Ride the Thunder (21 page)

“It was sputtering like it always does, but it’s running smooth now.” As he lathered his hands, the door opened and Jocko came in.

Brig looked beyond him. “Where’s Frank?”

“He is outside yet.”

Tandy grinned over his shoulder. “He got himself an eyeful of our guest. Poor Frank is putty in the hands of anything with curves.”

Brig moved to the kitchen window to look out. The mountainous bulk of Frank Savidge was standing near Jordanna. His hat was in his hands. His mouth was opened in a panting grin as Jordanna smiled at
him. Brig had seen dogs wear that same expression when they were trailing a bitch in heat.

Pivoting from the window, he flashed a hard look at the Basque. “Get Frank in here.”

Jocko Morales walked to the back door and stepped outside to call the man. Tandy watched from the window, tee-heeing at the sight of the big cowboy bobbing and bowing in a caricature of courtly manners as he excused himself from Jordanna.

“I told you, Brig, to send Frank in town last week for an injection of three b’s,” Tandy joked, his eyes twinkling with humor, but Brig couldn’t enter into the spirit of his fun.

“The three b’s? What’s that?” Max frowned.

“Booze, brawling, and broads. Not necessarily in that order.” The stocky cowboy laughed. “Frank is addicted to all three.”

The laughter was still dancing in his eyes when Frank walked in. “Did you want to see me?” A drunken look of joy was in the big man’s expression.

“Wipe that grin off your face,” Brig snapped impatiently.

The slack-jawed smile was erased. “What did you want?”

“I wanted you to quit making a fool of yourself by drooling all over our guest.” He set his cup sharply on the table, angered because there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t hunger for Jordanna.

Frank wasn’t embarrassed by the comment. “Why didn’t you tell me a woman was coming?”

“Because I didn’t know.”

“Let Tandy stay here at the ranch take care of things. I want to go on the hunt.”

“Forget it.” The razor-sharp edge to Brig’s voice kept Frank from continuing the discussion. He had heard the warning challenge and knew better than to call it.

“Why do you have all the dumb luck?” Frank grumbled at Tandy with envy.

“’Cause it’s my turn. You’ve been hoggin’ it all, up ’til now,” Tandy insisted.

“Me? You were the one who got to go to the airport to pick them up. You were with her for a whole day!” Frank protested. “Why, if you weren’t an old man, I’d. . .”

“Old man?!” Tandy bristled.

“That’s enough? Both of you?” Brig stepped between them. Damn, she was trouble . . . trouble for him and trouble for his men. “I give the orders around here. Tandy goes. And you stay, Frank. If you want to argue about it, do it with me. I made the arrangements and they are going to stand.” He saw the measuring look Frank was giving him. “Don’t forget, Frank,” Brig warned. “I’ll finish any fight you want to start.”

“Hey, Frank, how about a cup of coffee?” Jocko offered.

The big man hesitated, then turned away, grumbling, “Yeah.”

When the evening meal of salmon was over, Jocko insisted he needed no help in the kitchen and everyone wandered into the living room. Fletcher Smith wanted to look over the forestry maps of the area they would be hunting and Brig spread them out on the homemade coffee table. Max sat in a nearby armchair to listen in on their discussion. Christopher Smith took up Tandy’s challenge to a game of cribbage. Since Jordanna stood beside her brother’s chair to watch, Frank did, too.

Frank had virtually become her shadow, following her everywhere. Brig knew his gaze was guilty of following her movements and Frank was always near. The pairing reminded him of the beauty and the beast. Only Jordanna didn’t seem to object as strongly as Brig did. It was jealousy, pure and simple. He wanted no man looking at her the way he did. It tested his control to keep from challenging Frank to leave her alone. Meanwhile, the frustration of watching and wanting mounted.

Fletcher asked him a question and Brig had to have him repeat it. With a force of will, he concentrated his gaze on the map, determined to conceal his preoccupation with the man’s daughter. He replied intelligently to a few questions before his gaze strayed back to the table where Jordanna had been standing. He made a frantic sweep of the room without success, then Brig smelled her. She was standing behind the couch, looking over Fletcher’s shoulder at the maps. Instead of being relieved to find her so close, Brig was angry, enraged. She was tying him in knots like he was some damned schoolboy.

