Boundary Lines Page 18

  She sighed as he nuzzled her ear. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “I’m a humanitarian,” he told her, then began to nudge her slowly toward the porch steps. It was then Jillian remembered. With a gasp, she broke out of his arms and raced across the yard. “Jillian—” Swearing, Aaron followed her.

  Oh, God, how could she’ve missed it! Jillian raced to the paddock fence and leaned breathlessly against it. Empty. Empty. She balled her hands into fists as she looked at the bottle she’d left hanging at an angle in the shade. The trough of water glimmered in the sun. The few scoops of grain she’d left were barely touched.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Baby,” she muttered, tapping her hand rhythmically against the fence. “They’ve taken Baby.” Her tone started out calm, then became more and more agitated. “They walked right into my backyard, right into my backyard, and stole from me.”

  “Maybe one of your hands put him back in the barn.”

  She only shook her head and continued to tap her hand on the fence. “The five hundred weren’t enough,” she murmured. “They had to come here and steal within a stone’s throw of my house. I should’ve left Joe—he offered to stay. I should’ve stayed myself.”

  “Come on, we’ll check the barn.”

  She looked at him, and her eyes were flat and dark. “He’s not in the barn.”

  He’d rather have had her rage, weep, than look so—resigned. “Maybe not, but we’ll be sure. Then we’ll see if anything else was taken before we call the sheriff.”

  “The sheriff.” Jillian laughed under her breath and stared blindly into the empty paddock. “The sheriff.”

  “Jillian—” Aaron slipped his arms around her, but she drew away immediately.

  “No, I’m not going to fall apart this time.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her eyes were clear. “They won’t do that to me again.”

  It might be better if she did, Aaron thought. Her face was pale, but he knew that expression by now. There’d be no backing down. “You check the barn,” he suggested. “I’ll look in the stables.”

  Jillian followed the routine, though she knew it was hopeless. Baby’s stall was empty. She watched the little motes of hay and dust as they floated in the slant of sunlight. Someone had taken her yearling. Someone. Her hands balled into fists. Somehow, some way, she was going to get a name. Spinning on her heel, she strode back out. Though she itched with impatience, she waited until Aaron crossed the yard to her. There wasn’t any need for words. Together, they went into the house.

  She’s not going to take this one lying down, he decided, with as much admiration as concern. Yes, she was still pale, but her voice was strong and clear as she spoke to the sheriff’s office. Resigned—yes, she was still resigned that it had been done. But she didn’t consider it over.

  He remembered the way she’d nuzzled the calf when it’d been newborn—the way her eyes had softened when she spoke of it. It was always a mistake to make a pet out of one of your stock, but there were times it happened. She was paying for it now.

  Thoughtfully he began to brew coffee. Aaron considered it a foolish move for anyone to have stolen Utopia’s prize yearling. For butchering? It hardly seemed worth the risk or effort. Yet what rancher in the area would buy a young Hereford so easily identified? Someone had gotten greedy, or stupid. Either way, it would make them easier to catch.

  Jillian leaned against the kitchen wall and talked steadily into the phone. Aaron found himself wanting to shield, to protect. She took the coffee from him with a brief nod and continued talking. Shaking his head, he reminded himself he should know better by now. Protection wasn’t something Jillian would take gracefully. He drank his own coffee, looking out of the kitchen window and wondering how a man dealt with loving a woman who had more grit than most men.

  “He’ll do what he can,” she said as she hung up the phone with a snap. “I’m going to offer a separate reward for Baby.” Jillian drank down half the coffee, hot and black. “Tomorrow I’ll go see the Cattlemen’s Association again. I want to put the pressure on, and put it on hard. People are going to realize this isn’t going to stop at Utopia.” She looked into her coffee, then grimly finished it off. “I kept telling myself it wasn’t personal. Even when I saw the hides and bones in the canyon. Not this time. They got cocky, Aaron. It’s always easier to catch arrogance.”

