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Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three
Sweet Peril
Alas, how easily things go wrong!
A sigh too much, or a kiss too long,
And there follows a mist and a weeping rain,
And life is never the same again.
But things can never go badly wrong
If the heart be true and the love be strong,
For the mist, if it comes, and the weeping rain
Will be changed by the love into sunshine again.
-- George McDonald
"Next?"
She walked into the office, no-nonsense shoes and a drab brown winter coat.
Standing in the doorway, poised on the threshold of the new life she'd promised herself, she was ready to turn and run.
He didn't look up, didn't hear her walk into the room. It was the long silence that finally made him stop writing his evaluation of the previous possible nanny and glance at the doorway.
He had to admit he'd been hoping that the doorway would be empty. He'd spent all morning interviewing nannies for the position of caring for his two young nephews. He was ready to abandon the closed office for the brisk wind and the open hills of the ranch.
Out of the group of sixty women and two men who'd applied for the job, only a handful appeared to have an inkling of what caring for eight-month-old twins would be like on a daily basis. Since he only needed two, one for daily, one in case the other fell through, he felt as though he could make that choice. Interviewing another candidate was redundant.
He stared hard at the woman who waited patiently in the doorway. His mouth tightened.
Barely acknowledging her presence, he turned back to the applications on his desk. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was ready to run back the other way. Experience, however, had been an invaluable teacher.
"Are you applying for the nanny position?" he asked finally, not looking up at her again.
"I -- uh -- I suppose. I -- uh -- "
"Is that yes or no?" he demanded.
"Yes," she confirmed uneasily.
"Take a seat."
She skittered to sit down on the hard wooden chair, pulling down her brown skirt across her knees. Snow was melting off of her shabby brown boots. The water formed a small puddle beneath her feet.
Wes glanced at the water in the doorway, then to the wet floor under her feet.
Her gaze flew to the spots and color swept scarlet across her thin face. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll get something." She half rose from the chair.
"Sit down, Jean."
She sat down hard then looked at him. Her eyes were enormous in her heated face.
"What are you doing here?" he wondered, turning back to her suddenly. "There's nothing here for you. Amanda took my brother. And I know you didn't come here to wrangle with me."
"No," she hastened to assure him, gulping hard at the intent look in his dark eyes. "I didn't come here to wrangle at all. I -- I came for the children."
"The children?" he retorted skeptically. "I have legal custody of the boys. If you'd like to see the will or talk to my attorneys, you're certainly welcome."
Jean bit her lip. This wasn't going the way she'd imagined.
In her mind's eye, he'd been happy to see her. After all, caring for the twins for the past two months couldn't have been easy. He was a man with great responsibilities. She'd thought that he would embrace any offer of help with open arms. His obvious hostility, especially when he'd been so nice to her before, took her by surprise.
"I don't want to take the children away," she replied quietly. "I wanted to help with them. If you'll let me."
She despised herself for that last part. After all, hadn't she promised her sister, Amanda, that she'd take care of the boys no matter what? If there had been time to have the will changed after her sister's impassioned declaration, the shoe would have been on the other foot.
Although, even if that were the case, Jean wasn't sure she could do anything different. The look in Wes Kirby's eyes was enough to quell her strongest sentiment, making her wish her sister hadn't made her vow to take care of the twins.
"So." He ruminated over the word and her offer. "You came down here, all this way, after two months, to offer to...baby-sit?"
Jean tightened her strangle hold on her purse strap and looked away from him. "I came here as quickly as I could."
"I'm surprised your father let you go at all," he responded. "How is Robert?"
"He died," she answered, politely and quietly as a child. "About three weeks ago."
It was Wes' turn to look away. Amanda had always emphasized how close her sister was to their father, carefully explaining it as her reason for having left her sister to care for him.
Knowing Amanda made him doubt that she'd ever considered chaining herself to her sister's position. Yet, he realized what a blow it must have been to Jean to lose both her father and her sister in the space of a few months.
"I'm sorry," he offered, trying not to feel that familiar tug of responsibility. After all, the woman had no family, no one to look out for her. The sisters had lost their mother when they were very young.
What about someone else picking up that position? The voice of reason and sanity balked at the thoughts his conscience was offering him. You have enough. Delegate.
"It took me a week to sell the house," she continued to explain. "Or I would have been here sooner."
She didn't offer the information that the fair price she'd received for the house was quickly swallowed up in the massive doctor bills her father had incurred through the years. Pride wouldn't let her beg. Let him think she could have gone anywhere, done anything.
He nodded. "So you sold the house." There was something about the idea that she'd come into any money that his rational mind rejected. She didn't look like a woman on her own for the first time in her adult life with a pocketful of money.
Or living with her tightfisted father was too ingrained in her to change.
Or it was a ploy to get him to feel sorry for her.
No matter what the house had sold for, she'd seen Amanda's beautiful, expensive wardrobe. She'd known the extravagant lifestyle her sister had lived with his brother. The chances were she thought there was a piece of the pie for her as well.
Jean watched the thoughts run across his dark face. Cherokee heritage and hours in the hot Kentucky sun had made his lean face permanently tanned, darker than anyone could get from frequent trips to the tanning salon. His eyes were black as night but shiny, like obsidian, and just as hard when they stared at her.
"I sold the house," she confirmed, clinging to the sentence as though she were in very deep water and it was a life preserver.
"So, you plan to live here?"
"I plan on being here to help you take care of the twins." She paused, watching the anger flit across his face, followed closely by skepticism. "I can work for my keep. You wouldn't have to pay me. I have the money from the house and -- "
"If you live here, you'll work," he agreed harshly, swinging back in his chair away from her. "This isn't a welfare state."
"No," she replied softly. "I didn't think it was, I just -- "
" -- wanted to help?" he mimicked.
"Yes," she answered more surely, trying to make her voice a little less frightened.
Frightened? The man terrified her! She heard a popping sound and looked down at her lap. Her purse strap had ripped in half.
"Wes? Wes, was that...Jean! I thought that was you!" Jenelle Kirby bustled into the room and reached for the younger woman's hands. "You're freezing! Come in by the fire and let me get you some coffee to take away that chill."
Jean smiled and allowed Wes Kirby's mother to lead her into the huge family room.
"The twins are asleep right now, thank heaven!" Jenelle told her with a smile and a sigh of relief. "They're wonderful but they're a handful!"
Jenelle promised to bring her coffee and left her guest in the family room near the huge stone fireplace that dominated one wall. Except for the crackling of the wood, the room was very quiet. There wasn't a hint that the twins were somewhere close by, sleeping.
Jean dared to take a deep breath as she stood up close to the fire. She held her hands out to warm them. Amanda had warned her that Wes was a cold, unfeeling man. That he'd tried to cut off his only brother and ran the Kentucky thoroughbred ranch with the iron fist of a tyrant.
Amanda had been miserable there. That was why she'd taken so many trips away. That was why she'd begged Jean not to abandon her babies to Wes, or to her husband, Grif. Grif wasn't strong enough to stand up to Wes without Amanda at his side.
Sadly, it had only been a year between the promise Jean had made her sister at the time of the twins' birth and her death, along with her husband, on a small plane in the Rocky Mountains.
Jean looked at the trophies in the glass case. The big one was a coveted trophy from the Kentucky Derby. Two of Hearts had taken a prize six years before. She remembered standing and looking at it just that way three years earlier when Amanda had flown her family down to the ranch for Christmas.
It had been a rare moment. Her father had been occupied with his golden daughter, Amanda. She was singing at the grand piano and looking every inch the lady of the manor. The long, low ranch house was decorated to the bursting point and the elegant dining room table had been covered with every conceivable good thing to eat.
Yet it had been that moment alone that Jean relished. Her father was an invalid. He needed her desperately and she was glad to be there for him. But sometimes, it was hard, demanding, and thankless. Sometimes, she thought it would be nice just to get away.