“You study the maps, Fletcher.” Brig rose from the couch. “I’m going to the kitchen to see if Jocko has any coffee left.”

He didn’t ask if anyone else would like a cup, as his long strides put distance between himself and the woman with the gleaming copper hair. A pot was on the stove and he poured himself a cup of coffee. Putting away the dishes, Jocko paused to study him.

“You are thinking about the trip tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Brig lied.

“Sometimes, in order to live, we must do work that is not pleasant to us. My uncle was once a shepherd. Now he is an old man. His eyesight is fading and his legs are failing him. To earn money, he sweeps the floors in a saloon. He tells me he doesn’t like looking through windows yellow with nicotine, at the mountains where he once walked.”

“I know.” Brig stared at the steam rising from the black liquid. He’d seen the old shepherd, whose camp he had stumbled into those many years ago when the plane had crashed and killed his parents. “I’ve told him that if he wants to sweep floors to earn a living, he’s welcome to come here and do mine.”

“But he won’t leave his woman. That is a part of his life that is still good,” Jocko smiled. “My aunt is not well. She needs to be close to the doctors. My uncle needs to be close to her.” He set the iron skillet
atop the stove and glanced at Brig. “I think it is not the trip that troubles you. It is the woman.”

“What makes you think that?” Brig eyed him in cold challenge.

“Because my blood, and that of my ancestors, is hot like yours. But I think you have never met a woman that made you burn, eh?” His dark eyes danced with a roguish glint.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He took a swallow of coffee and swore when it scalded his tongue.

“You are a tough, hard man, but she makes you want to feel soft. I have told her that you had forgotten how to treat a woman like her.”

“I suggest you mind your own business, Jocko.”

The shepherd laughed. “She said you would not thank me for making your apologies.” He picked up the coffee pot to see how full it was. “Does anyone else wish to have coffee?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask them yourself.” Brig emptied his cup into the sink and walked to the back door. “I’m going outside for some air.”

At the bottom of the outside steps, he stopped to zip the insulated vest, warding off the chill of the mountain night. Moonlight carved a patch across the meadow floor. Clouds were gathering in the northwest. Stuffing his hands in the slashed pockets of the vest, Brig set out briskly toward the barn to check the corraled horses. He could see dark humps scattered across the meadow and knew them to be the cattle.

Inevitably, his steps turned back to the log house and the yellow lights shining from the window. When he mounted the porch steps to the house, Brig didn’t go inside. He walked to the far, shadowed corner of the porch. Resting a boot on the railing, be lit a cigarette and gazed into the night.

When Brig had left the room, Jordanna had expected to feel relieved that those wolf-brown eyes were no longer watching her every move. Instead, she felt restless
and edgy, deprived of something vital. She finished drinking the coffee Jocko had brought her.

“Would you like some more?” The ever-present Frank was eager to fetch her anything she wanted.

Like some dogs, he was so ugly he was cute. “No thanks,” Jordanna refused.

“I’ll take the cup for you then,” he offered.

Jordanna gave him the empty mug to be returned to the kitchen. As his hulking frame moved away from her, she glanced around the room. Kit and Tandy were still locked in their cribbage game. Max had cornered her father again. Now Frank had disappeared into the kitchen where Jocko and Brig were. She was at loose ends. Unable to dispel this restless mood, she walked to the couch and touched her father’s shoulder.

“I think I’ll go outside and get some fresh air,” she told him.

He patted her hand and nodded, then resumed his discussion with Max. No one seemed to pay any attention to her as she crossed the room and opened the front door. Jordanna stepped onto the porch and closed the door quietly behind her. The scrape of a boot sole on wood attracted her attention to the darkened corner of the porch. No longer than it took for her pulsebeat to rocket, Jordanna recognized the tall, broad-shouldered frame straightening at her appearance.

“I didn’t know you were out here. I thought you were in the kitchen.” Jordanna didn’t want Brig to think she had come looking for him.

He remained in the shadows, not moving into the light cast from the window. “It’s cool tonight. You might want a jacket.”

