She washed and rinsed her dishes, then began drying them with a terry towel. She turned to him with every intention of getting back to business. “I think I should check your head injury.”
“I’m fine.” He ate the last of his stew and pushed his plate away.
“You can’t even see it,” she reasoned, cleaning up his dishes as well.
He reached for the coffeepot she’d set on the table and poured himself another cup, then filled hers too. “I can
feel
it, and even though it hurts like the devil, it doesn’t appear to be an open wound.”
That’s because I mended the deep laceration
, she thought. Wiping her hands on the towel, she circled the table to stand next to him. “You just sit there and drink your coffee. It’ll only take a minute to check it.”
“Who appointed you my guardian?” he growled, batting her hands away from the back of his head. “I’m a grown man—”
“With a thick head?” she interrupted, jamming her hands on her hips and giving him a fierce look.
He had the grace to look a little contrite for his impolite behavior. “Yeah, that’s probably why the blow didn’t split my head wide open.”
Her lips tightened in disgust. “Yes, well, someone definitely wanted to do away with you.” But who had been the culprit? she wondered with a little frown. Moving closer, she wove her fingers gently through his hair, searching for the site of his injury.
“How do you know?” He took a swallow of coffee, then balanced the cup on his thigh.
“What? That someone wanted to kill you?” she asked, luxuriating in the velvety feel of his hair sifting over her hand.
“Yes.” He finished off his coffee and put the cup on the table. “A bullet would have been more effective.”
“You’re right, of course,” she countered, trying to concentrate on her task and not the peculiar sensations swirling deep inside her. “But what if someone wanted this to look like an accident?”
“I would have come around eventually.”
She pulled away to look into his eyes, remembering how close to dying he’d been when she’d reached him. Without the aid of her Superiors, he wouldn’t be sitting in front of her, looking so strong and healthy. “It wasn’t likely you would have ‘come around.’ Not only were you unconscious from the blow, and your body freezing, but your head was near the creek. By the time I found you the water had risen to your forehead.”
The implications of her statement registered in his eyes, then was replaced by something more watchful and searching. “Which brings me around to an intriguing question I’d like answered,” he said, his gaze laser-intense. “How, exactly, did you stumble upon me? I hate to be skeptical, but I don’t believe in miracles.”
J.T. crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Caitlan’s answer. After a hesitant second she broke eye contact and once again resumed checking the bump on his head. Except this time her fingers worked tensely, pressing over his skull without the gentleness she’d used before.
“You remember the sleet storm, right?” she asked.
“Yeah. I got hit in the head just as the sky split wide open.” Her fingers probed an especially sensitive area and he winced and sucked in a harsh breath. “Hey, watch it!”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, and continued on with a bit more care. “I was on my horse, Daisy, when I saw your body by the creek.”
As a stall tactic, he had to admit her approach was original and quite effective. He turned his head slightly and found himself eye level with her breasts. He tried focusing on the nondescript material of her shirt, but his gaze kept straying to the collar, where the first three buttons were undone, granting him a more enticing view of creamy flesh and wisps of satin and lace.
She shifted from one foot to the other. A gold pendant nestled between her breasts caught his attention. The piece of gold looked ancient, with a swirled design that was neither unique nor spectacular, yet he had the strangest urge to reach out and touch the medallion.
Troubled by the lure of something so insignificant, he frowned and averted his gaze back to the slope of her breast, which only served to prompt fantasies in which he had no right to indulge. He closed his eyes, a low moan escaping him. Hell, what was it about this woman that made him want her so badly?
“I’m sorry,” she said, obviously misinterpreting his aches and pains. “I wish we had some ice for your head. It sure would help ease the pain and take down the swelling.”
“You’re absolutely right,” he said through clenched teeth. Except he needed the ice in his lap, not on his head! “Stop trying to distract me and quit avoiding my questions,” he growled, turning his head forward once again.
“I’m not,” she replied, her fingers still touching and exploring.
“You are.”
“Don’t be such a grouch. I’m only concerned about you.”
“Leave me alone. There’s nothing you can do about my head anyway.” She ignored him and pressed the swollen perimeter of his bump. Brilliant sparks of pain exploded in his head.
He grimaced. “Dammit, Caitlan! Enough!” Grabbing her wrists, he jerked her away, pinning her with a scowl he hoped she’d interpret as intimidating. “Sit down.”
Any woman with a lick of sense would have heeded his tone and expression and done as he ordered, but she only tossed him an indulgent look that made him feel like a small boy. “Are you always this bossy?”
“I
am
the boss.”
“Of this ranch?”
“Yes.” He let go of her hands, enjoying too much the feel of her soft, warm skin and wanting even more to pull her onto his lap and kiss some compliance into her. A long, deep, lazy kiss ought to do the trick, he thought, then immediately chastised himself for entertaining the notion. He didn’t want involvements and entanglements with this woman, or any woman, for that matter. The tragic loss of Amanda and a bitter, loveless marriage had taught him that he had no emotion left to give. As soon as they arrived at his ranch house, she’d be back on her way to wherever she’d come from, and that’s exactly how he wanted things.
She rubbed her wrists, as if branded by his touch. He saw the awareness in her eyes, a hint of confusion, and knew she felt the same sizzle of attraction he did. Looking away, she walked to the other side of the table and sat down in her chair.
“I don’t even know your name,” she said softly.
“J.T. Rafferty, and you’re doing it again,” he said, unable to keep his exasperation from his voice.
“I’m just curious about you,” came her innocent reply.
“Then we have something in common, because I’m more than a little curious about you. Answer my question, Caitlan.”
