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The Rancher And The City Girl
Kathy Douglass


From sworn enemies to soul mates? Wall Street hotshot Camille Parker is the last person rancher Jericho Jones expects to find on his doorstep. Ever since his late wife's best friend interfered in his marriage, she's persona non-grata in Jericho's book. But the situation is literally life-and-death for Camille and he opens his home to her.Camille has no choice but to seek help from her worst enemy. And as she lets her guard down in close quarters, unexpected feelings surge for him. But what will happen if Camille's life goes back to normal and the city girl no longer needs to shelter in the rugged rancher's arms?







From sworn enemies to soul mates?

Wall Street hotshot Camille Parker is the last person rancher Jericho Jones expects to find on his doorstep. Ever since his late wife’s best friend interfered in his marriage, she’s persona non grata in Jericho’s book. But the situation is literally life-and-death for this damsel in distress, and he opens his home to her. The problem is, he opens his heart, too.

Camille has no choice but to seek help from her worst enemy. And as she lets her guard down in close quarters, unexpected feelings surge for him. But what will happen if Camille’s life goes back to normal and the city girl no longer needs to shelter in the reticent rancher’s arms?


He wanted Camille to have that dress.

The thought surprised him. Why did he care?

But he’d seen the pleasure in her eyes as she’d looked at her reflection. The yearning. Her life was a wreck right now. She deserved something that would make her smile.

“I’ll take it. Don’t tell Camille. I want it to be a surprise,” he told the saleswoman, credit card in hand. After she rang it up and placed it in a bag, he went out and hid it behind the seat in his truck, smiling when he thought of how happy Camille would be with his gift.

When Jericho returned to the shop, he saw Camille and his jaw dropped. She looked like every man’s dream in a fitted blue-green top and a pair of matching shorts that hit her midthigh, showcasing her toned legs. She’d exchanged her pumps for green flat sandals. Even without a speck of makeup, she was drop-dead gorgeous. And she was more relaxed than she’d been since she arrived.

His heart, which he’d believed had died a year ago, jumped as if being recharged like a dead battery.

“I’m ready.”

* * *

Sweet Briar Sweethearts: There’s something about Sweet Briar...


The Rancher and the City Girl

Kathy Douglass






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


KATHY DOUGLASS came by her love of reading naturally—both of her parents were readers. She would finish one book and pick up another. Then she attended law school and traded romances for legal opinions.

After the birth of her two children, her love of reading turned into a love of writing. Kathy now spends her days writing the small-town contemporary novels she enjoys reading.


This book is dedicated with love to my husband

and sons. Thanks for filling my life with love and joy.


Contents

Cover (#u1c67c64a-1491-5f99-a69a-a78cf6c29c0e)

Back Cover Text (#u7e2dcbf9-8896-5d4a-aaa5-8f7b8b6132a2)

Introduction (#ub0a279c2-950b-5535-b7d3-4c97cfc35a32)

Title Page (#u75c29bcc-bb60-5d82-95cb-8f36661db2ff)

About the Author (#u9cbcc5dc-5c42-5ffa-a8b3-812b7d6992c3)

Dedication (#u2aad9614-9d8e-5026-bf13-e77338395fa6)

Chapter One (#u899f71db-04a6-5020-861d-1867f9bf9b61)

Chapter Two (#u10528c9f-016f-58e6-be5e-b36e90f528b7)

Chapter Three (#ufb9f7e78-3841-5d55-ab00-11f93cbf5d74)

Chapter Four (#u6b0d489c-accb-5e9b-ace1-5745399c144b)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ubf0dd9b0-ddec-5b4d-831d-6f448f858de7)

Go somewhere no one will look for you. The words of warning echoed through Camille Parker’s head as she sped down the rapidly darkening country road. It curved suddenly, and she almost lost control of the car. Cursing under her breath, she eased up on the accelerator and jerked the wheel, steering back onto the asphalt. They wouldn’t have to kill her if she did it herself.

Slowing, she began looking for a mailbox. She had to be close by now. Finally she spotted a driveway flanked by two large trees. She stopped next to the mailbox, hoping to find a name and not just the street number. Luckily, she made out “Jericho and Jeanette Jones” in red letters on the metal box. Despite her anxiety, her heart squeezed at the sight of her former friend’s name. How she had missed Jeanette. She always would.

Camille knew no one had followed her from New York, yet she still checked her rearview mirror. Convinced that she was alone on the isolated lane, she turned into the long, winding crushed-rock driveway, driving as fast as she dared. She didn’t want to lose control of the car again when she was this close to safety.

And what if Jericho didn’t let her in? He hated her. And she hated him. She’d never used the term “sworn enemies” before, but it described their relationship more accurately than other words could.

Not only had he convinced Jeanette to break off her engagement to Camille’s brother and marry him instead, he’d brought Jeanette out here to the middle of nowhere and let her die. Camille’s eyes filled with tears as she recalled finding out about Jeanette’s death in the obituary section of their high school’s alumni newsletter. Just one more reason to hate Jericho.

