THE DAWN HAD YET TO BREAK when Dax entered the kitchen, drawn there by the scent of fresh coffee. He felt washed-out but infinitely better, the rampaging pain but a fading nightmare.
As bad as the dream had been, there had been a good part, too. Jenna. Even in the fog of a migraine, he’d been aware of her soft hands touching him, easing the throb in his temples, sliding his shirt from his body. Had he not been so ill—well, he had been. Otherwise, she would not have taken such liberties.
Yet he remembered.
This morning, Jenna was nowhere to be seen, but from the looks of things she was up and busy, probably tending Sophie. From what he’d gathered, she rose with the baby around six and never let up again until bedtime. He’d seen the fatigue around her eyes, felt a twinge of guilt for working her so hard, but she never complained and any suggestion that she ease up seemed to trouble her. He didn’t know why. There was no chance of her being fired, though he figured she didn’t know that yet.
After last night, when she’d tended him like a baby, her job was safe for as long as she wanted it.
He was embarrassed at his weakness, but she’d responded with such genuine care. This morning would tell the tale, though. He would know when he looked in her eyes if she considered him less of a man. Reba had.
He poured a thick brown mug full of steaming brew, dumped in two spoons of sugar and stirred. His housekeeper was still a mystery. In the back of his mind a nagging voice claimed she hadn’t come completely clean about her reasons for being here. Sometimes she seemed to be looking over her shoulder. Other times she embraced the mundane business of life with the exuberance of a child experiencing things for the first time.
But Dax didn’t care where she’d come from or why she’d chosen to stay here. He was simply glad she had.
She’d figured out Gavin faster than a flea hops and the little dude responded like a dry sponge. He was grateful, though his growing feelings for his housekeeper went deeper than gratitude. Every day he reminded himself that she was too young, too smart and pretty and refined. She was wise, too, as if she had an old soul.
With a grunt at his fanciful thoughts, he stepped to the sink and deposited the spoon there for later cleanup. The window over the sink looked out on the backyard and beyond to the barns and corrals and separating pens. The first shifting of dawn’s white-pink light cast a halo over the peaceful, drowsy ranch.
The beauty had particular significance this morning now that the Coleman curse of migraines had run its course and he’d survived.
He loved gazing out at the land he’d purchased from the rest of his family. No one else loved the ranch the way he did. No one else could tolerate the long days and 24–7 demands of the cowboy life. Most of all no one wanted to live out here far from the rest of civilization.
Which brought him back to his housekeeper. She seemed to relish the place and even if the pleasure was an act, he’d take it. He’d found her in the horse barns one day, Sophie attached to her front like a baby monkey on some kind of sling thing. He’d been surprised to hear that she had equestrian skills as she called them and after watching her with the horses for a while, he’d believed her. He’d offered to let her ride sometime, refraining from actually offering to ride along with her. No use being stupid.
After Rowdy’s comments, though, he was having second thoughts. As much as he liked his ranch hand, he didn’t want Rowdy messing with Jenna. She was too sweet and tender and innocent. Rowdy was a rounder.
He sipped his coffee, sighed out his pleasure in such a simple thing as good coffee and sunrise, and leaned against the sink to watch. The silent sun shimmered just beneath the horizon, casting up hints of the coral and yellow to come. The morning sun was magical to him, bringing with it the promise of a new, clean day, uncluttered by yesterday’s suffering.
He chuckled and shook his head. He was feeling poetic this morning.
From the corner of his eye he saw movement on the long, back porch and turned in that direction. A figure—Jenna—huddled beneath a blanket on the cedar bench he rarely used. Once, he’d planned for the backyard and patio to be a place for family and friends to gather, a place to watch his children play and grow. Those plans, like so many others, had died in their infancy.
After pouring a second cup of coffee complete with cream, the way Jenna liked it, he eased the back door open with his hip and joined her.
“Good mornin’,” he said. Standing with legs wide he breathed in the crisp, clean morning. The air was still as death, though he knew the wind would get up later on. Winter encroached on the perfect fall.
“Good morning.” Her voice was a soft melody, blending with the hush of daybreak. “Feeling better?”
He nodded. “Much. Thanks to you.”
He watched her eyes, held his breath and waited for the disgust or disappointment he expected. When none was forthcoming, Dax accepted the fact that Jenna Garwood was even more special than he’d originally thought.
“I’m glad.”
He held out the mug. “Careful. It’s hot.”
Expression quizzical, she accepted his offering, wrapping both hands around the cup before sipping daintily. “Thank you.”
“Enough cream?”
“Perfect.” She started to rise. “I’ll finish breakfast now.”
The blanket slid away. He replaced it and guided her back down, adding a reassuring squeeze to the delicate bones of her shoulder. “Stay. Weekends are lazy. No rush.”
