Caitlan rubbed her thumb along the leather arm of her chair, head tilted curiously to the side. “But what does Randal have to be so angry about?”
J.T. smiled sadly. “When my father died two years ago I inherited the ranch. Rightfully, half should have belonged to Randal, but since Uncle Boyd sold his half to my father, Randal got nothing. Two months ago my uncle committed suicide and left Randal a mountain of debts as his inheritance. I really can’t blame Randal for being resentful. Uncle Boyd wasn’t the easiest man to live with, and he never should have sold his portion of the ranch to invest in something as chancy as a copper mine.
“The least I can do is try and help Randal out. I pay him well as a hand, he has his own cabin to live in, and I’m helping to pay off his father’s debts. I’m hoping in time he’ll come around. Things have been difficult for Randal since Uncle Boyd died.”
A hint of a smile touched the corners of Caitlan’s mouth. “You mean Randal used to be a nice guy?”
J.T. chuckled, unable to miss the dry humor in Caitlan’s tone. “Not in the traditional sense. He’s always been short-tempered and extremely competitive, especially with me.” He shrugged. “I’ve grown used to it.”
“He’s lucky to have you for a cousin. I don’t think anyone else would put up with his temper.”
“Like I said, he’s family. I’ll do what I can to help him.” J.T. sat up, deciding he’d revealed enough family secrets for one evening. Putting away the ledger, he shuffled some papers on his desk into a neat pile. He hadn’t meant to go on and on, but Caitlan had been so easy to talk to. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an unreserved conversation with a woman, without the pretense of something more.
He glanced up and found her studying him intently. Growing increasingly uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he asked, “What’s the matter?”
Speculation simmered in her eyes. “I was just wondering ... do you think Randal would try to harm you?”
Something in her gaze made him decidedly restless, a perceptiveness that went as deep as he could see. He knew exactly what Caitlan was getting at, pinpointing Randal as a suspect for his accident, and quickly shook his head. “No. Randal’s hotheaded, but he’s pretty harmless. All talk and no action, I’ve learned. He’s just bitter over his father’s mistake, and the debts he’s responsible for, which is understandable.” But his cousin’s drinking habit was another matter, J.T. thought, especially since it was starting to affect his work.
The ache in his temples had worked its way up to where he’d been hit in the head. He needed rest, he decided, watching as Caitlan stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. Clasping her hands behind her back, she casually examined the titles. Now that the crisis with Randal was over, and an explanation given for his cousin’s odd behavior, J.T. couldn’t help but consider the intimacy of Caitlan alone with him in his office, and the endless possibilities of such a confinement. Shifting restlessly in his chair, he tried to shake off the provocative thoughts invading his mind.
“I see you’re a fan of Stephen King and John Grisham,” she commented. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him, and in the next instant an incredible awareness, as vital and hot as flame, settled between them. Fast as lightning, the easy friendship they’d established altered to a sexually charged energy that arced the distance between them.
J.T. saw the awakening glint in her eyes, felt the sensuality of new discovery cloak the room. Her hair feathered softly around her face, and as he dropped his gaze to her mouth, lips moist and slightly parted, an achy emptiness settled deep inside him.
Abruptly, he stood, determined to send her on her way before he took full advantage of the soft invitation and curiosity in her gaze. “It’s been a long day and my head is killing me,” he said, which wasn’t a total lie. His head was killing him, the throb unmerciful. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to turn in.”
Caitlan started toward him, concern dissolving the desire of moments before. “Are you going to be okay? Maybe I should check the bump on your head.”
His thoughts took an inappropriate turn as she neared. Damn, the last thing he wanted from her was mothering. He wanted something hot and basic, her warm, soft feminine body to lose himself in. And something more. He longed for the temptation of tenderness and care in Caitlan’s violet eyes. But he’d be no better than a thief if he gave into his greed, because he’d give her absolutely nothing in return. At least not what a woman with her capacity to care truly deserved -- love and affection, laughter and joy. And promises.
