Kitabı oku: «Wild Cat And The Marine»

Jackson’s expression was stony. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

Bitterness he’d have no way of understanding colored Cat’s answer. Bitterness and piled-up, long-buried resentment. “You’ve been gone a long time. I don’t think of you at all.”

Apparently Jackson didn’t know how to answer her hostility.

Cat’s feelings, always inconsistent where this man was concerned, softened in sympathy. What had happened wasn’t his fault, or at the very least, it had been as much her doing as his. Now, forced by circumstances, he had to return to a lifestyle and a town he hated.

Cat couldn’t be a part of making him stay. She couldn’t tell him the truth about her daughter, now or ever. The pain of not telling replaced the fear, and a chill settled in her chest, spreading icy hurt to every part of her body.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever made the wrong decision for the right reason? Or the right decision for the wrong reason? If so, you have a lot in common with Wild Cat Darnell. She’s a hardworking single mother with a secret, and Jackson Gray is about to discover the truth.

When Jackson comes back to Engerville, North Dakota, he intends to stay just long enough to help his father get back on his feet after a farming accident. Then Jackson sees Cat again and he knows leaving is going to be hard. After he meets Cat’s little girl, leaving gets a whole lot harder.

I visited several small towns in North Dakota to set the scene for this book. My fictional town of Engerville is about fifty miles north of Fargo. The land is fertile and grows a bountiful crop for the hardworking farmers of that area, but the harsh winters make it a tough way to earn a living.

My respect for these hardy descendants of Norwegian, German and Swedish pioneers knows no bounds. I visited a small-town museum and listened to two elderly ladies of the historical society describe how the pioneers walked barefoot across Minnesota to get to North Dakota—there were no cobblers and no way for pioneers to replace their shoes. Picture a covered wagon pulled by oxen, lumbering slowly across an untracked prairie. Father sits in the driver’s seat. Behind the wagon a young woman picks her way through brambles and gopher holes, barefoot. All the way to the Goose River in North Dakota, where the Indians told the settlers they’d find good farmland.

Cat and Jackson are descendants of those pioneers, and they’re just as strong, just as brave and every bit as stubborn. I hope you enjoy reading about them.

I love to hear from readers. You can contact me at the following e-mail address: Jade@jadetaylor.com.

Sincerely,

Jade Taylor

Wild Cat and the Marine
Jade Taylor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedicated to my parents, Robert C. and Idell Beam Groves, for all they gave me, and especially for raising me with a love for books.

For the friends and family who supported my dream:

My siblings, Roberts, Jr., Albert, Roy, Sarah, Bertha, Tommy, David and Harry. We were a rowdy bunch of kids who grew up knowing how much we loved each other. We still do.

Bill, Sheri and Holly Ann Groves. You have my heart.

My critique partner, Alisa Clifford, for all she taught me; my friends at Midwest Fiction Writers, especially Pamela Bauer, Stacy Verdick Case and Rosemary Heim; LaVyrle Spencer for her wonderful books, for inspiring me to write and for telling me about RWA; my editors, Beverley Sotolov, who liked my story and bought it, and Johanna Raisanen, for making it better.

My friends at American Financial Printing for December 10, 2001 and for many other things less dramatic, but just as meaningful.

Jane Lindstrom for calling me up one day and saying, “Let’s write a book.”

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PROLOGUE

BEFORE SIX-YEAR-OLD Catherine Darnell went to sleep, she said a prayer. Squinching her eyes shut, she swiped tangled black hair away from her face and pressed thin, scratched hands together under her chin. She recited the appeal she made nearly every night. “Please God, don’t let us move somewhere new tonight. I really want to stay here so Bobby and Arlene Sanders can be my friends forever. Don’t let Daddy get mad at his boss again. Please, please, God, make Mommy come back and live with me and Daddy. Amen.”

God didn’t answer that prayer, either. Two nights later, her father woke her in the middle of the night, kissed her once and carried her out to their rusty brown Ford Maverick. He laid her on the back seat along with two battered suitcases, sheets, blankets and the chipped ceramic figure of a rearing black horse he’d given her two months ago. Daddy put her mother’s jade necklace around her neck and whispered something about being sorry, then got into the driver’s seat.

Catherine watched as her father used a leather string to tie his straight black hair into a ragged ponytail. He pitched his cigarette out the window, tossed the road map onto the seat beside him and slammed the old car into gear. The wheels tossed gravel from the worn rear tires as he gunned the car out of the driveway and left the shabby little rented house on Roosevelt Street, her mother and all things familiar behind.

CHAPTER ONE

HEAD DOWN, Catherine Darnell trudged the worn path from the barn to her home. Halfway to her destination, she lifted her gaze from the uneven ground. The low-slung, one-story ranch house blended into the North Dakota prairie as if it had sprouted from the furrowed earth. Nothing about the dull siding, weathered gray where the white paint had peeled away, set it apart from the sameness of the surrounding farm land. It was as ordinary and unassuming as the plowed rows drifting off into the distance behind it.

The spring air reenergized her and her steps quickened. For all the faults the old house had—and those faults were beyond counting—it still welcomed her at the end of a long day with the comfort only a home could give. Her home. The thought warmed Cat, despite the chill breeze finding its way through her loose-knit sweater.