  There was relish in the tone of her voice, the kind of relish that made him smile as he turned to face her. “You’re right.”

  “What’re you grinning at?”

  “I was thinking if the rustlers could see you now, they’d be shaking the dust of this county off their boots in a hurry.”

  Her lips curved. She hadn’t thought it possible. “Thank you.” She gestured with the cup, then set it back on the stove. “I seem to be saying that to you quite a bit these days.”

  “You don’t have to say it at all. Hungry?”

  “Hmmm.” She put her hand on her stomach and thought about it. “I don’t know.”

  “Go get yourself a bath, I’ll rustle up something.”

  Walking to him, Jillian slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. How was it he knew her so well? How did he understand that she needed a few moments alone to sort through her thoughts and feelings?

  “Why are you so good to me?” she murmured.

  With a half laugh, Aaron buried his face in her hair. “God knows. Go soak your bruises.”

  “Okay.” But she gave in to the urge to hug him fiercely before she left the room.

  She wished she knew a better way to express gratitude. As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, Jillian wished she were more clever with words. If she were, she’d be able to tell him how much it meant that he offered no more than she could comfortably take. His support today had been steady but unobtrusive. And he was giving her time alone without leaving her alone. Perhaps it had taken her quite some time to discover just how special a man he was, but she had discovered it. It wasn’t something she’d forget.

  As Jillian peeled off her clothes she found she was a bit more tender in places than she’d realized. Better, she decided, and turned the hot water on in the tub to let it steam. A few bruises were something solid to concentrate on. They were easier than the bruises she felt on the inside. It might have been foolish to feel as though she’d let her grandfather down, but she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling. He’d given her something in trust and she hadn’t protected it well enough. It would have soothed her if he’d been around to berate her for it.

  Wincing a bit, she lowered herself into the water. The raw skin on her elbow objected and she ignored it. One of her own men? she thought with a grimace. It was too possible. Back up a truck to the paddock, load up the calf, and go.

  She’d start making a few discreet inquiries herself. Stealing the calf would’ve taken time. Maybe she could discover just who was away from the fair. Perhaps they’d be confident enough to throw a little extra money around if they thought they were safe and then . . . Then they’d see, she thought as she relaxed in the water.

  Poor Baby. No one would spend the time scratching his ears or talking to him now. Sinking farther in the water, she waited until her mind went blank.

  It was nearly an hour before she came downstairs again. She’d soaked the stiffness away and nearly all the depression. Nothing practical could be done with depression. She caught the aroma of something spicy that had her stomach juices churning.

  Aaron’s name was on the tip of her tongue as she walked into the kitchen, but the room was empty. A pot simmered on the stove with little hisses and puffs of steam. It drew her, irresistibly. Jillian lifted the lid, closed her eyes, and breathed deep. Chili, thick, and fragrant enough to make the mouth water. She wouldn’t have to give it any thought if he asked if she was hungry now.

  Picking up a spoon, she began to stir. Maybe just one little taste . . .

  “My mother used to smack my hand for tha
t,” Aaron commented. Jillian dropped the lid with a clatter.

  “Damn, Murdock! You scared me to—” Turning, she saw the clutch of wildflowers in his hand.

  Some men might’ve looked foolish holding small colorful blooms in a hand roughened by work and weather. Other men might’ve seemed awkward. Aaron was neither. Something turned over in her chest when he smiled at her.

  She looked stunned—not that he minded. It wasn’t often you caught a woman like Jillian Baron off-balance. As he watched, she put her hands behind her back and gripped them together. He lifted a brow. If he’d known he could make her nervous with a bunch of wildflowers, he’d have dug up a field of them long before this.

  “Feel better?” he asked and slowly crossed to her.

  She’d backed into the counter before she’d realized she made the defensive move. “Yes, thanks.”

  He gave her one of his long, serious looks while his eyes laughed. “Something wrong?”

  “No. The chili smells great.”

  “Something I picked up at one of the line camps a few years back.” Bending his head, he kissed the corners of her mouth. “Don’t you want the flowers, Jillian?”

