A COWBOY'S SECRET Page 10

  But in matters cowboy, if nothing else, Trey knew the score. Josh was good with horses. He was calm. Steady. Clearheaded. He never showed off. Never said he knew more than anyone else – not like Cy Burgess who talked a better ride than he rode.

  Josh and J.D. got along. And J.D. had set about teaching Josh what he knew.

  Every now and then, while he was watching something J.D. did, the boy would say, "My dad said…" or "My dad did it this way…"

  And J.D. knew he didn't mean Rance.

  He meant Spike. Ellie's husband who had died.

  J.D. understood. He understood that Josh hadn't even liked Rance to begin with. He'd resented Rance, hadn't wanted his mother to marry him.

  That had apparently changed.

  Rance had said things were okay between them now. That he and Josh had made their peace.

  J.D. was glad – for both of them. He wanted to see for himself.

  It was his bad luck that Lydia was going to be here, too.

  Having Lydia around when Rance and Ellie and the kids were here was a bad idea.

  It would give him bad ideas.

  It would make him want things he had no business wanting.

  He'd tried to distract himself again last night.

  After she'd left, he'd gone into town. He'd been "on the prowl," his mother would have said and shaken her head in dismay.

  J.D. didn't ordinarily prowl. But he didn't ordinarily covet a woman he couldn't have. Claudia hadn't solved his problem. But then, be knew Claudia. He reckoned he'd try again.

  So he'd stopped by the Murray Tavern.

  Saturday nights at the tavern were on the far side of wild. They drew every cowboy within fifty miles whose paycheck was burning a hole in his pocket. And they drew all the women who were eager to help spend those checks.

  It didn't take him long to find one. Her name was Jolie and she was from Billings, eager to meet a "real live cowboy" and have a "real good time."

  J.D. reckoned he could manage that.

  He'd have Lydia out of his head in no time. He gave Jolie a real slow smile and a little quiet cowboy drawl.

  But Jolie wasn't interested in the slow smile or the drawl She kissed him on the lips before he had half a sentence out of his mouth.

  He stared at her in amazement. Lydia would never have done a thing like that!

  Stop, for God's sake, thinking about Lydia! he commanded himself. Forgetting about Lydia was what this was all about.

  Two beers and a tequila later, he took her down to the roadhouse to go dancing. She wasn't much of a dancer. Not near as graceful as Lydia.

  Forget Lydia, damn it!

  He tried. Finally there was a slow dance, and he pulled Jolie into his arms.

  "Ah," she breathed as her breasts bumped his chest. She looped her arms around his neck. They did more than bump then. They snuggled.

  He pressed closer.

  And damned near swallowed his tongue when seconds later her hand slid down his back straight into the seat of his jeans.

  "Whoa!" He stumbled to a halt and stared at her.

  She giggled and clutched his butt. "Shy, cowboy?"

  Her fingers pinched him lightly. He sucked in a sharp breath of air. His body, always eager, responded in expected fashion.

  His head, astonishingly enough, still did not.

  "Sorry, ma'am. You gotta excuse me. I gotta talk to, um, a man about a horse. I, uh, just seen someone I know."

  "Ma'am?" she sputtered. "Ma'am?"

  But J.D. didn't stop to correct himself. He didn't stop to think at all. He just got the hell out of there.

  Back in his truck, his body at war with his head, he tried to sort things out.

  He'd wanted a woman, damn it. That was why he'd gone into town tonight, wasn't it?

  Yeah. But he didn't want a woman so ready and willing she jumped his bones in the middle of the dance floor. No sirree, he didn't ever want a woman like that.

  Never? he asked himself

  No, never, he answered firmly.

  But as he drove home in the dark, he had time to think.

  And he didn't like what he thought – that he wouldn't have minded in the least if Lydia had pinched his butt.

  * * *

  Not much chance of that, he thought on Saturday afternoon.

  It was a madhouse once Rance and Ellie and the kids arrived.

  Fortunately they got there not long after Lydia did. Rance had called earlier and asked what else could they bring, and J.D. had said, "Nothin'. But come early and come to work."

