The Rancher And The City Girl

Chapter Three

Camille washed the dishes, wiped the counters and table, and sat down. Now what?

She’d cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, trying to distract herself from her situation, but it hadn’t worked. No matter how busy her hands were, she couldn’t keep her mind from circling back to her problem. People wanted her dead. Would they change their minds if they couldn’t find her, or would they keep searching? Did the authorities have enough information to arrest Donald Wilcox and his hit men? And how would she find out?

She and Agent Delgado had been communicating by email. In the last one he’d sent, he’d told her not to write to him until he reached out to her. Although he didn’t believe she was in danger, he’d wanted her to lie low. And then he’d been in that car accident. So now what should she do? What could she do? Nothing. She couldn’t lie any lower than she was now.

But she couldn’t just twiddle her thumbs. After a lifetime of being busy, Camille found the quiet and endless hours looming ahead of her a little disconcerting. If she didn’t do something physical she would go out of her mind with worry. She would clean Jericho’s house for him. But how would she manage to do it without studying the pictures or the various knickknacks and dredging up memories?

She searched through the kitchen cabinets until she found all the cleaning supplies she needed. Unwilling to stain her skirt, especially since it was all she had to wear, she tied a towel around her waist and set to work. She started in the front room, waxing the tables, careful to place every picture and lamp where it belonged. Her heart pinched with regret as she wiped the dust off pictures of Jeanette.

Camille had planned to forgive Jeanette and reconcile with her at some vague date in the future. Lately she’d begun to wonder whether there had been anything to forgive. Jeanette hadn’t done anything wrong to Camille. If anything, Camille had been the one in need of forgiveness. But it was too late. Jeanette was gone so Camille couldn’t make things right.

Regrets churning in her stomach, Camille finished cleaning the front room, then moved on to the dining room. Moving with precision, she dusted and wiped every nook and cranny, scrubbing until the room shone. Then she moved to the last room on the first floor, a study. She dusted the bookshelves and then proceeded to the writing desk.

“What are you doing in my office?”

Camille spun around, grabbing the top of a leather chair. She’d never been a particularly nervous person, but the stress of the last couple of days had rattled her until she was jumping at every little thing. She could understand being so hyperalert when she was in danger. But she was safe now.

At least she thought she was. Looking at Jericho made her wonder. Standing inside the door, his muscular arms folded across his equally muscular chest, his eyes narrowed, anger radiated off him in waves that shot across the room and crashed into her. Even though he was so furious he was vibrating, she still couldn’t help but notice how incredibly handsome he was. How masculine. She told herself that her heart lurched in her chest because he’d startled her, but that was only partly true.

He raised an eyebrow, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question so she replied, “Cleaning.”

“Why?”

“I thought I could help you.”

“What gave you the idea I needed or wanted your help?”

Her stomach sank. So much for being thoughtful. While she believed she was showing him how she could make his life better, hoping he’d be less inclined to change his mind about letting her stay here, her actions may have had the opposite effect. He still hadn’t committed to a specific time frame for her stay, which would have given her a little peace of mind. Instead she was left in limbo, wondering if the next words out of his mouth would be the ones she dreaded hearing: get out. Of course now wasn’t the time to try to get him to commit. Not when she was one false move from being tossed out on her ear.

“I...uh.” Her voice faded out as nothing came to mind. At least nothing that wouldn’t sound like criticism of his housekeeping skills.

“I’m sorry if the accommodations at the Double J don’t meet the lofty standards you’re accustomed to,” he said, his lips barely moving. He didn’t raise his voice. Somehow that made his fury even more pronounced. “But you barged in on my life and home, not the other way around.”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to show my appreciation.”

“If you want to show your gratitude, then stay out of my way and out of my office. The less I see of you the better.”

She nodded, too stunned to reply, then walked out of his office, careful not to brush against him.

Cursing under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear, he stormed through the hallway. Seconds later she heard the back door slam. Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. Even though Jericho was gone, her stomach still churned like the Atlantic Ocean during a storm. She closed her eyes, trying to hold back hot tears. Crying never helped.

