Two of Hearts

Sweet Peril

Alas, how easily things go wrong!
A sigh too much, or a kiss too long,
And there follows a mist and a weeping rain,
And life is never the same again.

But things can never go badly wrong
If the heart be true and the love be strong,
For the mist, if it comes, and the weeping rain
Will be changed by the love into sunshine again.

-- George McDonald

Chapter One

"Next?"

She walked into the office, no-nonsense shoes and a drab brown winter coat.

Standing in the doorway, poised on the threshold of the new life she'd promised herself, she was ready to turn and run.

He didn't look up, didn't hear her walk into the room. It was the long silence that finally made him stop writing his evaluation of the previous possible nanny and glance at the doorway.

He had to admit he'd been hoping that the doorway would be empty. He'd spent all morning interviewing nannies for the position of caring for his two young nephews. He was ready to abandon the closed office for the brisk wind and the open hills of the ranch.

Out of the group of sixty women and two men who'd applied for the job, only a handful appeared to have an inkling of what caring for eight-month-old twins would be like on a daily basis. Since he only needed two, one for daily, one in case the other fell through, he felt as though he could make that choice. Interviewing another candidate was redundant.

He stared hard at the woman who waited patiently in the doorway. His mouth tightened.

Barely acknowledging her presence, he turned back to the applications on his desk. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was ready to run back the other way. Experience, however, had been an invaluable teacher.

"Are you applying for the nanny position?" he asked finally, not looking up at her again.

"I -- uh -- I suppose. I -- uh -- "

"Is that yes or no?" he demanded.

"Yes," she confirmed uneasily.

"Take a seat."

She skittered to sit down on the hard wooden chair, pulling down her brown skirt across her knees. Snow was melting off of her shabby brown boots. The water formed a small puddle beneath her feet.

Wes glanced at the water in the doorway, then to the wet floor under her feet.

Her gaze flew to the spots and color swept scarlet across her thin face. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll get something." She half rose from the chair.

"Sit down, Jean."

She sat down hard then looked at him. Her eyes were enormous in her heated face.

"What are you doing here?" he wondered, turning back to her suddenly. "There's nothing here for you. Amanda took my brother. And I know you didn't come here to wrangle with me."

"No," she hastened to assure him, gulping hard at the intent look in his dark eyes. "I didn't come here to wrangle at all. I -- I came for the children."

"The children?" he retorted skeptically. "I have legal custody of the boys. If you'd like to see the will or talk to my attorneys, you're certainly welcome."

Jean bit her lip. This wasn't going the way she'd imagined.

In her mind's eye, he'd been happy to see her. After all, caring for the twins for the past two months couldn't have been easy. He was a man with great responsibilities. She'd thought that he would embrace any offer of help with open arms. His obvious hostility, especially when he'd been so nice to her before, took her by surprise.

"I don't want to take the children away," she replied quietly. "I wanted to help with them. If you'll let me."

She despised herself for that last part. After all, hadn't she promised her sister, Amanda, that she'd take care of the boys no matter what? If there had been time to have the will changed after her sister's impassioned declaration, the shoe would have been on the other foot.

Although, even if that were the case, Jean wasn't sure she could do anything different. The look in Wes Kirby's eyes was enough to quell her strongest sentiment, making her wish her sister hadn't made her vow to take care of the twins.

"So." He ruminated over the word and her offer. "You came down here, all this way, after two months, to offer to...baby-sit?"

Jean tightened her strangle hold on her purse strap and looked away from him. "I came here as quickly as I could."

"I'm surprised your father let you go at all," he responded. "How is Robert?"

"He died," she answered, politely and quietly as a child. "About three weeks ago."

It was Wes' turn to look away. Amanda had always emphasized how close her sister was to their father, carefully explaining it as her reason for having left her sister to care for him.

Knowing Amanda made him doubt that she'd ever considered chaining herself to her sister's position. Yet, he realized what a blow it must have been to Jean to lose both her father and her sister in the space of a few months.

"I'm sorry," he offered, trying not to feel that familiar tug of responsibility. After all, the woman had no family, no one to look out for her. The sisters had lost their mother when they were very young.

What about someone else picking up that position? The voice of reason and sanity balked at the thoughts his conscience was offering him. You have enough. Delegate.

"It took me a week to sell the house," she continued to explain. "Or I would have been here sooner."

She didn't offer the information that the fair price she'd received for the house was quickly swallowed up in the massive doctor bills her father had incurred through the years. Pride wouldn't let her beg. Let him think she could have gone anywhere, done anything.

He nodded. "So you sold the house." There was something about the idea that she'd come into any money that his rational mind rejected. She didn't look like a woman on her own for the first time in her adult life with a pocketful of money.

Or living with her tightfisted father was too ingrained in her to change.

Or it was a ploy to get him to feel sorry for her.

No matter what the house had sold for, she'd seen Amanda's beautiful, expensive wardrobe. She'd known the extravagant lifestyle her sister had lived with his brother. The chances were she thought there was a piece of the pie for her as well.

Jean watched the thoughts run across his dark face. Cherokee heritage and hours in the hot Kentucky sun had made his lean face permanently tanned, darker than anyone could get from frequent trips to the tanning salon. His eyes were black as night but shiny, like obsidian, and just as hard when they stared at her.

"I sold the house," she confirmed, clinging to the sentence as though she were in very deep water and it was a life preserver.

"So, you plan to live here?"

"I plan on being here to help you take care of the twins." She paused, watching the anger flit across his face, followed closely by skepticism. "I can work for my keep. You wouldn't have to pay me. I have the money from the house and -- "

"If you live here, you'll work," he agreed harshly, swinging back in his chair away from her. "This isn't a welfare state."

"No," she replied softly. "I didn't think it was, I just -- "

" -- wanted to help?" he mimicked.

"Yes," she answered more surely, trying to make her voice a little less frightened.

Frightened? The man terrified her! She heard a popping sound and looked down at her lap. Her purse strap had ripped in half.

"Wes? Wes, was that...Jean! I thought that was you!" Jenelle Kirby bustled into the room and reached for the younger woman's hands. "You're freezing! Come in by the fire and let me get you some coffee to take away that chill."

Jean smiled and allowed Wes Kirby's mother to lead her into the huge family room.

"The twins are asleep right now, thank heaven!" Jenelle told her with a smile and a sigh of relief. "They're wonderful but they're a handful!"

Jenelle promised to bring her coffee and left her guest in the family room near the huge stone fireplace that dominated one wall. Except for the crackling of the wood, the room was very quiet. There wasn't a hint that the twins were somewhere close by, sleeping.

Jean dared to take a deep breath as she stood up close to the fire. She held her hands out to warm them. Amanda had warned her that Wes was a cold, unfeeling man. That he'd tried to cut off his only brother and ran the Kentucky thoroughbred ranch with the iron fist of a tyrant.

Amanda had been miserable there. That was why she'd taken so many trips away. That was why she'd begged Jean not to abandon her babies to Wes, or to her husband, Grif. Grif wasn't strong enough to stand up to Wes without Amanda at his side.

Sadly, it had only been a year between the promise Jean had made her sister at the time of the twins' birth and her death, along with her husband, on a small plane in the Rocky Mountains.

Jean looked at the trophies in the glass case. The big one was a coveted trophy from the Kentucky Derby. Two of Hearts had taken a prize six years before. She remembered standing and looking at it just that way three years earlier when Amanda had flown her family down to the ranch for Christmas.

It had been a rare moment. Her father had been occupied with his golden daughter, Amanda. She was singing at the grand piano and looking every inch the lady of the manor. The long, low ranch house was decorated to the bursting point and the elegant dining room table had been covered with every conceivable good thing to eat.

Yet it had been that moment alone that Jean relished. Her father was an invalid. He needed her desperately and she was glad to be there for him. But sometimes, it was hard, demanding, and thankless. Sometimes, she thought it would be nice just to get away.

And for that brief moment, she was standing in a beautiful house. The furniture smelled of lemon oil and there was a huge fire blazing in the hearth. A Christmas tree twenty feet tall had greeted them in the entryway. The lights and the glitter had dazzled her.

"You know, we've never really talked," a voice had said from behind her. "I'm Wes Kirby, Grif's brother. We met at the wedding."

Jean had turned and nodded, color suffusing her face. "I remember you. You have a beautiful home."

"Thanks," he'd acknowledged. He had held out a champagne glass to her. "I noticed that you're the only one not drinking."

She'd taken the glass from him, dazed by the fact that he'd noticed her at all. Amanda had told her all about Grif's older brother. She hadn't hated him then.

In fact, she'd confessed to a certain attraction when she'd first met both of the brothers. Then Wes had been injured when a stallion had fallen against him. His leg and hip had been badly broken. He would be a cripple for the rest of his life. Amanda had quickly turned to the younger brother.

"I don't drink," Jean had said with a shake of her head. "My father might need me."

He'd turned back to glance at the crowd around the piano. "I think even Robert is drinking. Surely, you're allowed one small glass."

She'd smiled and sipped at the champagne, glancing around the room absently. She had expected him to leave her at any moment. But he'd stayed at her side, not speaking. Just looking at her.

"It's hard to believe you're Amanda's sister," he'd said finally.

"I know," she had agreed shyly, hating the comparison that was about to come. "She's our golden child."

"That might be," he maintained, glancing back at Amanda's blonde head. "But there's something to be said for fine china." He'd touched her face with a gentle hand. His black eyes had smiled down into hers. "That's what you remind me of, Jeannie. A china doll."

Jean had been certain her face had gone from scarlet to beet red. Fortunately, the group had called him back to the piano and her father had called for his sweater.

Jean had scurried to get it, glad for the task that had taken her out of the room and away from prying eyes that might have seen her vulnerability.

Had he been flirting with her? Had that tall, dark, handsome stranger, who was her brother-in-law, been smiling at her as though she were something rare and beautiful?

"Here's your coffee." Jenelle startled her from her reverie of that Christmas.

"Thanks."

"You look exhausted," Wes' mother said, surveying the other woman's face.

"It was a long ride," Jean agreed, stifling a yawn. Not to mention the long month since her father had died, stricken with grief over Amanda's death.

"Gracious! I'll say it was! Did you drive all the way from Chicago?"

"No," Jean admitted. "I took a bus. Then I walked from the bus station."

"Walked?" Jenelle demanded, sitting back. Her blue eyes were wide in her strikingly pretty face. "That must be over two miles!"

"Three miles." Wes joined them before the fire. He was dressed in a heavy denim jacket. He rested his blackthorn cane against the sofa and pulled thick gloves on his hands.

He looked at Jean, studying her face. He saw that bone weariness that his mother saw in her pale cheeks and overly large eyes. Her hand was shaking as she sipped her coffee. She kept her eyes scrupulously away from meeting his gaze.

If Amanda hadn't been a consummate actress, he might have believed Jean's story. He might have been willing to open his heart and his home to her. God knew she hadn't led much of a life, caring for that self-indulgent in-law of his.

"You walked three miles from the bus station?" Jenelle questioned in disbelief. She shook her head that was graced by pale ringlets.

"I didn't know it was that far," Jean denied. "And I'm used to walking all over the city. We didn't have a car. Besides, I couldn't find a taxi in Cheyenne. And I remembered the way out here."

"But it was pouring down rain and it's cold as a miner's nose out there!" Jenelle responded.

"I'm going out." Wes cut the women off. He didn't want to get caught up in the fairytale Amanda's sister was spinning for his mother. He picked up his cane and glanced at Jean. "Give Bobby a call when you're ready to leave. He'll take you back to town."

Jean stood up, spilling some of her coffee. "You won't let me stay?"

He shrugged. "You can stay. So long as we understand each other. This isn't a free ride or a holiday resort. We're up early. We work late. I'll feed you. But you'll have to buy your own accessories. And you'll be responsible for the twins."

"But you just said -- " she started, confused.

"I meant Bobby could take you back for your things." He looked at the single shabby suitcase standing in the hall.

"That's it," she told him. "That's all I brought with me."

"You travel light," he said after a long, thoughtful moment. "I'm going out, Mom. Can you put Jean in a room near the twins?"

"Of course! There's the room for the nanny but -- "

"That will do," Wes decided quickly.

"That's fine," Jean concurred. "I'm not asking for any special treatment."

Jenelle's lips tightened. "I'll take care of it." was all she said and turned away.

"Wes," Jean hailed him as he started to walk away.

He turned black eyes back towards her, leaning heavily on the cane. They glared at her from an unforgiving face. "Yes?"

"Thank you...for letting me stay. I won't let you down. With the twins, I mean."

"I know," he replied softly. "I won't let you."

Jenelle waited until she saw her son ride away on his prized stallion, the same horse that had injured him. She frowned, and then took Jean and her single suitcase to the suite of guest rooms that hadn't been intended for the nanny.

Jean gasped when the other woman opened the door and switched on the overhead light in the gloom.

The main room was half the size of her parent's home. It was decorated in a cream background with vibrant blue and green accents. As with the rest of the house, the decor was a curious blend of southwest Native American and Kentucky genteel. The carpet was thick underfoot and the furniture was eclectic.

The bed was huge and placed strategically so that it looked out of a tall set of windows that watched the lake and the back pasture. In the summertime, the green hills rolled on and were dotted with horses grazing on the low slopes.

Jenelle switched on the light in the sitting room that was complete with a bar, television, DVD player, and stereo equipment. There was a comfortable sofa and a shelf of books beside a small fireplace.

"There's a tiny refrigerator under the sink," Jenelle explained. "So you can keep juice or whatever under here. Just let me know what you need."

The bathroom was exquisite. There was white tile, warmed from beneath the floor. Everything else was alternating green and blue. A whirlpool bath, that was big enough for two or three people, and a glassed-in shower, filled the room that was as large as her bedroom had been back home.

"The closet is in here." Jenelle opened the door and showed her the area. "Let's get you unpacked and settled in before dinner."

Outside, the night had turned bitter and there was a possibility of snow. In the cozy room, it was warm and snug. The story of her father's death and the sale of the house came out easily as Jenelle helped Jean unpack.

"So you sold the house and came to us." Jenelle nodded, taking out Jean's single pitiful nightgown and putting it into the drawer. "It was the right thing to do. We're your family now."

Jean nodded, close to tears. "I thought about the boys. They're so much like Amanda. I want to be part of their lives."

Jenelle shook her head as she put away a few threadbare sweaters and a pair of wool pants. The child didn't have a thing! It would be better to throw out what little she did have and start over. But she was well acquainted with stubborn pride. The kind that could make a person walk three miles in the sleet without calling for help!

"The house was entailed, wasn't it?" Jenelle asked without preamble. She wasn't one to beat around the bush.

Jean nodded, miserably. "Doctor's bills. Medicine."

"He left you without a thing for all of your years of devotion to him?"

"He meant well," Jean argued weakly. "He didn't realize the cost."

"Of course," Jenelle sympathized. Not with the father but with the girl. "Why don't you take it easy until dinner? Get to know your room or lie down for a while. I'll send someone when dinner's ready."

"Thanks, Jenelle," Jean responded warmly to the other woman's kindness. "I am tired."

"I'm not surprised! Walking all the way from Cheyenne!" Impulsively, she hugged Jean. "We're going to take good care of you here. Just you wait and see."

Jean took off her clothes that were still slightly damp and slipped into a sweater and slacks.

She'd hated for Jenelle to see her clothes. Compared to what Amanda had worn, she was a street person wearing hand-me-downs. She could have taken a little of her meager hoard left from the sale of the house and purchased new clothes but she'd been single minded in her determination to reach the ranch.

And she'd done it. She was there. She'd confronted Wes Kirby and she hadn't folded or run away. She'd seen in his eyes that he was as ruthless as Amanda had portrayed him. But he'd let her stay. She knew she could make a difference in the twins' lives because of it.

He might be harsh and overbearing, but between herself and Jenelle, she knew the twins wouldn't lack for love and sympathy. For Amanda's sake, for the sake of what little family she had left, Jean knew she would have to make that difference.

