Soul Deep (3 page)

She looked up at him, her head filled with
his scent—pine, fresh air, a hint of spicy shaving cream.
“Thanks.”

He took his place at her side again.
“Ready?”

Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop. Hop.

And then they were at the top of the
embankment, the road an icy ribbon between them and Jack’s
pickup.

Again Janet had to stop. “Please … I just …
have to… catch my breath.”

With no warning, Jack scooped her off her
feet and into his arms.

She gave a little shriek. “What—?”

“I’ve got you.” He crossed the highway and
went around the back of the truck to the passenger side door.
Somehow he managed to open it, then lifted her into the seat. “I’ll
be right back.”

In another few minutes, he returned with her
suitcase and handbag, stowing the former in the back of the cab and
handing her the latter, before climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Where were you headed?”

He started the engine, merged back onto the
highway.

“I have a reservation for a week at the
Forest Creek Inn in Scarlet Springs. I wanted to see the
aspens.”

“We can call them from the ranch, let them
know you’re okay. I know Bob and Kendra Jewell. They’ll be worried
about you.”

“You’re... you’re taking me to the Cimarron?”
She’d thought he’d been offering to take her to Scarlet
Springs.

“Scarlet Springs is a good two hours up the
road, and there’s more snow in the forecast. I can’t see it would
do you any good to be up there without your vehicle. How would you
get back? Besides, I doubt you’re up for the drive.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him
that she didn’t want to go to his damned ranch, but she knew he was
right. She wasn’t up for the drive, and if he did take her to
Scarlet Springs, she’d be stuck there.

“We’ll get you fed, warm you up, and you can
get some sleep. I can’t imagine it was comfortable sitting in that
car for 24 hours.”

Was this the same Jack West she’d met last
February?

“Why are you being so nice?”

He glanced over at her. “I know our first
meeting was confrontational, but let’s just say you don’t know me
very well if you think I’d let a woman who’s cold, hungry, tired,
and in obvious pain deal with this situation by herself. If that’s
not good enough for you, then know that my family owes you a great
debt. Javier Corbray is my son’s best friend. He dragged Nate out
of a burning vehicle in Afghanistan and saved his life. That makes
him and his bride, Laura Nilsson, family.”

“I see.” Because that sounded cold and
ungrateful, she added, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The truck’s heater pumped delicious warm air
through the cab. Within minutes, she found herself fighting to stay
awake. It couldn’t have been more than a half an hour when they
turned off the highway and another five minutes after that when the
ranch house appeared in the distance. The sight of it roused her
from her stupor.

It was even more beautiful than she’d
remembered. Its steep, multiple gables made her think of Swiss
chalets, while the stone and log construction was western. Several
stone chimneys rose up from the roof, dozens of windows stretching
skyward, making her think of European cathedrals, the glass
reflecting the mountains that surrounded them. The front door was
set back from a portico driveway that was accented by a colonnade
of polished logs. Off to the west stood several corrals and large
outbuildings, including what looked like a riding hall.

“It’s beautiful.”

Jack smiled. “My grandfather bought the land
to run cattle. My father took over from him. He expanded the
holdings, added horse breeding, built most of the outbuildings.
Theresa and I rebuilt the house.”

Janet had just assumed the West family was
made of money and had bought the ranch recently—a mountain trophy
house. She hadn’t realized it was part of a true ranching legacy.
“Is Theresa your wife?”

“Yes—or she was. She passed on about seven
years ago.”

Janet didn’t miss the note of sadness in his
voice. She hadn’t meant to tread on sensitive ground. “I’m
sorry.”

# # #

Jack drove the pickup to the side of the
house and pulled into the five-car garage. By the time he’d climbed
out and reached the passenger side, Janet had already opened her
door and begun to climb down, her right foot reaching for the
concrete.

He took her arm, steadied her. “I’ll bring in
your stuff. You just head inside where it’s warm. The kitchen’s
through there.”

He grabbed her suitcase out of the cab and
followed her in through the mudroom, where he stopped to take off
his wet boots before moving on again.

