Rocky Mountain Cowboy (5 page)

“Do you resent me for the time I had with your dad?”

He’d always wondered about that. He could understand that she might believe he had stolen her dream. He hadn’t ever intended to, but he’d been here with Tom, working by his side, and she hadn’t. He’d always assumed she hadn’t come home because she had such an exciting, demanding career. According to Tom, she’d worked on one movie after another. She was a very renowned and successful costume designer. He didn’t go to many movies himself, but her dad had been able to name every one that she’d worked on.

“
I guess I did resent you, at least a little,” she admitted after a prolonged silence, choking back a sob. “But I’m glad you were there for Daddy after I left. I know how much he cared about you. Of all the boys he helped, you meant the most to him.”

That she could say that in the midst of her grief touched him. But he wondered who had been there for her after her tragic separation from Tom. Probably no one. Hawk remembered her mother as being cold and intolerant, vainly selfish. He doubted the woman had given much love and guidance to the daughter who had only been a pawn. It said a lot about Miss Fletcher’s character that she had managed to be strong enough to endure the ordeal.

“I wish I could change things for you,” he offered with quiet sincerity.

A cry rose from deep inside her. “Oh, Lord, how are we going to cope with this? What are we going to do without him?”

The
we
in her cry was incredibly comforting. Hawk tightened his embrace. “Manage. Carry on. Wait for time to ease the pain.” It was the only answer he had at the moment, but he wished he had more.

“I feel so empty... so lost! I want to die, too!”

It was an announcement that sent chills down Hawk’s spine. He was holding her so tightly, he wondered that she wasn’t complaining. But he found himself desperately wanting to absorb her misery. All he could really do, though, was let her pour out her grief in his arms.

“It’ll be okay, Jenny,” he murmured, cradling her against his chest as she dampened his cotton t-shirt and eventually his skin. Within the circle of his embrace, he felt the bone-deep shudders that rippled through her slender frame. Bending over her, he buried his face in her hair and tried to absorb her tremors, murmuring meaningless soothing things to her as she cried her heart out. His large hand rubbed comforting circles on her silk clad back, and gradually, her keening cries subsided into little gasps and shudders.

Stretching one arm out, he reached over to turn the table lamp off. The room turned black again. He shifted the woman in his arms to reach for the bed covers, and she grabbed his forearm, her short nails biting into his skin.

“Don’t go!” Panic and fear filled her raspy voice.

Actually, he hadn’t planned to go, but all at once, he realized that to stay meant to spend the night with Tom’s daughter, in her bed.

“Jenny.... This probably isn’t...”

“No! Please, please, don’t leave me alone, not tonight....”

The desperation in her voice was so raw, so urgent
that he decided not to go. All she wanted was comfort, warmth, relief from the pain. He wanted that, too. She was the only one who truly understood what losing Tom Fletcher meant. In the dark, they could hold one another and ease the grief for a while. But she was a beautiful woman, and he felt protective of her—a potent combination. Her thin silk pajamas didn’t hide much. Even as he held her grieving in his arms, he felt her soft feminine curves pressed against him. There could be sweet oblivion there…. The male in him acknowledged that on a secondary level. But just as instantly, he was disgusted with himself.
Not going to happen.
This was Tom’s daughter, for christsakes!

“I’ll stay,” he whispered at last in the dark.

“Thank you.”

He slid down into the covers with her still wrapped snugly in his embrace. She burrowed deeper into the curve of him, up against his side, and laid her head on his chest with an exhausted sigh.

“I’m sorry about your wet t-shirt.” She sniffed, a few final quivers shuddering along her limbs.

“Shhh,” Hawk murmured against her soft as silk hair. “Try to go back to sleep.”

One hand moved to stroke her bare arm. Her skin was warmer now, and velvety soft. Beneath his hands, she felt so fragile, and she smelled so good. Her hair tickled his nose, smelled like lavender. The way she was half-draped over him, he felt the impression of her breast against his chest. Her soft yielding body was making him hard now that she’d quieted.

