Sleepless in Montana (18 page)

“That’s the problem. Don’t. Your best is pure
trouble.”

His hands-off surprised her; she’d been
familiar with him for most of her life. Hogan wanted to withdraw
into his lone-wolf, solitary male image; he wasn’t avoiding her,
not when she had to talk with him. “I brought you some carrot
juice. You left before we could make it. I’d like you to see my new
van, Hogan. It’s beautiful inside. I bought it with the idea of
filming some cute little camping recipes in my new show. Oh, Hogan,
you’ve got to see it. It’s so cute.”

Jemma knew how to maneuver men into business
deals, to sweet-talk and “ooo, you’re so smart,” if she had to, but
Hogan was another matter. He was a part of her life, a part of the
Kodiaks, and his opinion mattered. “I spent a fortune on my van,
Hogan. Traded in my Cessna. I want you to tell me that I didn’t
make a mistake.”

He smoothed back a strand of hair from her
face, studying her, his features rugged, impassive, unable to be
read in the moonlight. She caught his wrist. “It’s important to me,
Hogan.”

“You should have a fat bank account by now,
Jemma. You’ve been wheeling and dealing for years. You’re a good
businesswoman with a talent for making money. You shouldn’t worry
about failing. You’ve already succeeded. Why can’t you take this
time to relax?”

She couldn’t hide her fear from him. She
wouldn’t burden Carley and Dinah. With Aaron and Mitch, Jemma made
light of her bartering, but not with Hogan, whose shadows were as
great as her own. “Hogan, I know what it’s like to have nothing,
and I’m never going back there.”

His finger stroked her face, traced her
cheekbone, and followed her jawline down to her throat. She should
have moved away— she couldn’t, trapped by the excitement racing
through her. The night breeze carried a strand of his hair across
his jaw and throat, making him appear more intense, more rugged and
yet almost mysterious.

“Are you still collecting those buttons?” he
asked.

“I brought them. They’re still in the van,
little bits from clothing of people I’ve known and loved. Don’t you
dare make fun of me.” But Hogan had never laughed at her love of
remembering people who had touched her life.

“Show me,” he said quietly.

*** ***

In the clutter of Dinah’s new and
still-disorganized upstairs office, the best place for viewing the
distance between the Kodiaks and Hogan, Mitch put aside the
binoculars he’d been using to trace Jemma’s night trek.

He cut a slice of Jemma’s unfrosted chocolate
cake and took a bite. “I knew she was up to something. She was too
quiet after Hogan left, steaming about something. Jemma is usually
all out there, every emotion defined. He’s pulled her van onto the
road with his tractor. Now they’re in it.”

Unsettled by his telephone call to Jimmy, a
ten-year-old boy who needed him, Mitch needed Montana and the
Kodiak family. Burned out and raw, he had to refresh— or a part of
him would tear away, and he’d never be able to help kids again.
He’d wired Jimmy money for food and prayed that Jimmy’s mother
wouldn’t get it. Mitch looked down at his hands, locked into fists,
and knew that once Carley was safe, he’d be going back into the
nightmare.

Aaron yawned and turned off the laptop he
used for business. If he wasn’t there to make deals, at least he
could input and watch the fun. Like Mitch, he cut a slice of cake
and ate it from his hand. “See? I told you Hogan would help her. If
we would have charged out there and pulled that seduction van onto
the road, Hogan would have gotten a whole night to himself, to
relax, like I need to. He’s a good sacrifice. A whole day of our
family together is worse than ten major accounts wanting action at
the same time.”

Dinah, dressed in a long black-satin robe,
tied at the waist, came into the office. “What’s up?”

Mitch lifted the cake, a signal his mouth was
too filled to talk. Carley, dressed in loose men’s flannel pajamas,
padded into the room. “There’s what’s left of the cake. Give me
that.”

She scooped up the plastic container and
tucked it under her arm. “Why are we here?”

“Well, little girl, Jemma has just gotten
Hogan into her van. She’s up to something,” Mitch said, as he took
in Carley’s rumpled look and loved it, as always.

“Don’t say anything about how I look, or I’ll
flatten you,” she hurled at him.