The two-story house appeared around a bend, and she slowed the car, stopping as close to the building as possible. She opened the door and heaved a heavy sigh. Her heart beat hard against the walls of her chest as doubt once more assaulted her.

What if he didn’t take her in?

She shoved aside that worry and tried again to silence the fear that had gripped her since she’d overheard her boss, Donald Wilcox, instructing someone to get rid of her and make it look like an accident. When she’d reached out in a panic to Rafael Delgado, her contact with the FBI, she discovered he was comatose after being in a car accident. That was when she’d run. At this point, she didn’t know whom she could trust. That’s why she needed to disappear for a while.

She couldn’t go to her parents or her brother in Chicago. No doubt that would be the first place the killers would look. And they could easily discover the identities of the friends she’d made in New York, many of whom worked at the Wall Street firm with her, and those she’d left behind in Chicago. So their homes were off-limits, as well. She wouldn’t put her family or friends at risk by seeking refuge with them. She had to go somewhere no one knew about or would ever think to look for her.

The Double J Ranch was just such a place. She and Jericho hadn’t spoken civil words to each other in more than five years. More important, she hadn’t spoken about him to anyone at the financial firm where she worked. No one in the New York banking circles would ever connect her to a horse rancher in North Carolina. The nearest town, Sweet Briar, was located almost an hour away on the ocean, so the ranch had the added bonus of being isolated. She’d be safe here. If he’d let her stay.

Her stomach seized as she considered the possibility that he might slam the door in her face. She couldn’t let that happen. He was her last—no, her only—hope.

She couldn’t risk using her credit cards or accessing her bank accounts once she’d left New York because even she knew she could be found that way. She’d been so rattled she hadn’t given a thought to stopping at an ATM until she was well on her way to North Carolina. Then it was too late. After paying cash for her hotel room last night, she had only the $300 she always kept in her purse. Who would have thought she’d need to use her emergency funds in an actual emergency and not one that involved shopping? And who knew how long she would need to make this money last?

Grabbing her purse, she jumped from the car, then raced up the short flight of stairs. She rang the doorbell several times, and a dog began barking. She heard scratching against the door as the barking grew louder and then stopped. She waited but heard no other sound. The urge to pound on the door nearly overcame her, but she pressed the doorbell for several long seconds instead. The barking started up again, but that’s all she heard.

She didn’t know anything about ranching. Would Jericho be in the house now, or out in the barn? Was the barn near the house? And what if he wasn’t here at all?

She hadn’t called to let him know she was coming. She couldn’t. She didn’t know his phone number. Not only that, she’d smashed and then discarded her cell phone, scattering the pieces along several New York streets so she couldn’t be traced. That might have been overkill, but she’d rather be safe than sorry. She’d never had people trying to kill her before, so the only thing she knew to do was what she’d seen in movies.

She raised a fist to pound on the door, but it was suddenly wrenched open. She lost her balance and fell against the man inside. He steadied her but not before she got a whiff of his masculine scent. Despite the terror that had been nipping at her heels for a day and a half, some tiny part of her was aware of just how good he smelled. The scent of pine and leather mixed in with a hint of soap clung to his skin. More than that, he smelled of safety and security. Like home.

He set her away from him none too gently, and she banished the ridiculous thought from her mind before it could take root. Telling herself to buck up, she raised her head and looked into deep brown eyes. Shock flashed in them briefly before being replaced by anger and hatred, finally landing on ice.

“What are you doing here?”

Jericho’s deep voice was even colder than his eyes. No surprise there.

“I said, why are you here?” His hard voice cut through her musings, bringing her fear to the fore.

“I need somewhere to stay.”

He leaned in closer, and she realized that although her lips had moved, her voice had been a mere squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I need somewhere to stay.”

His eyes narrowed and he backed away. She wasn’t sure whether he was inviting her in or planning to close the door in her face. Moving quickly, she stepped inside. A black Lab sat on its haunches several feet away, its tail thumping against the floor.

“Why?” He shook his head. “Never mind why. I don’t care. I’m just surprised you believe you’re going to stay here with me. As I recall you think this ranch is a worn-down piece of dirt in the middle of nowhere. And I’m just a farmer looking to hook up with a rich woman to support me. Those are your words, aren’t they?”

Camille cringed but didn’t look away from the fury in his eyes. She’d said those very words five years ago when Jeanette had confided she was ending her engagement to Camille’s brother and running off to Las Vegas with Jericho. Amazingly, he had quoted her verbatim.

He stepped around her and grabbed the doorknob. Unless she spoke fast and explained her predicament, she’d be on the other side of that door with nowhere to go before another minute passed. Three hundred dollars wouldn’t last long.

