Soul Deep (4 page)

The room was every bit as lovely as anything
she might have gotten at the bed and breakfast. Then she remembered
the bathroom.

She reached for her cane, got out of bed, her
hip and thigh stiff but no longer hurting. She crossed the room,
reached inside the bathroom, and flicked on the lights, a little
sigh leaving her at the sight.

The heated stone floor was warm against her
feet as she stepped inside, taking it all in—the marble counters,
the two oval sinks, the multi-head shower surrounded by glass
walls. But what delighted her most was the soaking tub. Deep and
wide, it sat beneath a delicate chandelier, a little piece of
paradise.

She
had
to take a long, hot bath
before she left the ranch.

That’s when she remembered that Jack had
invited her to stay for the week. The offer was tempting—and not
only because of the tub. The man himself had more than his share of
appeal.

She found it hard not to forgive him for
their first encounter after he’d done so much for her today. Good
lord, he’d actually scooped her off her feet and carried her to his
pickup. No man had ever carried her. At five-foot-nine, she was
tall for a woman, but Jack was taller. Beneath his down parka, he
was all muscle. Being held like that had made her feel small,
feminine.

Stop it, Killeen.

The man wasn’t interested in her. He’d
carried her because he’d known she was exhausted and because they’d
needed to cross the highway quickly, not because he found her
irresistible. Even if he did, she didn’t want to complicate her
already complicated life any further by getting involved with a man
right now.

She looked in the mirror. There were dark
circles beneath her eyes, and her hair was a tangled mess. She
reached for her brush, ran it through her hair, then retrieved her
makeup bag. She did her best to conceal the dark circles and make
herself look alive—a little eyeliner, some mascara, a touch of
blush.

Then again, it didn’t matter how she looked.
She wasn’t trying to impress anyone—or she shouldn’t be.

She put on the same clothes she’d worn at
lunchtime and, remembering that dinner would be ready at about six,
left her room and walked back down the hallway, the sound of
classical music drifting toward her from the kitchen. But when she
reached the end of the hallway, she stopped and stared.

Jack West’s home was stunning, with timbered,
vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the
mountains, an enormous fireplace of rounded river stones in the
living room, a formal dining area with a table that could easily
seat a dozen people, and a wide stairway that led to more rooms
upstairs.

“Want a tour?” Jack stood in the doorway to
the kitchen, watching her, a denim apron over a black turtleneck
and jeans. “We don’t need to go upstairs. There’s not much up there
besides bedrooms.”

“I’d like that.” She followed him while he
showed her his office, with its masculine leather furniture and
neat bookshelves; the gym with its sauna and the hot tub they’d
just installed; a breathtaking two-story library that had its own
fireplace; the home theater; and, last but not least, the wine
cellar.

Janet struggled not to look amazed by it all.
She’d had no idea cattle ranching could be so lucrative. Or maybe
it wasn’t the cattle. Maybe it was the horses. Regardless, the
Cimarron was like no place she’d ever seen.

Jack turned toward the wall of wines. “This
reminds me. We need something for dinner. How about a nice cru
Beaujolais?” He drew a bottle from the rack and read off the name
in French. “Côte de Brouilly from Château Thivin. This ought to
do.”

“You’re an oenophile?”

He frowned. “Does that surprise you?”

Janet’s mind was still muddled by Percocet.
That’s the only explanation for the words that came out of her
mouth next—and the flirty tone of voice she used when she said
them. “A lot of things I’ve learned about you today surprise
me.”

Jack’s lips curved slowly into a smile that
made her pulse skip. “Is that so?”

# # #

Jack poured wine into Janet’s glass, fighting
to ignore what felt suspiciously like nerves. “Bon appétit.”

What the hell did he possibly have to be
nervous about?

Absolutely nothing. That’s what.

This wasn’t a date or some damned romantic
liaison. He was having dinner with an acquaintance who’d gotten
stranded near his property—and who just happened to be a beautiful
woman. She probably had a boyfriend or, hell, maybe a
girlfriend.