She skirted the desk, and before she could touch him he stepped away so his chair separated them. He ignored her perplexed look. “I’m sure this is just a backlash of all the excitement of today. All I need is some sleep. Did Laura show you the guest room?”
Caitlan nodded. “Yes.”
It’s the room beside yours
. “And your sister loaned me some clothes. Your family is wonderful. Everyone has been so nice about me being here.”
“Everyone except Randal,” he stated.
She shrugged. “I’ll just stay out of his way and I’ll be fine.”
J.T. jammed his hands on his hips and held her gaze steadily. “Stay out of everyone’s way, Caitlan,” he ordered, a hard edge to his voice. “Like I told you before, I don’t want my men distracted.”
His commanding tone made her bristle defensively, and her chin shot up a notch. “Fine.”
There was something in his look, something very explicit and very male. A challenge of sorts with a sexual undertone. The heated message in his gaze said he wanted her, in the simplest, most primitive way. Her pulse quickened and she struggled for breath, drawing in the scent of musk and man. A familiarity in those darkening green-gold eyes of his reached deep inside her and tugged, demanding her attention. Yet she couldn’t quite focus on the images, and when she tried her medallion scorched her skin.
J.T. swore under his breath and shoved his fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going up to bed.”
Caitlan watched him start for the door, wishing for the easy truce they’d shared before this startling awareness had intruded. In an effort to make amends she quickly asked, “Would you happen to have a pencil and pad of paper I could borrow?”
Turning, he frowned at her request. “Somewhere in one of those drawers I do.” He made his way back to the side of the desk. “Mind me asking what you need it for?”
Noticing that the harsh lines between his brows were no longer present, she smiled. “I’m not really tired and I like to sketch. It helps me to relax.”
“Sketch?” He lifted a brow. “That’s right. You’re an illustrator.” Opening a drawer, he rummaged through the contents and withdrew a pad of unlined paper. He began setting supplies on the desk. “Here you go. Paper, a pencil ... and a sharpener.” He placed the red heart-shaped sharpener on the blotter, then glanced at Caitlan, a boyish smile curving his lips. “A Valentine’s Day gift from Laura,” he explained.
“I’ll be sure to return it.” She picked up the novelty item, relieved that he wouldn’t be going to bed angry at her. No sense complicating her job any more than necessary. She headed for the door and turned just before leaving. “Well, good night, J.T. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“No, you won’t.” He rubbed his forehead and winced, then opened another drawer and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. I’ll be out of the house before you get up.”
She watched him toss back two aspirins and swallow them dry. He closed his eyes, his face pale. Faint lines of pain bracketed the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t in any shape to work tomorrow, but she knew her suggestion to stay indoors would only anger him.
Drawing a deep breath, he opened his eyes, grimacing at being caught in a moment of weakness. “Good night, Caitlan,” he said, an obvious dismissal.
“Good night.” Hugging the pad of paper to her chest, she slipped from the room.
* * *
The old grandfather clock in the living room chimed one o’clock, intruding on the quiet stillness of the house. Everyone had retired hours before. Unable to sleep, Caitlan sat on the padded cushion in the window seat next to the couch, sketching by the light of the full moon streaming through the curtainless window. She didn’t need the light. The force of the visions she saw in her mind were so powerful and overwhelming, she could have reproduced them blindfolded.
Legs drawn up and the extra-large University of Idaho jersey she’d borrowed from Laura to sleep in covering her knees, she rested her pad against her thighs and let the strong images guide the strokes of her pencil across the paper.
The scratch of lead against paper soothed Caitlan in a way nothing else could.
The face of a young boy haunted her, and she duplicated every feature with precision, right down to the stubborn tilt to his chin and the rebel stance. A thick, untamable crop of hair rumpled around his head, a swath falling over his high forehead. His mouth, even in youth, was cut sensually, with the firm upper lip and the bottom full and lush.