“I’ll set you up in the guest room. You can
take a hot shower or lie down and rest while I make us some lunch
and coffee.” He led her down the hallway and put her in the room
next to his. It was the only guestroom that wouldn’t force her to
use the stairs. He set her suitcase down and turned up the
thermostat. “You’ve got your own bathroom. It’s got radiant heat.
Turn the thermostat up as high as you like. Towels are in the
cupboard. There’s a landline on the nightstand if you need to make
calls.”

“Wow. This is amazing.”

“Make yourself at home, SA Killeen.”

“Janet.” She sat on the bed. “It’s
Janet.”

“I’ll have lunch ready in thirty minutes,
Janet—unless you’d rather sleep.”

Those green eyes went wide. “Oh, no, please.
I’m starving.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” He turned
and left her in peace, then made his way back to the mudroom, where
he finally slipped off his wet parka and hung it on its hook before
putting his boots on the boot dryer.

Back in the kitchen, he washed his hands,
then got last night’s leftover chili out of the refrigerator,
dumped it in a pot, and turned the burner on low, the spicy scent
sparking his hunger. He’d made a big batch yesterday afternoon,
only to find out that Nate and the girls would be staying in
Denver. Now the extra would make for a solid lunch, and it would
taste even better than it had last night.

Jack liked it when things balanced themselves
like that, the chaos and asymmetries of life coming together in
surprising ways to achieve order.

While the chili reheated, he mixed up a batch
of cornbread, popped it into the oven, then set the table. He’d
never cooked when Theresa was alive. For a time after her death,
he’d survived off frozen meals and whiskey. But with his wife gone
and Nate downrange fighting Al Qaeda, Jack had realized he either
needed to learn to cook or get used to being hungry and drunk. To
his surprise, he’d discovered he enjoyed cooking.

He had a few minutes, so he called the Forest
Creek Inn and told Bob Jewell what had happened, then called Chuck
to let him know he was back. “I don’t know how we’re going to get
her car out of there, but we won’t worry about that now.”

He hung up, heard the tap of her cane on the
floor, and glanced over his shoulder to see her enter the kitchen.
She walked with a pronounced limp, her left foot dragging, but
that’s not what held his attention.

Damn, she was pretty.

Her dark hair was still damp, hanging below
her shoulders in wet tendrils. She wore no makeup, her face perfect
without it. She’d put on a pair of gray leggings and a white angora
sweater that clung a bit too nicely to her curves. Even standing
over a pot of chili, he could smell the clean scent of her
shampoo.

Back off, West, you old goat!

She was young enough to be his daughter, for
God’s sake. She couldn’t be much older than Nate—late thirties,
maybe early forties—and he was sixty-three. His mind had no
business heading off in that direction, even if she had felt mighty
sweet in his arms when he’d carried her.

“Better?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you. That smells
incredible.”

“Leftover chili.” He lifted the lid, stirred
the pot. “Have a seat. As soon as the cornbread is done, we’ll be
ready to eat. What can I get you to drink?”

She winced as she sat. “Coffee with milk
would be great. Thank you.”

It was a damned shame that she’d been wounded
at such a young age. She would have to deal with this for the rest
of her life, just like Nate had to cope with his burns. Sometimes
life was brutally unfair.

He poured her a cup of coffee, set it with
the milk on the table, then busied himself serving lunch, getting
the chili into bowls, pulling the cornbread out of the oven,
putting a couple of thick wedges on plates, setting the butter
crock on the table. When the meal was served, he sat across from
her. “Dig in.”

She took a bite of the chili, then stared at
him in surprise. “This is really good.”

“Damned straight it is. I’d feign modesty,
but why bother?”

That made her smile, little dimples appearing
in her cheeks. “Is it an old family recipe?”

He’d never seen her smile before, and the
effect had his pulse skipping. “You could say that. I’ve made a few
changes over the years. Bourbon is my secret ingredient. After
Theresa died, I found that cooking with her recipes made her seem
closer.”

