Jackson’s expression was stony. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

Bitterness he’d have no way of understanding colored Cat’s answer. Bitterness and piled-up, long-buried resentment. “You’ve been gone a long time. I don’t think of you at all.”

Apparently Jackson didn’t know how to answer her hostility.

Cat’s feelings, always inconsistent where this man was concerned, softened in sympathy. What had happened wasn’t his fault, or at the very least, it had been as much her doing as his. Now, forced by circumstances, he had to return to a lifestyle and a town he hated.

Cat couldn’t be a part of making him stay. She couldn’t tell him the truth about her daughter, now or ever. The pain of not telling replaced the fear, and a chill settled in her chest, spreading icy hurt to every part of her body.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever made the wrong decision for the right reason? Or the right decision for the wrong reason? If so, you have a lot in common with Wild Cat Darnell. She’s a hardworking single mother with a secret, and Jackson Gray is about to discover the truth.

When Jackson comes back to Engerville, North Dakota, he intends to stay just long enough to help his father get back on his feet after a farming accident. Then Jackson sees Cat again and he knows leaving is going to be hard. After he meets Cat’s little girl, leaving gets a whole lot harder.

I visited several small towns in North Dakota to set the scene for this book. My fictional town of Engerville is about fifty miles north of Fargo. The land is fertile and grows a bountiful crop for the hardworking farmers of that area, but the harsh winters make it a tough way to earn a living.

My respect for these hardy descendants of Norwegian, German and Swedish pioneers knows no bounds. I visited a small-town museum and listened to two elderly ladies of the historical society describe how the pioneers walked barefoot across Minnesota to get to North Dakota—there were no cobblers and no way for pioneers to replace their shoes. Picture a covered wagon pulled by oxen, lumbering slowly across an untracked prairie. Father sits in the driver’s seat. Behind the wagon a young woman picks her way through brambles and gopher holes, barefoot. All the way to the Goose River in North Dakota, where the Indians told the settlers they’d find good farmland.

Cat and Jackson are descendants of those pioneers, and they’re just as strong, just as brave and every bit as stubborn. I hope you enjoy reading about them.

I love to hear from readers. You can contact me at the following e-mail address: Jade@jadetaylor.com.

Sincerely,

Jade Taylor

Wild Cat and the Marine
Jade Taylor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedicated to my parents, Robert C. and Idell Beam Groves, for all they gave me, and especially for raising me with a love for books.

For the friends and family who supported my dream:

My siblings, Roberts, Jr., Albert, Roy, Sarah, Bertha, Tommy, David and Harry. We were a rowdy bunch of kids who grew up knowing how much we loved each other. We still do.

Bill, Sheri and Holly Ann Groves. You have my heart.

My critique partner, Alisa Clifford, for all she taught me; my friends at Midwest Fiction Writers, especially Pamela Bauer, Stacy Verdick Case and Rosemary Heim; LaVyrle Spencer for her wonderful books, for inspiring me to write and for telling me about RWA; my editors, Beverley Sotolov, who liked my story and bought it, and Johanna Raisanen, for making it better.

My friends at American Financial Printing for December 10, 2001 and for many other things less dramatic, but just as meaningful.

Jane Lindstrom for calling me up one day and saying, “Let’s write a book.”

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PROLOGUE

BEFORE SIX-YEAR-OLD Catherine Darnell went to sleep, she said a prayer. Squinching her eyes shut, she swiped tangled black hair away from her face and pressed thin, scratched hands together under her chin. She recited the appeal she made nearly every night. “Please God, don’t let us move somewhere new tonight. I really want to stay here so Bobby and Arlene Sanders can be my friends forever. Don’t let Daddy get mad at his boss again. Please, please, God, make Mommy come back and live with me and Daddy. Amen.”

God didn’t answer that prayer, either. Two nights later, her father woke her in the middle of the night, kissed her once and carried her out to their rusty brown Ford Maverick. He laid her on the back seat along with two battered suitcases, sheets, blankets and the chipped ceramic figure of a rearing black horse he’d given her two months ago. Daddy put her mother’s jade necklace around her neck and whispered something about being sorry, then got into the driver’s seat.

Catherine watched as her father used a leather string to tie his straight black hair into a ragged ponytail. He pitched his cigarette out the window, tossed the road map onto the seat beside him and slammed the old car into gear. The wheels tossed gravel from the worn rear tires as he gunned the car out of the driveway and left the shabby little rented house on Roosevelt Street, her mother and all things familiar behind.

CHAPTER ONE

HEAD DOWN, Catherine Darnell trudged the worn path from the barn to her home. Halfway to her destination, she lifted her gaze from the uneven ground. The low-slung, one-story ranch house blended into the North Dakota prairie as if it had sprouted from the furrowed earth. Nothing about the dull siding, weathered gray where the white paint had peeled away, set it apart from the sameness of the surrounding farm land. It was as ordinary and unassuming as the plowed rows drifting off into the distance behind it.

The spring air reenergized her and her steps quickened. For all the faults the old house had—and those faults were beyond counting—it still welcomed her at the end of a long day with the comfort only a home could give. Her home. The thought warmed Cat, despite the chill breeze finding its way through her loose-knit sweater.

A strong wind sprang up and whipped the clothes on the line in the yard into a frenzied dance. She’d forgotten about the clothes. Evening dew hadn’t fallen yet, so they’d still be dry. Every bone in her body ached with the weariness of all the chores she’d rushed through that day. For a few minutes, she’d thought her work almost finished. Taking the clothes from the line and folding them, then bringing them inside to iron or put away meant at least another hour. Finally, supper for Joey. For herself, coffee and a sandwich would have sufficed, but her daughter deserved—no, needed—a good hot meal. At eight, Joey was small for her age.

Cat smiled, fatigue forgotten, as she pictured Joey stepping out of the shower and tugging on faded pink pajamas. She hoped the picture was accurate. Joey was a dreamer, forever forgetting her chores and, instead, picking up a horse magazine and mooning over some tall Kentucky-bred stallion, or turning on the television and becoming deeply engrossed in a Disney movie.

After grabbing a laundry basket from the porch, she hurriedly unpinned the shirts and sheets and towels and jeans and underwear from the clothesline. It took longer than it should have; the cold made her fingers clumsy. After the last piece had been placed in the basket, she caught it up and hurried to the kitchen door.

The wind sucked at the worn old door as she opened it and slammed it hard behind her. A grunt of annoyance accompanied the accusing glare she cast toward the drafty entranceway. The basket handles bit into the blisters that had popped up on her palms while she shoveled manure and wheatstraw from the barn stalls. She winced and shifted her grip. Her hands should have hardened to the work by now, but they hadn’t.

As Cat entered the living room, Joey looked up from her seat on the floor in front of the TV, then scrambled to her feet. “I’ll help you carry the basket, Mom.”

At least she was in her pajamas. Cat grinned ruefully at her offspring. “Never mind, Teddy Bear. Why don’t you set the table for dinner while I put away these clothes. I’ll reheat the stew from lunch. That won’t take long.”

“Okay.” Joey sat down on the floor and turned her attention back to the television, dismissing her mother with a completeness Cat couldn’t help admiring.

“Now, please,” she insisted. It was always tough to put a sharp edge in her voice with Joey. Well, not always, but mostly. Joey was a good kid, but on a bad day she ranked right up there with those cartoon Simpsons. The ones she wasn’t supposed to watch. The ones Cat gave in and let her watch once in a great while and regretted immediately. She shook her head at the sight of Joey trying to stand up an inch at a time, keeping an unwavering gaze glued to the TV screen. She carried the basket of clothes into her bedroom.

Dropping the basket on the bed, she glanced at the answering machine. The red indicator light blinked twice slowly, then paused and blinked twice again. Two messages. She wasn’t expecting any calls. It was probably Tommy Karl wanting Joey. Those two were always up to something.

She pressed the button to play the messages. A cool, official-sounding voice began to speak.

“Catherine? Greg here. Greg Lundstrom from Engerville State Bank. We need to get together and talk about the mortgage on your farm. There are two quarterly payments overdue now and, frankly, I’m very troubled. Call me as soon as possible, will you? Thanks.”

A cold chill settled on Cat as nausea hit her stomach. She backed up to the bed, still staring at the phone in disbelief. Her legs gave way and she collapsed on Aunt Johanna’s colorful handmade wedding ring quilt.

Her hands shook. She clasped them together in an unsuccessful effort to stop the trembling, then untwined her fingers to reach for the jade necklace at her throat. Nervously, she clutched the beads. The spring payment had come due last week, but she’d been sure she could get an extension. In the confusion and grief of burying her father two months ago, she hadn’t even thought about the January payment. Why hadn’t her father taken care of it?

He hadn’t said a word to her about being short of cash when he bought RugRat, the newest addition to their small herd of horses. But then, he wouldn’t. It was like him to joyfully hand over the last bit of their cash for a pricey colt they couldn’t afford.

Now, she had to make up two payments. How could she do that? There’d been no horse ready to sell since the previous fall. It was high odds whether she could get RugRat ready by October and not a chance before then. Her jewelry business, more hobby than a means of support, brought in a bit, but not nearly enough.

Cat’s hands clenched so tightly her short, ragged nails dug into the new blisters. She’d neglected the horses’ training schedule badly. Too much to do just keeping them fed, groomed, their stalls clean and the vet bills paid. The horses were beautiful and she loved them as much as Joey did, but her father’s way with them had skipped her and gone directly to her daughter. It was too bad Joey was only eight. If she’d been older, maybe she could have taken over the training.

Cat stood up, stiffening her legs in grim determination. Dammit, she wouldn’t take refuge in foolish wishes. There had to be a way out, and she’d find it. This broken-down, beat-up, almost useless ranch was their home, the only real home she’d ever known, and no way in hell would she let the bank take it.

She pushed the play button to listen to the second message. Cassidy Gray’s usually cheerful voice was somber.

“Pop’s been hurt awfully bad, Cat. I knew you’d want to know. I’m at the hospital with him, now. I’m going to call Jackson to see if he can come home. I’ll call again as soon as I know more about Pop’s condition. Bye.”

If finding out she needed to make two payments to the bank had sent her reeling, then the news of her nearest neighbor’s injuries and his son’s probable return was the knockout punch. She sagged back onto the bed, her legs betraying her again. Her heart raced in frantic beats. Jackson back in Engerville? The thought sent excitement coursing through her body, warming her with sudden speed. A second later, the brief burst of joy faded and a nightmare wave of dread overwhelmed her. Somehow, she had to avoid Jackson. Stay as far away from him as was humanly possible. It was her only chance.

CORPORAL JUAN SANCHEZ LOOKED up as Jackson Gray entered the company office. “Hey, Jackson, it’s about time you got here. You’ve had three phone calls in the past hour. New babe?”

Jackson rubbed his eyes. They burned as if cinders had worked their way under the lids. “Give me a break, Sanchez. I didn’t get back to barracks last night.”

“It’s not me you should worry about, Red. Captain’s been asking for you. You’re late.”

“Five minutes, for crying out loud! What’s the problem?” He watched Juan toss a handful of papers into the “out” bin.

“Not my problem, Jack. Yours. Captain Ricky is ready to chop you into little, bitty pieces and have you for lunch. What’d you do?” Sanchez practically salivated with curiosity.

Jackson glared at the company clerk. “Why don’t you tell the Captain I’m here, Juan? If he wants to see me that bad, then he’s not going to appreciate your holding up the show.”

“Okay, no problem, but I wanted to talk to you about our trucking deal with Marty. He needs us to make up our mind whether or not we’re with him.”

“Sure we are. We already decided that. We’ll both have our release by September.”

