Blackwood's Woman (2 page)

In the four years she had lived in New Mexico, she had accomplished her goals of building a new life and establishing herself as an artist, but her romantic fantasy of finding a man like Annabelle's Benjamin Greymountain had remained an elusive dream. Until now.

Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. Stop acting like an idiot. She forced herself to look directly at the horse. Breathing in deeply, she took several tentative steps in the stranger's direction.

"Can you help me?" she asked. "My Jeep ran hot and I need to get to the F:/…/Beverly Barton - Blackwood's Wo…

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"C

10/31/2009an you help me?" she asked. "My Jeep r Blackwood's Woman an hot and I need to get to the Blackwood ranch."

He dismounted slowly, placing one booted foot and then the other on the ground.

Joanna swallowed hard. He was a lot taller than six feet. Closer to six-four. And his eye wasn't brown as she'd thought; it was some light shade of amber and almost translucent in its paleness.

He stared at her, unsmiling, his brow wrinkled. He crossed his arms over his chest and inspected Joanna from head to toe. She slipped her hand inside her open purse, clutching her gun. Her instincts warned her that this man was dangerous, but somehow she didn't think he intended to do her any bodily harm.

"Look, I need to get to the Blackwood ranch. The main house is about ten miles from here," Joanna said.

He took a step toward her. Without thinking, she stepped backward. Realizing what she'd done, she stopped, tilted her chin and looked directly at him.

"Can you help me or not?" What was the matter with him? Was he deaf?

"I won't be heading back toward the Blackwood ranch for a while." His deep baritone voice had a gritty quality, a gravelly tone.

"Are you a new ranch hand?"

"No."

She wished he would quit inspecting her. She was beginning to feel like a bug under a microscope. "You realize you're on Blackwood property out here, don't you?"

Just a hint of a smile twitched his lips and then vanished completely, returning his mouth to its former frown. "If you're not in a hurry to get back to the house, you're welcome to come with me. Otherwise—" he glanced at the long, lonely stretch of road

"—you'll have to walk."

Was he out of his mind? Did he think she'd go riding off only God knew where, with a total stranger? "Can't you take me to the ranch and then come back and do whatever it is you were going to do?"

"Why should I change my plans?" Uncrossing his arms, he stroked the big Appaloosa stallion's neck.

"I suppose saying it would be the gentlemanly thing to do would have no meaning for you, would it?"

"None whatsoever," he said, turning his back to her. "Well, what's it going to be?

Are you riding with me or are you walking?"

She had every intention of telling him she would walk. Removing her hand from her purse, she turned around and faced the road. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him mounting his horse. The sun reflected off the silver ring on the third finger of his right hand. Since living in New Mexico she'd seen countless silver-and-turquoise rings, but none that was identical to the one she wore—Annabelle Beaumont's keepsake of love. The ring the stranger wore was an exact match. Was it possible that it was Benjamin Greymountain's ring? But how would this man have come into possession of the ring?

The stranger motioned the Appaloosa forward, coming straight toward Joanna.

Slowing the horse to a standstill, he leaned his body to one side.

"Last chance." He held out his hand.

Joanna stared at his big hand, her vision focusing on the silver ring. Her heart hammered in her chest; the beating thundered in her ears. She looked up into his dark face—into that pale amber eye—and swayed toward him. She felt as if he was beckoning her.

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becko

10/31/2009 ning her.

Blackwood's Woman

"Who are you?" she asked, her heartbeat roaring in her ears like a hurricane wind.

"Who wants to know?" He stared at her, his gaze hard and intense.

"I'm Joanna Beaumont. I live on the Blackwood ranch."

Withdrawing his outstretched hand, he inspected her from head to toe, as if she were a prize piece of horseflesh he was considering buying. Joanna stiffened her back, clenched her teeth and glared at him. Just who did he think he was? He's an arrogant, macho bastard, Joanna answered her own question.

"So, you're the Southern belle from Virginia who converted one of the old bunkhouses into a home."