She smiled, those dimples appearing again.
“It smells delicious.”

Not sure what she liked, he’d decided to keep
dinner simple—a roast chicken, buttered new potatoes with parsley,
an arugula salad, green beans, and rolls.

“Thanks.” He sat, spread a cloth napkin on
his lap. “We trade with a friend of ours—organic free-range beef
for organic free-range birds.”

She raised her glass. “Cheers.”

He raised his. “Cheers.”

They drank.

“This is very good.” Janet looked at the
wine, took another sip. “I don’t know as much about wine as I
should, but I do appreciate a good wine when I taste it. My
mother’s parents made their own wine from grapes they grew
themselves. They grew most of what we ate.”

“You grew up on a farm?” Now it was his turn
to be surprised. He’d had her figured for a big-city type.

“My grandfather grew apples, so it was really
more of an orchard than a farm, though they did have a big
vegetable garden. My grandmother canned everything. We had chickens
and beehives, too. I helped her with the chickens—when I wasn’t too
busy running wild.”

While they ate, Jack listened to Janet talk
about her childhood, her voice smooth and melodic, her green eyes
taking on a sparkle. He tried to envision the woman who’d shown up
at the ranch last February wearing a stiff pantsuit, a gun, and a
badge as a little girl who’d eaten fresh honey from a hive, helped
her grandma gather eggs, played hide and seek in the barn, and
climbed into apple trees to read books.

“They had sugar maples on the property, so
every spring we’d tap the trees to gather the sap and then boil it
down to make maple syrup, maple butter, and maple candy. I miss
that here. No one in Colorado has even heard of maple cream
pie.”

“I can’t say I’ve heard of it myself.” But
Jack would damned well look it up. He liked a challenge. “Is that
where you learned to ride?”

She took a sip of her wine, nodded. “They had
two dressage horses—Hanoverian geldings. I was riding horses before
I could walk, or so I’ve been told.”

As a rule, Jack didn’t go in for woo-woo, but
he’d swear there was a spiritual connection between women and
horses. He’d seen it often enough to believe it was real. He’d
always thought women were more in tune with their bodies and with
nature than most men. Maybe there was an earthiness in women that
connected with the wildness in horses. Hell, how should he
know?

“My Nate was sitting in a saddle when he was
still in diapers.” Jack set his fork aside, his plate clean. “I’ll
show you the stables tomorrow—unless you’re dead set on getting out
of here.”

She smiled, a warm flush in her cheeks from
the wine. “I think I can stay that long. I would love to see your
horses.”

“So how did a farm girl from upstate New York
end up becoming an FBI agent?” He poured the last of the wine into
their glasses.

Her smile faded, and the sparkle left her
eyes. “My parents were murdered.”

Her words hit Jack square in the face.
“Murdered?”

She nodded, drank the last of her wine. “They
put a classified ad in the paper to sell their old car. A man
called and said he wanted to come by and see it. When my dad went
outside to show him the vehicle, the bastard shot him in the chest.
My mother was making supper. She heard the shot and ran outside to
help my dad. The SOB shot her, too, then backed over her while she
was still alive and drove off with the car. I was five. Melodie, my
sister, was three. I’m not sure what we were doing—playing in our
bedroom or something. A neighbor saw the whole thing and called the
police. It was the FBI who tracked him down and brought him
in.”

“Was he convicted?”

She shook her head. “They found him dead in
his cell. Apparently, he picked a fight with the wrong people and
got shanked.”

The bastard had damned well deserved it.

“I’m sorry.” Jack reached over, took her
hand, held it. “I can’t imagine how hard it was for you and your
sister.”

He couldn’t imagine how difficult it had been
for her grandparents, either—losing their daughter and son-in-law
and then having to explain death to two tiny children who suddenly
depended on them for everything.

“Thanks.” Janet gave him a tight smile that
didn’t reach her eyes, drew her hand away. “The FBI agents who came
to speak with my grandparents seemed like heroes to me. I knew that
I wanted to do what they did when I grew up.”

“Catch bad guys?”

