TWO

“I cleared out a place in the barn for her. Hope you don’t mind.”

Unsettled by his nearness, Elizabeth simply nodded.

Kane didn’t say anything else. He slipped the lead from the railing and hefted the saddle to his shoulder. He’d led the mare halfway to the side of the house before she found her voice.

“I’m making vegetable stew tonight.”

He paused, but didn’t look back right away. She took the moment to admire how straight his back was, how wide his shoulders, how nicely his jeans—Whoa. Maybe Kane had hit a little too close to home with his comment about her loneliness. She’d admit that her prolonged isolation was a part of why she’d accepted his offer, even when she knew the risks outweighed the benefits. But that didn’t mean she was foolish enough to let herself think about Kane in any way other than as a capable pair of hands helping her in a time of need.

He turned slightly, and even from a distance she felt the impact of his gaze. “I’d like to get a few more things done before it gets too dark. If that suits your plans, then I’d appreciate the meal.”

Again all she could do was nod. He nodded in return, and she stared after him until he disappeared around the side of the house. She started to climb the stairs to the sagging porch but remembered she’d forgotten her bucket.

She scanned the field beyond the barn as she crossed the backyard, but found no sign of Kane or his horse. She shrugged off the vague sense of disappointment and retrieved the berries. It was getting a bit late, and she decided to forgo rinsing them in the spring. She’d use some of the water from the tank in the house.

She picked up speed as she crossed the yard and went through the back door into the small antiquated kitchen. She pulled down a colander from a hook on the wall, gently dumped the berries inside, and pumped enough water to half fill the bucket. After carefully rinsing them, she wiped her hands on a towel and set about quickly chopping vegetables and tossing them into the iron kettle on the propane stove. It wasn’t until she’d dumped in some herbs and turned to lift a handful of berries that she realized she was rushing so she’d have time to make dessert before Kane arrived.

She rationalized that she’d more than earned the treat as she gathered the ingredients for cobbler. She certainly wasn’t trying to impress her newly hired hand. But she’d also be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to sharing a meal. The novelty of cooking for one—of cooking at all—had worn off after her first week here.

Her smile faltered as thoughts of Sam entered her mind. He’d hated finding her in the kitchen the few times she’d ventured into that gleaming chrome room in his posh home. He said the job of a bank president’s wife was to be the hostess, not the chef, even if they were the only two dining.

Elizabeth shivered for the third time that afternoon, only this time the reason was pure dread. It seemed so clear to her now. It made her stomach churn when she thought of how flattered she’d felt by Sam’s constant attention. After her initial panic had receded and she’d fled Matthew’s apartment for the Lazy F, she’d spent long hours trying to convince herself that any woman would have responded to Sam’s lavish care that way, would have taken his small, but constant suggestions about everything from her clothing to cosmetics as a sign of his devotion, as she had. Instead of as the early warning signals they really were; signs that something wasn’t quite right.

The back screen door slapped against the wood frame, and Kane Hawthorne stepped into the tiny kitchen.

“Sorry if I startled you. I knocked but I guess you didn’t hear.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure why this man, a dark stranger with the most compelling eyes she’d ever seen, made her suddenly feel safer than she’d felt in a long time. She didn’t bother to analyze it, not wanting to ruin her first shared meal in months. “You seem to have a talent for catching me with my head in the clouds. If you need to wash up—”

“Done. I found a spring up the slope behind the barn. I let the mare loose on the far side of the barn. There were no bramble thickets around, so your crop should be safe.”

“Thanks, that was very considerate of you. Everything’s just about ready, if you want to have a seat.” She gestured to the small wooden table. It canted a bit on one side, but it was scrubbed clean and otherwise was serviceable enough.

“Smells good in here.” His large frame dwarfed the wooden chair.

She turned back to the stove, unable to keep the small triumphant smile from creeping across her face. “After being in that musty barn, I imagine anything would smell better.”