“Yeah, well, the word up the line is that headquarters is going to offer up to three months early release to anybody whose discharge date is between April and October. I guess they recruited too many guys. Whaddaya think?”

“It would be a chance to get a head start finding a place to stay in Seattle. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Sergeant Gray?” The curt voice belonged to a lanky male in sharply creased khakis, who stepped through the hallway door into the room. The officer threw an irritated frown in Sanchez’s direction, then glared at Jackson. “I’m glad you could make it. Come with me to my office, please.”

Without his even thinking about it, Jackson’s body stiffened into a near-attention pose. “Yes sir, Captain Richards.”

Sanchez hurriedly bent to his filing, his tan cheeks highlighted with pink. Jackson repressed the urge to snicker at his friend’s sudden industry and quickly followed the company commander down the short hallway, wondering what he’d done to attract the captain’s attention.

The captain walked around his desk and sat down in the chair. He shuffled some papers, looking preoccupied, then glanced up at Jackson who maintained a rigid pose.

“At ease, Sergeant.”

Jackson snapped smartly into parade rest, his feet slightly apart, his hands behind his back, one nesting the other. He stared straight ahead at a position on the pale green wall just over the Captain’s head.

“I’m sorry to be giving you bad news, Sergeant,” Richards picked up a pencil and twirled it between his dark fingers as he continued, “but that’s in my job description.”

Jackson’s heart leapt to his throat. This wasn’t what he’d prepared himself for. Bad news to a soldier only meant one thing—trouble at home. He shot a quick glance at Captain Richards’s somber face. A frown marred the lean features.

“Your father has been badly injured.”

Jackson struggled with a surge of dismay. “Sir?”

“Your sister called for you early this morning.”

For one dizzying moment, the office spun. Jackson fought for control. The spinning stopped with a jerk that left him shaken. The Captain waited for his reply. “Is he dead?” Force of habit made him add, “Sir.”

“No! No. He’s hurt, but your sister says he’s holding his own.”

Jackson’s heart banged hard against the chest wall surrounding it. His voice sounded raspy as he asked, “May I leave, Captain? I’d like to call her and find out what’s happening.”

“Sit down, Sergeant. You don’t look too steady. Take the near chair. Relax a moment. Your sister is calling this number sometime in the next ten minutes.”

Jackson sat on the edge of the straight-backed wooden chair, reluctant to lean back and relax. Sitting in the Captain’s presence made him uneasy, even if it had been his suggestion—order. “Thank you, Captain.”

“You’re a tough man to locate, Gray. I’ve had the duty sergeant at the barracks up half the night waiting for you to come in.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” His reply was automatic, his thoughts in turmoil, barely aware of what he said.

Richards growled his reply. “No need to be. You’re a good-looking pup. You’re entitled to spend your nights screwing around if you choose to. It’s your time.”

“Sir, I wasn’t screw— I wasn’t out messing around.”

The Captain looked disbelieving.

Jackson’s body wanted to twitch under the man’s metal gaze. He didn’t have to explain. Let the Captain think what he wanted to. In fairness, though, Richards had reason to think as he did and his commanding officer didn’t have to let him wait for Cassidy’s call in his office.

Jackson was suddenly relieved that his explanation for being gone all night was legitimate, even if it had started as a bored impulse. “Sir, I’m sure you’ve heard about the forest fires north of Richmond?”

Richards nodded. “It’s been very dry.”

“I spent the night with volunteers digging a fire line to protect Cottage Grove, one of the suburbs lying in the fire’s path.”

Captain Richards was obviously skeptical. “Very good of you, Gray. Why didn’t you say so?”

Jackson barely managed to keep his voice even. “As you said, Captain. It was my free time.” If one of the guys hadn’t suggested the trip… If he hadn’t jumped at the chance to leave the red-brick barracks, he might have spent the evening at the NCO club and had the kind of night the captain suspected.

“Yes, but—” The phone rang. Richards picked up the receiver. “Captain Richards here. Yes, Mrs. Alexander, he’s with me now…. Of course… Not at all.” He handed the receiver to Jackson, then stood. “Take your time, Sergeant. I’m going to walk over to Colonel Blackstone’s office.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The captain hesitated a moment. “I hope things work out okay.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The door closed with a quiet click. Jackson looked at the receiver in his hand as if it were a grenade with the pin already pulled. If he didn’t hear the words, then it wouldn’t be true, at least for him. As long as he avoided raising the phone to his ear, he could put off finding out his father had died in the night while he was off helping strangers.

A sudden ache wrapped around his heart. He couldn’t avoid the truth that easily. He put the phone to his ear. “I’m here.”

“Jackson?”

His sister’s familiar voice triggered a strong wave of homesickness, a longing for her sweet pixie face and, unexpectedly, a nostalgic picture of the farm he hated. “Yeah, Cass. How is he?”

“Jackson, where’ve you been? I woke up your captain three times last night. This morning, I mean.”

“Hell, Cass, what does it matter where I was?” He clutched the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Sorry. Just tell me. Is Pop dead?”

“Not yet… I mean, no! No. He’s doing okay, the doctor said.”

“Okay? What does that mean, exactly? How badly is he hurt? What happened?” He stood and paced as far from the desk as the phone cord allowed.

“He’s pretty bad, Jackson. He’s banged up something terrible, but the doctor said he’d live, unless the internal bleeding started again.”

“Cass, what happened to him?”

“He bought a new bull from Bertha Gillis. A big, black mean bastard! Pop went out to the barn to feed him and opened his stall door to check something. We aren’t sure what. Anyway, the bull knocked him down and stomped on him. Good thing he’d been dehorned. If he hadn’t been, Pop would be dead.”

“Oh, damn! Was he alone?”

“Buddy Sutherland was with him. You remember Buddy, don’t you?”

He thought hard for a moment, then the name joined a face. “Yeah. Little guy. Works odd jobs, or used to. Kinda drifts from one farm to the next.”

“He’s been helping Pop since January. Anyway, he managed to distract the bull and get him off Pop, then Blue drove the bull into another stall. Would you believe the same dog that let Mom’s calico cat run him out of the house could take on a young bull that way? Thank goodness he was there! Then Buddy slammed the door shut and called for help.”

“You said ‘banged up.’ What do you mean?”

“Three ribs are broken. His shoulder is dislocated. Doctor Lind said his kidneys were bruised and a piece of his liver broke off. His knee. Other stuff, too. Can you come home?”

His brain couldn’t take it all in. The image of his tall, work-hardened father lying in a hospital bed hit him hard. Pop could die. “Oh, Lord.”

“Can you come?”

Her question didn’t make sense. “Come home? Cass, I can’t. You know that.”

“Because of the Marines? Or do you mean that blowup you two had when you left home? For crying out loud, Jackson, that’s ancient history! Pop needs you, now.”

An awful ache in his chest made breathing difficult. “Not me. He wouldn’t want me there.”

“Jackson, he might be dying.”

“He wouldn’t want me, even then.” Jackson’s tightened fist threatened to crush the phone.

“You don’t know that.”

“Has he asked for me?” He threw the challenge out, not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer.

A reluctant silence filled the space before she spoke. “I’ve only talked to him a little bit. He’s pretty foggy with the painkillers and all. I know he wants to see you, Jackson. You’re still his son and he’s still your father.”

Bitterness prodded the old pain. “I’ll never step foot in Engerville again. You may not remember, Cass, but I do. He told me if I left, I wouldn’t be welcome back. If he wanted me, maybe… Aw, hell, it’s ridiculous to discuss it. I’m not coming home, Cass. I can’t.”

“Even if Pop is dying? You still won’t forgive him?”

The accusation hurt. It wasn’t true. Couldn’t be. His answer grated against the bitter memories. “You have that backward. He’ll never forgive me…and I’m not sure I want him to, so drop it. I’m sorry, Cass. I can’t come home.”

“No matter how much he needs you?”

The anger in her voice shamed him. He and Cass had always been close. His hurt forced an answer he didn’t want to give, yet couldn’t hold back. “Yeah. No matter how much he needs me.”

“In that case, I’d better hang up. They’re going to do some X rays and I want to be there to see what they find. I’m sorry for you, Jackson. Sorry you can’t forgive and forget, but our father is the one I’m worried about right now.”

“You’ll call me if anything changes?” There was no reply. She’d already hung up. Jackson loosened his white-fisted grip on the phone and replaced the receiver.

Engerville, North Dakota, so many miles—a lifetime—away, but the memories were here in the room with him. His big, red-haired father working beside him in the fields. The tiny high school where he’d led the basketball team to the state championship when no school as small as theirs had ever won it. And Catherine, the girl he’d taken to the senior prom. Her image came to mind with such sharpness it might have been yesterday: tall, skinny, shy, too serious. Green eyes, high cheekbones, a tendency to hide her thoughts behind a sweeping curtain of black hair and, of course, the most vivid portrait of her—moonlight pouring through the windshield of Pop’s old truck, washing all the color from her face, making her emerald eyes gleam with an intensity he’d not known she was capable of.

Jackson shook his head, angry at himself for being tempted. No, he wasn’t going back. He’d never go back. He waited until he had the lump in his throat under control before he left the Captain’s office.

“I COULD DELIVER THAT FEED out to your place on Saturday, Cat,” Marvin Nordstrom pointed out as he heaved the last bag of feed onto the truck bed.

“I should have called you last week, Marvin. The feed bin is nearly empty. I’d better take it myself.”

Marvin looked dubious. His brief glance traveled up and down her slender figure. “How will you get it unloaded?”

“I’ll manage.” Cat didn’t have the muscles to be a rancher. She knew it and so did Marvin. The place needed a man to run it, but Cat didn’t have a man and certainly didn’t want one. She’d take care of it by herself, as she always had.

“If you have a problem, call. I’ll have Rafe stop by when he makes his rounds Saturday and unload it for you.”

Turning a grateful smile on the store owner, she said, “Thanks, Marvin. I’ll let you know.”

“Don’tcha go lifting those heavy bags by yourself,” he insisted. “Just yell if you need help. See ya.” The overweight feed store owner backed away, then turned to go into his store.

Cat lifted the tailgate and banged it closed. The metal had taken a beating over the years and needed to be forced into place. The squeal of air brakes startled her. She looked up. Across the street, a dusty Greyhound bus rolled to a halt. She watched as the driver left his seat and, a moment later, returned to it. The bus pulled away from the curb and continued down the street, revealing a lone figure standing beside a drab green duffel.

Her memory of him kept trying to fit over the reality. A tall man with short red hair and wide shoulders returned her stare, not the slim eighteen-year-old boy with a dazzling, wicked smile. That smile had enthralled her the first time she met him. Now, she saw the adult version as he recognized her. Its power hadn’t diminished with time.

CHAPTER TWO

“HEY,” HE CALLED. “Cat? Wild Cat Darnell?” The tall Marine grabbed his duffel and loped across the street toward her, narrowly dodging a white Chevy tooling down the street much faster than was safe.

Her breath caught in her throat, just as it had the first time she’d met him. “Wel— Welcome home, Jackson.”

He grinned at her, dropped his duffel, then gave her a bear hug. “It sure is you! I thought so, but I could hardly believe my eyes. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Oh, but I have, Jackson. I have. Cat tried to breathe and couldn’t. He held her too tight. His arms were steel bands pressing her against a rock-hard chest. For the first time in years, a pool of heat centered in her breasts and trickled down her stomach. His embrace felt warm and familiar and, at the same time, dangerous. How had she forgotten, even for a minute the secret he must never guess? She tried to get away. He must have felt her movement. His grip loosened and, nose still jammed against his khaki shirt, she drew in warm, male-scented air. Her legs turned to water. Jackson chose that moment to release her and she stumbled.