She sighed, lying in the warmth on the soft bed. It was almost frightening to think that no one would be calling out for her. For most of her life, she'd been the backbone of the family. Finding the money for Amanda to go to the high school prom. Finding a way, on her father's meager pension, to send her younger sister to college.

It was Jean who kept the household running twenty-four hours a day. From buying medicine for her father, to helping him back and forth to the bathroom. She'd washed and cooked and cleaned. Like a mother hen, she'd savored Amanda's triumph when her sister had married a wealthy, handsome man her first year in college.

Jean had lived on those few letters from her golden sister. Descriptions of the college and the life she'd led had been as good as any television drama. News from the parties and the fun she'd had with her new friends made all of Jean's sacrifices worthwhile.

At first it had been a let down for Amanda to leave college. Jean would have loved to spend hours in the massive library or discussing philosophy with the professors. Amanda hadn't been the student Jean had been in high school but her good looks and easy manner had won her a place in everyone's hearts.

Fortunately, Jean hadn't been called on to find the money for the elaborate and beautiful wedding when her sister had married Grif Kirby. There had been a thousand people attending the reception with a full orchestra and carved ice sculptures on the tables.

It had been the first time she'd met Wes Kirby. Her sister had described him accurately and vividly in her letters. Both brothers were tall and handsome but Grif looked and talked more like his mother. Jean could only surmise that Wes was more like his father who had won the horse ranch fifty years before in a game of poker. Amanda had told her that the ranch was named Two of Hearts for the winning card.

Jean was exhausted but she couldn't sleep. She rose from the bed, fighting off the unbidden memories of the last three years. The room was dark with the early evening and the rain. She stood for a long time, looking out of the window at the hills and the lake.

She'd been determined that she wouldn't back down from Wes Kirby. No matter how intimidating he was with her. It had taken every ounce of her courage. But she had managed to stand her ground.

Would it get easier as time went by? Would she be able to look into those black eyes and face that unsmiling, uncompromising mouth every day and still fight for what she believed was right for the twins?

Jean finally wandered out of her room, drawn by the aroma of dinner cooking and the sounds of the twins. She glanced into the rooms beside hers and found their nursery. It was simply decorated, yet bright and colorful. She walked through the rooms, two connecting bedrooms, a playroom, and a large, warm bathroom.

The cribs were the same light oak. The rest of their accessories were different. It made her think of Amanda. She'd been so defiant about not treating the boys the same. She hadn't wanted them to wear matching clothes or be mistaken for each other. Even their names, Eric and Jake, were not the usual Shawn and Shane type of names.

That was something Jean knew she would have to try to maintain in her sister's memory. It had been important to her that the boys' identities were separate. Jean meant to keep it that way.

Eventually, Jean found her way to the kitchen. It sounded like the twins were being fed their dinner. Their voices were raised as Jenelle talked to them and coaxed them into eating what was on their plates.

The door to the kitchen was open but Jean stopped at the threshold. Wes was seated at the scarred wooden table beside his mother. One of the boys' high chairs was perched in front of him while the other was pushed in front of his mother.

"All I meant," his mother explained without missing a spoonful of food into the hungry, questing mouth, "was that you don't have to treat her like she's a pariah. The girl's lost everything, Wes. You aren't my son if you don't have compassion for her loss."

"Compassion?" Wes demanded, spooning creamed spinach into the other twin's mouth. He wiped a spot from the boy's chin and handed him a small cup with a tiny spout on the top. "Her sister was a beautiful, hard hearted, scheming bitch. How much compassion would you like me to have for her?"

"I can't believe you're saying that to me," his mother reprimanded. "I've seen you give a job to a man who robbed a liquor store! You can't tell me that you're judging this woman by her sister's actions?"

He glanced at his mother darkly and then spooned up some peaches. "You make it sound like I kicked her out into the street! I said she could stay. She told me that she wanted to take care of the twins. That's fine. What's the problem?"

"Your attitude!" Jenelle scolded, then hushed the baby who thought that she was talking to him. "You sounded like a monster this afternoon! The girl needs our compassion and our kindness. She doesn't need you to treat her like some dog off the street."

Wes sighed. He spooned up the last of the peaches into the mouth that was opening a little more slowly as the boy's tummy was getting full.

"I've pretty well had the kindness burned out of me, Mom. After Cherise and Amanda, I think it might be best if one of us keeps our head and holds on to our wallets. I'll reserve judgment on Jean."

Jenelle wiped her grandson's mouth and lifted him from the chair. "Jean isn't Cherise or Amanda. I know I didn't raise you to be so blind that you can't see that, Wes. You're stubborn like your father and you've been hurt. Don't compound it with stupidity!"

Jean almost gasped aloud. She put her hand over her mouth to keep the noise from escaping. It was hard to imagine anyone speaking to Wes Kirby that way, even his mother.

"When she's earned my compassion, I'll think about it. Until then, walking from town, only bringing the clothes on her back, and that bad haircut on that woebegone waif's face, only means one thing to me. She expects us to buy her something decent to wear and get her a car. When I know better, I'll treat her better."

Jean couldn't listen to anymore. Cheeks flaming red, her stomach in knots, she fled back to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Chapter Two

How could she stay?

Despite wanting to be a part of the twin's lives, despite her promise to Amanda. How could she stay there knowing that he felt that she had come to them just for the money? How could she listen to Amanda's name being spat from Wes' mouth like a foul curse?

She thought that she'd tolerated everything in her twenty-five years. She'd given up her life so that other people could be happy. She had stepped aside on all of her dreams so that Amanda could have a better life. Yet nothing had prepared her for that conversation in the kitchen. Maybe her father hadn't said thank you. Maybe Amanda hadn't always been kind. Maybe her life hadn't been a fairytale existence.

But no one had ever accused her of trying to get sympathy or taking advantage of them. She wasn't sure where her heart ended and her pride began. She just knew that she couldn't stay at the ranch knowing how Wes felt about her.

She wondered briefly who Cherise was and what her sister had ever done to gain Wes' enmity. Amanda's life there had been idyllic for the first few months. Then something had happened between them, something that had changed the way Amanda felt about Wes. Had he always felt as though Amanda was a scheming witch?

Amanda had described Wes as sexy. He knew what he wanted. He was daring and ambitious. Then the praise had ended. Wes had been injured. It had changed him. He'd become the bane of her young life. He was insufferable in his demands. He was overbearing, constantly trying to make his brother spend time away from his wife. Had he been trying to break up their marriage as Amanda had suspected? Was it because of whatever had happened between them before Wes' accident?

Whatever the case, Jean knew she couldn't stay and face that suspicion and hostility. Amanda and the twins held a piece of her soul. Her heart went out to the small boys. But she couldn't stay.

Duty and pain warred within her as she packed her meager belongings and pulled on her coat and boots. She'd pretended to be asleep when someone had knocked on her door for dinner. When the house was quiet, she got up and prepared to leave.

She considered leaving a note of explanation and bit her lip. She didn't know Jenelle or Wes well enough to explain the decision that she was making to leave the ranch. Jenelle had been kind to her but it was only the second time she'd spoken with the woman.

It surprised her that she was daring enough to leave. Maybe it was her father's death. Maybe it was knowing that for the first time, she didn't have to be anywhere that she didn't want to be. It was a wide world out there. Somewhere was a place, and maybe a person, who wanted her and needed her. She belonged somewhere.

The house was dark when she opened the door to her bedroom. She glanced furtively down both sides of the hallway. The twin's rooms and the kitchen were finally quiet. She didn't know where Wes's rooms were located but she did know the way out. She planned to walk back out of his life the way she'd walked into it. Take the bus somewhere that she could start a new life.

They wouldn't miss her, unlike her father who'd needed her and depended on her. No one at the ranch would notice that she was gone.

It was depressing. She was an invisible spirit that no one could see and that no one would miss. She sniffed and felt tears well in her eyes. All the years that she'd thought about freedom, about how wonderful it would be to have no one calling out for her at all times of the day and night. The reality was empty and lonely. She wished her father were still alive and that she was at home in her own shabby bed.

"Going somewhere?" a voice asked from the darkness.

A log fell in the fire, illuminating the family room. A dark figure separated itself from the shadows to stand a few feet away from her.

"I'm leaving," she told him quietly yet there was a trace of iron in her tone.

"Already? Not quite the hospitality you'd expected? Not enough of the red carpet rolled out for you? Or is the silverware in that suitcase?"

Jean gasped at the accusation. "I came to be with the twins. I never wanted anything more than that from you."

"Well, since you have that, and you're still leaving, you'll forgive me if I doubt that it was enough for you."

"I won't stay with you." She nudged her chin up a little. "You just accused me of stealing and you've made it very plain what you think of me."

"And is that what you came for? To improve my opinion of you?"

"I already told you why I came."

"Then what does my opinion matter?"

Jean hefted her suitcase from one hand to the other. "I won't stay somewhere that someone thinks I'd take advantage. Or that I would steal something. You called my sister a hard hearted, scheming -- "

"I know what I called her." He sighed. "I guess you heard the rest as well then. Haven't you ever heard that eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves?"

"I didn't mean to listen. I didn't want to walk in on you and your mother." She raised her head. "But it doesn't matter. I know what you think of me. And my sister."

"You can't change my mind about Amanda," he told her bluntly. "You thought she was wonderful. You're entitled to your opinion."

"She was my sister," Jean replied. "I didn't hear you mentioning your brother being in the same league with her."

She heard a small sound from him. It was a strangled noise that she knew meant that she had gone too far. She didn't care. She had nothing to lose. In the darkness, she could imagine his mouth tightening and that dark thundercloud of a face glowering at her. She didn't care about that either.

She walked by him, brushing against him in the shadows without realizing. His hand came out and landed on her suitcase. She jumped and gave a small yelp.

"Have you considered," he spat out at her, "that by leaving now, you're just proving that I was right about you?"

"What do you mean?" His hand was warm across hers on the suitcase handle.

"I mean that if you had stayed and taken care of the boys, you would have had the pleasure of throwing it back in my face. By leaving, I can only guess that you wanted something that I wasn't willing to give you."

"I don't care." She jerked her suitcase away from his grasp and continued walking towards the door.

"Coward," he hissed.

That was too much. She turned back to him and dropped her suitcase. The metal brads on the bottom hit the wood floor with a loud thump.

She threw herself at him without thought or reason, driven by disappointment and the need to hurt him, as she had been hurt.

"You don't even know!" She sobbed, trying to lash out at him with her fists and feet. "You don't even know what it was like. How hard to was to come here. Knowing how you are. Knowing that I didn't really belong here. You don't know what it was like, waking up and finding that I didn't have anyone. Everyone was gone. Amanda. Dad. Everyone."

It occurred to her that her attack was less eventful than she'd considered it. He had simply grasped her wrists and turned her away from him. Her back was pressed against his hard chest and his hands rested between her breasts, holding her hands from doing him any damage.

It had been stupid, pitiful, and blind. She didn't think she could hurt him anyway. He was nearly twice the size of her. She didn't know what had possessed her to throw herself at him. Nothing like it had ever happened to her.

"I'm sorry," she said slowly, feeling silly and bone tired. "I-I don't know what came over me."

Wes felt her heartbeat where his hands were pressed against her wrists. It was beating like a wild thing. Her hair was tangled around his chin and smelled like rain. Her body felt small and fragile in his grasp.

He turned her to face him. He could barely make out her features in the glow from the dying fire. "Stay."

"Why?" she wondered, entranced with the gleaming planes and shadows the strange light cast on his face.

"I don't know," he muttered harshly. His hands tightened on her arms for a moment, then released her. His head came down and blocked out the light.

Jean stopped breathing. Her knees were weak as she thought he meant to kiss her. Hovering between terror and excitement, she tried to stare through the darkness to see his face.

His lips grazed the side of her head just before his hand came out and swept her hair away from her eyes. "You said you wanted to be with the boys."

"I did," she answered, stunned by his words and his touch. She wanted to move away. She wanted to move closer. "I do."

"Then stay," he repeated, close to her ear. "Prove me wrong. Humble me."

She could well imagine any number of people wanting to see this man humbled. Despite his crippled leg, he was arrogant and unfeeling. There was nothing nice or weak about him. Wes Kirby was the kind of man who might inspire those feelings. He had in Amanda.

His lips touched her temple. Jean had no doubt about that touch. His breath feathered through the fine tendrils of her hair, making her shiver. He was warm and strong. His touch was inviting. His presence enveloped hers in a rosy glow that suffused her whole being.

What was she doing? She wondered, finding herself leaning into him, relaxed in his embrace. What was he doing?

"I'll stay," she whispered, not sure what, if anything, had changed between them.

"Good." He released her slowly. He picked up her suitcase and started to take it back to her room.

"I can take that," she said quickly, picking up his cane to give to him.

"Let's get one thing straight, Jean. You're here to take care of the boys, not me. I'm not your father or your sister. I don't need someone to take care of me."

He continued on to her room, limping heavily. Jean put his cane down and followed him, feeling foolish.

There was a sound from the twins' room, more a coo than a cry. He stepped to the door and listened. "Hungry?" he asked her quietly.

Emotions and questions churned through her. Hunger was the last thought on her mind.

Another sound came from the nursery. A definite cry.

"Sounds like somebody's unhappy." He opened the nursery door. "You can eat something while we take care of them."

By the time they walked into the room, both boys were awake and standing at the side rails of their cribs. They looked tearful and glad to see them in the nightlight's gleam.

"Eric's always in the back. Jake's always in the front," Wes told her before she had the chance to admit that she didn't know which boy was which. "I always check their pants first, then move on from there."

Jean smiled as she went to pick up Eric. Wes stated the first step as though he were explaining a medical procedure. She knew he wouldn't thank her for pointing that out to him, so she kept the fragile truce between them.

Carefully, she picked up her nephew who looked at her doubtfully with big, wet, blue baby eyes. He yawned and stretched and let her take him to the changing table. He stopped crying and was watching her as though debating her next move.

"You're not the only one," she whispered as she nuzzled his soft neck. He smelled of soap and baby powder and milk. His diaper was dry. She lifted him back into her arms. He rested his head against her, and she was lost.

She could have left them before that moment. Eric looked so much like Amanda that she found herself swallowing back on the hard lump in her throat.

Once she held him again, she knew she had to stay. No matter what the consequences. No matter what Wes thought of her.

"No diaper problems there either?" Wes called from the other room.

"No. Just a sleepy baby." She kissed the tiny head covered with fine golden curls.

"Here, too, but I think this one needs some coaxing."

They took the babies to the kitchen where a light was on over the huge stove in the far corner. Bottles of milk were already made in the refrigerator. Wes took one out and Jean followed him.

"I'll warm," he told her. "You hold."

She sat down in a chair. He placed Jake on her lap with Eric. The boys looked so much alike that it was hard for Jean to find any trace of difference between them.

"How do you tell them apart?" she asked while the two babies looked up at her. They both blinked, owl-like, in the dim light.

"Eric is a little smaller. His face is a little narrower. Jake weighs more and he can wiggle his ears."

"What?" She looked at the boy. He stared back at her with his hand in his mouth.

"He wiggles his ears," Wes repeated. He brought the bottles to the table and gave one to her as he took Jake back into his arms.

As soon as they saw the bottles, both boys acted exactly the same way. They reached for the bottle and made grunting noises. Eric seemed to have forgotten his initial reservations about her. He took the bottle and rubbed his eyes with his hands.

"Most of the time they sleep through the night," Wes told her. "I have a monitor in my room. I'll put one in yours as well. You'll need to be able to hear them."

Eric pressed his face against her chest and continued to drink the milk from his bottle. He might have been smaller than his brother but he was an armful snuggled against her.

"This is what's kept me going since Amanda and Grif died," Wes revealed, not looking at her. He smiled, instead, at the baby face in the crook of his arm.