She put a hand on his arm. He had to listen to her. A hot jolt of electricity shot through her, and she yanked her hand away before her fingers were singed. What in the world was that? “Please. You have to let me stay here.” She heard the rising hysteria in her voice and clamped down on it. She’d never convince him if she lost her head.

“I don’t have to do anything.”

His hand twisted the knob.

“Please, Jericho. Don’t send me away. You’re the only person I can turn to. People are trying to kill me. If they find me, I’m dead.”

* * *

Someone was trying to kill her? Right. Surely she could do better than that. After all, this was the same woman who’d bribed her way into his Chicago hotel room barely an hour before he was set to fly to Las Vegas and marry Jeanette. He’d never forget how he’d emerged from the shower to find Camille sprawled across his bed wearing a sexy little nothing. He didn’t know what game she’d been playing, but he hadn’t been interested. He’d never told Jeanette what Camille had done. He couldn’t hurt Jeanette that way. She’d gone to her grave naively believing Camille Parker was worthy of her friendship. He knew better.

“Nice try, Camille. But I’m not buying it. Go play your games with someone else.”

“It’s not a game,” she screeched, wild-eyed. “If you make me leave, they’ll kill me.”

Jericho released the knob and took a closer look at the woman in front of him. The haughty expression she’d worn like other women wore a favorite lipstick was missing. Now, rather than curling her lips in disdain, she mercilessly nibbled away at them.

Not caring that it was rude, he let his eyes travel over her body. Tall and thin, she was cover-girl beautiful. The few times he’d seen her, she’d been perfectly coifed and her clothes impeccable. Now her shoulder-length hair looked a mess. The curls were tangled as if she had run her fingers through them over and over. The scarf that had held her locks away from her face was edging toward the back of her head. Her clothes were wrinkled, as if she’d slept in them. There was a frantic expression on her face, and she looked about ready to jump out of her skin.

Could someone really be trying to kill her? And if that was true, what did it have to do with him? “What’s going on?”

Camille jumped, and he realized he’d yelled his question. Her chest rose and fell as she inhaled deeply. She lifted a shaky hand and ran it through her hair, then adjusted her scarf. The smile she gave him was so forced he wondered why she bothered. “It’s a long story.”

“Just cut to the chase. I don’t have time to waste with meaningless details. And if the situation is as dire as you claim, you don’t either.”

“Right.” She compressed her lips, then looked him dead in the eyes. “I told you. Someone is trying to kill me.”

“But why come here? As I recall they have police in Chicago.”

“New York City. I moved to New York eight months ago to start a new job.”

“Okay. Not that it makes a difference. They have police there, too.”

“I can’t go to them. I don’t know who I can trust. I know there’s at least one person in the government involved. Maybe the police are, too. I just can’t risk it.”

Even without the details, this story was too convoluted to hear all the way through while standing in the hallway, not to mention that she was too edgy for his liking and he needed some space from her. So he gestured for her to proceed into his living room.

Her eyes widened in surprise before she let out a breath of what was clearly relief and stumbled ahead of him. She looked around uncertainly before he nodded and pointed toward the chairs before the unlit fireplace. He and Jeanette had spent many winter evenings sitting before a roaring fire. He hadn’t lit it once since her death. He’d avoided this room, coming in only to clean on rare occasions because the memories were unbearable. Still he’d rather live with the discomfort than let Camille intrude farther into his home.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked automatically, then wanted to bite his tongue. This wasn’t a social call. And he definitely didn’t want to prolong her stay.

“No thanks,” she said and sank into a chair. The dog immediately put his head on her lap.

“Shadow, heel.”

Shadow whined, then raced from the room. A minute later he returned carrying a chew toy that he dropped at Jericho’s feet. Jericho ignored the rubber bone and walked past what Jeanette had referred to as his chair, choosing instead to lean against the fireplace mantel.

“I work for a financial institution. An investment banking firm. I’m very good at what I do.”

He nodded and gestured for her to get on with her story. He didn’t have all night to listen to her.

“A few months ago I was working on one of my boss’s accounts and I noticed something was off with the numbers. He was out of the office and I was answering a client’s questions. Anyway, the numbers weren’t adding up. I did a little digging and discovered that one of the vice presidents was massaging the numbers. He was juggling accounts in a way that’s illegal. Money would appear and disappear. I knew something was fishy. I should have just quit, but I couldn’t turn a blind eye. I dug a little deeper and discovered he was laundering money. I reported it to the government. The FBI agent I was working with needed more information to open a case, so I kept looking until I found it.”

She wrung her hands and looked around the room. He had a suspicion she wasn’t seeing the furniture Jeanette had so lovingly chosen, or the spectacular artwork she had purchased. No, the faraway look in her eyes let him know she was seeing something else entirely.

“Yesterday afternoon I was on my way to a meeting. I needed a pen, so I stepped into the supply closet to grab one. I overheard my boss talking with someone and heard my name. He told them to kill me and make it look like an accident.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I waited until they were gone and got out of there. I knew I couldn’t go home.”

