Return to the Black Hills (20 page)

But words were not his friend. He’d told her he loved her and she stuck around long enough for him to prove it, but her words back had been lukewarm at best.

“I think I might love you, too.”

Might?

Might?

He might well hate that word. But he knew he couldn’t rush her into a relationship. He couldn’t change Jessie into a domestic partner any more than she could turn Sugar into a house cat.

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” he asked, not taking anything for granted. There was a guest room in the place if she wanted her space.

They were still melded together, like one body with eight limbs and two heads. He’d read about that once in a book his father left open. Plato. Buck had explained that according to Plato this was how humans were originally—whole and so happy and content they ignored the gods, who punished them by cutting them apart and setting them off as individuals doomed to spend eternity searching for their other half.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her tone sleepy and satisfied.

“Good.” He shifted enough to take his weight off her, but he wasn’t ready to let go completely. “As I said, the night is young, but I am old.”

“You are not,” she said, giggling. “You’re forty-two. Your daughter told me so. I’ll be thirty-three in August.” She looked up. “Wow. You really are old. No wonder you need a nap.”

He could tell she was teasing by the glint of laughter in her eyes. He took a deep breath, taking in the smell of her hair on his pillow. He could see himself sleeping with her every day for the rest of his life. A dream, maybe, but if Plato was right, he’d found his missing half.

Proving that to Jessie might take a while. All night and then some.

And the cost could be extreme.

Having someone tell you he loved you and admitting that you had similar feelings was a huge step—relationship-wise. And probably an unwise step if you were someone like Jessie.

She carefully slid out of bed and picked up the clothes she’d worn to the movie. Not the best for working out, but good enough, she decided, pulling on her shorts and top.

The air temperature was cool, telling her several windows must have been left open. Further assurance of their safety. The door might have an alarm but the second-floor windows, at least, provided a welcome cross-ventilation.

The open windows also provided enough light to make her way downstairs. She located her backpack where she’d left it hanging on a hook by the door and pulled out her phone and MP3 player.

Her phone served as a flashlight to avoid turning on any switches. Cade had shown her the home gym his father had installed years earlier. Older, clunky machines that reminded her of stylized dinosaurs. Not her type at all, but the stationary bike seemed like a safe choice, if her ankle didn’t object.

Before she gave it a try, she decided to check her messages and texts. The only one that interested her was from Hank, her friendly neighborhood sheriff’s deputy.

“Darlene Feathering’s husband was arrested on tax fraud. Might give her up in return for deal.”

Give her up?
How? She was already pleading her way out of the embezzlement charges against her. What did Roger Feathering have on his wife? Jessie wondered.

Dar’s betrayal hurt, but Jessie was done mourning the loss of another woman who only pretended to love her. Screw them all.

She knew there was no changing the past, but there was one question she would have liked to ask her mother before she died. “Did I do it, Mama?” she said out loud. To no one. To the blank white walls and the dusty, unused exercise equipment.
Would someone please tell me whether or not I put that candle in the
window?
She didn’t remember getting up and finding the matches. Her doctors said it wasn’t unusual to forget details surrounding a trauma. Jessie could remember going to sleep. She and Remy had been planning to go to the bridge the next day. That was the last thing she could recall until waking up to find their bedroom ablaze.

Would her question have been answered if Jessie had pulled out of the competition the moment her sisters called to tell her Mom was dying?

Probably not. According to Remy, Mama went downhill fast and the pain meds kept her under a thick layer from which she never completely surfaced. But Jessie probably would always wonder and wish she had a do-over.

Shaking her head, she plugged in her headphones and clicked on a playlist called Work Out 2—middle of the night. The first song always made her smirk. Rick Springfield belting out “Jessie’s Girl.” She would silently lip-sync or—if she was completely alone—belt out the words, changing the last to
guy.

For the first time, she had a face to go with that name.

Smiling, she decided to keep this workout short. Maybe she’d make just enough noise while getting back into bed to wake up Cade for a little middle-of-the-night fun. But first, she’d finish what she started. Because that’s the kind of girl she was.

“This is a stunt,” he murmured out loud. “Pretend.”

But the heat felt very real and his panic grew when he spotted a figure in a padded suit streak across the room and dive, headfirst through the window. A second, smaller figure started past him. He grabbed an arm, an elbow.

“Jessie,” he cried. “Stop. Don’t do this.”

But when the person turned to look at him, he realized it wasn’t Jessie. It was Shiloh.

He opened his eyes, his heart racing.

He rolled over, reaching out to touch Jessie.

She was gone. The messy sheets the only sign she’d been there.

A sour taste in his mouth made him spring out of bed and walk into the bath. A small night-light shaped like a buffalo—a gift from Kat to Buck, Cade would bet his bottom dollar—provided enough light for him to brush his teeth. He used his hand to cup a drink of water, then braced his hands on either side of the sink and looked in the mirror.

“What are you doing?” he asked his image. “You invite a woman who is the complete antithesis of what you want and need in a mate to move in. You fall flat-out crazy in love within seconds of meeting her. And now you’re talking to yourself in a mirror. This is nuts.”

His image laughed.

Nuts, maybe. And his dream served to remind him that he wasn’t in this relationship alone. He had Shiloh to think about. But he wasn’t as worried about her as he probably should have been. His daughter had a good head on her shoulders, and after this teenage, drive-your-dad-batty phase passed, they’d be back on track. His sister was right. Kids had dreams and ambitions that changed all the time. So did full-grown men.

If Jessie was his second chance at love, he was going to do everything in his power to make this thing work. And that meant giving the person he loved room to be the person he loved. He’d spent too damn much time and effort trying to get Faith off a horse, instead of celebrating her drive and talent and dreams. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake with Jessie.

