Sleepless in Montana (23 page)

For the month that they’d been together
again, Kodiak battles flew over the house like bullets. Ben spoke
guardedly, warily, and then tore from the house when his emotions
had stretched too far. Jemma would run after him, coaxing him back
into whatever chore had caused the rift.

Aaron was on edge, torn between the driving
need to be in the middle of the stock market bustle, and an
unshielded need to have Savanna. An expert at flirting, Savanna
wasn’t taking him seriously, and no other woman had treated Aaron
so lightly.

Mitch worried about his Chicago teenage
toughs, the girls he was trying to get off the streets, the
impoverished mothers and the babies who needed proper nourishment.
But Mitch was also drained by life, haunted and clearly determined
to salvage Carley, who resented his “psychobabble” and
“interference in my life.”

Carley found joy in Jemma, who was into
everyone’s lives, ruthless in her goal of mending the Kodiak
family. Over the horizon, Carley and Jemma were busily planting the
garden. The garden wasn’t small; Jemma’s carrot-and-beet crop
needed space. Aaron was plowing the field, preparing for the
reseeding of the alfalfa crop, and Mitch was walking the irrigation
ditches, cleaning out the winter debris.

Hogan tipped the jar and welcomed the iced
lemonade. Ben would likely be checking his herd— newborn calves
that needed ear tags— and marking the cattle that needed
branding.

“Everyone has been busy with the garden,
including Ben. It’s actually fun, all of us together, and Jemma
determined to rule us all.”

Hogan lifted an eyebrow. His father had
always said that a vegetable garden was women’s work. “Ben is
gardening?”

“Ben. Carley is clearly out to exhaust
herself, pitting herself against anything that needs doing. When
Carley was out there killing herself, pulling out that old board
fence, and Jemma was trying to learn how to drive the tractor
without hitting anything, Ben just said, ‘Oh, hell, may as well see
that it’s done right.’ He hitched up those two draft horses, the
Percherons, and an old plow and plowed a huge garden. He was quite
the sight to see— made my heart dance a little bit,” Dinah said,
turning her face to shield a blush. “He let me drive his pickup out
here. In the old days, he would have made a fuss.”

“He hasn’t changed, Dinah,” Hogan said
quietly.

He prayed Dinah would not be hurt again by
Ben’s rawhide temperament. “He won’t change,” he corrected, wanting
to protect her.

“He’s trying,” Dinah stated adamantly. “So
should you. I think he would talk to you now, about your
mother.”

Hogan drank the iced bittersweet lemonade and
pushed away hope, a skill he’d perfected. He pushed away fear of
the truth and wondered what natural instinct made women want to
soften rock-hard hearts.

“Still trying to make us a family, Dinah?
It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

“Not for you and him— no. I firmly believe
that, Hogan, or I wouldn’t be here now. I think he’s really, really
happy now, with all of his children together. We haven’t had time
to talk, but I know what this is costing you,” she said
quietly.

Morning sunlight flowed over her ageless,
fair beauty. “You’re at the supper table every night, taking your
place. You’re careful that Carley is always with Aaron, Mitch, or
Ben before you take time to see to your own needs. I know your
business is doing so well, and I wanted to tell you how proud I am
of you. You must be working well into the night catching up on your
designs and your company. Now, you’re out here, working on Ben’s
ranch, when you could be working on your own. It’s only a garden
and an invitation, Hogan. It’s a start.”

Dinah looked at Hogan, tall and strong; she
remembered the awkward little boy she’d tried to hold and love. She
placed her hand along the rugged planes of his face— a man’s hard
face. The ache in him chilled her heart.

He didn’t move away from her touch as he had
as a boy, and Dinah closed her eyes, loving Hogan as deeply as her
own children. “I want grandchildren, Hogan. I want Aaron’s and
yours alike, and Mitch’s, too. I want Carley to find peace and to
become a woman. I want us, as a family, to heal. If we are strong
together, we can emotionally meet whatever Carley’s stalker tries.
I’m not worried about the physical threat, because I know that
Carley is well protected. It isn’t just protecting Carley, it’s
giving her a life. As for me— I’m tough, Hogan. I won’t let Ben
hurt me this time, because now I know that I pushed too hard, and
the timing was bad. I only made things worse. You were only a
child, Hogan. Just a boy, all big eyes and hurting, and we made it
worse with battling at every turn. I’ll never forgive myself for
that.”