Jenna settled readily and sipped again at the cup. Steam curled upward, wrapping her face in a mist, as if she were a genie who’d appeared to grant his fondest wishes. Ah, if only it were so. But Dax Coleman was the worst kind of realist, a man who barely believed in people, certainly not in pregnant genies. Though if he could believe in anyone, after last night he might believe in Jenna.
Fool that he was.
Turned sideways on the bench, Jenna drew her legs up close to her body and arranged the long ends of a robe and the fleece blanket over them. Her feet peeked out, pink and elegant the way he’d remembered. He hadn’t thought about her feet, about those pink-tipped toes, in days. Funny how he wished for an excuse to touch the smooth, soft skin again.
She patted the empty end of the bench. “I’ll share my space with you.”
Dax hesitated, wondering if spending nonworking time with the housekeeper was a good idea. Considering his fanciful thoughts this morning, it wasn’t.
Her mouth curved in a soft smile. “It’s so beautiful out here. People should take the time to enjoy these moments.”
Hadn’t he been thinking the same thing? He eased onto the far end of the bench and leaned forward, letting the coffee cup dangle between his knees. The space between him and Jenna was limited, though, and her toes grazed the side of his thigh. He tried not to think about it but the knowledge that only a layer of denim separated his skin from hers lingered.
“I try to find a few minutes to come out here every morning,” she said, her voice soft and dreamy.
He hadn’t known that. “No wonder you look tired.”
She smiled. “Do I? I’m not really. I’m—” She stopped and sipped at the cup again.
He swiveled his head sideways just enough to watch the thoughts and feelings flit through her eyes. Even in the semi-light, her eyes shone with an inner strength and beauty that had him mesmerized. He didn’t know when he’d begun thinking of her this way. Maybe he was still asleep with the remnants of the cursed headache impairing his mental function, but the woman was messing with his mind. As hard as he tried to remember she was hardly out of her teens, he failed more often than not.
And last night, she’d offered to undress him.
A white-hot blaze flared in his gut. He tamped it down, glad for the chill morning, though even the fiercest winter wouldn’t have cooled the fire Jenna had started inside him.
This morning she was rumpled and uncombed, still in her robe, the likes of which he’d never seen. It was expensive; he knew that much from watching Reba spend like a queen, but even she had never had anything like this. Jenna’s urgent need for a job didn’t fit with the fancy clothes or the air of upper-crust breeding she wore like a princess. Had her cheating husband left her penniless? Had he taken everything and caused her to run away in shame, destitute?
“You’re what?” he asked, picking up the conversation, wanting to know more than he should have, but not willing to ask the questions about her husband. Had she loved him? Did she still?
“Mmm, I don’t know how to express it.” Her shoulders lifted. “Grateful, I suppose.”
He’d wanted her to say happy. How dumb was that? No woman had ever been happy here. Not his mother or his sister or his ex-wife. Too far from the city. Too far from civilization. Too far from friends and shopping malls.
“Different from where you’re from, I suspect.”
She made a small amused sound. “Oh, yes. Very different.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
The early-morning quiet, the intimacy of Jenna in her housecoat and blanket, and him remembering the touch of her cool hands against his temples had him talking in ways he wouldn’t normally have.
“A very good thing. A person can feel safe here. Free.”
He wondered at the assessment, so different from Reba’s. She’d felt confined and alone. Jenna felt safe and free. Though he wondered at how such a young woman could know otherwise, another hitch in the terrible knot beneath his heart loosened.
“Wide-open spaces, fresh air, can’t beat ’em.”
She inhaled deeply. “Just smell that, Dax. So clean and pure.” She touched his shirtsleeve. “I smell winter.”
Resisting the urge to put his hand over hers, Dax smiled and looked toward the horizon. She had a cute way of putting things.
“You probably smell rain blowing up from the Gulf. Anyway, I hope you do. Lord knows we need it.”
“Do we?”
We. He didn’t miss the pronoun. “Always need rain out here. That’s why we irrigate.”
“Ah.” She tilted her head in acknowledgment. “What is that sound?”
Dax listened, hearing only the usual noises of a Texas dawn. “Birds, hungry calves bawling for mama.”
“No, that other sound. The popping.”
His lips curved against the rim of his coffee cup. He’d lived so long with the noises he hardly heard them anymore. “Oil wells somewhere. Could be miles away. Out here sound travels forever.”
“We don’t have those in—back East.”
That tiny pause caught in Dax’s thoughts. What was it about her past that she wanted to hide? Why didn’t she want him to know her hometown?
He mentally rolled his eyes. Get a clue, Coleman. Women like an escape route. Last night meant nothing beyond an employee showing kindness. Get over it.
The back door groaned open. Gavin poked his head out. “Dad?”
Both adults turned toward the sound.
“Out here, son.”
Dressed in flannel pajamas, his dark hair sticking up in horns all over his head, Gavin stumbled out onto the porch. “What are you doing?”