And for that brief moment, she was standing in a beautiful house. The furniture smelled of lemon oil and there was a huge fire blazing in the hearth. A Christmas tree twenty feet tall had greeted them in the entryway. The lights and the glitter had dazzled her.
"You know, we've never really talked," a voice had said from behind her. "I'm Wes Kirby, Grif's brother. We met at the wedding."
Jean had turned and nodded, color suffusing her face. "I remember you. You have a beautiful home."
"Thanks," he'd acknowledged. He had held out a champagne glass to her. "I noticed that you're the only one not drinking."
She'd taken the glass from him, dazed by the fact that he'd noticed her at all. Amanda had told her all about Grif's older brother. She hadn't hated him then.
In fact, she'd confessed to a certain attraction when she'd first met both of the brothers. Then Wes had been injured when a stallion had fallen against him. His leg and hip had been badly broken. He would be a cripple for the rest of his life. Amanda had quickly turned to the younger brother.
"I don't drink," Jean had said with a shake of her head. "My father might need me."
He'd turned back to glance at the crowd around the piano. "I think even Robert is drinking. Surely, you're allowed one small glass."
She'd smiled and sipped at the champagne, glancing around the room absently. She had expected him to leave her at any moment. But he'd stayed at her side, not speaking. Just looking at her.
"It's hard to believe you're Amanda's sister," he'd said finally.
"I know," she had agreed shyly, hating the comparison that was about to come. "She's our golden child."
"That might be," he maintained, glancing back at Amanda's blonde head. "But there's something to be said for fine china." He'd touched her face with a gentle hand. His black eyes had smiled down into hers. "That's what you remind me of, Jeannie. A china doll."
Jean had been certain her face had gone from scarlet to beet red. Fortunately, the group had called him back to the piano and her father had called for his sweater.
Jean had scurried to get it, glad for the task that had taken her out of the room and away from prying eyes that might have seen her vulnerability.
Had he been flirting with her? Had that tall, dark, handsome stranger, who was her brother-in-law, been smiling at her as though she were something rare and beautiful?
"Here's your coffee." Jenelle startled her from her reverie of that Christmas.
"Thanks."
"You look exhausted," Wes' mother said, surveying the other woman's face.
"It was a long ride," Jean agreed, stifling a yawn. Not to mention the long month since her father had died, stricken with grief over Amanda's death.
"Gracious! I'll say it was! Did you drive all the way from Chicago?"
"No," Jean admitted. "I took a bus. Then I walked from the bus station."
"Walked?" Jenelle demanded, sitting back. Her blue eyes were wide in her strikingly pretty face. "That must be over two miles!"
"Three miles." Wes joined them before the fire. He was dressed in a heavy denim jacket. He rested his blackthorn cane against the sofa and pulled thick gloves on his hands.
He looked at Jean, studying her face. He saw that bone weariness that his mother saw in her pale cheeks and overly large eyes. Her hand was shaking as she sipped her coffee. She kept her eyes scrupulously away from meeting his gaze.
If Amanda hadn't been a consummate actress, he might have believed Jean's story. He might have been willing to open his heart and his home to her. God knew she hadn't led much of a life, caring for that self-indulgent in-law of his.
"You walked three miles from the bus station?" Jenelle questioned in disbelief. She shook her head that was graced by pale ringlets.
"I didn't know it was that far," Jean denied. "And I'm used to walking all over the city. We didn't have a car. Besides, I couldn't find a taxi in Cheyenne. And I remembered the way out here."
"But it was pouring down rain and it's cold as a miner's nose out there!" Jenelle responded.
"I'm going out." Wes cut the women off. He didn't want to get caught up in the fairytale Amanda's sister was spinning for his mother. He picked up his cane and glanced at Jean. "Give Bobby a call when you're ready to leave. He'll take you back to town."
Jean stood up, spilling some of her coffee. "You won't let me stay?"
He shrugged. "You can stay. So long as we understand each other. This isn't a free ride or a holiday resort. We're up early. We work late. I'll feed you. But you'll have to buy your own accessories. And you'll be responsible for the twins."
"But you just said -- " she started, confused.
"I meant Bobby could take you back for your things." He looked at the single shabby suitcase standing in the hall.
"That's it," she told him. "That's all I brought with me."
"You travel light," he said after a long, thoughtful moment. "I'm going out, Mom. Can you put Jean in a room near the twins?"
"Of course! There's the room for the nanny but -- "
"That will do," Wes decided quickly.
"That's fine," Jean concurred. "I'm not asking for any special treatment."
Jenelle's lips tightened. "I'll take care of it." was all she said and turned away.
"Wes," Jean hailed him as he started to walk away.
He turned black eyes back towards her, leaning heavily on the cane. They glared at her from an unforgiving face. "Yes?"
"Thank you...for letting me stay. I won't let you down. With the twins, I mean."
"I know," he replied softly. "I won't let you."
Jenelle waited until she saw her son ride away on his prized stallion, the same horse that had injured him. She frowned, and then took Jean and her single suitcase to the suite of guest rooms that hadn't been intended for the nanny.
Jean gasped when the other woman opened the door and switched on the overhead light in the gloom.
The main room was half the size of her parent's home. It was decorated in a cream background with vibrant blue and green accents. As with the rest of the house, the decor was a curious blend of southwest Native American and Kentucky genteel. The carpet was thick underfoot and the furniture was eclectic.
The bed was huge and placed strategically so that it looked out of a tall set of windows that watched the lake and the back pasture. In the summertime, the green hills rolled on and were dotted with horses grazing on the low slopes.
Jenelle switched on the light in the sitting room that was complete with a bar, television, DVD player, and stereo equipment. There was a comfortable sofa and a shelf of books beside a small fireplace.
"There's a tiny refrigerator under the sink," Jenelle explained. "So you can keep juice or whatever under here. Just let me know what you need."
The bathroom was exquisite. There was white tile, warmed from beneath the floor. Everything else was alternating green and blue. A whirlpool bath, that was big enough for two or three people, and a glassed-in shower, filled the room that was as large as her bedroom had been back home.
"The closet is in here." Jenelle opened the door and showed her the area. "Let's get you unpacked and settled in before dinner."
Outside, the night had turned bitter and there was a possibility of snow. In the cozy room, it was warm and snug. The story of her father's death and the sale of the house came out easily as Jenelle helped Jean unpack.
"So you sold the house and came to us." Jenelle nodded, taking out Jean's single pitiful nightgown and putting it into the drawer. "It was the right thing to do. We're your family now."
Jean nodded, close to tears. "I thought about the boys. They're so much like Amanda. I want to be part of their lives."
Jenelle shook her head as she put away a few threadbare sweaters and a pair of wool pants. The child didn't have a thing! It would be better to throw out what little she did have and start over. But she was well acquainted with stubborn pride. The kind that could make a person walk three miles in the sleet without calling for help!
"The house was entailed, wasn't it?" Jenelle asked without preamble. She wasn't one to beat around the bush.
Jean nodded, miserably. "Doctor's bills. Medicine."
"He left you without a thing for all of your years of devotion to him?"
"He meant well," Jean argued weakly. "He didn't realize the cost."
"Of course," Jenelle sympathized. Not with the father but with the girl. "Why don't you take it easy until dinner? Get to know your room or lie down for a while. I'll send someone when dinner's ready."
"Thanks, Jenelle," Jean responded warmly to the other woman's kindness. "I am tired."
"I'm not surprised! Walking all the way from Cheyenne!" Impulsively, she hugged Jean. "We're going to take good care of you here. Just you wait and see."
Jean took off her clothes that were still slightly damp and slipped into a sweater and slacks.
She'd hated for Jenelle to see her clothes. Compared to what Amanda had worn, she was a street person wearing hand-me-downs. She could have taken a little of her meager hoard left from the sale of the house and purchased new clothes but she'd been single minded in her determination to reach the ranch.