“Are you sure about what you heard? This sounds a little far-fetched to me.”

“I know what I heard.”

“Your imagination—”

“I’m not imagining anything.” Her voice rose and her eyes flashed. “I know what I heard. I know they want to kill me. If I die, the case dies with me.”

He closed his eyes. She could be lying, but he couldn’t imagine why she would bother. And she really did seem scared. Nobody could be that good an actress. But then, she had pretended to be Jeanette’s friend, so maybe she did possess the skill. Still, he couldn’t figure out why she would show up out of the blue. She didn’t stand to gain anything by coming to him.

“I’m sorry for bringing trouble to your door, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t go to my parents’ home. That’s the first place they’ll look. Same with Rodney and my friends. No one in New York knows a thing about you, so they won’t look here.”

“What about that agent you mentioned? The guy you told about this.”

“I called his office. They told me he’d been in a car accident. That’s pretty coincidental, don’t you think?”

“People have accidents all the time, Camille.” Still a sense of unease crept up his spine, which was a shock in itself, given the fact that he hadn’t felt anything since Jeanette’s death. Jericho paced the room for several minutes, trying to make sense of what he’d heard. It was just crazy enough to be true. She could be in danger.

But so what? She wasn’t his problem. She wasn’t his friend. Truth was, he’d categorize her as an enemy if he’d bothered to think of her, which he hadn’t. Still...

“We haven’t spoken in five years. You and your family disowned Jeanette simply because she fell in love with me. And now you expect me to step in and save you?”

Her shoulders sagged and her head dropped to her chest. After a few seconds she nodded, squared her shoulders, grabbed her purse and stood. “I understand. Sorry for bothering you.” She headed for the door.

He should let her go. After the way she had treated Jeanette it was no more than she deserved. He was under no obligation to help her. Surely there had to be someone else she could turn to. Except...she had come to him. Despite how much he detested her, he knew Jeanette had loved her like a sister. She’d loved the entire Parker family. And at one time they’d loved her. Jeanette had never given up hope that one day they would reconcile and become friends again.

Jeanette and Camille had grown up together. When Jeanette’s parents were killed in a plane crash when she was seventeen, the Parkers had taken her in. So no matter how much he loathed Camille, even if he would have been happy to never see her again in this life or the next, he would help her because her family had helped Jeanette.

“Wait.”

She turned and looked at him. If he’d seen even a hint of triumph in her expression he would have kicked her out without the slightest remorse. Instead her hazel eyes revealed trepidation and a sliver of hope. He knew then that allowing her to stay was the right thing to do. He could never send a woman into danger, no matter how much he hated her. If there was a way he could keep her safe, he had to do it.

“You can stay.”

Her knees wobbled, and she reached for the door. Unfortunately, she was too far away to grab it. He rushed forward and caught her as she collapsed, sweeping her into his arms. Her gentle scent wafted in the air and wrapped around him. Some random part of his brain noticed how well she fit in his arms, but he quickly banished the unwelcome thought.

“I’m okay. I can walk,” she said in a small voice that belied her words. “It was just a little weakness, you know, from all the nerves. I’ve been so scared.”

He ignored her protests and kept her in his arms until he reached the sofa, where he gently eased her onto the cushions. “When was the last time you ate?”

Her brow wrinkled, and she closed her eyes. “I’m not sure.”

No doubt she was running on adrenaline coupled with a good dose of fear. Now that she was safe, her strength was gone. “Here’s an easier question. When was the last time you slept?”

She laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t know if that’s easier. I overheard the conversation around two yesterday afternoon. I freaked and rushed around the city in a panic for a couple of hours. I actually started toward Maine before thinking of coming here. I checked into a fleabag hotel in Virginia around two in the morning, but to be honest I didn’t sleep very well.”

He stood, needing to put some distance between them. “I’ll heat some soup. Give me your keys and I’ll put your car in the shed so it’ll be out of sight. I don’t think anyone will look for you here, but better safe than sorry.”

She grabbed his arm, and unwanted warmth shot through his body.

“Thanks, Jericho.” Her voice was small but earnest. “You’re saving my life.”

Uncomfortable with her thanks and even more uncomfortable with the way his body responded to the feel of her hand on his forearm, he snapped, determined to set her straight so she didn’t get the wrong idea about his motives. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m repaying a debt.”

“What debt?”

“Your parents helped Jeanette after her parents died and she had nowhere to go. So I’m helping you. When this is over we’ll be even and I’ll never have to lay eyes on you again.”

Telling himself it couldn’t possibly be pain he saw on her face, he stalked to the kitchen to warm up some soup. The sooner he got her fed and safely in the guest room, the better off he’d be. But somehow he had the feeling getting her out of his mind wasn’t going to be as easy as getting her out of his sight tonight.