He caught her again. “Easy there! I didn’t mean to knock you off your feet.”

For a single dizzying second, she ached to remain in his arms. Reason returned. She couldn’t.

Cat stepped away from the closeness of Jackson Gray. It was difficult to appear casual as she asked the first question that came to mind. “Is someone meeting you?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Nobody knows I’m coming. I didn’t call.” He glanced away, his fair cheeks a pinker shade than usual.

Embarrassed, she guessed.

“Not sure of my welcome, you know,” he muttered to the sidewalk.

Sympathy washed over her. “Cass called me the day after the accident. She hoped you’d choose to come home.” She took a deep breath, willed the butterflies in her stomach to quiet their frantic clamor, and reluctantly decided there was no help for it. “I’ll give you a lift out to the farm.”

He brightened. “That’s good of you, Wild Cat. Thanks.”

“Nobody calls me Wild Cat anymore,” she observed, as calmly as if his use of her old nickname hadn’t stirred a hundred heart-stopping memories.

He laughed. The same careless laugh that used to make her heart bump against her chest. And still did.

“Well, I’ve never stopped thinking of you as ‘Wild Cat Darnell.’ There was a time when you’d try anything. Nothing was too outrageous. Remember that Halloween we hoisted the coach’s old Volkswagen up to the roof of the school? And draped it with crepe paper in the school colors? It rained all night and the paper broke. Colors ran over the car until it looked like it had been painted with pieces of confetti.” Jackson chuckled as he stared down at her, warm regard in his eyes.

Remembering, Cat thought. Well, damned if she’d give him any sign that she remembered, too. She made an attempt at airy indifference. “I’ve grown up, Jackson. Didn’t you?”

“What’s the fun in growing up? Next thing you’ll be asking me if I’ve decided to return to farming.” A snide smile spread across his angular face.

Same old Jackson, she thought. I’ve changed. He hasn’t. Despite the rush of heat his smile caused, she took a firm grip on her emotions. “No. I won’t. I already know the answer. Let’s go. I’ve got chores to do at the ranch.”

“Right. That’s one thing that never changes.”

He followed her around to the driver’s side and held the door for her. One large hand hovered next to her elbow as if he would help her climb into the truck. Hurriedly, she rushed to get in by herself, knowing she’d react to his touch the same way cattle did to an electric prod.

He must have changed a little bit, though. The old Jackson had been too carefree to think about opening a door for a woman unless his father had an eagle eye on him. She watched as Jackson loped around the truck, threw his duffel carelessly into the back and climbed into the cab with her. For a big man, he was graceful—lean-hipped, wide-shouldered, and too sexy. And totally unaware of his breathtaking attraction.

Cat drew in a deep, calming breath. She’d been lonely too long. He endangered her peace of mind and she needed to stay far away from him.

As he closed the door, he said, “Thanks for the lift, Cat…Catherine.”

The cab, roomy when only she and Joey were in it, became tiny as he laid one arm along the seat back, dangerously close to her shoulder. She retreated into censure. “Since when would a neighbor not offer a ride?”

Jackson busied himself with fastening his seat belt. “It’s been a long time, Cat. You know that. Cut me a little slack.” He glanced out the window, then back at her and changed the subject. “Tell me what’s changed since I left. Cass tries, but she doesn’t remember our group of kids. Fill me in on what’s happened to the Dragons of Engerville High.”

His mention of the school’s team name brought memories of their high school years back with a hard focus on Jackson, the prince, and the girl who was Engerville’s blond princess. A bitter stir of jealousy replaced the heat his nearness caused. Of course, he wanted to know about Rebeka. Mutinous anger shot through her. Well, he could damn well find out from someone else. “Remember Roy Thoreson?”

He shot her a sideways look of unexplained disgruntlement. “Sure. Your boyfriend for a while in our senior year. Editor of the school newspaper.” He hesitated, then grudgingly added, “And pretty darn good for a kid.”

Cat downshifted at a red light and looked quickly at the man beside her. He’d matured physically in a powerful, shockingly attractive way. His beard-darkened cheeks had fascinating shadows and angles her hand itched to explore, but above the sensual lips were a pair of cold blue eyes that belonged to a man she no longer knew.

How could this man’s eyes flash intimate warmth one moment and look right through her the next? Jackson might be two men now. A little bit of the one she remembered and the rest of him a stranger. She returned her gaze to the road ahead, determined to resist this new Jackson. “Roy’s a reporter for the Traill County Tribune, now. The Express offered him a job in Fargo, but he turned it down.”

Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “He actually turned down a newspaper job in Fargo to stay in this nowhere town? Is he still hanging around you or does he have another reason?”

“Some of us like living here, Jackson,” Cat reminded him.

Jackson’s cheeks reddened and he looked out the window. “Sorry. I have no business bad-mouthing Engerville,” he said.

He turned back to her, his engaging smile in place again.

“You know something? I’m so nervous about what Pop is going to say when he sees me that I really wasn’t thinking. I didn’t intend to be rude.” His lips twisted in rueful self-derision. “Why did you stay, Cat? You told me you’d be leaving, too, in the fall.”

She glanced at him and couldn’t help smiling at the stranger beside her. Despite the foreign air about him, he was still the boy she’d spent her high school years tagging along behind. Still the boy who hated the sameness of life in a farming community. Still the only male in Traill County who made her heart beat faster. With a straight face, she said, “No big mystery. I stay for the night life.”

He snorted with laughter. “Are you talking about the tavern or the diner? I’m serious. Tell me.”

Of course, she couldn’t tell him the truth, though for a split second, that’s what she wanted to do. His laughter brought back so many memories. Cat resisted the crazy impulse and shrugged. “I meant to. Things happen.”

“I guess so, but you sure sounded like you wanted to leave as bad as I did. What happened to you?”

Cat wondered if she had the nerve to admit she only pretended a desire to leave Engerville because that’s what he wanted. Truly, he was the only person who could have convinced her to leave the home she loved, but that was years in the past. He no longer had that power. She was indifferent to him. Touching the jade necklace around her throat as if it were a charm, she felt her stomach contract with tension.

Five minutes alone with him and she ached to tell him. Hurriedly, she diverted his attention with the one bit of news certain to interest him. “Did you know Rebeka and her husband are looking for a summer home in Engerville?”

“Really?”

Cat expected more interest, or at least a smidgen of surprise, from him. “They have a winter home in Virginia,” she added. That last bit of information startled him. He hadn’t known he’d been living in the same state with Rebeka. Unwanted satisfaction warmed her. How far was Quantico from Richmond?

His expression revealing nothing, Jackson shrugged, his broad shoulders straining the fabric of his jacket. “Very convenient. Mild winters and a cool summer home. Most people can’t afford two homes.”

The truck drifted to the right a bit as she glanced at him. Cat corrected the truck’s path and decided she’d better keep her attention on the road, for more reasons than avoiding a traffic accident. “Burt and Rebeka can. Everybody knows how wealthy they are.”

“Does anybody care?”

His tone of voice said more than the words did. Cat hurried to fill the awkward space. “Without Burt’s money, our farm would have gone under six years ago.” She hadn’t intended to tell him, but his attitude irked her. Of course he cared that the girl he’d been crazy about in high school had ditched him for a rich man’s son, as Jackson had characterized him on that long-ago prom night. Cat liked Burt, though, and Jackson’s attitude couldn’t change her mind.

She might have liked Rebeka more, if the teen queen hadn’t claimed Jackson as her private property from elementary school all the way through high school. Until the last three months of their senior year, the two had appeared to be joined at the hip.

Jackson looked curious. “Did he loan your dad money or something?”

“Not exactly. He bought a very expensive colt from us. Burt sells horses, hunters mostly, in Virginia and he liked the looks of the colt well enough to pay a darn good price for it.”

“But your father inherited that property. How could he need money that bad?” He frowned, swiping his hand across his forehead where beads of sweat had formed. “Sorry, Cat. That’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t mind. The farm had a major mortgage on it when Aunt Johanna died, so it wasn’t free and clear when Dad inherited it. Then Gary Jansen needed help and Dad cosigned a note when his wife was in the hospital with cancer. After she died, Gary gave up. The bank took over his farm and he couldn’t pay us back.”

Jackson looked disapproving. “That’s too bad, Cat. Your dad shouldn’t have cosigned for him. Not if he had to put the farm up for security.”

His selfishness disturbed Cat. If this was the real Jackson, then she’d wasted a lot of years wanting him. Her tone more caustic than she intended it to be, she said, “It may not have been the practical thing to do, but my father wasn’t famous for practicality, you know.”

Jackson protested, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Just that he shouldn’t have risked the farm. I’ve helped friends before.”

An unbidden chuckle escaped from Cat. “I can imagine what a footloose, carefree guy like you considers ‘helping a friend.’ With a ten-spot for the bar?”

Jackson’s expression became stony. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

Bitterness that he’d have no way of understanding colored her answer. Bitterness and piled-up, long-buried resentment. “You’ve been gone a long time, Jackson. I don’t think of you at all.”

It had been her choice not to tell him, but the resentment didn’t disappear. Apparently, Jackson didn’t know how to answer her hostility. He stared out the window, watching an endless field of corn stalks slide past the truck. The sharp line of his jaw stood out against the sun-splashed window. No flicker of regret showed in his face.

Another mile to his father’s farm. Cat’s feelings, always inconsistent where this man was concerned, softened in sympathy. What had happened wasn’t his fault, or at the very least, it was as much her doing as his. Now, forced by circumstances beyond his control, he had to return to a lifestyle and a town he hated. Nine years hadn’t changed the way Jackson Gray felt about sugar beets, hogs, cows and Engerville, North Dakota.

Cat couldn’t be a part of making him stay. She couldn’t tell him, now or ever. The pain of not telling replaced the fear of telling. A chill settled in her chest, spreading icy hurt to every part of her body.

WHEN THE TRUCK ROLLED to a stop in his father’s front yard, Jackson hesitated before opening the door. Cat’s attitude puzzled him. He’d felt a rush of joy when he’d seen her across the street, like a missing part of him had suddenly been found.

He’d been stunned by the changes in her. Skinny teenager had morphed into a delightfully curved woman. Gawky adolescence left so far behind it was like looking at a different person. Different, yet the same. She still had the world’s most stubborn chin. She definitely had the same gemstone eyes, but the green was deeper now. The same wide mouth, though the lower lip had a pouty fullness that hadn’t been there in high school. Or if it had been, he didn’t remember it. Jackson was sure he’d have remembered.

Cat still wore the jade necklace her mother had given her before she left and she still clutched the necklace when emotion got the better of her. Cat had always hoped that her parent’s separation wasn’t final. It was too bad her mother’s accidental drowning years ago had destroyed any chance of reconciliation.

The jade beads, as green as her eyes, curved around her slender throat. The pendant, an uneven circle, lay in the vee of her shirt opening, though now her skin gleamed a darker shade against the soft denim. Her breasts made his hands itch. He reacted like a pimply teenager all over again. That part was exactly the same. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench seat.

The companionable catching up on hometown news and old friends hadn’t happened as he’d thought it would. Still, he and Rebeka, along with Roy Thoreson and Cat, had been closer than best friends, so whatever caused her glacial manner couldn’t be his doing.

“I’ll stop by in a few days,” he offered, just to be polite. “I’d like to talk to you and catch up on everything. I’ve missed all the people I knew.” He paused, then continued. “I never hated anybody here, just slopping the hogs, plowing the fields, planting ten million potatoes and picking corn worms.”