And she'd done it. She was there. She'd confronted Wes Kirby and she hadn't folded or run away. She'd seen in his eyes that he was as ruthless as Amanda had portrayed him. But he'd let her stay. She knew she could make a difference in the twins' lives because of it.
He might be harsh and overbearing, but between herself and Jenelle, she knew the twins wouldn't lack for love and sympathy. For Amanda's sake, for the sake of what little family she had left, Jean knew she would have to make that difference.
She sighed, lying in the warmth on the soft bed. It was almost frightening to think that no one would be calling out for her. For most of her life, she'd been the backbone of the family. Finding the money for Amanda to go to the high school prom. Finding a way, on her father's meager pension, to send her younger sister to college.
It was Jean who kept the household running twenty-four hours a day. From buying medicine for her father, to helping him back and forth to the bathroom. She'd washed and cooked and cleaned. Like a mother hen, she'd savored Amanda's triumph when her sister had married a wealthy, handsome man her first year in college.
Jean had lived on those few letters from her golden sister. Descriptions of the college and the life she'd led had been as good as any television drama. News from the parties and the fun she'd had with her new friends made all of Jean's sacrifices worthwhile.
At first it had been a let down for Amanda to leave college. Jean would have loved to spend hours in the massive library or discussing philosophy with the professors. Amanda hadn't been the student Jean had been in high school but her good looks and easy manner had won her a place in everyone's hearts.
Fortunately, Jean hadn't been called on to find the money for the elaborate and beautiful wedding when her sister had married Grif Kirby. There had been a thousand people attending the reception with a full orchestra and carved ice sculptures on the tables.
It had been the first time she'd met Wes Kirby. Her sister had described him accurately and vividly in her letters. Both brothers were tall and handsome but Grif looked and talked more like his mother. Jean could only surmise that Wes was more like his father who had won the horse ranch fifty years before in a game of poker. Amanda had told her that the ranch was named Two of Hearts for the winning card.
Jean was exhausted but she couldn't sleep. She rose from the bed, fighting off the unbidden memories of the last three years. The room was dark with the early evening and the rain. She stood for a long time, looking out of the window at the hills and the lake.
She'd been determined that she wouldn't back down from Wes Kirby. No matter how intimidating he was with her. It had taken every ounce of her courage. But she had managed to stand her ground.
Would it get easier as time went by? Would she be able to look into those black eyes and face that unsmiling, uncompromising mouth every day and still fight for what she believed was right for the twins?
Jean finally wandered out of her room, drawn by the aroma of dinner cooking and the sounds of the twins. She glanced into the rooms beside hers and found their nursery. It was simply decorated, yet bright and colorful. She walked through the rooms, two connecting bedrooms, a playroom, and a large, warm bathroom.
The cribs were the same light oak. The rest of their accessories were different. It made her think of Amanda. She'd been so defiant about not treating the boys the same. She hadn't wanted them to wear matching clothes or be mistaken for each other. Even their names, Eric and Jake, were not the usual Shawn and Shane type of names.
That was something Jean knew she would have to try to maintain in her sister's memory. It had been important to her that the boys' identities were separate. Jean meant to keep it that way.
Eventually, Jean found her way to the kitchen. It sounded like the twins were being fed their dinner. Their voices were raised as Jenelle talked to them and coaxed them into eating what was on their plates.
The door to the kitchen was open but Jean stopped at the threshold. Wes was seated at the scarred wooden table beside his mother. One of the boys' high chairs was perched in front of him while the other was pushed in front of his mother.
"All I meant," his mother explained without missing a spoonful of food into the hungry, questing mouth, "was that you don't have to treat her like she's a pariah. The girl's lost everything, Wes. You aren't my son if you don't have compassion for her loss."
"Compassion?" Wes demanded, spooning creamed spinach into the other twin's mouth. He wiped a spot from the boy's chin and handed him a small cup with a tiny spout on the top. "Her sister was a beautiful, hard hearted, scheming bitch. How much compassion would you like me to have for her?"
"I can't believe you're saying that to me," his mother reprimanded. "I've seen you give a job to a man who robbed a liquor store! You can't tell me that you're judging this woman by her sister's actions?"
He glanced at his mother darkly and then spooned up some peaches. "You make it sound like I kicked her out into the street! I said she could stay. She told me that she wanted to take care of the twins. That's fine. What's the problem?"
"Your attitude!" Jenelle scolded, then hushed the baby who thought that she was talking to him. "You sounded like a monster this afternoon! The girl needs our compassion and our kindness. She doesn't need you to treat her like some dog off the street."
Wes sighed. He spooned up the last of the peaches into the mouth that was opening a little more slowly as the boy's tummy was getting full.
"I've pretty well had the kindness burned out of me, Mom. After Cherise and Amanda, I think it might be best if one of us keeps our head and holds on to our wallets. I'll reserve judgment on Jean."
Jenelle wiped her grandson's mouth and lifted him from the chair. "Jean isn't Cherise or Amanda. I know I didn't raise you to be so blind that you can't see that, Wes. You're stubborn like your father and you've been hurt. Don't compound it with stupidity!"
Jean almost gasped aloud. She put her hand over her mouth to keep the noise from escaping. It was hard to imagine anyone speaking to Wes Kirby that way, even his mother.
"When she's earned my compassion, I'll think about it. Until then, walking from town, only bringing the clothes on her back, and that bad haircut on that woebegone waif's face, only means one thing to me. She expects us to buy her something decent to wear and get her a car. When I know better, I'll treat her better."
Jean couldn't listen to anymore. Cheeks flaming red, her stomach in knots, she fled back to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
How could she stay?
Despite wanting to be a part of the twin's lives, despite her promise to Amanda. How could she stay there knowing that he felt that she had come to them just for the money? How could she listen to Amanda's name being spat from Wes' mouth like a foul curse?
She thought that she'd tolerated everything in her twenty-five years. She'd given up her life so that other people could be happy. She had stepped aside on all of her dreams so that Amanda could have a better life. Yet nothing had prepared her for that conversation in the kitchen. Maybe her father hadn't said thank you. Maybe Amanda hadn't always been kind. Maybe her life hadn't been a fairytale existence.
But no one had ever accused her of trying to get sympathy or taking advantage of them. She wasn't sure where her heart ended and her pride began. She just knew that she couldn't stay at the ranch knowing how Wes felt about her.
She wondered briefly who Cherise was and what her sister had ever done to gain Wes' enmity. Amanda's life there had been idyllic for the first few months. Then something had happened between them, something that had changed the way Amanda felt about Wes. Had he always felt as though Amanda was a scheming witch?
Amanda had described Wes as sexy. He knew what he wanted. He was daring and ambitious. Then the praise had ended. Wes had been injured. It had changed him. He'd become the bane of her young life. He was insufferable in his demands. He was overbearing, constantly trying to make his brother spend time away from his wife. Had he been trying to break up their marriage as Amanda had suspected? Was it because of whatever had happened between them before Wes' accident?
Whatever the case, Jean knew she couldn't stay and face that suspicion and hostility. Amanda and the twins held a piece of her soul. Her heart went out to the small boys. But she couldn't stay.
Duty and pain warred within her as she packed her meager belongings and pulled on her coat and boots. She'd pretended to be asleep when someone had knocked on her door for dinner. When the house was quiet, she got up and prepared to leave.
She considered leaving a note of explanation and bit her lip. She didn't know Jenelle or Wes well enough to explain the decision that she was making to leave the ranch. Jenelle had been kind to her but it was only the second time she'd spoken with the woman.
It surprised her that she was daring enough to leave. Maybe it was her father's death. Maybe it was knowing that for the first time, she didn't have to be anywhere that she didn't want to be. It was a wide world out there. Somewhere was a place, and maybe a person, who wanted her and needed her. She belonged somewhere.
The house was dark when she opened the door to her bedroom. She glanced furtively down both sides of the hallway. The twin's rooms and the kitchen were finally quiet. She didn't know where Wes's rooms were located but she did know the way out. She planned to walk back out of his life the way she'd walked into it. Take the bus somewhere that she could start a new life.