She turned in time to catch him staring at her again. She averted her gaze and set two small salads and a basket of bread on the table next to the crock of butter. She watched him stare at his salad for a moment, then at the bread, then finally up at her again.

“I know it might seem redundant to have a salad before vegetable stew, but …” She shrugged uncertainly as he continued to stare at her. It should have made her feel uncomfortable, and in a tingling, warm sort of way, she guessed it did.

She finally turned her attention to the rolls. “Help yourself. I wish I could say I made them, but I traded some jam for them at Dobs’s store.”

Kane’s hand reached out and engulfed the small glass jar sitting next to the butter crock. He lifted it and inspected it. “So, this is the legendary jam everyone’s raving about?”

She felt the warmth in her cheeks as he looked at her. “I don’t know about raving. But people seem to like it enough to buy it.”

“It must be something, if you need room to make more. Boundary Gap isn’t exactly overrun with tourists, or residents in need of jam, for that matter.”

“It was sort of a fluke. I, uh, noticed that the thickets bordering the fields were a goldmine of berries. So far I’ve found wild raspberries, huckleberries, lingonberries, even some wild plums—” She stopped short when she realized she was babbling. The man asks a simple question, and I sound like Peterson’s Guide to Edible Fruit. “Anyway,” she said, forcing a more casual note, “I scrounged around in here and found Grandma Fielding’s recipes for preserves. I took some to Dobs to … well, to trade.” She faltered for a moment, suddenly uncomfortable with just how much her story was revealing about her predicament.

“Sounds as if I’m not the only one with bartering skills around here.”

He didn’t smile, but his comment sounded sincere and went a long way toward easing the sudden tension.

“Well, to make a long story short, Dobs sold some to a woman who was traveling in the area looking for local crafts to sell at some of the fairs farther south, around Sandpoint and Coeur d’Alene. She liked it and thought it would be a good seller. Dobs knew I needed … well, he was nice enough to pass the word on to me. Then there’s Kootenai River Days later this month, and Bonners Ferry has a Boundary County Fair. So now I have less than a month to come up with as many jars of jam and preserves as I can.”

She realized he had been listening politely to her excited rush of words instead of eating. Her cheeks colored slightly, and she gestured to the basket of rolls. “Why don’t you try some and let me know what you think?”

“You going to join me?”

Elizabeth ignored the ridiculous spurt of pleasure his innocent request caused and lifted the stew to the table. Sitting down across from him, she said, “Yes, of course.”

She noticed he waited for her to take a roll and butter it before he did the same. He began eating as soon as she’d taken the first bite. She swallowed and said, “Your mother raised a gentleman, I see.” The words had sort of tumbled out. She wasn’t prepared for the storm clouds that crossed his face as the fork he was holding paused in midair. After a moment he continued the motion.

He was silent as he ate, the frown less visible now. He laid his fork down and picked up a roll, buttering it lightly before spreading on the jam. Elizabeth couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. She realized she wasn’t even making a pretense of eating. What had she said to make him tense up? Did she dare come out and ask?

He made short work of the roll. “This is really good,” he said quietly as if nothing had happened. “I understand the demand.”

“Thank you.” She finally looked away and tried to eat. Maybe she’d imagined his reaction earlier.

“My grandmother was famous for her dried sweet fruit. It was known on the reservation that receiving a gift of a fruit basket from Cloud Dancer meant good luck would follow,” he said.

“Cloud Dancer. Pretty name. Which reservation? Wind River? Duck Valley?”

“Fort Hall. I am half Shoshone on my mother’s side. My father was British Columbian.”

“Was? He’s gone?” she asked, then quickly said, “I’m sorry, that was rude. It’s just, well, my folks died when I was a teenager and so I know how it feels …”

After a long pause, he said, “He’s not dead. Not as far as I know, anyway. He left my mother before I was born to go work pipeline in Alaska. I’m pretty sure she never expected him to return.”

