J.T. shoved his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and scuffed his boots over the gravel walkway, remembering how he'd wanted things to work with Stacey, how he'd hoped she'd be the one to make him forget Amanda. What a fool he'd been. Once married, Stacey had realized her mistake. Although J.T. lived comfortably, he led a simple life that didn't include fancy clothes and expensive jewels and nights on the town. The novelty of living on a remote ranch and being Mrs. John Rafferty lost its appeal shortly after Laura was born, and from there things only went from bad to worse, until Stacey's indiscreet affairs with the seasonal ranch hands lost their excitement and she left him and two-year-old Laura. He had given her the divorce she wanted with the stipulation that he received full custody of their daughter. The last he'd heard, she'd married a rich oil baron from Texas.
That had been ten years ago, and since then he'd had a few flings. Hell, he wasn't a monk, but neither did he want strings or commitments-he was not good with either. The women he'd seen knew the rules, and he always ended the affairs before they got emotionally messy. Like he'd told Caitlan, he didn't have any use for a wife, except maybe for the physical pleasure and convenience a wife would afford.
So why, then, did he look into Caitlan's eyes and feel not just desire but a need that tangled his emotions into one big knot? Emotions he had sworn he wasn't capable of feeling any longer.
Lost in his thoughts, a red glow by the corral finally snagged J.T.'s attention: the tip of a burning cigarette. J.T. strained in the darkness to see who it was, and as he walked closer, he recognized the man as his newest hand, Mike.
"Evening," J.T. said, nodding his head in the man's direction.
Mike muttered something-could've been a greeting or a curse, for all J.T. knew-then he flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed the butt with the toe of his boot. With a dark frown, Mike turned and headed toward the bunkhouse.
J.T. didn't know a thing about Mike except that he was a Vietnam veteran. Definitely a loner. No one seemed to like him much, but he worked hard and earned his pay, and that was all J.T. cared about. So far, he hadn't caused any trouble.
Entering the barn, J.T. inhaled the sweet scent of fresh hay and the sharp, natural tang of livestock, tack, and ointments. Walking down the wide corridor, he stopped at King's Ransom's stall. The prized stallion glared at him with suspicious black eyes, daring J.T. to enter his pen. King stomped his hoof defiantly and whinnied.
"King's Ransom, hell." J.T. shook his head, regreting his impulse to purchase the animal he'd thought merely spirited, not downright mean. "More like Fool's Gold, you wretched animal."
The pitch-black stallion tossed its glorious head and snorted. The horse was more trouble than he was worth, J.T. thought. No one could even get near the wild beast without the threat of being trampled.
J.T. didn't know how long he stayed in the barn. The cold seeped into his bones, stiffening his joints and aggravating his head. Breaking the stare-off with King, J.T. shoved off the stall and headed back inside the house to get some neglected paperwork done, hoping to keep his mind occupied so he wouldn't think about a certain violet-eyed woman.
Caitlan met J.T. in the foyer just as he stepped inside the house. He saw her and scowled, then shouldered past her without a word. His office door slammed shut a moment later.
Sighing at J.T.'s bristly attitude, Caitlan decided to take a quick tour of the ranch to familiarize herself with the spread. Donning her jacket, she went outside and followed the gravel walkway leading to the barn. Overhead, a blanket of stars twinkled in the clear sky, and a three-quarter moon illuminated the path.
Caitlan sensed more than heard Randal behind her. And she knew it was him. An unmistakable sinister aura surrounded him, an evil that alerted her and made her cautious. She kept on walking, and it didn't take long for Randal to make his presence known.
"Well… if it isn't Ms. Caitlan Daniels," Randal drawled insolently from behind her. "You managed to con my cousin, but you can't fool me."
Caitlan didn't relish having a confrontation with Randal, but she knew there'd be no getting around it. Stopping, she turned to face him, and he nearly bumped into her. Glaring at her as if she was to blame for his clumsiness, he straightened.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Randal," she replied, keeping one eye on the ranch house to be sure no one saw or heard them.
His eyes glittered savagely. "Don't play stupid with me! Who the hell are you?"
She recoiled from the sour odor of onions and liquor on his breath. Although he'd been drinking, he seemed to be in complete control of his senses. "You know who I am."
His gaze narrowed. The moonlight highlighted his face, giving his features a diabolic slant. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
She knew what he was asking and chose to avoid the obvious. "You heard what happened." Her voice was calm and well-modulated. She felt no real fear or threat from him. Yet.
"Oh, yes," he said disdainfully. "The story of how you're a guest at Parson's and how you just happened to get lost on Rafferty property."
Crossing her arms over her chest, she affected a pose of casualness, refusing to take his bait. "That's correct."
"Funny how Parson's doesn't have a Caitlan Daniels registered."
"Pardon?" A frisson of panic raced down Caitlan's spine. How could he have known?
"I called Parson's." A smug smile lifted his mouth and challenge lit his eyes. "They've never heard of you."
Careful to keep her composure intact while her mind raced with explanations, she replied in a mild tone, "There's obviously been a mistake."
He leaned close, and his noxious breath nearly made her gag. "I don't think so," he said in a low, menacing voice. "I'll ask you again: Who are you and what are you doing here?"
"I think you're getting a little paranoid, Randal." She turned to go, but he grabbed her arm, whirling her around.
"Bitch!" he hissed. "I don't know what you're up to, but by the time I'm done with you you'll be off this ranch and wearing handcuffs for trespassing-"
"J.T. won't allow it." Caitlan knew that even though J.T. had been gruff at times today, he wasn't a cruel man.
He gripped her arm tighter, pinching the flesh so fiercely she winced. "We'll just see what J.T. has to say about your lies," he sneered, jerking her around and shoving her back toward the house. "He doesn't take lightly to women lying. All it will take is a phone call to Parson's to verify who's telling the truth and who's an imposter."
Chapter Four
Randal barged into J.T.'s office without knocking and thrust Caitlan into the middle of the room with such force that she stumbled. Catching her balance by grabbing one of the two chairs in front of J.T.'s desk, she shot Randal a vexed look, briefly wondering how she was going to explain herself out of this predicament.
J.T. glanced up from the open ledger on his desk to the unexpected intrusion, a deep frown pulling at his brows. Casting a sharp glance from Randal to Caitlan, he closed the ledger and pushed it aside. "What's going on?"
Taking up guard next to Caitlan, Randal crossed his arms over his chest, a look of belligerence about him. "We have a liar on our hands."
"Randal, what the hell are you talking about?" J.T. asked irritably. Standing, he rubbed at the muscles in his neck.
Randal glanced at Caitlan, a cocksure smile curling his lips. "Would you like to tell him or should I?"
"It's your story," she replied sweetly. "By all means, go right ahead."
His eyes darkened to a turbulent shade of brown at the sarcasm threading her words; then he turned to J.T. again. "I called Parson's to check up on our guest. They've never heard of her," he said, his voice dripping with accusation.