A strong wind sprang up and whipped the clothes on the line in the yard into a frenzied dance. She’d forgotten about the clothes. Evening dew hadn’t fallen yet, so they’d still be dry. Every bone in her body ached with the weariness of all the chores she’d rushed through that day. For a few minutes, she’d thought her work almost finished. Taking the clothes from the line and folding them, then bringing them inside to iron or put away meant at least another hour. Finally, supper for Joey. For herself, coffee and a sandwich would have sufficed, but her daughter deserved—no, needed—a good hot meal. At eight, Joey was small for her age.

Cat smiled, fatigue forgotten, as she pictured Joey stepping out of the shower and tugging on faded pink pajamas. She hoped the picture was accurate. Joey was a dreamer, forever forgetting her chores and, instead, picking up a horse magazine and mooning over some tall Kentucky-bred stallion, or turning on the television and becoming deeply engrossed in a Disney movie.

After grabbing a laundry basket from the porch, she hurriedly unpinned the shirts and sheets and towels and jeans and underwear from the clothesline. It took longer than it should have; the cold made her fingers clumsy. After the last piece had been placed in the basket, she caught it up and hurried to the kitchen door.

The wind sucked at the worn old door as she opened it and slammed it hard behind her. A grunt of annoyance accompanied the accusing glare she cast toward the drafty entranceway. The basket handles bit into the blisters that had popped up on her palms while she shoveled manure and wheatstraw from the barn stalls. She winced and shifted her grip. Her hands should have hardened to the work by now, but they hadn’t.

As Cat entered the living room, Joey looked up from her seat on the floor in front of the TV, then scrambled to her feet. “I’ll help you carry the basket, Mom.”

At least she was in her pajamas. Cat grinned ruefully at her offspring. “Never mind, Teddy Bear. Why don’t you set the table for dinner while I put away these clothes. I’ll reheat the stew from lunch. That won’t take long.”

“Okay.” Joey sat down on the floor and turned her attention back to the television, dismissing her mother with a completeness Cat couldn’t help admiring.

“Now, please,” she insisted. It was always tough to put a sharp edge in her voice with Joey. Well, not always, but mostly. Joey was a good kid, but on a bad day she ranked right up there with those cartoon Simpsons. The ones she wasn’t supposed to watch. The ones Cat gave in and let her watch once in a great while and regretted immediately. She shook her head at the sight of Joey trying to stand up an inch at a time, keeping an unwavering gaze glued to the TV screen. She carried the basket of clothes into her bedroom.

Dropping the basket on the bed, she glanced at the answering machine. The red indicator light blinked twice slowly, then paused and blinked twice again. Two messages. She wasn’t expecting any calls. It was probably Tommy Karl wanting Joey. Those two were always up to something.

She pressed the button to play the messages. A cool, official-sounding voice began to speak.

“Catherine? Greg here. Greg Lundstrom from Engerville State Bank. We need to get together and talk about the mortgage on your farm. There are two quarterly payments overdue now and, frankly, I’m very troubled. Call me as soon as possible, will you? Thanks.”

A cold chill settled on Cat as nausea hit her stomach. She backed up to the bed, still staring at the phone in disbelief. Her legs gave way and she collapsed on Aunt Johanna’s colorful handmade wedding ring quilt.

Her hands shook. She clasped them together in an unsuccessful effort to stop the trembling, then untwined her fingers to reach for the jade necklace at her throat. Nervously, she clutched the beads. The spring payment had come due last week, but she’d been sure she could get an extension. In the confusion and grief of burying her father two months ago, she hadn’t even thought about the January payment. Why hadn’t her father taken care of it?

He hadn’t said a word to her about being short of cash when he bought RugRat, the newest addition to their small herd of horses. But then, he wouldn’t. It was like him to joyfully hand over the last bit of their cash for a pricey colt they couldn’t afford.

Now, she had to make up two payments. How could she do that? There’d been no horse ready to sell since the previous fall. It was high odds whether she could get RugRat ready by October and not a chance before then. Her jewelry business, more hobby than a means of support, brought in a bit, but not nearly enough.

Cat’s hands clenched so tightly her short, ragged nails dug into the new blisters. She’d neglected the horses’ training schedule badly. Too much to do just keeping them fed, groomed, their stalls clean and the vet bills paid. The horses were beautiful and she loved them as much as Joey did, but her father’s way with them had skipped her and gone directly to her daughter. It was too bad Joey was only eight. If she’d been older, maybe she could have taken over the training.

Cat stood up, stiffening her legs in grim determination. Dammit, she wouldn’t take refuge in foolish wishes. There had to be a way out, and she’d find it. This broken-down, beat-up, almost useless ranch was their home, the only real home she’d ever known, and no way in hell would she let the bank take it.

She pushed the play button to listen to the second message. Cassidy Gray’s usually cheerful voice was somber.

“Pop’s been hurt awfully bad, Cat. I knew you’d want to know. I’m at the hospital with him, now. I’m going to call Jackson to see if he can come home. I’ll call again as soon as I know more about Pop’s condition. Bye.”

If finding out she needed to make two payments to the bank had sent her reeling, then the news of her nearest neighbor’s injuries and his son’s probable return was the knockout punch. She sagged back onto the bed, her legs betraying her again. Her heart raced in frantic beats. Jackson back in Engerville? The thought sent excitement coursing through her body, warming her with sudden speed. A second later, the brief burst of joy faded and a nightmare wave of dread overwhelmed her. Somehow, she had to avoid Jackson. Stay as far away from him as was humanly possible. It was her only chance.

