The Rancher and the City Girl Read online

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  Camille stretched and yawned, then burrowed deeper into her pillow, pleased that her neighbors had decided to keep down the noise. She smiled and tried to resume her dream before reality hit. She wasn’t in New York; she was on the run for her life. Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright, looking around the room. Memories of last night flooded her mind and her heart settled, gradually slowing to a normal beat.

  She was safe. Jericho had welcomed her into his home. Welcome might be overstating things, but he had said she could stay, something that had been in doubt for a few harrowing minutes there. What would she do if he changed his mind? She’d taken him by surprise last night and he hadn’t had time to consider his answer. Perhaps having slept on it, he’d decide he didn’t really want her around.

  And now that she thought about it, he hadn’t said she could stay until she was safe. He had agreed only to let her spend the night. Perhaps he would press her to leave today. Then what would she do?

  She wouldn’t let that happen. She’d just make sure he didn’t change his mind. The ranch was big and no doubt kept him busy. He probably didn’t have time to do everything. Maybe there was something she could do around the house to help him and thereby earn her keep. Some way she could be of value to him.

  She flashed back to the first time they’d met at a reception hosted by her father’s law firm to celebrate his being appointed to the federal appellate court. Jericho had tagged along with his sister, who was working at the firm the summer after her second year in law school. He’d been charming and outgoing. Friendly. Then Jeanette had walked into the room. Camille had introduced them and the rest, as the saying went, had been history.

  Only the history between her and Jericho had turned bitter. If she didn’t change the way they interacted, she could be out on her ear and searching for another sanctuary. There wasn’t one. If there had been, she would have gone there instead.

  She put the pillow against the headboard and then leaned back. It would be easier if she didn’t dislike him so much. He’d swept in and ruined her brother’s engagement without a second thought, then whisked Jeanette halfway across the country. Camille had been the one her heartbroken brother had turned to. She’d never forget the pain she’d felt at seeing her brother in tears. All because of Jericho Jones.

  Still, she was at his mercy so she needed to keep her contempt to herself. Surely she could do that. She was discovering previously unknown acting skills. She’d managed to keep her knowledge about Donald Wilcox’s criminal activity from him. She’d been cordial and professional, even enduring business dinners with him. Certainly she could maintain a similar facade with Jericho.

  She got up and made up her bed, then opened her door. A quick glance down the hall revealed that the other doors were closed. Was Jericho awake? She crossed the room and checked her watch. Given that it was 7:30 a.m., she imagined he was.

  Padding across the wooden floor, she went to the tiny bathroom. She brushed her teeth, then got in the tub, letting the hot water ease the stress from her body. Even though she would have to wear her crumpled skirt and blouse for a third consecutive day, it wouldn’t feel so bad if she was clean. The red silk had been a favorite of hers. She’d splurged on the designer suit and matching pumps two months ago. Now she’d be quite happy to never wear it again. In fact, when this was all over, she would donate it to a women’s shelter.

  She dried off and then slipped into her slightly damp underwear. Pulling on her skirt and blouse, she stepped into her shoes. It was too hot for the jacket, and she absolutely refused to wear pantyhose on a ranch or farm or whatever this was.

  Her stomach growled. She took a quick look around the bathroom to be sure she hadn’t left anything out of place. The room was small, but she had to admit she preferred the old-fashioned claw-foot tub to the Jacuzzi in her own spa-like bathroom.

  She didn’t call out to Jericho, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t in the house. It felt too empty. Although she remembered where the kitchen was, she took a detour. Last night she’d been too nervous and then too relieved to notice much of anything. Now her curiosity got the better of her and she decided to look around.

  She entered the living room and slid her finger across an end table, leaving a clean mark in the thin layer of dust. She picked up a framed photo, and her breath caught. It was a picture of Jericho and Jeanette. He was holding Jeanette in his lap as they sat in a tree swing. They were smiling and their eyes were lit with laughter. Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Camille replaced the picture and hurried from the room into the kitchen. She’d ended her friendship with Jeanette, forfeiting the right to know about her life and her marriage.

  If she was going to ensure Jericho allowed her to stay, she needed to prove her value to him. There probably wasn’t any use for her skills as a financial wizard, but she could cook and clean for him.

  Camille opened the refrigerator and groaned. The pickings were definitely slim. There were half a dozen eggs, a hunk of cheese, a carton of milk and half a bottle of orange juice. She didn’t see how a man the size of Jericho managed on so little food. She rummaged through his pantry and found one onion. A two-egg omelet would be a start, but there was no way he would get full simply eating eggs.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she muttered under her breath. She opened cabinets and canisters to see what she had to work with, finding flour, baking powder and sugar. Homemade pancakes along with the omelet would be a somewhat more substantial breakfast.

  Humming to herself, she mixed the ingredients in a large bowl. Though she had always loved cooking, she hadn’t made anything more involved than toast or a microwave meal in years. Being a rising star in the banking world required sacrifice and all of her time. Fortunately, cooking was like riding a bike, but without the sore calves. There was something soothing about pouring the batter onto a sizzling pan and watching golden pancakes materialize.