"They're beautiful," she murmured. "I can see so much of Amanda and Grif in them."

"Every time I think about them not knowing their father," Wes began, but didn't finish.

Jean's voice was soft in the ensuing silence. "We just have to make sure they always remember."

"Jake's asleep," Wes whispered suddenly, standing with the boy in his arms. "I'm going to put him back to bed. Help yourself to the refrigerator when Eric's asleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

Jean watched him limp from the kitchen with the sleeping boy. She was fairly sure her own bundle was asleep as well but she wasn't in a hurry to put him down. After so much pain, so much unhappiness, it was a miracle to hold that tiny life in her arms.

She looked at his fingers and his perfect ears, recalling when she had first seen the boys just after her sister had given birth. Amanda had been so happy. She'd loved the twins. Now, they would never know her love or her kisses. But Jean could be there with them as they grew, to be sure that they didn't forget her. To be sure that Wes' evaluation of their mother wasn't the only thing they ever heard about her.

"Your mommy loved you," she told the sleeping baby, kissing his little hand gently. "You're always going to know about that." She stood up with the baby in her arms and took him back to the bedroom. The house was quiet and dark around her.

There was no sign of Wes as she emerged from the nursery. Food wasn't worth the trip back to the kitchen. She climbed into her own bed and looked out of the window at the black shapes of the hills outside the house.

Wes had kissed her. His touch had been tender, gentle. Even though she'd thrown herself at him, trying to hurt him. He'd kissed her like she'd seen him kiss Jake, soothing his little tears when he picked him up out of his bed.

Perhaps he thought of her like a child. They had only met those two other times. Briefly, at the wedding, then again, during Christmas. She had always wondered if he had been flirting with her that weekend. Tonight he'd kissed her. It had been anything but the kiss a man would give a woman.

Yet her heart was still pounding and her hands were shaking. She supposed she would have fallen completely apart if he'd actually kissed her mouth.

Her mind was whirling with possibilities and the events of the last few months. Too much had happened to sort through so easily. She didn't understand Wes. She certainly didn't understand herself. She'd meant to leave. He'd convinced her to stay. He hadn't said much. Hadn't promised that things would be different between them.

Yet she'd stayed. She was glad, now that she'd held Eric and Jake. But it didn't make sense to her that she'd stayed. Everything in her had told her to go. But that one word, stay, had convinced her to change her mind.

She'd never thought about being attracted to Wes. He was a handsome man, despite his handicap. An intimidating man, despite his gentleness. He was a man who would never be attracted to her.

Amanda had told her once that common sense didn't guide a heart. She'd been dating a boy in high school who'd dyed his tongue black at the time.

Maybe it wasn't the same situation but it was as close as her experience could get her to reality. God! When she'd thought that he was going to kiss her, she'd panicked. Was she supposed to hold her mouth open or closed?

She shook her head and bunched up her pillow. It was better not to make too much of it. She'd been distraught. He'd calmed her. He probably thought of her much the same way he thought about the boys.

Jean had never even flirted with a man in her life. Frank, the green grocer around the corner at home, had always smiled and given her the best apples. He had asked to call her once. It had been just after her father's first heart attack and it had been impossible.

She was a little too quiet. Too mousy, Amanda told her, for men to find her interesting. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't even pretty. In school, when people had met the two sisters together, Amanda had always outshone her. People forgot everything but Amanda's golden glow when they were around her.

Not that Jean blamed them. Amanda was beautiful and vivacious. Men flocked to her. She could have married anyone. Grif Kirby had impressed her with his charm and his boyish smile. He had showered her with expensive gifts and taken her to wonderful places. She'd been swept off her feet.

Amanda had been attracted to Wes at the beginning but she'd found that he was too serious. He was too bound by his responsibilities and his injury to give her what she needed. Grif was attentive. He made her the center of his life. Amanda's golden glow shone brighter with his adoration.

Jean had never thought about being attracted to a man. Any man. Until now. Now, everything was different. She was free. She just wasn't sure what to do with her new found freedom. She knew she would like to have babies of her own someday but any man who wanted to be with her would have to understand about her bond to Amanda's children. Was that too much to ask?

She fell asleep on that thought and her tired mind carried her back to that first Christmas when Amanda had invited them to her new home for the holiday.

They had opened their presents on Christmas Eve in front of the huge fire. Soft-footed kitchen help had cleared away the elegant dinner remains.

Amanda and Grif had only been married a few months. They had spent all of their time smiling at one another, touching each other.

Between running errands and seeing to her father's medicine and comforts, Jean had watched them. She had admired their love and devotion to one another. Grif had slipped a beautiful diamond star around Amanda's neck. The lights on the Christmas tree had reflected in the stone. It had flashed fire when Amanda had showed it to Jean and their father.

Jean had already put her own gifts to each person around the tree. She had knitted gloves for everyone. Amanda had opened all of her other gifts, including a new saddle from Wes but Jean's gift lay unopened.

Amanda had told Jean earlier that she didn't need to bring anything. "No one expects you to buy them gifts."

"I didn't want to come empty handed," Jean had replied, stung at the criticism from her elegant younger sister.

"That's all right," Amanda had reassured her. "No one will notice anyway."

That had made sense to Jean once she saw the expensive gifts that were opened around the fire. Wes had given her father a bottle of hundred-year-old brandy. Her father had informed him promptly that he didn't drink hard spirits but thanked him for the thought anyway.

Jean had opened her first gift. It was a calculator from her father.

"You know how hard it is for you to reach the same figures twice," her father had joked. Jean's face had burned as she felt watchful eyes on her.

"Thank you," she'd said quietly.

Amanda's gift was imported chocolate in a golden ball. Jenelle had given her a silk scarf and Grif's gift was a silver-plated hairbrush and comb set.

Jean had thanked everyone. She glanced furtively as Wes opened his gifts.

Unlike her sister, he had opened the smallest gift first. It was her box of gloves. Jean watched him try them on. She hoped they would fit him, worrying that she'd made them too small. But his large hands slid into them perfectly. He flexed his fingers and looked across at her, smiling.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes intent on her face.

Jean had nodded and smiled shyly back. She was happy that she'd recalled approximately the size of his hands and that he hadn't simply tossed them aside.

Wes had finished opening his gifts, thanking each person for their thoughtfulness. Amanda began to usher everyone towards the table where fluted crystal glasses and champagne awaited to toast the season.

Jenelle had taken Jean's hand as they had walked towards the table. "I love the gloves, Jean. They're so warm and comfortable. You have a good eye for size! You managed to get everyone's sizes right."

"I'm so glad you like them." Jean had smiled and felt close to tears. Amanda and Grif's small presents still lay untouched. She pretended not to notice.

She had looked around herself at the large, beautiful home Amanda and Grif shared. She thought about the acres of ranch that surrounded them. She couldn't fault her sister for feeling as though her gift had been beneath her notice. Her life had changed for the better. Their relationship would never be the same.

She hadn't realized that everyone was walking towards the family room again until she'd looked up and seen Wes coming directly towards her.

She'd glanced up, hoping someone would look back and urge her to follow more quickly but everyone else was laughing and drinking champagne.

"I'm sorry this wasn't under the tree," Wes began, holding out a small, neatly wrapped gift in his hand.

"I wasn't expecting -- " she faltered.

"I don't buy gifts for people I don't know," he attempted to explain. "I know we met at the wedding but we hardly spoke. The last few days, well, I wanted you to have this."

Jean looked into his shining dark eyes and smiled slowly. She felt the weight of the gift in her hand. "Thank you."

She'd found herself having a little problem breathing. She'd tried to look away from him but her eyes wouldn't move. Her smile got bigger until she felt silly.

"Are you going to open it?" he'd wondered, smiling a little more himself, holding the blackthorn cane between his hands.

"Oh, yes. Of course," she answered, dazed.

Carefully, she opened the dark green wrapping paper and took off the red bow. She'd opened the box and taken out a porcelain music box.

It was a black piano. Much like the one in Wes' great room. A girl sat on it, wearing a flowing white gown. Her brown hair was down around her shoulders. Her face was animated as she stared into a snow globe that she held in one hand. In the globe was a tiny crystal castle.

Jean wound the key in the side of the box and the music chimed sweetly. It was an old tune but she recognized the melody. May all your dreams come true.

"She reminded me of you," he whispered to her as she looked at the girl and listened to the music.

"Thank you," she replied gently, watching the snowflakes swirl in the tiny glass globe. "It's beautiful."

"So are you." His eyes were intent on her face.

Jean had blushed scarlet and fiercely denied the compliment. She'd looked up into his face fearfully, worried that he was making fun of her. But there was no doubting the sincerity in his eyes.

"Jean! Dad needs his medication," Amanda had told her, interrupting them. "Wes, stop hiding! We need your baritone around the piano!"

Jean had hurried to her father's room to fetch the medication and shortly after, had helped her father into his bed and made sure he was comfortable for the night. She'd sat up in her own room for an hour, looking at the girl on the piano and listening to the music.

She knew that she wasn't beautiful. The girl, created of delicate china, sitting on the piano, was strikingly pretty. Their only resemblance was their brown hair and their oval faces. But the way Wes had looked at her, the way he'd told her that she was beautiful, would last her through a lifetime of being ignored and standing in the shadows.

Maybe he'd only said it to be nice. Maybe he was flirting a little with Amanda's plain sister. It didn't matter. The girl on the piano had sat in a special place in her room. It was the only thing, besides her clothes, that she'd brought with her to her new home.

She opened her eyes. The sun was coming up over the hills that had been dark when she'd gone to sleep. She'd made her choices, she decided, sitting up in the huge bed. She was going to have to live with them.

Chapter Three

Two of Hearts was a working ranch; not a picture postcard. The hills rolled as far as she could see, surrounded by miles of white fences. Jean knew there was a great deal of time and work that went into the upkeep of the ranch.

She learned the first week how much of that time and energy belonged to Wes. From the first light of day, sometimes through the evening, he and his ranch hands repaired fences, tended sick animals, trained the younger animals, and coaxed the older ones into eating and exercising.

Jean knew from her sister's letters how much Wes had depended on his younger brother for help with the ranch that maintained their abundant lifestyle. And how much Amanda had resented it. Amanda had written her once that Grif secretly hated horses and was deathly afraid of them but he was more afraid of his older brother. Wes was a paragon but he expected too much from the people around him.

Jean had time, between caring for the twins, to wonder what had happened between Wes and her sister. It was easy to imagine Wes being demanding on his brother's time. It was a big ranch and there were obviously many responsibilities.

Amanda had known that going into the relationship. She had bragged about the size of the operation and the importance Grif played in the daily running of it. She'd been proud of his working lifestyle.

When had that changed? Jean considered. She watched several of the ranch hands ride by as she picked up some toys from the playroom floor. She realized that, with Amanda gone, she might never know the answer.

Life at the ranch fell into a routine for Jean very quickly. But she was used to routine and welcomed its comfortable regularity.

The twins usually woke up at about six am. Jean had worried about facing Wes every morning over the breakfast table but that didn't happen. Wes was already gone by the time she came out with Jake and Eric. Jenelle woke and ate breakfast in her room at about eight then came out to check on the twins.

Jean wanted to show Wes that he was wrong about her. She got the boys up, changed them and fed them without asking for help. Jenelle had offered to get up earlier and lend a hand but Jean had smiled and declined. If she could take care of her nearly helpless father, she could take care of the twins.

Jenelle helped with their baths after breakfast. She spent the time smiling at her grandsons and laughing at their antics in the big tub. She was a small woman, finely boned and delicately made but she had a will of iron and spoke her mind. She had a slight problem with her heart and mild asthma. She tried not to let it slow her down but by the afternoon, she was usually looking tired and pale.

It was easy to see that Jenelle was loved. Three or four times a day, someone called or stopped by for a few minutes. Even the ranch hands dropped by to ask if everything was all right. Everyone was concerned for her.

"I tried to take care of the boys myself," Jenelle she said. She explained why Wes had been trying to hire a nanny the day Jean had arrived at the ranch. "I just couldn't do it."

"They're a handful," Jean admitted freely, taking a load of clothes to wash while the twins slept in the afternoon.

"Don't be afraid to ask for help," Jenelle warned her. "If you feel you need Wes to hire someone to give you a hand, do it! I'll do what I can but tell me if there's something else."

Jean promised that she would but she knew that she wouldn't. She wanted to impress Wes with her strength and capability. She needed him to apologize for the things that he'd said about her. Nothing less than that would do for her.

The cook, a Jamaican man by the name of Lew, made the boys' bottles every day and stored them in the refrigerator. He listened to Bob Marley and sang out loud as he made the meals and pureed food for the babies.

A young girl from Cheyenne came each day to change the sheets on the beds, clean the house, and generally help Jenelle out. She was a pretty girl named Cinda with a shy smile and very red lipstick. She looked at Lew with longing in her flashing dark eyes.

In the afternoon, when Jake and Eric got up from their nap, Jean played with them. She guided their new footsteps out of trouble and tried to keep their busy hands occupied. It took only a short time for Jean to tell them apart.

Eric's delicate features were like her sister's. Jake's broader face was slightly more like Grif's. Eric didn't like to play as rough as Jake. He was content to spend long moments looking at his toys or following sunbeams as they flooded the playroom. Jake wanted to be held more, preferably upside down. He liked to swing while he laughed wildly. He was the first one to grab at his brother's face. And he wiggled his ears.

The boys had their pureed carrots and applesauce for dinner along with some variations on the adult dinners Lew had planned. Then they played for a while and it was time for bed.

Bouncing the babies on her lap and tickling them, listening to their little voices raised in laughter, quickly became the mainstay of Jean's day. Unlike her father, however, the boys were time consuming but went for long stretches where they slept and didn't need her. Once they were in bed for the night, they usually slept until morning.

Jean tidied their playroom then began to explore the house. She carried the baby room monitor with her, just in case. She didn't want to be accused of neglecting her responsibility. The ranch house was huge. It was all on one floor but its high ceilings made it very open.

Jean quickly learned her way around. Jenelle's room was in one wing of the house while Wes' was in another. The kitchen and family room were in the middle of the house with spare rooms and the twins' rooms off to one side. There were several game rooms and Wes' computer room. A huge billiard table dominated one of the game rooms.

Jean had asked Jenelle about playing billiards but Jenelle didn't care for the game. She suggested that Jean ask Wes the next time she saw him. Jean knew she wouldn't ask him. She felt her best bet for survival was staying as far away as possible from him. If they didn't clash, if there weren't any problems, her life would be much simpler.

There was an indoor pool in the back of the house with a greenhouse. Everything was grown there, from Jenelle's prize orchids to tomatoes.

Jean would have loved to swim in the heated pool but she didn't have a bathing suit. She hated to spend any of the precious few dollars she had on something so frivolous. Yet, after a week of being cooped up in the house and learning the routine of the family, she was beginning to feel a little stir crazy. Even at home, she'd had the luxury of an afternoon walk every day.

She looked but the twins didn't have a stroller. It was impossible to go outside for more than a few minutes with the boys running loose. She longed to take a look at the clean, picturesque stables and follow some of the long, winding drive that led around the ranch.

After a week of everything going like clockwork, she felt as though she had begun to understand and work with the household. She began to work on a plan to ask Wes for the money for a stroller.

One of the double strollers would be ideal. She had no idea what they cost but she felt as though it would be beneficial to Jake and Eric. Fresh air, seeing their home, would be good for them. That would be her argument, she decided, pacing her room nervously after the twins were in bed. She waited to hear the door open from the family room.

She listened for it each evening as she sat in her room, watching television or reading. She knew it meant that Wes was home for the night. Jenelle usually greeted him and they spoke quietly for a few moments, then their voices drifted away. Jean waited breathlessly for a knock on her door.

After a long week, it never came and she began to relax. Now, here she was, waiting to talk to Wes herself after she had so studiously avoided him. Would he be receptive to her plan? Or would he feel like she was being frivolous?

