as Jack had at the end of their once happy marriage. Jim was even more dangerous because he knew how to read her and get what he wanted. Jack’s methods were always obvious once he had allowed material goods and stature become the center of importance to him. Jim knew that a simple gesture, such as placing a strand of hair behind her ear, would catch her off guard and place her in a more vulnerable position. Anger warred with a heart that said: he did it out of care, not because he wanted to use you. Pressing her fingers to her temples, Dal shut her eyes tightly for a moment, willing all her anger, frustration and pain back into a tightly lidded place in her heart.
She turned, her shoulders sagging as she stared at Jim. As much as she tried, Dal could not find one shred of selfishness in his face. If anything, she was screamingly aware of the tender light that burned in his golden eyes, the laugh lines at their corners and the way his mouth was pursed. Oh God, no! she cried inwardly. She had learned to take a secondary role to Jack’s aims. But she had no defense against a man who showed her kindness. It’s all a sham, her mind screamed. He wants something from you, just like Jack did. Only he’s going to take it from you a different way. Jack wanted your knowledge. Jim wants the same thing.
Dal had not realized that two paths of tears had streaked down her cheeks as she stood staring at him. It was only when she saw his eyes darken and his mouth part in protest that she became aware of why he was reacting. Quickly wiping the telltale signs away, Dal lifted her head, her azure eyes darkened with confusion.
“No, I wouldn’t believe that you or anyone could protect me from Jack. Not now. Not ever,” she forced out in a low, quavering tone.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Dal looked blindly toward the paddock, unable to hold his understanding gaze. Jim was dangerous to her and she wanted to run. Run and hide. “I told you, I’m in no shape to help anyone. Not even myself.”
Jim moved closer, but not close enough to frighten her into fleeing. She reminded him vividly of a hunted deer standing tautly before him, an almost imperceptible quiver surrounding her. “My mother always told me tears were healing. I see nothing wrong with them.”
She snapped her head to the left, glaring at him. “Part of your half-breed heritage, no doubt.”
Jim’s mouth thinned as he studied her in that glacial moment. Half-breed. The word made his mouth go bitter with the taste of his past. He struggled with his anger toward her and then surmounted it. She had hurled the insult at him to get him to stop pressuring her. He drew the cowboy hat down a little lower on his brow, forcing a one-cornered smile. “My half-breed status has gotten me out of more trouble than in,” he countered mildly.
“How? By pushing papers in an office for the government!”
Jim leaned languidly against the pipe railing, studying the foals, who were now frolicking around their mothers after their recent meal. “My boss complains I’m not there enough to push those papers around. Usually, I’m in the field with my people.” His gaze moved to her. “I’d rather have the sky for a ceiling and a good horse under me instead of sitting at a desk. How about you? Which do you prefer?”
Dal frowned and licked her lips in a nervous gesture. He was cunning. He had diffused her attack and managed to steer the entire matter into an innocuous but important investigation of her as a person. “I’m sure you have a file on me in your office, Mr. Tremain. There’s little I care to add to that.”
“We’re not the FBI, doctor. The file I have on you is about your educational background, not your personal life.” He scowled. “But if you don’t allow me to enlist your help on this project, the FBI will come in. I don’t think you or your family will want that. It’s my opinion that because I and my people know the mountains and habitats, we stand a much better chance of netting the poachers than the FBI will.”
Dal clamped her lips together, refusing to be drawn into his soft banter. She liked his voice. It reminded her of a cat’s roughened tongue licking her hand, and sent delicious prickles of pleasure through her. She tried to squash all those feelings. “I’ll let my brother Rafe decide what’s going to happen, Mr. Tremain. It’s his ranch. I’m only a guest here.”
“All right,” he said slowly. “It will be necessary to talk to him, anyway. He’s as much a part of this plan as you are.”
“Rafe will be back tomorrow morning. He had business in Denver.”
“Maybe you can tell me where there might be a motel around here?”
Dal gave him a brief glance. He looked more like a wrangler than a government official. Cowboys had their own code and could be trusted. Jack was a civilian. An outsider. But Jim Tremain wasn’t. “There isn’t a motel within sixty miles of our ranch.”
“I see….”
Guilt twinged in her and Dal was unable to maintain that barrier of anger toward him. She could see his mind working beyond those lion-like eyes, and she watched as he rested his long, tapered fingers on his slender hips. She could discern the Indian blood in him by the sharp planed features of his face and his sun-darkened flesh. Another shaft of guilt struck her: she had called him a half-breed. God, what was wrong with her? She never threw prejudiced comments like that at anyone.
“There’s no sense in you driving all the way back to Denver just to come here again tomorrow morning,” she heard herself say. “I’ll get Millie to fix up one of the spare bedrooms and you can stay here tonight.”
Jim’s eyes glimmered with some undefined emotion as he met and held her nervous gaze. “That’s more than kind of you, doctor. Thank you.” So, he thought, there was ground for them to work on after all; he hadn’t totally destroyed the possibility of their combining their expertise on the poaching problem.
Shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket, Dal stared down at the muddy earth. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, walking past him. “Let me tell Millie you’ll be staying.”
He watched her walk between the barns and knit his black brows. She was scared of him. As a man? Or as a government emissary? The Kincaids had a sterling reputation of having worked closely with conservation officials in the past on a number of wildlife projects. As Jim ambled around the paddocks, eyeing the horseflesh in each, he narrowed down Dal’s reaction to her distrust of him as a man. That cut down the chances of her agreeing to help him.
Sunlight bathed the valley as the clouds parted, slats shining across the lush land of the Triple K. Jim watched as a group of wranglers coaxed a herd of about a hundred Herefords out of a paddock, heading them in the direction of some upper pasture. He inhaled the crisp spring air, glad to be out of the office and in the field again. And then a rueful smile split his harsh features. Would “guard dog” Millie allow him to stay at the ranch overnight?
* * *
“What do you mean he’s stayin’, Dal?” Millie lifted her head, her chin jutting out stubbornly.
Dal walked farther into the spacious kitchen that was Millie’s territory. The red-tiled floor gleamed from a recent waxing, giving the cedar walls even more warmth. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter. Millie resumed folding the bread dough on the table, flour spotting her plump arms.
“He wants to talk to Rafe about poachers. I didn’t have the heart to make him drive sixty miles to a motel and then come all the way back tomorrow morning.”
“You know Rafe doesn’t