They wouldn't miss her, unlike her father who'd needed her and depended on her. No one at the ranch would notice that she was gone.
It was depressing. She was an invisible spirit that no one could see and that no one would miss. She sniffed and felt tears well in her eyes. All the years that she'd thought about freedom, about how wonderful it would be to have no one calling out for her at all times of the day and night. The reality was empty and lonely. She wished her father were still alive and that she was at home in her own shabby bed.
"Going somewhere?" a voice asked from the darkness.
A log fell in the fire, illuminating the family room. A dark figure separated itself from the shadows to stand a few feet away from her.
"I'm leaving," she told him quietly yet there was a trace of iron in her tone.
"Already? Not quite the hospitality you'd expected? Not enough of the red carpet rolled out for you? Or is the silverware in that suitcase?"
Jean gasped at the accusation. "I came to be with the twins. I never wanted anything more than that from you."
"Well, since you have that, and you're still leaving, you'll forgive me if I doubt that it was enough for you."
"I won't stay with you." She nudged her chin up a little. "You just accused me of stealing and you've made it very plain what you think of me."
"And is that what you came for? To improve my opinion of you?"
"I already told you why I came."
"Then what does my opinion matter?"
Jean hefted her suitcase from one hand to the other. "I won't stay somewhere that someone thinks I'd take advantage. Or that I would steal something. You called my sister a hard hearted, scheming -- "
"I know what I called her." He sighed. "I guess you heard the rest as well then. Haven't you ever heard that eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves?"
"I didn't mean to listen. I didn't want to walk in on you and your mother." She raised her head. "But it doesn't matter. I know what you think of me. And my sister."
"You can't change my mind about Amanda," he told her bluntly. "You thought she was wonderful. You're entitled to your opinion."
"She was my sister," Jean replied. "I didn't hear you mentioning your brother being in the same league with her."
She heard a small sound from him. It was a strangled noise that she knew meant that she had gone too far. She didn't care. She had nothing to lose. In the darkness, she could imagine his mouth tightening and that dark thundercloud of a face glowering at her. She didn't care about that either.
She walked by him, brushing against him in the shadows without realizing. His hand came out and landed on her suitcase. She jumped and gave a small yelp.
"Have you considered," he spat out at her, "that by leaving now, you're just proving that I was right about you?"
"What do you mean?" His hand was warm across hers on the suitcase handle.
"I mean that if you had stayed and taken care of the boys, you would have had the pleasure of throwing it back in my face. By leaving, I can only guess that you wanted something that I wasn't willing to give you."
"I don't care." She jerked her suitcase away from his grasp and continued walking towards the door.
"Coward," he hissed.
That was too much. She turned back to him and dropped her suitcase. The metal brads on the bottom hit the wood floor with a loud thump.
She threw herself at him without thought or reason, driven by disappointment and the need to hurt him, as she had been hurt.
"You don't even know!" She sobbed, trying to lash out at him with her fists and feet. "You don't even know what it was like. How hard to was to come here. Knowing how you are. Knowing that I didn't really belong here. You don't know what it was like, waking up and finding that I didn't have anyone. Everyone was gone. Amanda. Dad. Everyone."
It occurred to her that her attack was less eventful than she'd considered it. He had simply grasped her wrists and turned her away from him. Her back was pressed against his hard chest and his hands rested between her breasts, holding her hands from doing him any damage.
It had been stupid, pitiful, and blind. She didn't think she could hurt him anyway. He was nearly twice the size of her. She didn't know what had possessed her to throw herself at him. Nothing like it had ever happened to her.
"I'm sorry," she said slowly, feeling silly and bone tired. "I-I don't know what came over me."
Wes felt her heartbeat where his hands were pressed against her wrists. It was beating like a wild thing. Her hair was tangled around his chin and smelled like rain. Her body felt small and fragile in his grasp.
He turned her to face him. He could barely make out her features in the glow from the dying fire. "Stay."
"Why?" she wondered, entranced with the gleaming planes and shadows the strange light cast on his face.
"I don't know," he muttered harshly. His hands tightened on her arms for a moment, then released her. His head came down and blocked out the light.
Jean stopped breathing. Her knees were weak as she thought he meant to kiss her. Hovering between terror and excitement, she tried to stare through the darkness to see his face.
His lips grazed the side of her head just before his hand came out and swept her hair away from her eyes. "You said you wanted to be with the boys."
"I did," she answered, stunned by his words and his touch. She wanted to move away. She wanted to move closer. "I do."
"Then stay," he repeated, close to her ear. "Prove me wrong. Humble me."
She could well imagine any number of people wanting to see this man humbled. Despite his crippled leg, he was arrogant and unfeeling. There was nothing nice or weak about him. Wes Kirby was the kind of man who might inspire those feelings. He had in Amanda.
His lips touched her temple. Jean had no doubt about that touch. His breath feathered through the fine tendrils of her hair, making her shiver. He was warm and strong. His touch was inviting. His presence enveloped hers in a rosy glow that suffused her whole being.
What was she doing? She wondered, finding herself leaning into him, relaxed in his embrace. What was he doing?
"I'll stay," she whispered, not sure what, if anything, had changed between them.
"Good." He released her slowly. He picked up her suitcase and started to take it back to her room.
"I can take that," she said quickly, picking up his cane to give to him.
"Let's get one thing straight, Jean. You're here to take care of the boys, not me. I'm not your father or your sister. I don't need someone to take care of me."
He continued on to her room, limping heavily. Jean put his cane down and followed him, feeling foolish.
There was a sound from the twins' room, more a coo than a cry. He stepped to the door and listened. "Hungry?" he asked her quietly.
Emotions and questions churned through her. Hunger was the last thought on her mind.
Another sound came from the nursery. A definite cry.
"Sounds like somebody's unhappy." He opened the nursery door. "You can eat something while we take care of them."
By the time they walked into the room, both boys were awake and standing at the side rails of their cribs. They looked tearful and glad to see them in the nightlight's gleam.
"Eric's always in the back. Jake's always in the front," Wes told her before she had the chance to admit that she didn't know which boy was which. "I always check their pants first, then move on from there."
Jean smiled as she went to pick up Eric. Wes stated the first step as though he were explaining a medical procedure. She knew he wouldn't thank her for pointing that out to him, so she kept the fragile truce between them.
Carefully, she picked up her nephew who looked at her doubtfully with big, wet, blue baby eyes. He yawned and stretched and let her take him to the changing table. He stopped crying and was watching her as though debating her next move.
"You're not the only one," she whispered as she nuzzled his soft neck. He smelled of soap and baby powder and milk. His diaper was dry. She lifted him back into her arms. He rested his head against her, and she was lost.
She could have left them before that moment. Eric looked so much like Amanda that she found herself swallowing back on the hard lump in her throat.
Once she held him again, she knew she had to stay. No matter what the consequences. No matter what Wes thought of her.
"No diaper problems there either?" Wes called from the other room.
"No. Just a sleepy baby." She kissed the tiny head covered with fine golden curls.
"Here, too, but I think this one needs some coaxing."
They took the babies to the kitchen where a light was on over the huge stove in the far corner. Bottles of milk were already made in the refrigerator. Wes took one out and Jean followed him.
"I'll warm," he told her. "You hold."
She sat down in a chair. He placed Jake on her lap with Eric. The boys looked so much alike that it was hard for Jean to find any trace of difference between them.
"How do you tell them apart?" she asked while the two babies looked up at her. They both blinked, owl-like, in the dim light.
"Eric is a little smaller. His face is a little narrower. Jake weighs more and he can wiggle his ears."
"What?" She looked at the boy. He stared back at her with his hand in his mouth.
"He wiggles his ears," Wes repeated. He brought the bottles to the table and gave one to her as he took Jake back into his arms.
