Authors: Jo Goodman
Rennie was silent a moment, thinking. Suddenly she nodded emphatically. "That's right. I do. Surveying has never been Hollis's forte, nor of special interest to him. He was merely accompanying the team, not supervising their efforts. He's neither stupid nor a liar, but perhaps in this case he was a little careless or a tad too trusting of others."
Jarret realized it was all the admission she was prepared to make. A larger revelation would have left her unbalanced and uncertain. She was still intending, after all, to marry the man. He nodded, accepting it.
"Thank you for telling me about the floods. I'll insist on the changes."
She would insist, he thought, but there was no telling if anyone would listen. "Anything less than your route would be a disaster, financially and in every other way."
Rennie was on the point of thanking him again when Mrs. Cavanaugh came to the door and announced dinner. "Sure, and the two of you are talkin' again," the cook said, beaming. "Wasn't natural t'other way. Well, come on with you. I'm not servin' meals in here."
Rennie and Jarret exchanged amused and conspiratorial glances. Jarret extended his hand to Rennie and drew her to her feet. She accepted his arm and allowed him to escort her to the dining room.
That evening, when she bid him good night, it was sheer force of will that kept him from kissing her breathless.
He lay awake a long time thinking about it. The attraction he felt toward her didn't make any kind of normal sense. She was snippety most times, down right caustic others. In spite of her best intentions she was easily riled, rising so quickly to his bait that Jarret felt a vague sense of guilt for targeting her as often as he did. On the one hand she was enormously intelligent, and on the other she was curiously naive. It was as if she didn't know quite what to make of herself, uncomfortable with her femininity and, for all her modern thinking, just as uncomfortable demanding equal footing with men.
She dressed plainly, though not with the severity that Ethan had described of Michael. In spite of current fashion, Rennie's gowns were rarely embellished with ribbon or lace. Except for tiny pearls on her earlobes, she wore no jewelry. She was self-conscious of her reading spectacles, embarrassed by her habit of hiding pencils in her hair, and more than a little uncertain of her looks. For some reason, which escaped Jarret entirely, Rennie Dennehy seemed to think she was nondescript. It was not so much that she did anything in particular to hide her beauty, but that she did nothing to accentuate it. It was as if she simply did not recognize it.
Her hair, which easily could have been the focus of some vanity, was kept simply coiled at the back of her head. Untamed and curly, sometimes it stayed in its anchoring pins and sometimes it didn't. It appeared to be a matter of complete indifference on Rennie's part. In repose her features were very nearly serene, even angelic. Awake, Rennie was constantly animated. Her nose crinkled, her eyes rolled, her mouth flattened. She worried the inside of her lip when she was thinking; she flushed when a wayward thought crossed her mind. Her fists clenched when she was angry; her fingers tapped when she was nervous. Composure was a state she had to force upon herself. As a poker player she would invariably lose her shirt.
Jarret tortured himself with the thought of breaking out the cards. He had a good idea what she was hiding beneath the unbecoming gowns she wore. Her slender shoulders supported breasts that were just fractionally too full for her frame. Her narrow back had the most beguiling curve as it tapered at her waist and rounded gently at her hips. She was no more than average height, but most of it was leg. Jarret had tussled with her enough to glimpse pale skin and delicate bones. Her strength was feisty in nature, not physical. She made him think of a banty rooster rather than a lioness.
Not that she would have appreciated either comparison. And not that any of his thinking made the slightest bit of difference. It was just that returning to Colorado would have been a lot easier if he had never heard her laugh. Easier still if she'd never smiled.
* * *
Rennie came downstairs late the next morning. Jarret had already finished eating and was stepping inside the front door as she reached the first-floor landing. She had the impression he had just finished talking to someone, and when she peered through one of the long, narrow windows on either side of the door, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman getting into a carriage. Rennie got herself a cup of coffee from the kitchen and cornered Jarret in the library. He was standing at the window, staring out onto the side street.
"A tryst?" she asked lightly. She was surprised to see that he actually jumped. He really hadn't heard her enter. "Oh, dear, your thoughts
are
a thousand miles away. This doesn't bode well for my protection."
"Sit down, Rennie."
There was no humor in his voice. None. Rennie sat as if pushed. "What's happened?" Then, because she couldn't help herself, "It's Michael, isn't it? Something's happened to Michael."
Jarret turned away from the window. "It's not Michael. That was Susan Turner. You know her?"
Rennie nodded. She was worrying her lower lip. Her skin was devoid of color. "Dr. Turner's wife. Scott's taking care of Michael for the baby." It was suddenly difficult to breathe, and every one of her fears showed clearly in her eyes. "Oh, God," she said almost soundlessly.
Jarret shook his head quickly as he realized the tenor of her thoughts. "It's not the baby, Rennie. Michael and the baby are fine. It's Ethan. He's very sick."
"Ethan's sick?" She frowned. "How can that be? Is it serious?"
"Susan says her husband doesn't know, but he's not encouraging. He's prescribed some medicine, and they're going to see if it helps. It looks like the influenza, she says, but Turner thinks it's something more serious than that."
"But he doesn't say?"
"He doesn't know."
A little color returned to Rennie's face. She folded both hands around her cup of coffee and raised it to her lips. "This means you'll be leaving," she said.
"No. Not yet."
"You have to go to Michael. If Ethan can't protect her, then you have to."
"When Ethan wants me, I'll go. He only asked Dr. Turner to deliver the message that he's ill. He's not asking for help."
"But—"
"But nothing," Jarret snapped. His hand sliced the air for emphasis. "You may find this difficult to understand, but there are some of us who do what we're told. I respect Ethan's judgment. If he doesn't want me there, then I'm not going." Yet, he thought.
"Then let me go. I could help Michael nurse him. She doesn't need the extra work now."