  What he'd felt last night on the way home had scared him.

  He knew he couldn't spend a limitless amount of time in Lydia's company without something happening – something he didn't want to happen.

  He was a healthy, red-blooded, hot-blooded male. He hadn't had a woman in a damn long time.

  He wanted a woman. No, he corrected himself, he wanted her.

  He didn't know what Lydia wanted. But he knew she wasn't a one-night stand. He didn't even think she was an affair. He used to think she was a career woman.

  Now he thought she might want to be a wife.

  Someday he wanted a wife.

  But it wouldn't be Lydia.

  He could just see Lydia with an illiterate husband. He embarrassed himself; he didn't want to embarrass her.

  Well, he wouldn't embarrass her. She'd never know.

  If J.D. had been running the world – and there was a cosmic joke and a half – he'd have given himself a life like this day.

  If he'd ever had to plan the afternoon of his dreams – however boring they might appear to anybody else – this would have been it.

  Shortly after Lydia showed up, Rance and Ellie, the twins and Carrie appeared. Josh, who was riding over on Spirit, didn't come until later. When he got there, Rance said, they could look at the horses.

  In the meantime he and the twins would give J.D. a hand with the stable. It was a warm day, sunny and clear. Not too hot. Paradise, J.D. thought The four of them worked easily. The little boys were eager to help and surprisingly capable. They clearly adored their new dad.

  And when Josh put Spirit through his paces so J.D. could watch, he was interested in J.D.'s opinion, but it was to Rance that he looked for approval.

  "He's good, isn't he?" Rance said to him after.

  "Yep." J.D. nodded. "So are you."

  "Huh?" Rance looked at him, perplexed. "As a rider, you mean?"

  J.D. shook his head. "As a dad."

  Rance's face creased into a smile. "Thanks. I try. It isn't easy. I have more sympathy every day with my old man."

  "God forbid," J.D. muttered.

  After half an hour or so Lydia and Ellie with little Carrie appeared, bringing the kids lemonade and the men beer. J.D. took a beer gratefully but tried not to do more than glance at Lydia as he did so. "Thanks."

  He thought she'd go back into the house. She didn't. They stayed to watch and supervise.

  "Men don't know what to do unless women tell them," Ellie said cheerfully, as she set up the picnic table in the yard. "Isn't that right?" She grinned at her husband.

  "Don't I always do exactly what you tell me to do?" Rance said in a voice heavy with innuendo and a grin that said more than the words. The heated look that passed between them had J.D. glancing at Lydia to see if she'd noticed.

  From the heightened color in her cheeks and her quick look in his direction, he guessed she had.

  It was all downhill from there.

  The awareness simmered between them all day. Of course it had been simmering ever since the night she'd first come out to the ranch – the night he'd caught her arm and spun her into his arms.

  But this was different. This was more.

  The whole day was more. It was a family day. A fun day. A joyful day. Exactly the sort of day he'd sometimes dreamed about.

  A day with family around. With kids. With a sense of connection.

  His mother had died when he was a teenager. His father h
ad never been very social. He, like J.D., was more comfortable with horses than people. But that didn't mean J.D. didn't like being around them.

  He did.

  And never more so than that afternoon with Rance and Ellie and Josh and Caleb and Daniel and Carrie.

  And Lydia.

  She fit right in. Of course she did, he tried to tell himself. She was Rance's partner.

  She belonged. He was the odd man out.

  But that wasn't true.

  He belonged, too.

  "You're good together," Ellie said to him as she watched Lydia show off Dancer for Rance.

  J.D. started. "What? Oh, you mean they're good together? She and Dancer?"

  "That, too," Ellie agreed. "But I meant you and Lydia."

  He couldn't help staring at her. Then he shook his head. "Don't be stupid."

  Ellie didn't take offence. "It's not stupid. She's alive out here. Lots more alive than I've ever seen her. This place agrees with her. You agree with her."

  "I don't have anything to do with it."

