Sleepless in Montana (42 page)

“For me,” he corrected. “I had to. That’s
what I’m about, Carley. Why I need to help those kids. I’ll be
going back in and—”

“And coming out in pieces,” she finished,
wrapping her arms around him. “I can’t bear that, how you looked
when I first saw you— like your soul had been torn away.”

“I can manage. Can you?” Would she still care
for him when he started bringing the children into his life, as he
wanted— as he needed— to do?
Or would she turn away?

Her arms tightened. “I love you, Mitch. What
happened to you is horrible, and I can’t even imagine.... But
you’re you, the kindest man I know. After this is over, and it’s
safe for Jimmy, you bring him here. To heal, just as you did.”

He swallowed, his throat too tight with
emotion to speak. Instead he gathered her closer and buried his
tears in her hair.

*** ***

At sundown, Hogan awoke to a black kitten
curling on his chest, settling down to sleep. After petting the
purring kitten and coming fully, instantly awake with the fear that
Jemma had left him, Hogan found her cuddled against him.

He lay still with the purring kitten in one
hand and his love in his other arm. Sunset eased through the
curtains, and he relaxed.

Carley’s taut emotions had taken their toll,
but he was home now— with Jemma next to him. A lifetime of shadows
eased as she lay beside him, and he intended to keep her there, and
to see her happy. All the missing pieces seemed to be together now,
with her breathing quietly beside him. After a time, Hogan eased
from the soft tangle of Jemma’s body, and placed the kitten near
her. The kitten snuggled down to sleep, apparently used to sharing
his bed with Jemma.

Hogan padded into his living room; he frowned
at the bundle of Jemma’s things, reminding him of how she’d looked
when he’d returned: all in pieces, bright, glittering,
tear-streaked trembling, pale pieces, fear of rejection and pain in
her wide gray eyes.

She’d felt so frail in his arms, and he’d
wondered when she’d eaten last. Dealing with her own pain, his half
sister had been brutal, casting Jemma out of the house. Carley’s
Kodiak blood wanted revenge, but Hogan prayed that she would
gradually recognize Jemma’s good intentions to protect her.

Hogan wanted no doubt in Jemma’s mind where
she belonged. He picked up the bundle and carried it into the
bedroom. He plopped it on the bed and Jemma awoke, flaying her arms
and legs amid the tangled sheet. She pushed herself upright and
blinked owlishly at him. “What are you doing?”

Hogan forced himself to ignore the sheet
sliding down Jemma’s bare, gleaming shoulders, and the nipple
budding against the cloth.

He wanted her to know that her place was with
him, no matter what happened. He tore open the knotted bundle and
began sorting her clothes and cosmetics. He jerked open a dresser
drawer and pushed her underclothes in with his, smiling at the
tangled mess of black silk boxer shorts and lacy feminine
underwear.

He shoved the drawer shut and jerked open the
closet door, taking down hangers and stuffing her clothes onto
them. He slapped her folded jeans onto the top shelf, next to his,
and tossed her colorful assortment of shoes and boots onto his.
Gathering an armful of her cosmetics, cleansers, and creams, he
walked into the bathroom and plopped them down next to his
things.

He studied the less than artful arrangement,
and nodded. Hogan intended to leave no doubt as to where she
belonged, every day and night.

Hogan turned abruptly, ready to lay down the
law, and bumped into Jemma’s soft body, clad now in a short,
ruffled, rosebud-sprinkled cotton nightie she’d foraged from the
bundle.

“You’re staying with me,” he said, shaken at
how sweet and young she looked.

She pushed her hair back from her face, her
expression that of a woman who had been well loved and who couldn’t
balance her worlds at the moment. “You’re upset, Hogan. You’re very
emotional now and not quite yourself.... You’re usually calm,
dissecting the causes and repercussions. I don’t want to do more
damage by staying here—”

“I’m just peachy.” Days of dealing with
Carley’s unsettled emotions and returning to find Jemma in pieces
had taken their toll.

Jemma’s only fault— shared with his family—
was that she loved Carley too deeply. She hadn’t trusted him enough
to tell him of her marriage.

In his passion, he’d held her too tightly—
he’d bruised her wrists... He was no better than the man who had
hurt her—

Oh, well, hell, he’d never been in love
before, nor so vulnerable. Of course, he was emotional, Hogan
thought, disgusted with his unshielded mood.