“So, you grew up at Fort Hall?”

Now he concentrated on his stew. “For the most part. I left when I was seventeen.” And never went back.

He hadn’t spoken the last part out loud, but Elizabeth could hear the words so clearly, he might as well have. “It must have been hard for you on your own.”

“I managed well enough.”

“Still, I don’t know what I’d have done without Matthew after my folks died.”

“Matthew?”

“My older brother.” She smiled as she spoke of him. “He stuck with me, worked so I could go to school. Now he works for the government. Hush-hush stuff, he calls it.”

“Sounds like you both did okay. Do you see him much?”

“Not as often as I’d like. But he devoted so much of his life to me, I can hardly complain.”

“Nothing wrong with admitting you miss someone you love.”

She looked up, but his dark eyes were trained on his food. She wondered what he was seeing, doubting it was her stew. Did he miss someone he loved? “No,” she said softly, tamping down her sudden interest in him. “I suppose not.”

Her throat burned for a moment as reality came crashing back in around her. Kane’s sudden arrival in her life pointed out to her just how far she had yet to go in accepting her forced isolation. She was undeniably intrigued by him, found herself wanting to ask him questions about his past, his heritage. But was it Kane, the man, she was interested in, or did she simply want someone to talk to?

It was a moot point since she wouldn’t have the luxury of finding out. His steady voice jerked her from her thoughts.

“I checked the barn as thoroughly as I could. I think with some simple repairs, the front half can be salvaged fairly easily. But the rest is a loss without major work.”

She appreciated his bluntness almost as much as the change of topic. “I won’t need much room. Fix what you can and I’m sure it’ll be fine.” For some reason she decided not to tell him that she wasn’t planning on staying long enough to make a complete overhaul of the barn worthwhile.

She started as his chair scraped across the uneven flooring. Kane stood and carried his plates to the counter. She watched as he primed the small pump by the sink, momentarily too caught up in the play of muscles in his arm and shoulder to tell him to stop.

He turned back to her before she could look away. “If you’re done, I’ll be glad to wash these.”

She sensed it would be important to a man like Kane to pull his own weight, but the kitchen felt suddenly stifling, more intimate than cramped, and she couldn’t see herself standing close to him, drying dishes as he washed. She quickly stood. “Thanks, but really, it’s not necessary. I would’ve been washing these anyway. A few more won’t take much longer.”

He seemed about to say something, then apparently thought better of it, because he handed her the dishtowel. “Thank you for the meal. Will you be picking berries again tomorrow?”

“Only in the morning. I plan to cook all afternoon.”

“Won’t it get hot in here?”

“I’d rather be in here cooking than outside in the heat of the day.”

“You were out there today.”

“I know, but I needed to get enough berries to get a head start tomorrow.”

“And I made you dump half of them.”

She waved away his concern. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where those came from.” He started to say something else, but she cut him off. “Really. With what I get in the morning, I’ll have more than enough to start. I really can’t handle more until I have more room.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I make some headway.”

“Fine.”

He paused, and for a long moment, Elizabeth didn’t know what to do or say.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a look in here when you’re out in the fields tomorrow, see what I can repair.”

Kane. Alone in her house? “I’d really rather have you work on the—”

“I’ll get the barn done. But this house looks as if it hasn’t been lived in for decades—”

“It’s been twenty-five years.”

“Well, if this room is anything to go by, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind having a few things repaired. Consider it thanks for feeding me.”

“But you’re already earning—”

“My room by fixing your barn,” he finished. “I’ll earn the rest in here.”

Elizabeth couldn’t stop the shiver from racing lightly over her skin as images she had no right visualizing persisted in crowding into her brain. The sensation ceased, but the mental pictures left her skin damp. She wanted to pluck at her shirt, but didn’t dare draw his attention to her sudden discomfort.

“Fine,” was all she could manage.

He tilted his head in a brief nod. The next moment, she was standing alone.