  Ellie laughed. "Don't you be stupid. She's good for you, too."

  He scowled and looked away. "What's that mean?"

  "That I'm hoping you'll make an honest woman of her, of course."

  "I'm not sleeping with her!"

  "I know."

  He gaped. "You do? How?" The minute he said the words, he regretted them.

  Ellie laughed. "You're too hungry. Too edgy. And you eat her with your eyes."

  He felt like he was going up in flames.

  "So, I hope you get what you want and she does, too."

  "She doesn't! There's nothing…! We're not—!" He tried to get a toehold on his equilibrium. "I'm leavin', you know."

  She touched his hand. "I'm sorry about what happened about the ranch, J.D."

  "Me, too," he said dryly.

  "But that doesn't mean you have to leave. Maybe if you talked—"

  "No. I'm leaving," he repeated.

  "What will you do? Where will you go?"

  "I'll find a place." He slanted her a faint smile. "I'll survive. Don't worry about me, Ellie."

  "Someone's got to."

  He looked at her, surprised.

  She smiled at him and touched his hand again. "You matter, J.D. To Rance. To me. To the kids. To Trey."

  He snorted.

  "To Lydia."

  "Leave it, El." He shoved himself away from the fence, unable to deal with any more. "Just leave it. Heels down," he yelled at Lydia who was riding past. "Keep those heels down!"

  He should have known he'd get paired with Lydia for the meal. Not that she sat next to him. No. She ended up at one end of the table, and he ended up looking down it straight at her. Exactly the way his mother and dad had looked at each other their whole married life. Ellie arranged it.

  Then Ellie somehow got them to go play with the kids while she and Rance did the dishes together.

  "We don't mind," she said blithely. "We like doing dishes."

  And if Rance disagreed, the way her boot connected with his shin seemed to encourage him to keep his disagreement to himself.

  J.D. could feel himself getting swept along on this tide of family feeling – of being connected – and it seemed like it would be swimming against the current to keep fighting it.

  And anyway, it was just one. What could it matter?

  He knew it wasn't real.

  Trouble was, it felt real. He and Lydia. Doing things together. Laughing. Talking. Playing with the kids.

  Even Josh noticed.

  When Lydia was sitting under a tree, reading with the other three, he sidled up behind J.D. and said, "You gettin' married, too?"

  J.D. spun around. "What?"

  Josh shrugged guilelessly. "You're lookin' at her."

  "Lookin' isn't marryin'."

  "Rance used to look at my ma that way." Josh looked pointedly toward the kitchen where his parents were.

  "Not the same thing," J.D. said firmly. He changed the subject. "Things … okay? With you and Rance, I mean?"

  Josh nodded. "Yeah. It is. He's … okay."

  It was high praise, J.D. knew.

  "He's a good man, Rance," he said, and repeated what he'd told Rance himself. "A good father."

  "Yeah. I guess he is."

  They were lucky, J.D. thought.

  The whole family was lucky to have each other. His gaze drifted again to Lydia. She was playing a game with the twins now, laughing at something Caleb said, giving Daniel's shoulders a squeeze. She'd be a good mother.

  He wished…

  Oh, God, he wished…

  For one brief moment J.D. thought of a world full of shining possibilities, of hopes fulfilled, of dreams come true.

  "J.D.! J.D.!" Carrie banged out of the house. "Come here. I wanta show you somethin'."

  "What?" But she grabbed his hand and began towing him toward the shade of the tree.

  "Sit," she commanded. And when he'd sat, she plopped down in his lap and picked up one of the books they'd been reading.

  A shaft of panic knifed through him. "I don't have time right now, Carrie. Maybe Josh will read it to you." He started to get up.

  But Carrie shook her head furiously. "Don't need Josh to read it to me. That's what I wanted to show you."

  "Show me what?"

  "That I know how. Rance taught me. I'm gonna read."

  * * *

  It was the best of times

  It was the worst of times.

  Wasn't that what Dickens said? Of course he was talking about London in the nineteenth century. But Lydia understood the sentiment. It was what the day had been.