He focused his attention on her face, then ran his gaze down her throat and to the V of her partially unbuttoned blouse. A wide trickle of sweat cascaded down her throat and between her breasts. She didn't like the way he was looking at her, and yet her body responded to his blatantly sexual appraisal. Her nipples tightened, jutting outward, and she knew he saw their hardened outlines pressing against her damp blouse.

"How do you know who I am?" If he didn't stop staring at her, she was going to scream.

"My sister has sung your praises to me on numerous occasions, Ms. Beaumont."

"Your sister? Elena?"

He nodded. The corners of his lips twitched as if he were going to smile. But he didn't. He just kept staring at her, the heat of his gaze unnerving her.

"Then you're—"

"J.T. Blackwood."

They stared at each other for endless moments, the hot sun beating down on them, an eerie quiet all around.

"If you're not in a big hurry to get back to the ranch, I'll give you a lift." J.T. broke the silence, damning himself for allowing this fiery redhead to arouse him. He had learned long ago that "ladies" fascinated by the "noble savage" were to be avoided at all costs. "When we get back to the ranch, I'll send someone to take care of your Jeep."

Joanna hesitated. She knew all about Elena's older half brother, the owner of the Blackwood ranch. And what Joanna knew about the man, she didn't like. He represented everything she disapproved of in a man. He was a big, rugged, untamed macho guy, a former Secret Service agent who was now a partner in a private security firm based in Atlanta, Georgia. And according to Elena, he had never had a truly serious and meaningful relationship in his life.

"Look, lady, are you riding with me or are you walking back to the ranch?"

He held out his hand to her again. She stared at the silver-and-turquoise ring on his finger. Benjamin Greymountain's ring.

She would be stupid if she walked ten miles when she could ride, wouldn't she?

And it wasn't as if J.T. Blackwood was a stranger. She'd be perfectly safe with him.

Besides, if he pulled any type of macho stunt, he just might not be safe with her.

She reached out to him; he grasped her arm, lifting her off her feet. He swept her up onto the horse, placing her in front of him and draping his arm around her waist.

Joanna closed her eyes, willing her heart to quiet, questioning her own sanity. From what she'd heard, she didn't even like J.T. Blackwood. So why was she aroused by his very nearness?

J.T. guided the horse from a slow trot down the flat-topped hill and into a steady F:/…/Beverly Barton - Blackwood's Wo…

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J.T

10/31/2009 . guided the horse from a slow trot down th Blackwood's Womane flat-topped hill and into a steady gallop across the road, then up into the wooded area at the very edge of the Blackwood property. Joanna glanced down at his muscular arm that held her close to him. She felt the hardness of his chest, felt the heat from his body and could not mistake the ridge in his jeans that pressed against her hip.

A sudden sense of panic swept through her. Had she lost her mind? Had the past taught her nothing?

"Where—where are you going?" she asked.

"To a small stream a little higher up the mountain here. It's a place I've thought about for years," he said. "I've been gone a long time. I just wanted to see if things were the way I remembered them."

She tried not to lean back against him, but the upward climb made sitting straight impossible. His arm tightened around her. She sucked in a loud breath. "You don't visit the ranch often, do you? I've been living in Trinidad for over four years, and we've never met."

"I come back about once a year," he said.

"It seems your yearly visits the past few years have coincided with my trips to Virginia to visit my mother."

"Yeah, well, I thought it best."

"What do you mean? Are you saying that you deliberately timed your visits for when I was away?"

"Yeah."

"But why? I don't understand."

"My sister's been trying to play matchmaker, wanting to throw the two of us together. Don't tell me you didn't know."

"No, I had no idea." Joanna tensed as he tightened his hold about her waist and the bulge in his jeans pressed harder against her. She tried to scoot away from him, but had no room to maneuver.

"Elena likes you a lot," he said. "I'm not sure why, but since she's determined to see me married off, she's been pitching you as a candidate ever since you two became friends."

"I assure you, Mr. Blackwood, that I had no idea Elena was trying to— Well, I could have let her know I'm not the least bit interested. She's told me all about you, and you're not the type of man I want."

"Is that right?" He whispered the words against her ear, his warm breath fanning the loose tendrils that had escaped her ponytail.