  When they were done, she put the plate containing a dozen midsize pancakes in the oven to keep warm, then headed out the door. Jericho had to be somewhere. Hopefully, he would recognize her peace offering for what it was without her having to tell him.

  She walked down the back stairs, surprised to see a brick patio surrounding an in-ground pool and hot tub. She skirted a table and chairs and hurried in the direction of a large building. Shadow was chasing a squirrel across the grass, having great fun. She doubted the squirrel found the game as amusing as he did. When the dog spotted her, he abandoned the squirrel and ran over, wagging his tail a mile a minute.

  “Where’s your master?” she asked. The dog cocked his head, barked twice and sat on his haunches. He lifted his paw as if offering to shake. Clearly there was a failure to communicate.

  She patted his head briefly. Shadow considered her for a moment, then raced around the yard as if searching for the squirrel so they could continue playing. Although she found the dog’s antics amusing and could have watched him for hours, she was on a mission.

  As Camille stepped into the stable, she inhaled the sweet smell of hay mingled with leather and pine. She expected to see horses, but the stalls were empty. Perhaps they were in a pasture or corral or whatever it was called. She needed to learn how to speak country.

  She walked down the center aisle that separated the stalls until she reached the back of the building. Jericho was in a small room rubbing soap on a saddle. From the intense way he was scrubbing, she wouldn’t be surprised if he rubbed a hole into the leather. The muscles on his arms bunched and flexed beneath his shirt.

  She must have made a sound because he turned and looked up, one eyebrow raised. He stared at her without speaking, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. Instead of flinching the way she wanted, she raised her chin and spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted you to know I made breakfast.”

  He grunted, nodded toward a ceramic mug and turne
d back to his work. “I had coffee.”

  “Pancakes. And omelets.” She twisted the hem of her blouse, unsure if she’d made the right decision. Naturally she started to babble, a habit she thought she’d overcome in finishing school. “Well, the pancakes are in the oven staying warm. I haven’t made the eggs yet. But I did grate the cheese and dice the onions. It’ll only take a minute to throw them together.”

  He was silent for so long she didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally he looked at her again, his eyes unreadable. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

  “I don’t mind,” she rushed to assure him. “I like to cook.”

  He frowned, and her heart sank. Obviously she’d said the wrong thing. “I should have said I don’t need you cooking for me.”

  She swallowed her hurt. She didn’t like him, so why did it bother her that he didn’t like her either? She’d never been the sensitive type. Apparently the stress of the situation was getting to her. “Okay. But since I already have, maybe you can eat this time? I would hate for good food to go to waste.”

  He stared at her so long it took monumental effort not to squirm. “Fine. This time.”

  She felt his eyes on her as he followed her to the house. Part of her wished she could throw away the food, but she’d been raised to know that wasting anything was sinful.

  She cooked the omelets, pleased that she hadn’t lost her ability to make them perfectly. After he washed his hands, he removed the platter of pancakes from the oven. He placed half on her plate and the other half on his own. She added the omelets, poured juice and joined him at the table.

  “There’s only butter. I couldn’t find syrup.”

  “Don’t have any.” He cut his pancakes with the side of his fork. “I guess you’ll have to make do, something new for a spoiled rich kid like you.”

  She swallowed the snarky reply on her lips. She wasn’t going to fight with him so he would have an excuse to put her out. Besides, she’d been insulted before. She’d endured slights both subtle and blatant. Women didn’t make it to the top of her male-dominated field if they were shrinking violets. Most men resented her brains and her success. She’d shot down those she could and ignored those she couldn’t.

  She tucked into her breakfast, pleased to see that he was eating his without further comment. Now that she had a closer look at him, she realized he’d lost weight. He was still muscular and no doubt strong, but he could stand to put on a few pounds. Perhaps grief had stolen his appetite. Or maybe he didn’t like to cook.

  He’d told her he didn’t need her to cook for him, but maybe he’d said that only because he was annoyed that she’d disturbed him. He certainly seemed to be enjoying his breakfast. Or maybe later on he planned to accuse her of being a pampered princess. Whatever, she wasn’t going to give him an excuse to kick her out. She’d pull her weight while she was here.

  They finished the meal in silence. When he’d eaten the last bit of eggs, he carried his dishes to the sink, gave her one last glance and left without saying a word.

  She heaved a heavy sigh. At least he hadn’t told her to leave.

  Chapter Three

  Camille washed the dishes, wiped the counters and table, and sat down. Now what?

  She’d cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, trying to distract herself from her situation, but it hadn’t worked. No matter how busy her hands were, she couldn’t keep her mind from circling back to her problem. People wanted her dead. Would they change their minds if they couldn’t find her, or would they keep searching? Did the authorities have enough information to arrest Donald Wilcox and his hit men? And how would she find out?

  She and Agent Delgado had been communicating by email. In the last one he’d sent, he’d told her not to write to him until he reached out to her. Although he didn’t believe she was in danger, he’d wanted her to lie low. And then he’d been in that car accident. So now what should she do? What could she do? Nothing. She couldn’t lie any lower than she was now.