Chapter Two (#ubf0dd9b0-ddec-5b4d-831d-6f448f858de7)

Camille looked around the kitchen as she sipped the chicken and rice soup. Spacious and up-to-date, the room still managed to remain in keeping with the rest of the farmhouse. The pink-and-green-flowered curtains and matching canisters on the soapstone countertops reminded her that Jericho may live alone now but there had been a woman here. Jeanette.

Camille closed her eyes on a wave of guilt. Had she really turned her back on her best friend simply because she’d fallen in love? True, Jeanette had broken Rodney’s heart, but she hadn’t meant to. She’d let him down as easily as she could. Yet Camille had refused to forgive her friend. She’d rejected every one of Jeanette’s overtures. Now Jeanette was gone and Camille would never be able to make things right between them.

Sorrow and regret filled her, turning her stomach. She put down her spoon, her appetite gone. The irony of her present situation didn’t escape her. She’d forced Jeanette out of her life because she’d chosen Jericho over Rodney, and now Camille was forcing herself into Jericho’s life. He was letting her stay only because of Jeanette.

“Is something wrong with the soup?” Jericho asked, his voice hard. It was as if he was waiting for her to complain. Was he looking for an excuse to throw her out? There was no way she would give him one.

She squelched a sigh, swallowed more soup, then looked at her reluctant host. “No. It’s delicious. It tastes too good to have come from a can.”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “A friend of mine is a chef.”

Male or female? For some insane reason the thought of another woman bustling around this kitchen disturbed her. She shoved that feeling, whatever it was, aside. She was a guest here. Her welcome was tenuous at best. She didn’t have the right to start asking questions about Jericho’s life. Still a part of her was curious about the man her friend had fallen so hard for. What was it about him that had been so appealing that it had caused Jeanette to break off her engagement to Camille’s brother?

One thing Camille now knew: Jericho was dependable. He might not like her—heck, he hated her—but he’d been willing to provide her with a safe haven. More than that, he hadn’t asked for a thing in return. True, he viewed it as repaying a debt, but if there was a debt, it wasn’t his to pay.

Her spoon clanked against the bowl, and she realized she’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t been aware she’d been eating.

“More?” Jericho asked.

She shook her head, then caught herself. Hadn’t her mother drilled into her the proper way to respond to a question? She must be even more tired than she thought. The soft light and the warmth of the room had lulled her into a calm she hadn’t felt since she’d first discovered the criminal activity at her firm. “No, thank you.”

She wiped her mouth with her napkin and pushed away from the table. Grabbing her bowl, she stood, intending to wash her dishes in the ceramic farm sink beneath the large window. Even from across the room she could see the sink was empty; she didn’t want to leave a mess for Jericho to clean up later. Nor did she want to leave him with the impression that she was the spoiled rich girl he thought she was.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, taking her bowl from her.

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist.” His tone ended all discussion.

“Thanks.” She waited quietly as he washed her dishes, wiped them dry and placed them in the cabinet beside the sink.

He leaned against the counter and stared at her. For all his concern about feeding her, his eyes were remarkably cold, his voice remote. “I’ll show you where you can bunk while you’re here.”

Bunk. A cowboy word. Not a word she was used to hearing on Wall Street. It had a nice ring to it. Soothing. It conjured up images of honorable men on the range who would ensure no harm came to anyone. Hopefully, this horse ranch in North Carolina and its owner could provide the protection she needed until the danger passed. And it had to pass, didn’t it? She forced that worry away. She was safe for now, and that was what she would focus on.

Camille followed Jericho through a narrow hall and up a flight of stairs. A gray and burgundy runner centered on the old oak risers muffled their footsteps. The house wasn’t as large as the Chicago Gold Coast mansion where she’d grown up, but it was a good size and quite cozy. Jericho led her past a closed door and paused briefly before a second.

He opened the door a few inches. “This is the guest bathroom.”

She caught a glimpse of a white pedestal sink before he closed the door.

He opened a door farther down the hall, and she hurried to catch up with him. “Linen closet.” He pulled out towels, folded sheets and two blankets, then handed them to her before shutting the door with a definite click. What? Did he think she would steal his linen?

He crossed the hall and opened another door but didn’t step inside. “You’ll be sleeping here. This is the only bed you’re welcome in.”

She gasped, and her cheeks heated with remembered embarrassment. Before she could think up a suitable reply, he’d vanished back down the hall. She heard the stairs creak under his feet, and a minute later a door slammed.

Truthfully there was nothing she could say to justify her behavior all those years ago. She had bribed her way into his hotel room and gotten into his bed. Not one of her proudest moments. She hadn’t actually planned to seduce him. She just wanted to prove to Jeanette that Jericho wasn’t the man he claimed to be so Jeanette would return to Rodney and things would get back to the way they were supposed to be. She’d expected Jericho to take her up on her offer. Then she would be able to tell Jeanette what he’d been willing to do.