She shivered, the motion completely involuntary. Her body ached with the start of a sweet longing that had lain dormant in her for a long time. For five years. No matter how many men she'd dated—and there had been quite a few—she had never felt any real desire—until now. And she didn't understand why; if and when she gave herself to a man, she would be the one in control. And a man like J.T. Blackwood would never relinquish his power to anyone, most certainly not a woman.

J.T. spread his big hand out across Joanna's waist, resting the tips of several fingers on her stomach. She drew in a sharp breath and squirmed against him. Why the hell didn't she sit still? J.T. thought. He was already so aroused he felt he was going to burst out of his jeans. She had to know how he was feeling. Was she taunting him?

He hated the effect Joanna had on him. He wasn't accustomed to such a strong, instant attraction, not since he'd been a teenager and got hard just smelling a girl's F:/…/Beverly Barton - Blackwood's Wo…

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insta

10/31/2009 nt attraction, not since he'd been a teenager Blackwood's Woman and got hard just smelling a girl's perfume.

And Joanna Beaumont was the last woman on earth he wanted to get all hot and bothered about. She was like the girl old John Thomas Blackwood had picked out for him to marry years ago. The girl who'd laughed in his face and told him bedding an Indian was fun and exciting, but marrying one was something she'd never do. Oh, yeah, he'd known his share of pretty, wealthy socialites over the years—women who couldn't get enough of him in bed, but were ashamed to introduce him to their friends.

As J.T. caressed her waist and stomach, Joanna told herself not to be afraid. If he tried anything, she'd shoot him. She laid her hand over his, halting his caress.

"How do you like living on the ranch?" he asked.

"I love it." His hand beneath hers felt hard and hot and tense.

"I wasn't in favor of your renovating the bunkhouse, but Elena insisted." J.T.

threaded his fingers through hers, gripping her hand in his strong grasp.

"Did Elena tell you that we met a few months after I moved to Trinidad and in less than a year we became good friends?" He didn't respond; and he didn't release his hold on her hand. "I persuaded her to rent the unused bunkhouse to me. She said that once you'd seen what I did to it, you'd approve."

"I've seen it," he said. "It's very … Southwestern. You've obviously spent quite a bit of money on the place."

His breath was warm against the top of her head. Joanna hated the way this big, dark man made her feel. It had been such a long time since she'd felt anything close to sexual desire that she had a difficult time understanding her reaction to J.T.

Blackwood. But she couldn't deny that she ached and throbbed with a need she thought had died the night Lenny Plott had raped her.

"I make a very good living with my paintings. Oil and watercolor. And my charcoal and ink drawings are in great demand." Joanna jerked on her hand, wanting desperately to free herself from his hold.

He released her hand, but kept his arm around her waist. "Yeah, I suppose you do.

You're talented, I'll give you that. I've seen a couple of your paintings. The ones you gave Elena. You painted them on the Navajo reservation, didn't you?"

Joanna noticed they were moving higher into the mountains, the path becoming smooth near the ridge, the cottonwood trees more abundant. The sun had moved lower in the western sky. Somewhere in the distance she heard the sound of flowing water.

"You didn't grow up on the reservation, did you?" she asked and immediately felt his body tense. Had she said something wrong?

"You knew the minute you saw me, didn't you?" The words growled from his throat.

"Knew what?" she asked.

"Even before I told you I was Elena's half brother, you took one look at me and knew I wasn't a white man, that I wasn't a
bilagáana.
You even called out a Navajo greeting to me."

"Yes, of course, I knew. Considering the part of New Mexico we're in, I assumed you were Navajo, or at least part Navajo." Was that it? Did he resent his Native American heritage as much as Elena said he did? Did he dislike having his ancestry recognized? If so, he was certainly the exception to the rule. The Navajo she had met while living in New Mexico had all been fiercely proud of being one of the
Diné,
as F:/…/Beverly Barton - Blackwood's Wo…

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while

10/31/2009 living in New Mexico had all been fiercely Blackwood's Woman proud of being one of the
Diné,
as they called themselves. "You should be proud of your Native American heritage."