Shuffling through the contents, he pulled out Mike's employment application. A few lines had been left blank, mainly in the family-and-relative emergency information section, but that kind of vagueness wasn't unusual when hiring a seasonal hand. Most were drifters and had no family to call their own.
Mike's reference sheet listed the four previous ranches where he'd been employed. J.T. had called two of the spreads for references, and both told him Mike was quiet but a good hand. The first ranch laid him off due to lack of work, and the other ranch claimed there had been a personality conflict between Mike and the foreman, and Mike had opted to move on. A conflict in personalities was hardly a crime, J.T. thought, unless it interfered with work, as it had today.
Randal wasn't guiltless, J.T. knew. He had a volatile temper, more so these past months since his father's death and the debts that had been heaped on him. His flare-ups and bouts of drunkenness were increasing in frequency. J.T. hoped this suspension would force Randal to get his priorities together.
As for Mike's suspension, J.T. hadn't decided whether or not it would be permanent. He didn't know much about the man, not even if he was capable of setting up the sabotage attempt on his life. But what reason would Mike have for harming him? Mike had nothing to gain, unless he'd been hired by someone, which didn't make sense. J.T. didn't have any real enemies that he knew of. The "accident" down by the creek still confounded him.
Mike had the perfect motivation for tossing the kittens into King's stall-retaliation for J.T. reprimanding him for smoking in the barn-but J.T. had no concrete evidence that Mike had actually done the deed.
Maybe he ought to cut his losses and let Mike go with a week's severance pay. J.T. had no proof the man was guilty of anything, but he couldn't afford to keep Mike on and possibly risk a potentially dangerous incident that might involve his family. Tomorrow, he decided, would be soon enough to let the hand go.
J.T. scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Hell, when had his life become so complicated? Ever since a violet-eyed woman had drifted into his life and saved him from a certain death. Even her sudden appearance he still found hard to believe, although he had no reason to distrust her.
Tossing Mike's file aside, J.T. reached for the sketch pad on the corner of his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he opened the cover. The shock of seeing Caitlan's portrait of him as a young boy had worn off, but he was still baffled as to how she'd accomplished the detailed and oddly accurate sketch.
The longer he studied the picture, the more it seemed familiar, as if he'd seen this particular drawing before. Putting the pad down on his desk, he sighed heavily. His gaze strayed to the bottom shelf of his bookcase, and he thought of the cigar box he'd stashed there, and Amanda's sketches of him tucked inside.
"Amanda," he murmured, waiting for the familiar piercing pain to lance through him at the thought of her. The sorrow was dull and distant, overshadowed by his feelings for another woman. Caitlan. Despite his resolve to keep her at arm's length, he cared for her. Deeply. More than he wanted to admit. Making love to her had changed him in intense, unsettling ways.
Shrugging off the thought, J.T. stood, wanting to compare Amanda's sketches to Caitlan's. Just as he reached the bookshelf, the phone rang, detering his quest.
He picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"J.T., I've got an emergency on my hands," Kirk said urgently. "A waterline in my basement busted, and I know you have some spare pipe-"
"I'll be there in five minutes."
"Great. Thanks."
J.T. hung up the phone, the cigar box and sketches forgotten. He strode toward the den to tell Caitlan he'd be gone for a while, and paused in the doorway. Laura sat cross-legged on the floor, her schoolbooks and homework spread out on the coffee table in front of her. Caitlan sat on the couch watching TV, legs tucked beneath her, arms wrapped around a throw pillow.
Caitlan's soft violet eyes slowly lifted to meet his, and everything in the world receded from his mind but her. The quiet longing in her gaze reached past his heart and into his soul, nestling there like a warm ray of sunshine. The powerful, unexplainable link between them tugged at his heart, wrenching it open, ultimately allowing her warmth and gentleness to breach the emptiness he'd lived with for sixteen years.
His breath hitched in his lungs. Lord. He loved her.
"What's up, Dad?"
Snapped from his startling revelation, he jerked his gaze to his daughter, trying to remember his original purpose for seeking out Caitlan. Certainly not to come to the conclusion that he loved her! When had he fallen in love with her? Or had it been happening all along, and he'd been too blind to see it?
"Dad?" Laura tilted her head to the side, gaze curious. "Who was on the phone?"
J.T. gave himself a firm mental shake. "Kirk. He needs my help to repair a broken waterline in his basement. If I don't get going, he'll be up to his knees in water by the time I get there."
He looked at Caitlan and his pulse pounded, reverberating throughout his body. He loved her. The rusty words scratched his throat like barbed wire, yet he refused to give them release. His feelings changed nothing between them. She'd be gone in a few days, and he'd be smart to let her go now, unburdened with such a declaration, instead of a year down the road, when she decided ranch life wasn't enough for her. He had no right to shackle her here, and she'd given him no indication that she wanted to stay. She'd leave and he'd forget about her before the month was out. Not likely, his heart taunted.
He glanced at his watch. Eight o'clock. "I'll be back in an hour or so." Caitlan nodded, and he transferred his gaze back to Laura. "And if I'm not, I want you in bed by nine, Smidget. It's a school night."
"Okay," Laura said on a reluctant sigh.
His gaze flickered to Caitlan once more, and he struggled with the chaos raging inside him. Abruptly he turned and left the den before he said or did something that would make him look like a fool.
Caitlan watched J.T. go, hating the hollowness swallowing her up with his departure. For a fleeting moment she'd seen something soften in his eyes; then those barriers of his slid carefully into place, shutting her out. She shivered from the chill of loneliness and gathered the pillow tighter to her chest.
For the next half hour she tried to concentrate on the sit-com on TV, but her mind refused to cooperate. J.T. filled her thoughts, and all that had transpired between them in the last twenty-four hours.
A gradual uneasiness crept up on her, an awareness she couldn't shake. As if something evil was going to happen, but she wasn't quite sure what. After J.T.'s confrontation with Randal today she knew Randal was close to exploding in a mad rage. She'd seen the hatred in his eyes and sensed his building fury. She should have gone with J.T. to Kirk's, but she didn't believe the danger was with him, but lurked nearby instead, sharpening her senses to full alert.
Leaving the comfort of the couch, she padded to the kitchen for a drink of water, searching for the source of her unease. Filling a glass with the tap from the sink, she stared out the window, seeing nothing but the murky darkness of night. Black, like an impending doom. An electrical current of anxiety raced along her nerves.
King's Ransom.
The stallion's name whispered through her mind without provocation. A chill eddied down her spine. A strong, niggling intuition propelled her into action. Setting the glass on the counter, she started for the front door, stopping for a second at the den.
She stuck her head in the doorway. "I'll be right back, Laura."
Frowning at Caitlan's brusqueness, Laura stood and followed Caitlan down the hall. "Where are you going?"
"To the barn," she said over her shoulder, jogging down the porch steps. "Stay here."
Laura dogged her steps. "Dad said we shouldn't go anywhere alone."