She heard the side door open and close. She heard Jenelle's pleasant voice asking Wes if he'd had a good day. Jean waited as Wes explained something about a new group of mares he was planning to purchase. They spoke for a few moments while Jean listened timidly, intensely aware of that first night when Wes had reminded her that eavesdroppers didn't hear things they liked about themselves.

She prayed there wouldn't be anything said again. She'd managed to put the incident behind her. She loved the twins more each day. She was happy that she had stayed.

Finally, she heard Jenelle tell Wes goodnight and heard Wes go into the kitchen. This was her chance, she told herself while her stomach tangled itself into knots and she twisted her hands to hold them still. It was now or never. Do or die. Bearding the lion in his den. Every cliché that Jean could recall. When her mind had finished its last line of defense, she pushed herself out of the bedroom door, urging her reluctant feet towards the kitchen.

"Just coffee, Lew," she heard Wes tell the cook.

"Ah, man, you need more after a long day. Let me fix you something special."

"Just coffee, Lew," Wes repeated.

Jean heard the scrape of a chair on the smooth, honey-colored wooden floor. He sounded tired. Maybe she would wait another day or two.

There wouldn't be a better time, a little voice inside of her urged. He'll always be tired or busy or something. You have to ask.

Jean swallowed hard and took a step into the kitchen.

Lew and Wes both looked up at her as she stood in the middle of the floor.

"Coffee for two?" Lew asked pleasantly.

"No," Jean denied quickly. "I don't want coffee, thanks."

Lew shrugged and went about making coffee for the man at the scrubbed wooden table.

"I take it there's a problem," Wes said finally.

"I need to talk to you about something," Jean began, wishing she had something a little more spectacular prepared to say to him. It had always helped to throw her father off when she was going to ask for money.

Wes looked exhausted. Fine dust marked his face in a few places. The dark shade of a beard made him look gaunt in the dim light. A careless hand pushed his hair back roughly. The eyes that fastened on her face were faintly irritated. His hand was absently rubbing his leg as though it hurt him.

"I was wondering when we were going to get around to it," he declared, sitting back in his chair.

Lew put a cup of coffee down on the table in front of Wes, then glanced at Jean and walked away.

"Thanks, Lew," Wes said casually. "See you tomorrow."

"You bet," Lew acknowledged. "Tomorrow, I'll make something you won't pass by for coffee, man."

Wes laughed but the humor didn't reach his eyes. He looked back at Jean when they were alone. "Do you want to sit down?"

"No," she replied. "I'd rather stand."

He sighed heavily. "Okay. What can I do for you, Jean?"

"I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful," she began, pacing the floor without realizing it. She twisted her hands in front of her. "You have a beautiful home and Jake and Eric seem to be very happy here."

"Jean?"

She stopped pacing, bewildered, and stared at him. "Hmm?"

"Sit down, please."

She sat.

"Thanks," he whispered, putting a hand to his head as he swallowed some coffee. "If you moved back and forth in front of me again, I was afraid that I was going to be sick."

"Sorry! I didn't know. If you have a headache, I can talk to you later," she amended carefully, starting to get up again.

"You're sitting. I'm sitting. Tell me."

She looked at him and frowned, stricken by the blank wall suddenly in front of her mind.

"You were telling me that you aren't ungrateful, that the twins like it here, and that my house is nice," he filled in for her.

"Thanks," she answered politely.

"Anything to get to the point," he acceded.

"The point," she repeated then drew a deep breath and blurted out. "I need a car and some money!"

"What?" he demanded, wondering if he were trapped in a nightmare of women asking him for cars and money for the rest of his life. That had only been the beginning with Cherise.

Jean jumped up from her chair and wrung her hands together. "You make me so nervous, I can hardly think much less speak. You don't realize the effect you have on people."

Wes closed his eyes. "No one seems to have a problem asking me for cars or money."

"I didn't mean it like that," she tried to explain.

He opened his eyes and fixed his black gaze on her face. "How did you mean it, Jean?"

"I was trying to ask you for a stroller for the twins," she finally managed. "They don't have one and I thought it might be nice to take them for a walk on sunny days."

"A stroller?"

She nodded.

"For the twins?"

"I know it might be expensive. Especially since it's for both of them." She rushed to try and work it out. "But I think it would be good for them to go outside. Fresh air. And they'd be seeing their heritage. The horses and everything."

He sipped his coffee, wondering if this woman was for real. He'd kept track of her all week. She'd worked with the twins. Done their laundry when Cinda could have done it. She scrubbed their bathroom. She'd given his mother some badly needed breathing space and fit into the household like she'd been there forever.

When he'd seen her there in the doorway, his heart sank. He'd known it was too good to be true. He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking; challenging her to stay when he should have seen that she was trouble. But she'd managed to surprise him. Not an easy thing to do with an old cynic like himself.

He drank the last of the rich coffee, then stood up and walked to the sink with the cup. "First, I'd like to thank you for working so hard this week. My mother needed the break from the twins. It's been hard for her the last few months, even though she didn't want to admit it. And I can't be around as much as I'd like."

Jean's heart fluttered. This was it. He was telling her that she would have to leave. That there was no room for someone who couldn't make do with what she already had there in the house. She should have known better. Hadn't she made do all of her life?

"As far as the stroller is concerned," he finished, looking at her stricken face, wondering what she was thinking. "I think it's a great idea. Do you think you can manage them by yourself?"

Jean stared at him. Amanda had told her several times that he had denied even her smallest requests while she was pregnant. The man was a monster, her sister had declared. Grif had tried to stand up to him but he couldn't tell his brother anything.

"I can have David take you into Cheyenne. Or you can take a car yourself, if you'd rather," he continued.

"I-uh-can manage," she replied. "I wouldn't want to make your job any harder."

"That's okay. You don't know your way around. I'd rather someone go with you the first few times than have you get lost."

"Thank you," she said deeply.

He smiled cynically. "Did you think I wouldn't buy a stroller?" and when she didn't reply, he read the answer in her eyes. "Is that what she told you about me?"

Jean grasped the edge of the table with taut fingers. "It doesn't matter."

"Amanda wanted it all, Jean. She wouldn't have asked for a stroller without a new Corvette to go with it."

"As you said," Jean reminded him. "I can't change your opinion about her. But you can't make me see her in that light either."

"Wasn't it clear to you?" he wondered. "She abandoned you with your father to care for without even thinking about giving you a chance to have a life. As long as she was happy, nothing else mattered."

"Your brother loved her!"

"My brother was infatuated with her. From the minute they met, he wasn't the same. The ranch was suddenly nothing but a way to make money for her. She was his goddess."

Jean leaped to her feet. "He was afraid of you. Just like Amanda was. You didn't like it because she stood up to you."

Wes looked at her. His mouth twisted bitterly. "She didn't like it because I saw more than her pretty face. She couldn't twist me around her finger the way she did you and Grif."

Jean glared at him. "You were jealous of them, of their love for each other! You couldn't manipulate them, so you wanted to destroy them."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he responded angrily.

"I know that something happened between you and Amanda after that Christmas that we were all together here. I don't know what it was. She never told me. But I do know that she was unhappy because of you."

Dark eyes apprized her intently. "For someone who seems to be afraid of her own shadow, you manage to put me in my place pretty well, sweetheart."

Jean was immediately sorry that she'd spoken, wondering what had possessed her to say those things to him. "I'm sorry. I don't mean -- "

He raised a dusty hand. "I know. It's my effect on people. I guess I'm lucky I don't have that effect on everyone or the whole state would be in an uproar against me."

"I'm not against you," she managed to mutter.

"It's okay," he said in a weary voice. "It's not easy being the devil but I guess somebody's got to do it."

Jean couldn't look at him. She had probably ruined everything but how could she sit there and let him say those things about Amanda?

"It'll probably be the weekend before I can get you into town," he volunteered.

"That's fine." She dared to raise her head, amazed that he wasn't telling her to forget the stroller.

"I'll let you know what time," he added.

"Thanks. I'll be ready."

"Goodnight, Jean."

"Goodnight," she replied, wishing she could think of something else to say to him.

Had she misjudged him? She considered it the next day while she was taking care of the boys. Had Amanda been wrong?

They'd both been influenced by their father's petty tyrannies. He was a man who made everyone's lives miserable unless he got his way. He'd made his daughters toe the line. He demanded an explanation for every penny spent and knew what they were doing and where they were going at every hour.

She sighed, folding the clean, dry baby clothes. She had only been there a week. Perhaps Wes had been fair with Amanda until that time after her first Christmas.

One thing Jean did know. Her sister would never have put up with anyone treating her as their father had treated them. She had sworn never to defer her wishes to anyone again once she was an adult. It was possible for Jean to see where Amanda and Wes could have gone head to head over Amanda's expensive clothes and jewelry. Grif had loved Amanda and wouldn't have denied her anything.

Jean picked up the baby monitor and shoved it into the pocket of her well- worn slacks. They had been mended so many times that she was lucky they were still together. Perhaps while she was in Cheyenne, she would check out a clothing store for a few more outfits. It was too soon yet to know if she was safe spending her small cache of money. She might still have to strike out on her own and it was the only thing standing between her and the street.

She walked through the house as she usually did while the twins were resting, heading for the greenhouse where she loved to look at the plants. She was alone, which was unusual. Lew and Cinda had that afternoon off. Jenelle was shopping in town with friends. The house was quiet around her as she walked into the pool area. The blue water sparkled invitingly.

She groaned looking at it, biting her lip as she knelt beside the water and trailed her fingers in its warm, silky depths. It occurred to her that she was alone in the house. She could swim for a few minutes in her underwear, change, and no one would be the wiser.

If she left the monitor turned up on the side of the pool, she'd hear any noise the twins made. And if it was just for a few minutes...

She walked through to the greenhouse and admired the ripening tomatoes and peppers. All the while the idea thrummed through her that she could climb into the water. An insidious voice, that she tried not to listen to, reminded her that she was alone. It probably wouldn't happen again for a while. Why not take advantage?

When she walked out of the greenhouse and the twins were still quiet, she set the monitor on its highest setting, right at the edge of the pool. She glanced around just to be sure that she was still alone. She stepped out of her shoes and stripped off her blouse and slacks.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she dove into the pool. She surfaced, feeling guilty, and listened for the monitor. The twins were still quiet. She turned on her back and floated across the pool.

Being in the pool reminded her of the last summer before her father's first heart attack. She had defied her father's penny pinching and had gone to camp. Jean had learned to swim. She'd spent the long summer nights looking at the stars and the days hiking through the mountains. It was an experience that was going to have to last her a very long time. That summer had been her last moments of freedom. The last time she'd been a child.

Amanda had been too young to go to camp. Jean had found her own way to make an impression on the counselors and the other campers. She'd been chosen cabin leader and had received merit badges in nearly every activity. For just a short while, it hadn't mattered that Amanda was prettier and made friends easier. People had loved Jean just because she was a good sport and had worked hard to excel at everything. Later, at home, when things had gone from bad to worse at home, the memories had sustained her.

Jean heard a sound as she swam and stopped abruptly, listening, but the baby monitor was still quiet.

She swam another lap. Then she closed her eyes and floated again, imagining that she was in the blue waters of the Caribbean and that the sun was beating down, hot on her face and body. It was a heavenly indulgence but she knew she'd tested life's patience enough. She needed to get out of the water and change her clothes before Eric and Jake woke up and demanded her attention.

Slowly, she climbed from the water. She stood, dripping, on the side of the pool as she wrung out her hair with her hands. She frowned as she gazed down at herself, realizing that she might as well have worn nothing into the water. Her wet bra and panties barely outlined her body. She picked up her blouse and started to pull it on when a thick, white towel landed squarely on her wet shoulders.

"Don't you want to dry off first?"

Her head came up and she saw him sitting immediately across from her in one of the deck chairs. His injured leg was out before him as he sat back in the chair. A slow smile came across his face as she stared at him with a look of growing horror and embarrassment.

"You could have told me you were here," she accused.

"I coughed when I came in," he replied, not looking away from her. "You were-uh-busy."

His penetrating gaze slid down her body, touching her as surely as if he'd reached out a hand to her wet skin. She felt it as potently as any caress, her nipples hardening beneath the gauzy texture of her bra.

Wes' eyes darkened as he saw her response. The impact was immediate on his body. He was hot and hard at once. He left his chair restlessly and walked slowly towards her without any other thought. "You're getting cold," he said, taking the towel from her trembling hands.

She looked like a seal with her brown hair slicked back from her face. It wasn't a beautiful face in the conventional sense but it was an interesting face. High cheekbones and delicate nose. Finely arched brows lifted slightly as he dried her arms and shoulders but she didn't move to resist or ask him to stop.

Jean's whole body was drawn to him. She could feel herself moving, like a puppet, as he dried her carefully with the soft white towel. She considered that she should protest. She should tell him to leave her alone but the words wouldn't come. She bent her head slightly to one side as he dried her hair that was hanging limply down her back. His hands were wonderfully gentle and warm on her cool skin. She felt his lips on the side of her neck and shivered, closing her eyes.

Wes felt the tremor run through her body and an answering thrill ran through his own. He wanted her. Despite the fact that he didn't trust her and knew that he'd be sorry when it was done. It didn't matter. Blind, hot desire rose up in him like a fog, enshrouding his mind and inflaming his senses. He reached for her then pulled back. What was he doing?

"You'd better get dressed," he said when the words would form on his tongue. His voice sounded odd, strangled, as he spoke to her. "I could only get Carmen to watch the twins this afternoon. She has to be home by six."

"Carmen?" Jean whispered brokenly. Her throat was dry as she turned to face him. The towel was firmly in place around her.

"Bobby's wife. I had some free time so I thought I'd take you into Cheyenne myself to look for the stroller."

"Oh." She tried to form coherent thought. All she could do was stare at his mouth.

His lips were beautifully formed with tiny smile lines on either side. He was speaking but nothing registered in her brain except the powerful urge to press her own mouth to the curve of his lower lip. What was she thinking?

She shook her head and caught the last of his sentence. "I can be ready in just a few minutes."

"Good," he muttered, glad that she'd stopped looking at him. The look in her eyes and her gently parted lips were driving him crazy. "I'll be waiting out front."

"Okay," she agreed and started to run towards her room.

"Jean?" he called. "Your clothes."

She ran back and grabbed her slacks and blouse as though they were the most precious things in the world, hugging them to her chest. "Sorry."

"That's okay. Next time though," he continued, catching a flash of creamy thigh, "you might want to wear a suit."

She smiled and ran as though the devil were after her.

Maybe he was, Wes decided, pulling on his jacket and gloves. And maybe he better get his act together before he made some terrible mistake. Again.

Chapter Four

The ranch was surrounded by other ranches with rolling hills and long white fences. Horses grazed in frozen pastures and smoke curled from the chimneys of picturesque houses. It was like a calendar picture. The sky was blue. The animals were healthy. Birds flew overhead. Snow covered the bluegrass that made Kentucky famous but the sun was warm and the prospect of spring seemed near.

Wes drove the truck that was taking them into the city. It wasn't one of the chrome-laden, brightly colored trucks Jean had seen so often in the drive with the name of the ranch embellished on the side. This pick-up was plain, black, and a little worn.

"Hey, Wes!" Bobby hailed him as they'd climbed into the truck. "Take one of the new ones, man! You make us look bad driving that thing!"

Wes laughed. "I'll take the one that works! All that chrome and they forgot to put in the brains!" No one could argue with that assessment since the engine was being replaced in one of the bright red bodies.

Jean followed the outline of the ranch with her eyes until it led into another. She watched people wave as the familiar black truck passed them. She already knew several of their neighbors. The Chambers on the right and the McDonald's on the left. The Swarrington's across the way.

Each ranch was a few hundred acres. Enough room to put ten city blocks separated their houses. Or at least it seemed so to her. Yet they were a close, tight knit community. Someone was always stopping by with homemade jam or a fresh pie.

