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 Debbie’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.”
He chucked her lightly under the chin, an amused glint in his eyes. “If you’ve ever been here before, then it must’ve been in another lifetime. Come on. I smell chicken being barbecued, and I’m starved.”
He said the last on a playful growl that made Caitlan laugh and forget her worries. Grabbing her hand, J.T. guided her up the walkway and through a side gate, which led to a landscaped backyard and a covered porch, where the family had gathered.
Determined to enjoy the day, and J.T., Caitlan did her best to forget the strange feelings, although she couldn’t completely diminish her awareness or her sense of familiarity.
Greetings went around, and Caitlan found herself being embraced by Debbie. “I’m so glad you came. I have to agree with Paula. It
is
nice having another woman around to talk to.”
Caitlan held back the urge to remind Debbie that her “visit” was only temporary. “Need any help?”
“Sure, come on in the house.” Debbie shooed at J.T. with her hand. “You go on and help Kirk barbecue the chicken and ribs.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, and, after giving Caitlan a look she could only describe as bone-melting, he turned and strolled to a paved area at the end of the yard.
Caitlan spent the next half hour with Debbie, helping her put the baked beans in a dish, wrapping the corn on the cob in tinfoil, warming the bread and taking those covered dishes to the picnic table on the porch.
They ate an early afternoon supper. Caitlan found herself seated between Brittany and J.T., compliments of Laura’s sly maneuvering. Ignoring the heat of J.T., and the heady scent of his aftershave, she contributed her share of input to the lively conversation at the table.
Caitlan loved the closeness this family shared, the way everyone laughed and teased and generally had a good time. Throughout the meal she’d caught J.T. casting subtle glances at her in a way that made her breath catch. Then he’d brush up against her reaching for a dish of food on the table, eliciting a wave of heat lapping along her nerves. All gestures were innocently executed, but her reaction was shockingly arousing.
She was getting used to her instantaneous response to J.T., and the way he felt like a significant part of her she hadn’t realized was missing until she’d rescued him. The hum of desire invading her body when he touched her was a delicious sensation, and she was becoming increasingly curious to see where it might lead but knew better than to pursue such a brazen impulse. And woven into all these intricate sensations sprang a deeper emotion of caring, that strange link to J.T. nudging gently at her heart and soul, demanding entrance.
At the end of the meal, Brittany reached across the table for another napkin to wipe her sticky fingers, and as she pulled back, her elbow connected with Caitlan’s full glass of lemonade. The plastic cup tumbled over, the juice splashing onto Caitlan’s lap. With a startled gasp, she stood, but the cold liquid had already seeped into her jeans.
“Oh, Caitlan, I’m sorry,” Brittany said, pressing the napkin she’d just grabbed to Caitlan’s soaked jeans.
It’s okay, sweetie,” Caitlan reassured the stricken little girl, dabbing at her thigh with her own napkin. “It was just an accident.”
“Need some help?” J.T. offered in a low voice laced with a sexy challenge.
Caitlan shot him a look and couldn’t help but smile when she saw the amusement flickering in his gaze. “I think I can handle this one myself.”
“Just checking.”
“Girls,” Debbie began, spurring into action, “clear the table for me, please. Come on, Caitlan. Let’s go find something dry for you to wear.”
Caitlan followed Debbie into the house. “I shouldn’t have had my glass of lemonade so close to the edge of the table.”
Turning down the hallway to the back rooms, Debbie waved away Caitlan’s concern. “Spills are pretty common in this household. I remember once when Laura accidentally dropped a platter of pork chops onto Kirk’s lap....”
While Debbie recited the tale, the sense of familiarity Caitlan had held at bay since first arriving came rushing back to her, stunning in its force. They arrived in Debbie’s bedroom and the sensation grew. Prickles of awareness danced across her skin.
Debbie opened her closet and searched through her things. “Since the lemonade only spilled on your jeans, I have the skirt that goes with that blouse.” Smiling in satisfaction, she handed Caitlan a blue chambray skirt with a ruffled hem. “It’ll be nice and cool, and I even have a matching petticoat.”