She’d always had a natural talent for drawing and enjoyed using the skill while on a mission to pass idle time. Tonight, however, she was
compelled
to draw, and the pictures she created confused her. The boy she’d drawn was familiar to her, but where and how did she know him? Had she been his guardian angel at one time? And why, when she closed her eyes, did she see flashes of him and a blond-haired girl running across a pasture together, laughing and smiling at one another? The two were in love, she realized. Even at their young age the emotion shone in their gaze.
Caitlan blinked her eyes open, erasing the images. A pang of longing swept through her, a wave so strong it left her breathless. Staring at the sketch of the boy, she concentrated, digging deep into her mind for the mysterious connection tugging at her. A man’s features materialized, but before she could bring them into sharper focus, a pain seized her temples. Gasping at the assault, she mentally recoiled, abandoning the thin, wispy vision. Beneath her jersey the medallion heated, tingling like fire upon her flesh. Grabbing the pendant in her shirt, she waited until the gold cooled before letting it rest against her skin again. For a reason she didn’t understand her subconscious wasn’t allowing her to trespass into certain regions of her memory.
Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, Caitlan willed herself to relax. Glancing out the window to the shadowed darkness beyond, she thought about her mission. She was glad J.T. had confided in her earlier about Randal. Now she understood Randal’s motivation for trying to harm J.T. Greed and resentment. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d played guardian to those evil elements.
However, her response to J.T. was another matter altogether. This was the first time she’d ever felt desire for a mortal as a guardian. A shameless wanting that whispered provocatively to her senses. What would it be like to kiss him again, this time without him thinking her another woman? Realizing how selfish her thoughts were, she silently chastised herself. Nothing could come of them being together. Soon she would be gone, and she’d be nothing more than a faded memory to J.T. She didn’t need the added complication of their attraction while she protected him.
The old ranch house creaked and settled and Caitlan glanced toward the staircase leading to the second floor. She wondered if J.T. slept well, or if his head was still giving him problems. She’d healed the worst of the wound, but a tortuous headache wouldn’t be uncommon as a repercussion to the deep gash he’d actually suffered.
Before she could analyze her true intent, she stood and padded across the floor and up the stairs, telling herself the whole way that the urge to check on J.T. was purely maternal. Turning the knob, she slowly opened his door, grimacing when the hinges gave a small squeak of protest. She waited and watched the form on the bed, illuminated by the beam of moonlight filtering through the window. No movement. Soundlessly, she crossed to the bed, careful not to trip over the jeans and briefs heaped on the floor.
J.T. lay on his back, gloriously naked, limbs sprawled, the blanket tangled at the foot of the bed. The only thing affording him a measure of modesty was the thin cotton sheet draped over one leg and the juncture of his thighs. Searching his face, she found his features relaxed and softened by slumber. He looked peaceful. His breathing was steady and deep. Even after she reassured herself he was fine, she didn’t leave.
The muscular contours of his body fascinated her even though she’d seen him naked before. She followed the light sprinkling of hair covering his wide chest down to a stomach washboard lean. She wanted to touch him there, feel the strength of work-toughened muscles flex beneath her fingertips. His hip was bare, tapering to a hard, muscular thigh. Even his calf was defined and lean.
A slow heat flowed through Caitlan, that curious desire coiling like a tight spring inside her. Leisurely, she journeyed back up the length of his body—until her gaze collided with his wide-eyed stare. She froze, her heart slamming against her ribs. She made a move to turn, but he was faster. Lunging at her, his hand manacled her wrist and jerked her toward the bed. With a soft gasp of surprise, she stumbled and fell on him. Still holding her wrist, he rolled, pinning her beneath the heavy weight of his body. It all happened so fast, Caitlan’s head spun.
The unexpected attack was like the one in the line shack while he’d been delirious, but this time he wasn’t sleeping or dreaming. His eyes were wide open, hot and fierce—predatory and a little savage, like a hunter gone too long without capturing his prey.