Janet’s delicate brow bent in a frown. “I can
understand that. My parents died when I was five. My grandparents
raised my sister and me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jack thought of his
precious little Emily and how hard it would be for her if Nate and
Megan were somehow killed. It made his heart ache. He pushed the
thought away. “It’s a hell of a thing to lose someone you
love.”

“Yes, it is.” Janet ate the rest of her meal
with the unselfconscious gusto of the truly hungry, polishing off
her bowl of chili in silence, then eating the slice of cornbread.
“Would you mind if I have seconds?”

“No, I would not mind.” He stood, picked up
her bowl, and refilled it. “You may have thirds and fourths, too,
if you like. There’s plenty.”

She ate the second bowl more slowly, stopping
to sip her coffee. It wouldn’t be long before exhaustion took
over.

“You said you were heading up to Scarlet
Springs to see the aspens.”

She nodded, held the coffee cup between her
palms as if to warm her fingers. “It’s an annual ritual of mine,
one of the few times I get out of the city. I’d been hoping to do
some horseback riding, too. It’s one of my favorite—
was
one
of my favorite escapes. I’m not sure I can still manage it.”

“You’ll find a way.” That gave Jack an idea.
“You know, we’ve got aspens, and we’ve got horses and a riding
hall. Why don’t you spend your week here? It’s free. The
accommodations are first rate. The food is terrific, if I do say so
myself. And we won’t have to worry about getting you up to Scarlet
Springs and back.”

Had he really invited her to spend a week
under his roof?

Sure, he had. And why not?

Weren’t guests the entire point of having
this big damned house?

She dabbed her lips with her napkin, her gaze
averted. “Thanks for the invitation, but I really couldn’t impose.
It was kind of you to help me out and give me a place to stay the
night, but tomorrow I’ll call a towing company and get out of your
hair.”

It was on his tongue to tell her that he kind
of liked having her in his hair, but that felt like tipping his
hand. “Suit yourself.”

This is what he got for acting in such a
charming manner the first time they’d met.

Well, hell.

She set her napkin down, her gaze traveling
from her bowl to the dishes in the sink. “I’ll help you clean
up.”

“No, ma’am, absolutely not.” He stood, piled
her bowl onto his, carried them to the sink. “I’ve got it. You go
and rest. I’ll have dinner ready at about six, barring any bovine
or equine catastrophes. You can join me or sleep, whichever works
for you.”

She reached for her cane and carefully got to
her feet. “Thanks so much. It really was delicious.”

“You’re welcome. Get some rest.”

He set the dishes in the sink and watched as
she slowly walked away.

CHAPTER THREE

Janet opened her eyes, glanced around, tried
to remember where she was. The Forest Creek Inn? No, she’d never
made it there. She’d gone off the road and...

She was at the Cimarron.

Jack West of all people had found her and
brought her here.

She sat up, rubbing her hip, her mind
sluggish from hours of deep sleep and the single Percocet she’d
allowed herself to take. Outside, it was still light. She pushed
the illuminator button on her watch and saw that it was just after
five PM.

She reached over, turned on the bedside lamp,
and looked at her surroundings. She’d been so exhausted earlier
that she hadn’t really noticed how beautiful the guest room was.
Someone had clearly put effort into making it cozy and
comfortable.

The sleigh bed she was lying in was almost
certainly an antique, leaves and scrollwork carved into a headboard
and footboard of polished cherry. The white quilt that had kept her
warm was covered with colorful appliqué flowers, delicate vines and
leaves curled artfully around the blossoms—violets, roses, tulips,
irises, daffodils. She didn’t have to look closely to know it was
hand-pieced like the quilts her grandmother used to make. A stone
fireplace stood against one wall, its wooden mantle decorated with
family photos. Deep red draperies framed a single wide window, the
white blinds lowered, diffusing what little daylight remained. A
baker bench sat at the foot of the bed, upholstered in velvet the
same color as the draperies. An antique chest of drawers that
matched the bed sat beneath a watercolor painting of snow-capped
mountains.