She nodded. “Catch bad guys—and keep good
people from being hurt.”

“I hope it brings you some peace to know
you’ve managed to do exactly that.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to
you.”

“Thanks.” She smiled again, but he could see
the sadness in her eyes. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“Nonsense.” Jack didn’t have a kind bone in
his body. “It’s the truth.”

As he finished his wine, he found himself
wishing he’d been a little more cooperative and a little less
brusque the first time she’d been here.

# # #

After dinner, they moved into the living
room, where Jack lit a roaring fire in the fireplace and opened a
second bottle of wine.

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Janet shook her head. Then
again, why shouldn’t she? The Percocet she’d taken after lunch had
worn off, and it had only been a single pill. Besides, it wasn’t
often that she got to taste wine of this quality. “Okay, but just
one more glass.”

Jack filled their glasses, then carried his
to the other end of the sofa and sat. “You warm enough?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She took another sip,
savoring the vibrant, earthy fruit taste of the Beaujolais. “You
know a lot more about me than I know about you.”

He shrugged. “There’s not a lot to know.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I thought you
didn’t believe in false humility.”

“Okay, but don’t blame me when your eyes
glaze over. I grew up on the ranch, an only child. I married my
high school sweetheart after graduation, then joined the army and
served six years with the Army Rangers—long-range reconnaissance
patrol, Company H, 75th Infantry.” His eyes took on a far-away
look. “I did two tours of duty in Vietnam. We lost a lot of good
men. That was a long time ago. Most Americans don’t know anything
about it.”

Janet hated to admit it, but she knew very
little about Vietnam. She would make a point of rectifying that.
“What did you do when you got back?”

“I came home to Theresa and the Cimarron.
Nate was born a few years later. He was our only child. That’s not
what we wanted, but it’s what happened. Theresa had a few
miscarriages after he was born, and then it just became too
difficult for her. We stopped trying.”

Janet could understand that. “I’m sorry. That
must have been very hard.”

“Life is what it is. We had a lot of good
years together, and I’m grateful for that.”

Even though he sat at the other end of the
sofa, she was keenly aware of him, the deep, soothing sound of his
voice, his masculine scent.

“Why haven’t you remarried?” The moment the
words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. “I’m
sorry. It’s none of my business. You loved your wife very much. I
realize you can’t just turn that off.”

Stop while you’re behind, Killeen!

“I loved her very much.” He looked down at
his wine glass, then into her eyes. “I might remarry—if the right
woman were to come along. But what are the chances? An old guy like
me? I’m sixty-three, past the age for dating.”

“Give me a break!” Janet laughed. “You helped
me up that embankment today without breaking a sweat, then carried
me to your truck like I weighed nothing. Those are hardly the
actions of an ‘old guy.’”

His gaze was fixed on hers, his blue eyes
dark. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It’s not kind at all. You’re a very handsome
man, Jack West. I think any woman would look at you and think
that.”

It dawned on her that perhaps she was giving
too much away, but the wine and the look in his eyes made that
worry unravel.

“So, tell me, SA Killeen, do you have a
significant other? That’s the term in modern parlance, isn’t
it?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, it is,
and, no, I don’t.”

She found herself telling him about Byron and
the way he’d left her, only leaving out the part about her torn
vaginal muscles. “I was told I needed to avoid sex for a while, and
that was just too much for him in the end. That’s not the excuse he
gave me, but I’m sure that was the last straw.”

Usually when she thought about that last
conversation with Byron, she found herself fighting tears, the pain
almost as fresh as it had been the day he’d left. But at this
moment, she was more aware of the anger that flashed in Jack’s
eyes.

“What a goddamned asshole! He did you a favor
by getting the hell out of your life.” Jack frowned, his expression
turning apologetic. “Sorry. My mouth gets ahead of me. I talk
before I think. I’m sure it was very painful to lose him on top of
everything else you were dealing with at the time.”

It had been, but somehow Jack’s rage on her
behalf helped her feel better.

“It’s okay, and you’re right. He really
did
do me a favor.” She hadn’t thought of it that way
before.