Heartbreak Ranch (7 page)

 

As Jed looked around the room, he realized with mild surprise that it had been a couple of hours since he'd given a thought to cutting out early. It would have been a stretch to claim he'd enjoyed himself all evening, since he'd spent the majority of his time fearing Julianne was going to wreak some kind of social havoc. But the night was draw
ing to a close, and so far, disaster seemed to have been averted.

Although he hadn't settled anything with the senator, they had had a cordial conversation that had ended with Cunningham asking to be invited to the next Cattlemen's meeting. He figured he was a big enough person to admit when a person was right, and he scanned the crowd for Julianne.

But she wasn't dancing, as she'd spent much of the evening, nor was she in the middle of a cluster of women laughing in a way that drew men's eyes. In fact, he didn't see her in the large room at all.

Jed paused, a frown beginning to form between his brows. Admitting she'd been right was enough of a sacrifice, he figured. The least she could do was be available when he was ready to do so.

The band was midway through their final set. Although the crowd had thinned considerably, many people had stayed to take advantage of the old-time rock and roll that was saved for the end of the evening. It wasn't like Julianne to miss this music.

Turning, he noticed several sets of French doors had been opened to let in the cool night air. He sipped from the glass of Scotch in his hand and moved toward the nearest set. Maybe she'd gone outside for some fresh air.

He squeezed between two women who laughingly tried to pull him out to the dance floor. Smiling slightly, he shook his head, and continued on his way.

The early summer night air was brisk, a welcome contrast to the stuffiness inside. Small groups or couples were scattered around the large terrace. But he didn't see Julianne's glittering bright blue dress. He brought the glass to his lips and swallowed, before drifting to a shadowy corner of the terrace. He set the glass on the railing, took
out a cigarette and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he took a moment to enjoy the semi-solitude. Crowds never failed to make him feel hemmed-in, both by the walls of people and the social expectations. Those expectations summoned ghosts from his childhood.

Stand up straight, Jed…Don't speak unless you're spoken to…You may have come from trash, but there's no need to act like it.
His adoptive mother's strictures floated across his memory like bits of mist. Insubstantial, meaningless. Like the life they'd lived, before Kimberley had finally realized that adopting a son wasn't going to be enough to glue her crumbling marriage back together. Then she'd left Luther Templeton and dragged Jed with her. He'd often wondered how long it had taken Luther to notice they'd gone.

“Honestly, Julianne, you could have knocked me over with a feather when Mother told me you were here. I just think it's so brave of you to face all these people, after your…troubles.” The voices were coming from behind some huge potted plants several feet away.

He turned. Apparently, he'd found Julianne, after all. And so had Marianne Craig. His first instinct was to intervene before there was bloodshed. Despite her casual manner, he knew what kind of effort it had taken for Julianne to face a crowd of this size.

The next moment he subsided against the railing. She'd made no secret of what she'd considered his interference. Maybe she was right. Perhaps it was time to let her fight her own battles. How bad could this get, anyway? Julianne had been halfway well behaved this evening and there were no locker rooms in sight.

Her voice sounded then, amused. “Trouble and I are old acquaintances, Marianne. Don't you remember?”

There was a high, tinkling laugh, reminiscent of break
ing glass. Jed got a quick mental memory of a bubbly, airheaded redhead, whose bouncy demeanor hid a malicious streak wide enough to drive a truck through. He hadn't seen Marianne in years, but from the sound of things, she hadn't changed much.

“Well, I must say, dear, you look marvelous. Did the government actually let you keep that sweet little dress you're wearing? I always heard that with drug seizures, they could take absolutely everything you owned.”

“I believe that applies to people who are convicted of criminal behavior, Marianne. Since I was never charged, it would hardly affect me.”

“You were always so clever about extricating yourself from the most suspicious circumstances. So tell me. Did you have to hire a frightfully expensive lawyer to keep them from pressing charges?”

The woman was nothing if not persistent. Julianne's tone had chilled considerably when she answered, “I didn't have to hire a lawyer at all. Although I may have need of one if I'm arrested for homicide.”