She nodded, her gaze focused on something he couldn’t see.

“Is that okay?” he prompted.

Jackson studied her as she took too long to reply. Her eyes flashed green fire. Her tawny complexion reflected hours in the sun. Her blue denim shirt, though faded and obviously old, set off her straight black hair as well as the finest silk might. The color of her hair had changed, too, he realized. It used to be inky black, falling down her back. Now it seemed a shade lighter, with more texture and fullness. She wore it in a single plait, with dusky strands falling loose around her face. Her lower lip, full and sexy, disappeared for a second beneath strong white teeth. Desire shook him.

“Of course it’s okay.” Cat glanced at him, her face reflecting nothing.

He struggled to remember what he’d asked. She’d taken so long over her answer that he’d lost his concentration. Why had she hesitated? “It’s been a while. I’m not butting in, am I?”

The provocative lips widened in a delicious, pensive smile, though her answer still sounded reluctant. “Not at all. I’ll show you RugRat.”

“RugRat?” He tried to shift his gaze and couldn’t. Had she always been this incredibly desirable? Was that why she haunted his dreams?

Enthusiasm brightened her mood. “He’s our three-year-old thoroughbred-quarterhorse cross. One of six we’re working with now, but Dad thought Ruggie could pay for the ranch all by himself. He’s a rogue, and I’m not having much luck reforming him. Even so, I think I can get a decent price for him from Burt. He’ll be worth more, if I can get him calmed a bit.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing your devil horse.” Hoping to see that grin again, he smiled to show he was kidding. She stared straight ahead. “Okay, then. I’ll be seeing you.”

Jackson watched her pull the truck out of the driveway and onto the gravel road. Why did Cat seem glad to see him one minute and angry the next? He waved, but she didn’t look back.

Behind him the house waited like a dark cloud ready to descend on him. He could put it off no longer. He swung around to face old memories.

The shabby farmhouse, two stories high, surrounded by weathered barns and outbuildings, hid behind a huge maple tree. The wild roses his mother had planted covered the back side of the barn.

The acrid smell of manure and wheatstraw rode the cool breeze. Off to the right, new corn plants broke through dark soil. The sugar beets would be in the far field this year. He pictured his father atop the green and yellow tractor, the muffled roar of its engine shattering the quiet. Though he dreaded seeing him, the remembered picture brought him a sense of security he hadn’t felt since he’d left Engerville. A cot in the barracks wasn’t much of a home, certainly not one that could replace this familiar farmhouse.

A broken rope dangled from the barn’s loft door. He and Cassidy had swung from it and then jumped to land in a pile of hay below. It could have been the same rope or another just like the one they’d used. Wooden rocking chairs and a porch swing with peeling white paint still sat on the front veranda where they’d gathered in the late evenings to listen to Pop playing his guitar and singing country songs.

It was still the place he’d escaped from. No matter how nostalgic he felt on seeing it again, the wide fields still marched in furrowed rows to the horizon, interrupted only by tall pine windbreaks. Faintly, he heard the high-pitched squeal of a hog coming from the distant barn. If he closed his eyes, he’d be able to smell the stink from here. He shuddered. There was nothing he hated more than pigs.

Jackson swung his gaze back to the house. Would he be welcome? Or would Pop stare at him coldly, wishing he’d stayed away as Jackson had vowed he would when he left his home that June morning. A moment of cowardice pierced him to the backbone. He thought about slinking away. Just heading to the road and loping back toward town. He might get a ride, after all, and it wasn’t so far, if he didn’t. Within a few hours he could be back on a Greyhound bus heading to Seattle, where the rest of his life awaited him with a new, exciting career.

The moment of indecision faded as he realized he couldn’t leave. His father needed him, whether the stubborn old man wanted to acknowledge that fact or not. Too late, anyway. The front door opened and Cassidy stuck her head out and shouted in delight.

“Jackson! You came! I knew you would. Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Then she launched herself off the porch straight into his arms.

Cassidy held on to him as if it had been centuries since they’d seen each other. It had only been a bit over a year. She’d invited him to Minneapolis to meet her new husband and to see his very new nephew. It had been a lot longer since he’d seen Pop. In nine years, he’d only come back once and that occasion had been his mother’s funeral. He’d arrived in town one day and left the next, hardly exchanging more than a cool hello with his grief-stricken father.

“So how’s the old man?” he asked, finally setting Cass down. Her short height had given him an unfair advantage with her from the start. Now she looked up at him, a happy smile lighting her whole face.

“He’s so much better, Jackson. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to come home, but, darn it, it’s way past time for you two to make up.”

He gave her a freezing stare, which didn’t seem to bother her at all. “I’m certainly glad he’s recovered, but if this is your idea of a joke, getting me to come home on false pretenses… I can damn well tell you I don’t find it a bit funny.”

Cass snorted. “Oh, cool it! I told you the exact truth. Pop is doing better, but he’s far from well. Very far. He’s out of danger and the doctor is happy with his progress, but the truth is, he’s still a long way from being back on his feet.”

“Then what the hell are you trying to tell me? Is he hurt bad or not? Dammit, I’d like a straight answer.”

“Don’t cuss at me, Jackson! I’m a mother, you know. Show a little respect!”

He laughed. Her bright red hair and defiant stance couldn’t enhance her five feet, four inches much. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pointed her toward the door. “Inside, Cass. And while you’re leading the way, spit out a few answers about how Pop is going to treat me when we get there.”

Twisting around, she glared back at him. “He’ll chew you up and spit out the pieces, Marine! For heaven’s sake, Jackson, what can he do to you? He’s practically chained to his bed.” She softened a tad. “He’ll be glad to see you. Don’t worry.”

Easy for her to say. He and Pop had almost come to blows the morning he’d left, the day after the senior prom. He tried not to think about the cruel, callow things he’d said to Pop. Tried not to remember Pop’s reasoned, soft-spoken advice and the way he hadn’t lost his temper at all until Jackson had yelled at him. Jackson tried not to think about anything as he followed Cass inside his boyhood home.

The rooms were cool and shadowed, a welcome change from the heat outside. Through the doorway into the kitchen, he saw an older woman, her back to him. Bertha Jean Gillis stood stiff and straight in a blue housedress and a large white apron, her Swedish blond hair plaited and wrapped in a coronet. She turned at their approach. An unusual sight to see the woman the whole town had nicknamed “Crabby” smiling at him, even if it was a brief wintry token of a smile not intended as a personal welcome.

“I’m glad to see you, young man, and not one second too soon, either.” Her faded gray eyes snapped with concern.

Before he could reply, she spoke again. “Will woke up a few minutes ago. Go on in and say hello.”

For a single moment, time stood still. The faded kitchen linoleum butted against the worn cranberry carpet he stood on. The hardwood floor in the hall needed waxing. Then, time restarted. Two doors down the short hallway, the stern, older man waited.

Jackson strode toward Pop’s room, trying to walk like a Marine, proud and confident, but feeling more like a little boy about to get his hiney tanned. He tapped on the open door. Tentatively, he spoke. “Hi, Pop.”

“Is that you, boy?” the reply came back. “You’ve grown a foot, seems like. Cass said you’d come, but I guess I didn’t believe it.”

Jackson’s heart jerked to his mouth. The worn-out old man lying in the bed his mother had died in looked as if he, too, were ready to cross over. Jackson tried to say something, but no words came out.

The old man spoke again, his voice stronger. “I’m not dead yet, so quit looking at me that way. That damn black bull Bertie sold me just beat up on me some, out of pure hell, I guess.”

“I’ve missed you, Pop,” Jackson said, and wondered why it had taken so long to get over his anger.

The appallingly weak voice pleaded, “Son, I’ve waited a long time. Are you going to come over here and hug your old man or not?”

Jackson stumbled toward the bed on weak legs, his heart beating so loud it sounded like the bass drum in a parade.

CHAPTER THREE

THAT NIGHT, Jackson donned a pair of pajama shorts and stretched out on the same bed he’d slept in as a boy. It must have shrunk, because his feet touched the tailboard. He turned off the bedside lamp and lay still for a few minutes, then restlessly sprang from the bed. At the window, he pushed aside the blue linen curtains. A few miles away, he could see the distant glow of lights from Catherine Darnell’s home.

In the wintertime, those lights cast a yellow cone against rolling drifts of snow. Now the night swallowed them, so they were just small reminders that this wasn’t the only farm in Traill County, that he wasn’t really alone, that if he climbed out the window and started walking toward the lights, at the end of his journey he’d see a well-remembered face.

He wouldn’t do that, of course. He couldn’t. Stopping by to see Cat, as he’d told her he would, simply wasn’t in the cards. Logic dictated that he stay away from her.

Cat Darnell hadn’t been very friendly, anyway. She must be married, though he’d noticed she didn’t wear a ring. Not to Roy Thoreson, or she would have said so when they talked about him. He’d have to find a way to ask Pop. Casually, of course.

He turned away from the window. No, hell, he couldn’t do that. He didn’t need the complications she would bring and as he remembered the pink fullness of her lower lip, he knew there’d be complications. He’d do what he came to do and then get the hell out of Engerville. Christmas and maybe a week in the summer, he could come back and see Pop. Jackson thought he wouldn’t mind coming back on visits that much, now that he and Pop had come to terms.

He lay on the bed again, thinking. Inevitably, his mind returned to that long-ago prom night. The memory came back to him as if it had happened yesterday. Cat in his arms, her face lit by a bright spring moon, the rose corsage she wore crushed beneath the lapels of his formal sport coat.

He groaned, his body stiff and hurting, not from the protracted bus trip, but because, on that long-ago night, Cat’s shy smile had soothed the hurt Rebeka caused. And Cat was the first girl he’d ever made love to.

CAT LOOKED IN ON Joey. Her daughter had fallen asleep almost immediately. She lay on her side, knees tucked up against her tummy like a small baby. Her hair all tangled and curled, swirled over the pillow and half covered her face. Cat wanted to go in and touch her, tuck the covers more securely around her, but Joey slept light. Cat blew a kiss toward her and pulled the door shut, taking care that its closing made no sound.

She turned on the TV, but tonight Jackson filled her mind. She ignored the flickering light and thought about prom night and Jackson leaving town the next day, how her father reacted when she told him she was pregnant, and being in the hospital all alone. Her father had refused to come with her. Shame, she knew, though an unmarried mother was no great novelty, even in Engerville.

She remembered her first drug-hazy look at the infant she’d brought into the world, her relief that the baby’s hair was as black as her own and her disappointment that it wasn’t the same beautiful red as Jackson’s. She remembered wondering if he would know, by some kind of mental empathy, that he had a child.

Restless, she went to the door, looked back at Joey’s room for a second, then stepped outside. A clear moon shone down. Aunt Johanna’s lilacs scented the night. Cat missed her aunt. She missed her father, too, but he’d been a strict parent, often reminding her that her wild mother had run away from husband and child. Only Aunt Johanna had bothered to show Cat that love motivated her discipline.

From the barn, a questioning whicker came from one of the horses. Probably Ruggie, she thought. The troublesome colt was always alert.

The bank wasn’t happy about waiting until September for their money. They might even foreclose, though Greg Lundstrom had said he’d see what he could do. Where would she go then? Maybe if the yearling colt her father bought a year ago hadn’t had the bad luck to step in a gopher hole and break his leg, they’d have a horse ready to sell now. One whose price would make the mortgage payment for a year and take this load of worry off her shoulders.

Dad’s funeral expenses ate up most of the remaining emergency money in his account. There hadn’t been much to begin with, since her father seldom planned ahead. After Aunt Johanna died, she’d taken on the job of balancing the farm’s books and worked out a budget, which her father followed only sporadically.

