It wasn’t quite true.
He was terrified.
Chapter Four
In the morning, Rachel came downstairs to find Jed sitting at the kitchen table, freshly shaved, the thick black hair neatly combed. He wore jeans, tall boots, and an olive green sweater with canvas patches on the elbows.
“Good morning,” he said when he saw her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes. The patchwork quilt kept me nice and warm.” She didn’t add that she’d felt delicate and feminine inside the big white cotton shirt she suspected was his Sunday best.
Walking over to the table, she raked a guarded glance over him. Yesterday, when he took her up to the bedroom, he’d been friendly, although a little distant. He’d given her the shirt to wear and said an abrupt goodnight, insisting that he’d clear up in the kitchen. She didn’t know what to expect now.
As she eased past him toward the stove, she noticed a smear of blood on his cheek. Some powerful new emotion shook her at the realization that Jed struggled to shave around the scars, where the skin puckered.
She raised one hand. “You have a little bit of…”
He tipped his head back to look at her. The floor seemed to spin beneath her feet. The dark eyes she’d assumed to be brown were in fact blue, deeper than the midnight sky.
“Your eyes are blue,” she blurted out. “I thought you had native blood.”
“I do,” he said in a husky voice. “I’m Scottish and French and German and Shoshone and heaven knows what else.”
“You have…” She lowered her arm, dipped into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a rumpled tissue. Pausing an inch from his face, she continued “…a little blood on your cheek.”
She waited. His eyes held hers, and Rachel lost herself in the strange tension that crackled in the room. When Jed didn’t protest, she carefully patted the drop away. His hand shot up and clasped her wrist, but this time he didn’t push her away. Instead, he held on to her, his grip strong and steady. Slowly, she flattened her hand and cradled the scarred side of his face in her palm.
His skin felt warm and surprisingly smooth, considering the rough outdoor nature of his work. Deep within her, a protective instinct surged. Rachel stifled a hysterical burst of laughter. What was wrong with her? Feeling protective of Jed Ferguson made as much sense as a sheep feeling protective of a wolf.
Jed released her wrist. “You’ll have to teach me about social etiquette,” he said in a subdued tone. “I’ve never had a woman spend the night under my roof before.”
Rachel withdrew her hand and sat opposite him. She became aware of the shadows beneath his eyes and the haggard look that made the tug of the scars more pronounced, adding to the bitter curve of his mouth.
“Didn’t you sleep well?” she asked.
Jed shifted his shoulders. “I kept getting up and going out to check on the calf. He’s getting weaker. I’ll shoot him before I go off with the tractor. I wanted to wait and warn you, so you won’t be alarmed by the sound of a gunshot.”
“Shoot him?” she said, aghast. “Why?”
“He is dying and I don’t like the idea of him dying alone.” Jed picked up his coffee, but the mug was empty. He stared into it as he spoke. “Reminds me of my kid brother, how he died in his crib. I’d rather be with the calf and make the end quick.”
An odd sensation expanded inside Rachel’s chest, robbing her of breath. “I could stay with him,” she offered, a little apprehensive. Her experience of domestic animals was limited. She’d never owned a pet, not even a goldfish. “That way, when the end comes, he won’t be alone. Unless,” she hurried to add, “you think it would be kinder to end his suffering.”
Jed shook his head. “He’s not injured, just undernourished. I’ve wrapped him in a blanket, and I’ve tried to feed him milk.” He gestured at the kitchen counter where a plastic bottle stood next to a small saucepan. “I was hoping he’d perk up overnight but he didn’t, and I don’t have the time to nursemaid him.”
“I’d like to do it.” Rachel straightened her spine. “Maybe he’ll pull through.”
“The chances are slim,” Jed said bluntly. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Rachel nodded, but deep down, her stubborn streak stirred. “Do you have to work today?” she asked. “Is Sunday like any other day on a ranch?”
“Cows eat every day of the week, but I try to keep the working day short. I usually listen to the church service in the morning and do the chores in the afternoon.”
“Oh.” She glanced at the silent radio. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“It’s all right.” His mouth tilted into a smile. “It’s more or less the same every week anyway.”
“Right.” Tingling with a new awareness of him that went beyond a merely physical attraction, Rachel tried to break the tension by getting up and going to the stove. “What’s for breakfast?” she asked. “I’d better eat something before I start my veterinary career.”
“Porridge,” he told her. “I like it the Scottish way, with salt and cold milk.”
She peered into the battered enamel pan that simmered on the stovetop, spotted a clean bowl on the counter and dished out some of the thick oatmeal.
“If you stay in my house, I’d like to know what trouble you’re in,” Jed said. “I need to understand if I might come back to find a posse of US marshals surrounding the place, demanding that you surrender.”
The question caught Rachel by surprise. She stilled. Forcing her body back into motion, she returned to sit at the table. “It’s nothing like that,” she said. “I didn’t really do anything. I just…failed to do something.”
“And what did you fail to do?” Although Jed’s voice was easy, the quiet words held an implacable ring.
Rachel stuck a spoon into the bowl of porridge and stirred the contents. “I’m glad you asked,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you. My name isn’t Rachel Goldman. It’s Rachel James. I traveled here with a false ID. It was Hank’s idea. You remember, I mentioned my boss, Hank Goldman? He told me to use his last name and got me fake documents using some shady connections.”
“Is the law after you?”