CORPORAL JUAN SANCHEZ LOOKED up as Jackson Gray entered the company office. “Hey, Jackson, it’s about time you got here. You’ve had three phone calls in the past hour. New babe?”

Jackson rubbed his eyes. They burned as if cinders had worked their way under the lids. “Give me a break, Sanchez. I didn’t get back to barracks last night.”

“It’s not me you should worry about, Red. Captain’s been asking for you. You’re late.”

“Five minutes, for crying out loud! What’s the problem?” He watched Juan toss a handful of papers into the “out” bin.

“Not my problem, Jack. Yours. Captain Ricky is ready to chop you into little, bitty pieces and have you for lunch. What’d you do?” Sanchez practically salivated with curiosity.

Jackson glared at the company clerk. “Why don’t you tell the Captain I’m here, Juan? If he wants to see me that bad, then he’s not going to appreciate your holding up the show.”

“Okay, no problem, but I wanted to talk to you about our trucking deal with Marty. He needs us to make up our mind whether or not we’re with him.”

“Sure we are. We already decided that. We’ll both have our release by September.”

“Yeah, well, the word up the line is that headquarters is going to offer up to three months early release to anybody whose discharge date is between April and October. I guess they recruited too many guys. Whaddaya think?”

“It would be a chance to get a head start finding a place to stay in Seattle. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Sergeant Gray?” The curt voice belonged to a lanky male in sharply creased khakis, who stepped through the hallway door into the room. The officer threw an irritated frown in Sanchez’s direction, then glared at Jackson. “I’m glad you could make it. Come with me to my office, please.”

Without his even thinking about it, Jackson’s body stiffened into a near-attention pose. “Yes sir, Captain Richards.”

Sanchez hurriedly bent to his filing, his tan cheeks highlighted with pink. Jackson repressed the urge to snicker at his friend’s sudden industry and quickly followed the company commander down the short hallway, wondering what he’d done to attract the captain’s attention.

The captain walked around his desk and sat down in the chair. He shuffled some papers, looking preoccupied, then glanced up at Jackson who maintained a rigid pose.

“At ease, Sergeant.”

Jackson snapped smartly into parade rest, his feet slightly apart, his hands behind his back, one nesting the other. He stared straight ahead at a position on the pale green wall just over the Captain’s head.

“I’m sorry to be giving you bad news, Sergeant,” Richards picked up a pencil and twirled it between his dark fingers as he continued, “but that’s in my job description.”

Jackson’s heart leapt to his throat. This wasn’t what he’d prepared himself for. Bad news to a soldier only meant one thing—trouble at home. He shot a quick glance at Captain Richards’s somber face. A frown marred the lean features.

“Your father has been badly injured.”

Jackson struggled with a surge of dismay. “Sir?”

“Your sister called for you early this morning.”

For one dizzying moment, the office spun. Jackson fought for control. The spinning stopped with a jerk that left him shaken. The Captain waited for his reply. “Is he dead?” Force of habit made him add, “Sir.”

“No! No. He’s hurt, but your sister says he’s holding his own.”

Jackson’s heart banged hard against the chest wall surrounding it. His voice sounded raspy as he asked, “May I leave, Captain? I’d like to call her and find out what’s happening.”

“Sit down, Sergeant. You don’t look too steady. Take the near chair. Relax a moment. Your sister is calling this number sometime in the next ten minutes.”

Jackson sat on the edge of the straight-backed wooden chair, reluctant to lean back and relax. Sitting in the Captain’s presence made him uneasy, even if it had been his suggestion—order. “Thank you, Captain.”

“You’re a tough man to locate, Gray. I’ve had the duty sergeant at the barracks up half the night waiting for you to come in.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” His reply was automatic, his thoughts in turmoil, barely aware of what he said.

Richards growled his reply. “No need to be. You’re a good-looking pup. You’re entitled to spend your nights screwing around if you choose to. It’s your time.”

“Sir, I wasn’t screw— I wasn’t out messing around.”

The Captain looked disbelieving.

Jackson’s body wanted to twitch under the man’s metal gaze. He didn’t have to explain. Let the Captain think what he wanted to. In fairness, though, Richards had reason to think as he did and his commanding officer didn’t have to let him wait for Cassidy’s call in his office.

Jackson was suddenly relieved that his explanation for being gone all night was legitimate, even if it had started as a bored impulse. “Sir, I’m sure you’ve heard about the forest fires north of Richmond?”

Richards nodded. “It’s been very dry.”

“I spent the night with volunteers digging a fire line to protect Cottage Grove, one of the suburbs lying in the fire’s path.”

Captain Richards was obviously skeptical. “Very good of you, Gray. Why didn’t you say so?”

Jackson barely managed to keep his voice even. “As you said, Captain. It was my free time.” If one of the guys hadn’t suggested the trip… If he hadn’t jumped at the chance to leave the red-brick barracks, he might have spent the evening at the NCO club and had the kind of night the captain suspected.

“Yes, but—” The phone rang. Richards picked up the receiver. “Captain Richards here. Yes, Mrs. Alexander, he’s with me now…. Of course… Not at all.” He handed the receiver to Jackson, then stood. “Take your time, Sergeant. I’m going to walk over to Colonel Blackstone’s office.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The captain hesitated a moment. “I hope things work out okay.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The door closed with a quiet click. Jackson looked at the receiver in his hand as if it were a grenade with the pin already pulled. If he didn’t hear the words, then it wouldn’t be true, at least for him. As long as he avoided raising the phone to his ear, he could put off finding out his father had died in the night while he was off helping strangers.