Mitch’s shadows evaporated at Carley’s fierce
expression. She gave him an eagerness for the bright side of life
and its goodness. Caught in her own nightmare, she wasn’t ready to
accept him as a man, but one day.... “You can try. Now I know about
the self-defense stuff.”

Ben paused at the doorway, scanned the room
filled with his family, and slowly took in Dinah’s robe. He
swallowed, flushed, and said shakily, “I’ve got to check that
injured calf in the barn. Need to put salve on those barbed-wire
cuts.”

“I’ll help you,” Dinah offered, moving toward
him.

“No,” Ben snapped, hurrying down the
hall.

“He’s so stubborn,” Dinah muttered. “I’m
going out to that barn if it kills me. Don’t tell him that Jemma
has Hogan in her van. He still thinks you’re all children. He’ll
rush out there and probably ruin the first peace anyone has had
around here today. If you’re still hungry, go down and make
sandwiches. There’s a beef roast perfect for slicing, but don’t
tell Jemma. I hid it behind that stack of tofu.”

“I love that woman,” Mitch exclaimed after
Dinah left the room. “With Jemma around, beef is scarce and
guilt-ridden. Mixed grains do not a hamburger make.”

Carley picked up the binoculars and found
Jemma’s van. “What do you suppose she’s up to?”

“Who wants to bet on which one comes out of
that alive?” Aaron asked with a chuckle. He was hoping to get
Savanna in a small, tight place, and very soon.

He could feel the heat simmering off her
body, and her looks at him said she felt the same.

“Jemma has always gotten the best of Hogan,
you know that.”

“Maybe not this time,” Aaron purred in the
tone of a man who recognized another man in pursuit of a woman.

Carley turned to glare at Mitch’s closed
expression as he studied her, too slowly and too carefully. She
didn’t like anyone trying to see inside her, where she had been
hurt and felt dirty. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Why, angel, I think you’re cute, all rumpled
and cuddly-looking,” he answered slowly, sincerely and smoothed her
chopped pale hair back from her cheek.

“Just let me out of here before the
explosion,” Aaron said, moving out of the room.

“Define ‘cute,’” Carley ordered, her hands on
her hips.

“Just that. Cute. Cuddly.” Then Mitch bent to
lightly brush his lips over hers and followed Aaron downstairs.

Stunned, Carley stared at Dinah’s framed
Monet print of water lilies and tried to understand Mitch’s comment
and his light kiss.

*** ***

In the van, Jemma stood aside as Hogan
entered, bending slightly. “You can stand straight. It’s called a
high-top.”

She flattened against the small closet she’d
had designed for fishing gear, and held her breath. Hogan, in small
places, was even more intimidating, his shoulders blocking the rest
of the small enclosure as he turned. She noted the small flare of
his nostrils, that quick agile turn of his head as though sensing
something he would keep to himself, locking it there to turn and
examine it. His hand opened and gracefully stroked the paneling on
the ceiling, an admiring touch. He glanced at the lush captain’s
chairs, the sprawling dashboard and comfortable accessories, the
television, tiny kitchenette, and bathroom. “Nice.”

Just an average “nice,” after Jemma worked
until she dropped, using muted jade and cream and soft willow
patterns to emphasize her vivid coloring, and softly shaded birch
cabinets and woodwork for contrast. How like Hogan to withhold the
approval she wanted from a world-class artist!

She forced air into her lungs. She hadn’t
realized how dynamic Hogan could be in small places, his dark
coloring and black sweatshirt a masculine contrast to the softly
muted colors. In her lifetime, she’d never been aware of another
man like she was of Hogan.

He was always so controlled, covering his
emotions, and while she ached to tear that mask away, she also
feared what she would find in herself.

“It should be nice— it cost a mint. It’s an
investment in getting that television series. It has a huge bed.
You take the dining table and— Hogan, I want you to move into the
bunkhouse, if not the house,” she found herself saying. “Old Joe
needs company, and you could enjoy Aaron’s big-screen television.
You don’t have one.”

He wouldn’t she thought. Hogan preferred
quiet and shadows, and the haunting tenderness of that kiss had
surprised her— so had his playful pursuit of her. Tonight he hadn’t
wanted to be near her, and that raised an uncertainty if she’d
misunderstood—

His expression tightened, that tiny scar on
his cheek deepening. He rubbed it thoughtfully, then said, “I
thought you were going to show me your button collection.”

