“Exactly! The only thing that saved the blimp was the fact that at that age Nar wasn’t expert at stooping and catching his quarry. He managed to skim the ground and caught Goodyear’s tail between his claws.” Dal hooted with laughter as she recalled the event. “Imagine Millie coming out of the house screaming at the top of her lungs and waving a broom, and the blimp squalling for all of his nine lives, and Nar shrieking because the cat wouldn’t stay still.”
“So who got to whom first?” Jim asked, enjoying her warmth and camaraderie.
“Thankfully, I did. One thing I learned about predators long ago is that you never take their quarry away from them. I tried to get Nar to let go of Goodyear, who was still squalling, and I was begging Millie not to hit the eagle all at the same time. I put my arm out and I didn’t even have a glove on, so I knew I was in trouble. Nar wasn’t going to let go, so I reached down and tapped him smartly across the legs. His right leg came up like lightning and he struck at me. Goodyear escaped and I sat hunched in front of Nar with the palm of my hand sliced down to the muscle.” She grimaced. “Needless to say, Rafe was ready to shoot Nar before he took me to the hospital for stitches and a tetanus shot.”
Jim picked up her hand, gently cradling it between his own. He ran his thumb lightly down the length of the puckered scar. “Did you stop to think he might have struck at you with his beak and blinded you or scarred your face for life…?”
A tingle of unexpected fire leaped to life as he caressed her hand. Dal’s mouth grew dry, and she lifted her head and stared up into his dark gold eyes. Eyes of a hawk, her mind whispered. Yes, he was like a hawk, she thought weakly, tendrils of pleasure leaping like hot fire licking through her nerve endings as he met and held her gaze. His fingers were long and warm against the dampness of her own and she felt the callused roughness of his hands. Working hands. Not soft like an office worker’s. She blinked once, ensnared within the web of his amber gaze, an ache centering in her breast. Dal sensed his caring, his genuine concern toward her. It was no game. No, the low tremor in his voice that impacted her so headily was completely sincere.
“I…hadn’t thought of that,” she stammered, withdrawing her hand from his. Dal felt the heat of her blush and cringed inwardly. At thirty she shouldn’t be blushing. Just another Kincaid trait, she thought, embarrassed as she saw the beginning of a smile on Jim’s mouth.
“Well,” he growled softly, “from now on, if you don’t think of it, I will. You’re too beautiful to have your skin marred by that eagle if he takes a fit of temper again.”
She felt as if she were in a pool of golden light that surrounded them in that mesmerizing moment. All sounds ceased to exist except his low voice and the many unspoken messages conveyed by his predatorlike gaze. It was so long since a man had honestly cared what happened to her. “Well,” she heard herself say in a faraway voice, “Nar isn’t temperamental. Some birds are moody, but he isn’t. You just can’t take the food that he’s earned away from him, that’s all.”
“Dal?” Millie’s voice carried across the yard. Dal gave Jim a quick look, as if relieved that their intimacy had been broken by the interruption.
“Coming, Millie.” She managed a slight smile of apology. “Come on, lunch is ready.”
“Good,” Jim murmured, “I’m starved.”
Casting him a suspicious look, Dal tried to read between the lines of his statement. Yes, she had seen hunger burning in the depths of his eyes, and it was all aimed at her. She was trembling and that shocked her. Even her knees were weak as she walked toward the ranch house with him. How could that be? Jim had simply touched her palm. What was going on within her? she wondered. When Jack touched her, her skin crawled and she shrank deep within herself to blot out his advance. But Jim’s touch…
Dal tried to analyze the chemistry that existed between them, scared to death.
* * *
After lunch Dal excused herself and went into the study to lie down on the couch. She hadn’t slept well the previous night, as usual, and she catnapped daily to catch up on the sleep lost during the night. She pulled the orange, blue and green afghan that Millie had knit across her shoulders and drifted off quickly. The study was her one refuge while Jim Tremain was there. Usually, she would take a nap in the living room where the fire crackled and popped with friendly sounds, lulling her to sleep. Now she closed her eyes, wondering what he might think if he knew she slept on the couch every night instead of in a bedroom. What did she care what he thought? Grousing at her inability to make many decisions in her life yet, Dal let it all go, sleep claiming her almost immediately.
Millie woke her near three, stroking her hair in a gentle motion. “Time to get up, lamb.”
Dal groaned, stretching and yawning. “Three already?”
“Already,” Millie agreed, looking down at her. “What time did you finally get to sleep last night?”
“Around four in the morning,” she admitted, her voice thick with sleep as she sat up.
“More nightmares?”
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“My room’s in the back. You know I don’t hear a thing.”
Dal rubbed her face tiredly. “Rafe usually does.”
Millie nodded, her eyes mirroring her unspoken worry. “Why don’t you try and sleep in your own room tonight?”
Her heart suddenly began pounding in her breast and Dal felt herself going all shaky inside. “No…I can’t, Millie. Not yet.”
“But Mr. Tremain is here. He’s a stranger to the house. What if he finds you sleeping out on the couch?”
She shrugged tiredly. “He’ll have the guest bedroom next to your room, Millie. I doubt he’ll hear a thing if I do wake up. Besides, I’ll work late tonight for Rafe, here in the study. By the time I get my bed made up in the living room, Jim…I mean Mr. Tremain, will have already gone to sleep.”
“Whatever you say, lamb. Speaking of Mr. Tremain, he’s been outdoors most of the time snooping around.”
Dal looked up, smiling. “Snooping?” she teased. Millie distrusted everyone in general unless they had been born on the Triple K.
“Poking and prodding. You know. Charlie, the farrier, came in to tell me he was out in the stud barn looking over Rafe’s stock.”
Rising, then folding the afghan and hanging it neatly on the back of the leather couch, Dal asked, “Is that where he is now?”
“Guess so,” Millie groused. “That man’s got the curiosity of a cat.”
“Probably nine lives, too,” Dal said, chuckling. She put her arm around Millie and walked out of the study with her.
“You gonna go find him?”
“Sure. Matter of fact, the day’s so nice, I think we’ll take a ride. Rafe wanted me to check that new barbed wire fence the hands put up in the southern pasture. Mr. Tremain looks like he might put a leg over a good horse, so let’s not disappoint him.”
“Humph! Ask me, that man was born to the saddle.”
Dal