She didn’t feel the chill. Her blood was racing too hotly. She moved away from the door, her steps pulled in his direction. “This sweater is heavy enough. I just wanted some air. It was getting stuffy inside.” Jordanna didn’t want to explain about the restless mood that
had so suddenly vanished. “You’re not wearing a coat,” she observed as his shape became more distinct.

“I’m used to the cold.”

Behind Jordanna, the front door opened, momentarily bathing the porch with light. The angles and planes of Brig’s face were carved in sharp relief. The thick black line of his mustache added to his ruggedly masculine appearance. Again she was the cynosure of those brown eyes. And Jordanna felt the force of his raw virility.

“There you are.” It was Frank’s voice. She turned, having briefly forgotten the light had come from the open door.

“Hello, Frank,” she greeted him.

“Were you going to check on the horses, Frank?” Brig’s low, drawling voice startled the big cowboy. He’d only had eyes for Jordanna and didn’t see the dark form behind her.

“I just came out for some air.”

“You can have it while you check the horses,” Brig stated. Frank hesitated, then clumped off the porch to disappear into the shadowy darkness. “Beautiful women are one of Frank’s greatest weaknesses.”

“What is yours?” Jordanna turned back to him with a trace of challenge.

The question was ignored as she had anticipated it would be. “Cigarette?” He unzipped the top of his vest and reached in the shirt pocket for the pack.

Shaking one out, he offered it to her. Jordanna placed it between her lips and learned forward for the light. A breeze teased at the match flame. Brig cupped the fire protectively in his palm as he carried it to the tip of her cigarette. It was a full second after it was lit before he shook the match out, as if he’d been watching the way the flame had illuminated her face.

“Thank you,” she murmured in a puff of smoke.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you.” She felt shaky inside. She held her
wrist, afraid her hand might be trembling. “I wanted some fresh air.”

“No. I meant, why did you come on this trip?”

“Believe me, I had no idea you would be here. It was just as much a surprise to me when I saw you,” Jordanna insisted, moving to the porch rail.

“And if you had known?”

“It . . . wouldn’t have made any difference.”

“You’re getting too old to play daddy’s little girl. That’s why he brings you along, isn’t it, so he can have a worshipping audience to admire his prowess?”

“He doesn’t need anyone to admire him,” Jordanna flared. “I go hunting with him because I enjoy it as much as he does. I’m here to get a trophy bighorn.”

“The idle rich. You just fly from place to place, hunting big game. Do you actually enjoy killing?” His head was tipped to one side, his features completely shadowed.

Tired of being defensive, she countered, “Do you?”

Turning, Brig flipped his cigarette into the air with his thumb and forefinger. The burning tip made a red arc in the darkness.

“I suppose Max has been talking about my sordid past.” He sounded amused in a cold sort of way.

Jordanna was reluctant to admit she had gained the information from her father, or that he had obtained it from an investigative agency. Since Brig had offered her another source, she accepted it.

“Did you think he wouldn’t?” she hedged.

“It was a long time ago.” He looked out into the night, showing neither remorse nor regret for what he had been.

“It explains how you were able to react so quickly this afternoon when that snake struck at Max. You haven’t lost your instincts.”

“Man is a predator. He never entirely loses that instinct. In my case, it was honed to a fine edge. It was the only way to survive.” Brig turned back to her and she felt the thrust of his gaze. “From the predators, I’ve learned that a man takes what he wants.”

His hand curved itself to the back of her neck, the rough skin of his fingers snaring strands of her auburn hair. Jordanna took a quick breath and lost it as his other hand cupped her chin and lifted it. His thumb traced the outline of her lips, parting them to probe at the white barrier of her teeth. The tip of her tongue tasted the saltiness and abrasive texture of his calloused thumb.

“You aren’t frightened of me—or what I was. Why?”

“Should I be?” Her voice was soft, a faint whispering sound.

“Most people are.” His mouth was making a slow, unhurried descent and her heart was pounding.

“Most people are afraid of their own shadow,” she murmured as she was being engulfed in his.

The hand at the back of her neck increased its pressure to lift her on tiptoe. Her hands slid over the slick material of his vest to wind around his neck, her fingers running through the thickness of his dark brown hair. Passion leaped between them like a living flame as he parted her lips and explored the intimate recesses of her mouth.