A sudden ache wrapped around his heart. He couldn’t avoid the truth that easily. He put the phone to his ear. “I’m here.”

“Jackson?”

His sister’s familiar voice triggered a strong wave of homesickness, a longing for her sweet pixie face and, unexpectedly, a nostalgic picture of the farm he hated. “Yeah, Cass. How is he?”

“Jackson, where’ve you been? I woke up your captain three times last night. This morning, I mean.”

“Hell, Cass, what does it matter where I was?” He clutched the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Sorry. Just tell me. Is Pop dead?”

“Not yet… I mean, no! No. He’s doing okay, the doctor said.”

“Okay? What does that mean, exactly? How badly is he hurt? What happened?” He stood and paced as far from the desk as the phone cord allowed.

“He’s pretty bad, Jackson. He’s banged up something terrible, but the doctor said he’d live, unless the internal bleeding started again.”

“Cass, what happened to him?”

“He bought a new bull from Bertha Gillis. A big, black mean bastard! Pop went out to the barn to feed him and opened his stall door to check something. We aren’t sure what. Anyway, the bull knocked him down and stomped on him. Good thing he’d been dehorned. If he hadn’t been, Pop would be dead.”

“Oh, damn! Was he alone?”

“Buddy Sutherland was with him. You remember Buddy, don’t you?”

He thought hard for a moment, then the name joined a face. “Yeah. Little guy. Works odd jobs, or used to. Kinda drifts from one farm to the next.”

“He’s been helping Pop since January. Anyway, he managed to distract the bull and get him off Pop, then Blue drove the bull into another stall. Would you believe the same dog that let Mom’s calico cat run him out of the house could take on a young bull that way? Thank goodness he was there! Then Buddy slammed the door shut and called for help.”

“You said ‘banged up.’ What do you mean?”

“Three ribs are broken. His shoulder is dislocated. Doctor Lind said his kidneys were bruised and a piece of his liver broke off. His knee. Other stuff, too. Can you come home?”

His brain couldn’t take it all in. The image of his tall, work-hardened father lying in a hospital bed hit him hard. Pop could die. “Oh, Lord.”

“Can you come?”

Her question didn’t make sense. “Come home? Cass, I can’t. You know that.”

“Because of the Marines? Or do you mean that blowup you two had when you left home? For crying out loud, Jackson, that’s ancient history! Pop needs you, now.”

An awful ache in his chest made breathing difficult. “Not me. He wouldn’t want me there.”

“Jackson, he might be dying.”

“He wouldn’t want me, even then.” Jackson’s tightened fist threatened to crush the phone.

“You don’t know that.”

“Has he asked for me?” He threw the challenge out, not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer.

A reluctant silence filled the space before she spoke. “I’ve only talked to him a little bit. He’s pretty foggy with the painkillers and all. I know he wants to see you, Jackson. You’re still his son and he’s still your father.”

Bitterness prodded the old pain. “I’ll never step foot in Engerville again. You may not remember, Cass, but I do. He told me if I left, I wouldn’t be welcome back. If he wanted me, maybe… Aw, hell, it’s ridiculous to discuss it. I’m not coming home, Cass. I can’t.”

“Even if Pop is dying? You still won’t forgive him?”

The accusation hurt. It wasn’t true. Couldn’t be. His answer grated against the bitter memories. “You have that backward. He’ll never forgive me…and I’m not sure I want him to, so drop it. I’m sorry, Cass. I can’t come home.”

“No matter how much he needs you?”

The anger in her voice shamed him. He and Cass had always been close. His hurt forced an answer he didn’t want to give, yet couldn’t hold back. “Yeah. No matter how much he needs me.”

“In that case, I’d better hang up. They’re going to do some X rays and I want to be there to see what they find. I’m sorry for you, Jackson. Sorry you can’t forgive and forget, but our father is the one I’m worried about right now.”

“You’ll call me if anything changes?” There was no reply. She’d already hung up. Jackson loosened his white-fisted grip on the phone and replaced the receiver.

Engerville, North Dakota, so many miles—a lifetime—away, but the memories were here in the room with him. His big, red-haired father working beside him in the fields. The tiny high school where he’d led the basketball team to the state championship when no school as small as theirs had ever won it. And Catherine, the girl he’d taken to the senior prom. Her image came to mind with such sharpness it might have been yesterday: tall, skinny, shy, too serious. Green eyes, high cheekbones, a tendency to hide her thoughts behind a sweeping curtain of black hair and, of course, the most vivid portrait of her—moonlight pouring through the windshield of Pop’s old truck, washing all the color from her face, making her emerald eyes gleam with an intensity he’d not known she was capable of.

Jackson shook his head, angry at himself for being tempted. No, he wasn’t going back. He’d never go back. He waited until he had the lump in his throat under control before he left the Captain’s office.

“I COULD DELIVER THAT FEED out to your place on Saturday, Cat,” Marvin Nordstrom pointed out as he heaved the last bag of feed onto the truck bed.

“I should have called you last week, Marvin. The feed bin is nearly empty. I’d better take it myself.”

Marvin looked dubious. His brief glance traveled up and down her slender figure. “How will you get it unloaded?”

“I’ll manage.” Cat didn’t have the muscles to be a rancher. She knew it and so did Marvin. The place needed a man to run it, but Cat didn’t have a man and certainly didn’t want one. She’d take care of it by herself, as she always had.