As soon as they saw the bottles, both boys acted exactly the same way. They reached for the bottle and made grunting noises. Eric seemed to have forgotten his initial reservations about her. He took the bottle and rubbed his eyes with his hands.
"Most of the time they sleep through the night," Wes told her. "I have a monitor in my room. I'll put one in yours as well. You'll need to be able to hear them."
Eric pressed his face against her chest and continued to drink the milk from his bottle. He might have been smaller than his brother but he was an armful snuggled against her.
"This is what's kept me going since Amanda and Grif died," Wes revealed, not looking at her. He smiled, instead, at the baby face in the crook of his arm.
"They're beautiful," she murmured. "I can see so much of Amanda and Grif in them."
"Every time I think about them not knowing their father," Wes began, but didn't finish.
Jean's voice was soft in the ensuing silence. "We just have to make sure they always remember."
"Jake's asleep," Wes whispered suddenly, standing with the boy in his arms. "I'm going to put him back to bed. Help yourself to the refrigerator when Eric's asleep. I'll see you tomorrow."
Jean watched him limp from the kitchen with the sleeping boy. She was fairly sure her own bundle was asleep as well but she wasn't in a hurry to put him down. After so much pain, so much unhappiness, it was a miracle to hold that tiny life in her arms.
She looked at his fingers and his perfect ears, recalling when she had first seen the boys just after her sister had given birth. Amanda had been so happy. She'd loved the twins. Now, they would never know her love or her kisses. But Jean could be there with them as they grew, to be sure that they didn't forget her. To be sure that Wes' evaluation of their mother wasn't the only thing they ever heard about her.
"Your mommy loved you," she told the sleeping baby, kissing his little hand gently. "You're always going to know about that." She stood up with the baby in her arms and took him back to the bedroom. The house was quiet and dark around her.
There was no sign of Wes as she emerged from the nursery. Food wasn't worth the trip back to the kitchen. She climbed into her own bed and looked out of the window at the black shapes of the hills outside the house.
Wes had kissed her. His touch had been tender, gentle. Even though she'd thrown herself at him, trying to hurt him. He'd kissed her like she'd seen him kiss Jake, soothing his little tears when he picked him up out of his bed.
Perhaps he thought of her like a child. They had only met those two other times. Briefly, at the wedding, then again, during Christmas. She had always wondered if he had been flirting with her that weekend. Tonight he'd kissed her. It had been anything but the kiss a man would give a woman.
Yet her heart was still pounding and her hands were shaking. She supposed she would have fallen completely apart if he'd actually kissed her mouth.
Her mind was whirling with possibilities and the events of the last few months. Too much had happened to sort through so easily. She didn't understand Wes. She certainly didn't understand herself. She'd meant to leave. He'd convinced her to stay. He hadn't said much. Hadn't promised that things would be different between them.
Yet she'd stayed. She was glad, now that she'd held Eric and Jake. But it didn't make sense to her that she'd stayed. Everything in her had told her to go. But that one word, stay, had convinced her to change her mind.
She'd never thought about being attracted to Wes. He was a handsome man, despite his handicap. An intimidating man, despite his gentleness. He was a man who would never be attracted to her.
Amanda had told her once that common sense didn't guide a heart. She'd been dating a boy in high school who'd dyed his tongue black at the time.
Maybe it wasn't the same situation but it was as close as her experience could get her to reality. God! When she'd thought that he was going to kiss her, she'd panicked. Was she supposed to hold her mouth open or closed?
She shook her head and bunched up her pillow. It was better not to make too much of it. She'd been distraught. He'd calmed her. He probably thought of her much the same way he thought about the boys.
Jean had never even flirted with a man in her life. Frank, the green grocer around the corner at home, had always smiled and given her the best apples. He had asked to call her once. It had been just after her father's first heart attack and it had been impossible.
She was a little too quiet. Too mousy, Amanda told her, for men to find her interesting. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't even pretty. In school, when people had met the two sisters together, Amanda had always outshone her. People forgot everything but Amanda's golden glow when they were around her.
Not that Jean blamed them. Amanda was beautiful and vivacious. Men flocked to her. She could have married anyone. Grif Kirby had impressed her with his charm and his boyish smile. He had showered her with expensive gifts and taken her to wonderful places. She'd been swept off her feet.
Amanda had been attracted to Wes at the beginning but she'd found that he was too serious. He was too bound by his responsibilities and his injury to give her what she needed. Grif was attentive. He made her the center of his life. Amanda's golden glow shone brighter with his adoration.
Jean had never thought about being attracted to a man. Any man. Until now. Now, everything was different. She was free. She just wasn't sure what to do with her new found freedom. She knew she would like to have babies of her own someday but any man who wanted to be with her would have to understand about her bond to Amanda's children. Was that too much to ask?
She fell asleep on that thought and her tired mind carried her back to that first Christmas when Amanda had invited them to her new home for the holiday.
They had opened their presents on Christmas Eve in front of the huge fire. Soft-footed kitchen help had cleared away the elegant dinner remains.
Amanda and Grif had only been married a few months. They had spent all of their time smiling at one another, touching each other.
Between running errands and seeing to her father's medicine and comforts, Jean had watched them. She had admired their love and devotion to one another. Grif had slipped a beautiful diamond star around Amanda's neck. The lights on the Christmas tree had reflected in the stone. It had flashed fire when Amanda had showed it to Jean and their father.
Jean had already put her own gifts to each person around the tree. She had knitted gloves for everyone. Amanda had opened all of her other gifts, including a new saddle from Wes but Jean's gift lay unopened.
Amanda had told Jean earlier that she didn't need to bring anything. "No one expects you to buy them gifts."
"I didn't want to come empty handed," Jean had replied, stung at the criticism from her elegant younger sister.
"That's all right," Amanda had reassured her. "No one will notice anyway."
That had made sense to Jean once she saw the expensive gifts that were opened around the fire. Wes had given her father a bottle of hundred-year-old brandy. Her father had informed him promptly that he didn't drink hard spirits but thanked him for the thought anyway.
Jean had opened her first gift. It was a calculator from her father.
"You know how hard it is for you to reach the same figures twice," her father had joked. Jean's face had burned as she felt watchful eyes on her.
"Thank you," she'd said quietly.
Amanda's gift was imported chocolate in a golden ball. Jenelle had given her a silk scarf and Grif's gift was a silver-plated hairbrush and comb set.
Jean had thanked everyone. She glanced furtively as Wes opened his gifts.
Unlike her sister, he had opened the smallest gift first. It was her box of gloves. Jean watched him try them on. She hoped they would fit him, worrying that she'd made them too small. But his large hands slid into them perfectly. He flexed his fingers and looked across at her, smiling.
"Thanks," he said, his eyes intent on her face.
Jean had nodded and smiled shyly back. She was happy that she'd recalled approximately the size of his hands and that he hadn't simply tossed them aside.
Wes had finished opening his gifts, thanking each person for their thoughtfulness. Amanda began to usher everyone towards the table where fluted crystal glasses and champagne awaited to toast the season.
Jenelle had taken Jean's hand as they had walked towards the table. "I love the gloves, Jean. They're so warm and comfortable. You have a good eye for size! You managed to get everyone's sizes right."
"I'm so glad you like them." Jean had smiled and felt close to tears. Amanda and Grif's small presents still lay untouched. She pretended not to notice.
She had looked around herself at the large, beautiful home Amanda and Grif shared. She thought about the acres of ranch that surrounded them. She couldn't fault her sister for feeling as though her gift had been beneath her notice. Her life had changed for the better. Their relationship would never be the same.
She hadn't realized that everyone was walking towards the family room again until she'd looked up and seen Wes coming directly towards her.
She'd glanced up, hoping someone would look back and urge her to follow more quickly but everyone else was laughing and drinking champagne.
"I'm sorry this wasn't under the tree," Wes began, holding out a small, neatly wrapped gift in his hand.
"I wasn't expecting -- " she faltered.