Francis Swarrington stopped by more often then the rest. She was a young widow who had big eyes for Wes. Jenelle had told Jean all about it while they had watched Francis purse her pretty lips at Wes, who was grooming a horse.

The truck passed Francis on the way out of the drive. Wes waved to the woman. Jean noticed that she pulled her horse up quickly. There didn't seem to be any point in visiting Two of Hearts with Wes away. At least not for the widow.

Jean felt the other woman's questioning eyes burning a hole in her back. When Jenelle had introduced them, she had barely glanced her way. Jean could imagine that Francis was jealous of any woman who spent time with Wes. After all, he barely acknowledged his widowed neighbor's existence.

She kept her head turned to the right until her neck started to cramp. But nothing she did could make the time with him any less awkward. It had been difficult talking to him before the scene at the pool. Now, she just wanted to crawl into the back of the truck!

While she'd scrambled to find something presentable to wear, she considered what had happened between them. And assured herself that nothing had happened between them.

It had been embarrassing. Getting out of the pool, her underwear wet and transparent. Wes staring at her. She couldn't believe that one of the few times she had ever given in to temptation she'd been caught.

But nothing had really happened. If it had --

She sighed and closed her eyes, thinking about his fingers against her skin and the warmth of his mouth. If it had -- she would be running away. Screaming. The idea that Wes might be attracted to her was overwhelming. He was overwhelming.

She admitted freely that she'd fantasized about him flirting with her after the Christmas party that December. The reality was the look in his eyes that day that turned her bones to pudding. His voice searing up her spine. She shivered. Wes was not a man to trifle with, even in daydreams.

"I would've thought you'd seen everything out there up close and personal," he remarked after watching her crane her head against the window for a few minutes.

She glared at him. "I did walk."

He smiled, seeing the pink in her cheeks and the anger in her eyes. "I wasn't doubting your story. Just wondering how long you could stare intently at the scenery."

She lowered her eyes and turned her face back to the window. "It's very nice scenery. Like a calendar."

"Wait until spring when the ground thaws and the wind whips the smell of horses off the hills," he cautioned. "It might not seem so picture perfect."

"Just because my sister didn't like it," she began tensely. "You don't have to make assumptions about me!"

He sighed. "I don't want to argue with you, Jeannie. I was trying to make conversation."

"Oh," she muttered quietly. "Sorry."

There was silence again for another few minutes. The truck went over the last hill before town. Wes looked at the back of his companion's head. "Any ideas on where to go to buy a stroller for the boys?"

She looked back at him. "Probably any good department store." She reconsidered her words. "Although a second-hand store -- "

"How 'bout the mall?" he suggested.

She nodded. "That should do it."

They drove through Cheyenne. The weather was nice and traffic was heavy. The town was obsessed with horses. Pictures and statues of them were everywhere. Murals on the sides of buildings depicted Derby winners from the town. Including the entry from Two of Hearts.

"She's quite a horse," Wes said as they passed the mural with his horse on it. "I wish I had another one like her."

"Do you still have her?" Jean ventured. "I mean, she didn't die or -- "

"No, Gambit's still with us. She's produced some fine offspring. None of them have been the champion that she was but that's only one horse in a million. I might never have another like her."

Jean swallowed hard. "What made her so good?"

"She moved like a dream," he reminisced. "She wasn't beautiful like some of the show horses you see but she had heart. Some people were disappointed when they first saw her. Then they watched her move and it changed everything."

Jean looked at him for the first time since their encounter by the pool. "You really care for them, don't you?"

"I do," he agreed. "They're more than trophies to me. Each animal has its own personality. Just like a person. I try to treat them and race them according to their gifts."

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if we were like that with people?" she mused, looking out into the streets. "That everyone would be encouraged to use their own gifts?"

"That would be a perfect world, I suppose," he replied, turning into the mall area. "What would you do?"

Jean blinked. She hadn't meant it personally. "I don't really know," she admitted softly. "What about you?"

"Exactly what I'm doing now," he answered without hesitation. "I love the ranch and the horses. I can't imagine being anywhere else." When he smiled, his black eyes tilted upward at the corners. The effect softened the line of his face and the harsh curve of his jaw.

Grif and Wes Kirby had both had good looks to spare. Both men could be charming. Grif's face had a slightly pretty air to it, like a model or an actor. He had always looked a little lost to Jean.

Wes had power and authority to his countenance. It made his dark good looks rugged and individual. His nose looked as though it had been broken and there was a small, u-shaped scar on one cheek. It added to the overall character of his face.

If Amanda really had her choice of the two brothers and had chosen Grif, Jean thought, she could only have chosen him because she thought she would be able to control him. No one would ever control Wes. His word had been law for most of his life. Jean couldn't imagine a woman alive that could humble him.

Humble me, he'd said to her that first night. She didn't believe that it was possible.

"Ready?" he asked, wondering what thoughts were chasing across her expressive face.

"Ready?" she asked, looking at him doubtfully.

"We were going in to buy the stroller," he reminded her, surprised to find himself in a good mood for a change. Normally when he faced the mall, he just wanted to get in and get out before he ripped someone's head off. He found that he was actually looking forward to shopping for this stroller. He'd purposely made time for it when his schedule was impossible. He didn't bother to question the reason.

Jean looked at the white and brown brick mall with its conservative shops and expensive decor. "I was just going to wait out here."

Wes shook his head. "No, you don't. No one hates the mall more than I do. If I have to go inside, you have to go with me."

"But it's just a stroller." She remanded that word to its lowest forms. "A baby stroller. You don't really need me to buy a baby stroller."

He got out of the truck. She watched him walk carefully around to her side and open the door. "You don't look like much to carry inside to me, Jeannie. Maybe you'd like to reconsider."

She looked at his face and quickly reconsidered. Clutching her purse with the mended strap, she followed in his wake as they walked up to the mall. She felt as though everyone was looking at her. Everyone knew Wes. Everyone would be speculating on who she was and why she was with him.

"I have no idea where to look for strollers," Wes admitted, glancing down at her. "How 'bout you?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know. I've never looked at strollers." She looked up at him. "Maybe we should just leave."

Wes couldn't believe that he had found the one woman in the world that didn't like to shop. If it was an act, it was a good one. There were high flags of color on her cheeks. The rest of her face was white. She bit her lip as though she were making a life and death decision.

"I have a plan," he decided finally. "You go that way. I'll go this way. One of us is bound to see strollers. We can meet at the back door and fill the other one in."

Almost before he'd finished outlining his plan, he was gone down the aisle he'd indicated. Jean wanted to call out to him but thought better of it. At least they weren't together. She watched his straight back disappear into the crowd. She took a huge breath and released it on a deep sigh of relief.

Wes wasn't an easy man to understand. On one hand, he acted as though he barely tolerated her presence. On the other, he had touched her in a way that she couldn't mistake as friendly. That first night, she'd thought he was soothing her like child. Standing by the side of the pool, no one's touch had ever made her feel less childlike.

She swallowed hard and took a quick look at the store around her. How terrible could it be? She'd walk quickly, look for strollers, and then rush to the back doors. Maybe Wes could come back into the main body of the store and buy the thing. She was beginning to wonder why she had asked for it in the first place.

She stalked through the aisles, thinking how much she just wanted to be alone. She wanted time to sort things out. To wonder if she were making a fool of herself. Shopping was at the bottom of her list at that point.

That was when she saw it. It was blue and white striped, with a canopy over both of the seats. There was a large net bag on the back for the boys' belongings when they went for long walks. The wheels looked good and sturdy.

"Can I help you?" a sales clerk asked, coming up behind her.

Jean smiled. "I was looking at the stroller."

"It's very nice," the woman said with a frozen smile that didn't reach her eyes. Those eyes roamed mercilessly over Jean's mended jacket and too-short slacks. "But very expensive."

"I'm sure. Could you tell me how much?"

The woman's eyes frosted over again for good measure. She had a double chin and very blonde hair that glinted in the overhead light. "It's very expensive."

Kentucky rudeness, even elite Kentucky rudeness, wasn't anything compared to haggling with Mort the plumber when the old plumbing kept falling apart back home.

Jean pinned the woman with her eyes. "I may look like a nice person. But I've had a really bad morning. I'm going to buy this stroller. I can buy it here and you'll get the credit. Or I can buy it at the service counter and complain about you and you won't get the credit. Your choice." She read the woman's ID tag on her paisley dress. "Sylvia."

Sylvia was about to speak, her double chin quivering with outrage. Her eyes went past the younger woman to someone taller behind her.

"Mr. Kirby! What a pleasant surprise! How can I help you?"

"I think you must be helping my sister-in-law right now," he told her quietly.

"The stroller? Of course." Sylvia laughed. "I'll have someone bring a new one up from the warehouse. Are you taking that with you or having it delivered?"

Jean steamed. "I'm taking it with me, thanks."

Sylvia glanced at her then back at Wes. "And will you be adding that to your account?"

"I'll be paying for that with cash," Jean told her, taking out her wallet. "How much?"

The woman quoted her a price. Jean paled but took the money from her wallet and placed it in the woman's hands. It was more than she had planned on spending in six months! Sylvia gave her a receipt then smiled sweetly at Wes before going to call the warehouse.

"How can anyone stand that? Did they treat Amanda that way?" she fumed as they watched the woman walk away.

Wes smiled. "I don't think your sister was particular on who spent the money, Jeannie."

"But it's like not being a person! At least in Chicago, people knew they had to talk to me and not my Dad!"

"Is this the stroller?" he diverted her.

"Yes," she said, allowing herself to be diverted. "Isn't it wonderful? See, it has a basket for their stuff? And I think they'll learn to recognize it by the colors, don't you? When we've walked in it a few times, they might learn to ask for it. Don't you think?"

Wes crouched down next to her, looking at her smiling face and glowing eyes. It was just a baby stroller. Wasn't that what she'd said to him? Yet her excitement was contagious. While she planned water bottles for the summer and extra diapers for longer walks, he was amazed again by what he saw in her. Was it possible that she could be different than Cherise or Amanda?

He stood up straight, clutching his cane and falling back on habit and instinct. He was attracted to Jean. He'd learned the hard way that he couldn't trust himself when it came to women. He had great taste in horses but the women he found attractive were the wrong women.

Jean looked up at him and saw the hard, set lines of his face. She stood up quickly and put her hands in her pockets. Obviously, she was boring him. It was just a stroller, after all. All of the awkwardness she'd felt before the excitement of finding the stroller settled back on her.

Amanda had more experience with men than Jean would probably ever have in her lifetime. She'd declared Wes a man who wouldn't commit to one woman. Jean realized that she would do well to heed her sister's advice and her own intuition.

"Anything else?" Wes asked before they left the store.

A perverse imp made him ask her. His mother had pointed out the fact that Jean had almost nothing to wear. What with the Derby parties coming and neighbors who were going to want to meet her, she needed a wardrobe. Would she ask?

Jean shrugged, not realizing that he was waiting for her response. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear then looked up at him. "I'm ready when you are."

Jenelle had instructed him to really look at Jean. He took a deep breath and tried to focus. He concentrated on the fact that her sweater was well worn and tight, as though she'd worn it for years. Her boots had been shabby for a lot longer. She needed a new coat and her pants were frayed. He noticed at the same time that her lower lip had a tendency to be a little pouty. She had a habit of catching her lip in her teeth and gnawing at it when she was disturbed.

It disturbed him. A lot. He wanted to nudge those small white teeth aside and kiss her lips, taking special care with that aggrieved lower lip. He wanted to --

Jean stood silently, mesmerized by the look on his face. She felt flushed with heat as his eyes slowly slid down her body. She shivered, wanting his hands on her, wanting to feel his mouth against hers. The tip of her tongue slid out to wet suddenly dry lips.

His quickly indrawn breath brought them both to their senses. Their gazes flew wide to one another as they realized that the store hummed around them.

"Jeannie," he said quietly. "I think you might be the only woman in the world willing to leave the mall without having money spent on her."

She didn't flinch from his gaze. "I think you've just met the wrong women, Wes."

He laughed. "No doubt. In this case, though, I insist."

"On?"

He took her arm in his hand and they started to walk. "Clothes."

"I have clothes, Wes. And I have some money."

"I know," he agreed. "And I want to give you back what you spent on that stroller."

"It's my present to the boys," she argued. "I never got them a gift for their birthday."

He stopped and looked down at her. "Is there something about me that makes you want to argue with me? I thought I remembered you being easier to get along with."

"No one's ever bothered me the way you do!" She blurted out without thinking.

Wes raised a dark brow at her statement.

Jean bit her lip. "I'm not sure about you buying me clothes. I don't really need anything that a second-hand -- "

"If you say that to me again, Jeannie, sweetheart," he promised in a neutral voice. "I won't be responsible for my actions. I don't know what Amanda told you but did you ever see her have less than the best?"

"I'm not Amanda," she told him. "I don't need the best. I'd just like to take the stroller and leave."

Wes began to wonder if he would ever understand this woman. He took her hand in his. It slid, cool as silk, across his palm. "Jeannie, everyone deserves the best. Whatever the best is for them. A few clothes and a stroller isn't much."

She faced him bravely. Her eyes were level with his. "Aren't you afraid I'll ask for a Corvette next?"

He didn't flinch from the words. "Try me."

She shook her head and looked away from him, taking back her hand and putting it into the pocket of her coat. "I don't want a Corvette, Wes."

He put a hand to the side of her face, tilting her gaze to meet his own. "What do you want?"

"I don't know," she said, confused by his touch.

His gaze touched her mouth, lingering on that tortured bottom lip. "Then humor me. Let's start with some clothes."

Jean tried to find the words to phrase her refusal even as she followed Wes towards the women's clothing section. It wasn't that she didn't like nice clothes. She didn't want him to buy clothes for her. It wasn't right. He wasn't really her family. She didn't want him accusing her of being mercenary.

"What if I'm doing all of this just to get you to buy me expensive clothes?" she debated, mostly with herself. Wes didn't seem to be listening. "What if all of this has been an act? What if you've been fooled by my poor waif look?"

Wes said nothing. In a quick movement, he ducked behind a gray curtain partition that screened occupants changing clothes from prying eyes. He took Jean with him.

"Has it been an act?" he demanded instantly.

Jean backed down at once, frightened of being alone with him. Her heart was hammering in her chest but not because of any angry words he could say to her.

"No," she compromised. "I guess you get what you see."

"A woman who doesn't want me to buy her clothes," he murmured, using his grip on her hand to pull her close to him. His gaze held hers without wavering. "A good woman. Is that what you are, Jean?"

"I'm just a woman," she said breathlessly as he put her arms around his neck.

"A beautiful woman," he murmured, nuzzling his mouth against the side of her neck and her ear.

"I -- " She stopped and bit her lip.

"Jeannie, stop biting that lip," he commanded softly. He kissed the side of her mouth. "Let me make it better."

She couldn't have stopped him. His touch was light. She wasn't bound to him. Yet she swayed against him as his lips touched hers.

His hands became fierce, taking, demanding. She was pressed against him until she felt as though every part of her was fused to him. She couldn't refuse what he was asking of her. She could only need more.

His tongue touched her lips and her mouth opened for him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He filled her. Her tongue darted bravely to meet his advance. His hunger devoured her and her need consumed them. There could never be enough. There could only be more. Deeper. Closer.

"Oh!"

The curtain slid open and the noise made Jean jump. Wes didn't move. He still held her close, his back against the wall, despite the interested gaze of the saleswoman.

"We'll be out in a minute," he told the woman confidently.

"All right," she agreed, her face registering disapproval. "I'll wait out here."

When the curtain was closed again, Wes put Jean from him and smiled down into her face. He straightened her hair and picked her jacket up from the floor. "I'll wait out here. But I want to see."

Jean handed him his cane. His mouth tightened but he accepted it from her and limped out of the dressing room.