“If you have a problem, call. I’ll have Rafe stop by when he makes his rounds Saturday and unload it for you.”

Turning a grateful smile on the store owner, she said, “Thanks, Marvin. I’ll let you know.”

“Don’tcha go lifting those heavy bags by yourself,” he insisted. “Just yell if you need help. See ya.” The overweight feed store owner backed away, then turned to go into his store.

Cat lifted the tailgate and banged it closed. The metal had taken a beating over the years and needed to be forced into place. The squeal of air brakes startled her. She looked up. Across the street, a dusty Greyhound bus rolled to a halt. She watched as the driver left his seat and, a moment later, returned to it. The bus pulled away from the curb and continued down the street, revealing a lone figure standing beside a drab green duffel.

Her memory of him kept trying to fit over the reality. A tall man with short red hair and wide shoulders returned her stare, not the slim eighteen-year-old boy with a dazzling, wicked smile. That smile had enthralled her the first time she met him. Now, she saw the adult version as he recognized her. Its power hadn’t diminished with time.

CHAPTER TWO

“HEY,” HE CALLED. “Cat? Wild Cat Darnell?” The tall Marine grabbed his duffel and loped across the street toward her, narrowly dodging a white Chevy tooling down the street much faster than was safe.

Her breath caught in her throat, just as it had the first time she’d met him. “Wel— Welcome home, Jackson.”

He grinned at her, dropped his duffel, then gave her a bear hug. “It sure is you! I thought so, but I could hardly believe my eyes. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Oh, but I have, Jackson. I have. Cat tried to breathe and couldn’t. He held her too tight. His arms were steel bands pressing her against a rock-hard chest. For the first time in years, a pool of heat centered in her breasts and trickled down her stomach. His embrace felt warm and familiar and, at the same time, dangerous. How had she forgotten, even for a minute the secret he must never guess? She tried to get away. He must have felt her movement. His grip loosened and, nose still jammed against his khaki shirt, she drew in warm, male-scented air. Her legs turned to water. Jackson chose that moment to release her and she stumbled.

He caught her again. “Easy there! I didn’t mean to knock you off your feet.”

For a single dizzying second, she ached to remain in his arms. Reason returned. She couldn’t.

Cat stepped away from the closeness of Jackson Gray. It was difficult to appear casual as she asked the first question that came to mind. “Is someone meeting you?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Nobody knows I’m coming. I didn’t call.” He glanced away, his fair cheeks a pinker shade than usual.

Embarrassed, she guessed.

“Not sure of my welcome, you know,” he muttered to the sidewalk.

Sympathy washed over her. “Cass called me the day after the accident. She hoped you’d choose to come home.” She took a deep breath, willed the butterflies in her stomach to quiet their frantic clamor, and reluctantly decided there was no help for it. “I’ll give you a lift out to the farm.”

He brightened. “That’s good of you, Wild Cat. Thanks.”

“Nobody calls me Wild Cat anymore,” she observed, as calmly as if his use of her old nickname hadn’t stirred a hundred heart-stopping memories.

He laughed. The same careless laugh that used to make her heart bump against her chest. And still did.

“Well, I’ve never stopped thinking of you as ‘Wild Cat Darnell.’ There was a time when you’d try anything. Nothing was too outrageous. Remember that Halloween we hoisted the coach’s old Volkswagen up to the roof of the school? And draped it with crepe paper in the school colors? It rained all night and the paper broke. Colors ran over the car until it looked like it had been painted with pieces of confetti.” Jackson chuckled as he stared down at her, warm regard in his eyes.

Remembering, Cat thought. Well, damned if she’d give him any sign that she remembered, too. She made an attempt at airy indifference. “I’ve grown up, Jackson. Didn’t you?”

“What’s the fun in growing up? Next thing you’ll be asking me if I’ve decided to return to farming.” A snide smile spread across his angular face.

Same old Jackson, she thought. I’ve changed. He hasn’t. Despite the rush of heat his smile caused, she took a firm grip on her emotions. “No. I won’t. I already know the answer. Let’s go. I’ve got chores to do at the ranch.”

“Right. That’s one thing that never changes.”

He followed her around to the driver’s side and held the door for her. One large hand hovered next to her elbow as if he would help her climb into the truck. Hurriedly, she rushed to get in by herself, knowing she’d react to his touch the same way cattle did to an electric prod.

He must have changed a little bit, though. The old Jackson had been too carefree to think about opening a door for a woman unless his father had an eagle eye on him. She watched as Jackson loped around the truck, threw his duffel carelessly into the back and climbed into the cab with her. For a big man, he was graceful—lean-hipped, wide-shouldered, and too sexy. And totally unaware of his breathtaking attraction.

Cat drew in a deep, calming breath. She’d been lonely too long. He endangered her peace of mind and she needed to stay far away from him.

As he closed the door, he said, “Thanks for the lift, Cat…Catherine.”

The cab, roomy when only she and Joey were in it, became tiny as he laid one arm along the seat back, dangerously close to her shoulder. She retreated into censure. “Since when would a neighbor not offer a ride?”

Jackson busied himself with fastening his seat belt. “It’s been a long time, Cat. You know that. Cut me a little slack.” He glanced out the window, then back at her and changed the subject. “Tell me what’s changed since I left. Cass tries, but she doesn’t remember our group of kids. Fill me in on what’s happened to the Dragons of Engerville High.”