She heard whining, then felt a wet nose pushing against her hand. Shadow. She knelt and buried her face in the dog’s fur. “I really messed up this time.”

Shadow barked in reply, then swiped his tongue against her cheek. She hugged him once more, then pushed to her feet. She rinsed the mop, emptied the bucket and put the rest of the supplies where she found them. She needed to make herself scarce. Her three-inch heels weren’t ideal for walking on a ranch, but she couldn’t remain in the house.

* * *

Jericho saddled Diablo and rode across the field, the horse’s hooves thundering against the ground. The spirited stallion loved racing, and Jericho gave him the freedom to do so. They shot across the acreage as if the hounds of hell were after them.

No matter how fast they went, Jericho couldn’t outrun the sorrowful look on Camille’s face when he’d lit into her. He knew she was scared and was probably trying to stay busy in order to keep from worrying about the people who wanted to kill her. She was literally running for her life and had come to him. Knowing that he disliked her, that couldn’t have been easy. In fact, that was further proof of just how desperate and frightened she was.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t want her here. He’d told her she could stay. Implied in that statement was the promise that he would make her feel at least marginally welcome.

She was nervous and walking on eggshells and not only because she was in fear for her life. She was uneasy because of him. That idea turned his stomach. He’d never thought he’d see confident Camille as timid as she’d been that morning at breakfast. And he never wanted to see her that way again. He preferred the proud woman. That pride wouldn’t allow her to take from him without giving something in return. He understood that. He was the same way. When he went back to the house, he’d apologize to her.

They might not like each other, but they were going to have to find a way to peacefully coexist. Keeping their interactions to a minimum would be key. And they needed to discuss how long she planned to stay here. Not that he expected her to know for sure. But she had to have some idea when this would be over. They’d both feel better if they could establish how long they were going to be stuck with each other. And they needed to set up some ground rules.

Though he could have used a calmer tone, he was being honest when he said they needed to stay away from each other. Camille’s very presence disturbed him. For the past year and a half he’d sleepwalked through his days. He’d been fine with that. Camille was changing that—changing him—simply by being around.

Her long legs were driving him crazy. He didn’t like noticing her slender curves or the way her breasts rose when she took a deep breath. Watching her nibble on her bottom lip had the potential to send him sailing over the edge of reason.

He’d always known his sexual desire would return one day. He just hadn’t expected Camille Parker to be the one to awaken it. The ferocity also startled him. He wasn’t worried that his emotions would return or that his heart would open to Camille. He’d buried his heart with Jeanette. But still, there was no need to risk it. He couldn’t survive another heartbreak.

After brushing Diablo, leading him to his stall and making sure he had fresh water, Jericho returned to the house. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but he was man enough to admit when he’d done wrong. Camille wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. But hadn’t he practically banned her from the common areas of the house? Regret gnawed at his insides as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

The door to the guest room was closed. He knocked softly. No response. He knocked again, this time more loudly. Still she didn’t answer. Now he was the one shut out. Talk about poetic justice. After an internal debate about the propriety of opening her door without her permission, he turned the knob.

“Camille?” He called quietly in case she was asleep. He opened the door an inch and peeked inside. Her perfectly made-up bed was empty. He stepped inside and looked around. There was no sign of her. Surely she wouldn’t have left. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. It wasn’t safe for her to use her credit cards. He’d been too angry to ask if she had cash. He had to find her and bring her back before she put herself in danger. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Cursing himself for being a thoughtless jerk, he raced down the stairs and out the back, crossed the grassy field, then yanked open the door of his shed. Her car remained where he’d parked it. A relieved breath whooshed from his chest. At least she had the good sense not to run away.

He closed and locked the door, then went through the house and to the front porch. Sitting down in one of the two wooden rockers that had been on the far corner of the porch for as long as he could remember, he set the chair in motion. He’d grown up hearing how his grandfather had carved them for his grandmother after she’d caught him talking with her main rival at the high school Christmas dance. After that, she’d ignored him for months. He’d shown up on her birthday with the two rockers and a marriage proposal. The apology gift had worked, and they’d married the week after graduation. Jericho rubbed his hand over the smooth wood that had stood the test of time and three generations of endless rocking and wondered if there was any more magic in the chairs.