"I don't buy gifts for people I don't know," he attempted to explain. "I know we met at the wedding but we hardly spoke. The last few days, well, I wanted you to have this."
Jean looked into his shining dark eyes and smiled slowly. She felt the weight of the gift in her hand. "Thank you."
She'd found herself having a little problem breathing. She'd tried to look away from him but her eyes wouldn't move. Her smile got bigger until she felt silly.
"Are you going to open it?" he'd wondered, smiling a little more himself, holding the blackthorn cane between his hands.
"Oh, yes. Of course," she answered, dazed.
Carefully, she opened the dark green wrapping paper and took off the red bow. She'd opened the box and taken out a porcelain music box.
It was a black piano. Much like the one in Wes' great room. A girl sat on it, wearing a flowing white gown. Her brown hair was down around her shoulders. Her face was animated as she stared into a snow globe that she held in one hand. In the globe was a tiny crystal castle.
Jean wound the key in the side of the box and the music chimed sweetly. It was an old tune but she recognized the melody. May all your dreams come true.
"She reminded me of you," he whispered to her as she looked at the girl and listened to the music.
"Thank you," she replied gently, watching the snowflakes swirl in the tiny glass globe. "It's beautiful."
"So are you." His eyes were intent on her face.
Jean had blushed scarlet and fiercely denied the compliment. She'd looked up into his face fearfully, worried that he was making fun of her. But there was no doubting the sincerity in his eyes.
"Jean! Dad needs his medication," Amanda had told her, interrupting them. "Wes, stop hiding! We need your baritone around the piano!"
Jean had hurried to her father's room to fetch the medication and shortly after, had helped her father into his bed and made sure he was comfortable for the night. She'd sat up in her own room for an hour, looking at the girl on the piano and listening to the music.
She knew that she wasn't beautiful. The girl, created of delicate china, sitting on the piano, was strikingly pretty. Their only resemblance was their brown hair and their oval faces. But the way Wes had looked at her, the way he'd told her that she was beautiful, would last her through a lifetime of being ignored and standing in the shadows.
Maybe he'd only said it to be nice. Maybe he was flirting a little with Amanda's plain sister. It didn't matter. The girl on the piano had sat in a special place in her room. It was the only thing, besides her clothes, that she'd brought with her to her new home.
She opened her eyes. The sun was coming up over the hills that had been dark when she'd gone to sleep. She'd made her choices, she decided, sitting up in the huge bed. She was going to have to live with them.
Two of Hearts was a working ranch; not a picture postcard. The hills rolled as far as she could see, surrounded by miles of white fences. Jean knew there was a great deal of time and work that went into the upkeep of the ranch.
She learned the first week how much of that time and energy belonged to Wes. From the first light of day, sometimes through the evening, he and his ranch hands repaired fences, tended sick animals, trained the younger animals, and coaxed the older ones into eating and exercising.
Jean knew from her sister's letters how much Wes had depended on his younger brother for help with the ranch that maintained their abundant lifestyle. And how much Amanda had resented it. Amanda had written her once that Grif secretly hated horses and was deathly afraid of them but he was more afraid of his older brother. Wes was a paragon but he expected too much from the people around him.
Jean had time, between caring for the twins, to wonder what had happened between Wes and her sister. It was easy to imagine Wes being demanding on his brother's time. It was a big ranch and there were obviously many responsibilities.
Amanda had known that going into the relationship. She had bragged about the size of the operation and the importance Grif played in the daily running of it. She'd been proud of his working lifestyle.
When had that changed? Jean considered. She watched several of the ranch hands ride by as she picked up some toys from the playroom floor. She realized that, with Amanda gone, she might never know the answer.
Life at the ranch fell into a routine for Jean very quickly. But she was used to routine and welcomed its comfortable regularity.
The twins usually woke up at about six am. Jean had worried about facing Wes every morning over the breakfast table but that didn't happen. Wes was already gone by the time she came out with Jake and Eric. Jenelle woke and ate breakfast in her room at about eight then came out to check on the twins.
Jean wanted to show Wes that he was wrong about her. She got the boys up, changed them and fed them without asking for help. Jenelle had offered to get up earlier and lend a hand but Jean had smiled and declined. If she could take care of her nearly helpless father, she could take care of the twins.
Jenelle helped with their baths after breakfast. She spent the time smiling at her grandsons and laughing at their antics in the big tub. She was a small woman, finely boned and delicately made but she had a will of iron and spoke her mind. She had a slight problem with her heart and mild asthma. She tried not to let it slow her down but by the afternoon, she was usually looking tired and pale.
It was easy to see that Jenelle was loved. Three or four times a day, someone called or stopped by for a few minutes. Even the ranch hands dropped by to ask if everything was all right. Everyone was concerned for her.
"I tried to take care of the boys myself," Jenelle she said. She explained why Wes had been trying to hire a nanny the day Jean had arrived at the ranch. "I just couldn't do it."
"They're a handful," Jean admitted freely, taking a load of clothes to wash while the twins slept in the afternoon.
"Don't be afraid to ask for help," Jenelle warned her. "If you feel you need Wes to hire someone to give you a hand, do it! I'll do what I can but tell me if there's something else."
Jean promised that she would but she knew that she wouldn't. She wanted to impress Wes with her strength and capability. She needed him to apologize for the things that he'd said about her. Nothing less than that would do for her.
The cook, a Jamaican man by the name of Lew, made the boys' bottles every day and stored them in the refrigerator. He listened to Bob Marley and sang out loud as he made the meals and pureed food for the babies.
A young girl from Cheyenne came each day to change the sheets on the beds, clean the house, and generally help Jenelle out. She was a pretty girl named Cinda with a shy smile and very red lipstick. She looked at Lew with longing in her flashing dark eyes.
In the afternoon, when Jake and Eric got up from their nap, Jean played with them. She guided their new footsteps out of trouble and tried to keep their busy hands occupied. It took only a short time for Jean to tell them apart.
Eric's delicate features were like her sister's. Jake's broader face was slightly more like Grif's. Eric didn't like to play as rough as Jake. He was content to spend long moments looking at his toys or following sunbeams as they flooded the playroom. Jake wanted to be held more, preferably upside down. He liked to swing while he laughed wildly. He was the first one to grab at his brother's face. And he wiggled his ears.
The boys had their pureed carrots and applesauce for dinner along with some variations on the adult dinners Lew had planned. Then they played for a while and it was time for bed.
Bouncing the babies on her lap and tickling them, listening to their little voices raised in laughter, quickly became the mainstay of Jean's day. Unlike her father, however, the boys were time consuming but went for long stretches where they slept and didn't need her. Once they were in bed for the night, they usually slept until morning.
Jean tidied their playroom then began to explore the house. She carried the baby room monitor with her, just in case. She didn't want to be accused of neglecting her responsibility. The ranch house was huge. It was all on one floor but its high ceilings made it very open.
Jean quickly learned her way around. Jenelle's room was in one wing of the house while Wes' was in another. The kitchen and family room were in the middle of the house with spare rooms and the twins' rooms off to one side. There were several game rooms and Wes' computer room. A huge billiard table dominated one of the game rooms.
Jean had asked Jenelle about playing billiards but Jenelle didn't care for the game. She suggested that Jean ask Wes the next time she saw him. Jean knew she wouldn't ask him. She felt her best bet for survival was staying as far away as possible from him. If they didn't clash, if there weren't any problems, her life would be much simpler.
There was an indoor pool in the back of the house with a greenhouse. Everything was grown there, from Jenelle's prize orchids to tomatoes.
Jean would have loved to swim in the heated pool but she didn't have a bathing suit. She hated to spend any of the precious few dollars she had on something so frivolous. Yet, after a week of being cooped up in the house and learning the routine of the family, she was beginning to feel a little stir crazy. Even at home, she'd had the luxury of an afternoon walk every day.
She looked but the twins didn't have a stroller. It was impossible to go outside for more than a few minutes with the boys running loose. She longed to take a look at the clean, picturesque stables and follow some of the long, winding drive that led around the ranch.