“Well, I never believed a
thing
people were saying about you. The media can be so ruthless, can't they? You were wise to hide out at the ranch until things die down in Florida. I'm sure some other headline will come along to catch people's interest.” Marianne's voice was laced with doubt.

“I'm not hiding out, I just came home.”

That high-pitched laugh came again, along with a slight noise Jed fancied was Julianne's teeth clenching together. He brought the almost-forgotten cigarette to his lips, filled his lungs with smoke and continued eavesdropping unabashedly.

“Oh, I've just been feeling so sorry for you! I said as much to my husband. I can't imagine what amusements
you'll find on the ranch. I'm sure you're used to much racier pastimes. Though I was…free-spirited…in high school, I'm afraid I just never could get used to that jaded life-style you've been leading.”

“Free-spirited?”

Jed straightened abruptly. He recognized the danger in Julianne's lethal purr. Flicking his cigarette aside, he decided it was time to make his presence known.

“All this time I just thought you were cheap,” Julianne continued. “Obviously that hasn't changed. Although I must say, that tacky little dress you're wearing does slightly more for you than the skimpy towel you were wrapped in when we locked you out of the girls changing room in high school.”

There was a shriek, and Jed walked faster.

“That was you! I knew it all along. Your bitchy friend Shelby was probably in on it, too.”

“She provided some of the muscle, but it was my idea.” Jed winced at the satisfaction in Julianne's voice. “I understand the soccer team still has nightmares about it.”

“You…” He heard the sound of a slap, followed by another shriek. As he rounded the potted plant, he could already imagine the lawsuit to follow. When he caught sight of the two women, Marianne was frantically wiping liquid from the front of her dress, and Julianne was setting her empty glass on a nearby table.

“Ladies.” He forced a falsely genial tone in his voice, and purposely stepped between them. “Marianne Craig. What a nice surprise. Your mother said you were here.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew his handkerchief, offering it to her. She snatched it from him and dabbed at her dress.

With his free hand he reached for Julianne's arm and gripped it tightly. “I hope you'll excuse us, Marianne. I
need to steal Julianne for a moment.” He turned and, ignoring the resistance in her body, propelled her away.

“You can pitch her over the side of the balcony for all I care. Oh, my dress is ruined!” Marianne's voice ended on a wail, which followed them around the corner.

Jed didn't stop until they were on the opposite side of the terrace, isolated from any interested observers. Then, because he couldn't be sure of his temper, he forced himself to let go of Julianne.

“God almighty, Buchanan, can't you behave for five minutes? Another few minutes and they'd have had to call in a SWAT team.”

She strolled away from him and relaxed against the balcony railing. “Another five minutes and they'd have had to scrape her remains off the tiles. I was never too good at tolerating Marianne Pooler, and age and marriage hasn't cured her bitchiness.”

“Just tell me if I'm going to have to bail you out of jail for assault charges.”

Her shrug had the sequins in her dress shimmering in the darkness. “She took the swing at me, which naturally upset my hand carrying the full glass.” He heard, rather than saw, the pout. “A waste of good chardonnay, too.”

Irritation still riding him, he snapped, “Well, you're just going to have to develop some tolerance. Dammit, Julianne, you're not a kid anymore. You can't act on every impulse you have.”

“So tell me what you would have done after another guy belted you? Turned the other cheek?”

He ignored the question. They weren't talking about him, at any rate. “You know what she's like. It's not like you to let someone like Marianne make you lose your temper.”

She turned away from him to lean over the balcony. She
was silent for a long time. When she did speak, it was so quietly he had to move closer in order to make out her words. “She didn't say anything you haven't said. But regardless of what you both think, I didn't come back to the ranch to lick my wounds.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Whatever happened in Florida is history. You deserve a chance to get on with your life. It's nobody's business where you choose to do it.”

She didn't look at him. Her gaze was trained on something in the darkness. “Tell me something, Jed. Did you go charging to my rescue in Florida because you thought I was too brainless to smooth things out myself?”