The day was bright and sunny, and from his position he could see clear across his property to the road nearly a mile away. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d simply sat here and let the warmth of the day wash over him and take his cares away. He didn’t feel quite at peace, but that was fine. Peace was no longer something he sought or even deserved. Getting through the day without breaking down was enough for him.

Twenty minutes later he heard barking followed by feminine laughter. He scanned the area and watched as Camille and Shadow came into view. She threw a stick and Shadow chased it. A few seconds later the dog ran back to Camille. She reached for the branch, and the dog backed away. Then, treasure clasped firmly in his jaws, the dog ran a short distance away. He dropped the stick, raced back to Camille and sat on his haunches.

Camille laughed and rubbed the dog. “You’re still missing the point. You’re supposed to give the stick to me so I can throw it again.”

Shadow barked, then ran in circles around the yard. Fetch was beyond his mental abilities. Camille went over to the stick and bent to pick it up again. Her skirt tightened over her round bottom, and Jericho’s breath caught in his throat.

She turned and saw him. Even from a distance he noticed the way she stiffened and let the stick slip from her fingers. She continued toward the house slowly. The bubble of joy that had surrounded her mere seconds earlier popped. No doubt about it, she was uncomfortable around him.

He descended the front steps and walked in her direction. Shadow spotted him and raced over, his tail wagging. The dog circled Jericho, and then the traitor raced back to Camille.

She was barefoot and her shoes were dangling from her fingers. The heat must have gotten to her because she’d untucked her blouse and knotted the ends around her waist, revealing the smooth skin of her stomach. His mouth went dry at the sight, and he quickly looked away. He didn’t understand how he could be aroused by a woman he didn’t even like.

“I went for a walk. You didn’t say I couldn’t.” Her chin jutted out defiantly, but the wariness in her eyes belied her confidence.

He’d never heard her sound so uncertain, and guilt smacked him like a fist to his jaw. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Her eyes widened in apparent surprise, making him feel like an even bigger jerk. He didn’t want her to be shocked that he could be courteous.

“Actually, yes. My walk gave me the opportunity to clear my head and think about things. I realize that I owe you an apology. I’m so sorry for barging into your home and overstepping my bounds. I see now how upsetting that can be.”

He raised his hand to stop her. “No. If anyone should apologize it’s me. I was wrong to tear into you like that. You were being thoughtful and I was an ungrateful jerk. Please forgive me.”

She nodded but continued to stare at him. Clearly there was more she wanted to say, but she was unsure whether to take the risk. Having another person around was going to be a lot harder than he thought. “You have something to say?”

“About dinner.” She nibbled on her lip. “I know you don’t want me cooking for you, but you have to eat. I already took something out of the freezer to cook. Before... If you would prefer, we can eat separately.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“But we need to eat.”

“I meant the part about eating separately. We can eat dinner together like we did breakfast.” It had been a stilted, awkward affair he’d hoped never to repeat, but she was in fear for her life. If sharing meals was what it took for her to become more at ease, then that’s what he would do.

No matter how much he hated it.

Chapter Four

“Pass the peas,” Camille said, even though she didn’t want another spoonful. Truthfully she wasn’t that fond of peas, but it was either peas or Brussels sprouts, which she detested. And she just couldn’t take another moment of cold silence. For the past fifteen minutes she and Jericho had simply eaten dinner, speaking—or in his case, muttering—to each other only when necessary. Her nerves were frazzled enough as it was; now she was at the breaking point.

It wasn’t as if she was unused to eating in relative quiet. She was a single woman who lived alone. But there was something decidedly uncomfortable about sitting across the table from someone, looking at the person when the two of you glanced up at the same time, and not speaking. Add that to the constant fear crawling up her spine, and, well, she was one second away from becoming a raving lunatic.

Shadow whined under the table, and Camille started to sneak him a piece of her fried chicken. Jericho’s glare had her putting the bit of drumstick into her mouth instead.