Perversely, now that she’d gotten what she wanted, she wished she’d kept him talking longer. She turned to the dishes with a sigh.

And later that night, when she slid into her grandmother’s lumpy feather bed, she worked hard to shut out images of Kane wandering through her house.

If dreams were any indication, she was less than successful.

The muscles in Kane’s shoulders burned as he bent his weight against the stubborn plank. With a loud grunt and a mighty yank, Kane snapped the board off. The resounding crack echoed throughout the barn.

“Figures the only boards I have to pull are the ones the termites left behind,” he grumbled as he tossed the scrap in the growing heap behind him.

He’d found a pile of rusty tools in the small shed beside the barn. They were very outdated, but functional. And thanks to Cloud Dancer and her insistence that, as a child, Kane learn to function with tools made of his own hand, these would be more than adequate.

“If she could only see me now,” he muttered. Thinking of the recalcitrant adolescent he’d been after his mother died, he allowed himself a small sad smile as he yanked the next board from its moorings.

His thoughts strayed to his “employer,” Ann Fielding. He grunted more than necessary, and another plank went flying. He should be getting used to it. He’d hardly thought of anything else since he’d left her in that poor excuse for a kitchen the night before. And he’d be less than honest if he said his thoughts had been of a strictly professional nature.

She’d revealed more to him by simply existing out here on this rugged scrap of wilderness she called a ranch, than by coming right out with the information about her family and current financial circumstances. Somewhere between the salad and the stew, he’d forgotten he was subtly interrogating her and had actually been listening because he was truly interested.

He almost growled as he ripped the next board from the posts in front of him. Because of that gross error in judgment, he’d spent the night wrestling with his sleeping bag and his conscience. But now it was a new day, and his head was as clear as the sky. He was here to do a job. Simple.

His gaze strayed to the door that led to her kitchen and the bucket he’d left sitting on her stoop. He glanced at the horizon. It was well after seven and there was no sign of her yet.

What in the hell was she doing out in the middle of nowhere? His instincts as well as his eyes told him that Sam Perkins knew next to nothing about his wife if he thought she would crumple without a gold card.

But then again, maybe Sam Perkins knew more about his wife than he’d let on. It wouldn’t surprise Kane. Especially in light of the fact that Sam hadn’t bothered to mention he was having him tailed. Kane had managed to lose the hired goon just north of Coeur d’Alene. At that point, he hadn’t known exactly where the Lazy F was located, but until he’d figured out Sam’s angle, he sure as hell wasn’t going to lead the guy straight to it. So he’d traded his pickup for a horse. A horse didn’t have tags and a registration that could be traced.

Hinges squeaked across the yard behind him. Kane stilled, willing himself not to look. He knew she was discovering his offering and suddenly wished he were somewhere else.

“Kane?”

Her soft voice floating on the clear morning air rode his senses like sweet music. “Damn,” he swore under his breath as his body responded to the sound of her crossing the stretch of land separating them. This was insane. He should just haul her back and dump her on Perkins, grab his money, and head out in search of another client who required his special skills.

“Kane?” she called again from a few feet away.

He didn’t feel too damn special right now. Steeling himself, he looked up at her. And he knew then that he wasn’t taking her anywhere. Not yet.

On the heels of that decision came the knowledge that the only place he did want to take her was to bed.

His gaze skimmed over her plain white T-shirt, stopping briefly at the conspicuous designer label on her wrinkled pleated shorts. A testimony to her recent change in circumstances. On someone else, the ensemble would have looked rumpled and mismatched. On her it was sexy. As if she’d just rolled out of bed and pulled on clothes tossed carelessly away in the heat of passion.

Passion. Heat. Damn if she didn’t stir both in him.

The final irony was that she was the first to do so in a very long time. Maybe ever. And she was legally bound to another man.

He pulled his gaze away from her, hating the effort involved. “Yes?” he answered finally.