“Which was?”
A broken laugh escaped him, a cross between irritation and mild amusement. He rubbed the taut muscles at the back of his neck and sighed. If any other woman had dared to provoke him like this, he would have been gruff and demanding in response. He didn’t want to analyze his reaction to Caitlan too deeply, and instead strove for a stern tone of voice. “You’re trying my patience, Caitlan Daniels. Listen up. Where did you come from and what were you doing trespassing on private property?”
She hesitated for a moment, as if thinking up a plausible excuse. “I’m a guest at Parson’s Dude Ranch,” she began, folding her hands primly on the table before her. “It was an absolutely gorgeous day yesterday. At least in the morning it was sunny and pleasant.” The direct look she gave him made him feel as though the temperamental change in weather had been his fault. “I was out on a trail ride doing a little sightseeing on my own, except I have a lousy sense of direction. I got lost.” She cast a dubious look heavenward and gave a slight shake of her head, as if even
she
couldn’t quite believe her tale.
He had his doubts as well. “Parson’s Dude Ranch is well over eight miles away, most of which is rugged terrain.”
She shrugged delicately. “See how lousy my sense of direction is? I
thought
I was headed back
toward
the dude ranch.”
Her story had a loophole, and he zeroed in on it. There was only one way to and from Parson’s that separated the dude ranch’s property from Rafferty land. “Didn’t you wonder where you were going when you crossed the bridge over the American River?”
“I wanted to explore the other side of the river.” An impish expression etched her features, and he found himself totally charmed by the mischief sparkling in her eyes. “I never thought I wouldn’t be able to find my way back. How can you miss a body of water as big as the American River?”
“
You
obviously did.”
Her spine straightened defensively. “If it wasn’t for the sleet storm, I would have found it again eventually.”
“Sure.” He settled back as comfortably as the unyielding wooden chair would allow. Stretching his legs out under the table, he laced his fingers over his stomach. “Go on, please,” he said in a lazy drawl.
“I started to panic when the storm rolled in. When I found the creek I followed it, hoping it would lead back to the river, a main road, or another ranch.”
“Creeks don’t necessarily lead to roads or ranches, and they can take miles to reach the river, depending on which direction you’re heading.”
“Well, excuse my ignorance,” she said haughtily. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
Feeling appropriately reproved for making light of a situation that could have been perilous, he murmured, “I’m sorry.” He could well imagine her fear of being stranded in a strange place and softened a bit. After all, she wasn’t here in his line shack of her own choice, and she
had
saved his life.
Seemingly satisfied with his apology, she continued. “I was following the creek when a bolt of lightning struck nearby. Daisy didn’t take too well to the thunder and lightning and took off like a bat out of—” She stopped abruptly, her cheeks pinkening.
“Hell?” he supplied, holding back a chuckle at her chagrin over a simple swear word.
“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s the term.” She cleared her throat and fiddled with a napkin on the table. “Anyway, I shouldn’t have asked for such a spirited horse. I could barely control her. We passed this shack, and when I tried to stop her she just got more skittish. By the time I got her back under control, we were only feet away from where you lay by the creek. I jumped off Daisy to see if you were still alive and she took off before I could tether her to a tree.”
He stared at her for the longest time, past those deep blue eyes and beyond. Finally, he shook his head. “That’s the damnedest story I think I’ve ever heard. It’s so unbelievable, I actually believe it.”
“It’s what happened,” she said, brushing a swath of hair from her cheek, the movement artless and feminine. “How else would I have found you?”
“Hell if I know.” Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on the table. His humor fled when he thought of another important fact. “If I was unconscious when you found me, how did you manage to get me to the shack?”
“I dragged you,” she replied without missing a beat, then gave another one of those heavenward glances he would have found endearing if her answer hadn’t been so preposterous.
His eyes narrowed perceptively. “You couldn’t even push me off you when we were on the bed and you expect me to believe you
dragged
me over a hundred yards?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” she shot back.
“I guess I am.” If she was lying, J.T. decided she had it down to a science. He searched her gaze, seeing nothing but a delicate pureness that reached deep into his soul and tugged. Startled by the warmth unfurling in him, he glanced away.
Her chair scraped against the wood floor as she scooted back and stood. “I’m sure you’ve heard that people do incredible things when they find themselves in a panicked situation. Adrenaline and all that,” she said, gesturing with her hands.
“Yeah, adrenaline,” he agreed, suddenly tired of doubting her every word. What other explanation could there be? And if she meant him harm, she’d had plenty of opportunity to do so while he’d been unconscious. As outrageous as her story sounded, everything she’d told him was possible.
Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he watched her flit about the shack. She put away their dishes and washed up the coffee pot, then stored everything where she’d found it in the pantry. She worked quickly, efficiently, and he marveled at how at home she seemed with none of the normal everyday conveniences one usually takes for granted.
“Let me help,” he offered, pushing back his own chair. Before he could stand she shook her head and sent him an adamant look.
“Absolutely not.” Folding the blanket on the bed, she set it at the foot of the mattress. “You sit and relax, I’ll take care of this. You need to save your strength.”
He didn’t like feeling like an invalid. “I’m fi—”
A firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back into his seat. “Stay put.” Her tone rivaled a drill sergeant’s.
He resisted the urge to click his heels, salute her, and say, “Yes, sir.” “Are you always so bossy?” he asked, repeating her earlier question to him.
“Only when I’m in charge,” she replied over her shoulder.
She bent over to dig something out of a tin can in the pantry, and his gaze slid over her bottom, admiring and appreciating her curves. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”