There was a noise outside the window and she jumped.

“It’s just raccoons.” His voice was flat, lacking emotion.

“Oh.” What in the world were they doing? The frown on Jericho’s face had her swallowing that question along with the nasty peas. If she had her way, she’d be anywhere but here, but since that wasn’t an option, she had to make the best of it. She’d fill the silence the best way she knew how.

In her experience, people enjoyed talking about themselves and their successes. There was no reason to believe Jericho would be any different. “This is a nice ranch. How big is it?”

He didn’t look up. “Three hundred and eighty-five acres.”

She swallowed her sigh. It was almost as difficult as downing the peas. He wasn’t being outwardly hostile, but still. She was making an effort, which was more than she could say for him. She decided to try again.

“I love the pool area. It’s so beautiful. So unexpected.” There. That was nice and complimentary. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. If he would tend the landscaping it would be showstopping.

“Thanks.”

That was it? He couldn’t think of one other thing to say that might help carry the conversation.

She took another bite of chicken, chewing slowly as her mind searched for topics to fill the silence. There was only so much she could say about pools. Maybe she should bring up the charming aspects of country life. Surely that would get him to give more than one-word answers. “I just thought you’d have a swimming hole.”

“Swimming hole?” He echoed, sounding confused. She wondered if he had even been listening to her.

“It’s something I read about in a book. It always sounded so nice.” She forced a smile. She loved romances and read them every chance she got, which wasn’t often. Judging by the way her love life was going, the closest she was going to get to a happily-ever-after was between the covers of a book. Of course, since she was running for her life and might not get an ever-after of any kind, finding Mr. Right was pretty low on her priority list. In fact, the only item on her list was staying alive. “Do you have a swimming hole on the ranch?”

“Yes.” He was back to one-word answers.

Forget this. Clearly Jericho wasn’t interested in having a conversation. It wasn’t worth the effort to try to be friendly to someone who wasn’t inclined to do the same. Her appetite gone, she tossed her napkin onto her plate, then although it was incredibly rude and not at all in keeping with her upbringing, stood. “I don’t think I can eat another bite. I’m going to wash these dishes and head up to bed. Good night.”

When she was finished cleaning up, she felt Jericho’s eyes on her as she left the room, but she didn’t turn around. What would be the point? They were enemies. She’d just hoped that his earlier friendliness, such as it was, meant that he’d at least make an effort to be cordial. Not that she expected them to become friends. She still hated him. She’d thought they could manage a bit of civility. She’d been wrong. Apparently she was the only one willing to fake it. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

* * *

Jericho watched as Camille walked out. Why hadn’t he been able to give her a break? He’d seen just how jittery she was, jumping at every sound. Her eyes had darted around the room furtively, as if some assassin was lurking in the shadows. No doubt she was checking under her bed and searching through the closet for killers right now.

The skittish woman was so different from the person he’d met all those years ago in Chicago. That Camille had been confident to the point of being arrogant. He flashed back to the reception at her father’s law firm. He and Camille had met by the buffet table. It hadn’t taken longer than ten minutes for him to tell she was driven to succeed to the exclusion of everything else. She didn’t have any hobbies to speak of and her conversation revolved around her job and salary. He believed in hard work, but he knew life needed to be balanced. There had to be time for hanging out with friends and having fun. She hadn’t seen the need for pleasure in life.

He’d been about to excuse himself when Jeanette approached them. Even now his heart skipped a beat as he remembered just how beautiful she’d been in her floral dress. She’d smiled at him, and he’d sworn he could hear angels sing. Camille had introduced them, then spotted someone across the room she needed to speak to. He’d been so struck by Jeanette that he’d barely noticed Camille leave.

Memories of his life with Jeanette swirled around him. He cut them off. No matter how hard he tried limiting his thinking to the good times, the memory of her lying in a puddle of blood always came back. The agony of losing her and their baby haunted him day and night.

In a way he could relate to Camille. Part of him understood her need to distract herself from the reality that someone was hunting her down by engaging in annoying chatter. Heck, he drove himself to exhaustion every day in a futile attempt to keep his thoughts under control.