His mention of the school’s team name brought memories of their high school years back with a hard focus on Jackson, the prince, and the girl who was Engerville’s blond princess. A bitter stir of jealousy replaced the heat his nearness caused. Of course, he wanted to know about Rebeka. Mutinous anger shot through her. Well, he could damn well find out from someone else. “Remember Roy Thoreson?”

He shot her a sideways look of unexplained disgruntlement. “Sure. Your boyfriend for a while in our senior year. Editor of the school newspaper.” He hesitated, then grudgingly added, “And pretty darn good for a kid.”

Cat downshifted at a red light and looked quickly at the man beside her. He’d matured physically in a powerful, shockingly attractive way. His beard-darkened cheeks had fascinating shadows and angles her hand itched to explore, but above the sensual lips were a pair of cold blue eyes that belonged to a man she no longer knew.

How could this man’s eyes flash intimate warmth one moment and look right through her the next? Jackson might be two men now. A little bit of the one she remembered and the rest of him a stranger. She returned her gaze to the road ahead, determined to resist this new Jackson. “Roy’s a reporter for the Traill County Tribune, now. The Express offered him a job in Fargo, but he turned it down.”

Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “He actually turned down a newspaper job in Fargo to stay in this nowhere town? Is he still hanging around you or does he have another reason?”

“Some of us like living here, Jackson,” Cat reminded him.

Jackson’s cheeks reddened and he looked out the window. “Sorry. I have no business bad-mouthing Engerville,” he said.

He turned back to her, his engaging smile in place again.

“You know something? I’m so nervous about what Pop is going to say when he sees me that I really wasn’t thinking. I didn’t intend to be rude.” His lips twisted in rueful self-derision. “Why did you stay, Cat? You told me you’d be leaving, too, in the fall.”

She glanced at him and couldn’t help smiling at the stranger beside her. Despite the foreign air about him, he was still the boy she’d spent her high school years tagging along behind. Still the boy who hated the sameness of life in a farming community. Still the only male in Traill County who made her heart beat faster. With a straight face, she said, “No big mystery. I stay for the night life.”

He snorted with laughter. “Are you talking about the tavern or the diner? I’m serious. Tell me.”

Of course, she couldn’t tell him the truth, though for a split second, that’s what she wanted to do. His laughter brought back so many memories. Cat resisted the crazy impulse and shrugged. “I meant to. Things happen.”

“I guess so, but you sure sounded like you wanted to leave as bad as I did. What happened to you?”

Cat wondered if she had the nerve to admit she only pretended a desire to leave Engerville because that’s what he wanted. Truly, he was the only person who could have convinced her to leave the home she loved, but that was years in the past. He no longer had that power. She was indifferent to him. Touching the jade necklace around her throat as if it were a charm, she felt her stomach contract with tension.

Five minutes alone with him and she ached to tell him. Hurriedly, she diverted his attention with the one bit of news certain to interest him. “Did you know Rebeka and her husband are looking for a summer home in Engerville?”

“Really?”

Cat expected more interest, or at least a smidgen of surprise, from him. “They have a winter home in Virginia,” she added. That last bit of information startled him. He hadn’t known he’d been living in the same state with Rebeka. Unwanted satisfaction warmed her. How far was Quantico from Richmond?

His expression revealing nothing, Jackson shrugged, his broad shoulders straining the fabric of his jacket. “Very convenient. Mild winters and a cool summer home. Most people can’t afford two homes.”

The truck drifted to the right a bit as she glanced at him. Cat corrected the truck’s path and decided she’d better keep her attention on the road, for more reasons than avoiding a traffic accident. “Burt and Rebeka can. Everybody knows how wealthy they are.”

“Does anybody care?”

His tone of voice said more than the words did. Cat hurried to fill the awkward space. “Without Burt’s money, our farm would have gone under six years ago.” She hadn’t intended to tell him, but his attitude irked her. Of course he cared that the girl he’d been crazy about in high school had ditched him for a rich man’s son, as Jackson had characterized him on that long-ago prom night. Cat liked Burt, though, and Jackson’s attitude couldn’t change her mind.

She might have liked Rebeka more, if the teen queen hadn’t claimed Jackson as her private property from elementary school all the way through high school. Until the last three months of their senior year, the two had appeared to be joined at the hip.

Jackson looked curious. “Did he loan your dad money or something?”

“Not exactly. He bought a very expensive colt from us. Burt sells horses, hunters mostly, in Virginia and he liked the looks of the colt well enough to pay a darn good price for it.”

“But your father inherited that property. How could he need money that bad?” He frowned, swiping his hand across his forehead where beads of sweat had formed. “Sorry, Cat. That’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t mind. The farm had a major mortgage on it when Aunt Johanna died, so it wasn’t free and clear when Dad inherited it. Then Gary Jansen needed help and Dad cosigned a note when his wife was in the hospital with cancer. After she died, Gary gave up. The bank took over his farm and he couldn’t pay us back.”

Jackson looked disapproving. “That’s too bad, Cat. Your dad shouldn’t have cosigned for him. Not if he had to put the farm up for security.”

His selfishness disturbed Cat. If this was the real Jackson, then she’d wasted a lot of years wanting him. Her tone more caustic than she intended it to be, she said, “It may not have been the practical thing to do, but my father wasn’t famous for practicality, you know.”

Jackson protested, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Just that he shouldn’t have risked the farm. I’ve helped friends before.”

