Dark Paradise (19 page)

wasn't sure how to react. He wanted this land for himself, for the Stars

and Bars, as an added buffer against the encroachment of outsiders - of

Bryce in particular. He had hoped it would be offered for sale by

Daggrepont to settle the estate, though that scenario held no guarantees

the land wouldn't go to Bryce. Still, Daggrepont was a local. Marilee

Jennings was a wild card. There was no telling what she would do with

it.

The only thing he knew for certain was that she thought he was a jerk.

And she was right. He'd been nothing but a bastard to her from the word

go.

"Swell," he muttered.

Marilee wheeled on him, eyes flashing. "Thank you for your kind

condolences. It means so much to know people care."

"I won't pretend I liked her," he growled.

"Fine. Then I won't pretend I like you either."

She started to walk away from him, but his hand snaked out and caught

hold of her upper arm. Furious, she twisted around and glared at him.

"Get your hand off me, Rafferty. I'm sick of being manhandled by you.

And I'm sick of your snide remarks about Lucy. I don't give a shit what

she did to you. She was my friend. I didn't always like her. I didn't

always agree with her. But she was my friend, and I'll be damned if I'll

put up with your smart-ass remarks. If you can't manage to master any of

the greater social graces, you can at least show a little respect."

J.D. let her go, watching pensively as she stalked to the gatepost and

took down a big tin Mr. Peanut. She stood with her back to him, holding

the thing against her. Guilt gnawed on his conscience. She was right. He

should have had better manners than to speak his mind about Lucy.

Especially with the woman who had just inherited her property.

The addendum sat about as well as a gallstone in his gut. His personal

code didn't allow for ulterior motives.

A man conducted himself accordingly, regardless of circumstance; it was

a matter of honor. Well, he thought, chagrined, Lucy had always managed

to bring out the worst in him. Seemed she was still doing it,

manipulating him from the next dimension.

He blew out a heavy breath and jammed his hands at the waist of his

jeans. Women. They were more trouble than they were worth, that was for

damn sure. His mouth twisted as he stared at the back of Marilee

Jennings. She was crying. He could tell by the jerky movements of her

shoulders. She was trying valiantly not to.

He could tell by the halting breaths she snatched. A sliver of panic

shot through him. He didn't know what to do with a crying woman. The

only things he knew to do with women were avoid them or have sex with

them.

Neither option applied.

Feeling awkward and oversize, he walked up behind her and debated the

issue of touching her. An apology lodged in his throat like a chicken

bone, and he wished fervently that the world would just leave him alone

to tend his ranch and train his horses. And people like Marilee Jennings

and Lucy MacAdam and Evan Bryce would just stay down in California where

they belonged.

"I-a-um-I'm-a sorry."

He practically spat the word out of his mouth. Marilee would have

laughed if she hadn't felt so miserable. She suspected words didn't come

easily to a man like Rafferty. He didn't need an emotional vocabulary to

deal with horses and cattle.

Clutching the peanut tin to her chest, she sniffed and tried to swallow

her tears, embarrassed to shed them in front of a man who was

embarrassed to see them. But they pushed back hard, slamming up against

the backs of her eyes, swimming up over the rim of her lashes. Lucy's

dead. Lucy's dead. Lucy's dead. The line chanted over and over in her

mind, and echoing back were words that made her feel selfish and

frightened. I'm all alone. I'm all alone. I'm all alone.

The shoulder she would have cried on had been reduced to ashes. She felt

bombarded - by the decisions she had made about her own life in the past

week and by the shocks that had been delivered since her arrival in

Montana. All mental circuits overloaded and blew up.

Sobbing, she turned and fell against Rafferty. Any port in a storm. It

didn't matter that he was a jerk. He was something big and solid and

warm to lean against. And he owed her, dammit. After all his insults,

the least he could do was hold her while she cried.

She buried her face against his shoulder and pinned the peanut tin

between them, heedless of the thing's edges.

For a moment, J.D. was motionless and dumbfounded, panic bolting through

him. Then, almost of their own volition, his hands came up and settled

on her shaking shoulders.

She was small and fragile. Fragile. The word reverberated as he listened

to her cry. Her tears seemed to soak through his shirt and into his

heart. He couldn't imagine Lucy crying over anything; she had been too

tough, too cynical. But little Marilee cried as if the world were coming

to an end. Because he'd hurt her feelings. Because she'd lost a friend.

"Hush," he whispered, his fingers stealing upward into the baby-fine

hair at the nape of her neck. The soft, fresh scent of her hooked his

nose and lured his head down.

"Shh. I'm sorry, honey. Don't cry. Please don't cry."

The peanut tin was poking him in the stomach. J.D. ignored it. Dormant

instincts stirred to life inside him, feelings that were basic and

male - the desire to protect, the need to comfort. They slipped through

the wall of his defenses in a spot made soft by this woman's tears. She

cried as though she had lost everything in the world. He told himself a

man had to be made out of stone not to feel sympathy.

She turned her face and shuddered out a breath, and his head dropped

another fraction. His cheek pressed against hers.