He heard her moving around in her room and glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. There was no way in the world she was sleepy at this hour. She just wanted to get away from him. He listened to her pace from windows to door for a few more minutes, then reluctantly rose.

Shadow lifted his head.

“Stay.”

The dog hopped to his feet and raced around Jericho’s legs. Although the dog would make a nice distraction while Jericho went to talk to Camille, he knew Shadow would prefer to run around outside. So Jericho let the dog out and resisted the urge to follow him into the summer evening.

He climbed the stairs and knocked softly on the partially open door. Camille had been peering out the window. She jumped and turned, one hand pressed against her chest. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was open as if she was about to scream.

“It’s just me.” Her visible panic once again made him feel guilty for his earlier treatment of her. He needed to think of her as a woman in fear and not someone he detested. “You’re safe here. You know that, right?”

She stood erect and lifted her chin in an attempt to appear strong. He could tell her that he’d seen her fear—heck, she was shaking like a leaf—but he decided not to mention it.

“Sure.”

She didn’t sound convinced. He blew out a breath. “How about sitting outside for a bit?”

Either she didn’t hear the reluctance in his voice or she was scared enough to ignore it. Either way, in less time than it took the words to leave his mouth, she’d flown across the room and they’d descended the stairs.

Now they were seated on the patio beside the pool. Shadow trotted over and placed his head on Camille’s lap.

“Shadow, no,” Jericho said. The dog barked once, then turned his attention back to Camille.

“I don’t mind.” She scratched Shadow’s head, and the dog began wagging his tail so hard his lower body moved from side to side. “Who’s a good boy?”

Shadow barked and then licked Camille’s chin. Camille laughed, and something in Jericho’s chest started to shake loose. Warmth flickered inside him, but he snuffed it out.

The fact that she liked dogs didn’t change his opinion of her. Still, the woman letting the dog slobber all over her face didn’t fit the image of the Camille Parker in his memory. That Camille was selfish and conniving and as cold as the ice encasing his heart.

“Thanks for sitting with me. My rational mind knows there is absolutely no way anyone can find me here, but...” She sighed and her voice faded away.

“But you can’t believe it entirely, so you’re still scared.”

“Exactly.”

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. He interpreted that to mean she didn’t have anything else to say. The silence wasn’t entirely awkward even if it was miles away from being comfortable. But he managed to keep his dislike buried far beneath the surface, at least for now.

She sprang up suddenly, her body as stiff as a board. “I hope my family isn’t worried about me. I didn’t get a chance to call them before I left.”

“Do you talk to them often?”

“Yes and no. Rodney and I talk a few times a week. But one of his fraternity brothers is getting married in the Bahamas Saturday, so he’s out of the country this week.”

“Then he probably won’t plan on talking to you.”

“True.”

“What about your parents?”

“I speak with them every Sunday, but nothing personal.”

He stared at her. The sun hadn’t quite set when they’d come outside, so he hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. Now her expression was hidden by shadows. “How can conversations with your parents not be personal?”

“It takes a certain level of skill that only comes with years of practice.” Her voice was bitter, yet he heard pain there, as well. “We talk about work and setting professional goals. I can’t remember a time when my parents weren’t asking me where I saw myself in five years. Talking to them is a never-ending job interview.”

She sighed. “All my parents care about is professional success and money. In a way I understand because they came from impoverished families. They know what it’s like to not know where your next meal is coming from. But they never let Rodney and me just be kids. We couldn’t do things just because they were fun. Everything we did had to be geared toward making money. I guess I started looking at everything that way, thinking that everyone always acted for their own personal gain.”

Was there an apology in there?

He’d met the elder Parkers only a couple of times, and that had been years ago. He’d gotten the impression that they were driven to succeed at the expense of everything else, and it was a characteristic he’d attributed to Camille, as well. Until this very second he hadn’t given a thought to how she’d been raised or the way it impacted her thinking.

