“I know,” she agreed, suddenly sober as she gazed down at Sammy. “I might have grown up poor in a trailer park, but I’m going to make something of myself so that Sammy has everything he needs.” She heard the angry resolve in her own voice, a resolve that had strengthened when Sinclair had told her that she was nothing but trailer trash and nobody would believe her if she told what he’d done.
“There’s nothing wrong with being poor, or growing up in a trailer park,” Dalton said softly.
She smiled. “Spoken like a man who has never known what it’s like to be poor.”
“You’re right,” he conceded. “I was lucky never to have to worry about finances. The bodyguard business pays well and we all share in the profits of both the business and the ranch.”
“Did you always want to be a bodyguard?”
“When I was ten I wanted to be a rodeo clown,” he said. “When I was twelve I wanted to be an astronaut, then a treasure hunter and a gold miner.”
She laughed. “For me it was a movie star, a ballerina then a princess.” She sobered. “It never entered my mind that in reality I’d be an abused woman on the run with a small baby.”
“Your sister will take you in?”
“Of course,” she replied around the lump of fear that swelled in her throat. She had no idea where she was going, no idea what she’d find when she arrived. Her only support system was a sixty-eight-year-old woman with a bad heart.
Dalton ran a hand through his thick dark hair, not breaking eye contact with her. “Why do I get the feeling that you aren’t telling me everything?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said and looked down at Sammy, who had begun to fuss. “I’d better get him a bottle,” she said as she got up from the sofa.
It was a relief to escape those piercing, intelligent eyes of his. She didn’t know what he saw that made him think she was keeping secrets, but there was no way she could tell him the truth. And in any case, it didn’t matter. She would be gone soon enough.
She fixed Sammy his bottle, then picked him up off the floor. “I think I’m going to go ahead and call it a night,” she said.
He nodded. “Unless it will freak you out entirely, I’m planning on sleeping here on the sofa tonight. I like George a lot, but his sofa is small and last night he kept me up until long after midnight telling me stories I’d heard a dozen times before.”
She was surprised to realize the idea didn’t freak her out. She trusted him to remain the perfect gentleman he’d already been. “Would you rather stay in your own bed? Sammy and I could bunk in here,” she offered.
“No, I’ll be just fine. Good night, Jane,” he said.
She wished she could hear her real name on his lips, but fear still ruled her decisions, including the decision to tell him little white lies, as much as she hated it. “Good night, Dalton.”
Even though it was relatively early, Janette breathed a sigh of exhaustion as she got ready for bed. It was hard work watching every word that fell from her mouth and being careful not to say too much or too little.
When she was in her nightgown she moved to the window and stared outside. The street in front of Dalton’s had been plowed, leaving piles of snow on either side that glistened in the streetlights.
The sooner she got on the bus the better she’d feel, but escaping this part of the country certainly didn’t ease the fear that was a constant inside her.
She might escape Sinclair but then she’d have to face settling into a new place, finding work and taking care of Sammy and earning enough money to send for Nana. Dalton was right. She had a tough road ahead of her.
Sammy finished his bottle, and she sang softly to him until he fell asleep. It took her longer to sleep and when she finally succumbed, the dream began almost immediately.
“Well, well, don’t we look all sexy in that little skirt,” Sinclair said, and there was something in his eyes that made her suddenly afraid.
Janette held out her driver’s license, but he didn’t take it from her. Instead those cold, blue eyes of his swept leisurely down her body. “You were going awfully fast. You doing drugs?”
“I don’t do drugs, Sheriff,” she exclaimed.
“I’m going to have to frisk you to make sure you have nothing illegal on you.” He stepped closer to her and she smelled the scent of him, a stale sweat odor mingling with an overly sweet cologne.
Unconsciously she took a step backward, heart pounding painfully hard. He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you fight me, girl. I’ll have you in handcuffs so fast your pretty little head will spin.” He grinned. “Or maybe I’ll just have to shoot you for resisting.” And then he put his hands on her.
Hands. Everywhere on her. And hot breath on her face. And in her dream she did something she hadn’t been able to do that night.
She screamed.
* * *
The scream pulled Dalton from a dream of a naked Jane in his bed. He shot upright on the sofa, for a moment not knowing what it was that had awakened him. Then it came again, a scream of such terror it raised the hairs on his arms, on the nape of his neck.
Jane!
He stumbled from the sofa and into the bedroom, adrenaline surging and heart pounding. He flipped on the overhead light and instantly realized Jane was in the middle of a nightmare. She thrashed on the bed, flailing her arms and legs as if fighting for her life.
Sammy cried out, too, and his eyes fluttered open, but he settled back to sleep, as if accustomed to his mother having bad dreams. “Jane,” Dalton called softly.
She moaned, whipping her head from side to side, but she didn’t open her eyes. He approached her, trying not to notice that the sheets had slipped down to her waist and the pale blue silk nightgown she wore did little to hide her full breasts.
The fight or flight adrenaline that had filled him at the sound of her scream now transformed to another kind of energy as a surge of desire struck him midsection.
“Jane,” he said again as he moved closer to the edge of the bed. Still she didn’t respond. He was going to have to touch that soft-looking pale skin and he knew he was going to find it far too pleasant.
“Jane, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” He leaned over and took her by the shoulders.
Her eyelids snapped open and she looked at him, wildness in the depths of her eyes. She stared at him and the wildness left as recognition struck. She released a little gasp and to his surprise launched herself out of the bed and into his embrace.
She trembled in his arms and sobbed silently into the crook of his neck. He tentatively slid a hand down the cool material that covered her back. “Shh, it was just a dream,” he said softly.
It would be easier to comfort her if he wasn’t bare-chested, if he wasn’t so intensely aware of every point where her bare skin made contact with his.
She raised her face to look at him. Her eyes were misty with tears but her full lips parted as if in invitation or some kind of strange desperation.
He didn’t think about kissing her ahead of time. He didn’t consciously plan to. It just happened. One minute he was gazing at her face and the next minute his mouth covered hers. He didn’t just kiss her, she kissed him back, her mouth opening against his as he pulled her closer to him.
The kiss lasted only a second or two,