Dark Paradise (81 page)

is that?"

"Spike. My dog," Marilee announced with no small amount of indignation.

She pushed herself up out of her chair and brushed at her wrinkled jeans

and baggy purple T-shirt, uncharacteristically self-conscious. Her heart

had picked up a couple of extra beats. She could see by her reflection

in the glass doors that her hair was a mess. Your hair is always a mess,

Marilee. She scooped a chunk of it behind her ear.

J.D. snorted as if to say he didn't count anything as small as Spike to

be a real dog. Spike glared up at him, not about to back down. A little

like his mistress, he thought, chuckling to himself. Slowly, he hunkered

down and offered the dog a chance to sniff his hand. A moment later he

was fondling the terrier's ears and scratching the back of its muscular

little neck.

"What he lacks in size, he makes up in volume," Marilee said.

"Takes after you that way."

"Very funny. What are you doing here, Rafferty?" she asked, scowling,

cringing a little inwardly at the defensiveness in her tone. In a

perfect world she would have been calm and cool. But this was not a

perfect world. She knew that better than most people.

J.D. rose slowly and stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Came to see to the stock," he said, poker-faced.

Marilee nodded slowly, not believing a word of it.

"You're about a month late."

"Had a lot on my mind."

"How's Del?" she asked, not certain she wanted to hear what he'd had on

his mind. There was no guarantee it was anything good.

"Seeing a psychiatrist in Livingston once a week. Guy was in 'Nam. They

go fishing together and talk. He's doing okay."

"I'm glad."

She narrowed her eyes a little and did a head-to-toe assessment of him.

He wore a clean blue oxford buttondown that had seen an iron recently,

dark jeans, boots that still had a little shine on them. No hat. His

lean cheeks were freshly shaved. His dark hair was neat except for the

little cowlick in front. She wanted to reach up and brush it with her

fingers.

"You're not exactly dressed for chores," she said. "Got a hot date in

town?"

"Well . . ." he drawled, "that remains to be seen."

Her heart kicked hard against her rib cage. She arched a brow and tried

like hell not to look encouraged. "I see."

"How you doing Marilee?" he asked softly, capturing her gaze and

holding it steady. He wanted to go to her and touch her face and tangle

his fingers in her hair.

He wanted to sink his lips down against hers and kiss her for a year. He

wanted to lay her down somewhere soft and make love to her forever, but

there were things they needed to settle first.

I'm lonely. I miss you. I'm pregnant. "Fine." She raised her hands to

show him both were in working order. "My days as a monoplegic are over."

"You're happy here?"

Not without you. "Very."

"You'll stay?"

"Forever."

He spent a moment digesting that, then nodded slowly.

"You're not going to tell me I don't belong here?" she asked.

"No, ma'am."

"You're not going to swear at me for being an outsider?"

"No."

"You're not going to try to run me off?"

He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

She laughed her deep, husky laugh. "That's what I hate about you,

cowboy, you just never shut up."

One corner of his mouth tipped up. "You talk enough for both of us."

Marilee tipped her head and fought the grin that threatened. "Tough."

She moved to lean back against the deck railing, crossing her ankles as

if she felt nonchalant. If there had been a pack of cigarettes on the

table, she would have been tempted to light half a dozen simultaneously,

but there were only her cut-off straws and the leaky pen. Her nerves

were stretched as taut as piano wire. She resisted the urge to rub her

hand over her tummy.

"So, you came to see the llamas," she said, her fingernails digging into

the railing.

J.D. looked straight at her. "I came to see you."

"What for?" She braced herself for an answer she didn't want to hear.

That he wanted to tell her it was officially over between them, that he

wouldn't be taking her up on her offer. That he still wanted to buy her

land.

If he said one word about the land . . .

J.D. glanced down at the table for a moment, rolling a length of plastic

straw with his finger. She had some scribbled lines in a notebook. Song

lyrics, he supposed.

