Meredith Silver,” she said.
“Well, hi, Meredith. Where are you from?”
“I’m from Dallas,” she said.
“And what do you do in Dallas?” he asked, slipping into old patterns of interrogation, avoiding the hot topics or accusations.
“I’m a computer programmer. I’m a freelance consultant.”
“Interesting profession—and gives you freedom to keep your own hours sometimes.”
“Yes, it does,” she answered while she stared out the window. “We’re out of town.”
“I’m taking you to the Windover family ranch.”
“You’re a cowboy?”
“Yes, I am. I’ve been with the government, but I recently retired to the ranch. So, Meredith, who’s your current boyfriend?”
“There isn’t one,” she replied. “But I’ll bet there’s a woman in your life.”
“As a matter of fact, there’s not at present.”
“I’m sure she’s not far in the past and there’s another lined up somewhere in the near future.”
“Now why do you think that? You don’t know me.”
“You have that easygoing manner of a man accustomed to always having a female in his life.”
“Do I really?” he asked, amused by her observations.
“You know darn well you do. You’re also egotistical and overbearing.”
“Golly gee whiz. I’ll have to work on that.”
“You can save the charm because it won’t work on me.”
“Now is that a challenge or what?” he asked, his voice dropping as he shot her a look.
“It’s definitely not a challenge. Besides, I’m not your type remember?”
“Point taken.” He drove quietly for a few minutes and then asked, “Do you have a hotel room in Royal or did you intend to drive back to Dallas tonight?”
“I’m staying at the Royalton Hotel,” she replied, naming Royal’s oldest and finest hotel.
“Do you still have family in Dallas?”
“Yes. My sisters and my mom are in Dallas. I have an older brother who’s in Montana, I think.”
“Silver,” he said, remembering a stocky, wild guy from the rodeo circuit. “I’ve met a bull rider—Hank Silver.”
“That’s my brother,” she said with what sounded like reluctance.
“Well, small world. He’s a tough cowpoke. I’ll bet that’s where you got the punch you pack. You have a big family,” he said, curious to see what she looked like. Her voice was soft, low and soothing. A sexy voice that didn’t match her volatile personality. If he had talked to her on a telephone and hadn’t seen her in person, he would have conjured up an entirely different type of woman in his mind. The voice definitely didn’t fit a little five-foot wildcat with a vocabulary as old-fashioned as his grandmother’s. Her enticing voice didn’t fit someone who could deliver a jab that knocked the breath from your lungs. But with Hank Silver as an older brother, Jason could well imagine, she’d had to defend herself growing up. From what Jason could remember, Hank Silver was in trouble with the law more than once over barroom brawls.
“I have two older brothers,” he said. “Ethan and Luke.”
“That’s nice,” she said, not trying to hide her anger. for the next hour they lapsed into silence, a new experience for Jason with a female.
Jason turned south between large posts with the Windover brand carved on the front of each one and drove swiftly along a hard-packed road until they pulled up behind the sprawling ranch house that had belonged to his family for four generations. Moonlight splashed over a combination of red sandstone, rough-hewn logs and glass. A porch with a sloping roof ran along the front and a well-tended lawn was surrounded by a picket fence. Beyond the house were outbuildings, a guest house, a bunkhouse and a barn.
Jason stopped near the back gate and untied the belt, taking her arm to lead her inside. When they entered the house, he switched on lights in a back entryway that held a coat rack, pictures of horses and potted plants. He turned and punched buttons on a keypad to disengage the alarm system that was beeping steadily. As soon as he had finished, the tiny red alarm light changed to green and the alarm was silent.
In the large kitchen he switched on soft lighting that fell over whitewashed oak cabinets and a pale-yellow tiled counter. Jason caught Meredith’s wrist lightly. “Come here,” he said, leading her to the sink. She wore black boots and black, lumpy sweats that hid her figure. And he knew from falling on her and pinning her down in the car that she definitely had a figure. Pulling out a towel, he ran warm water over it and then turned to scrub her face.
“I’d like to see what you look like. You’ve been a dark blob from the first moment I saw you,” he said, looking down at her as he tilted up her chin. At the sight of her in the light, he drew a sharp breath and remorse filled him because she had a raw scrape on her cheek and he knew he had caused it. When he touched her jaw lightly, she jerked her head away.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt. I thought you were a boy.”
Thickly-lashed, large, stormy gray eyes gazed up at him, and the moment his gaze met hers he received the second stunning blow from her. Her eyes took his breath and held him mesmerized. He couldn’t recall ever seeing eyes exactly the color of hers. But it was something more than color that held him breathless. He felt as if he had touched a live wire and sparks were flying all around him. Silence stretched; he realized she was as still as he and he didn’t want to break the contact.
She took the cloth from his hand and began to rub black off her face. He retrieved it, wanting to touch her, wildly curious now to see what she looked like without all the junk on her face. And still neither one of them had spoken or moved or looked away.
“We need to clean up your scrapes quickly. Just a minute and I’ll be back.” Silently, he called himself all sorts of names for causing her face to be scraped raw as he hurried to the nearest bathroom. He returned with a bottle of peroxide. “Lean over the sink and let me pour this over your cheek. It’ll clean your scrape and disinfect it. How long since you had a tetanus shot?”
“Only a year ago.”
She tilted her head and he poured the clear liquid, dabbing gently. “Sorry, if I hurt you.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” she grumbled, and he felt worse than before. Finally he patted her cheek dry. “Let’s see your hands.”
“I can take care of my hands.”
“Put your hands out and let me help,” he ordered. When she held them over the sink, palms up, he winced, hating that he was at fault for her injuries. He washed the scrapes, cleaning and disinfecting them. “I wouldn’t bandage those scrapes tonight. Maybe tomorrow when