The pensive wistfulness that traced through her words elicited an answering, unfamiliar emotion. Julianne could move something inside him at the most unexpected times. Something he was unwilling to identify. He drank from his glass, welcomed the scalding slide of liquor as he swallowed.

“I've never thought you were brainless,” he said finally.

Impulsive, certainly. Given to wild whims and high spirits that he'd never really understood. She had a tendency to lead with her heart, and it had taken a battering more than once. He wondered if the divorce had done some permanent damage to it, and the notion caused a quick, savage twist in his gut.

She looked at him, unwilling to let the subject die. “But you didn't think I could handle the situation on my own?”

He gave an uncomfortable shrug. With more care than the act required, he set his empty glass on the railing. He hadn't spent a great deal of time examining the rage that had filled him when he'd found out just how much trouble she'd been in. Rage that stemmed from the knowledge that she was alone, immersed in what was easily the toughest
situation of her life. “What does it matter how the issue was resolved? The important thing is that the press and the authorities quit bothering you.”

“Oh, it matters,” she said softly. She turned away again, and her voice trailed off. He had to strain to hear it. “You can't know how much.” A strand of blond hair that had worked loose from the knot she wore framed her profile softly. Because he had a sudden, uncustomary urge to push it away, he jammed his hands into his pockets.

“You've never failed at anything, have you, Jed?” The question hung suspended in the air between them. Shrouded by the darkness, the voices and music seemed a very long way off. It was easy to blank those sounds out; to pretend that they were alone together. To pretend that Julianne hadn't just asked a question he had no interest in answering. The trouble with poking at old ghosts, he'd found, was that they had a way of rising up to haunt at the oddest times. Better to let them be.

She seemed to take his silence for agreement. “Well, I'm here to tell you, it sucks. Not to mention the bite it takes out of your self-esteem. It makes me wonder if I can ever trust my own judgment again.”

Assuming she was talking about that loser she'd married, he'd have to agree about the error in judgment. But he didn't like to see her like this, pensive and depressed. Julianne was normally too vibrant, too full of life for him not to be concerned with this current mood of hers. In an uncharacteristic effort to soothe, he said gruffly, “Put it behind you. We all make mistakes. The trick is not making the same one twice.”

“In this case I think I can agree that once was certainly enough.”

Because he was uncomfortable lingering over old re
grets, he strove to lighten the mood. “You made another one tonight, you know.”

She sent him a quizzical glance, and he explained, “Marianne. I'll bet you never figured she'd attack you like that.”

Her lips curved. He was close enough to make out the disdain on her face, even before he heard it reflected in her voice. “That little tap? Marianne was always a wimp. That's not why I doused her with wine, you know.”

He leaned his weight against the railing, facing her. “It isn't?”

She shook her head. “Heck, no. It was having her say she felt sorry for me that had me seeing red. I was obliged to soak her for the insult.”

“So it's only expressions of sympathy that release your savage impulses.” He nodded soberly. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“False sympathy,” she corrected him. “And I can't think of a reason for you to worry about that. You're about the least empathetic person I know.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What do you want me to do? Kiss your boo-boo and make it all better?”

Impudently, she offered her cheek. “Would you? It does sting a little.”

Maybe it was the hint of dare in her voice, layered over the humor. Maybe it was the need to shake some of that certainty of hers; she was so sure she had him pegged. He had no desire to bare his soul to her, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with the niche in which she'd placed him. Whatever it was had him leaning forward and brushing his lips over the softness of her cheek, inhaling the fragrance that was uniquely Julianne.

It was only for an instant, but he heard the catch in her breath at the contact, saw her eyes widen. For a moment
he felt cool amusement that he'd managed to surprise her, and then his gaze fell to her mouth, slightly parted in surprise. Need razored into him, jagged and edgy. He'd seen those lips countless times, laughing, pouting, snarling. He'd never before experienced this fierce urge to cover them with his own. He'd never allowed himself to feel it. Without stopping to think, he did the very thing he'd been warning her against.