She’d been wrong. Jericho had taken one look at her, his face twisted with disgust, and left the room. She’d waited for Jeanette to confront her about her behavior, but she never had. Apparently Jericho had never told Jeanette about the incident. That one horrible secret had weighed Camille down for years and was one of the reasons she’d worried Jericho would turn her away.

Physically and mentally exhausted, and sick and tired of the thoughts that continuously circled her mind, Camille removed her shoes and dropped onto the bare mattress. It was firm and cool and seemed to wrap her with comfort. She’d put on the sheets in a minute. She just needed to close her eyes for a bit and block out everything.

After a while, she forced herself to get up before she fell into a deep sleep. She grabbed her towels and crept to the bathroom. When she found a new toothbrush and toothpaste inside the mirrored medicine cabinet, she nearly shouted for joy. It seemed an eternity since she’d performed her simple grooming routine.

She had a brief internal debate, then concluded that she could not possibly wear her underwear a third straight day. Two days in a row was bad enough. Slipping off her panties and bra, she washed them by hand and left them on the side of the tub to dry. She’d slept in her clothes last night, and it looked like she would be doing the same again since she didn’t think Jericho would lend her a T-shirt to sleep in. She was lucky he was letting her stay in his house. She wouldn’t push it by asking for some of his clothes. The idea of wearing something that belonged to him seemed too intimate anyway, so she couldn’t summon the nerve to ask him. Still, she was relieved to know she didn’t have to be ready to flee at a moment’s notice. She was safe. That had to count for something.

* * *

Jericho closed the shed door, then walked across the yard to the barn, Shadow circling his heels. The dog had been a surprise birthday present from Jeanette. Her last gift to him. The pesky dog provided the only type of companionship Jericho wanted even if Shadow couldn’t follow the simplest command.

Shadow didn’t make subtle hints about getting on with his life or give unsolicited advice. The dog didn’t presume to know what Jeanette would have wanted for him. The dog simply let Jericho be himself, feeling—or as the case may be, not feeling—whatever he wanted.

Jericho went to each stall, checking on the horses. Although he’d settled them for the night before Camille’s sudden appearance, he needed distance from the woman who’d invaded his home, disrupting the solitary life he now preferred.

There was a time when he’d been a people person. He’d enjoyed the company of others and had entertained for both business and pleasure. His house had been the gathering place for his friends and he’d held many an impromptu party. His parents had raised him to seize the day. He’d embraced his father’s mantra: No day is more important than this one. No breath more valuable than the one you are taking. Make each moment count.

He’d done that. He’d wrung every bit of pleasure out of his life. He’d met Jeanette while he’d been visiting his sister in Chicago. One look was all it had taken for him to realize they were made for each other. She’d made him appreciate his life even more. He’d been content before he’d met her, but once they’d married, his joy had known no bounds.

When she died from complications from her pregnancy, she’d taken the best part of him with her. He no longer felt joy with each day and struggled to find value in each breath. He’d be the first to admit that he’d become a hermit. He’d shrunk his business, dismissing all but two ranch hands and limiting his interactions with them to the barest minimum. He’d removed himself from the world, and only the most stubborn of his friends insisted on coming to the ranch. He had managed to survive their occasional intrusions. Somehow he knew he wasn’t going to deal with Camille’s constant presence in the same way.

Turning out the lights, he made his way back to the house. The moon was bright, lighting his way. Not that he needed it. He’d grown up on this piece of land and knew it like the back of his hand. When times had gotten tough, his grandparents had sold off all but the fifteen acres surrounding the house. Over the years, his parents bought back thirty acres. Jericho had worked hard to earn money and had bought back the remaining 340 acres that had been part of the Joneses’ original property. He’d intended to purchase two hundred additional acres last year, but the desire to expand and build upon what had once belonged to his forefathers had died on a clear February morning along with all of his other dreams.

The kitchen was dark, but he didn’t switch on the light. He could still picture Camille sitting at the table sipping her soup despite himself. As a proud woman, she wouldn’t appreciate knowing just how frayed she’d looked. The flight from danger and all the worry had stripped away her haughtiness, leaving her almost humble. No doubt after a good night’s sleep her usual self-centered personality would rear its ugly head.

Not that Camille was ugly. Far from it. With light brown skin, high cheekbones, full lips and hazel eyes, she had a face that was far too beautiful to be considered anything short of remarkable. Of course, she personified the saying about beauty being skin deep. He knew the ugliness that lurked beneath the surface better than anyone. Despite how vulnerable she’d appeared tonight, he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking she’d changed.

He had no intention of turning his life upside down just because she’d dropped in out of nowhere, disturbing his solitude. He was not about to alter one single thing in his life just to suit her. If she thought for a moment that he was going to entertain her, she had another thought coming. In fact, the less he saw of her, the better off he would be.

That settled, he climbed the stairs and went to his lonely bed wondering if tonight would be the night he would finally be able to sleep.

