The Morning-After Proposal. Sheri WhiteFeatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
kept watching them, and JJ counted the seconds in her mind. One. Two. Three. Henry wouldn’t remain quiet for long.
“What’s going on?” he blurted. “Are you two sweet on each other? Did you know each other before?”
Dylan glanced at JJ, and her heart trembled. Henry thought she and Dylan were former lovers. That he was the reason she’d run away.
The famous horse trainer kept silent, neither affirming nor denying the romantic allegation.
Nervous, she turned to her boss. She wasn’t about to admit that on the day Dylan had swept her into his arms, on the day he’d rescued her from a kidnapping, she’d almost kissed him, almost let the tenderness erupt into passion.
“This isn’t what you think, Henry.” She paused and chewed her bottom lip, tasting the waxy balm she wore.
“You sure about that?” he queried.
“Yes.”
The old man frowned, furrowing his thin gray brows. He wasn’t buying it. But neither was she. She remembered everything about Dylan: the breadth of his shoulders, the silkiness of his hair, the scent of hay and horses mingling with the faded note of his aftershave.
Dylan finally spoke. “It’s time to talk,” he told JJ. And to Henry, he added, “I’d like to be alone with her. It’s important.”
Her boss kept frowning. “I can see that it is.”
JJ gave into the inevitable, agreeing to have a private conversation with Dylan. As she headed for the front door, Henry sent her a reassuring nod. He would be waiting.
Dylan followed her, and their footsteps echoed on wooden planks. The weather-beaten porch wrapped around the house like a rugged embrace. The Rocking Horse Refuge was located at the foot of a mountainous Nevada region, a place with grassy valleys and forested slopes. In the distance, the highest peak whitened the horizon with snow.
She glanced at the graveled driveway and foliage-draped yard. A snakelike chill coiled in the breeze, creating leaf-laden dust devils.
Dylan removed his jacket and handed it to her. “You forgot your coat.”
She accepted his jacket, wishing that she didn’t long to feel the roughhewn fabric against her skin, to inhale his scent.
“I’ve been searching for you since you ran away. My brother and my cousin are P.I.s, and I hired them to investigate your case and consult with the FBI. I know all about your phony ID.” He watched her slip her arms into the denim sleeves. “But you don’t have to keep hiding, to keep pretending to be JJ.”
“Why? Because you found me?”
“Because the loan sharks who kidnapped you won’t be able to hurt you again. They’ve been caught.” His tone turned even more serious. “There was a hit man who was arrested, too.”
Her knees nearly buckled. “What are you talking about? I was kidnapped to scare my mom into paying her gambling debt.”
“I know. But after you and your mom took off, they put a contract on both of you.”
Oh, God. She reached back, feeling for a chair, for a place to sit. Once she found it, she lowered herself onto the rickety wood. “Mom and I had a fight. We parted ways two months ago.” She searched Dylan’s gaze and saw an uneasy condolence in his eyes. “My mother is dead, isn’t she?”
He sat next to her, taking an equally rickety chair. It creaked from his weight. “Yes, Miriam is gone. I’m so sorry, Julia.”
Dizzy, confused, lost in sudden grief, she corrected him. “JJ. I’m still JJ.”
“Not to me.”
“I’m no one to you, Dylan. We met by accident.”
His voice turned rough. “I buried your mother. I had a service for her.”
Guilt assaulted her hard and fast, and she hugged his jacket, pulling it tighter around her body. “I shouldn’t have argued with Mom. I shouldn’t have left her.” She rocked in her chair, feeling sick inside. “Was she shot? Is that how she died?”
“Yes.”
The sickness remained. “Thank you for taking responsibility for her. You weren’t obligated to do that.”
“I convinced the FBI that I was. That Miriam needed me.”
Because there was no one else, she thought. Besides JJ, her mother didn’t have any family.
She didn’t want to picture the woman who’d raised her being struck by a bullet, but the crimson-stained image presented itself, ripping into her mind, tearing at her conscience. “Where did you bury her?”
He shifted his feet, and his boots made a scraping sound. “Arizona.”
“Where you live. Where I used to live.” She caught a glimpse of untamed emotion in his eyes, and the look made him seem dangerous.
She didn’t understand why he affected her that way. He’d done nothing wrong. On the contrary, he’d done everything right. He’d rescued her from a kidnapping; he’d given her wayward mother a resting place.
Then why did his soul seem so dark? Why did his eyes betray him?
“Come home with me, Julia.”
“JJ.” Unable to control her reaction, she snapped at him.
“Julia.” He snapped at her, too.
And then they stared at each other, a hard-edged, pulse-hammering, uncomfortably possessive moment passing between them.
This man, the handsome cowboy who’d done everything right, wanted to steal the identity she’d created. To force Julia to bury JJ—the way he’d buried her mother.
“Come home with me,” he said again.
She shook her head, imagined herself in his arms. “No.”
“You need to visit Miriam,” he pressed. “To say goodbye to her.”
Heaven help her. She didn’t want to return to Arizona, to kneel beside Dylan at her mother’s gravesite. To trace the headstone he’d chosen. To let him see her cry.
She’d already cried on the day he’d rescued her from the mess her mother had gotten her into. She’d already wept in his arms when he’d carried her out of that dirty, dingy trailer and into the desert sun.
How much more reliant on him could she be? And how much more pain could she bear from her mother’s passing? From being safe at the Rocking Horse Refuge while her only parent lay dying?
“I loved my mom,” she said. “But things were never right with us. Not even when I was a little girl.”
“I know.”
“Yes, of course you do.” She frowned, realizing she was still wrapped in his jacket, in the scratchy warmth he’d provided. “You hired P.I.s to investigate me. You uncovered my secrets.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe I just touched the surface.”
No, she thought. He’d touched more than that. So much more. She removed his jacket and handed it to him. “I need to talk to Henry. To tell him what’s going on.”
“That’s fine.” The wind whipped Dylan’s hair, blowing a loose strand across his face, creating a dark slash against granite-cut cheekbones. “But I’m not leaving this refuge without you.”
When she walked to the front door and turned to look back at him, he looked directly at her, too.
Like a warrior who’d just raided a woman’s heart.
JJ went inside and approached Henry. She knew the parlor, with its cherry wood curio cabinet and doily-covered end tables, was his favorite room in the house. But only because his wife