“Talking. Watching the sunrise.”
Gavin’s face screwed up tight. “Is it time to get up?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Okay.” He scratched at his underarm, clearly bewildered by the adults’ behavior. “Dad?”
“What?”
“Is your grain better?”
“My what?”
Jenna chuckled softly and touched Dax’s arm. They exchanged glances. “My grains. Your grains. Understand?”
The light dawned in Dax’s eyes.
“Yes, son,” he said. “My headache is gone, thanks to Jenna.”
“And me. I was real quiet.”
“Yes, you were,” Jenna said. “You helped me with Sophie, too.”
“Yeah.” The dark-haired child stretched, yawning loudly. “It’s cold out here. Dad?”
The adults shared another amused glance. “What, son?”
“Can Jenna come to my school again? She wants to, don’t you Miss Jenna?”
“Yes, I do, but that’s entirely up to your father.”
“Why would I care if you went to Gavin’s school?”
“They’d like me to volunteer one day a week.”
“You want to?”
“Very much, but my first duty is here.”
Duty. For some inexplicable reason, the word chafed like starched pants. “Gavin is part of that duty. But you have a life, too, Jenna. You aren’t a slave here.”
“I know, but I want to do the right thing.”
“Volunteer. It will be good for both of you.” Good for him, too, not to be thinking about her in his house every minute of the day.
She smiled. “Yes, I believe so, too.”
Her smile touched a sore spot inside him. The chafing evaporated. Hadn’t he been thinking she needed to get out more?
“This reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.” Since the conversation with Rowdy, the thoughts hadn’t let up. Along with a near kiss over a rearranged couch, thinking about her had probably given him the migraine. A woman had needs, even a woman with a new baby. Maybe especially then. He didn’t want her getting dissatisfied and running off. Though anyone with half a brain would tell you that Dax Coleman no more knew how to make a woman happy than he could sprout wings and fly. But he had to try.
She was a good cook. Gavin needed her. Things ran smoother since she’d come. He needed to keep her happy.
That gnat of a voice buzzing inside his head said he liked having her around, too, but he swatted it. No use thinking the impossible.
“You want to discuss something?” Jenna tilted her head, one finely shaped eyebrow upraised. “Is it something I’m not doing correctly?”
There were lots of those but he wasn’t going there. Who cared about pink socks or a fork down the garbage disposal when she served beef tournedos and salmon roulade—and he wasn’t even a fish eater.
“You’re doing great,” he managed, though complimentary words came out of his throat like opening a rusted door.
That smile came again, tickling his stomach. Dax fidgeted, turning the warm mug in his hands. He wasn’t doing this for her smiles. It was self-preservation, plain and simple. He needed a housekeeper who would stick around.
“No woman likes being stuck on a ranch all the time. You need to get out now and then.”
Jenna went silent. He shifted a glance in her direction. What he saw troubled him. Gnawing that pretty lip of hers, she looked worried.
What did she have to be worried about?
The notion that she was running from something—or someone—came back to haunt him. He’d vowed to protect her and the little pink princess. He couldn’t do much else but he could do that. If someone was after her, they’d have to come through him.
The vehemence of the sentiment stunned him.
“I just mean—” What did he mean? Rowdy said women needed to go out and have fun. If he wanted to keep her happily employed, he’d have to make that happen. Though not with Rowdy.
“I thought we might go to a movie,” he blurted. “Dinner, too, if you want.” He couldn’t believe he’d said that.
“You want to take me to a movie?” she asked.
Dax swallowed. Could he handle spending more time with a woman who was already messing with his head? And exactly when had he starting thinking of her as a woman?
“I don’t want you to feel trapped here. A night out is good for you now and then. I don’t want to put any pressure on you, either. I mean, you’re my employee so if you don’t want to go, that’s fine. Just feel free to go out on your own or with someone else any time you feel like it. Don’t let the job stop you. That’s what I meant.” The last statements ground against him like a handful of rocks in his boot. He didn’t want her going out with anyone. “Not one of the hands, though. These cowboys. You can’t trust them.” He was babbling.
Jenna looked at him as if the headache had caused more mental stress than she’d originally thought. Maybe it had.
Gavin, on the other hand, had come to life. With enough glee to start his own clown act, he began hopping up and down on one foot, slapping his arms. “Say yes, Miss Jenna. Dad will even spring for a Friendly Meal. Won’t you, Dad?”
“Oh, Gavin, you charmer.” Jenna pressed a hand to her lips and laughed.
Dax’s shoulders relaxed. He grinned. “Yeah, I’m a big spender.”
Jenna’s amused gaze captured Dax’s. “Then I shall be delighted to accept your kind invitation. A movie and a Friendly Meal it shall be.”
No matter how hard he tried to convince himself he was doing this to keep her happy as well as safely away from Rowdy, Dax realized one thing. He was in big trouble.