Hogan studied the swaying tops of the willows
lining the stream where he would fish later in the day; the clear
air echoed with the arguments of long ago. “Stop blaming yourself,
Dinah. Ben is what he is.”

“He needed time to adjust after the accident.
Jemma thinks the Kodiaks were the original hide-in-caves clan,
apart and licking their bruises, and that everyone needs time to
adjust and heal. She’s right. It took years to put this in place,
long hard years, but now I know the truth. I replayed scene after
awful scene, and I was wrong. I insisted when I should have given
him time to heal, Hogan.”

She brushed a strand from her cheek. “You’re
a man now, you understand what passes between a man and a woman. I
wanted desperately to prove to Ben that his missing limb didn’t
matter. He wasn’t ready. Each time I tried, the scene was
worse.”

Her breath caught, and she swallowed, turning
her face up to Hogan, her eyes bright. “You and Ben are so much
alike, not willing to accept until you are ready. Open your heart,
Hogan. Heal. And never, never think that you are not my child. I
love you dearly.”

Dinah straightened, brushed his hair away
from his face in a tender gesture that he’d once avoided. “And I
love Ben still. I married another man whom I respected and who I
thought would provide a stable environment for my children. But
Joseph was dying then, all alone, and love didn’t run between us,
not like with Ben. We had separate bedrooms, and he never asked for
more. Raw from my divorce and feeling like a failure, I needed
Joseph’s friendship then.”

When Hogan looked away, unwilling to look
deeper into the past, Dinah turned his face back to her. “But it
was Ben who sold Kodiak land to set up my temporary employment
company. He wanted me to build something of my own. Oh, I was
furious at first— him pushing me away, but then I knew that he was
doing what he thought was best for all of us. Go to him now, Hogan.
Ask your questions, but do it when he isn’t feeling raw and a
failure. You can read him— ask when the time is ripe.”

By mid-afternoon, uneasy with his emotions,
Hogan had left his work. He studied the sunlight on the graceful
arches of his fly-fishing line, the drops of water flying in a
perfect design. The willows bordering the stream were quiet, clear
sunlit water sliding over the round rocks. He played the line with
his left hand, getting the feel of fishing after years away from
it. His reel was old, heavy and familiar, dug from the rubble of
fishing equipment haphazardly stored in the barn. Years ago, he’d
made the flies from horsehair and whatever else he could find.

There were cutthroat trout in the riffle on
the opposite bank, lazing in the shadows of a fallen log. They
weren’t hungry now, but Hogan enjoyed the sunlight on his back, the
flowing, constant beauty of his line, returning to the calm,
storing it within him.

He didn’t feel like blending metal and rock.
He realized now how badly he had needed to recover who he was, to
rest from his struggle to success. Dinah thought it was time, but
Hogan didn’t sense Ben’s willingness to open the past.

Ben had taught Hogan how to fish, to sail the
line over the water, working the fly to appeal to the trout. There
had been a peace about Ben then that he’d patiently shared with a
small boy.

Hogan cast again, too quickly for the line to
sail properly; he was determined to push away the thought that he’d
come back to make his home, his nest. The restlessness in him was
for a woman. He could almost inhale Jemma’s unique, feminine scent
now, feel that smooth skin, her body tremble against his. The taste
of her mouth had shocked him... rather his need for the taste of
her had stunned him.

He hadn’t expected the excitement within him,
nor the tenderness.

A trout took the wet fly as it landed on the
water and Hogan, his thoughts on Jemma, tugged too quickly. The
horsehair fly tore from the water; the fish was wiser now and
retreated back to the stream’s depth.

Jemma.
He wanted her beside him,
filled with life. He wanted to hold her, place his hands on those
taut perfect breasts and— Hogan admitted that he was, as Ben would
put it, “in season.”

Her wary glances only excited him, much to
his disgust. He was long past playing boy-chasing-girl games. He
disliked watching for her, his senses alert and hungry. Yet there
had been a certain sense of victory when he’d held her beneath him,
holding her still when she would have moved away.