  “Yes, I—” She found she was gripping her fingers together until they hurt. Annoyed with herself, she loosened them and took the flowers from his hand. “They’re very pretty.”

  “It’s what your hair smells like,” he murmured and saw the cautious look she threw up at him. Tilting his head, he studied her. “Hasn’t anyone ever given you flowers before?”

  Not in years, she realized. Not since—florist boxes, ribbons, and soft words. Realizing she was making a fool of herself, she shrugged. “Roses,” she said carelessly. “Red roses.”

  Something in her tone warned him. He kept his touch very light as he wound her hair around his finger. It was the color of flame, the texture of silk. “Too tame,” he said simply. “Much too tame.”

  Something flickered inside her—acknowledgment, caution, need. With a sigh, she looked down at the small bold flowers in her hand. “Once—a long time ago—I thought I could be too.”

  He tugged on her hair until she looked up at him. “Is that what you wanted to be?”

  “Then, I—” She broke off, but something in his eyes demanded an answer. “Yes, I would’ve tried.”

  “Were you in love with him?” He wasn’t certain why he was hacking away at a wound—his and hers—but he couldn’t stop.

  “Aaron—”

  “Were you?”

  She let out a long breath. Mechanically she began to fill a water glass for the flowers. “I was very young. He was a great deal like my father—steady, quiet, dedicated. My father loved me because he had to, never because he wanted to. There’s a tremendous difference.” The sharp, clean scent of the wildflowers drifted up to her. “Maybe somewhere along the line I thought if I pleased him, I’d please my father. I don’t know, I was foolish.”

  “That isn’t an answer.” He discovered jealousy tasted bitter even after it was swallowed.

  “I guess I don’t have one I’m sure of.” She moved her shoulders and fluffed the flowers in the glass. “Shouldn’t we eat?” She went very still when his hands came to her shoulders, but she didn’t resist when he turned her around.

  She had a moment’s fear that he would say something gentle, something sweet, and undermine her completely. She saw something of it in his eyes, just as he saw the apprehension in hers. Aaron tugged her against him and brought his mouth down hard on hers.

  She could understand the turbulence and let go. She could meet the desire, the violence of needs, without fear of stumbling past her own rules. Her arms went around him to hold him close. Her lips sought his hungrily. If through the relief came a stir of feeling, she could almost convince herself it was nothing more complex than passion.

  “Eat fast,” Aaron told her. “I’ve been thinking about making love with you for hours.”

  “Didn’t we eat already?”

  With a chuckle he nuzzled her neck. “No, you don’t. When I cook for a woman, she eats.” He gave her a companionable smack on the bottom as he drew away. “Get the bowls.”

  Jillian handed him two and watched him scoop out generous portions. “Smells fabulous. Want a beer?”

  “Yeah.”

  Unearthing two from the refrigerator, she poured them into glasses. “You know, if you ever get tired of ranching, you could have a job in the cookhouse here at Utopia.”

  “Always a comfort to have something to fall back on.”

  “We’ve got a woman now,” Jillian went on as she took her seat. “The men call her Aunt Sally. She’s got a way with biscuits—” She broke off as she took the first bite. Heat spread through her and woke up every cell in her body. Swallowing, she met Aaron’s grin. “You use a free hand with the peppers.”

  “Separates the men from the boys.” He took a generous forkful. “Too hot for you?”

  Disdainfully she took a second bite. “There’s nothing you can dish out I can’t take, Murdock.”

  Laughing, he continued to eat. Jillian decided the first encounter had numbed her mouth right down to the vocal cords. She ate with as much relish as he, cooling off occasionally with sips of cold beer.

  “Those people in town don’t know what they’re missing,” she commented as she scraped down to the bottom of the bowl. “It isn’t every day you get battery acid this tasty.”

  He glanced over as she ate the last forkful. “Want some more?”

  “I want to live,” she countered. “God, Aaron, a steady diet of that and you wouldn’t have a stomach lining. It’s fabulous.”