An unbidden chuckle escaped from Cat. “I can imagine what a footloose, carefree guy like you considers ‘helping a friend.’ With a ten-spot for the bar?”

Jackson’s expression became stony. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

Bitterness that he’d have no way of understanding colored her answer. Bitterness and piled-up, long-buried resentment. “You’ve been gone a long time, Jackson. I don’t think of you at all.”

It had been her choice not to tell him, but the resentment didn’t disappear. Apparently, Jackson didn’t know how to answer her hostility. He stared out the window, watching an endless field of corn stalks slide past the truck. The sharp line of his jaw stood out against the sun-splashed window. No flicker of regret showed in his face.

Another mile to his father’s farm. Cat’s feelings, always inconsistent where this man was concerned, softened in sympathy. What had happened wasn’t his fault, or at the very least, it was as much her doing as his. Now, forced by circumstances beyond his control, he had to return to a lifestyle and a town he hated. Nine years hadn’t changed the way Jackson Gray felt about sugar beets, hogs, cows and Engerville, North Dakota.

Cat couldn’t be a part of making him stay. She couldn’t tell him, now or ever. The pain of not telling replaced the fear of telling. A chill settled in her chest, spreading icy hurt to every part of her body.

WHEN THE TRUCK ROLLED to a stop in his father’s front yard, Jackson hesitated before opening the door. Cat’s attitude puzzled him. He’d felt a rush of joy when he’d seen her across the street, like a missing part of him had suddenly been found.

He’d been stunned by the changes in her. Skinny teenager had morphed into a delightfully curved woman. Gawky adolescence left so far behind it was like looking at a different person. Different, yet the same. She still had the world’s most stubborn chin. She definitely had the same gemstone eyes, but the green was deeper now. The same wide mouth, though the lower lip had a pouty fullness that hadn’t been there in high school. Or if it had been, he didn’t remember it. Jackson was sure he’d have remembered.

Cat still wore the jade necklace her mother had given her before she left and she still clutched the necklace when emotion got the better of her. Cat had always hoped that her parent’s separation wasn’t final. It was too bad her mother’s accidental drowning years ago had destroyed any chance of reconciliation.

The jade beads, as green as her eyes, curved around her slender throat. The pendant, an uneven circle, lay in the vee of her shirt opening, though now her skin gleamed a darker shade against the soft denim. Her breasts made his hands itch. He reacted like a pimply teenager all over again. That part was exactly the same. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench seat.

The companionable catching up on hometown news and old friends hadn’t happened as he’d thought it would. Still, he and Rebeka, along with Roy Thoreson and Cat, had been closer than best friends, so whatever caused her glacial manner couldn’t be his doing.

“I’ll stop by in a few days,” he offered, just to be polite. “I’d like to talk to you and catch up on everything. I’ve missed all the people I knew.” He paused, then continued. “I never hated anybody here, just slopping the hogs, plowing the fields, planting ten million potatoes and picking corn worms.”

She nodded, her gaze focused on something he couldn’t see.

“Is that okay?” he prompted.

Jackson studied her as she took too long to reply. Her eyes flashed green fire. Her tawny complexion reflected hours in the sun. Her blue denim shirt, though faded and obviously old, set off her straight black hair as well as the finest silk might. The color of her hair had changed, too, he realized. It used to be inky black, falling down her back. Now it seemed a shade lighter, with more texture and fullness. She wore it in a single plait, with dusky strands falling loose around her face. Her lower lip, full and sexy, disappeared for a second beneath strong white teeth. Desire shook him.

“Of course it’s okay.” Cat glanced at him, her face reflecting nothing.

He struggled to remember what he’d asked. She’d taken so long over her answer that he’d lost his concentration. Why had she hesitated? “It’s been a while. I’m not butting in, am I?”

The provocative lips widened in a delicious, pensive smile, though her answer still sounded reluctant. “Not at all. I’ll show you RugRat.”

“RugRat?” He tried to shift his gaze and couldn’t. Had she always been this incredibly desirable? Was that why she haunted his dreams?

Enthusiasm brightened her mood. “He’s our three-year-old thoroughbred-quarterhorse cross. One of six we’re working with now, but Dad thought Ruggie could pay for the ranch all by himself. He’s a rogue, and I’m not having much luck reforming him. Even so, I think I can get a decent price for him from Burt. He’ll be worth more, if I can get him calmed a bit.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing your devil horse.” Hoping to see that grin again, he smiled to show he was kidding. She stared straight ahead. “Okay, then. I’ll be seeing you.”

Jackson watched her pull the truck out of the driveway and onto the gravel road. Why did Cat seem glad to see him one minute and angry the next? He waved, but she didn’t look back.

Behind him the house waited like a dark cloud ready to descend on him. He could put it off no longer. He swung around to face old memories.

The shabby farmhouse, two stories high, surrounded by weathered barns and outbuildings, hid behind a huge maple tree. The wild roses his mother had planted covered the back side of the barn.

The acrid smell of manure and wheatstraw rode the cool breeze. Off to the right, new corn plants broke through dark soil. The sugar beets would be in the far field this year. He pictured his father atop the green and yellow tractor, the muffled roar of its engine shattering the quiet. Though he dreaded seeing him, the remembered picture brought him a sense of security he hadn’t felt since he’d left Engerville. A cot in the barracks wasn’t much of a home, certainly not one that could replace this familiar farmhouse.