There were so many clothes, Jean couldn't tell them apart. Slacks and jeans, bras and panties, dresses and skirts. An entire group of salesladies flocked to help Jean make her choices. They kept one outfit coming right after another, pampering her with admiring looks and constant offers of help.

Wes kept his word and sat in a chair outside the fitting room. The women who weren't with Jean in the fitting room, stood beside him, giving him their opinion on the clothes that Jean modeled for him. The women with Jean giggled and flirted outrageously with him. They tried on clothes to show him what Jean would have looked like in outfits she didn't want.

He smiled and flirted back with a light touch but his eyes were on Jean the whole time. When one of the salesladies offered to let him feel the material of the skirt that she was wearing, he obliged. But as his fingers stroked the crushed silk, he was looking at Jean.

"This is nice," he said as the woman hiked the skirt a little higher on her thigh.

Jean turned away from that intent black gaze. She didn't want to see his hand on that woman's leg. In an instant, she felt the urge to throw herself on the saleswoman as she had thrown herself at Wes. She'd been riding an emotional roller coaster for past few months. It wasn't like her life to be so draining. The times were exceptional. Her old life was gone. She would never be the same. Coming to Cheyenne had done things to her. It seemed as though she'd come to life after a twenty-eight-year slumber. If that was it, she wasn't sure she liked it. It was too confusing.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a pale green dress with intricate embroidery on the hem and neckline. The mirror reflected back a face with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. The clothes were beautiful, though she knew she shouldn't take them. She didn't even know when she would wear most of them.

Yet she couldn't help loving the rich textures and fabrics. The feel of the Japanese silk on her body. The look in Wes' inscrutable eyes. She would have been less than a woman not to feel a little beautiful when he looked at her. She touched her face in the mirror. Was it Cheyenne, Two of Hearts, or Wes Kirby that had brought her to life? Her mouth still tingled from his kisses. Shamefully, she wanted more.

When she stepped outside of the curtain again, he was looking for her. Waiting for her. The knowledge spread across her heart like warm sunshine. She felt wanted.

"Don't forget the bathing suit," Wes reminded her with a small smile.

Jean's face burned. "I'm too pale."

"You won't be once you've worn it a few times outside," he countered.

"I have the perfect thing," the head saleswoman told them, coming to the rescue. She held up a tiny, green, French-cut bikini. "Isn't it darling?"

"No." Jean shuddered. "I don't think so. Don't you have something a little more -- Well, a little more?"

The woman glanced at Wes. "She's got a great body. My advice is, flaunt it!"

Jean felt Wes watching her but didn't look at him. "I really would like something with more material."

The woman shrugged when Wes didn't leap in to defend her position. "I might have something."

She brought out a turquoise, one-piece suit that was clearly made to conceal yet flatter. With Jean's slender hips and waist, the suit was perfect.

"Isn't she ravishing?" the woman asked Wes, pulling Jean from the dressing room.

Wes nodded. "Ravishing. Good word."

The woman smiled, pleased, and racked up another sale.

"It's getting late," he observed, glancing at his watch. "Could you box that up and we'll take it with us? Except whatever she wants to wear home."

Boxes and tissue paper were everywhere as the attendants began packaging all of the items. Jean chose white wool pants and a white sweater to wear back to the ranch. What would Jenelle think of all the purchases? She started to put on her old boots and looked up as they were swept out of her hands.

"Allow me," Wes said, starting to kneel at her feet.

"No, Wes," she protested. "You'll hurt yourself -- "

Reaching the floor, he glared at her. "I'm not your father, Jeannie," he reminded her again. He slipped a pair of new, low-heeled ankle boots on her feet. "And I don't need to be reminded that I'm a cripple."

"I didn't mean -- "

"Forget it!" He held out a new jacket with a wide collar and cuffs that wrapped around her slender body and tied at the waist.

She slipped her arms into the sleeves. "Thank you. I don't know how I'll pay you back but -- "

"It's a gift, Jeannie," he said, his eyes dark and brooding as he looked at her. His hands were still on the belt at her waist. "You don't pay it back. You just enjoy it."

"I don't know when I'll wear most of them," she faltered.

"Spring is right around the corner. We do a lot of entertaining during race season."

"But I take care of the boys," she reminded him.

"You're part of the family now, Jeannie. Jenelle has a hard time attending all of the events that lead up to the Derby. I might need your help."

"My help?"

He smiled, seeing the surprise and terror in her eyes. "I might need a hostess for a few parties at the ranch. You know, meet and greet. Think you're up to it?"

"I'll do the best I can," she replied, feeling a little less hesitant to take the beautiful clothes if he was going to require her to wear them.

"That's all I ask of anyone," he said, taking her arm to leave the store.

"Except yourself," she murmured at his side.

He looked down at her. "What?"

She cleared her throat and screwed up her courage. "Except yourself. You ask more than that from yourself."

He touched her face with a gentle hand. "So do you, sweetheart. I guess that makes us two of a kind, huh?"

Jean had no answer. She walked out of the store in front of him so that he couldn't see her astonished face.

Chapter Five

Everyone on the ranch got to know the blue and white striped stroller. It was everywhere. From the barns to the garages, out in the fields as the snow melted, trudging through the mud and across the new green grass.

Wes watched it come up from the distance, across a hill. The sun was warm and the winds were blowing gently across the ranch, fresh with the smell of horses and newly seeded fields.

None of that seemed to bother Jean. She was out everyday unless it was raining hard. He wondered how she was able to push the stroller through the wet fields, reflecting on the strength in those slim arms. He considered that he'd probably have to buy a new stroller within a few months. No vehicle with blue and white stripes could hold up to that much abuse for long. If nothing else, she was bound to walk the wheels off of it!

He could see that the boys loved their long walks. And they loved Jean. It was as though she had always been there. As though their lives had simply reached out and melded with hers, becoming one unit.

Gambit came over to him as he stood at the fence in the soggy field. She nudged him with her velvet nose, trying to find the treat he always carried for her. "She's a special lady."

Jean never had a complaint. She was always in the right place at the right time. Everyone liked her. She went out of her way to do things for people. In short, she was the antithesis of any woman Wes had ever known. Except his mother.

In spite of outer appearances, he was slow to believe she could be as good as she appeared. She'd won everyone over but he kept his distance. He'd made mistakes before, bad mistakes. He didn't want to make them again. So he kept his distance. He forced himself to keep his distance. With the racing season at hand, he had a great deal to keep him occupied. Spring and summer were hectic times for everyone at the ranch.

Not hectic enough for him to forget how soft her mouth was when he had kissed her. Or the gentleness of her hesitant caress. It was the stroke of a butterfly against him. She kissed like he was the first. Like she had never been kissed before.

It wasn't impossible to believe. He knew Robert had kept her locked away, a slave to his every whim and pain. It was impossible not to think about it. When he was grooming the horses. When he had his coffee in the morning. Especially when he saw her.

Every time he had to listen while his mother or Lew told him what Jean had done that day, it was like a knife sticking into his chest. Everyone else could be with her, it seemed, except for him. He had to content himself with a few minutes before the boys went to bed for the night or a few minutes around the ranch when he happened to see her.

Anything else would be giving in to the ache of desire. The urge to touch her, talk to her. He had too little self-control when he was with her. A loud voice in his head reminded him that it was going to be his undoing. Cherise had burned him. Amanda had thrown salt in the wound. He wasn't willing to risk that with Jean.

"Good morning," he greeted her and the boys as the stroller approached the pasture.

She was frowning. He'd noticed that she went out of her way not to cross his path either. The look of surprise on her face said clearly that she would have taken another path if she had known he was in that pasture today. He didn't want to consider why.

"Good morning," she returned carefully. She crouched down beside the twins. "Look, Eric, Jake. It's your uncle Wes. Say hello. Say Hi Uncle Wes."

Without hesitation, Jake lifted one arm and stared intently at his uncle before he wiggled his fingers. Eric followed, adding an extra shake into the motion and laughing.

"Wow!" Wes enthused, taking each of the boys' hands, letting their fingers curl around his own. "They can wave hello."

"They wave bye-bye, too," she told him excitedly. "It's pretty much the same thing to them right now."

He nodded, pushing back his hat on his head to let the cool breeze fan his heated forehead. "Mom told me they're running all over the place, too."

"They are," Jean answered, glad to discuss a neutral subject they were both interested in. Most of the time their responses to each other were mechanical and flat. But that meant they were safe.

Not that she was complaining, she thought restlessly. She liked it at the ranch. She didn't want to do anything to jeopardize her place there. She'd decided that she couldn't be involved with Wes. Her feelings were too intense when she was with him.

He was a good man. She could see that now, despite everything Amanda had told her about him. She had come to understand a little more about that situation when Jenelle had told her that Grif had walked in and found Amanda and Wes kissing soon after that Christmas that they had spent at the ranch.

She couldn't judge what had happened between them. Amanda and Grif were gone. The pair must have settled their differences because the twins were born after that and the marriage had stayed together.

The scene had caused a rift between the two brothers that had never been repaired. Jenelle believed that Grif was about to give his half of the ranch to Wes when the couple died. Wes had never told his mother exactly what happened. Jenelle only saw the pain in her son's eyes.

While it was plain that her position was different than Amanda's, Jean didn't want to take chances. She had too little experience. Wes was too much for her to handle. It would be easy to lose herself in him and then find her regrets after it was over. Like her sister, she'd been dominated by her father for too long. She didn't envision spending the rest of her life that way.

"They don't like to walk without each other," Jean told him. "It makes it hard since they try to lean on each other. They're like dominoes."

He laughed. "I've always heard that twins were close. I've never known any twins, personally, but those two little monkeys bear out anything I've ever heard."

Gambit snorted from the corner of the pasture, nodding her head at the boys.

"You can come over and see them," Wes invited. "Come on."

The horse came over carefully, as though she didn't want to scare the twins with her size and power. She put her head down at the fence between them, staring at them with liquid brown eyes.

Jake and Eric were delighted with her. It took Eric an extra second to be sure that it was all right. Then they were both laughing and cooing at the horse, trying to touch her shiny mane and clapping their hands.

Gambit snorted and looked up at Wes as though she couldn't understand what he liked about the tiny humans. They were a little too noisy and wild for her taste.

"What's this horse's name?" Jean ventured.

"This is Gambit," he replied. Then he spoke to the horse. "Come over and say hello, girl."

The horse came back to stand near the stroller. She sniffed at Jean and the twins laughed loudly.

"Easy, girl," Wes soothed her with his big hands and endless patience. "Put out your hand, Jeannie."

Jean put out her hand hesitantly. Wes put a piece of apple into her palm. She glanced at Wes uncertainly but he smiled and nodded.

Gambit snorted but came up for the treat. Her soft mouth took the apple from Jean's shaking hand. The brown eyes looked into Jean's. The horse nodded and put her head down for the woman's caress.

Jean touched the silken mane carefully. "You are beautiful, Gambit. How could anyone have thought otherwise?"

Gambit nodded in agreement then snorted and backed away as Jake clapped his hands loudly and Eric laughed.

"You're her friend for life now," Wes told her.

Jean smiled up at him. "Because I told her that she was beautiful?"

"Nope," he replied candidly. "Because you gave her a treat. She can't be impressed by compliments, only something substantial."

"Like Jake and Eric," Jean joked with a short laugh. "They'll do anything for a cookie."

The sweet breeze caught at a strand of her hair and lifted it against her cheek with a gentle hand. Wes looked at her parted lips and sun-kissed face and felt the familiar stirring inside of him.

Desire.

Smoldering dark eyes met brown questing ones and the blaze leapt between them.

"I have to go inside," she said at once. She started to push the stroller as she spoke. "I promised Jenelle I'd help her with -- something. I'll see you later."

He watched her walk away. Hurry away might be the better term for it. He sighed. "I don't think she likes me, Gambit."

The horse snorted and knocked the hat from his head.

"You think I'm wrong?" he asked, stroking her soft mane. "Then what was she thinking just then? What is it about me that makes her run?"

Jean hurried into the house. Wes was the devil. There was no other explanation for the feelings he evoked in her. One glance. One wayward, black- eyed glance, and she was ready to fall at his feet. What else could it be but dark magic?

She stopped inside the door to collect her thoughts and still her racing heart. The boys, fresh from the sunshine and green grass, weren't too happy with her choice of stopping places. They coughed and called to her, trying to get her attention.

Was this what it was like? She started towards the closet where she stored the stroller. Was this love? This burning, melting feeling that grabbed her and refused to leave her alone when she was with him?

No, she shook her head. She refused to believe that she loved Wes. It was lust. The kind that the Bible warned about. The kind that drove Cleopatra crazy and made women sacrifice everything to have that man one more time.

It wasn't going to happen to her, she determined with a will of iron. She wasn't going to be caught in that trap. Although she couldn't help wondering if Wes felt the same about her.

Grow up, she chastised herself. The man has been around. He can have any woman he wants. Why would he lust after you?

She went through her daily routine of taking the boys out of the stroller, storing it away, and hauling them all into the nursery. Cinda had come back to work that day after a bad virus had left her miserable for a week.

She told Jean all about it while she changed the boys' beds and collected some of their laundry. "Lew felt a little off today," she said, crossing herself. "I hope he doesn't get it."

Jenelle had kept to her room all week with the same virus. The doctor had come and gone but had reported that the older woman was doing well. Nothing to worry about except spreading it throughout the house.

Jean didn't worry. She never got sick. All the years she'd cared for her father, she'd never had a cold or the flu. Her father had said that she had the stamina of a horse.

As she gazed out of the windows at the deepening Kentucky bluegrass, it was difficult to imagine that there had been another life before that one. In ways it seemed as though she had always been there with them. With Wes. Amanda's death, the loss of her father, seemed like ancient history.

Eric laughed and threw a soft block at her to get her attention. Jake was crawling towards a large pile of toys at the far end of the room. Jean smiled at the boys and started to pile the blocks with Eric.

It was the next morning that Jean began to feel the onset of the virus. Her throat was scratchy. She could hardly open her eyes when the alarm went off.

There was a knock on her door. She called out and Wes stuck his head around the door and smiled at her. "Just checking to see if everything's okay. You're usually up by now."

She glanced at the clock. The alarm had been going off for an hour! The boys! She jumped out of bed, not thinking about her nightgown. She started trying to find clothes.

"Are you all right?" he asked carefully, trying not to notice the way the lamplight illuminated her body through the thin nightgown. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," she assured him. She could hear the boys crying in the nursery. "I'll be there in just a minute."

Wes left her there and went into the nursery to let Eric and Jake know that someone was there for them. He picked up a boy in each arm and set them down on the floor. Then he sat down with them on the bright green carpet.

Jean scooted around her room trying to find something to wear, wishing the terrible ringing in her ears would stop. The boys had stopped crying. She could only hope it was because they had fallen back asleep. She couldn't believe she had been so careless! It wasn't like her to oversleep!

She had one shoe on and was in the act of putting on the other, when she stopped in the doorway to the boys' room. Wes was on his hands and knees with the boys, crawling around on the floor. He was still wearing his gloves. His large work boots seemed out of place between the blocks and fire trucks.

She watched him with the boys for a moment. He would crawl after Eric who would laugh and race back towards him then he'd move towards Jake who stood his ground and waved either bye-bye or hello. The hands that had gentled Gambit were tickling the little boys' tummies. His hair was still damp from his shower where it touched the collar of his dark shirt. He was laughing as hard as the boys when he rolled over on his back and let them crawl on top of him.

Jean leaned her head against the doorpost. If she could chose one scene to reflect her idea of a husband and family, it would be that scene. She could imagine her own children playing with their father. After their mommy and daddy had shared a quick cuddle in the bedroom. Little boys with dark hair, she imagined. Little girls with black eyes and high cheekbones.

She sneezed and realized that she had closed her eyes while she'd been standing there. Wes and the boys looked up at her in surprise.

