried to find words to describe the vague uneasiness that wouldn't let up. It was impossible.

“He was young and healthy,” he finally said. “He fought with his attacker, according to the rumor, but…I don't know. Something doesn't feel right.”

“Maybe whoever it was took him by surprise.”

“Maybe. But what was he doing at the lake by himself?”

“Fishing?” she suggested. “Thinking about life? His fiancée said she thought he was looking for someone.”

Clyde heaved a frustrated sigh. “The police don't seem to be doing much.”

“I'm sure there are things going on that we don't know about. Ryan Fortune isn't going to let the murder pass without trying to find out who, what, why and all that.”

“Yeah? I suppose you charmed information out of Ryan at the funeral?” He regretted the sarcasm immediately and opened his mouth to apologize.

She spoke first. “His wife Lily said their housekeeper saw a red ring around the moon a few months ago. That means trouble, usually death. I know how it feels to be bothered by something you can't quite define, especially when it indicates danger or a tragedy you can't quite grasp.”

Clyde noticed Jessica's fingers trembled as she lifted the cup to her lips. She wore no lipstick now, but her lips were a pale pink, very soft-looking…very enticing.

He stared while she drank then licked the foam off her upper lip, the motion as delicate as a cat swiping cream off its whiskers. He licked his own lips and thought of things he could be doing to her, with her.

His blood hit fast boil. Sweat broke out on his brow. His body went rigid while his control shredded. He resorted to a sneer of amusement, knowing it was underhanded. It was the only thing he had left as a defense.

“Superstition, Texas gal,” he scoffed. “After your years in the city, you should be past your country upbringing, shouldn't you?”

Her eyes flicked to him. There was intelligence as well as fury in those bright blue depths. “I don't think so,” she drawled in a slow, provocative manner. “My country instincts have served me rather well in the city.”

“Yeah? Like how?”

“Like knowing when a man is interested because I'm a model and he thinks that means I sleep around. I don't,” she said flatly, her eyes sweeping over him as if she could see every sizzling pulse point in his body.

Clyde felt the heat rush to his head. Okay, he'd asked for that one. An apology was definitely in order.

“I'm sorry,” he began.

“Oh, don't bother,” she snapped, frowning as she took another drink and licked those delectable lips again.

He went into meltdown. Again. He cleared his throat. “You don't cut a fellow much slack,” he said in a carefully amiable voice.

She gave him a glance that could have sliced bread without leaving a crumb. “I heard your mother.”

He tried to figure out if this was a trick. Women were good at turning the tables on a man and making him feel guilty for something he didn't even think of doing.

“What about my mother?” he asked cautiously.

Again the laser glance, then a sarcastic half laugh. “She told you to be cordial to me. After all, I am a guest in your house, albeit an unwelcome one.”

She appeared cool, poised and aloof. Yet he sensed, in some way he didn't comprehend, that he'd hurt her, and he was truly sorry for that.

“You're not unwelcome,” he told her, peering straight into her eyes so she could see he meant what he said. “But you are a surprise. You left Texas shortly before I returned here to live. Sometime in those years between then and now, you changed from a cygnet into a swan, from a girl into a woman.” He managed a smile. “Be careful, or I'll be tempted to show you how pleasant I can be to a guest.”

One eyebrow rose, mocking him. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He tried to suppress the urge to answer the challenge in her frank appraisal. Her gaze ran over him, paused at the ridge behind his zipper, then returned to his face.

His pulse leaped at the expression in those blue depths. Gone was the challenge, the sardonic edge. In its place was an intimate darkness, a timeless hunger that he recognized at once.

“Jessica,” he said, the word filled with warning and a yearning he hadn't even realized he had.

When she licked her lips again and swallowed as if it was difficult to do, he was lost.

Without another thought, he removed the mug from her hand and pushed it, with his, to the far side of the counter. Then he reached for her.

Her lips were warm and as soft as he'd known they would be. There was a surprising hesitation in her response, something like shyness…or a wildness she held under a tight control.

He didn't want control or shyness, he found. He wanted a wild, explosive need that matched the one raging through his blood like hot quicksilver.

“Jessica,” he said on a low groan, standing and pulling her up so their bodies fit together as perfectly as two inter-locking pieces carved from one branch.