Caitlan caught on to the woman’s ploy. “Debbie, I don’t need a petticoat—”
“Oh, come on, Caitlan,” she chided her gently. “All us women like to wear pretty things under our clothes.” Debbie lifted the skirt of her simple green pastel dress to show off the petticoat she wore, a cotton slip edged in a row of lacy feminine ruffles. An impish grin creased Debbie’s mouth. “Kirk thinks they’re sexy.”
Caitlan truly didn’t need the frilly undergarment, but Debbie was a woman on a mission, and by the gleam in her eyes Caitlan knew this was one argument she would lose.
Be honest with yourself Caitlan. You want to look pretty for J.T. You like the thought that he might find you sexy.
Goodness, when had she become such a brazen angel? And did she have the right to play with the flames J.T. created between them, and possibly kindle an out-of-control bonfire? The emotions stirring within her for J.T. went beyond anything in her experience as a guardian angel, and the urge to follow those intimate feelings overruled her usually good judgment.
Just for today she’d indulge herself and wear the skirt and petticoat. What harm could there be in that?
“I know it’s in here somewhere,” Debbie mumbled, pushing past hangers of clothes on the wooden rod.
As Caitlan watched Debbie, another premonition swept through her, so commanding in its force, she couldn’t ignore the awareness demanding her immediate attention. Surreptitiously, she glanced around the room, searching for a clue to explain her apprehension.
Her gaze drifted from the king-sized bed covered in a patchwork quilt and then onto an old mahogany armoire against the far wall. A matching vanity and stool occupied the other side of the room. Typical bedroom furnishings.
A vision whispered at the edge of Caitlan’s consciousness, a pull so undeniable she automatically closed her eyes to bring it into focus. After a few seconds of intense concentration the backside of a young girl appeared, her short height giving the illusion of a six or seven year old. Long blond hair streamed from an elaborate straw hat, and at first Caitlan thought it was Brittany or Alisha. The girl was in this room, playing dress-up in front of a large oval standing mirror, admiring the sophisticated dress overflowing on her tiny body and the too large, wobbly high heels on her feet.
“Amanda Marie, are you into my things again?” a woman chastised gently, coming into the room.
The little girl whirled around, smiling sweetly, “Momma, I only want to look as pretty as you when we go to church today.”
A maelstrom of emotions swelled within Caitlan, strangely enough, for the woman who seemed to be Amanda’s mother. The woman took Amanda into her arms in a loving hug, and the tenderness of the embrace wrapped around Caitlan like a soft, warm blanket.
“Amanda,” Caitlan murmured, confused by her latest vision.
The medallion tingled hotly between Caitlan’s breasts, bringing her back to reality. When she opened her eyes she found Debbie looking at her oddly, the petticoat folded over her arm. Oh, goodness, Caitlan thought, how long had Debbie been watching her?
Debbie tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing her. “J.T. told you about Amanda?”
The tinge of disbelief Caitlan heard in Debbie’s tone made her wary. “Yes. Why?”
Debbie gave Caitlan a speculative glance. “I’m just surprised, is all. He hasn’t talked about Amanda since the night she died.”
Yet he’d told
her
, a stranger, the whole story. Caitlan shivered slightly when she remembered experiencing the tragic car accident that had claimed Amanda’s life. She still didn’t understand the significance of that vision, or any of the others. She seemed to hold a key to J.T.’s past, but why did she have access to J.T.’s history with Amanda? She’d never been able to tap into a ward’s memories before.
Debbie handed Caitlan the petticoat, her gaze probing and full of questions. “Did J.T. tell you this used to be Amanda’s parents’ house?”
“No.”
Amanda’s house
. Another shiver cascaded down Caitlan’s spine. Holding the two skirts close to her chest, she forgot about the dampness of her jeans and that she needed to change. “Why do you and Kirk live here?”
Debbie sat down on the edge of the bed. “About a year and a half after Amanda’s death her father died of a heart attack, leaving Amanda’s mother all alone. Mrs. Hamilton was so devastated by the loss of Amanda and her husband that she put the place up for sale. She told me the memories were too painful for her to stay, and she wanted to live with her sister in Connecticut.”