He took a deep slow breath. He could do this, he told himself. But he had to stop taking an inventory of her sweet assets. After a few moments of slow, deep breathing and concentrated self-discipline, he began to unwind. Eventually, he even managed to relax.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see the faint light of dawn creeping through the slight opening in the drapes at the window. He was just as surprised that he’d slept through the night. That in itself was a first since Tom had died.

His gaze drifted over the woman beside him. Under the quilt, she was sleeping on her side, facing him. One long fingered, manicured hand was resting on his chest, over his heart, as if to reassure herself of life. Her lower leg was draped over his, bent at the knee, her narrow foot entangled with his. Her hair was spread out over the white pillowcase in glorious waves of auburn.

In sleep, her face was devoid of the grief that had etched it last night. Her soft lips were slightly parted, her breath whispering in and out faintly. She looked angelic. He couldn’t help himself. He felt compelled to kiss her. Briefly, lightly, he touched his lips to hers. He brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek. She didn’t budge. She was so exhausted, she’d probably sleep for hours. Carefully, he disentangled himself from her and crawled out of her bed.

Across the hall, in his own bed once again, he was actually able to fall back asleep with the realization that Tom’s daughter had given him the gift of solace that he had so sorely needed.

CHAPTER 4

The day after the funeral was a rainy one. Yesterday’s storm had been bigger than usual for this time of year and continued into a second day. By early evening, it had grown cold enough to light a fire in the fireplace. The house was quiet, as it had been all day. Jenny slept until early afternoon, and when she finally wandered downstairs, she learned that Peter had gone to the Caldwells. Dinner was a quiet solemn affair, shared with Mr. Larson, Eli, and Hank. The other cowhand Jenny had met yesterday did not eat with them.

After dinner, Eli and Hank insisted on clean-up. Hawk
entered the living room to find his houseguest sitting by the fire. She was on the floor, on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, her legs pulled up and tucked under her chin, her arms crossed on top of her knees, staring pensively into the crackling flames. Her hair fell into a long thick braid that hung down her back, between her shoulder blades. She had seemed a bit more at ease over dinner, but she’d said next to nothing.

Carrying two glass mugs of coffee,
he squatted down next to her and handed her one. “Irish coffee,” he offered with a crooked smile. “Heavy on the brandy.” She looked like she could use it.

“And the whipped cream, I see,” she responded with a flicker of a smile, taking a sip. “Very good.”

Hawk watched the tip of her tongue sneak out to lick the smear of whipped cream from her upper lip. She smiled guiltily when she caught him gazing at her, and he felt a funny skip in his heartbeat.

“I love Irish coffee.” She patted the carpet beside her. “Want to join me, or would you rather sit on the sofa? It’s just so warm down here, close to the fire. I’ve been so c
old all day. I guess I’m not used to how the wind can rise in these mountains and drop the temperature.”

“When a storm rolls in it can get cold fast at night,” he commented as he folded his long frame onto the floor with a grimace.

She looked over at him sympathetically. “Let’s sit on the sofa. You don’t look like you bend well.”

He chuckled, and reached out to stop her from rising. “Old rodeo injuries, but I’m fine, and this is nice. I’ve been cold all day, too.”

“Guess it’s not just the weather”.

“Probably not.”

“I feel like I should have helped with clean-up, since I didn’t help with dinner. I’m sure Eli has enough to do without waiting on me.”

“He usually does a lot of the cooking. He enjoys it, and he’s so elated to see you again, he’ll be waiting hand and foot on you, whether you want it or not.” Hawk took a long drink of his coffee and looked at her
over the rim. “He’s making some cinnamon rolls for you. He says you loved them as a kid.”

“Yeah, I did,” she recalled, taking a sip of her brandied coffee. “Eli always made the best. Does he still have his own rooms at the back of the bunkhouse?”

