Dark Paradise (55 page)

"There are probably a dozen people who would have liked to see Miller

dead," he said, simply ignoring the subject of feelings as deftly as he

ignored the feelings themselves. "He had his fingers in a lot of shady

land deals. But if this has anything to do with Lucy, then it might have

something to do with you. I don't want to see you dead, Marilee."

"Well, I suppose that's a comfort," she said sarcastically. Turning to

face him, she crossed her arms again and tipped her chin up to a

challenging angle. "But then, if I were dead, you'd have a hard time

trying to screw me out of Lucy's land, wouldn't you?"

She meant to hurt him, as he had hurt her, and she struck unerringly at

his integrity and pride. But it didn't make her feel any better to see

his eyes narrow or his jaw harden. It only made her feel more alone.

He leaned over her, big and tough and menacing, and braced his hands on

the rail on either side of her. "I admit I want the land," he said, his

voice a rumble as low and throaty as a cougar's growl. "But the screwing

part was strictly for fun. You gonna try to tell me you didn't enjoy it,

Marilee?"

"You bastard," she snarled through her teeth. He had her pinned against

the railing. As she bent back over it, her hips lifted into contact with

his and a liquid warmth ignited in instant response.

His eyes were as hard and dark as raw granite. The slow smile that

curved his lips did not reach them.

"That's not what you called me when I was inside you, Marilee," he

murmured. "Tell me you didn't want it."

He brought one hand up to touch the side of her face and lowered his

mouth toward hers. His breath was as warm as his fingertips on her skin.

"You can't. You didn't give a damn what I was after as long as I gave

you a good ride."

"I think you have me confused with someone else," she said, glaring at

him. "Too bad for you she happens to be dead. I'm beginning to think you

were made for each other."

J.D. stepped back an inch and looked away, planting his hands at his

waist. He didn't like the role he was trying to play. He hated himself

for playing at all. Games had been Lucy's forte, not his. He'd been

raised to deal fair and square. That was part of the code. God help him

that he'd let himself be reduced to this.

Marilee looked up at him, her big eyes shining with tears and

condemnation. He could feel the weight of her stare, could see her in

his peripheral vision. Standing up to him again. Fighting for herself.

That nameless thing swelled in his chest.

"I cared what you were after, J.D.," she said tightly.

"My mistake was in thinking you had something in you worth putting up

with all your macho bullshit. Something good. Something tender. Stupid

of me to think you might let me find it. Stupid of me to think it was

ever there."

She held herself as if she were cold as she paced a short distance down

the walk, her paddock boots thumping dully on the wood. When she turned

around, a hunk of rumpled blond hair tumbled across her face and she

tossed it back. Tears leaked in a steady stream from her eyes and

glistened over the translucent blue irises like crystal. The end of her

nose had gone red. And still it struck him hard how pretty she was, and

how fragile for all her strength.

"You keep confusing me with Lucy," she said. "Well, let me set you

straight on a few things, cowboy. I'm not Lucy. I don't like being used.

I don't like being hurt. I don't play games. When I care about someone,

it's real, not always smart or what's best, but it's real. If you don't

want that, fine. It's your loss. But don't come around telling me what

to do or who to trust or where I belong or don't belong. You can't have

it both ways, Rafferty. You can't just take what you want and leave the rest."

J.D. lowered his head and sighed. The pressure in his chest was as heavy

and spiny as a mace. He didn't want it. He told himself he had never

wanted it, had never lain awake in the night craving it. It would be far

easier to keep himself intact without it. He had battles to fight, a

ranch to run. He couldn't afford to expend energy needlessly.

Marilee watched him, breath held, waiting. The foolish part of her heart

was waiting for him to beg her forgiveness and confess his feelings.

Capital F on foolish. He wasn't that kind of man. The tenderness she had

glimpsed in him had been an aberration. He'd been bred tough enough to

spit tacks and wrestle bears; a man made for the life he had inherited.

But that kind of toughness didn't come without a price and it didn't

magically stop short of his heart. She couldn't change his past or alter

the rules he lived by. What they had together was not what she needed.

There was no point trying to hang on. Better to cut her losses early and

just walk away.

The side door to the lounge opened and Drew leaned out, his eyes

flicking from J.D. to her. "Is everything all right, luv?"

Marilee held that breath just a little bit longer, just another few

seconds of pointless hope, her stare hard on Rafferty's bowed head. He

didn't say a word.

"No," she murmured hoarsely. "But I'll get over it."

She slipped in the door past Drew and headed for the ladies' room.

At one-thirty only the hired help were left in the Mystic Moose lounge.

Tony the bartender wiped down bottles and arranged them to his

satisfaction beneath Madam Belle's gilt-framed mirror. A custodian who

bore a striking resemblance to Mickey Rooney put the chairs atop the

tables and vacuumed the floor. Gary and Netch, Drew's trio partners,

said their good-byes and left together, talking music. Kevin stood at

the cash register behind the bar, checking the receipts and laughing at

Tony's cowboy jokes. Marilee settled her guitar in its case and flipped

the latches.