“I wonder how much it costs to fly to Japan,” he thought idly as he returned to the bedroom. If her ankle was strong enough for her to participate, he’d find a way to get there. Shiloh, too.

He quickly pulled on a pair of swim trunks—the kind that looked like beach-bum shorts—and grabbed the same undershirt he’d had on earlier and raced downstairs.

“Jessie,” he called, expecting to find her raiding the refrigerator.

He looked around, noticing her bag was missing. “Where the hell is she?” he muttered, walking to the sink for a glass of water.

As the glass filled, he looked outside. His dad’s house was black, but he thought he detected a flicker of light coming from the barn.

Would she have gone to the barn to do yoga? In the middle of the night?

No.

Unless she was having second thoughts about telling him she loved him. Regrets, maybe? Doubts? Jessie was the most emotionally tentative person he’d ever met. She could probably talk herself out of loving him in half an hour or less.

He set down his glass and marched to the door. That wasn’t going to happen. He was prepared to make whatever accommodations that needed to be made to fit her career into their lives. Once they got this nutcase off her back.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the red flashing light of the alarm. How could she have gotten out without disarm… “Oh, right,” he muttered. “Shiloh.”

His daughter must have given Jessie the code, which meant Jessie could disarm the device, open the door, then rearm it in the few seconds it gave you to punch in the code.

He was in such a hurry to find her he almost tripped over a scuttling shadow.

“Sugar,” he exclaimed, backtracking a moment. He went down on one knee and held out his hand. “I know you’re nocturnal, but is there a way you could do your thing without causing bodily damage?”

She took a small, nonmalicious nip at his fingers. He wasn’t offended. He understood. “Yeah, I know. I’m not Jessie. Sorry about that. We’ll stop and visit on our way back.”

Then he took off at a slow lope. In a way, he hoped Jessie was doing yoga. He’d heard about a kind that involved sex. He didn’t know the first thing about it other than its name, but he figured they could make it up as they went. He smiled, seeing the faint light coming from under the door. He yanked open the door and stepped inside.

“Jess?”

The place appeared empty. The only sign anyone had been there recently was a familiar red can sitting a few feet away. A gas can. There were three or four of them in the shop. He took a step closer.

The smell of gasoline was powerful and fresh. His instincts went on high alert.

He turned to run and found his way blocked. A man he’d know anywhere. Zane.

“Bummer, dude. You got here too soon. My surprise still needs work.” He raised his arm in a friendly gesture. Cade had been preparing for combat. He hadn’t expected a Taser. The charge swept through his body like fire on steroids.

He flew backward, his legs giving out as the electrical charge rendered him paralyzed. His head hit the ground hard, but luckily the rug he’d brought in for Jessie’s yoga managed to keep him from passing out.

Zane stood over him for a few seconds, obviously enjoying Cade’s inability to move, much less speak. “I was hoping Jessie would come first. She’s the type, you know. Never ever follows a schedule. Refuses to obey a direct command. She is so in need of a little comeuppance. And I’m just the man to give it to her.” He cocked his head and grinned. “Guess you’re gonna have to watch, man. Sorry about that.”

He walked away, laughing.

Cade’s brain seemed capable of thought despite his body’s complete and utter short circuit. He had no idea how long it took for the effects of a Taser to wear off. He tried moving his fingers and toes.

Maybe. Is that my toe moving?

His heroic plans fell apart the moment Zane returned—with several zip ties.

Lord. He had no idea what he was dreaming about, but something fearful gave him an unwelcome adrenaline rush. His armpits were damp from sweat. His fingers tingled. And his mouth was so dry he felt as though he’d been walking the Sahara for a week.

He got out of bed and headed for his restroom. He should have been used to a midnight pee by now, but he wasn’t. He’d started to settle into normal sleep patterns the past few days. No bad dreams…until tonight.

He checked his phone out of habit on his way back. Nothing. No reason at all for this uneasiness that had settled deep in the middle of him.

He wanted to call Cade. Granted, a stupid thing to do in the middle of the night. The boy would think Buck was drinking again. Drunken calls had been a fairly common occurrence for most of Cade’s twenties. That pretty young daughter-in-law of his—Faith—told him off in no uncertain terms more than once.

He was sorry she was dead. Not because he thought she was the be-all and end-all of wives. She wasn’t. And she hadn’t been that great of a mother to Shiloh, either—more worried about her fame and reputation than providing a stable solid home for his granddaughter. But at least Cade had seemed happy when he was married.

His son was the marrying sort—just like Buck. And until Cade’s last phone call, Buck would have said he was the slow and deliberate type when it came to picking a wife. Something had changed. Someone had changed him. Jessie Bouchard. Buck was dying to meet her.

Dying.

He didn’t like that word. Tried not to use it. Shouldn’t be thinking about it at this time of night.

His mouth filled with a bad taste.

He picked up his phone again and hit dial before he could change his mind. If he woke up his son, so be it. At least he’d know Cade was okay.

The phone rang and rang and rang. No one answered.

He tried Cade’s cell number. It went straight to voice mail.

He knew the gatehouse number and punched it in, his finger shaky. Cade’s message had warned of potential trouble.
If he’s put on extra help…
“Garrity Ranch.”

Buck didn’t recognize the voice. Worry made him bark, “This is Buck Garrity. Where the hell is my son?”

“Sir? What? Sorry, Mr. Garrity, I can’t talk right now. We’ve got shots fired out by the buffalo. I just called it in. The sheriff will be here soon, but I can’t get hold of your son. He isn’t picking up. I’m on my way there now.”

Buck surged to his feet. He didn’t bother saying goodbye. He walked to his closet and started tossing clothes into his bag. He might have questioned his worth when it came to being a father, but one thing he never doubted was his usefulness in a fight.

It was time to go home.