Jackson. He was home again, a bare couple of miles away, and how was she supposed to handle that? If she’d thought she was over her infatuation with him, one glimpse of the Marine had knocked that thought “hind end over tea kettle” as her father used to say. How come she’d never wanted anybody else, anyway? Why had her attention settled so securely on one skinny redheaded boy that nearly fifteen years after meeting him she still ached with unrequited love? Unrequited? That was like saying the sky was blue. Jackson didn’t care about anybody but himself.

He’d grown up spoiled by being the eldest child, the handsome boy, the star athlete. Only his kindness kept him from being labeled a royal jerk, instead of Engerville’s crown prince. A prince who ran away from the throne, not because he didn’t care for the soft seat, but just to see other kingdoms.

Cat crossed her arms in front of her white T-shirt. Why did she care about him? It couldn’t be just his looks. Even if a glimpse of his red hair did melt her legs so she could barely stand up. No, it was more than his physical looks, more than the stir of sensual longings.

It was the softness behind his tough exterior. The way he’d included her in his gang at school, so she’d never had one day of strangeness after she and her father moved to Engerville. It was that time she’d been caught shooting a rubber band at him in study hall and gotten detention. He’d immediately confessed his own involvement and shared the detention with her, grinning behind his notebook, winking lazily when the teacher turned her back, so what had been intended as punishment turned into a favorite memory.

Behind her Cat heard the door close. Whirling around, her musing interrupted, she saw Joey emerge from the house, her white pajamas easily visible in the moonlight. Her unplanned daughter.

“Mom? Where were you? I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Sorry, Teddy Bear. I came outside for a breath of fresh air. Why’d you wake up?”

Joey rubbed her eyes and yawned, her pink mouth sweet and small, even when stretched wide. “I don’t know. I think I had a bad dream.”

Cat reached out and tousled Joey’s dark hair, allowing her hand to slide down her daughter’s cheek in a soft caress. “Were you scared?”

“No-o-o, I don’t think so. It was just a funny dream.”

“Want to tell me about it?” Her daughter’s petulant shrug was Jackson. The winsome glance out the corner of her eyes to see what effect it had on her mother had been borrowed from an expert at capturing his audience’s interest.

“Nah…I don’t remember. Will you come in now? I want to go back to sleep, but I can’t sleep if you’re out here.”

The sweet pleading was her daughter’s own contribution, Cat thought. She smiled. “You’re still my baby girl, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a baby anymore, but I like it when you’re in the house with me.”

“That’s okay, sweetie. I like it when I know where you are, too.”

Joey’s head tilted sideways as she looked up. “Would you ever leave me, Mom?”

Cat was shocked. “No! Whatever caused you to think such a terrible thing? Did you dream that?”

Narrow shoulders shrugged again. “Not exactly, but kinda. Do you love me?” Her innocent voice begged reassurance.

“Teddy Bear, we belong together. I’m your mommy and you’re my darling girl. We’ll always be together. Except,” she paused dramatically, “when you run off to marry Tommy Karl.”

Joey giggled. “That won’t be for a long time. Tommy said we have to be sixteen. That’s almost forever.”

“Right, darling.” Cat tried to smile and found it an effort. The first eight years of Joey’s life had passed so fast. Would the next eight go as swiftly? And when her daughter did get old enough to fall in love and marry, would Cat be alone again? This time for the rest of her life?

VERY EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Cass came into Jackson’s bedroom and woke him from a tantalizing dream. It vanished from his memory the moment he opened his eyes and saw his sister’s elfin smile above him. “Early, isn’t it?” he mumbled, seeing no light at all behind the blinds he’d closed over the bedroom window.

She knelt beside his cot. “I’m getting an early start. I can’t wait to see the baby. And Sam. Now that you’re here, I feel okay about leaving Pop.”

Jackson grinned sleepily as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignored the clothes in his duffel and followed Cass into the living room. Grabbing her suitcase away from her, he threw his free arm around her shoulders. “Let’s fly, chickadee.”

“I’ll get the door for you, since you’re stretching those Marine muscles for me.”

A few minutes later, standing beside the car, her suitcase safely stowed in the trunk, Cass gave him a last tight hug. “Try not to argue with Pop, Jackson. Okay?”

“Who? Me?”

“Duh-h-h! Who else? Seriously, Jackson. Do it for me, will you? Agree with him.”

“On everything?”

“Would it hurt so much?”

“Okay, okay. I promise.”

“I love you, Jackson.”

“Me, too, runt.”

“You’re supposed to say you love me back.”

“I did.”

She sighed. “You’ll never change, will you? Think about it, Jackson. Think about loving somebody else more than you do yourself. Think about admitting it when you do. You might even find out you like it.”

She started the car and waved as she left, tossing a last phrase at him. “I’ll call.”

A swell of discontent washed over Jackson along with the dust Cass’s car kicked up in its wake. He wasn’t a selfish idiot thinking only of himself. His sister should know that. He still wasn’t sure from what direction Cat Darnell was coming. He could’ve sworn she’d been glad to see him at first, but then she’d turned colder than a winter blizzard. Who could understand women? He tightened his hands into fists as he launched his body toward the porch. He had too much to do to waste time wondering what either woman wanted to tell him.

EVERY NIGHT SINCE Jackson Gray had returned to town, Cat went to sleep remembering the solid feel of Jackson’s chest beneath her cheek. Every morning, she rose from bed a little quicker than usual, always glancing out the window toward Will Gray’s farm. Every day drove her depression a little deeper. Her hostility had forced him away. Her open anger kept him at a distance. She’d not seen him for years and now, when he was home, she’d made sure he wouldn’t come around.

She’d missed him every single day since he’d left Engerville, but if he came around now, he could discover the truth about Joey. She had to keep that from happening at any cost. If that meant not seeing the only man she’d ever loved, then so be it. Nothing mattered more than Joey and keeping the ranch for her.

Two weeks after she’d given Jackson a lift to his father’s farm, she stood watching Joey canter Moonshot, a strawberry roan filly, around the paddock. Wearing her daily uniform of jeans, T-shirt and riding helmet, she sat in the old English hunting saddle as if she’d been born in it, despite it being too large for her.

Joey brought the filly to an easy stop beside her mother. “Can I jump her, Mom? Just some little baby jumps? Please?”

Cat shook her head. “In a week or two, we’ll start her. Not yet. She’s a green girl, just like you. We don’t want to spoil her.”

“Oh, Mom, she’s so good. I know she’ll like jumping! Please?”

Cat frowned. Her daughter saw the look and knew she’d pushed too hard.

“Never mind. Next week will be okay, won’t it, Moonshot?” She rubbed the filly’s neck and gave her mother a sly look.

The filly snorted and tossed her head.

Cat laughed. “I caught that sneaky little try. Maybe next week, but not for certain. It depends.”

“Sure…sure. I know you’ll let us. You know, too, don’t you, girl?” Joey leaned forward and pulled a hank of hair straight, flipping it back over the filly’s neck so it lay on the same side with the rest of the coarse mane.

“I’d place a small bet that says you will, too,” a husky voice near Cat’s ear agreed.

Cat jumped, so startled she knocked her coffee cup off the rail. Moonshot shied as the cup rolled near her and sprang sideways in a series of hopping jumps.

“Oops,” Jackson said. “I’m sorry, kid! Hang on!”

Joey gripped tighter with her knees, while going easy on the reins, and gently brought her mount back to a standstill.

“Are you okay, Joey?” Cat asked.

“Yes, Mom. Moonshot didn’t mean it. She was just playing.”

Cat glanced at the man beside her, her gaze skipping away before he could know how hungry she was for the sight of him. He wore faded jeans and a white T-shirt that contrasted sharply with the sun-reddened skin on his upper arms. A tinge of pink darkened his cheeks above the sandpaper shadow of freshly scraped beard. His hair gleamed in the morning sun.

Her stomach tightened with fierce desire. Damn him, anyway, for sneaking up on her before she had a chance to get her defenses in order. She looked at Joey, not at him. “Where did you come from?” she asked. “I didn’t hear a car.”

He looked guilty. “I walked over from the farm. I had a sudden impulse to talk to somebody besides Buddy and Pop. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind?” She struggled to speak, to sound normal, to cover up her shakiness, despite the rapid beat of her heart and the watery lack of strength in her legs. “Oh, no. Of course not, but if you insist on sneaking up like that, get ready to catch me.” Cat placed one shaky hand on the second rail of the fence and hastily combed back stray strands of hair with the other.

Jackson’s lopsided grin showed no remorse. “Sorry. Next time I’ll sing out. Is that pretty little girl yours?”

Unprepared for this first reference to Joey, she said, “Y-yes. My daughter, Johanna. Everybody calls her Joey.”

“Hi, Joey!” Jackson said, pitching his greeting in the direction of the girl.

She waved, but didn’t reply, ducking her head in sudden shyness.

Cat watched Jackson with complete attention, determined not to miss the slightest nuance of expression. Would he know immediately? And God help her, how would she explain? Despite his cheerful greeting to her daughter, different emotions flashed across his face. What did he think of Joey, and how could he not know?

“Is your husband around? Introduce me. I’d like to meet the guy who tamed Wild Cat Darnell.”

Relief ran through her. He hadn’t guessed. Cat hesitated a moment before she realized only the truth would do. The truth up to a point. “Uh, no, I mean…that is, I’m not married.”

“Mmh. Well, um, that’s too bad, I mean, actually, I’m kinda glad.”

Cat’s awareness of his every emotion didn’t miss his sudden cheer. The relaxing of facial muscles, the unguarded upturn of lips told her he’d meant his words. Her own heart lightened. “Glad?”

He hesitated before answering. His broad palm rubbed the weathered rail. “Well, yes. I was hoping you’d take me around town and maybe look up some of our old crowd with me.” His grin straightened itself out as another thought occurred to him. “Unless you have a boyfriend or…significant other who might object…. Do you?”

Cat resolved to get a grip on her volatile emotions. His question meant nothing, though just for a moment she saw something else in his face. He wanted a tour guide, not a girlfriend. He’d never wanted her except that one, single time. She pretended amusement. Her cheek muscles twitched in a beginning smile. “I’m a rancher, Jackson. I’m way too busy for the dating game.”

He cajoled. “You must have somebody, but probably not any of the guys I knew.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I can’t think of a guy in our class who’d be dumb enough to let two such beautiful women out of his sight.”

Joey giggled and covered her mouth with one hand, the other still holding carefully to Moonshot’s reins.

Jackson intended his remark to provoke Joey’s shy giggle, not her own speculation, Cat thought. She shot a look of reproach at Joey, glad she had that diversion. “Walk your horse, Joey. Moonshot is too warm to let her stand around.”

“Yes, Mom,” Joey answered, suddenly contrite. She touched the filly with her heels and the young mare stepped away.

Cat’s gaze followed her daughter. Joey sat straight, her slender body in the correct riding position as if by instinct.

“She’s a good rider,” Jackson remarked.

“I was just thinking that.”

Jackson’s voice softened. “I know.”

Cat raised an eyebrow. “You knew what I was thinking?”

Jackson grinned. “Your pride is obvious, Cat. And warranted. She is a good rider.”

He stood too close to her. It made thinking difficult. She stooped down, retrieved her cracked coffee cup and looked at it ruefully before speaking. “Jackson, you know how to warm a mother’s heart, but this was my first cup of coffee and my caffeine addiction needs feeding. Would you like a cup?”

“Will she be okay?” He nodded toward Joey.