"Just keeping them busy until you had a chance to get up." He looked at her carefully. "Are you sure you're all right? You might be coming down with this virus everyone else has."

"I never catch cold," she told him with just a hint of a sniffle.

He stood up slowly, disentangling himself from the boys. "You know I never mentioned you being a slave here, Jeannie. If you're sick, I'll find someone to take care of the boys for a few days."

"I'm fine," she bit out. "I just have a little headache."

A little headache that turned into a raging headache by lunchtime. Lew made her his sure-fire-cold-fix that included two aspirins and Tabasco sauce. Jean went about her day, trying to ignore the fact that she felt like a bowl of old oatmeal. Glad that the nursery was safety-proofed, she leaned her head on her arm while the twins played. She promptly fell asleep.

She awoke with a start. Both of the boys were sitting very still, watching her. She glanced at her watch and realized that she had been asleep for at least twenty minutes. Horrified, she changed both of the boy's diapers, put on their coats, and headed out the door with the stroller.

A good walk was what she needed, she decided, even though the sky was dark and threatening rain. It would make her feel better. She'd walk around the barn once and be back before the rain set in. The wind was a little brisk but it would keep her awake until it was time for the boys to go to bed.

"Storm's brewin'," Bobby called out as they passed him coming up from the lower pasture.

"We're not going far," she said, thanking him for the advice.

Bobby and his wife, Carmen, had been on the ranch for years. He knew stories about Wes and his brother that made Jenelle shudder. He'd seen Wes marry the wrong woman and he'd seen Grif turn around and do the same fool thing.

Jean walked on towards the barn. The sky darkened considerably but she didn't notice until the first distant clap of thunder. It reverberated around them, shaking the doves in the barn loft, rattling the hay harvesting machinery. Her head pounded with the sound and the boys started crying.

"It's all right," she soothed them as she reversed the stroller and started walking back the way they had come.

It felt as though they would never reach the house. The wind whipped around them as the storm continued coming closer and the first few drops of rain fell on the blue and white canopy covering the babies.

"My goodness!" Jenelle greeted them at the door, taking one of the screaming boys. "What happened?"

"It was the thunder," Jean told her, picking Jake up in her arms. He was crying loudly but the sound seemed to come from a long way off.

"You look ill, Jean," Jenelle told her.

"I'm fine," Jean protested.

The door opened behind her and Wes walked into the house, bringing a gust of rain soaked wind and the smell of wet ground with him.

"We got all the horses in before the rain started. Bobby and David said the lightning hit a power line alongside the road and -- "

The lights flickered and died as a deep roll of thunder bellowed up from the valley and spread out along the hills, shaking the land.

"The lights are probably going to go out," he finished.

Jake and Eric let out with wails of their own that bounced off of the walls and added to the clamor.

"Let's get them into their rooms," Wes suggested. "There's a storm lamp in there."

Jean trudged into the nursery with Wes and Jenelle and the two crying babies. Wes turned on the battery-operated lights and the soft glow made the rooms seem more cheerful.

The storm raged outside the house. Rain slashed at the roof and walls but they were dry and safe inside. Lew came as they were settling the boys down and told them that their dinner was ready.

"Pureed green beans, rice, and Lew's special sauce," the man told Jake who laughed at him and waved bye-bye. "With the power off, the rest of us will have to do with cold food. Sorry, folks."

"That's okay," Wes told him. He looked at his mother. "Should you be out of bed?"

Jenelle bristled. "The doctor said not to overdo it but he said I wasn't contagious anymore. I can help."

Jean's pale face was a shade of gray and her lips were white.

"What about you?" Wes wondered. "Still have that headache?"

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "I'll take the boys in for dinner, then they can have their baths and -- "

"I'll help," Wes said, picking Eric up and tickling his little tummy.

"We'll help," Jenelle told them both with a cautionary look at Jean.

The three adults fed the two small boys with a minimum of problems. Evening came down with the storm still roaring. The lanterns made the house glow softly against the shadows.

Lew decided to spend the night in one of the guest rooms rather than face the wind and rain. "No telling how many trees could be down out there," he said with a shudder. "And I don't mean to cross that big bridge on a night like this either, I tell you."

Jenelle's burst of strength had given out right after the boys had eaten. Bobby came for Wes about a broken stall door in one of the stables. That left Jean to give the twin's their baths and get them into bed.

The bath was more boisterous than usual, as though Eric and Jake could sense that she wasn't feeling well and were taking advantage of it.

Jean leaned against the side of the tub as the boys splashed water everywhere, including all over her. She felt hot and cold, restless and drugged, at the same time. Her head ached and her bones hurt. She supposed that it was the virus that she never caught, the one that she had always avoided...until now.

Wes came back from the wild night and changed his soaking clothes. They'd had to repair one of the stall doors so that Little Thunder didn't escape into the storm. An irony that wasn't lost on the two men working on the door in the rain.

He heard the boys laughing and splashing in their baths and started into the nursery. He paused for an instant, thinking about the moment yesterday when he'd met Jean in the pasture. She was obviously avoiding him as much as he was avoiding her.

It was foolish, of course. They couldn't avoid each other all the time. They lived in the same house. Ate at the same table, although at different times. They were adults. And he wasn't going to start scurrying around corners in his own house to stay away from one brown haired slip of a girl.

He walked through the nursery and into the big bathroom. There was water everywhere. The boys were laughing as they splashed what was left in the bathtub, out of the tub and on Jean, who sat on the floor beside the tub.

"Okay, let's settle down," she told the boys who kept laughing and splashing. She sighed heavily and pulled herself up from the floor. Her movements were slow and deliberate as she picked up a towel to dry off each boy.

"Let me help," Wes volunteered softly. He unfolded a towel and wrapped it around Jake as Jean took Eric into the other room.

Jean focused on getting the baby ready for bed and ignoring the chills that made her grit her teeth to keep them from chattering. Luckily, the fresh air and bath took their toll on little Eric and he was asleep with a few pats on the back.

She looked in on Jake and Wes, offering to take the baby from the man and finish her job.

"I'll finish up with Jake," Wes answered flatly. "You try to make it into your room before you collapse."

"I'm -- "

"Don't tell me you're fine, sweetheart. Just get in bed."

She didn't argue, couldn't have found the strength to argue with him. She walked to her room, opened the door, and collapsed on the bed without taking off any of her wet clothes.

Wes went to look for her when Jake had gone to sleep like his brother and was snoring loudly as the rain continued to drum on the roof. He looked in on her from the open doorway and started to walk away.

He was already in deep enough with this woman. He didn't want to worry that she was lying on the bed with wet clothes on or feel that tug at his heart to see her little crumpled body shivering on top of the comforter. He closed his eyes and asked for strength. He was made a certain way. He could only be the man he was. He'd never learned to be anyone else. He walked quietly into the room. It was dimly lit by one lantern on a corner shelf. He stared down at Jean for a moment then crouched down beside her and took her hand.

"Jeannie?"

"Hmm?"

"You're going to have to get out of these wet clothes, sweetheart. I think you're running a fever. We need to get you into bed."

"No," she disagreed quietly. "I want to stay here."

"It'll be better under the covers, Jeannie," he promised. He touched his hand to her forehead. Her skin felt hot and dry.

"Nooo," she whined. "If we go to bed together, you'll want me to leave. Just like Amanda."

Wes ran a hand across his face in frustration. On some level, she knew what he felt about her and she was afraid of him.

"Jeannie, I'm not trying to get into bed with you, just trying to get you into bed. Where do you keep your night things?"

Jean groaned and turned over on the bed.

Wes sighed and brought the lantern from across the room to search through her clothes but he couldn't find anything that looked like appropriate nightwear to him. He closed the last drawer and glanced at the top of the vanity.

There was a hairbrush and comb, a tube of lipstick, and the music box he'd given her for Christmas three years before. He touched the porcelain piano, recalling that night and the anger he'd felt at the way Amanda and her father had treated Jean. She had seemed like a decent person. She tried hard to please, only to be pushed aside in the light of Amanda's radiance.

He had been touched by her gift. It had been a long time since someone had made him anything. And when he'd seen that worried look in her eyes as he'd opened the present, he'd realized how important it was to her. He picked up the music box. It played a few soft chords before it wound down.

There had been something that weekend that had touched him when he'd looked at her. Something that had caught his attention and made him watch her. He'd thought about her for days after she and her father had left the ranch. Looking at the music box, it occurred to him that she must have felt something as well. She'd come to them with one suitcase of personal belongings. Wrapped in that case had been the music box he'd given her. Maybe Amanda hadn't ruined that Christmas for her after all.

He hadn't thought a lot of Amanda before that holiday. After her treatment of Jean and her heavy-handed demeaning of everyone else around her, he had been fed up with her.

She had urged Grif to tell him that he wasn't interested in running the ranch anymore. She had wanted to live somewhere else. Somewhere exciting that didn't smell like horses.

Wes had taken it hard when Grif had talked to him. He had always imagined the two of them running the ranch side-by-side with their families. He asked Grif to reconsider, to stay on because it was their inheritance, their father's gift to them. With his bad leg, he needed his brother even more.

The two brothers, who had always been so close, had stared at one another in the silence of the room. It had surprised Wes when Grif bowed his head and solemnly agreed to stay. Grif and Wes shook hands and Grif had gone to tell Amanda.

Amanda had come to Wes a short time later. She had looked like a beautiful angel, a cloud of golden hair around her face. She had demanded that he tell his brother to leave. Grif was unhappy, she had said, but he couldn't face Wes again. Their marriage was in trouble and she didn't think they would make it if they stayed.

Wes had refused. He didn't care why Grif wanted to stay. He wanted his brother there on the ranch. He had worked his whole life for that time.

Amanda had pouted and begged. She had wound her arms around him and kissed him, trying to cajole a response from him.

Wes had been in the process of removing her arms from his neck, when Grif had walked into the office. There had been a terrible argument. Grif hadn't believed either of them that what he'd witnessed had been innocent. They had stayed on at the ranch but the two brothers had never been close again.

Wes didn't think he would ever forget the terrible look on of betrayal on his brother's face. But it had been better than the terrible silence after his death.

Chapter Six

With deft hands that could rope a wild horse or change a baby's diaper, Wes stripped off all of Jean's clothes. He did it quickly and carefully, keeping his mind remote from the task, like a doctor in a delicate surgery. After he was finished, he rolled down the sheet and comforter and wrapped them around her.

"Thirsty," she said through parched lips, not really conscious of her words.

"I'll go and find you some juice and we'll take your temperature," Wes told her, not sure if she understood. He thought about calling his mother but Jenelle had looked exhausted. Not even for his own peace of mind was he wandering back out in the storm to find Carmen.

That left him for the task. He went into the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice, picked up the bottle of aspirin, then located the thermometer. He had undressed her, he reminded himself. That was about as private as it got. If she was going to take offense at anything, that would probably do it.

He considered in the stormy darkness, that he didn't want her to leave. It wasn't just the miracle she performed with the twins everyday. It was the light in her eyes and that habit she had of chewing her lip. Hell, he even liked it when she got in his face and accused him of terrible things.

Jenelle had smiled and teased him about buying Jean clothes. Then she had kissed his cheek and told him that he was definitely her son. His heart was in the right place. And he had claimed the pleasure of seeing Jean in the new slacks and jacket. Once, he'd caught her running from the pool to her room in the turquoise bathing suit. The sight had made him catch his breath. But he was too old, too cynical, to be torn apart by this inexperienced woman who avoided him like the plague. He reminded himself of that sentiment as he went back into her room.

She was awake, sitting up against the pillows with wide eyes. Her fingers clutched the comforter to her.

"I fell asleep," she mentioned when she saw him come into the room.

"I know," he agreed, putting down the thermometer on the side table. "How are you doing?"

"I was exhausted, I guess."

"I think you have a fever," he said quietly. "I brought a thermometer and some aspirin with some juice. You said you were thirsty."

She swallowed hard down her scratchy throat. "I did?"

He smiled. "You did. I couldn't believe it either. We'll consider that you were delirious."

"I hope I didn't say...anything else."

"Not much," he answered, glancing at her quickly. "Just that you wouldn't get into bed with me."

"Oh." She choked a little and avoided his eyes. "D-did I say why?"

He nodded. "Something about me kicking you out like Amanda."

She watched him take the cap off of the thermometer and press the button, waiting for the digital readout to reach zero. "I'm sorry. I-uh-wasn't myself."

He approached the bed, regarding her thoughtfully. "Are you saying you'd go to bed with me if I promised not to kick you out?"

Jean caught her breath sharply. She started coughing until her face was red and tears were streaming from her eyes.

"Sorry," he apologized, offering her a tissue. "That was out of line. I don't have a fever."

She gulped in air and tried to steady her breathing, wiping the tears from her face with an unsteady hand. "I didn't realize. I mean, I didn't know what you were doing. I must have thought -- "

"I think we both know what you thought," he answered frankly. "Don't worry about it. And if it puts your mind at ease, I didn't go to bed with Amanda either."

"I only heard that you kissed her," Jean blurted out, instantly sorry after she had spoken.

Wide brown eyes met shuttered black ones. "I can imagine. I think we should change the subject."

Jean frowned, her teeth catching on her bottom lip. "Did you-uh-take off my clothes?"

The thermometer chimed. "Open your mouth," he instructed, holding up the device. "Then I'll tell you."

She opened her mouth and allowed him to put the thermometer under her tongue. It was a strange and beguiling experience, allowing someone else to care for her. Especially allowing Wes to care for her.

"Did you?" she managed to ask around the thermometer.

"Your clothes were soaking wet. You weren't in any shape to get them off yourself."

"Oh."

"I looked for something else for you to wear but I couldn't find anything."

She made a small, strangled sound in her throat but managed to keep the thermometer under her tongue. She sat quietly while she absorbed what had happened and he took two aspirin out of the bottle.

It was...arousing sitting there naked under the comforter. She watched him take out two aspirin and bring the glass of juice to her bedside table.

His hands were large and very dark against the pale comforter. He wore a plain white shirt that emphasized his dark hair and eyes. His jeans looked old and soft, clinging to him lovingly. The timer chime on the thermometer went off and her gaze jumped guiltily from his faded jeans to his face. His finger brushed her lip as he took the thermometer from her mouth.

"A hundred and two! No wonder you passed out on the bed!" He handed her the juice in one hand and the aspirins in the other. "Take these and drink this down. As soon as you're well enough, I'm going to rag the hell out of you for not telling me that you were sick. I'm going to get someone who can come in when something like this happens. I didn't want you to take care of the boys until you passed out!"

"I'm sorry," she answered after swallowing both juice and aspirins. "I was trying to hold up my end of the deal. I was trying to do what you needed me to do."

He stroked her hair back from her face with a light hand. "I don't need you to kill yourself to hold up any deal, sweetheart. You've done a good job with the boys, Jeannie. I couldn't ask you to do any more. But I know they're a handful. You're asking for something to happen if you try to watch them when you're sick."

She closed her eyes a little under the easy touch of his hand on her brow. "I thought you were going to rag on me when I was well."

"I thought so too," he admitted ruefully. "I try not to kick anyone when they're down."

"I guess I just bring out the worst in you?"

"I'm the devil, remember?" he suggested, kissing her forehead. "I only have a worst to bring out."

She sighed, almost asleep again. "You're not, you know."

He laughed and crept to the door. "Get some sleep. I'll check in on you tomorrow."

Jean slept deeply. Her dreams were wild and passionate. Fever dreams, she told herself when she awoke in the morning stiff but not so sick. Crazy images of Wes and Amanda and Grif. Pictures of herself, naked, on a horse, with Wes. She started to swing her legs over the edge of the bed and Wes walked into the room.

"Don't even think about getting out of that bed," he cautioned.

"What about the boys?" she asked, clutching the comforter to her chest.

"I called someone last night and she'll be here to watch them until you're better."

