clothes for you among Merrie’s things.”
“Merrie?” Haley knew she shouldn’t be surprised there was a woman in Jackson’s life. But she was. A dozen, maybe. No, not maybe, definitely. But not just one.
“Merrie Alexandre,” Jackson explained. “A university student who lived for a while with Eden and Adams. Between classes, and on weekends when she needs to escape her apartment mates, she helps here with the horses. Because she stays over when she works late, she keeps several changes of clothing here.”
Jackson let his gaze trail over Haley, lingering, remembering. But with none of the disdain of before. There wasn’t much of her. but what there was, he’d discovered, was flawless.
Lastly, his gaze returned to her hair. The mane of pale gold Dancer knocked partially from the perfect coil, and he finished taking down, untangling it before putting her to bed. Even now he remembered the feel of strands like silk slipping through his fingers, the clean fragrance drifting from it. Enchanting. Enticing. Pale locks that would bind a man to her.
There were new tangles now, and his fingers curled as he thought of smoothing them again. Jackson rebuffed the thought and the path it was taking. Instead he moved to the bedroom door, opened it and stood with escape from his own awakening desire looming a step away. “You’re smaller, but I think I can find something that will serve. But don’t worry, Merrie won’t mind.”
Before she could even think to worry, Jackson stepped into the hall and shut the door. Haley was alone. “Alone in the bedroom of Jackson Cade,” she reminded herself as she wandered to the bathroom. “It’s just as well, considering that this show of kindness is contrition of the moment.
“Next week, this will be forgotten,” Haley predicted as she turned on the taps, discarded Jackson’s shirt and stepped into steaming water. “Next week he’ll hate me again.”
“‘My apologies. Called away, but not for long. Dancer’s fine, you needn’t check him. Wait. Rest. I’ll see you home.’”
Haley read out loud the note she’d found on the bed along with a selection of Merrie Alexandre’s clothing. Crumpling the hastily scrawled missive, she let it fall to the floor along with the towel covering her from breasts to hips. Then she proceeded to dress, admiring the younger woman’s taste, and disconcerted by Jackson’s evident skill in making choices in women’s clothing.
When she’d finished, she wondered briefly where her own clothes might be. Then, with a dismissive shrug, she counted them lost. Once the towel had been dropped in the clothes chute, her hair twisted into a helter-skelter knot and secured with what pins she could find, then the bed put in order, she was ready to go.
“Not one trace,” she murmured. “He won’t even remember I was here.” Spying the note lying on the floor, she scooped it up and stuffed it into the pocket of the borrowed jeans. Making one last survey, pleased by the utter perfection she was leaving behind, she left it behind.
As she hurried to the barn, anxious to check on Dancer before the master of the house returned, Haley reflected that it felt good to be back in jeans and boots. And even the soft but sturdy blouse that tugged a bit too snugly across her breasts. Merrie was obviously slender, with a more adolescent figure. And, either she wore no bras, she’d taken all of that particular sort of garment back to her apartment, or Jackson had forgotten.
A breeze was just kicking up, in it lay the promise of rain. Nothing was prettier than a lowcountry rain falling like streaks of silver and gold as the sun would alternately hide or shine. Haley loved the autumn showers, and in anticipation she crossed the cobblestone path to the barn with a less guarded step. Her back still ached, but the soak and simply moving had eased it into a manageable state.
A draft skittered around the side of the barn, rattled the metal rings of rigging, and set a gate banging. The fabric of her shirt was supple enough to cling, sturdy enough to not be indecently revealing, and rough enough that with the movement of her body coupled with the efforts of the breeze, it brushed over the tips of her breasts, teasing her nipples to a pleasant tingle.
Haley’s soft laugh at this secret pleasure was cut short by a low, deep bellow.
“What the hell are you doing here, and why the devil are you dressed like that?”
Spinning, she nearly collided with Jackson. As he glared down at her, she smiled with a calculated pleasantness, then sobered, assuming her most professional demeanor. “I’m here to check my patient. I’m dressed as I am because these are the clothes you chose for me.”
“Then I made a mistake.”
“Evidently you did. And, given your attitude, it’s just as evident that before we’re done with each other, it won’t be your last mistake.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Duchess?”
“You figure it out, Mr. Cade.” Smiling another, equally calculated smile, she sauntered away.
“Who’s Todd?” he called, expecting a reaction. Wanting one. Needing one.
His probing salvo produced nothing, not so much as a stumble in her step. With a dismissive waggle of her fingers, and maddeningly calm, she called back, “Todd’s no one you need be concerned with. He’s no one. No one at all, anymore.”
Three
Five days. Five long, long days.
Frowning as he put the thought and its unacceptable implication out of his mind, Jackson flicked a glance at Jesse Lee. Beyond the usual half-mumbled good morning, each wrapped up in their own thoughts, their own chores, they’d spent most of the day barely speaking until they walked together to the west pasture. The pasture most visible from the entrance of the faded and tattered manor, where Dancer had been allowed his first day of true freedom. But only under the watchful eyes of guards strategically posted by Jericho Rivers, sheriff of Belle Terre and the surrounding county bearing the same name as the city.
It rankled, having armed men roaming the farm. The idea of strangers, regardless of how unobtrusive they were, tramping the land, disturbed and disrupted what had been a gratifying routine. But Jericho insisted. As a friend, as well as the local legal authority, he feared the crisis with Dancer was more than an isolated incident, and perhaps a resurgence of the vandalism that had burned Jackson’s first new barn at River Trace to the ground. An unsolved crime that troubled Jericho. Now, as much as years ago.
Though he agreed with the need for the precautions, though he was more than grateful for Jericho’s men, Jackson hated the atmosphere of an armed camp. He mourned the loss of the peaceful innocence that had settled over his land since the fire.
Peaceful or dangerously complacent? he wondered now, and was surprised. Complacency wasn’t his nature. In fact, it was the last emotion he would ever be accused of harboring. Whatever he felt, right or wrong, he felt strongly. Obstinately.
“Yeah,” he admitted under his breath. “Obstinate. Right, and especially wrong.”
“You talkin’ to yourself, boy?”
Jackson looked down at Jesse and shrugged. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“Well, I hope you’re a mite friendlier to yourself than you’ve been to some other folks I could name.”
“That
