upon her, bound and gagged with barbed wire cuts stinging her skin. Not until he’d freed her from her bonds and she’d reached for him, needing him like no one had ever needed him before.
Dylan would always remember the way she’d grazed his cheek, the way she’d moved her mouth closer to his, the way she’d almost kissed him.
Soft, he thought. Sweetly sensual.
He refused to feel guilty for wanting her, for being affected by her touch. He had something else to feel guilty about, something that was ripping a grenade-size hole in his chest.
Her mother’s murder.
Dylan hadn’t fired the gun, but he’d done something that had triggered the hit. He’d killed Miriam just the same.
But he couldn’t tell Julia. Not now. Not this soon. The truth wouldn’t bring Miriam back. It would only destroy what he intended to salvage with her daughter. The harshly tender, perilously intense connection.
He’d been living with the twisted need to protect Julia, to become part of her, even before her mother had died.
When the screen door creaked, his pulse jerked. Julia came outside and he stood up to look at her.
She inched forward. She’d put on a suede coat, but she still looked chilled.
And vulnerable.
The roots of her hair were coming in dark, defying the bleach she’d used. He knew she was an outdoorsy girl, but today she seemed lost, the power of the earth, of the trees, of the snow-capped mountains nearly swallowing her whole.
“Henry told me that I should go to Arizona with you,” she said. “So I’m going.”
Would he be able to purge his sin by taking Julia to her mother’s grave? Would kneeing beside her in the aftermath of murder free him? “I’m glad Henry sees things my way.”
“I have a feeling people always see things your way.”
He frowned. “You don’t.”
“I never expected to run into you again. And certainly not like this.” She slipped her hands into her pockets, burrowing into the lining of her coat.
He held her gaze. “So you tried to forget about me?”
“I tried to forget everything that happened.”
“But you couldn’t, could you, Julia?”
“No. Not completely. And please stop calling me that. I’m JJ, whether you like it or not.”
He didn’t like it, not one bit. She was pulling away from him already, not giving him a chance. “You’re attracted to me,” he said, refusing to let her deny the heat between them. “The way I’m into you.”
Rattled, she glanced away, fighting whatever she was feeling. He could see the struggle.
“You saved me from a dangerous situation,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “We both got caught up in that.”
He had another theory. “If we’d met under different circumstances, we’d still be attracted to each other. It would still be there.”
“Like some sort of cosmic energy?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe in fate. I think people create their own destiny.”
Dylan wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t. He’d gotten her mother killed. He’d created a tragedy that shouldn’t have happened.
“We should try to get a plane out of here tomorrow,” he said, changing the subject. “I’ll book the flight.”
She took a step back. “Why do we have to leave so soon?”
“What point is there in waiting? We both need to face this.”
“Both?” She made a curious expression. “What do you need to face?”
He fought the guilt. “Nothing.”
“Where am I supposed to stay when I’m in Arizona?” she asked.
“I have a guest room at my house. You can stay there.”
She wet her lips, as though her mouth had gone dry. “I keep telling myself that I’m supposed to trust you. That there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I would never hurt you.” He thought about Miriam’s murder and felt his lungs constrict. “Not purposely.”
“I know.” She inhaled a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. Then she shivered, rubbing her arms, even though they were covered in suede. “You let me cry in your arms.”
“We should go inside,” he said, the twisted need to protect her coming back. “You should get warmed up.”
She didn’t respond. He didn’t speak again, either.
He opened the screen door for her, and they entered the house.
Their silence bedeviling the air.
JJ fixed lunch. After being alone with Dylan, she needed something to do, something to keep her mind off of their intimate conversation.
While French onion soup simmered, she set the table, an old chrome and Formica booth that Henry and his wife had purchased from a bankrupt diner and reupholstered in a pretty fabric.
As she reached for the everyday china, white with tiny blue flowers, she thought about Henry’s widow. Her name was Lois and her recipe box was still on the counter. JJ used it regularly. In some odd way she felt closer to Lois, a woman she’d never even met, than she did her own mother. The thought made her teary-eyed. At this point, she would do anything to have her mom back, to start their relationship over.
Finally the meal was ready. She told herself to relax and call the men for lunch. Dylan was still here, still making her nerves jangle. Henry was giving him a quick tour of the refuge, probably trying to convince him to get involved in the fundraiser.
She used a hand-held radio, a common communication system on ranches, to tell Henry to come inside and bring their guest.
When they arrived, Dylan smiled at her, a barely-there tilt of his lips, and her knees went girlishly weak.
“This looks good,” he said.
“Thanks.” She met his gaze, memories drifting in and out of her mind. His touch, his scent, the kiss that never happened.
After a beat of silence, Henry interrupted. “We can wash up at the sink.”
By the time they sat down to eat, JJ couldn’t think clearly. Dylan was beside her in the booth, his shoulder nearly brushing hers.
Henry devoured his soup, where thick slices of toasted bread and melted cheese had been placed on top. Dylan seemed to enjoy his, too. Along with the ham sandwiches and Caesar salad she’d prepared.
“Henry asked me to
