But in the next instant, a tiny, furry creature jolted out of her purse and charged him with all the enthusiasm of a rabid pit bull. The grass was high enough that all Jericho could see of the miniature dog was its reddish-brown ears flapping in the wind.
Yips and barks in a pitch high enough to peel paint shot through Jericho’s head as the improbably small dog, teeth bared, did its best to intimidate.
It wasn’t much.
Sam’s laughter erupted from beside him and Jericho muttered, “Oh, for God’s sake.”
Then he gently eased the mutt out of his way with one foot. The dog stayed on him though, even as Jericho neared the fallen brunette, who was already pushing herself up off the lawn.
Her hair fell in a tangle around her face. There were grass stains on the front of her shirt and disgust written on her face.
“Are you okay?” he asked, bending down to help her up.
“Fine,” she murmured, taking his hand and staggering to her feet. “Nothing like a little humiliation to bring color to a woman’s cheeks.” Bending down again, she scooped up the little yapper. “Oh, Nikki, honey, you’re such a brave little peanut. What a good girl, protecting Mommy.”
“Yeah, she’s a real killer.”
“Mommy” now flashed him a look no friendlier than the one her tiny dog was shooting him. “She’s very loyal. I appreciate loyalty.”
“Me, too,” he said, staring down into brown eyes that shone like fine whisky held up to a light. “But if you’re looking for protection, you might want to upgrade to a real dog.”
“Nikki is a real dog,” she told him and cuddled the little creature close. “Now, I realize I haven’t made the best impression in the world, but I’m here to see you.”
“Do I know you?”
“Not yet,” she told him. “But I know you’re Jericho King, right?”
“I am,” he said flatly and watched as her gaze slid back to his.
“Nothing like making a fabulous first impression,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. A moment later, she lifted her chin and said, “I’m Daisy Saxon. We haven’t spoken, but you wrote to me a year ago after …”
“After your brother died,” he finished for her, remembering that moment when Brant Saxon had died following a dangerous mission into hostile territory.
Jericho had seen men die before. Too many over the years he’d served in the Corps. But Brant had been different. Young. Idealistic. And dead way before his time. The kid’s death had hit Jericho hard, precipitating his retirement and leading him here, to this mountain.
The fact that he blamed himself for Brant’s death only added to the misery he felt now, facing the man’s sister.
Pain whipped through her eyes like a lightning flash. There and gone again in a moment. “Yes.”
In an instant, Jericho saw Brant Saxon, remembered the fear on his face that had faded into resignation, acceptance, as he lay dying. And Jericho remembered the kid wresting a promise from him. A promise to look after Brant’s sister if she ever asked for help.
Well, he’d done his best to keep the promise, hadn’t he? He’d written the more “official” sorry-for-your-loss letter, then he’d called her later, offered to do whatever he could. But she’d turned him down. Politely. Completely. She had thanked him for his call, told him she would be fine, then she’d hung up—ending, as far as Jericho was concerned, any responsibility he’d had to her.
Until now.
So why in the hell was she on his mountain a year after telling him thanks but no thanks?
“I know a good bit of time has passed since we spoke,” she was saying and Jericho tuned back in. “But when you called me, after Brant died, you offered to help me if you ever could.”
“Yeah,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “About that. I never heard from you, so …”
“It’s taken me a while to come to terms with Brant’s death,” she admitted, then sent a quick glance around her, checking out the property and Sam, still standing on the lawn watching them. “Could we talk about this inside maybe?”
Irritation spiked inside him and was instantly squashed. He didn’t want to owe her but he knew he did. He’d given his word, not just to her brother, but to her. And one thing Jericho King never did was break his word. So he was going to have to deal with her whether he was happy about that or not.
He looked at her as she stood there, shivering a little in the cold wind blowing through the pines. Didn’t even know enough to wear a jacket in the mountains. Even in California, fall could be a tricky time of year in the higher altitudes. But, he told himself, she was clearly not an outdoors kind of woman.
Of course she wanted to be inside. It was where she belonged. She was the kind who liked the great outdoors … from the other side of a window while sitting beside a fire and sipping a glass of wine. He knew her kind of woman all too well. And as he realized that, Jericho acknowledged that maybe he wasn’t going to have to chase her off at all. Maybe she’d come to her senses on her own and admit that she wasn’t suited to working here.
Besides, he could give her a cup of coffee at least before sending her off. Let her get a good look at the place she wanted to be a part of. See that she wouldn’t like it. Wouldn’t fit in. Wouldn’t last.
“Sure. Let’s go inside.”
“Thanks,” she said. “It’s really cold here. When I left L.A. this morning it was seventy-five degrees.”
“We’re higher up,” he pointed out dryly. Then he picked up on what she said. “You left this morning? And you’re just getting here? At most, it’s a three-or four-hour drive with traffic.”
She rolled her eyes, planted a kiss on top of her silly dog’s head and shrugged. “There was lots of traffic, but the truth is, I got lost.”
Jericho just stared at her. “Didn’t you have a GPS?”
“Yes,” she said with a small sniff. “But—”
“Never mind.” He turned, waved Sam off and led the way toward the house. When she didn’t fall into line beside him, he turned back to look at her. “What’s the problem?”
Scowling, she jerked her leg and said, “My heels sank into the lawn.”
“Of course they did.” He walked back to her and said, “Step out of them.”
When she did, he snatched the shoes up, handed them to her and said, “This kind of shoe won’t work here.”
She followed him, hurrying barefoot across the grass. She caught up to him, balancing the dog-filled purse in one hand and her shoes in the other. “But they look good,” she told him.
“How’d that work out?”
“Well,” she said on a half laugh, “it’s a first impression you won’t forget.”
Jericho felt a short dart of admiration course through him. She wasn’t easily shot down. Then he stopped and looked down at her. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were flashing with humor and there was a smudge of dirt on the tip of her nose.
She was way too beautiful.
“What?” she asked. “Do I have dirt on my face?”
“As a matter of fact.” He bent, scooped her up into his arms and heard her “whoosh” of surprise.
“Hey, you don’t have to carry me.”
“Those heels wouldn’t work on the gravel either, and you’re barefoot, Ms. Saxon.”
She