* * *

Camille stretched and yawned, then burrowed deeper into her pillow, pleased that her neighbors had decided to keep down the noise. She smiled and tried to resume her dream before reality hit. She wasn’t in New York; she was on the run for her life. Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright, looking around the room. Memories of last night flooded her mind and her heart settled, gradually slowing to a normal beat.

She was safe. Jericho had welcomed her into his home. Welcome might be overstating things, but he had said she could stay, something that had been in doubt for a few harrowing minutes there. What would she do if he changed his mind? She’d taken him by surprise last night and he hadn’t had time to consider his answer. Perhaps having slept on it, he’d decide he didn’t really want her around.

And now that she thought about it, he hadn’t said she could stay until she was safe. He had agreed only to let her spend the night. Perhaps he would press her to leave today. Then what would she do?

She wouldn’t let that happen. She’d just make sure he didn’t change his mind. The ranch was big and no doubt kept him busy. He probably didn’t have time to do everything. Maybe there was something she could do around the house to help him and thereby earn her keep. Some way she could be of value to him.

She flashed back to the first time they’d met at a reception hosted by her father’s law firm to celebrate his being appointed to the federal appellate court. Jericho had tagged along with his sister, who was working at the firm the summer after her second year in law school. He’d been charming and outgoing. Friendly. Then Jeanette had walked into the room. Camille had introduced them and the rest, as the saying went, had been history.

Only the history between her and Jericho had turned bitter. If she didn’t change the way they interacted, she could be out on her ear and searching for another sanctuary. There wasn’t one. If there had been, she would have gone there instead.

She put the pillow against the headboard and then leaned back. It would be easier if she didn’t dislike him so much. He’d swept in and ruined her brother’s engagement without a second thought, then whisked Jeanette halfway across the country. Camille had been the one her heartbroken brother had turned to. She’d never forget the pain she’d felt at seeing her brother in tears. All because of Jericho Jones.

Still, she was at his mercy so she needed to keep her contempt to herself. Surely she could do that. She was discovering previously unknown acting skills. She’d managed to keep her knowledge about Donald Wilcox’s criminal activity from him. She’d been cordial and professional, even enduring business dinners with him. Certainly she could maintain a similar facade with Jericho.

She got up and made up her bed, then opened her door. A quick glance down the hall revealed that the other doors were closed. Was Jericho awake? She crossed the room and checked her watch. Given that it was 7:30 a.m., she imagined he was.

Padding across the wooden floor, she went to the tiny bathroom. She brushed her teeth, then got in the tub, letting the hot water ease the stress from her body. Even though she would have to wear her crumpled skirt and blouse for a third consecutive day, it wouldn’t feel so bad if she was clean. The red silk had been a favorite of hers. She’d splurged on the designer suit and matching pumps two months ago. Now she’d be quite happy to never wear it again. In fact, when this was all over, she would donate it to a women’s shelter.

She dried off and then slipped into her slightly damp underwear. Pulling on her skirt and blouse, she stepped into her shoes. It was too hot for the jacket, and she absolutely refused to wear pantyhose on a ranch or farm or whatever this was.

Her stomach growled. She took a quick look around the bathroom to be sure she hadn’t left anything out of place. The room was small, but she had to admit she preferred the old-fashioned claw-foot tub to the Jacuzzi in her own spa-like bathroom.

She didn’t call out to Jericho, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t in the house. It felt too empty. Although she remembered where the kitchen was, she took a detour. Last night she’d been too nervous and then too relieved to notice much of anything. Now her curiosity got the better of her and she decided to look around.

She entered the living room and slid her finger across an end table, leaving a clean mark in the thin layer of dust. She picked up a framed photo, and her breath caught. It was a picture of Jericho and Jeanette. He was holding Jeanette in his lap as they sat in a tree swing. They were smiling and their eyes were lit with laughter. Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Camille replaced the picture and hurried from the room into the kitchen. She’d ended her friendship with Jeanette, forfeiting the right to know about her life and her marriage.

If she was going to ensure Jericho allowed her to stay, she needed to prove her value to him. There probably wasn’t any use for her skills as a financial wizard, but she could cook and clean for him.

Camille opened the refrigerator and groaned. The pickings were definitely slim. There were half a dozen eggs, a hunk of cheese, a carton of milk and half a bottle of orange juice. She didn’t see how a man the size of Jericho managed on so little food. She rummaged through his pantry and found one onion. A two-egg omelet would be a start, but there was no way he would get full simply eating eggs.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” she muttered under her breath. She opened cabinets and canisters to see what she had to work with, finding flour, baking powder and sugar. Homemade pancakes along with the omelet would be a somewhat more substantial breakfast.

Humming to herself, she mixed the ingredients in a large bowl. Though she had always loved cooking, she hadn’t made anything more involved than toast or a microwave meal in years. Being a rising star in the banking world required sacrifice and all of her time. Fortunately, cooking was like riding a bike, but without the sore calves. There was something soothing about pouring the batter onto a sizzling pan and watching golden pancakes materialize.