“Moonshot is the gentlest of our horses. She has a wonderfully sweet nature and is the one Joey loves best. They’ll be okay.” Why get a silly warm spot in her stomach just because he showed concern for Joey? Cat knew she teetered on the edge of disclosing her secret and it scared her. She called out to her daughter, “Joey, we’re going to get some coffee. Put Moonshot in the barn when you’re through walking her. Okay?”

Her little girl, in a sweet, clear voice, answered, “Sure, Mom. I’ll curry her before I put her away. Tommy Karl is coming over later, so I might not have time this afternoon.”

“Good idea, honey. See you later.”

“Who’s Tommy Karl?”

“You remember Luke Anderson, don’t you?”

“Rebeka’s older brother? Of course.”

Of course, he remembered. “His wife left their boy with him when she took off a couple of years ago. Tommy Karl is Joey’s best friend.”

Jackson nodded. “That’s a shame. It can’t be easy raising a kid alone. You’re in the same boat, aren’t you?”

For a second, Cat knew this would be the perfect moment to tell him. Again, she realized she couldn’t. Fear of his reaction kept her silent. Forcing a smile, she said, “Joey is a gift. Nothing tough about raising her! How’s Cass managing with her baby? I saw her in town a couple of weeks ago, but didn’t have a chance to talk to her.”

Jackson looked at her. He couldn’t possibly guess the truth about Joey, and the sun would rise in the west before she’d tell him and force him to stay when he wanted to go.

IN THE KITCHEN, Cat watched as Jackson sat at the table, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. When she filled his cup, she had to stand close to him. It was sheer torture to look down at his hair without reaching toward those soft, beginning curls. Desire caught her unaware. Desperately, she fought to keep her attraction from showing. She chose the chair at the far end of the table.

Jackson studied her, his blue eyes steady and true. Which he was not, she reminded herself.

“Roy’s a reporter. Rebeka is living in Virginia. Who else is still around?”

Me, Jackson. I’m still here. “Let’s see…Sally, Roy’s youngest sister, married Allen Grinager, the preacher. You wouldn’t know him, though. He came here after Pastor Skadeland died. Heather and Holly Halvorson married the Solberg boys, Sammy and Paul. Let me think a moment. Who else in our crowd are you curious about?”

“It seems the whole town married somebody. Are you the only one who didn’t?”

It took effort to prevent a surge of pink from reaching her cheeks. She even chuckled, though it didn’t sound much like amusement to her ears. “Oh, I had an offer or two, but somehow it just hasn’t happened.”

“The guys around here must be on the slow side. Don’t you want to get married?”

“Someday, I suppose. Not right now.” Jackson practiced his charm on whatever woman was handy. He meant no harm, but her heartbeat speeded up, despite her determination not to let him affect her. “Oh, I forgot to mention Shirley. She went to New York to be an actress. I heard she got a part in a real Broadway play.”

“Really? Shirley McGill in New York? Good for her. She loved acting and her singing was special, too.”

“I remember.” I didn’t forget anything about you, she wanted to say, surprised at the strength of her yearning. Jackson stared back at her as if he had no interest in Shirley McGill, as if the one he wanted sat across from him. Did she read too much into the glint in his eyes, the languid smile, the way his long fingers drummed on the kitchen table as if it took great effort to remain still?

Finally, she heard the screen door slam. Not a moment too soon, either. She needed a distraction to calm her long-denied emotions.

Joey came over to her and assumed a position just behind her left shoulder, one hand holding on to the chair her mother sat in. Cat smiled proudly at her. “Sit down, honey. I’ll get you a glass of milk.”

Joey cast a shy glance at Jackson. “That’s okay. I’m not thirsty.”

Cat flicked a quick glance at Joey. While her wide eyes betrayed nervousness, and not fear, it was obvious that she didn’t plan on straying far from her mother. Cat looked at Jackson. His open face showed a keen interest in her sprite. “Jackson is Cass Gray’s brother, Joey. You remember Cass, don’t you? She’s married now to a policeman and lives in Minneapolis.”

“Uh-huh. She’s got red hair, too.”

“The curse of the Grays,” Jackson quipped.

“I like red hair,” Joey responded. “I wish I had red hair.”

Jackson turned his charm on the child. “Your hair is beautiful, Joey. Almost the same color as Cat’s, but maybe a shade lighter.”

“It’s okay.” Joey edged closer to her mother.

Cat took a deep breath, her nose wrinkling. “It might be a good idea for you to take a shower, Joey. You smell like a horse.”

Joey giggled. “I know. I always do and you always say that.”

Jackson stood up. “I’ll be going, then. Pop will be wondering if I went AWOL. It’s been great talking to you, Cat.”

She had a sudden urge to keep him there, to say something that would prevent his leaving, but no words came. She nodded, a tightness in her throat stopping any statement she might have made.

“Nice to meet you, Joey. You’re a crackerjack rider.”

“Thank you,” Joey responded politely, then grinned at her mother. Though used to being told she was a good rider, hearing those words from a stranger excited her.

“I’ll see you again before I leave, Cat. Thanks for the coffee.”

Cat stood and walked with him to the door. A drum-beat of regret pounded at her. She wanted to hold him, to stop him, and at the same time, she wanted him to go quickly before he destroyed the small world she’d built without him.

He hesitated at the door, turned, leaned casually down and touched her cheek with his lips. “Bye, then.”

And he was gone. Again.

CHAPTER FOUR

JACKSON WROTE THREE LETTERS that night, including a note to Juan telling him about the ranch and a little about Cat Darnell. That surprised him, since he hadn’t planned on even thinking about her, or her midnight hair, or the leggy siren’s body that lied about having a child who must be…what? Six or seven years old. Where was the kid’s father?

Hadn’t Cat given him a thought after he left Engerville? Not that he’d expected her to carry a torch. After all, love hadn’t been involved in their one night of reckless teenage passion. Still…still, he remembered. Didn’t she?

It must have been the letter that caused him to dream about her. The dream began before sleep did.

The moon shining through the truck’s windshield made the night misty, brushing Cat’s face with dewy gold. She wasn’t beautiful, Jackson decided. Cat didn’t have Rebeka Anderson’s even-featured beauty. Rebeka was the girl he’d wanted to take to the prom, not Cat.

Her green eyes were mesmerizing. He wouldn’t mind kissing her, even if she wasn’t Rebeka. He surely wouldn’t mind one little bit.

He draped an awkward arm around her shoulders, then asked a clumsy, too-direct question. “You don’t have to be home right away, do you?”

Her clear gaze turned to him. “Not right away. Why?”

“I thought maybe we’d drive down to Needlepoint Rock.” He paused, suddenly diffident. The rumbling of the truck wheels on the gravel road nearly drowned out his words. “And count the stars…or something.” Okay, he’d said it. Nobody went to Needlepoint Rock to star-gaze. The Rock was a well-known make-out spot. If she said no, then he’d take her home and say good-night. If she said yes, maybe she wanted something to remember prom night by as much as he did.

The sound she made was a breathy soft whisper, as if she’d sucked in air too quickly. He almost missed her answer.

“There’s no reason why Rebeka and Roy should have all the fun.” She stroked back a long dark strand that had drifted away from the rest of her hair.

Sometimes, it seemed as if she used that thick hair to hide her face when she didn’t want people to know what she felt. He’d noticed that in school. He glanced sideways. She looked down so he couldn’t see her expression. “Goose River is pretty at night when the moon is full.”

Jackson let his fingertips dangle over her shoulder and very lightly brush the soft skin at the top of her dress.

Turning right at Elmer Anderson’s farm, Jackson drove down the arrow-straight dirt road to Needlepoint Rock near the band of pine trees along the riverbank. He tried to ignore how his fingertips were getting a little too familiar with Cat’s breasts. It was impossible to ignore the pebble-hard tip that rose to meet his exploring hand.

Her breath quickened as he parked the truck beneath the shadowed overhanging branches of a towering pine standing sentinel beside the rock.

“Jackson?”

“I won’t hurt you, Cat. Any time you want me to stop, just say so.”

“I’m not afraid, Jackson. Are you?”

“A little, I guess.”

Her answer was a silky-smooth arm wrapped around his neck, resting there for a moment, then tugging him closer. He heard her whisper words so soft he had to strain to hear her.

“I dare you.”

His nervous laugh sounded scared even to him, but he returned her embrace and let the heat claim him. He had her panties off inside of two minutes, afraid the whole time that she’d change her mind and half-afraid she wouldn’t.

Clean, crisp air with a springtime chill to it and the pungent scent of pine trees aroused from their winter’s sleep. The damp smell of Goose River swollen with spring rains and rushing between its banks with a noise like a faraway freight train. The heady perfume of Cat’s rose corsage. All became a permanent part of his memory.

He’d been so wrong. She was beautiful.

Three times that night he awoke and lay in the narrow bed remembering. Twice he got up and looked out his bedroom window toward the Darnell farm. It seemed incredible that he was back in Engerville. Impossible that he’d had the same dream nearly every night he’d been here. Unbelievable that he couldn’t figure out why. The third time he awoke, he knew the answer but, like fog fleeing before a sudden breeze, the answer was gone with his return to awareness.

JACKSON REMOVED THE CLAMP and tugged the fuel line loose. He peered into one end of the line. Pointing it toward the ground, he took his finger off the opening. A few drops of fuel trickled out, then nothing. “Must be junked up,” Jackson muttered under his breath.

“Have you checked the fuel filter?” Will Gray asked.

Jackson turned around. His father stood behind him, leaning heavily on a polished walnut cane. A twinge of concern zapped through him. His father shouldn’t even be out of the house, let alone limping around the farm. Jackson grunted his annoyance. Just try telling him that. The old man was stubborn to a fault. “Pop, go back to the house. You aren’t well enough to be running around this dirty old shed telling me how to fix the tractor.”

“I just asked if you checked the filter. What are you so grouchy about?”

Jackson modulated his growl. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Will nodded, looked all-knowing, and said, “I heard you tossing and turning half the night. Musta been those pork chops. I told you to stay with the beef stew Bertie fixed before she left.”

“Pop, never mind me. What are you doing out here? If you fell on this junk—” Jackson looked around the shed, gesturing toward the many pieces of old farm equipment that hung on the walls and spilled over to the floor, leaving only narrow aisles to navigate through “—you’d be hurt for sure. Probably get lockjaw.”

“Don’t you think I’ve had about all the bad luck one man is due? At least for this summer.” Will flung out his left arm in a gesture that included the whole farm.

“Yeah, yeah. Go back to the house, will you?” Jackson turned back to the engine, his mind already spinning past a dozen solutions for its reluctance to fire. This chore was one he enjoyed. No shovels involved, anyway.

“I have to start back to work sometime. I can’t sit around that house another day without going crazy.” Will limped to his other side and peered over his shoulder.

Jackson stared at his father and tried not to show the concern he felt every time he noticed how much weight his father had lost, how much gray blunted the copper in his hair and how hard his father sought to regain his strength. Pop ought to sell this damn back-breaking, pancake-flat piece of godforsaken prairie and try raising a little hell for a change, instead of sugar beets. Maybe he’d quit looking around every corner as if he expected Jackson’s mother to be there. Jackson gave a dry snort of annoyance. “Then why don’t you take the other tractor and plow the south forty, if you’re feeling so blasted good?”

“You sure are grouchy! When I was a kid like you, I could go a week without sleep and never show it.” The older man stepped back, more weight on his good leg than his bad, so he looked off-balance with the movement.

Jackson picked up a greasy rag and wiped his hands with it, swiped his shirt sleeve across his face, then turned to his father. They were inches apart. His father looked ready to flinch at harsh words. He was past that. In a quiet, even voice, he protested, “Pop, I’m not sixteen anymore. Look at me. I’m not a kid.”