"Would you care to talk about it?" Drew asked softly.

He stood in the curve of the baby grand's side, no more than two feet

from her. Marilee shook her head a little, embarrassed at how easily the

tears rose. It didn't make sense to hurt this badly. She'd hardly known

Rafferty a week, and he'd been ornery most of that time.

Forcing a smile, she rose and pulled the guitar case up into her arms

and held it like a dance partner.

"There's not much to tell. I led with my heart. That's never a very

intelligent thing to do."

Drew frowned a little. His warm green eyes were brimming with sympathy.

"Perhaps not, but think what a grand place the world would be if we all

dared do it."

He slipped his arms around her and the guitar and hugged her tight. "If

you decide you need an ear to bend or a shoulder to cry on, you know who

to come to."

"Thanks."

"Get some sleep tonight, luv," he said, stepping back. "You look all done

in."

"Yeah, well." Marilee shrugged. "It started out as a bad hair day and

went downhill from there."

He smiled gently then grew serious. "And as for the other . . ." He

reached out and brushed back an errant strand of her hair. "Let it go,

darling. No good can come of it now. I shouldn't want to see you hurt

trying to change something that can't be changed."

She watched him as he glided between the tables to the bar, another line

of Lucy's coming back to her - All the good ones are married or gay. She

was sure Drew knew something more about Lucy's life here than he was

telling her, but he claimed he couldn't shed any light on her death and

she had to accept that as truth. He was just too good a friend to hide

something so ugly.

Saying good night to Tony, she let herself out the side door and

wandered down the boardwalk along the side of the lodge. Echoes of her

fight with J.D. rang in her hollow footfalls. She ignored them as best

she could.

Even though she'd gotten little sleep the past two nights, she was too

wired to go straight to her room. She couldn't imagine finding much

solace in sleep. She had too much stewing in her subconscious to allow

her to rest.

She thought fleetingly of going out to the ranch, dragging blankets out

to the field to sleep beneath the stars among the llamas, but visions of

grizzly bears and wandering madmen chased the fantasy away. Miller

Daggrepont had been found dead in the middle of nowhere. And Lucy. There

would be no sleeping in the guest bed at the ranch either. Aside from

spooking her, the mere thought of spending the night way out there alone

filled her head with Rafferty's warm male scent. Damned mule-headed

cowboy.

He thought he had to take on the whole world with one hand tied behind

his back and no one standing on his sidelines. He was Alan Ladd in

Shane, only bigger and ornerier. John Wayne without the knee-knocking

walk. Hercules on a horse. Superman in a Stetson. Chivalrous and cruel. As

hard as granite. As vulnerable as a broken heart. He didn't want to

admit caring about anyone who could possibly care about him - not

Tucker or Will, certainly not Marilee the outsider.

Romanticizing again, Marilee?
 
How like you.

Rafferty was no silver-screen cowboy hero. He was hard as nails and he

didn't want her for anything other than to relieve his testosterone

imbalance and increase his property holdings. Nothing terribly romantic

about that.

Even as she tried to convince herself of his villainy, she saw him in

her mind's eye, standing at the end of his barn where he thought no one

could see him, looking out at the land he loved, his face a bleak mask

of desperation.

Half resigned and half disgusted, she waded through the dew-damp meadow

grass to her rock and climbed up to sit and stare back at New Eden.

Oblongs of golden light marked windows of individual rooms in the Moose,

where other people were having trouble winding down.

She wondered which of the lights belonged to Drew and Kevin. She

wondered how much Drew kept from his partner. She wondered if they ever

had the kind of fights where one of them walked away feeling as if his

heart had been kicked black and blue.

Things were still going strong at the Hell and Gone.

The place lit up the night like a house afire. Noise pounded out through

the walls and doors and windows, losing definition with distance so that

all Marilee could make out was the distorted thump of a bass guitar and

the high crash of cymbals like glass shattering. She wondered if Will

was inside, drinking himself blind again.

Her heart ached for him. Will, the screw-up, the Rafferty black sheep.

Funny he wasn't the one she had fallen for; they had the most in common.

But then, he had a wife.

She started to think about Samantha and shook her head. What a mess.

She'd come to Montana for a break from reality and had fallen splat in

the middle of a soap opera - good versus evil, greedy land baron versus

the small family rancher, intrigue, infidelity, and God only knew what

else. The road less traveled was turning out to be pretty damned crowded

and rougher than a son of a bitch.

There was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to walk away. But

it was a small part, a remnant of the old Marilee. She pushed it away

like a dry husk and felt a little stronger. She didn't want to leave

Montana. She wanted to belong here - not just live here, belong here.

She wanted to be as much a part of the place as Rafferty and the

mountains and the big, big sky. And if she was to be worthy of the

place, then she would have to adopt its codes - to do the right thing, to

prize integrity and courage and accountability. And her first mission on

this quest would be to find out the truth about Lucy's death.

No small task with no easy answers. And no one to help her.

Tipping her head back, she looked up at the millions of stars that were

scattered across the night sky and found the North Star shining bright