She was all soft, silky warmth in his hands. He rubbed his palms over her back, her hips.

“You remind me of a birch sprout,” he told her, encircling her waist with his hands, “so lean and supple in my hands I feel as if I should shape you into something special, something sensuous and delicate, yet strong and beautiful.”

“Your own Pygmalion?”

She smiled into his eyes. The lambent gleam dipped right down inside him. “You make me want to do things I haven't thought about in a long time.”

She slid her hands up his arms, then laid them on his shoulders, her fingers caressing him through his shirt and sending fireballs along his flesh. “Such as?” she asked, leaning her head back a bit so she could gaze at him.

“Forget work and responsibility.” He kissed her throat, finding the pulse that beat with a rapid flutter beneath her wonderfully soft skin. He licked the spot, then sucked lightly as if he thought of biting her at that vulnerable point. “Forget everything except the pleasure to be found in this.” He kissed down the center line between her breasts. “And this.”

With his lips, he caressed the tip of her breast and felt it tighten through the thin fabric of the gown and robe. He wanted her naked and in his arms. Now.

“I want to undress you, very slowly…very, very slowly,” he continued, “and explore all the hidden treasures I know are waiting under this blue froth of lace and silk, waiting just for me.”

He felt a shiver run over her, then the gentle sway of her body against his, driving his lust like wind driving a storm ashore to wreak what havoc it could. They were both in danger of being swept away. And, God help him, he wanted to ride that wave of temptation and danger.

Moving one step, he meshed their thighs, then had to grit his teeth as need became almost painful. He heard her sharply inhaled breath and knew it was the same for her.

Unable to resist, he kissed her deeply, thoroughly, endlessly. When they were both breathless and unsteady on their feet, he forced himself to take one step back from the brink of the fiery abyss where they stood.

“I could make love to you right here,” he said in a hoarse murmur. “Standing right here, pressed up against the counter and not caring who walked in and found us.”

She opened her eyes and blinked up at him, so sexy, so lost to passion, that he nearly kissed her again.

“And you wouldn't stop me,” he said softly. “You're as deep into this as I am.”

“I know,” she whispered, the fires they'd ignited still dancing in her eyes. “It's madness.”

“But it would be good, so good between us, that the thought drives the sane intentions right out of my head. All I can think about is touching you. I want to see you. I need it, more than air, I think.”

Although he wondered what the heck he was doing, he proceeded to push the lacy robe off her shoulders, then slip the straps of the nightgown down her arms.

The material caught on the provocative tips, then slipped free and pooled at her waist. He stared at the tender buds waiting for his caress. He let the anticipation build, enjoying the visual pleasure to the full.

When she moaned and tightened her clasp on his shoulders, he chuckled and bent forward until he found the treat. He nibbled and licked at each breast with great care.

No one, he thought, searching past the rosy haze that enveloped them both, had ever pleased him more, had ever excited him to this pitch. It was overpowering, mind-blowing.
Dangerous.

He pulled back just before all thought disappeared entirely, before he was sucked into passion so hard and wild and shattering, he would never recover. What was he doing? He desperately needed to regain control over himself.

He raked a hand through his hair and let out a ragged breath.

“Party's over, gal,” he managed to drawl. “Go to bed before I forget my promise to my sister.”

He watched the haze clear from her eyes and regretted its loss.

“What promise?” she asked.

“To protect you.” He sighed heavily. “I think that in
cludes from myself. Especially myself.” He headed for the back door while he could still force his legs to walk.

 

Miles was in the kitchen when Jessica entered the next morning. “It's safe,” he told her with a dazzling smile. “Grumpy bear has left to separate the calves to be sold from the rest of the herd.”

“He's grumpy this morning?” she asked with wide-eyed innocence. “How unusual.”

They laughed at their joke, and that was the moment Clyde walked into the kitchen and over to the sink. He held a handkerchief around his left index finger.

“What happened?” Miles asked while Clyde washed his hands under the running water.

“Some stupid cattle broke through the fence just below the dam. One of them had a piece of barbed wire around its neck. I got cut while removing it.”

“You need me to stay here today and repair the fence?”

Clyde shook his head. “I've got a temporary fix on it. The trucks will be here early this afternoon. After they leave, I'll string new fencing.”