Hogan detested men who needed to subdue
women, and this discovery within himself was not a pleasant one.
The male-female challenge had made him want more. He doubted that
Jemma knew or cared about the pleasant intricacies of a civilized
sensual relationship.

He settled into his thoughts, casting
automatically, letting the hissing sound curl around him, jerking
the fly lure back before the trout would take it. He drew nature’s
colors around him, the gray river rocks beneath the surface of the
stream, dark lichen lace swaying on the trees, the snow-capped
mountains soaring in the distance. He settled into the sunlight on
his bare back, the almost imperceptible sounds of leaves brushing
against each other, the stream gently murmuring.

Attuned to nature’s sounds, Hogan noted the
slight stirring of the brush higher on the embankment. He stretched
slightly and used the movement to disguise a stealthy look at the
intruder.

Jemma had found him, and the knowledge
brought a mixture of pleasure and irritation.

The brush crashed behind him, Jemma cried
out, and Hogan turned to watch her slide down a small ridge on her
backside.

She glared at him as he watched; she stood
up, dusted her backside and tramped through the bushes toward him.
Certain that she wasn’t hurt, Hogan took a deep steadying breath
and returned to casting. The image of the curves beneath her
leopard-print sweater and jacket and tight black jeans had set him
on edge.

At his side, she said, “I had to hunt all
over to find you. Aaron let me off his horse a while ago when we
spotted your Appaloosa. You didn’t say where you’d be, and I had to
track you down.”

Hogan tried to ignore that “track you down”
statements. He’d never liked the idea of being hunted and caught at
anything.

“Don’t ignore me, Hogan. Hurry up and teach
me this stuff and then I need to use your office.”

“You can use my office equipment, but stay
out of my studio,” he agreed, taking his time. He realized just how
much he might regret any arrangement with Jemma. He tried to ignore
her scent, but his senses locked on the warm brush of her breast
against his arm. He eased slightly toward her and fought the tug of
her body at the same time he enjoyed the touch.

“How do you do that?” she asked, staring at
him, obviously fascinated as he cast again.

Hogan scoffed at himself, at the heady sense
of attracting a woman’s attention— the woman he wanted in his bed.
He was showing off, flexing his muscles and skill. “Come here, and
I’ll teach you.”

He loved the excitement and pleasure in
Jemma’s eyes. He’d seen it before, and realized now that her vivid,
easily read expressions had always fascinated him.

*** ***

Chapter Nine

Sunlight gleamed on Hogan’s dark skin. With
his body outlined against the glittering sunlit stream and the
grayish green cottonwood trees, he took her breath away.

Jemma had been watching him for a long time
before she’d moved closer. She’d never stopped to appreciate the
smooth play of muscles across a man’s back. She’d never cared about
the sensuous slide of gleaming tanned skin in the dying light of
day, the breadth of shoulders narrowing down to a lean waist, but
now she held her breath, just looking at him.

When Hogan’s jeans had slipped, just that
bit, she’d expected a pale strip and found none. Then all that
strong length of leg, braced wide upon the river rocks as he cast
out into the stream fascinated her. There was graceful beauty in
the way his hand worked the line, a man at ease with life.

Hogan Kodiak was beautiful, black hair
covering his nape, his arms surging with strength as he cast, his
hand slowly, patiently working the lure as it glided downstream
from the riffle. After the cast, the line snapped back out of the
water, curved elegantly in the air over his head, and shot the fly
upstream. His pose was timeless and devastatingly male.

He was too complete, too cold and controlled,
and he had a lover. Worst of all, Hogan could not be enticed or
threatened. She’d tried for years to bend him and failed. There was
no reason why she should find him exciting, why she should want him
to hold and to kiss her, and more.

Hogan looked down at her with a devastating
smile. “You don’t have the patience for this.”

“I can do it,” she said, watching him
gracefully sail the line into the air, whipping it gently, the lure
tantalizing the fish in the stream. “It can’t be that hard, and I
have to know what I’m doing when Les arrives. I want that
television slot. The reruns really pay off. What are we fishing
for? Great big browns or rainbows?’’