When they were done, she put the plate containing a dozen midsize pancakes in the oven to keep warm, then headed out the door. Jericho had to be somewhere. Hopefully, he would recognize her peace offering for what it was without her having to tell him.

She walked down the back stairs, surprised to see a brick patio surrounding an in-ground pool and hot tub. She skirted a table and chairs and hurried in the direction of a large building. Shadow was chasing a squirrel across the grass, having great fun. She doubted the squirrel found the game as amusing as he did. When the dog spotted her, he abandoned the squirrel and ran over, wagging his tail a mile a minute.

“Where’s your master?” she asked. The dog cocked his head, barked twice and sat on his haunches. He lifted his paw as if offering to shake. Clearly there was a failure to communicate.

She patted his head briefly. Shadow considered her for a moment, then raced around the yard as if searching for the squirrel so they could continue playing. Although she found the dog’s antics amusing and could have watched him for hours, she was on a mission.

As Camille stepped into the stable, she inhaled the sweet smell of hay mingled with leather and pine. She expected to see horses, but the stalls were empty. Perhaps they were in a pasture or corral or whatever it was called. She needed to learn how to speak country.

She walked down the center aisle that separated the stalls until she reached the back of the building. Jericho was in a small room rubbing soap on a saddle. From the intense way he was scrubbing, she wouldn’t be surprised if he rubbed a hole into the leather. The muscles on his arms bunched and flexed beneath his shirt.

She must have made a sound because he turned and looked up, one eyebrow raised. He stared at her without speaking, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. Instead of flinching the way she wanted, she raised her chin and spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted you to know I made breakfast.”

He grunted, nodded toward a ceramic mug and turned back to his work. “I had coffee.”

“Pancakes. And omelets.” She twisted the hem of her blouse, unsure if she’d made the right decision. Naturally she started to babble, a habit she thought she’d overcome in finishing school. “Well, the pancakes are in the oven staying warm. I haven’t made the eggs yet. But I did grate the cheese and dice the onions. It’ll only take a minute to throw them together.”

He was silent for so long she didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally he looked at her again, his eyes unreadable. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

“I don’t mind,” she rushed to assure him. “I like to cook.”

He frowned, and her heart sank. Obviously she’d said the wrong thing. “I should have said I don’t need you cooking for me.”

She swallowed her hurt. She didn’t like him, so why did it bother her that he didn’t like her either? She’d never been the sensitive type. Apparently the stress of the situation was getting to her. “Okay. But since I already have, maybe you can eat this time? I would hate for good food to go to waste.”

He stared at her so long it took monumental effort not to squirm. “Fine. This time.”

She felt his eyes on her as he followed her to the house. Part of her wished she could throw away the food, but she’d been raised to know that wasting anything was sinful.

She cooked the omelets, pleased that she hadn’t lost her ability to make them perfectly. After he washed his hands, he removed the platter of pancakes from the oven. He placed half on her plate and the other half on his own. She added the omelets, poured juice and joined him at the table.

“There’s only butter. I couldn’t find syrup.”

“Don’t have any.” He cut his pancakes with the side of his fork. “I guess you’ll have to make do, something new for a spoiled rich kid like you.”

She swallowed the snarky reply on her lips. She wasn’t going to fight with him so he would have an excuse to put her out. Besides, she’d been insulted before. She’d endured slights both subtle and blatant. Women didn’t make it to the top of her male-dominated field if they were shrinking violets. Most men resented her brains and her success. She’d shot down those she could and ignored those she couldn’t.

She tucked into her breakfast, pleased to see that he was eating his without further comment. Now that she had a closer look at him, she realized he’d lost weight. He was still muscular and no doubt strong, but he could stand to put on a few pounds. Perhaps grief had stolen his appetite. Or maybe he didn’t like to cook.

He’d told her he didn’t need her to cook for him, but maybe he’d said that only because he was annoyed that she’d disturbed him. He certainly seemed to be enjoying his breakfast. Or maybe later on he planned to accuse her of being a pampered princess. Whatever, she wasn’t going to give him an excuse to kick her out. She’d pull her weight while she was here.

They finished the meal in silence. When he’d eaten the last bit of eggs, he carried his dishes to the sink, gave her one last glance and left without saying a word.

She heaved a heavy sigh. At least he hadn’t told her to leave.


Chapter Three (#ubf0dd9b0-ddec-5b4d-831d-6f448f858de7)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing in my office?”

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

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

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

“Why?”

“I thought I could help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not necessary.”

“But we need to eat.”

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

No matter how much he hated it.


Chapter Four (#ubf0dd9b0-ddec-5b4d-831d-6f448f858de7)

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

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

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

There was a noise outside the window and she jumped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shadow lifted his head.

“Stay.”

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

“Do you talk to them often?”

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

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

“True.”

“What about your parents?”

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

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

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

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

Was there an apology in there?

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

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

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

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

“I hope you’re right.”

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

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

* * *

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




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