He shouldered past her, jerked a pair of
shorts from the tangled drawer, and tugged them on. He wanted to
give her soft words and not orders, and he was ruining any
chance—

He pulled Jemma close to him and kissed her
with the hunger and desperation riding him. “Stay with me—
please.”

Then because he knew that Jemma was a woman
who made up her own mind, he left her with a softer kiss and
escaped to the kitchen. If he’d stayed, he would have wanted her in
bed, and in the long run, he wanted more than that from Jemma.

In the middle of the gleaming kitchen, he
stopped and slowly took in the changes. The carrot juicer stood
next to the bread maker and there were four loaves of bread, uncut
and waiting on the chopping block. His first pottery efforts with
matching lids were lined up on the counter—An old glass churn sat
on the table, next to a cookbook.

From the doorway, Jemma was too quiet. “I
bought a cow. Aaron taught me how to milk. I wanted to learn how to
make butter. There’re wonderful things you can do with buttermilk,
you know, and she was so sweet— a little brown cow with beautiful
big brown eyes, and small dainty horns. Orchid is supposed to be a
good cream cow.... I thought the kitten needed cream, don’t
you?”

“You bought a Brown Swiss.” Reeling with the
knowledge that Jemma had settled into his house without a royal
fight, Hogan slowly opened the double-wide refrigerator door to
find three glass gallons of carrot juice. “You’ve been busy.”

Because his world had shifted suddenly, he
took one of the gallons and poured two glasses, quickly downing
his.

“I couldn’t sleep. Making juice is
therapeutic, but it didn’t help. I’d just lost my best friend, and
more than likely, you.”

Jemma held her glass like a lifeline, her
expression wary as if waiting for him to lash out at her. He could
no more do that to Jemma for loving Carley, than he could hurt the
kitten.

Looking away from him, she rushed on
nervously. “Butter isn’t difficult to make, if you let it come to
room temperature. Ben told me how. You just have to let the cream
settle and then skim it off—”

“I know. You’re not losing me, Jemma. I’m
here for the long run, no matter what.” Hogan looked steadily at
her and saw that only time would make her believe him.

She eased back from his outstretched hand,
and that hurt him. Hogan wanted her to trust him, to know that he’d
always be with her.

“I’ve made a few changes,” she began
hesitantly, as Hogan began to slice bread. He placed a skillet on
the stove and with the ease of a man who had tended himself, opened
the refrigerator to scan its contents. He withdrew a big bowl of
brown eggs and looked at Jemma.

Her expression was both wary and pleading.
“Fresh. From my— our chickens. Aaron made a makeshift coop. He said
you’d have to make something better. He was getting a little
disgusted with me at that point. He kept talking about how he liked
fried chicken— Hogan, he’s not frying my chickens.”

Hogan smiled, a bit woozy with the idea of
Jemma settling so comfortably into his home. No wonder Aaron had
hurried to meet him earlier; Jemma probably had him running full
steam day and night.

“I like canisters. I found some of your
pots.... You do such lovely work. I would never have that patience.
I tried it once, and the clay shot all over the wheel,” Jemma said,
as he scrambled the eggs, and she toasted the bread, slathering
butter on it. She stood awkwardly as Hogan filled their plates and
sat.

Hogan couldn’t bear the uncertainly on her
face and reached to pull her down onto his lap. “We’ll get through
this, sweetheart. All of us, together. Stop worrying.”

She looked down at her folded hands, and
shook her head. “I wouldn’t blame Carley for never wanting to see
me again.”

“Take it easy, Jemma. Healing takes time.”
Hogan began to feed her, and then licked the butter from her lips.
“Okay?”

He wanted to ask her about her marriage— why
she didn’t trust him, and decided to wait for another time. After
eating, Hogan sat back and toyed with her hair. “You do whatever
you want with the house. Just stay.... Stay with me.”

“I’ve already made a few changes.” Then Jemma
was on her feet hurrying into the living room, and with the
resigned sigh of a man trying to find reality, Hogan followed.

After one good look at the living room, he
reached for his hat and slapped it on his head. He needed the
reassurance that this was his home, and that was his woman,
standing in front of the big windows, her curved body outlined in
the setting sun. One hand rested on a new sewing machine, heavily
studded with gadgets.