  It had been perfect. For one day life had been the way she'd always imagined it being. She and J.D. had been a couple, working together, playing together – enjoying family together.

  She had seen him at his best. With the horses. He was such a good teacher and trainer. With the children. He was such a good influence, so patient, whether talking to Josh or playing with the twins or listening to Carrie read.

  With her.

  And then he'd withdrawn.

  One minute he'd been sitting under the tree with Carrie, and when he'd got up, he'd just walked away off to the stable. They had company and he'd gone back to hammering boards.

  He'd come around to say goodbye when Rance and Ellie and the kids had left. He'd said, "Yeah, sure," when Josh had asked if he'd help him with Spirit again.

  But he'd completely withdrawn from her.

  He'd gone and got what was left of her cherry pie out of the refrigerator the minute they were alone. "Take this with you," he'd said.

  She'd shaken her head. "You keep it."

  "I don't like cherry pie," he said flatly.

  She hadn't said, And just who was that eating two pieces at dinner? She'd taken the plate from his hand.

  "I'll just clean—"

  "I'll do it," he said abruptly. "Leave … it."

  As if the one word, which was the one she was sure he meant, wasn't quite polite enough.

  Well, fine. She could take a hint – even when she didn't understand what was going on.

  "I'll see you tomorrow night?" she called after him.

  He didn't answer.

  She drove all the way back to town, wondering what was going on now.

  She knew she would lie awake all night thinking, wondering what happened.

  As she drove into town, she spied a deep orange glow at the end of Hurley Street. Just about where she lived on Hurley Street.

  As she got closer, she realized she wasn't going to be lying awake in her bed. A look told her she didn't have a bed anymore.

  She had half a dozen volunteer firefighters trying to save what was left of her building.

  LeRoy's shop next door had burned to the ground.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  So much for running the world. So much for dreams and hopes and fantasies.

  Served him right, J.D. thought as h
e lay on his bed and stared up into the darkness.

  Served him right for ever, even briefly, allowing himself to think of a life like he'd had today – of a wife like Lydia. Of a home with her. Of kids.

  A kid – a five-year-old kid! – Carrie O'Connor could read a book better than him!

  What the hell business did he have thinking about the rest of his life with a woman – a lawyer, for God's sake! – when he couldn't even read the label on a soup can?

  A beam of headlights came over the rise, shone through the window and, for an instant, broke the darkness of the room, then disappeared again.

  Damn it to hell.

  Just what he didn't need tonight – Gus.

  It couldn't be anyone else. And it was just like Gus to turn up unannounced, ready for a day or two of R&R, a few square meals and a nonstop monologue on horses and women.

  But it wasn't Gus.

  J.D. wasn't sure exactly when he figured out that the noises coming from the other room weren't his brother's doing.

  Maybe it was when the kitchen light didn't come on immediately. Maybe it was when the intruder took such care not to make noise that J.D. found himself straining to hear rather than drifting back to sleep to the sound of banging pots and pans.

  But he knew for sure when a soft feminine sigh broke the silence when something did drop.

  Feminine?

  J.D. yanked on his jeans. Then, stealthily, he padded to the bedroom door. In the darkness of the kitchen he saw only one person. A female. The silhouette moving in the moonlight was too slender to be the redhead. Too tall.

  It was a shape he knew. One he had memorized.

  "Lydia?" His voice broke the silence harshly.

  She jumped. Shrieked.

  He flipped on the light and advanced on her, scowling. "What the hell are you doing?"

  And then he saw that she was white as the moon, her eyes dark smudges, her hair tangled. There was an odd, acrid smell to her clothes.

  "What're you doing?" he repeated, more gently this time.

  "Fire," she whispered. And he saw that she was trembling. Standing absolutely still and shaking like a leaf.

  He reached her, touched her arm. She was wearing a jacket, but through the fabric, she felt cold. "What fire?"

  "I went h-home," she said, her voice oddly breathy. She swallowed, then continued, and this time she sounded almost detached. "LeRoy's place burned down. My apartment – the building – it's gone."