He was leaning over the bed, only inches from her now. Her awareness of him intensified, startling her because she was having reactions that were strong. She decided it was because of her circumstances.
“I’m not fishing for compliments,” she said, avoiding his steady gaze and feeling embarrassed by the conversation, yet certain he was wrong, “but I don’t have the kind of body you’re talking about. Thank you for your compliments though. And look— ” She waved pale slender fingers at him.
He arched his brow again at her, catching her hand and glancing down at her small hand in his large, callused palm.
“Even if you ignore the cuts from the wreck, this doesn’t look like the hand of a woman who would be a beautiful enticement,” she said, too aware of the solid warmth of his hand holding hers. “Whatever work I do, I use my hands enough to prevent long, red nails. No, if you’re right, he must have sent me to use my wits to talk you into coming home.”
“That would be a first where a female is concerned,” Ben replied dryly, leaning back against the chair, but still holding her hand, his thumb running idly across her knuckles. She wondered if he noticed what he was doing; she was too conscious of it. “And the most dangerous to me,” he added softly with an arch of his eyebrow.
“I’m not a threat to you. I might not remember anything, but I know what my instinctive reactions are.”
Suddenly his eyes twinkled as he gazed at her. “Stop arguing, Jennifer. I believe you.”
“I’m glad you do.” She studied him, wondering what he was like, what would make him laugh. “When did you leave Texas?”
“When I was twenty-six, eight years ago. The first time I left was when I was seventeen and ran away from home. After a couple of rebellious years, I decided to cooperate with him. I got a degree in petroleum engineering and went to work for him. Unfortunately, he wanted to make every major decision.”
“You couldn’t work any satisfactory agreement out between you?” she asked. Ben continued to rub his thumb across her knuckles, careful to avoid the cuts and bruises.
He shook his head, trying to bank the anger he felt as he remembered the struggle with Weston. “No, we couldn’t. It was his way or no way.”
“Maybe he was right. He was older and more successful.”
Ben looked into her clear green eyes that appeared guileless and wondered how she had become entangled with Weston. She seemed intelligent and quietly self-possessed, not the type of woman he associated with his father. “My father was demanding and brutal when I was growing up. Geoff always conformed to save himself beatings, but he couldn’t achieve the excellence my father demanded, so he paid a price emotionally.
“After I grew up a little, I finally decided that maybe I had been too bullheaded, that I should try Weston’s way. When I got into the business, I found out things I had only suspected. My father places success first. He’s not above hurting others, lying, cheating or anything he can do as long as it’s within the law or he knows he won’t get caught.
“It finally came to a takeover where he was going to crush good people to get a small company that would be a toy to him, something he’d discard as soon as he acquired it. I killed the deal and packed and left. I’m cut out of the will, and with Geoff gone, the fair-haired boy is Jordan Falcon, an older cousin who works for Weston.” Ben shifted restlessly. “My cousin tries to be what Weston wants. They can have it all.”
He became silent when a tall, white-uniformed nurse came to take Jennifer’s blood pressure. As soon as the nurse left, Jennifer turned to him. “When did you move here?”
“I bought the ranch eight years ago. For the first four years Weston sent people to force me to come back. But the past few years, I haven’t been bothered by him and I figured he had finally given up on me.”
“Maybe you’re wrong about me,” she said quietly.
Studying her, Ben wished he were wrong, wished that she was trying to find him for an entirely different reason— one that had no connection to his father. He shook his head. “I don’t think so, Jennifer.”
“I might be related to someone who works for you and looking for him or her.”
“No women work for me.”
“I’ve talked too much. You’re probably exhausted after working today in this storm. You don’t have to stay awake.”
“I’m all right and I’m glad to talk,” he said, releasing her hand.
“I wish I could remember something. Do you think my purse was destroyed?”
He shrugged. “I’ll go tomorrow and look for it, but it’s probably blown to bits.”
She shivered. “Thank heaven you found me.”
“You would have probably survived on your own. You were struggling to get away from the car when I arrived.”
She ran her hand across her head.
“Head hurt?”
“Yes, and I hope breakfast is at dawn because I could eat this bed, I’m so hungry.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” As he started to rise, she caught his hand.
“Sit down! It’s the dead of night and I don’t want you to go hunting down a candy machine— ”
“I could use some food myself. He glanced at his watch. “There are all-night diners open around here— what’s your choice?”
“Please don’t go out in the storm for me.”
“If you don’t give me your choice, you’ll have to take potluck,” he said, aware she was still holding his wrist. She seemed to realize she was clinging to him and moved her hand to the bed.
“Now I feel terrible that you’re going out in the storm.”
“You’ll be easier to feed than all those steers I have to take care of tomorrow.” Her quick smile made him draw his breath. The dimple appeared in her cheek and he longed to really make her laugh.
“If you insist— ” she began, big green eyes focused on him, “will you do one more thing before you go? Can you help me up? I want to get to the bathroom— ” She was already pushing the covers away and swinging her long, shapely legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t have any slippers and I have on this dreadful hospital gown.”
“Come here,” he said, lifting her into his arms. She wrapped her arm around his neck, her coppery hair spilling onto his shoulder. He was aware of the warmth of her body through the thin hospital gown and he was glad it was a short distance across the room because his body was reacting to her nearness. He stepped into the bathroom to set her on her feet, his hand brushing lightly across the bare backs of her thighs as he released her. She supported herself with a handrail, holding her injured ankle up. “Holler when you want my help,” he said, stepping out and closing the door.
Feeling hot, too aware of each contact with her, he went into the hall and glanced up and down, his stomach growling in reminder that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Spotting the lighted nurses’
