“I thought you were going to retire.”
“In a couple of years, yes,” he’d admitted, winking at her. “But why not go out in a blaze, hmm? It’ll only make my share of the firm worth more, hence my retirement…we could buy a sailboat and sail to Tahiti or Fiji or—”
“I’ll still have a job.”
“Not if you marry me.”
She’d squirmed. Chuck had been pressuring her lately and she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. There had been a time when she’d thought that enough money could buy happiness, that the reason Slade McCafferty hadn’t been interested in her was because she was poor, from the wrong side of the tracks, and didn’t have the social status of Sue Ellen Tisdale. But over the years she’d changed her opinion about financial success and its rewards. She’d met plenty of miserable millionaires.
“Listen.” Chuck had rapped his knuckles on the desk as he’d straightened. “Think about it when you’re in Grand Hope. Being Mrs. Chuck Jansen wouldn’t be all that bad, not that I’m pressuring you.”
“Right,” she’d said, and managed a smile.
“We’ll talk when you get back.” He’d said it with the same confidence he oozed in a courtroom.
“What a mess,” Jamie muttered to herself as she adjusted the thermostat while, presumably, back in Missoula, Chuck was waiting, expecting her to get off the fence and accept his proposal.
But she couldn’t. Not yet.
Why?
Chuck was smart. Educated. Clever. Good-looking. Wealthy. His share of the business was worth a bundle and then there was his stock portfolio and two homes.
He also has a bitter ex-wife, her mind nagged. And three college-age kids. He doesn’t want any more.
Jamie thought of Randi McCafferty and her newborn son, the way the baby’s eyes had twinkled in adoration at his mother. Her heartstrings tugged. God, how she wanted a baby of her own, a baby to love. Could she marry Chuck, become a stepmother to nearly grown children, never raise a daughter or son of her own, one she conceived with a husband who made her heart pound and brought a smile to her lips? For a second Slade’s face flashed through Jamie’s mind. “Oh, stop it,” she growled at herself in frustration. Just because she’d been thrown back here and had to face him, she’d started fantasizing. “You’re pathetic, Parsons. Pa-thetic.” She started to unpack the groceries, but couldn’t forget how surprised she’d been at Slade’s easy manner with his twin nieces and tiny nephew. Who would have thought?
Ironic, she thought, touching her flat abdomen. But, once upon a time…
“Don’t even go there,” she chastised herself, stocking the cupboard with a few cans of soup and a box of crackers, then stuffing a quart of milk and jug of orange juice into the old refrigerator.
She remembered turning into the lane of the Flying M this afternoon. Her nerves had been stretched tight as piano wire, her hands sweating inside her gloves. But that had been just the start of it. Finally facing Slade again—oh, Lord, that had been the worst; more difficult than she’d even imagined.
He’d changed in the past fifteen years. His body had filled out, his shoulders were broader, his chest wider, though his hips were as lean as she remembered. At that thought, she colored, remembering the first time she’d seen him without clothes—at the swimming hole when he’d yanked off his cutoffs, revealing that he hadn’t bothered wearing any underwear. She’d glimpsed white buttocks that had contrasted to his tanned back and muscular legs, and caught sight of something more, a part of male anatomy she’d never seen before.
Oh, God, she’d been such an innocent. Of course he’d changed physically. Hard-living and years had a way of doing that to a body. Slade’s face was more angular than it had been; a thin scar ran down one side of his face, but his eyes were still as blue as a Montana sky.
She’d noticed that he’d limped slightly. And there was something in his expression, a darkness in his eyes, that betrayed him, a shadow of pain. Okay, so he had his war wounds; some more visible than others. Didn’t everyone? She folded the grocery sack and slipped it into the pantry.
She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened between Sue Ellen and him, though she imagined Sue Ellen was just one of dozens. The McCafferty boys had been legendary in their conquests. Hadn’t she been one?
“Who cares,” she growled as she picked up her coat and hung it in the hall closet where Nana’s vacuum cleaner still stood guard. All the McCafferty boys had been hellions, teenagers who had disregarded the law. Slade had been no exception. While Thorne had been an athlete, and toed the line more than either of his brothers, Matt had been rumored to be a lady-killer with his lazy smile and rodeo daring, and Slade had gained the reputation of a daredevil, a boy who’d fearlessly climbed the most jagged peaks, kayaked down raging rivers and skied to the extreme on the most treacherous slopes—all of which had been accomplished over his father’s vehement protests.
But it had been a thousand years ago. She’d been a rebellious girl trying to fit in. Not a grown woman with a law degree. Sensible, she reminded herself. These days she was sensible.
And sometimes she hated it.
* * *
“DON’T LECTURE ME,” Randi ordered as Slade walked into the den. She was seated at Thorne’s computer, glasses propped on the end of her nose, the baby sleeping in a playpen in the corner.
“Did I say a word?”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your face. You’re an open book, Slade.”
“Like hell.” He propped a hip against the edge of the desk. “I think you and I need to clear the air.”
The corners of her mouth tightened a fraction. “Just a sec.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “You can’t believe how much e-mail I’ve collected…” With a wry smile, she clicked off and added, “It’s great to be loved. Now, as I was saying, don’t start in on me about the baby’s father. It’s my business. So if that’s what you mean by ‘clearing the air,’ let’s just keep it foggy.”
“Someone tried to kill you.”
“So you keep reminding me, over and over.” Something darkened her eyes for a heartbeat. Fear? Anger? He couldn’t tell, and the shadow quickly disappeared. Standing slightly, she leaned over the desk, pushing aside a cup of pens and pencils. “I get enough advice from Thorne. And Nicole. And Matt and even Juanita.” Pointing an accusing finger at his nose, she said, “From you, I expect understanding.”
“I don’t know what you’re asking me to understand.”
“That I need some space. Some privacy. Come on, Slade, you know what it’s like for the whole damned family to be talking about you, worrying about you, clucking around like a bunch of hens. It’s enough to drive a sane person crazy. That’s why you and I both moved away from Grand Hope in the first place.”
“So who says you’re sane?”
“Oh, so now you’re a comedian,” she quipped, smothering a smile as she took off her glasses and leaned back into her chair. Large brown eyes assessed him. “What’s with that private detective?”
“Striker?”
“Yeah, him. I hear he’s your friend.”
“He is.”
“Humph.” She frowned, fluffing up her short locks with nervous fingers. “There’s a reason they’re called dicks, you know.”
He