she was capable of destroying his life.
Looks weren’t everything, he reminded himself. He couldn’t let his guard down. That thought, however, didn’t stop him from sitting on his heels in front of her. Her hair had been slicked back into some fancy twist, but now parts of it had come loose, falling around her face in a way that was messy and beautiful at the same time. Some parts of him hadn’t gotten the message, it seemed, because he wanted to do nothing more than brush that hair away from her face.
He didn’t. Instead, he gave her shoulder a gentle shake before he jerked his hand back. As if a sleeping woman could bite him. “Miss, wake up.”
She jolted, her eyelids fluttering open. J.R. braced himself for the reaction when she realized he was close enough to trap. Would she immediately launch into her pitch or go for cloying flattery?
When her eyes focused on him, a small smile curved the corners of her mouth. Here it comes, J.R. thought.
“It’s you,” she breathed. The warm glow in her eyes didn’t seem connected to the fire behind him, and the soft adoration in her voice should have grated on his every nerve. But it didn’t.
“Yup. It’s me.” Which felt weirdly personal, because he knew she wasn’t here for him, but for the man he used to be.
Then time froze—absolutely froze—as he watched her stretch out a hand and trace the tips of her fingers down his cheek and over his ten-day-old beard. The touch was way more than weirdly personal—it was downright, damnably erotic. The sudden shift of blood from his brain to other parts made him almost dizzy. Hell, yeah, she’d look this good waking up in his bed, and if he had her there, he would be damn sure it wouldn’t stop with a little pat on the cheek.
What the hell was he thinking?
That was the problem. He wasn’t.
He must have pulled back without realizing it, because she dropped her hand and blinked a whole bunch more. “Oh. Oh,” she said, and he could see the consciousness dawning. “Um …”
Desperate to put a little more space between him and this woman who had spooked him in more ways than one, J.R. stood up and back. “Dinner’s ready,” he added, because that was the safest thing to say. Also, the most honest.
The woman dropped her eyes, warmth racing across her cheeks. Did she feel the same confusion he did? Don’t flatter yourself, he thought. Of course she was confused. He’d woken her up from a dead sleep. She had a good excuse to feel a little lost right now.
He didn’t.
She smoothed her hair back, but several of the locks refused to stay. “I had some boots,” she said. All the softness was gone from her voice now, and she sounded more like the woman who had barged into his life.
“Right here.” He picked up her boots from where Minnie had propped them by the fire and handed them to her.
She made sure not to touch him when she took them. And he should not have been disappointed by that. “Is there … I need to wash up …”
Women in general—and this woman in particular—should not look quite so innocent when they blushed. “Sure.” He pointed to the bathroom that was behind her.
She turned, but then stopped. “Should I leave this here?” She motioned to the robe.
The way she said this made it clear that she wasn’t sure she trusted it. “Minnie’s buffalo robe? Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Oh. A buffalo robe.” Some of her blush disappeared as she paled. What did she think it was? Maybe she was one of those strident vegetarians. Instead of launching into an animal-rights lecture, she put on a weak smile and said, “Okay, thanks,” before she went to the bathroom.
Well, if that didn’t beat all. Where was the full-court press? Where were the obnoxious compliments designed to sway his ego? Nowhere. All he got was someone who, for a sleepy second, looked happy to see him.
Dinner was a huge mistake. He debated hiding in his room until the woman—whose name he still did not know—left. Then he caught Minnie giving him a wallop of a glare from the other side of the room as she tapped a wooden spoon on the counter. Right, right. He’d promised to be nice and polite, which probably didn’t include hiding.
So he set the table instead. Hoss finally clumped down the stairs, just as J.R. was finishing. For a man who wasn’t afraid of putting in a hard day’s work on the range, Hoss had the unique ability to never be present when a small household chore needed to be done. “Well?”
Minnie flashed her wooden spoon like it was a weapon. “She’s staying for dinner, and you will behave or else.”
“When am I not a perfect angel?” Hoss gave her his best puppy eyes, but it didn’t work. “Can I at least sit by her?”
“No.” J.R. didn’t mean to sound so possessive; it burst out of him.
Minnie shot him a funny look. “No, I’m going to sit by her. You two are going to sit in your normal spots and keep your hands, feet and all other objects to yourself. Clear?”
Hoss met J.R.’s gaze and lifted one eyebrow, as if to say, game on. Jeez, if Hoss was acting this much the cad now, how much of a pain would he become when he saw her all warmed up? “Yes, ma’am.”
Then a noise at the other end of the room drew their attention. The woman was standing by the chair now, her hair fixed, her boots on and her coat off. Whoa. The gray wool dress she had on was cut close, revealing a knockout figure that went with her knockout legs. Either she was stunning—hell, she was stunning—or she’d had a good plastic surgeon. One never could be sure when it came to Hollywood types.
Then her gaze locked on to his, and he swore he felt the same dizzy charge that he’d felt when she’d touched him, only this time, there was a clear thirty feet of space between them.
She’s not here for you, J.R. practically shouted at himself. She’s here for James Robert.
Damn shame she wasn’t there for him, though.
“Whoa,” Hoss muttered next to him, and Minnie promptly smacked his butt with the spoon. “Ow!”
“Feeling better?” Minnie pushed past J.R. and went to greet her visitor.
“Much, thanks.” The woman gave Minnie a friendly smile. “Where should I put my coat?”
“Lay it on the chair. I’ll make the introductions.” Minnie took her by the arm and led her to where J.R. and Hoss were gaping like horny seventh graders. “This is Hoss Red Horse, and J. R. Bradley.”
J.R. rolled his eyes—obviously the woman knew who he was. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here.
“Boys,” Minnie went on, giving them both the warning stink eye, “this is Thalia Thorne.”
Hoss stuck out his hand. “A pleasure, Ms. Thorne.” Miracle of miracles, that was all he said.
“Nice to meet you … Hoss.” She looked from him to Minnie. “Are you two related?”
Hoss’s