  “We had a Mexican foreman when I was a boy,” Aaron told her. “Best damn cattleman I’ve ever known. I spent the best part of a summer with him up at the line camp. You should taste my flour tortillas.”

  The man was a constant surprise, Jillian decided as she rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hand. “What happened to him?”

  “Saved his stake, went back to Mexico, and started his own spread.”

  “The impossible dream,” Jillian murmured.

  “Too easy to lose a month’s pay in a poker game.”

  She nodded, but her lips curved. “Do you play?”

  “I’ve sat in on a hand or two. You?”

  “Clay taught me. We’ll have to arrange a game one of these days.”

  “Any time.”

  “I’m counting on a few poker skills to bring me out of this rustling business.”

  Aaron watched her rise to clear the table. “How?”

  “People get careless when they think you’re ready to fold. They made a mistake with the yearling, Aaron. I’m going to be able to find him—especially if nobody knows how hard I’m looking. I’m thinking about hiring an investigator. Whatever it costs, I’d rather pay it than have the stealing go on.”

  He sat for a moment, listening to her run water in the sink—a homey, everyday sound. “How hard is all this hitting your books, Jillian?”

  She cast a look over her shoulder, calm and cool. “I can still raise the bet.”

  He knew better than to offer her financial assistance. It irked him. Rising, he paced the kitchen until he’d come full circle behind her. “The Cattlemen’s Association would back you.”

  “They’d have to know about it to do that. The less people who know, the more effective a private investigation would be.”

  “I want to help you.”

  Touched, she turned and took him into her arms. “You have helped me. I won’t forget it.”

  “I have to hog-tie you before you’ll let me do anything.”

  She laughed and lifted her face to his. “I’m not that bad.”

  “Worse,” he countered. “If I offered you some men to help patrol your land . . .”

  “Aaron—”

  “See.” He kissed her before she could finish the protest. “I could work for you myself until everything was straightened out.”

  “I c
ouldn’t let you—” Then his mouth was hard and bruising on hers again.

  “I’m the one who has to watch you worry and struggle,” he told her as his hands began to roam down. “Do you know what that does to me?”

  She tried to concentrate on his words, but his mouth—his mouth was demanding all her attention. The hot, spicy kiss took her breath away, but she clung to him and fought for more. Each time he touched her it was only seconds until the needs took over completely. She’d never known anything so liberating, or so imprisoning. Jillian might have struggled against the latter if she’d known how. Instead she accepted the bars and locks even as she accepted the open sky and the wind. He was the only man who could tempt her to.

  This was something he could do for her, Aaron knew. Make her forget, thrust her problems away from her, if only temporarily. Even so, he knew, if she had a choice, she would have kept some distance there as well. She’d been hurt, and her trust wasn’t completely his yet. The frustration of it made his mouth more ruthless, his hands more urgent. There was still only one way that she was his without question. He swept her up, then silenced her murmured protest.

  Jillian was aware she was being carried. Some inner part of her rebelled against it. And yet . . . He wasn’t taking her anywhere she wouldn’t have gone willingly. Perhaps he needed this—romance he’d once called it. Romance frightened her, as the flowers had frightened her. It was so easy to lie in candlelight, so easy to deceive with fragrant blossoms and soft words. And she was no longer sure the defenses she’d once had were still there. Not with him.

  “I want you.” The words drifted from her to shimmer against his lips.

  He would’ve taken her to bed. But it was too far. He would have given her the slow, easy loving a cherished woman deserves. But he was too hungry. With his mouth still fused to hers, he tumbled onto the couch with her and let the fire take them both.

  She understood desperation. It was honest and real. There could be no doubting the frantic search of his mouth or the urgent pressure of his fingers against her skin. Desire had no shadows. She could feel it pulsing from him even as it pulsed from her. His curses as he tugged at her clothes made her laugh breathlessly. She made him clumsy. It was the greatest compliment she’d ever had.