"Shhh. Hush," he whispered, his lips moving against her skin, Soft as a

peach. Warm. Damp and salty with tears. His fingers slid deeper into her

tangled mane, cupping her head, tipping it. "Hush now," he murmured.

His gaze locked on her mouth. Her lips were plump and ripe, slightly

parted, shiny, tempting.

Marilee stared up at him, her heart thundering. His eyes were the warm

gray of old pewter, the pupils dilated and locked on her mouth. He

seemed to be breathing hard.

They both were. His lips were slightly parted. She remembered the feel

of them, the taste of him. A weird magnetism pulled on her, pulled her

toward him. He wanted to kiss her now. The message vibrated in the air

between them. She wanted to kiss him back.

would he blame her for it afterward?

She stepped back as J.D. started to lower his mouth toward hers. He

didn't like her. She ripped herself up one side and down the other for

wanting to kiss a man who had treated her so badly. She may have done a

great many stupid things in her life, but falling for Neanderthals was

not among her faults.

"I need to blow my, nose," she said, doing a wonderful job of killing

the sexual tension. "Have you got a tissue?"

J.D. fished a clean handkerchief out of his hip pocket and handed it to

her, telling himself he was glad that the madness had passed. He was

going to have to go and see about getting this need taken care of soon.

As soon as the branding and vaccinating was done . . . and the cattle

had been moved to the summer pasture . . . and the yearling colts had

been gelded . . .

Marilee blew her nose and tried to ignore the adolescent surge of

embarrassment at her body functions. "I never mastered the art of crying

delicately," she said, folding the handkerchief and stuffing it into her

pocket. "My sisters can do it. I'm pretty sure they don't have any

sinuses."

She wiped away the last tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt

and shot a sheepish glance at Rafferty.

"Thanks for letting me cry all over you."

He shrugged, feeling awkward and hating it. Annoyance pulled his brows

down. "You didn't give me much choice."

"God, you're so gracious."

The big sorrel horse he had charged in on and then abandoned stepped

toward her, his big liquid eyes soft with what looked for all the world

like concern mixed with curiosity. He was a handsome animal, his coat a

dark, glossy copper, a big white star between his eyes. He inched toward

her, his reins dragging the ground. Slowly, he stretched his head out

and blew on her gently, then stepped a little closer and brushed her

cheek with his muzzle. The gesture struck Marilee as being sweet and

comforting, and a fresh hot wave of tears rose inside her with a weak

laugh.

"Your horse has better manners than you do."

"I reckon that's true enough," J.D. said softly. Sarge caught his subtle

hand signal and stepped back from Marilee, nodding his head

enthusiastically. She laughed, and J.D. ignored the fact that the husky

sound pleased him. He hadn't done the trick to impress her, just to stop

her from crying again, that was all.

"What's his name?"

"Sarge."

He gave her the information almost grudgingly, as if he thought

admitting he had given the animal a name showed some kind of hidden

weakness. Marilee bit down on a smile. "He's beautiful," she said. One

arm still clutching her peanut tin, she reached up and stroked the

gelding's face, indulging his begging for an ear-scratching. He closed

his eyes and groaned in appreciation.

"He's a good horse."

The words betrayed no overt sentiment, but Marilee caught the carefully

even tone and her gaze sharpened on the seemingly mindless pat on the

shoulder he gave the horse as he caught his reins and hooked one loosely

around a rail in the corral fence. The gelding wasn't fooled either. He

gave his master a hooded look and nipped at the flap on his shirt

pocket. Grumbling, Rafferty fished a butter mint out and handed it over.

Some tough guy. Marilee tried to steel herself against the insidious

warmth curling around her heart. Just because the horse liked him didn't

mean he wasn't a jerk.

"So what are you doing here anyway, Rafferty?
 
Besides spoiling my fun."

"I came to look after the stock," he said, shooting her a sideways

glance as he loosened the cinch on his saddle.

"Nobody told me not to."

Stock. She'd forgotten there were animals here, hadn't given a thought

to the fact that she owned them now too.

In fact, she had yet to see them. She hadn't gotten any farther than

the corral in her exploration of the place.

The burning of the business suits had demanded all her attention. She

couldn't have considered accepting Lucy's bequest until she had

officially broken that symbolic tie to her past. Now she thought of

livestock and panicked.

"Stock?" she said, falling into step beside Rafferty as he headed toward

the old barn. "What kind of stock?
 
I'm not sure I'm ready to handle

anything that could be considered stock."

J.D. shot her a look. She couldn't have been much more than five feet

five. What there was of her was swallowed up by a huge purple shirt. The

tails hung nearly to the ripped-out knees of her tight faded jeans. Her

hair was a mess, and there was a smudge of dirt on her upturned nose.

She looked up at him with those huge, clear, deep-set eyes, her dark

brows knit together in uncertainty.

"Come to think of it," she went on, suddenly pensive, "I can't see Lucy

handling 'stock' either. Christ, she never even wanted to open her own

beer cans for fear she'd chip a nail." But then, there were a great many

things about Lucy that suddenly made no sense. Marilee bit her lip and

cast a worried look down at the peanut tin in her arms.

"What is that thing?"