A broken rope dangled from the barn’s loft door. He and Cassidy had swung from it and then jumped to land in a pile of hay below. It could have been the same rope or another just like the one they’d used. Wooden rocking chairs and a porch swing with peeling white paint still sat on the front veranda where they’d gathered in the late evenings to listen to Pop playing his guitar and singing country songs.

It was still the place he’d escaped from. No matter how nostalgic he felt on seeing it again, the wide fields still marched in furrowed rows to the horizon, interrupted only by tall pine windbreaks. Faintly, he heard the high-pitched squeal of a hog coming from the distant barn. If he closed his eyes, he’d be able to smell the stink from here. He shuddered. There was nothing he hated more than pigs.

Jackson swung his gaze back to the house. Would he be welcome? Or would Pop stare at him coldly, wishing he’d stayed away as Jackson had vowed he would when he left his home that June morning. A moment of cowardice pierced him to the backbone. He thought about slinking away. Just heading to the road and loping back toward town. He might get a ride, after all, and it wasn’t so far, if he didn’t. Within a few hours he could be back on a Greyhound bus heading to Seattle, where the rest of his life awaited him with a new, exciting career.

The moment of indecision faded as he realized he couldn’t leave. His father needed him, whether the stubborn old man wanted to acknowledge that fact or not. Too late, anyway. The front door opened and Cassidy stuck her head out and shouted in delight.

“Jackson! You came! I knew you would. Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Then she launched herself off the porch straight into his arms.

Cassidy held on to him as if it had been centuries since they’d seen each other. It had only been a bit over a year. She’d invited him to Minneapolis to meet her new husband and to see his very new nephew. It had been a lot longer since he’d seen Pop. In nine years, he’d only come back once and that occasion had been his mother’s funeral. He’d arrived in town one day and left the next, hardly exchanging more than a cool hello with his grief-stricken father.

“So how’s the old man?” he asked, finally setting Cass down. Her short height had given him an unfair advantage with her from the start. Now she looked up at him, a happy smile lighting her whole face.

“He’s so much better, Jackson. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to come home, but, darn it, it’s way past time for you two to make up.”

He gave her a freezing stare, which didn’t seem to bother her at all. “I’m certainly glad he’s recovered, but if this is your idea of a joke, getting me to come home on false pretenses… I can damn well tell you I don’t find it a bit funny.”

Cass snorted. “Oh, cool it! I told you the exact truth. Pop is doing better, but he’s far from well. Very far. He’s out of danger and the doctor is happy with his progress, but the truth is, he’s still a long way from being back on his feet.”

“Then what the hell are you trying to tell me? Is he hurt bad or not? Dammit, I’d like a straight answer.”

“Don’t cuss at me, Jackson! I’m a mother, you know. Show a little respect!”

He laughed. Her bright red hair and defiant stance couldn’t enhance her five feet, four inches much. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pointed her toward the door. “Inside, Cass. And while you’re leading the way, spit out a few answers about how Pop is going to treat me when we get there.”

Twisting around, she glared back at him. “He’ll chew you up and spit out the pieces, Marine! For heaven’s sake, Jackson, what can he do to you? He’s practically chained to his bed.” She softened a tad. “He’ll be glad to see you. Don’t worry.”

Easy for her to say. He and Pop had almost come to blows the morning he’d left, the day after the senior prom. He tried not to think about the cruel, callow things he’d said to Pop. Tried not to remember Pop’s reasoned, soft-spoken advice and the way he hadn’t lost his temper at all until Jackson had yelled at him. Jackson tried not to think about anything as he followed Cass inside his boyhood home.

The rooms were cool and shadowed, a welcome change from the heat outside. Through the doorway into the kitchen, he saw an older woman, her back to him. Bertha Jean Gillis stood stiff and straight in a blue housedress and a large white apron, her Swedish blond hair plaited and wrapped in a coronet. She turned at their approach. An unusual sight to see the woman the whole town had nicknamed “Crabby” smiling at him, even if it was a brief wintry token of a smile not intended as a personal welcome.

“I’m glad to see you, young man, and not one second too soon, either.” Her faded gray eyes snapped with concern.

Before he could reply, she spoke again. “Will woke up a few minutes ago. Go on in and say hello.”

For a single moment, time stood still. The faded kitchen linoleum butted against the worn cranberry carpet he stood on. The hardwood floor in the hall needed waxing. Then, time restarted. Two doors down the short hallway, the stern, older man waited.

Jackson strode toward Pop’s room, trying to walk like a Marine, proud and confident, but feeling more like a little boy about to get his hiney tanned. He tapped on the open door. Tentatively, he spoke. “Hi, Pop.”

“Is that you, boy?” the reply came back. “You’ve grown a foot, seems like. Cass said you’d come, but I guess I didn’t believe it.”

Jackson’s heart jerked to his mouth. The worn-out old man lying in the bed his mother had died in looked as if he, too, were ready to cross over. Jackson tried to say something, but no words came out.

The old man spoke again, his voice stronger. “I’m not dead yet, so quit looking at me that way. That damn black bull Bertie sold me just beat up on me some, out of pure hell, I guess.”

“I’ve missed you, Pop,” Jackson said, and wondered why it had taken so long to get over his anger.

The appallingly weak voice pleaded, “Son, I’ve waited a long time. Are you going to come over here and hug your old man or not?”

Jackson stumbled toward the bed on weak legs, his heart beating so loud it sounded like the bass drum in a parade.