“Not really.” She pulled a wry face. “It’s just a precaution. I screwed up. One of my clients was making way too much money on share dealing. I knew he had to have insider information. I was going to report him to the Stock Exchange Commission, but then we were invited to the same party in Hollywood, and he introduced me to his girlfriend. She was a mousy little thing, working as a secretary in an investment bank. I understood where his information came from. He was using her. At that party, she clung to his arm like a lost puppy. I knew that if I reported him, she would lose her job, and suffer the shame of having been a sucker. It reminded me of what had happened to my mother. So, instead of reporting him, I contacted her and warned her against talking to him about work.”
Jed smirked. “And she went straight to him and repeated every word.”
Rachel’s mouth fell open. “How did you know?”
“Someone in her position would have been desperate to believe that he really wanted her. My guess is that deep down she knew exactly what was going on but preferred to close her eyes to the truth.”
“Maybe.” Rachel tasted a spoonful of porridge and grimaced with distaste. She forced herself to swallow the bland gruel. “Anyway, to cut a long story short, the SEC was onto the insider dealing anyway. My client has been targeted for investigation. Hank fears I’m going to get drawn into it, and there’ll be bad publicity for the firm. He thought it might be best if the authorities couldn’t find me, in case they wanted to talk to me. Officially, I’m on a leave of absence. Nobody except Hank knows where I’ve gone to, and I’ve left no trace for anyone to follow.”
“You have no contact with people at home?”
“No.” Rachel tried another spoonful, retched and shoved the bowl away. It could be the slimy texture, or a bout of nerves. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t eat. “I left my apartment with just a small tote bag,” she continued. “I walked two miles and took the shuttle bus to the airport. Hank paid for the flight and the rental car. I have a fake driver’s license. I haven’t used my credit card, or my cell phone. I don’t think anyone could find me, unless they go through Hank’s financial records and figure out that I’m the Rachel Goldman whose travel he’s paid for, and link the flight to Jackson Hole with the fact that his brother owns a cabin here.”
“It seems a lot of trouble to go into just to avoid answering questions.”
Rachel shot a look at Jed across the table and spoke with emphasis. “Hank’s company advises famous and enormously wealthy people on how to pay less tax. If the authorities were to shine a spotlight on us, the clients might get worried and leave. It’s a lucrative business, and it’s vital for the firm to maintain a pristine reputation.”
“But what about keeping in touch with home…letting friends know you’re safe?”
“Keeping in touch?” Rachel said. A wave of anxiety rose inside her. The thought had been lurking at the back of her mind since she’d closed the door to her condo in Santa Monica. Her whole life revolved around making money. She tugged at a stray curl that tickled at her temple. “I don’t really have anyone who would miss me. I’ve been busy with work. I don’t… make friends easily.”
“No boyfriend?”
“No.” The denial came out in a rush. “If I had, I wouldn’t…” Heat surged to her face at what she’d left unsaid.
Jed didn’t offer any comment, merely nodded.
But the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes spoke more than words.
* * * *
Rachel followed Jed along the icy path toward the barn. He’d found her an old oilskin jacket to wear, and a pair of big rubber boots she’d padded out with extra socks.
“The thaw will start today,” he said. “You’ll need to empty the bear cabinet.”
“I know. I’ll boil the vegetables. They’ll last a couple of more days if I store them in china bowls.”
Jed pulled open the barn door and waved her inside. Early morning light filtered in through the dirty windows, allowing Rachel to survey the stalls on both sides of the concrete corridor. Jed switched on the electric light and introduced her to Nebraska, a chestnut horse as big and shaggy as a woolly mammoth, and Georgia, a small goat with stubby horns, an inquisitive face, and a bell tinkling around its neck.
“Hello, little goat,” Rachel crooned.
“Watch out,” Jed warned her. “If Georgia likes you, she’ll stick to you like a burr.”
The goat butted Rachel’s leg and tried to eat the corner of her canvas bag.
“Don’t leave your possessions lying around,” Jed instructed as he ushered Georgia away. “She’ll eat anything, and what she can’t eat, she’ll chew until it’s ruined.”
“I’ll be careful,” Rachel said. She waited while Jed pushed open the swinging door to another stall. Inside, a small blanket-covered bundle huddled on a bed a straw.
“It’s so tiny,” she whispered, staring at the calf. “How old is it?”
“Two months, maybe three.”
Rachel moved closer and fell to her knees. The calf was awake, following her movements with moist, forlorn eyes.
“Oh,” she said. “It blinked, just like a human.”
“It’s a
he
.” Jed sank to his haunches. “And he’s likely to die. Don’t get attached.”
Rachel peeled away one of her mittens and stroked the frail neck that poked out from beneath the gray blanket. The calf shivered at her touch. The familiar sense of determination hardened inside her, all the more powerful when combined with pity.
“I’m not going to let him die,” she said calmly, as if stating a fact.
“Rachel.” Jed’s voice held a note of caution.
She looked at him. “Everything I’ve achieved in life, I’ve achieved through sheer stubborn determination. I’m
not
going to let him die.”
Jed’s dark eyes met hers, troubled beneath the brim of his Stetson. He inhaled a deep breath and heaved out a sigh. “Damn,” he said. “I should have shot him.” He rose, reached down to curl one hand around her arm to pull her up. “Come on. Out. It’s no use. I want you back in the house while I end his misery.”
“No.” Rachel slumped to the straw, turning her body into a dead weight.