His father, unshaken by his gritty announcement, replied softly, “Time sure flies, doesn’t it? I’ve got eyes in my head, son. You’re an inch taller than me, but I can’t help thinking of you as my boy. Wait ’til you have kids of your own, then you’ll know what I mean.”

Jackson sighed in resignation. “Okay, I’ll wait. Now, you go on back to the house like a good Pop, so I can figure out why this hunk of junk won’t run.”

Will leaned closer to the tractor, peering into the tangle of wires and hose. “Did you check the carburetor?”

Jackson straightened and took a deep breath. “I was just going to do that when you came in. Be a sport, Pop. If you fall in here, you could be hurt really bad.”

Faded blue eyes looked skeptical. “You’re honestly worried about me, not just irritated that I’m in here bugging you?”

Jackson gave up. He laughed and patted his father’s cheek. “Yes, Pop, I am honestly worried about you.”

Will nodded. He turned to go. “I’ll get out of your hair then.”

Being hurtful to his father was something he did as a teenager. Despite his exasperation at his father’s need to tell him how to do a job, he had no intention of walking that road again. Jackson touched his father’s shoulder. “Not out of my hair, Pop. Out of danger. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll fix you a place to sit over there by the door. The sun ought to feel good for a while, before it gets too hot, and if you’re over there, I won’t worry about you falling. We can talk while I’m working. Maybe you can help me figure out which part is screwy on this old heap.”

Will Gray nodded, his face brighter, a bare smile tilting his lips. His lean angular body straightened as he patted Jackson’s hand where it rested on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he agreed. “My knee is starting to hurt some.”

JACKSON HADN’T INTENDED walking over to Cat’s place that evening. Tired and irritable from the previous night’s lack of sleep, he wanted only his bed, but Bertie came over to keep Pop company. He didn’t have the patience to sit around the living room with them discussing how much he’d grown or how he seemed exactly the same as when he was sixteen, even though time had really flown.

He knew a mysterious force tugged him toward the Darnell farm, but thinking about why it existed made the skin on the back of his neck prickle with unease. He preferred to believe Bertie and Pop caused him to flee his home.

He kicked at the dusty road. Hell, it was a good two miles over to Cat’s. An early night was what he needed, not a half hour’s tramp along this graveled excuse for a road. Across a wide, untended field, he saw smoke drifting from the chimney of her house. An image of Cat’s straight, black hair whipping out behind her filled his mind. Her high cheekbones gave her green eyes a suggestion of mystery and hinted at a secret only she knew.

Damn. She was just the girl he left behind in a town too dull for words, too dry for spit and not worth remembering for all the sugar beets in Traill County. He absolutely knew that, but he left the road and struck off across the field.

Coming up on Little Dog Creek, he heard rustling sounds near a sparse grove of boxelder trees. He stopped. The sun had almost vanished beneath the flat horizon. There weren’t any bears or moose around here and not much else that might be dangerous. The light was still good and would be for another hour or so, but maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea, for a different reason than the anonymous rustling noise in the weeds.

He thought about turning back. Jackson came to a halt near a patch of thistles just waiting to glom onto his jeans. Hanging around Cat Darnell was plain foolish. If he didn’t watch out, he’d find himself caught in her silky, sable hair as surely as a fox in a steel-jawed trap. That old fox would sure as hell have to quit his roaming, if he got caught.

He’d always loved the crisp feel of striding into a place more exciting than the one he’d left behind. Cat was just a friend, after all, though one he’d made love to, a long time ago. He’d step around that trap. They could still be friends without him yielding to a hell-sent temptation to weave his fingers through the dusky strands of her midnight hair and kiss that soft, sweet spot near her cat-green eyes.

Jackson tramped resolutely forward. Thirty yards from the creek, a low coughing stopped him in his tracks. Then almost in his face, six deer leaped to their feet and bounded away, their white tails lifted like flags behind them.

The beautiful animals had startled him. He skirted their bedding area and jumped the creek at a spot where it narrowed to only a couple of feet wide. Resisting Cat’s considerable temptations would test his determination to leave Engerville, but there’d be no real contest. He’d already decided the ending.

CAT, EYEING HER BEAD BOX on the dining room table, resigned herself to washing the dishes first. Joey swept the kitchen in lazy, unambitious strokes of the straw broom, drawing out the task far past the time when she should have finished it. Her attention caught by something, Joey went over to the window. The broom lay forgotten on the floor as she gazed out. Suddenly, Joey’s back stiffened.

“Mom, that guy is outside.”

A beat of apprehension clutched Cat. Who would visit this late in the evening? Careful to keep her alarm from showing, she asked, “What guy, Joey?”

“The one with red hair. I forget.” She turned to glance at her mother, bright curiosity lighting her face. “What’s his name?”

The apprehension vanished with a suddenness that left Cat weak. “Jackson. It must be Jackson Gray.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I like him. Why’s he coming to see us?”

Jackson’s knock sounded at the back door.

Cat pushed back sweat-dampened strands of hair from her face and hurriedly dried her hands on her apron and tossed it on the counter near the sink. She’d like to have a little warning of his visits. Enough to greet him in something pretty, instead of one of her father’s old T-shirts and her own well-worn, faded jeans. She stroked the compact braid she kept her hair in. Neat, yes, and not pulled tight away from her face, but left loose, before it formed the thick rope dangling halfway down her back, tied with a length of red leather from her bead supplies. With her deep tan, it gave her an exotic look. She smiled wryly. Well, maybe just interesting, not really exotic. She glanced down at her body. She’d worked too hard over the years to put on extra weight. Her concern for Jackson’s opinion troubled her, but she had no time to examine what it meant. “Let him in, Teddy Bear.”

Joey hesitated, then darted toward the door. As if she didn’t know whether to be eager or afraid, Cat thought, in complete sympathy with her daughter.

The tall, red-haired man smiled unsurely at her. Despite his size and the inevitable intimidation caused by her guilty secret, his deference put her in charge and her nervousness vanished. Her property, her home…her daughter, she reminded herself. “Jackson, what a nice surprise. Come in.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind, Cat? I should have called, but all I could think of was escaping from the farm. I had an irresistible urge to get away from Pop and Bertie’s discussions of my wayward youth.”

“You weren’t so bad. Is that the real reason you came by?”

His mouth stretched into the delicious smile she loved. He looked suddenly shy. “Bertie came by to visit and I saw at dinner they were warming up my bones for a good chewing. You know how parents like to remind you of every stupid thing you ever did, before you grew up? Yeah, well, they were making notes, so they wouldn’t forget anything.”

A sympathetic giggle escaped from Cat. Joey, half hidden behind the door, peeped out at the two of them and Cat sobered. “Honestly, Jackson, the way you talk, you’d think you were abused as a child!”

“What do you call shoveling sh—manure all day long?”

Cat glanced at Joey again, silently warning Jackson to watch his language, but her own mirth bubbled over. “Not all day?”

“It seemed like it. Never mind. I see you’re still in the bead business. Were you planning on making jewelry this evening? I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You’re not. You’re welcome anytime. The beads can wait.” She brushed off his question with a casual wave at the plastic box packed with beading materials. A moment ago, she’d been eager to get through her chores and let the bright beads fall through her fingers as she chose the perfect size and color for a new necklace. Now, with Jackson here, she pushed them aside as if they meant nothing.

Jackson grinned. “Pop and I have about as much in common as the Army and the Navy. I haven’t decided who’s going to win the battle and it will be weeks yet, before I can leave. Coming over here to talk to you might keep me sane.”

It hurt to know how badly he wanted to go, but she should have been prepared for his eagerness to leave. “Is farm work getting you down that much?”

His face settled into a disgruntled frown. “I’m not a farmer, Cat. My plants don’t grow, my hens don’t lay, my pigs don’t get fat. Even my tractor doesn’t run. I’m not cut out for this stuff. Pop knows it. He’s walking pretty good now and he follows me around worse than Blue does, always trying to tell me how to do it better.”

A wave of sympathy enveloped her. How terrible to have to do what you hated most in life. No wonder his eyes looked shadowed as if he hadn’t slept well for weeks. “Let me get you a glass of iced tea and we’ll go sit on the front porch. Joey, would you get a cloth to wipe the chairs? With the wind blowing all day, those chairs will have an inch of dust on them.”

“You’re a good friend, Cat. Hey, Joey, remind me to tell you about the deer I saw on my way over this evening.”

Joey snagged a dish cloth from the sink and paused at the refrigerator. “Cool! Were there any babies?”

“One, I think. They were moving so fast, I didn’t see much.”

Joey nodded, then opened the refrigerator and asked, without turning around, “Mom, can I have a can of Coke?”

“Make it milk, Joey. You know I don’t like you to drink pop this close to bedtime.”

“Aw, Mom! I had milk at dinner. How about Sprite?”

“Well, there’s no caffeine in it. Just this once, then,” she warned. “It’s not going to become a habit, young lady.”

“Sure, sure.” Joey came from behind the refrigerator door, soda in hand, a broad smile dimpling her cheeks, and sauntered toward the living room.

Jackson whispered, his voice low so Joey couldn’t hear him. “Sounds like she has you pegged as a soft touch.”

Cat grunted, then the beginnings of a frown shaped her mouth. “She might think so, but never for long.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up in a mocking question. “Are you sure you don’t beat her?”

Cat twisted away from the casual smile that gripped her like a pair of handcuffs. She reached for glasses from the cabinet and then looked over her shoulder at Jackson. The moment became suddenly tense and still. The rest of the world disappeared. Heat enveloped her in one shattering, electric instant. Hastily, she turned back to the cabinet shelf and pretended great interest in the array of mismatched glasses. “Never on Thursdays! Joey’s perfectly safe one day a week.”

“Yeah, right.”

Cat put the glasses on the table. Carefully.

His devilish smile broke out full force as he moved closer. His voice got lower. “If you knew what I dreamed last night…”

“What?” She straightened and faced him.

The smile faded and his cheeks took on a characteristic ruddy blush. “Oh, I couldn’t tell.”

The blush, against cheeks stubbled with the day’s beard growth, intrigued her. She fumbled ice cubes into the glasses and poured tea over them. She forced a lightness she didn’t feel into her voice. “Why not? You have my full attention now!”

“As Cassidy said, you have to have a little respect for mothers. I don’t want to embarrass you.” Jackson ducked as Cat tossed a towel in his direction.

She grimaced. “I don’t think you can embarrass mothers.”

“Been through too much?”

“You might say that.” Memories surged over her. The fear, the embarrassment, the long months of wishing she wasn’t alone. Loneliness bothered her most. Being alone, when she ached to have this man beside her.

Jackson’s voice came low and soft and edged with anger. “Who was he? Who was the jerk who left you in the lurch?”

Cat went pale. How could she tell him what he’d left behind? This man hated being in any place long enough to watch a crop mature, never mind the time it took to raise a child. She took refuge in annoyance, spitting back her reply. “That, Marine, is none of your business! Come on, you have your iced tea. Let’s join Joey on the front porch.”

Jackson came closer to her, his bulk overshadowing her own slender frame. “Wild Cat, you know I’m not just curious, don’t you? It isn’t like that with me.”

Jackson’s voice came as soft as a whisper, enticing her to confide. For his sake, and her own, she had to keep her secret. “Joey’s waiting,” she replied, her voice quiet and cold.

After that, she kept the conversation away from the personal. She was also careful to keep Joey by her side. With her child listening intently to his every word, Jackson couldn’t pursue his interest.

At nine-thirty, he stood up. “Time to go home. There’s always another stall needing to be shoveled at Gray’s Way.”