Her handwriting was as messy as her hair. He stalled, amazed at the

amount of courage he was having to dig up for this conversation. He'd

spent a month storing it up and losing it, arguing with himself about

his future and his motives. He had practiced what he would say on the

way down here, and now he stood here, saying nothing.

Mary-Chapin Carpenter sang softly in the background, saving them from an

oppressive silence.

Finally, he sighed and faced her. "Well, Will and Sam are starting over.

You came here to start over. I thought maybe you and I might start over

too."

Marilee's breath caught in her throat. "Why?"

Because I love you. "I've spent a lot of time thinking these past few

weeks," he said quietly. "I've been wrong. About a lot of things."

"And I'm one of those things?"

"I've been alone all my life, Marilee," he whispered.

She knew instantly what he meant. That he had been emotionally abandoned

as a child. That he had protected himself ever since. That he was

letting down his guard for her.

"I reckon I thought it would be safer, easier," he said. "But it's just

lonely and I've grown weary of it."

She had been alone too. Alone inside herself while she went through the

motions of fitting in in a world where she didn't belong. She knew the

unique ache of that kind of loneliness.

"What do you say, Marilee?" he asked, spreading his hands, his heart

pounding at the base of his throat. "You gonna give a hardheaded cowboy

a second chance?"

She looked at him standing there in his good clothes, clean-shaven, and

his hair combed, and her heart nearly overflowed. You're hopeless,

Marilee. Hardheaded didn't begin to describe him. He was contrary and

ornery and they didn't see eye to eye on much of anything. And he was

closed and stubborn and opinionated. . . . And he was good and honest

and strong and brave, and she loved him. No question that she loved him.

The air went out of J.D.'s lungs when she smiled that wry smile.

"Does this mean you'll actually take me on a date?" she asked

suspiciously. "Dinner and dancing?"

"Dancing?" She sniffed, mischief sparkling like diamonds in her eyes as

she pushed herself away from the railing. "You can't dance."

He took a step closer, squaring his shoulders at the challenge. "Can

so."

"Cannot."

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Come over here and say

that, city girl."

Marilee stepped up to him with her hands on her hips and looked him in

the eye. "Show me."

Carefully he took her in his arms and danced her through a slow two-step

around the deck. While Spike looked on from the cushion on the

Adirondack chair, they moved in perfect unison to a sweet, pretty song

about Halley's comet and innocence and simple joys. He moved with grace

and confidence, guiding her, holding her in a way that made her feel

safe and protected and small and feminine. Above them the sky turned

purple with twilight and the moon rose in the east, a huge white wafer

above the jagged teeth of the Absarokas. Down the valley the coyotes

began to call.

Marilee kept her gaze locked on J.D.'s, searching for a truth she

wouldn't count on him speaking. That he could give her his heart. That

she could trust him with hers. That the years of wariness hadn't left

him permanently isolated.

She caught the slightest whiff of aftershave, and tears of love filled

her eyes as she slid her arms around him and pressed her cheek against

his chest, slowing their dance to a shuffle. He was a man as hard and

unyielding as the land that bred him, and she might spend the next fifty

years tearing her hair out over his stubbornness, but she wouldn't trade

a second of it for all the gold in California.

She mouthed the words against the soft cotton of his shirt, like a

precious secret, like prayer. I love you.

J.D. wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the soft tangle

of her hair. His heart felt huge and tender in his chest, beneath her

cheek. Looking out across the valley to the mountains beyond, he felt

both old and new, strong and vulnerable. He felt as if they were the

only two people on earth, alone in paradise, starting fresh. He vowed to

do it right this time. No ties, no games, cards on the table, nothing

held back.

The music slowed. The sweet harmony of twin fiddles faded away, and the

last notes were played on the guitar.

Their feet stilled.

Their hearts beat.

Marilee held her breath.

And Rafferty tipped her chin up and gazed down into her blue, blue eyes

and whispered, "I love you."