Hawk nodded and took another drink. “Tom tried to get him to move up here, but Eli likes the bunkhouse. Hank lives out there, too. They each have their own bedroom, but share the living room and kitchen. Steve has a bunk in the dorm room. Tom and I remodeled the bunkhouse two years ago.” He saw the smile leave her eyes at the mention of Tom and knew that would happen for some time to come yet.

“Did Peter take my car to the Caldwells?” Shifting to stretch her long legs out in front of her, she looked at him over the frothy rim of her mug.

“No. Hank drove him over.”

Hawk didn’t tell her that Peter had wanted to wake her this morning so he could ask her where she’d put her keys. Hawk had put a quick stop to that. He and Peter had exchanged a few angry words. As far as Hawk could tell, the guy had no consideration for what she was going through. Frankly, Hawk had been only too happy to see Peter depart for the day.

Jenny was studying him when he met her eyes again. “Peter’s been a pain in the neck, hasn’t he?”

Hawk didn’t think she needed to be troubled by the issue. “Nothing we can’t adjust to,” he said. “Is he staying long?”

She laughed at that. “Well, we’re both between movie projects at the moment, but Peter will have to return before I do. We operate a design house on the side, and have orders to fill for some of our retail clients. The designs are done. That’s my job,” she supplied rather proudly, “but production needs to be completed.”

“If you’re the designer, why do you need Mason?”

“Peter takes care of the promotion and production. We just began this extra venture this past year. We only have a few clients, some retail outlets and special orders. In these early stages, it doesn’t pay as well as costume designing, and with all the work we usually do for the movie studios, I’m not sure we’re going to have much time to devote to it. I guess, at this stage, it’s kind of an experiment. Peter would like us to go full time, but that would take investors or loans. I’m still uncertain how much of a commitment I’m willing to put into it.”

“It sounds like you’re pretty busy.” He wondered if she would she be too busy to
do what needed to be done with the ranch, or if she would even want to, considering she seemed to really like her job in Hollywood. “How much time did your boss give you off?”

“I’m pretty much my own boss anymore.” Taking her coffee with her, she got up to stretch her legs and stand in front of the fireplace. “I won’t be real busy until the next movie contract.”

Hawk decided to move to the sofa. His limbs had about all they could take of the hardwood floor. While she stared pensively into the brilliant flames, lost in thought, Hawk studied her. She was wearing a pair of fancy jeans that were skin tight and embroidered in strategic places. There were studs decorating the waist and sides. High–heeled, soft leather boots came up to her knees, over her jeans, making her long legs look even longer. The cropped top she wore was a long sleeved knit that fit snugly across her breasts and revealed glimpses of her stomach and navel.

She certainly had a hell of a figure— full breasts, slender waist, a nice curve to her hips, a great behind. And those legs .... It wasn’t hard to imagine where he’d like to see her put those. She was a very attractive woman, and he wouldn’t be much of a man if he didn’t notice all the details. But she’d never get around on a horse in that get-up, and he needed her to do that before she left, so he could show her around the place.

“Do you have any clothes to ride in; real boots and jeans, a hat to keep the sun off?” he asked, running one last appreciative gaze over her figure silhouetted against the flames.

He hadn’t meant it to be sarcastic, but she took it that way. “Real jeans? I’m wearing jeans— my own design, by the way. But no, unfortunately, Peter packed for me. I was in no condition after… well, your call.”

Hawk wondered if Peter lived with her. “I understand you still ride; that you have a horse.”

“I do. I ride h
im as frequently as I can.”

It was good to see the pain leave her eyes for a few moments. “You do know real jeans don’t have studs, and they bend a little,” he had to add, teasing her a little. “And I didn’t think they still had horses in L.A.”

“These are called skinny jeans. They’re all the thing now, but yes, I do know I’ll have to get outfitted like a real cowgirl. None of this dude stuff.” Her eyes glittered with challenge as she looked over at him. “They do still make Westerns, you know, with real live horses. And of course there are the race tracks. In fact, there are a lot of horse breeders south of Los Angeles.”