After a week of everything going like clockwork, she felt as though she had begun to understand and work with the household. She began to work on a plan to ask Wes for the money for a stroller.
One of the double strollers would be ideal. She had no idea what they cost but she felt as though it would be beneficial to Jake and Eric. Fresh air, seeing their home, would be good for them. That would be her argument, she decided, pacing her room nervously after the twins were in bed. She waited to hear the door open from the family room.
She listened for it each evening as she sat in her room, watching television or reading. She knew it meant that Wes was home for the night. Jenelle usually greeted him and they spoke quietly for a few moments, then their voices drifted away. Jean waited breathlessly for a knock on her door.
After a long week, it never came and she began to relax. Now, here she was, waiting to talk to Wes herself after she had so studiously avoided him. Would he be receptive to her plan? Or would he feel like she was being frivolous?
She heard the side door open and close. She heard Jenelle's pleasant voice asking Wes if he'd had a good day. Jean waited as Wes explained something about a new group of mares he was planning to purchase. They spoke for a few moments while Jean listened timidly, intensely aware of that first night when Wes had reminded her that eavesdroppers didn't hear things they liked about themselves.
She prayed there wouldn't be anything said again. She'd managed to put the incident behind her. She loved the twins more each day. She was happy that she had stayed.
Finally, she heard Jenelle tell Wes goodnight and heard Wes go into the kitchen. This was her chance, she told herself while her stomach tangled itself into knots and she twisted her hands to hold them still. It was now or never. Do or die. Bearding the lion in his den. Every cliché that Jean could recall. When her mind had finished its last line of defense, she pushed herself out of the bedroom door, urging her reluctant feet towards the kitchen.
"Just coffee, Lew," she heard Wes tell the cook.
"Ah, man, you need more after a long day. Let me fix you something special."
"Just coffee, Lew," Wes repeated.
Jean heard the scrape of a chair on the smooth, honey-colored wooden floor. He sounded tired. Maybe she would wait another day or two.
There wouldn't be a better time, a little voice inside of her urged. He'll always be tired or busy or something. You have to ask.
Jean swallowed hard and took a step into the kitchen.
Lew and Wes both looked up at her as she stood in the middle of the floor.
"Coffee for two?" Lew asked pleasantly.
"No," Jean denied quickly. "I don't want coffee, thanks."
Lew shrugged and went about making coffee for the man at the scrubbed wooden table.
"I take it there's a problem," Wes said finally.
"I need to talk to you about something," Jean began, wishing she had something a little more spectacular prepared to say to him. It had always helped to throw her father off when she was going to ask for money.
Wes looked exhausted. Fine dust marked his face in a few places. The dark shade of a beard made him look gaunt in the dim light. A careless hand pushed his hair back roughly. The eyes that fastened on her face were faintly irritated. His hand was absently rubbing his leg as though it hurt him.
"I was wondering when we were going to get around to it," he declared, sitting back in his chair.
Lew put a cup of coffee down on the table in front of Wes, then glanced at Jean and walked away.
"Thanks, Lew," Wes said casually. "See you tomorrow."
"You bet," Lew acknowledged. "Tomorrow, I'll make something you won't pass by for coffee, man."
Wes laughed but the humor didn't reach his eyes. He looked back at Jean when they were alone. "Do you want to sit down?"
"No," she replied. "I'd rather stand."
He sighed heavily. "Okay. What can I do for you, Jean?"
"I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful," she began, pacing the floor without realizing it. She twisted her hands in front of her. "You have a beautiful home and Jake and Eric seem to be very happy here."
"Jean?"
She stopped pacing, bewildered, and stared at him. "Hmm?"
"Sit down, please."
She sat.
"Thanks," he whispered, putting a hand to his head as he swallowed some coffee. "If you moved back and forth in front of me again, I was afraid that I was going to be sick."
"Sorry! I didn't know. If you have a headache, I can talk to you later," she amended carefully, starting to get up again.
"You're sitting. I'm sitting. Tell me."
She looked at him and frowned, stricken by the blank wall suddenly in front of her mind.
"You were telling me that you aren't ungrateful, that the twins like it here, and that my house is nice," he filled in for her.
"Thanks," she answered politely.
"Anything to get to the point," he acceded.
"The point," she repeated then drew a deep breath and blurted out. "I need a car and some money!"
"What?" he demanded, wondering if he were trapped in a nightmare of women asking him for cars and money for the rest of his life. That had only been the beginning with Cherise.
Jean jumped up from her chair and wrung her hands together. "You make me so nervous, I can hardly think much less speak. You don't realize the effect you have on people."
Wes closed his eyes. "No one seems to have a problem asking me for cars or money."
"I didn't mean it like that," she tried to explain.
He opened his eyes and fixed his black gaze on her face. "How did you mean it, Jean?"
"I was trying to ask you for a stroller for the twins," she finally managed. "They don't have one and I thought it might be nice to take them for a walk on sunny days."
"A stroller?"
She nodded.
"For the twins?"
"I know it might be expensive. Especially since it's for both of them." She rushed to try and work it out. "But I think it would be good for them to go outside. Fresh air. And they'd be seeing their heritage. The horses and everything."
He sipped his coffee, wondering if this woman was for real. He'd kept track of her all week. She'd worked with the twins. Done their laundry when Cinda could have done it. She scrubbed their bathroom. She'd given his mother some badly needed breathing space and fit into the household like she'd been there forever.
When he'd seen her there in the doorway, his heart sank. He'd known it was too good to be true. He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking; challenging her to stay when he should have seen that she was trouble. But she'd managed to surprise him. Not an easy thing to do with an old cynic like himself.
He drank the last of the rich coffee, then stood up and walked to the sink with the cup. "First, I'd like to thank you for working so hard this week. My mother needed the break from the twins. It's been hard for her the last few months, even though she didn't want to admit it. And I can't be around as much as I'd like."
Jean's heart fluttered. This was it. He was telling her that she would have to leave. That there was no room for someone who couldn't make do with what she already had there in the house. She should have known better. Hadn't she made do all of her life?
"As far as the stroller is concerned," he finished, looking at her stricken face, wondering what she was thinking. "I think it's a great idea. Do you think you can manage them by yourself?"
Jean stared at him. Amanda had told her several times that he had denied even her smallest requests while she was pregnant. The man was a monster, her sister had declared. Grif had tried to stand up to him but he couldn't tell his brother anything.
"I can have David take you into Cheyenne. Or you can take a car yourself, if you'd rather," he continued.
"I-uh-can manage," she replied. "I wouldn't want to make your job any harder."
"That's okay. You don't know your way around. I'd rather someone go with you the first few times than have you get lost."
"Thank you," she said deeply.
He smiled cynically. "Did you think I wouldn't buy a stroller?" and when she didn't reply, he read the answer in her eyes. "Is that what she told you about me?"
Jean grasped the edge of the table with taut fingers. "It doesn't matter."
"Amanda wanted it all, Jean. She wouldn't have asked for a stroller without a new Corvette to go with it."
"As you said," Jean reminded him. "I can't change your opinion about her. But you can't make me see her in that light either."
"Wasn't it clear to you?" he wondered. "She abandoned you with your father to care for without even thinking about giving you a chance to have a life. As long as she was happy, nothing else mattered."
"Your brother loved her!"
"My brother was infatuated with her. From the minute they met, he wasn't the same. The ranch was suddenly nothing but a way to make money for her. She was his goddess."
Jean leaped to her feet. "He was afraid of you. Just like Amanda was. You didn't like it because she stood up to you."
Wes looked at her. His mouth twisted bitterly. "She didn't like it because I saw more than her pretty face. She couldn't twist me around her finger the way she did you and Grif."
Jean glared at him. "You were jealous of them, of their love for each other! You couldn't manipulate them, so you wanted to destroy them."