“You didn’t need to do this.”

Knowing she meant the bucket of raspberries he’d gotten up at dawn to pick, he kept his eyes trained on sorting the pieces of wood into usable lumber and scrap. “Yes. I did.”

She didn’t respond right away. “Well, then, thank you.”

“No problem.” He was done sorting and knew he couldn’t go on with his work without looking at her. He mentally cursed himself for his cowardice. Cloud Dancer would have been vastly amused to see her stoic grandson behaving like an untried brave, hiding his face for fear some soft emotion shone in his eyes. That thought alone brought his head up and his gaze to hers.

Business. This was just business as usual.

“Do you still need to go in the fields?” he asked, his voice more terse than he’d intended.

“For an hour or so.” She smiled and lifted the bucket a bit. “This will cut at least an hour of work off my day though.”

He nodded and said, “If it’s okay with you then, I’ll go inside and check out the rooms.”

If he hadn’t been studying her so closely, he would have missed the slight blush that briefly colored her cheeks. Was she so used to her wealthy lifestyle that she was embarrassed for him to see her humble surroundings? She hadn’t made any excuses the previous night at dinner.

“Is there any part of the house that needs to be worked on first?” She fidgeted with the bucket handle, and another thought occurred to him. “Or a part you’d rather me not go into?”

She blushed again. And damn if he didn’t respond. So, she was uncomfortable with the idea of him invading her privacy. He wondered what in the hell she’d do if he told her just how privately he’d thought about invading her space. His thoughts must have flashed in his eyes, because she stepped back.

“Ah, no, you can go anywhere you want.” She laughed a bit dryly. “And as to what needs to be fixed, take your pick.”

“This place looks as if it’s survived for quite a while.”

She smiled softly. “I guess it has. Grandpa Fielding died just after he and Grandma had homesteaded this property. That was over fifty years ago. Grandma tried for years, even after my mom married and moved away, to make it into a working proposition, but it never panned out. I’d been here only once before. I was about seven. My folks dragged me and my brother up here to try to convince Grandma to come and live with us. It took us a few weeks, but she gave in. No one’s been back up here since.”

“Why didn’t they sell it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe my folks never got around to it, or maybe no one wanted it. After they died, neither Matt nor I really gave it any thought.”

Until she needed a place to run to. Kane thought about the picture in his saddlebag. He knew what she’d looked like around age seven. He knew because he’d searched her brother’s apartment and found an old black-and-white photo of them standing together under the Lazy F sign that still hung over the entrance to the long, winding driveway. Elizabeth Ann Lawson, the child, had been all blond pigtails, freckles, and scuffed knees. He hadn’t known she’d never been back since, but it had been his only lead.

And Elizabeth Ann Lawson-Perkins, the grown woman, had just handed him a golden opportunity to get a confession as to why she’d run in the first place. Run from a man who was paying him to bring her back.

“What made you come back here after all that time?” He watched the lovely pink hue on her cheeks fade to white. He swallowed the urge to apologize for upsetting her.

Instead he silently watched her struggle for control.

She tilted her chin and pasted a spectacular and patently false smile across her face. “I guess I got tired of the rat race and decided to get back to nature for a while. You know, get in touch with my feelings and all that.” She glanced around her. “Of course, I didn’t want to touch nature quite so closely, but this was the only place I knew to go.”

She’d been all bravado until that last part of her admission, which had come out on more of a waver.

Kane felt a tug in the middle of his chest which he steadfastly ignored. Just as he ignored the sudden urge to pull her into his arms and tell her it would be all right, that he’d protect her.

What in the hell had gotten into him? He clenched his fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her, his blunt nails digging into his palms. “Did someone hurt you? Is that why you came here?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet and soft. But when she turned her soft brown eyes to his, he reached up to touch her chin without even realizing he was doing so.

Her pupils dilated at his touch. Kane swallowed hard. “Tell me, Annie. Who hurt you?”