The Rancher And The City Girl. Kathy Douglass
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He was still muscular and no doubt strong, but he could stand to put on a few pounds. Perhaps grief had stolen his appetite. Or maybe he didn’t like to cook.
He’d told her he didn’t need her to cook for him, but maybe he’d said that only because he was annoyed that she’d disturbed him. He certainly seemed to be enjoying his breakfast. Or maybe later on he planned to accuse her of being a pampered princess. Whatever, she wasn’t going to give him an excuse to kick her out. She’d pull her weight while she was here.
They finished the meal in silence. When he’d eaten the last bit of eggs, he carried his dishes to the sink, gave her one last glance and left without saying a word.
She heaved a heavy sigh. At least he hadn’t told her to leave.
Camille washed the dishes, wiped the counters and table, and sat down. Now what?
She’d cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, trying to distract herself from her situation, but it hadn’t worked. No matter how busy her hands were, she couldn’t keep her mind from circling back to her problem. People wanted her dead. Would they change their minds if they couldn’t find her, or would they keep searching? Did the authorities have enough information to arrest Donald Wilcox and his hit men? And how would she find out?
She and Agent Delgado had been communicating by email. In the last one he’d sent, he’d told her not to write to him until he reached out to her. Although he didn’t believe she was in danger, he’d wanted her to lie low. And then he’d been in that car accident. So now what should she do? What could she do? Nothing. She couldn’t lie any lower than she was now.
But she couldn’t just twiddle her thumbs. After a lifetime of being busy, Camille found the quiet and endless hours looming ahead of her a little disconcerting. If she didn’t do something physical she would go out of her mind with worry. She would clean Jericho’s house for him. But how would she manage to do it without studying the pictures or the various knickknacks and dredging up memories?
She searched through the kitchen cabinets until she found all the cleaning supplies she needed. Unwilling to stain her skirt, especially since it was all she had to wear, she tied a towel around her waist and set to work. She started in the front room, waxing the tables, careful to place every picture and lamp where it belonged. Her heart pinched with regret as she wiped the dust off pictures of Jeanette.
Camille had planned to forgive Jeanette and reconcile with her at some vague date in the future. Lately she’d begun to wonder whether there had been anything to forgive. Jeanette hadn’t done anything wrong to Camille. If anything, Camille had been the one in need of forgiveness. But it was too late. Jeanette was gone so Camille couldn’t make things right.
Regrets churning in her stomach, Camille finished cleaning the front room, then moved on to the dining room. Moving with precision, she dusted and wiped every nook and cranny, scrubbing until the room shone. Then she moved to the last room on the first floor, a study. She dusted the bookshelves and then proceeded to the writing desk.
“What are you doing in my office?”
Camille spun around, grabbing the top of a leather chair. She’d never been a particularly nervous person, but the stress of the last couple of days had rattled her until she was jumping at every little thing. She could understand being so hyperalert when she was in danger. But she was safe now.
At least she thought she was. Looking at Jericho made her wonder. Standing inside the door, his muscular arms folded across his equally muscular chest, his eyes narrowed, anger radiated off him in waves that shot across the room and crashed into her. Even though he was so furious he was vibrating, she still couldn’t help but notice how incredibly handsome he was. How masculine. She told herself that her heart lurched in her chest because he’d startled her, but that was only partly true.
He raised an eyebrow, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question so she replied, “Cleaning.”
“Why?”
“I thought I could help you.”
“What gave you the idea I needed or wanted your help?”
Her stomach sank. So much for being thoughtful. While she believed she was showing him how she could make his life better, hoping he’d be less inclined to change his mind about letting her stay here, her actions may have had the opposite effect. He still hadn’t committed to a specific time frame for her stay, which would have given her a little peace of mind. Instead she was left in limbo, wondering if the next words out of his mouth would be the ones she dreaded hearing: get out. Of course now wasn’t the time to try to get him to commit. Not when she was one false move from being tossed out on her ear.
“I...uh.” Her voice faded out as nothing came to mind. At least nothing that wouldn’t sound like criticism of his housekeeping skills.
“I’m sorry if the accommodations at the Double J don’t meet the lofty standards you’re accustomed to,” he said, his lips barely moving. He didn’t raise his voice. Somehow that made his fury even more pronounced. “But you barged in on my life and home, not the other way around.”
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to show my appreciation.”
“If you want to show your gratitude, then stay out of my way and out of my office. The less I see of you the better.”
She nodded, too stunned to reply, then walked out of his office, careful not to brush against him.
Cursing under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear, he stormed through the hallway. Seconds later she heard the back door slam. Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. Even though Jericho was gone, her stomach still churned like the Atlantic Ocean during a storm. She closed her eyes, trying to hold back hot tears. Crying never helped.
She heard whining, then felt a wet nose pushing against her hand. Shadow. She knelt and buried her face in the dog’s fur. “I really messed up this time.”
Shadow barked in reply, then swiped his tongue against her cheek. She hugged him once more, then pushed to her feet. She rinsed the mop, emptied the bucket and put the rest of the supplies where she found them. She needed to make herself scarce. Her three-inch heels weren’t ideal for walking on a ranch, but she couldn’t remain in the house.
* * *
Jericho saddled Diablo and rode across the field, the horse’s hooves thundering against the ground. The spirited stallion loved racing, and Jericho gave him the freedom to do so. They shot across the acreage as if the hounds of hell were after them.
No matter how fast they went, Jericho couldn’t outrun the sorrowful look on Camille’s face when he’d lit into her. He knew she was scared and was probably trying to stay busy in order to keep from worrying about the people who wanted to kill her. She was literally running for her life and had come to him. Knowing that he disliked her, that couldn’t have been easy. In fact, that was further proof of just how desperate and frightened she was.
It didn’t matter that he didn’t want her here. He’d told her she could stay. Implied in that statement was the promise that he would make her feel at least marginally welcome.
She was nervous and walking on eggshells and not only because she was in fear for her life. She was uneasy because of him. That idea turned his stomach. He’d never thought he’d see confident Camille as timid as she’d been that morning at breakfast. And he never wanted to see her that way again. He preferred the proud woman. That pride wouldn’t allow her to take from him without giving something in return. He understood that. He was the same way. When he went back to the house, he’d apologize to her.
They might not like each other, but they were going to have to find a way to peacefully coexist. Keeping their interactions to a minimum would be key. And they needed to discuss how long she planned to stay here. Not that he expected her to know for sure. But she had to have some idea when this would be over. They’d