She relaxed. The danger of her secret being spilled no longer threatened. “And I’ll bet you do a heck of a good job, too.”

“I can shovel, uh, manure with the best of them. Ladies, I bid you a good night.”

Joey giggled.

Jackson swooped on her and held her high over his head. She shrieked in delight. “And you, my fair princess,” he said, “you have to go to bed, too. How about a good-night kiss for Uncle Jackson?”

Joey shook her head in denial. “You’re not my uncle!”

“No,” Jackson teased, “I’m not. I’m your handsome prince come to carry you away from the dragon lady over there. Would you like that?”

“Mommy’s not a dragon!” Joey screamed, wiggling with glee.

“No! Did I say she was a dragon? No, no! I meant she was a dragonfly!” Jackson proceeded to tickle Joey so industriously that she hardly breathed as the giggles pealed out of her.

Cat watched them together. Why hadn’t he guessed? Except for the hair color, they were so alike. Both full of scheming mischievousness. Both of them so dear to her. For a second, Cat wondered what it would be like if this scene was the norm. If every night Jackson picked his daughter up and hugged her, tickled her and kissed her, tucked her into bed and then turned that charming smile on her, what dreams could they weave together?

At that moment, he put Joey down and turned to her and Cat wondered if he’d guessed her thoughts.

“I don’t suppose you’ll give me a good-night kiss either, huh?”

Oh, she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it. Just this once, she thought. Just this once! “You haven’t asked yet.”

“I usually take.” He came over to her and touched her cheek gently, his action belying his words.

Cat tipped her head up to look into his eyes. The brilliant blue dazzled her, framed as they were in rich, dark lashes. She got lost in their depths.

Jackson leaned down and touched his lips briefly to hers, then stepped back hurriedly, as if her touch burned him. He turned to Joey and said teasingly, “See, Joey, even your mother can be nice when she tries.”

Joey giggled, but retreated toward the door, as if afraid Jackson would try to kiss her, too. He didn’t. He waved over his shoulder as he jumped off the edge of the porch, not bothering with the steps only a few feet away.

“I’ll see you ladies in a day or two. Good night.” He loped toward the road, then broke into a sprint.

Running, Cat thought. Running away. Joey came over to stand next to her and the two of them watched as Jackson disappeared into gathering night.

CHAPTER FIVE

WILL PEERED OUT the kitchen window as his tall son left the gravel road and started walking across the field toward Catherine Darnell’s place. He shook his head and went over to the coffeepot and filled two cups, then carried them back into the living room with the awkward limping gait the knee injury forced on him.

He handed one to Bertie and sat down next to her on the sofa. But not too close. Carefully easing his injured leg onto the patchwork ottoman, he shook his head again. “Looks like Jackson is going over to see Catherine.”

“I wondered when he might. Jackson’s been working so hard he hasn’t had time to visit his old friends.”

“He’s a good boy, mostly.”

“Now, Will Gray, why can’t you say one nice thing about your son without watering it down?”

“I love him right enough. It’s just that he worries me no end. I’m afraid he’s fixing to mess up his life.”

“I can’t see how visiting an old school friend could do that.” She lifted her coffee cup and eyed Will over the steaming brew.

Will looked back at her and for a moment forgot what he’d intended to answer. He set his coffee cup down on the end table. It gave him time to think. Then he turned back to her. “Don’t you?”

“Catherine Darnell is the finest woman in Engerville. There’s any number of things she could have done after she had her girl, but what she did was settle down and raise her the right way. I admire that. A woman isn’t a mother because she has a baby. She’s a mother when she takes care of it. Same thing I’ve always said about men.”

“I agree. One hundred percent.”

“Then why are you worried about him seeing Catherine?”

“Just seeing her won’t hurt anything, I guess.”

“Well, then?”

“I don’t have to ask you not to repeat this. I know you won’t. I’ve always wondered if that little girl is my granddaughter.”

“Wasn’t Jackson going with Rebeka back then?”

“He took Catherine to the prom. Both of them busted up with their steadies about two weeks before the prom. The opportunity was there, but I can’t see Jackson not owning up to it. If Joey was his, he would take care of her, at least. I raised him not to lie, cheat or steal, and if he’s guilty here, then he’s done all three.”

“‘If’ is a big word. Opportunity doesn’t mean he’s the culprit.”

A sudden rush of emotion choked Will. He took another sip of coffee and the hot liquid helped him speak. “Believe it or not, but I’d give anything if that child was my granddaughter. I fell in love with her when she was a baby and first started going to church with me and Helen. She’s the cutest little thing and she reminds me of Helen in some ways.”

Bertie smiled, reached over and patted Will’s hand. “You still miss her, don’t you?”

Will nodded.

JACKSON HEARD VOICES as he approached Gray’s Way. Stepping off the road, he moved to the shadows underneath a tall tree. Will stood in the yard, his walnut cane beneath his hand as he said good-night to Bertie Gillis.

“Awfully good of you to come by again,” he said.

Despite the heat of the day, the night air chilled bare arms. Bertie tugged her shawl closer about her shoulders, and tilted her blond head toward the older man. “I please myself, you know. I bear some of the responsibility for your injuries, and besides, if I didn’t enjoy cooking for you and Jackson, I certainly wouldn’t do it.”

“You bear no blame for giving me the chance to buy a young bull at a good price. I should have been more careful. I appreciate your coming by, though. More than the cooking, even, is the talk.”

“Now that is one thing I know how to do.”

Will laughed.

Bertie smiled and looked toward the tree that sheltered Jackson.

Jackson knew she couldn’t see him. The night obscured his presence too well, so why did uneasiness crawl up his spine as if he leaned against an ant’s nest, instead of a sturdy maple tree?

Bertie turned back to face Will. “Well, I’d better be leaving. Tomorrow’s my sewing circle night, but I’ll come by the day after. If you’d like?”

“I haven’t enjoyed such wonderful cooking since Helen died. Not to mention the company. With Cassidy gone and Jackson just here for a little while, I get lonely.”

Bertie nodded shortly and turned away from her companion. “Well, then. ’Bye, Will.”

From behind the tree, Jackson watched and listened. There was no mistaking the hungry look on his father’s face. His stomach went hollow, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. His father and Bertie? Surely not.

Jackson watched his father hold the car door for Bertie, then stand there alone, frowning as he watched the taillights until they curved around a bend in the road and vanished. He turned to go back into the house.

Pine needles rustled under Jackson’s feet. The sound from the shadows startled his father.

“Who’s there?”

Jackson winced. Pop’s hearing was as good as ever. “Just me, Pop.”

“Jackson?”

“Yes. It’s me.”

“Why are you lurking in the dark? Trying to scare a man to death?”

“Aw, Pop, I was just giving you a chance to kiss your girlfriend good-night.”

Pop’s voice rose. “Mind your manners, boy! I can still tan your hide.”

“So what’s wrong with a good-night kiss?”

Will looked sharply at him. “How long were you standing there?”

Jackson countered his look with a long, cool stare of his own. “Long enough.”

“You still planning on leaving?”

“After you’re better.”

“If that’s the case, then maybe you ought to stay away from the Darnell place.”

Jackson knew what Pop hinted at. He couldn’t admit it to his father. “Cat’s a friend, that’s all.”

His father snapped, “Then act like a friend and stay away from her. She’s already been hurt once.”

Jackson stiffened. “Don’t you think I’m a little old to be giving orders to?”

“It’s not orders, son. It’s advice. Do Cat a favor and take it.”

Will climbed the porch steps slowly. He paused on the third riser and looked down at Jackson, his angular features hard. “She’s been hurt before. I don’t want my blood to be a part of hurting her again.”

Jackson’s quick temper edged his voice with anger. “Maybe you should practice what you preach, old man!”

“Who’re you calling an old man? I’ve got half a mind to see if a little North Dakota dust on your backside would teach you some manners!”

For a long moment Jackson stared up at his father coldly. He didn’t look fragile, and the hard set to his jaw announced his feelings in no uncertain tones, but his hand clutched the walnut cane. Jackson shook his head as if to clear it, and shot a weak smile in Pop’s direction. “If you think it might, I’d be willing to roll around a bit and see how much dust I can gather.”

His father’s keen gaze relaxed and a thin smile tipped his lips. He nodded. “You probably would. Forget it. What did you mean by telling me to practice what I preach?”

“It doesn’t take a farmer to see you and Bertie are two peas in the same pod.”

“Nonsense! She’s being a good neighbor.” He turned, climbed the last step and limped across the porch to the door.

Jackson called out to the stiff back, “Well, you try kissing her good-night next time she’s over and see how neighborly she gets!”

His father looked back, indignation pulling down his rusty brows and making his face go all angles and planes. “You think because you’ve been away in the Marines you can come home and try to tell your old man the facts of life? I’ve known Bertie since the day she was born.”

“I suppose you’d remember?”

“Sweetest woman in the county, despite the village idiots who named her ‘Crabby,’ and one of the nicest, too.” He paused. “I was almost ten years old. Of course, I remember. Now you get yourself in bed, and leave me to tend my own chickens. You’ll need to be up by four-thirty to meet the Greyhound bus carrying the new fuel pump for that tractor you broke this morning.”

“I broke? You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

“Not more than a smidgen. Come on, now. Let’s go in.”

“Might as well. You’re as good at changing the subject as anyone I’ve ever met. If a guy is going to get a stepmother, then I think he ought to be told about it.”

His father’s anger faded as he stared over Jackson’s head into the shadowed farmyard. A vagrant breeze stirred the leaves of the trees, so they rustled softly. “It’s not been four years since your mother died. Even if I wanted to, and Bertie was willing, it wouldn’t seem right.”

Jackson quit his teasing. It wasn’t funny anymore. He offered a token of peace. “I wouldn’t mind. Cassidy would be okay with it, too.”

“Go to bed, boy, and quit trying to marry off your father.”

Jackson laughed and climbed the steps two at a time. Before he went inside, he looked toward Cat’s place. He couldn’t see any lights. She might have gone to bed. The instant image the thought provoked made him uneasy. He had no business picturing Cat in bed and himself beside her. Maybe the danger was real.

“OH, MOMMY! They’re beautiful!”

“Pick one to keep, Joey. You worked as hard as I did.”

Joey pondered the gleaming necklaces they had made after Jackson left. Outside, the wind rose and Cat heard it keening against the pine siding of the house. The weather always seemed just on the verge of breaking in.

Joey’s small hand hovered over the neatly laid rows of rhodinium, crystal, jade and jasper. She reached for a necklace of fire-cut crystal as boldly red as rubies, yet its value only a few dollars. Picking it up, she held it to her neck and bent forward to use the table mirror to check its effect, her shoulder-length hair swinging forward as she did so. Then she laid it back down.

“Pick one, Teddy Bear.”

Joey took the crystal necklace and slipped it over her head. It lay in a blaze of red against her yellow T-shirt.

“Not exactly a match,” Cat said.

“What’s a match?” Joey asked.

“When things go together. You know, like bees and flowers, like you and your best buddy, Tommy Karl.” Like me and a certain redhead.

“Like me and you. Right, Mom?”

“Yes, honey, like you and me.” Cat hugged Joey and kissed her cheek. Joey smelled like the strawberry ice cream she’d had for dessert and something else. Cat sniffed again. Horse. The faint odor of horse clung to her daughter despite her shower before dinner and the fresh jeans and T-shirt. Cat laughed. “Exactly like you and me.” She rubbed her cheek against Joey’s hair. In full sun, her daughter’s walnut hair would show a bit of auburn. A tiny bit, but enough to remind Cat of fire.

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