"You don't know what you're talking about," he responded angrily.
"I know that something happened between you and Amanda after that Christmas that we were all together here. I don't know what it was. She never told me. But I do know that she was unhappy because of you."
Dark eyes apprized her intently. "For someone who seems to be afraid of her own shadow, you manage to put me in my place pretty well, sweetheart."
Jean was immediately sorry that she'd spoken, wondering what had possessed her to say those things to him. "I'm sorry. I don't mean -- "
He raised a dusty hand. "I know. It's my effect on people. I guess I'm lucky I don't have that effect on everyone or the whole state would be in an uproar against me."
"I'm not against you," she managed to mutter.
"It's okay," he said in a weary voice. "It's not easy being the devil but I guess somebody's got to do it."
Jean couldn't look at him. She had probably ruined everything but how could she sit there and let him say those things about Amanda?
"It'll probably be the weekend before I can get you into town," he volunteered.
"That's fine." She dared to raise her head, amazed that he wasn't telling her to forget the stroller.
"I'll let you know what time," he added.
"Thanks. I'll be ready."
"Goodnight, Jean."
"Goodnight," she replied, wishing she could think of something else to say to him.
Had she misjudged him? She considered it the next day while she was taking care of the boys. Had Amanda been wrong?
They'd both been influenced by their father's petty tyrannies. He was a man who made everyone's lives miserable unless he got his way. He'd made his daughters toe the line. He demanded an explanation for every penny spent and knew what they were doing and where they were going at every hour.
She sighed, folding the clean, dry baby clothes. She had only been there a week. Perhaps Wes had been fair with Amanda until that time after her first Christmas.
One thing Jean did know. Her sister would never have put up with anyone treating her as their father had treated them. She had sworn never to defer her wishes to anyone again once she was an adult. It was possible for Jean to see where Amanda and Wes could have gone head to head over Amanda's expensive clothes and jewelry. Grif had loved Amanda and wouldn't have denied her anything.
Jean picked up the baby monitor and shoved it into the pocket of her well- worn slacks. They had been mended so many times that she was lucky they were still together. Perhaps while she was in Cheyenne, she would check out a clothing store for a few more outfits. It was too soon yet to know if she was safe spending her small cache of money. She might still have to strike out on her own and it was the only thing standing between her and the street.
She walked through the house as she usually did while the twins were resting, heading for the greenhouse where she loved to look at the plants. She was alone, which was unusual. Lew and Cinda had that afternoon off. Jenelle was shopping in town with friends. The house was quiet around her as she walked into the pool area. The blue water sparkled invitingly.
She groaned looking at it, biting her lip as she knelt beside the water and trailed her fingers in its warm, silky depths. It occurred to her that she was alone in the house. She could swim for a few minutes in her underwear, change, and no one would be the wiser.
If she left the monitor turned up on the side of the pool, she'd hear any noise the twins made. And if it was just for a few minutes...
She walked through to the greenhouse and admired the ripening tomatoes and peppers. All the while the idea thrummed through her that she could climb into the water. An insidious voice, that she tried not to listen to, reminded her that she was alone. It probably wouldn't happen again for a while. Why not take advantage?
When she walked out of the greenhouse and the twins were still quiet, she set the monitor on its highest setting, right at the edge of the pool. She glanced around just to be sure that she was still alone. She stepped out of her shoes and stripped off her blouse and slacks.
Quickly, before she could change her mind, she dove into the pool. She surfaced, feeling guilty, and listened for the monitor. The twins were still quiet. She turned on her back and floated across the pool.
Being in the pool reminded her of the last summer before her father's first heart attack. She had defied her father's penny pinching and had gone to camp. Jean had learned to swim. She'd spent the long summer nights looking at the stars and the days hiking through the mountains. It was an experience that was going to have to last her a very long time. That summer had been her last moments of freedom. The last time she'd been a child.
Amanda had been too young to go to camp. Jean had found her own way to make an impression on the counselors and the other campers. She'd been chosen cabin leader and had received merit badges in nearly every activity. For just a short while, it hadn't mattered that Amanda was prettier and made friends easier. People had loved Jean just because she was a good sport and had worked hard to excel at everything. Later, at home, when things had gone from bad to worse at home, the memories had sustained her.
Jean heard a sound as she swam and stopped abruptly, listening, but the baby monitor was still quiet.
She swam another lap. Then she closed her eyes and floated again, imagining that she was in the blue waters of the Caribbean and that the sun was beating down, hot on her face and body. It was a heavenly indulgence but she knew she'd tested life's patience enough. She needed to get out of the water and change her clothes before Eric and Jake woke up and demanded her attention.
Slowly, she climbed from the water. She stood, dripping, on the side of the pool as she wrung out her hair with her hands. She frowned as she gazed down at herself, realizing that she might as well have worn nothing into the water. Her wet bra and panties barely outlined her body. She picked up her blouse and started to pull it on when a thick, white towel landed squarely on her wet shoulders.
"Don't you want to dry off first?"
Her head came up and she saw him sitting immediately across from her in one of the deck chairs. His injured leg was out before him as he sat back in the chair. A slow smile came across his face as she stared at him with a look of growing horror and embarrassment.
"You could have told me you were here," she accused.
"I coughed when I came in," he replied, not looking away from her. "You were-uh-busy."
His penetrating gaze slid down her body, touching her as surely as if he'd reached out a hand to her wet skin. She felt it as potently as any caress, her nipples hardening beneath the gauzy texture of her bra.
Wes' eyes darkened as he saw her response. The impact was immediate on his body. He was hot and hard at once. He left his chair restlessly and walked slowly towards her without any other thought. "You're getting cold," he said, taking the towel from her trembling hands.
She looked like a seal with her brown hair slicked back from her face. It wasn't a beautiful face in the conventional sense but it was an interesting face. High cheekbones and delicate nose. Finely arched brows lifted slightly as he dried her arms and shoulders but she didn't move to resist or ask him to stop.
Jean's whole body was drawn to him. She could feel herself moving, like a puppet, as he dried her carefully with the soft white towel. She considered that she should protest. She should tell him to leave her alone but the words wouldn't come. She bent her head slightly to one side as he dried her hair that was hanging limply down her back. His hands were wonderfully gentle and warm on her cool skin. She felt his lips on the side of her neck and shivered, closing her eyes.
Wes felt the tremor run through her body and an answering thrill ran through his own. He wanted her. Despite the fact that he didn't trust her and knew that he'd be sorry when it was done. It didn't matter. Blind, hot desire rose up in him like a fog, enshrouding his mind and inflaming his senses. He reached for her then pulled back. What was he doing?
"You'd better get dressed," he said when the words would form on his tongue. His voice sounded odd, strangled, as he spoke to her. "I could only get Carmen to watch the twins this afternoon. She has to be home by six."
"Carmen?" Jean whispered brokenly. Her throat was dry as she turned to face him. The towel was firmly in place around her.
"Bobby's wife. I had some free time so I thought I'd take you into Cheyenne myself to look for the stroller."
"Oh." She tried to form coherent thought. All she could do was stare at his mouth.
His lips were beautifully formed with tiny smile lines on either side. He was speaking but nothing registered in her brain except the powerful urge to press her own mouth to the curve of his lower lip. What was she thinking?
She shook her head and caught the last of his sentence. "I can be ready in just a few minutes."
"Good," he muttered, glad that she'd stopped looking at him. The look in her eyes and her gently parted lips were driving him crazy. "I'll be waiting out front."
"Okay," she agreed and started to run towards her room.
"Jean?" he called. "Your clothes."
She ran back and grabbed her slacks and blouse as though they were the most precious things in the world, hugging them to her chest. "Sorry."
"That's okay. Next time though," he continued, catching a flash of creamy thigh, "you might want to wear a suit."
She smiled and ran as though the devil were after her.
Maybe he was, Wes decided, pulling on his jacket and gloves. And maybe he better get his act together before he made some terrible mistake. Again.
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