“I didn’t know you sewed,” Hogan murmured,
reeling at just what Jemma could do....

“Savanna and Richard brought it out. She says
she didn’t like sewing after trying it, and the machine is way too
fancy and expensive to waste. So I got a bargain. I used to make my
clothes and sometimes remake them from thrift shops.”

Hogan tested the light chambray material,
noted the too-large sleeves and hoped— “What are you making?”

“A shirt—for you. To go with the horn
buttons. You’ll have to come up with an earring that matches.”

“Did you miss me, then?” The question tore
out of him; he had to know.

“You know I did. It was all I could do, not
to come up there. For once, I knew I’d better not push. You and
Carley aren’t the pushing kind. What did she say about me,
Hogan?”

He shook his head. He wouldn’t betray his
sister’s trust, though he thought Carley would one day accept Jemma
on different and more equal terms. Jemma turned suddenly, and asked
too brightly, “What do you think about old Jubal’s horns? Right
there, I mean? Ben sent them over because he was afraid that Carley
might decide to shoot at the roof again— they were in the attic.
Dinah called and begged me to take them. They’ll be great at
Christmastime, all decorated with red balls and mistletoe. Do you
mind?”

“Nope.” Hogan looked at the sprawling horns
over a rambling display of tropical plants. He couldn’t resist
taking off his hat and sailing it across the room. The hat caught
and swung from the tip of one horn. “I always wondered if I could
do that.”

Jemma smiled tentatively at him, and he
sensed her tension easing a bit. Because he was feeling good, Hogan
swept her into his arms and tangoed her into his office. “Show me
what else you’ve done? You were busy for just over two days.”

“Aaron helped. But he wasn’t happy, Hogan.
You may have to help him with his Savanna-problem.”

“Oh, no. He’s in that by himself.”

He glanced at the African violets sitting on
his north windowsill and at Jemma’s notes by the telephone. He saw
Simone’s name and stilled; he hadn’t had time to talk with Simone,
to cut the light flirtation link between them. “Any messages?”

“I handled a few business things while you
were gone. I hope you don’t mind. Jared said he needed a decision
on a franchise offer, and Hogan, he really seemed to want to meet
me. He offered to come here—”

Hogan made a mental note to call Jared and
declare Jemma off-limits. “What’s this?” he asked, noting figures
on the pad.

“You’re going to be mad. I thought the offer
was good, and I gave him the go-ahead. The deal was on the table
and hot, and at a good price. You’re going to get really mad,
aren’t you? Boy, if there is one thing I know how to do, it’s to
step on Kodiak toes—”

Her instincts about the deal were solid and
she was right: He would have lost money by waiting. Hogan turned to
her.

“I can take it, if you can. Can you?” he
challenged, needing that bit of comfort from Jemma.

She came to rest against him so softly that
she frightened him. Hogan held her in his arms, letting her rest
against him. Jemma was not a woman to openly show her needs,
dismissing her independence. “I’m so sorry, Hogan. I’ve made so
many mistakes.”

“We’ve made mistakes together.” He was just
settling in to tell her of his love, when Jemma stiffened, tore
herself away, and ran into the living room.

“Oh, Hogan. That’s Ben’s pickup. He’s coming
here—”

She turned to him, her body outlined by Ben’s
headlights. “Go get dressed. Oh, Hogan, you’ve got to hurry—”

So much for a pushy woman promising not to
shove, Hogan thought happily as Jemma pushed him into the bedroom
and started sorting through the clothes closet. He reached out and
tugged her squirming body against his. “Take your time. Get
dressed. I’ll treat Ben to some carrot juice.”

“But he’s never been here, Aaron said so. And
now here he comes, and I’m not ready—Hogan, do you know what this
looks like? I’m in my nightie and you’re standing there in your
shorts, and you’re—”

“True. I’m wanting to be in that bed with
you. But I can wait.” Then to hold him until later, he filled his
hands with her soft bottom and took her mouth.

The feel of her bottom clad in silk-ruffled
panties lasted Hogan while he tugged on jeans, drew on a T-shirt,
and walked to open the front door.

For once, he didn’t dress to prod Ben that he
was an artist and not a rancher. Hogan didn’t bother to hide his
good mood from Ben, who definitely looked uncomfortable.