His eyes pierced her with a sharpness that was almost painful. He didn’t answer but instead pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked over to the phone.
“Hello?” he said, his gaze never leaving Janette. “Yeah, hi, Dad. I was just eating lunch.”
As Dalton continued his conversation, he never broke eye contact with Janette. The tension that had dissipated earlier crashed back through her, twisting in her gut like a deadly Oklahoma tornado.
His voice remained pleasant as he carried on his conversation with his father. When he finally hung up he returned to the table and reached out to grab her forearm as she had done his.
“Now, Jane,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “You want to tell me just what the hell is going on?”
* * *
Dalton stared at the woman and tried to ignore how fragile, how warm, her slender arm felt beneath his grasp. Her stunning blue eyes were wide and darted around the room as if seeking somewhere to run, to escape. She tried to pull her arm free from his grip but he held tight, just as she had a moment earlier.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me why you don’t want me to mention to anyone that you’re here.”
This close he could smell the scent of her, clean with a touch of honeysuckle fragrance. She closed her eyes and he couldn’t help but notice the length of her eyelashes. She tried to pull away from him again and this time he let her go.
She wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold and looked at him. “I’m sorry. I lied to you before.” She looked down at the table.
He frowned. “Lied about what?”
She got up as if she wanted as much distance from him as possible, but he had a feeling that what she was really doing was giving herself time to think. He wasn’t at all sure he was going to believe anything that fell out of her mouth at this point.
Moving to stand next to the window, she turned to face him. “I lied about Sammy’s father. He isn’t a nice man. He…he used to beat me. He was abusive and I needed to get away.”
There was a tremble in her voice, a timbre of fear that made him want to believe her. “You think he’s looking for you?”
Again she wrapped her arms around her middle. “You can bet on it. And if he finds me he’ll hurt me. He might hurt Sammy.”
“That’s not going to happen here,” Dalton said firmly. He offered her a smile. “After all, you’ve hired me as your personal bodyguard and I promise you I’m damned good at what I do.”
She didn’t return his smile and that, along with the darkness in her eyes, made him believe her. “Is that why you carry a knife?” he asked.
She raised a pale eyebrow. “How do you know about that?”
“I saw it last night when you opened the bedroom door.”
She returned to the table and sat, her gaze going out the window. “I won’t let him hurt me again.” She looked back at Dalton and there was a hard glint in her eyes. “I just want to get out of here. Once I get to my sister’s I’ll be just fine.”
“What’s this guy’s name?” Dalton asked.
“What difference does it make?”
He shrugged. “Just curious. I know most of the families in this area. Just thought I might know him.”
She blinked once…twice. “His name is Billy Johnson. I doubt if you know him. He’s not from around here. His family is from someplace back east.”
Once again he had the feeling she wasn’t being completely honest with him. Did he care? If he were smart he would stop asking questions now. In the next day or two she wouldn’t be his problem.
“I’d better go check on Sammy,” she said and rose from the table.
He watched her hurry away, unable to stop himself from noticing how the worn jeans fit snugly across her shapely butt. He was acutely aware of the fact that physically he was attracted to her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be pulled into her life drama.
He got up from the table, carried their lunch dishes to the sink and began to rinse them. As he worked, his thoughts drifted to his last assignment.
It had been over a year since Dalton had worked a case as a bodyguard. Her name had been Mary Mason, she’d lived in Tulsa and she, too, had been the victim of domestic violence. He’d worked for her for almost four months, guarding her between the time she’d filed for divorce and the divorce proceeding itself, which had been expedited by a judge sympathetic to her situation.
Mary had known the statistics, that in these kinds of cases the most dangerous time for an abused wife was in the weeks prior to the divorce.
In those four months, he’d fallen head over heels in love with her and she had appeared to feel the same way about him. They had forged a bond that he thought would last the rest of their lives. They’d made plans for a wedding after her divorce, laughing as they created a fantasy event fit for a king and a queen.
It wasn’t until the day after the divorce proceedings that the fantasy exploded. Mary told him she needed some time to regroup, that he should return to his home in Cotter Creek and give her a little time alone.
He’d understood the request, had encouraged it, so certain was he that they would be together. He’d called her often, they’d emailed, but after only a month he’d received a Dear John letter. She’d fallen in love with another man. They were getting married. Dalton had made a wonderful temporary hero, but that’s all he had been.
He scowled as he put the dishes in the dishwasher. The whole thing had left a bad taste in his mouth, a heartache that had been long in healing. Since that time he’d worked the office, answering the phones and keeping the books. He preferred dealing with paperwork instead of people.
Footsteps sounded on the inside staircase that led from George’s place upstairs to Dalton’s. A moment later, a knock sounded on the back kitchen door.
Jane might not want anyone to know she was here, but it was already too late to keep that piece of information from his landlord.
George would have thought it damned odd that Dalton wanted to sleep on his sofa if Dalton hadn’t told the old man that he’d given harbor from the storm to a young woman and her baby.
He opened the door to see George wearing hot pads on his hands and carrying a fresh pie. “Had some canned apples and thought it was a good day for some pie and coffee.” He swept past Dalton and into the kitchen, where he deposited the pie on the table. “So, how about making us some coffee to go with this work of art.” He pulled out a chair and sat.
Dalton grinned. “Feeling a little cabin fever, George?” He got a pot of coffee ready to brew.
“I hate being cooped up. You know me, Dalton, I’m a social kind of man. Sitting and listening to my own thoughts bores me to death. Where’s your houseguest?”
At that moment Jane appeared in the doorway with Sammy in her arms. She froze at the sight of George. “Jane, this is my landlord, George, from downstairs,” Dalton said.
George popped up from the chair and walked over to where she stood. “Jane, nice to meet you. And who is this little fellow?”
Sammy took one look at George’s big, silly grin and screwed up his face. He wailed as if George were the devil himself and burrowed closer to Jane’s chest.
“Oh my.” George quickly stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said. “He’s hungry. I was just going to fix him a bottle.”
Dalton realized she not only held the boy in her arms, but also juggled a bottle and a can of powdered formula mix, as well. Short of putting Sammy on the floor, it was going to be next to impossible