"Susan says Michael's not in any danger... from the illness. Your sister's quite able to care for Ethan, and nothing's changed as far as you're concerned."
"I'm not spending another minute here." She set her cup on an end table and stood.
"Don't you dare try leaving this house."
"Or what?"
Jarret took a step forward. "I'm not of a mind to fence with you, Rennie. Do it and find out."
It was meant as a warning. Rennie heard it as a challenge. Ignoring him, she walked out of the room and went straight for the coat closet. She found a light wrap and put it around her shoulders. "Mr. Cavanaugh!" she called. When the cook's husband appeared, she asked him to ready a carriage for her. It infuriated her when the man looked to Jarret for permission.
"Then, I'll walk," Rennie said.
Mrs. Cavanaugh came up behind her husband. Her eyes darted anxiously between Jarret and Rennie. "What's the row about this time?"
"She's set herself on leavin'," said Mr. Cavanaugh. "Sure, and she wanted me to get the carriage for her."
The cook shook her head and dried her damp hands on her apron. "You're not going to do it, are you?"
Mr. Cavanaugh scratched his salt-and-pepper beard. "Do I look like such a fool, wife?"
Rennie knew their discussion was for her benefit and she could expect no help from that quarter. She glared at Jarret accusingly, blaming him for the rift in loyalties. She didn't even know if the Cavanaughs would be reliable witnesses anymore.
Jarret didn't move past the threshold of the parlor. He had no intention of blocking her path or lifting a finger to stop her until she was ready to walk out the door. He was going to give her every opportunity to change her mind.
"I need to see my sister," she said. Her voice actually trembled. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "You don't know what it's like to be separated from her. When she was gone for months out West, there were people who thought she was dead. I knew she wasn't. I
knew.
But it hasn't been the same since she's been back. She's drifting away from me."
"She has Ethan," said Jarret. "She's carrying a baby."
"It doesn't matter. I want her to have both, but this is about
my
need. Michael will understand, even if you don't."
Jarret said nothing. He simply waited.
His silence encouraged Rennie to think he had changed his mind. In retrospect she knew she had only believed what served her purpose. She walked past him and opened the front door. Her feet never touched the stoop.
Jarret grabbed her from behind and hauled her back inside, kicking the door closed with the heel of his boot. She fought with him. Her wrap fell from her shoulders. Her hair fell out of its anchoring pins. She felt a shoulder seam in her dress give way. Rennie's frenzied, frantic movements made Jarret's grip precarious. He managed to hold on, but only just.
Mrs. Cavanaugh's hand drying became more of a hand wringing. "I've never seen her like this. She's not usin' the sense God gave her."
"He needs to turn her over his knee and that's a fact," said Mr. Cavanaugh.
Their comments only made Rennie angrier and Jarret's job more difficult. Since the Cavanaughs showed no sign of leaving the hallway, Jarret knew he had to. Hefting Rennie in his arms, he pitched her over his shoulder, secured her legs against his chest, and let her flail away at his back. The staircase in front of him loomed as large as Pike's Peak. He began to climb.
Rennie stopped struggling as soon as she realized what he was about. "Don't you dare drop me," she said breathlessly.
"Don't give me any ideas."
"Put me down and I'll walk up the stairs myself."
Jarret's breath was coming a little short as he reached the halfway mark. "Now, why don't I believe you?"
Rennie raised her head. Through the curtain of her curly, tangled hair she could see the distraught faces of the Cavanaughs in the hallway below. "Traitors." There wasn't any menace in her voice. She dropped her head as they retreated to the kitchen. "You've lost your audience," she told Jarret.
He merely grunted.
At the door to Rennie's room Jarret paused long enough to catch his breath. Once inside, he unceremoniously dropped Rennie on the bed. He sat down on the edge, grabbing her by the ankle when she would have rolled away. "You need a bridle," he said, hauling her closer.
Sprawled as she was across the bed, her gown rucked up to her knees, her body being pulled inexorably closer to Jarret's, the assumption that crossed her mind was a natural one. She became absolutely
wild
at the thought of being spanked.
"Rennie! For God's sake!" Jarret dodged her right fist as she came at him, but he lost his breath when she hammered him in the midriff with her left. "What the hell's wrong with you?" She tried to sink her teeth into the back of his hand as he caught her wrists. Jarret had to use one of his legs to trap her lower body.
They rolled once, then again. Jarret held her wrists on either side of her head and eased himself off dead center so that she wasn't taking his full weight. She was breathing hard, sucking in large draughts of air. His head momentarily rested against her shoulder while he caught his breath. Both her legs were secured under one of his. Her movements now were not so much struggles as they were spasms of complete fatigue.
Jarret raised his head. A fringe of dark blond hair fell over his brow. "What was that about?" he asked huskily. "Did you think I was going for my gun? I don't even wear it around you anymore."
She turned her head away from him, her eyes closed. "I thought you were going to hit me."
"Hit you?"
Color suffused her cheeks. She opened her eyes but couldn't look at him. "Spank me."
"I see," Jarret said. He began to understand her reaction. It would have been humiliating for her. "I have no desire to rob you of your pride, Rennie. That's not my way. I'd be more inclined to cuff you on the chin." He saw the faintest smile touch her mouth. Her eyes welled with tears. "But it's a nice chin and I'll let it go for now."
She looked at him. "I punched you."
He nodded. "Several times."
"I've never done that before to anyone. I've never even wanted to."
His sapphire eyes were patently skeptical.
"Well, maybe once or twice I've wanted to." Her eyes drifted to his mouth. She realized how terribly close he was, how his body was pressing against the length of hers. His hands were closed over her wrists loosely, the position of his leg more intimate than anchoring. There was something in his darkening eyes now that lent her a different sort of breathlessness.