“I will. Sit down— here, put this towel under
you. You’ve got mud on your jeans. Would you like something to
drink? Carrot juice or sangria?” She wanted Hogan comfortable and
agreeable for once; she wanted to take his perversity and wrap it
to her needs— to have the Kodiak family reunited, to make Carley
and Dinah happy.

“Guess,” he returned. “And it’s not carrot
juice.”

She took the wineglasses from an overhead
rack, where they hung upside down. This sangria wine was cheap and
sweet, used when she couldn’t sleep and her nerves were showing.
She hated when her nerves showed, when her shields were down.

After arranging the towel on the seat, he
eased into the cozy booth around her table, his long legs extending
into her path. She stepped over them on her way to the closet with
linens and withdrew a towel, tossing it to him. He’d seen her
button collection before, knew the ceremony of carefully spreading
the towel, so that none of them would slide and be lost forever.
When they were teens, Mitch had stolen her collection and hidden
it, and Hogan had made him return the old coffee jar.

“Pour this, but don’t spill any, will you?
The upholstery on this rig cost a fortune,” she said as she flipped
on the surround-sound system and Kenny G’s smooth music curled
around the paneled interior of her van.

Sprawled in the booth, his arms across the
back, Hogan looked too big and too dangerous... and wary and
immovable. He poured the wine expertly, his eyes never leaving
hers. Her hand shook as she retrieved the large flat metal box
decorated with flowers from a shelf. Another stealthy look at Hogan
told her she needed him in a better mood. “Would you like something
to eat? I could make sandwiches.”

She bent to study the tiny refrigerator and
the sliced turkey and bread she’d tucked away for a private moment
away from the volatile Kodiaks. She glanced at Hogan and decided
that what she wanted was worth the effort of playing hostess and
serving him, catering to him.
If she could find just one weak
spot, something he needed, she could barter for what she
wanted.

Hogan glanced at the magazines on her
bookshelf and the DVDs, all concerning sports and fishing. He
nodded as she placed the plates of sandwiches on the table.

After considering where to sit, Jemma decided
anywhere would be too close to Hogan— she remembered his hard body
beneath hers when she fell from the roof. His big hands had
tightened on her hips, a dark, almost savage look in his eyes. Now,
he’d drawn that cool shell around him, no doubt expecting her to
want something— he was right. She eased into the booth beside him
and out of habit, began to eat quickly, hungrily.

She was too aware of him, uneasy with the
emotions scurrying through her. She liked being in control of
herself, and Hogan had the unique ability to set her off-balance.
One look from those dark, solemn eyes, his straight, sooty
eyelashes gleaming in the soft overhead light, and her body
tingled.

Hogan ate slowly, stopping to sip his wine
and study her. After eating one of the two sandwiches she’d
prepared for him, Hogan placed half of another onto her empty
plate.

“Thanks,” she said, hurrying to eat the
sandwich, as always. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry. It will
take at least another full month to get the house in shape,
and—”

She placed the sandwich on the plate, her
eyes filling with tears against her will. She turned to Hogan, who
was always so safe.

She gripped his hand; it had always been so
safe, and now she needed that strength more than ever. “We’ve been
here a month and no word from Carley’s attacker. Don’t you think he
should have sent her something, shown his hand or something? Tell
me he isn’t going to hurt her, Hogan. Please tell me.”

Hogan slid his hand away, his expression
grim. “He won’t. She couldn’t be in a better place to be protected.
He’ll wait for what he feels is a safe opening, but we’re not going
to give it to him.”

“Maybe he forgot about her,” Jemma offered,
praying that would be true.

“No,” Hogan answered softly. “He’s just
waiting.”

He set their sandwich plates aside and eased
the towel over the table. The casual easy way he said Carley would
be safe curled around Jemma. For just an instant, she wished his
arms would hold her tight. His eyes darkened, and that strange
churning, timeless feeling enfolded her, until she shrugged free.
She wasn’t certain what was happening, but whatever the emotion, it
was too powerful to step into.

Then Hogan said slowly, “Let’s look at those
buttons.”

*** ***

Chapter Seven