The day he’d met Jeanette and Camille, he’d been struck by the close friendship they’d shared. They’d loved each other like sisters. Protected each other. If Camille had believed Jericho was trying to get Jeanette’s money, she’d do everything she could to protect Jeanette, including coming between Jericho and Jeanette. Camille had been wrong about him, but given the way she’d been raised, perhaps he could give her a pass on that. Perhaps.

“You don’t think the people who are after me would go after my parents or Rodney, do you?”

“No. There would be no point.” At least he hoped they wouldn’t harm her family. He didn’t know anything about these people. But there was no sense in getting her all worked up since there wasn’t a thing she could do. “Harming a sitting federal justice or his prominent surgeon wife seems like a big risk to take. It would bring lots of attention. And your brother is out of the country and out of reach.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am.” Jericho hoped. “And since your brother is hanging with his friends, he might not miss you right away. And it sounds like your parents won’t worry if you miss one phone call.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“How will you know when it’s safe to return home?”

“I don’t know. Agent Delgado and I had been keeping in touch by email. Now I’m not sure if I can trust him anymore. Even if he didn’t sell me out, someone in his office did. And I’m not convinced his accident really was an accident.”

“Then we’ll have to play it by ear. Right now all you can do is wait here.”

“Wait here,” she repeated, sounding as though it was just this side of torture. Maybe to her it was. But then, having her around wasn’t a day at the beach for him either.

* * *

Camille lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the house. Jericho was moving around in his room. He was pretty quiet, but she was a light sleeper. The thought of getting out of bed flitted through her mind, but she swatted it aside. She didn’t want to disturb his morning routine. Besides, lying in bed and awakening gradually was a welcome change from her usual routine of jumping up at the crack of dawn, showering so quickly she barely got wet, then hopping into a suit and heels before racing out the door, travel mug in hand. Now that she was at Jericho’s ranch, it wasn’t as if she had anything pressing to do.

Truth be told, she wasn’t looking forward to putting on her skirt and blouse yet again. She was so sick of wearing the same outfit, she was considering tossing it into the fireplace and putting it out of her misery. But she couldn’t wrap herself in sheets. Jericho might think that she was out to seduce him again, and things between them would go south fast. She’d just have to pretend her suit was her old school uniform and that it was perfectly normal to wear the same skirt and blouse for days on end.

Her stomach twisted as she recalled her foolish attempt all those years ago to trick Jericho into revealing his true colors. She’d been so sure he was only after Jeanette’s money. After all, who fell in love and got engaged after only a month?

Jericho and Jeanette—that’s who. And as for showing his true character, he was doing that now. He was dependable. Noble. Acknowledging that didn’t make them friends. But it did help her to admit she’d been wrong about him and his reasons for marrying Jeanette. And it did help her dial back her fear a little. Not enough to relax, but maybe enough to stop looking over her shoulder every seven seconds.

The sound of the back door closing was the impetus she needed to get up. Pulling on her despised skirt, she crossed the short hall. She opened the bathroom door and gasped. A pile of men’s clothes was balanced on the edge of the bathtub. There were a couple of T-shirts and two pairs of basketball shorts. They weren’t the height of fashion, but they would be a wonderful change of pace. Unexpected tears burned her eyes at Jericho’s kindness. The cynical part of her reasoned that he’d lent her the clothes only because he couldn’t stand to see her wearing her wrinkled suit one more day, but she refused to let that part diminish the joy his act awakened in her.

She sang softly as she bathed. The shower was the only place she’d sung since she was a freshman in high school and planned to audition for the student and faculty production of The Wiz. Unfortunately, her parents had discovered her plans and forbid her to do something so frivolous.

Throughout her childhood, none of her interests had made them proud. But they’d nearly popped their proverbial buttons when she landed a job in the financial sector. Not only was she making a ton of money, but her job actually dealt with money. To the Parkers, there was nothing greater. For the longest time she’d believed as they had, reaching for the brass—no, platinum—ring. She’d worked from sunup to late into the night. She’d spent her weekends working, no longer pursuing her interests. And where had that single-minded devotion gotten her? Hiding out on a ranch with a man who hated her while hired assassins sought to wipe her off the face of the earth.