  But she couldn’t just twiddle her thumbs. After a lifetime of being busy, Camille found the quiet and endless hours looming ahead of her a little disconcerting. If she didn’t do something physical she would go out of her mind with worry. She would clean Jericho’s house for him. But how would she manage to do it without studying the pictures or the various knickknacks and dredging up memories?

  She searched through the kitchen cabinets until she found all the cleaning supplies she needed. Unwilling to stain her skirt, especially since it was all she had to wear, she tied a towel around her waist and set to work. She started in the front room, waxing the tables, careful to place every picture and lamp where it belonged. Her heart pinched with regret as she wiped the dust off pictures of Jeanette.

  Camille had planned to forgive Jeanette and reconcile with her at some vague date in the future. Lately she’d begun to wonder whether there had been anything to forgive. Jeanette hadn’t done anything wrong to Camille. If anything, Camille had been the one in need of forgiveness. But it was too late. Jeanette was gone so Camille couldn’t make things right.

  Regrets churning in her stomach, Camille finished cleaning the front room, then moved on to the dining room. Moving with precision, she dusted and wiped every nook and cranny, scrubbing until the room shone. Then she moved to the last room on the first floor, a study. She dusted the bookshelves and then proceeded to the writing desk.

  “What are you doing in my office?”

  Camille spun around, grabbing the top of a leather chair. She’d never been a particularly nervous person, but the stress of the last couple of days had rattled her until she was jumping at every little thing. She could understand being so hyperalert when she was in danger. But she was safe now.

  At least she thought she was. Looking at Jericho made her wonder. Standing inside the door, his muscular arms folded across his equally muscular chest, his eyes narrowed, anger radiated off him in waves that shot across the room and crashed into her. Even though he was so furious he was vibrating, she still couldn’t help but notice how incredibly handsome he was. How masculine. She told herself that her heart lurched in her chest because he’d startled her, but that was only partly true.

  He raised an eyebrow, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question so she replied, “Cleaning.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I could help you.”

  “What gave you the idea I needed or wanted your help?”

  Her stomach sank. So much for being thoughtful. While she believed she was showing him how she could make his life better, hoping he’d be less inclined to change his mind about letting her stay here, her actions may have had the opposite effect. He still hadn’t committed to a specific time frame for her stay, which would have given her a little peace of mind. Instead she was left in limbo, wondering if the next words out of his mouth would be the ones she dreaded hearing: get out. Of course now wasn’t the time to try to get him to commit. Not when she was one false move from being tossed out on her ear.

  “I...uh.” Her voice faded out as nothing came to mind. At least nothing that wouldn’t sound like criticism of his housekeeping skills.

  “I’m sorry if the accommodations at the Double J don’t meet the lofty standards you’re accustomed to,” he said, his lips barely moving. He didn’t raise his voice. Somehow that made his fury even more pronounced. “But you barged in on my life and home, not the other way around.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just trying to show my appreciation.”

  “If you want to show your gratitude, then stay out of my way and out of my office. The less I see of you the better.”

  She nodded, too stunned to reply, then walked out of his office, careful not to brush against him.

  Cursing under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear, he stormed through the hallway. Seconds later she heard the back door slam. Her shoulders slumped, and she
sighed. Even though Jericho was gone, her stomach still churned like the Atlantic Ocean during a storm. She closed her eyes, trying to hold back hot tears. Crying never helped.

  She heard whining, then felt a wet nose pushing against her hand. Shadow. She knelt and buried her face in the dog’s fur. “I really messed up this time.”

  Shadow barked in reply, then swiped his tongue against her cheek. She hugged him once more, then pushed to her feet. She rinsed the mop, emptied the bucket and put the rest of the supplies where she found them. She needed to make herself scarce. Her three-inch heels weren’t ideal for walking on a ranch, but she couldn’t remain in the house.

  * * *

  Jericho saddled Diablo and rode across the field, the horse’s hooves thundering against the ground. The spirited stallion loved racing, and Jericho gave him the freedom to do so. They shot across the acreage as if the hounds of hell were after them.

  No matter how fast they went, Jericho couldn’t outrun the sorrowful look on Camille’s face when he’d lit into her. He knew she was scared and was probably trying to stay busy in order to keep from worrying about the people who wanted to kill her. She was literally running for her life and had come to him. Knowing that he disliked her, that couldn’t have been easy. In fact, that was further proof of just how desperate and frightened she was.

  It didn’t matter that he didn’t want her here. He’d told her she could stay. Implied in that statement was the promise that he would make her feel at least marginally welcome.

  She was nervous and walking on eggshells and not only because she was in fear for her life. She was uneasy because of him. That idea turned his stomach. He’d never thought he’d see confident Camille as timid as she’d been that morning at breakfast. And he never wanted to see her that way again. He preferred the proud woman. That pride wouldn’t allow her to take from him without giving something in return. He understood that. He was the same way. When he went back to the house, he’d apologize to her.