"I'm really much better." She couldn't believe that he had found someone so quickly.

He popped open the thermometer and set two glasses of juice down on the table next to her. "Let's see."

He sipped his own juice while the thermometer went down to zero. Jean watched him surreptitiously through her lashes as she drank her juice. He was already wearing a black rain jacket and she could see his gloves in his pocket.

He put the thermometer in her mouth and waited patiently while it measured her temperature. "Mom's doing well enough that she can help Linda today. We'll go from there."

The thermometer chimed and he took it from her mouth, looking at the reading. "You are doing better. But you're still over a hundred."

"I can't just stay in bed all day," she told him plainly.

"That's exactly what you can do," he replied, capping the thermometer. "Lew will bring in a tray for breakfast and lunch. We'll see how you are at dinner. Take your aspirins every four hours and let Jenelle know if you need anything."

"Wes," she called when he started to leave. He turned back to her, grimacing as he twisted his leg and righted it.

"Hmm?"

"About last night," she managed even though her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. "Whatever you and Amanda did was between you."

"Thanks," he replied sarcastically. "But Amanda and I never did anything together that couldn't have been done in a room full of people. We never had those feelings for each other, Jeannie."

Jean considered that Amanda had felt that way about him for a short while but she didn't mention it. "Thanks anyway."

He smiled. "For taking off your clothes and bossing you around?"

She shrugged. "For taking care of me. I've never really been sick before. Not that I can remember."

He walked back to her side and took her hand in his. It was a mistake touching her. Looking into those big brown eyes made something around his solar plexus feel warm. Touching her cold fingers made him want to ease into the bed beside her and warm her with his body.

"Jeannie," he muttered with a shake of his head. "What am I going to do with you?"

Her heart beat faster and her breath came in shallow gulps.

Kiss me goodbye? She wanted to suggest but she could only look at him with her heart in her eyes. She saw the change in his gaze, felt the wash of heat that pervaded her body. It had nothing to do with sickness.

Still holding her hand captive, he bent and kissed her cheek. Close to her, he saw the tiny worry lines that marred her forehead and wished that he could take them away.

It wasn't enough, that chaste touch. When he saw that her lips were slightly parted, her eyes half-closed, he couldn't resist. His mouth closed over hers. He felt an intense satisfaction that shivered through him.

Jean's free hand crept up around his collar, tangling itself in his thick hair, drawing him closer as she pressed her body against his without thought.

His arm came around her, banding her tightly against him, pulling her away from the pillows and the bed. He was hungry for her. He drank in her response like water on a hot day. He freed her hand. She clung to him with both arms around his neck.

She had found a nightgown during the night but its smooth surface only facilitated the slide of his hand up her rib cage and across her breast. An electric current jolted through them both at the touch.

Jean moaned and slanted her mouth against his, searching for something more. Wes felt her breast grow taut under his gentle ministrations and longed to put his mouth there. Her pliant body was driving him to the edge as she moved against him.

"Breakfast anyone?" Lew asked from the doorway, a broad smile on his face as he watched the couple.

Cinda giggled and nudged him in the side with her elbow. Jenelle cleared her throat.

***

Wes took his mouth away from Jean's only with the greatest effort. He hadn't planned on having an audience. He hadn't wanted to embarrass her but as he looked into her face, he knew it was too late.

"I guess I should go to work," he contended as he put her back against the pillows. "Feel better. Don't worry about anything. It'll be okay."

He glared at the group by the door. Cinda departed with a startled sound in the back of her throat. Lew moved away from the door but only enough to let Wes through so he could take in the breakfast tray.

"Lookin' like a clear day today," he expressed as Wes stalked by him.

Jenelle was the one that followed Wes to the front door and grabbed at his arm. "Wes Kirby, don't you walk out that door without talking to me!"

Wes turned back to her. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me that isn't going to happen again."

Wes glanced back at Jean's bedroom door. "I thought you always told me to tell the truth?"

Jenelle shook her head. Her eyes were worried. "This isn't good, Wes. She's family. Like your sister."

"I don't think so, Mom," he denied quickly.

She stared at him. "Do you love her?"

Wes glanced at the room again. "I have to go out and see what kind of damage the storm did. I'll probably be back late."

"Wes!" she called him again but he was gone, the door closing hard behind him.

Jenelle waited until Linda was settled in with the boys then she went to Jean's door. Jean was sitting up in bed, reading a magazine about horses. Jenelle took her good intentions in hand and knocked on the doorway.

"Hello! How are you doing? I thought you could stand a little company since you're going to be trapped in here all day."

Jean smiled and put away the magazine. She had already had to endure Lew's giant grin at breakfast and lunch. Not to mention Cinda's knowing eyes and gentle innuendoes. She had been expecting Jenelle.

"I'm glad to have the company. I never knew how boring it was to sit around in bed all day."

"How are you feeling?" Jenelle wondered, trying to find a way to lead in to the point of her visit. She sat in a chair near the window and smiled at Jean.

"I'm feeling much better, actually. My fever is down. I think I could have probably taken care of the boys today. I'm sorry Wes had to hire someone."

Jenelle waved away her concerns. "He should have brought her in already so that you could have a free day once in a while. I don't know what he was thinking."

"I don't need a free day," Jean replied uneasily. After all, that was her place at the ranch. "I came to take care of the boys."

"And you've done a wonderful job. But everyone needs a day off. You've done nothing but work since the day you came here," Jenelle argued. "I'm going to see to it that you have some free time."

"I appreciate you thinking about me," Jean said carefully. Where was this leading?

"You need a life of your own anyway," Jenelle added thoughtfully. "Some friends and some time to go out. A girl your age shouldn't be sitting home on Friday and Saturday nights. You should be out with some young man who's showing you a good time."

Jean bowed her head. "I know what you're thinking."

"No, you don't, Jean," Jenelle began, moving over to the side of the bed to touch her hand. "I'm not blaming you for what happened. Wes should have known better."

Jean stared up at her lined but pretty face. "I know I'm not experienced. But I should have known better, too."

Jenelle patted her hand. "I want you to know something. Something about Wes. It's not something we talk about very often. He probably wouldn't thank me for telling you but I'm going to anyway."

Jean frowned. "What is it, Jenelle?"

Jenelle smiled but tears misted her eyes. "Wes was married once, Jean. It wasn't a happy marriage. Both of my sons married girls who weren't right for them."

"But Amanda -- "

" -- was a good girl," Jenelle pacified with a sigh. "She just wasn't right for Grif."

Jean didn't know what to say. She had thought that Grif and Amanda had been wonderfully happy. They'd certainly had everything anyone could think of to make a couple happy. "What happened to Wes' wife?"

Jenelle took a deep breath. "She died. They had been arguing. She'd been drinking. She climbed up on one of Wes' horses and fell off before she could even get out of the yard. She hit her head on a rock and never regained consciousness."

"That's terrible," Jean sympathized. She touched Jenelle's hand. "I'm sorry. It seems like you've had so much tragedy in your family."

Jenelle smiled but she had to wipe at the tears that coursed down her cheeks. "When my husband died, Wes was barely sixteen. Grif was only a baby. Wes took over everything. He'd been very close to his father. So with a little help, he was able to keep the ranch going."

Jean tightened her grip on the other woman's hand. "That was a big load for someone that young."

"It was," Jenelle agreed. "And I'm sorry I let him do it. He should have had time to grow up. Instead, he began thinking of himself as the man of the family. He took it very seriously."

Knowing Wes, even as well as she did, Jean could imagine him being a serious, sober sixteen year old trying to replace his father. "Amanda told me that he expected Grif to work on the ranch, too."

Jenelle nodded. "And Grif was happy doing it. Especially after Wes was hurt. Grif knew he needed him. Until he met your sister. It had nothing to do with Amanda. I think it was just that Grif wanted to escape and she was a good excuse. Wes didn't see it that way."

"How did Wes see it?"

Jenelle faced her squarely. "He felt like your sister was just like his wife, Cherise, had been five years before that. Cherise was from the city. She thought the ranch was going to be parties and pretty clothes. She never thought about the realities of life here until they were married."

So, Cherise was Wes' wife! And Wes thought that Amanda was like her. Jean kept her hold on the older woman's hand.

"Once she was here for a year, she started drinking because she was bored with the long hours that Wes was away working. She wanted him here with her all the time. Then she began getting really nasty. She ran around with anyone that would take her out. She didn't come home until sunrise every day. She told Wes that she would never be happy here."

"That must have been very hard for Wes," Jean observed.

"It was. He'd met her and married her quickly. She was beautiful. She dressed like a model. Oh, the clothes that girl had," Jenelle exclaimed with a shake of her head. "But there was no where out here to wear them. Except during the season, and that was too short for her. I think Wes was impressed by her sophistication and the way she had about her. He never saw that the things he loved about her were the very things that made her unhappy here."

Jean tried to take it all in. She tried to imagine a younger Wes falling head over heels for a beautiful girl who was miserable with him. It was difficult to envision.

"They argued that last night. It was a terrible argument. Cherise begged him to take her away from the ranch. He said he couldn't leave. He'd found her walking out in the pasture, drunk. He'd left his horse tied up outside. Cherise ran out and managed to climb up on it. Before he could stop her, she was gone. I'll never forget the sickening noise it made when her head hit the ground."

They sat quietly for a few minutes. The warm Kentucky sunshine streamed in through the high windows.

Jean thought carefully about all of the things Amanda had written to her about her life at the ranch. The things she'd complained about were the same things that had made Cherise miserable.

Amanda had thought life at the ranch was going to be full of parties and excitement. She had been disappointed to find that it was hard work and long hours. She had begrudged every minute that Grif had spent with Wes and the horses.

Jenelle delicately blew her nose. She smiled at Jean. "I believe Wes loved Cherise. I believe Grif loved your sister. I think it was my stubbornness that made Wes keep the ranch, why he wouldn't give it up, even for his own happiness. It was that same stubbornness that drove him and Grif apart when Grif and your sister wanted to leave."

"You can't blame yourself," Jean protested. "You did what you thought was right for your sons. I think they just fell in love with the wrong women. After all, you live here and you're happy."

Jenelle looked at her closely. "You're very wise for someone so young."

Jean looked away. "I don't think wisdom comes into it. Wes is right about Amanda. I think she was surprised by the long hours and the work involved with keeping up the ranch. She had no way of knowing. She thought it was like being married to a banker."

Jenelle sighed. "I suppose that's what happened with Cherise as well. She had never even set foot on a ranch until the day she came here with Wes." She paused and gazed intently at Jean. "Wes has never had a serious relationship since she died. I-I don't know if he won't ever have one or if he just hasn't had one."

Jean understood what Jenelle was trying to tell her. She wasn't blind. Hadn't she asked herself much the same thing? A man like Wes wouldn't want to spend his life with a woman like herself. He liked women who were wrong for him, perhaps, but he liked women who were elegant and beautiful. She would never be either of those things.

"I don't know what to say, Jenelle."

Jenelle put her hand on Jean's. "Just tell me that you won't forget what I've told you and you'll bear it in mind. I'm very fond of you. I wouldn't want to see you hurt or have you go away."

Jean swallowed hard. "I wouldn't. I promised to be here for Eric and Jake."

"Just don't lose yourself, Jean. You're important, too. You've hardly had any opportunity to live in your young life. You've spent some of your best years taking care of other people. I think it's time you spent some time taking care of yourself."

Jean smiled but she wished Jenelle would leave. She hadn't harbored many fantasies about herself and Wes. The few that had come to lodge close to her heart after his warmth and his kisses, had abruptly died.

"So we're going to get started right away to make up for lost time," Jenelle continued. "I never had a daughter. I would have liked Amanda or Cherise to fill that spot. Maybe you can humor an old woman and let me fuss over you?"

"You aren't exactly old, Jenelle," Jean argued with a watery voice, trying not to cry. "But I'd be glad to be your daughter. You're a wonderful person."

"Good," Jenelle said with a final pat on Jean's hand. "That's settled then. We're one week from the beginning of racing season. We always give the first party here. I think that would be a good time for me to introduce you to society, so to speak."

"Jenelle -- "

"There are quite a few young men who will be glad to meet you. But there's a lot to do. We'll have to buy the right clothes for that weekend. I'd like to have my hairdresser take a look at your hair. It's such a lovely color. I think we can sneak it all in if we hurry."

Jean looked down at her hands on the comforter. "I appreciate you thinking about me."

"Don't worry about a thing. We're going to have a good time."

***

Jean sank back against the pillows, exhausted and feeling sick. Jenelle bustled out of the room, taking out her small organizer to plan for the extra tasks involved with getting Jean ready for the season.

Jean hadn't really considered the idea that she could be with Wes someday. She hadn't really given it any thought beyond being afraid that the hot lust she felt for him would ruin her. And really, wasn't that exactly what Jenelle had told her? Wes wasn't the marrying kind. Once burned, twice shy.

Jean didn't blame him. It must have been a terrible experience to find that the person you loved didn't want to live with you. Wes probably felt responsible for her death. They had been arguing and she had been on his horse.

Jean had noticed the large, terrifying creatures that Wes rode every day around the ranch. No one else would ride those animals. She'd heard Bobby joking with him about riding demons. It had been one of those demons who'd hurt him as well.

Still, she sighed, it had been lovely. To have Wes look at her as though she were beautiful. To have him taking care of her with those smoldering black looks and that deep rich voice. She was lucky that she hadn't made a fool of herself, she supposed. What had happened between them would die out quickly, if it never happened again. And she was determined that it wouldn't happen again.

Wes was, for lack of a better word, irresistible. It was as though he swept her up in their own world when he looked at her. When he touched her, she only wanted more. Her brain refused to function and her body was on fire for him. Sometimes she felt as though she could be happy simply standing and looking at him.

No, it was better this way. She had only begun to find herself. She didn't want to be lost in that world of loving Wes and knowing that he didn't love her. It had to stop. If it meant that she couldn't be alone with him or if it meant that she had to find a way so that he didn't want to be alone with her.

She closed her eyes, wishing she didn't feel so empty having made that decision. After all, there would be other men, as Jenelle had said. Men who would want to make a commitment to her. Men who didn't have a terrible past that would haunt them.

She only wished she could stop thinking about him, stop wanting him. He was like a dream that she couldn't shake when she was awake. Like a song that kept playing through her head until she felt as though she knew the melody too well.

Jean slipped into a fitful sleep, not aware of the moment when Wes looked in on her that evening, careful not to disturb her.

He followed her to her dreams. He held out his hand to her there. She took it and held on tight, despite a hundred voices telling her to let go. She awoke during the night with a cramp in her hand, sobbing, as she realized that they had been pulled apart anyway.

Chapter Seven

Jenelle was right about the feverish preparation for the beginning of the race season. The ranch seemed to be possessed with hundreds of workers that busily washed and polished, replacing fences and roofing. New beds of flowers sprang up overnight. Warm, moist spring air breathed life into the world, turning everything green. Dogwoods bloomed pink and white on the hills around the ranch and the grass came back, full and deep.

Jenelle was at the center of the whirlwind of activity. But she wasn't too busy to forget her protégée, however much Jean might have misgivings about the arrangement.

She began to wonder if it wasn't enough to avoid Wes and concentrate on taking care of the rapidly growing twins. Maybe someday when Eric and Jake were grown, she could find someone for herself. In the meantime, she didn't know if she wanted to be part of the festivities. She wasn't good at meeting large groups of people. She wasn't sure it had anything to do with being well dressed, as Jenelle had told her.

"You just hold your head high and let them eat their hearts out," the older woman told her. "When they see how beautiful you are in this dress the first night, there won't be any contest."

Jean wasn't sure what they were competing for. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Jenelle had bandied about the names of so many eligible men that she couldn't possibly remember all of them. She understood that Jenelle was trying to help her forget Wes. If Jean met a nice young man who wanted to be with her, Jenelle wouldn't have to worry about what would happen between Jean and Wes.

Wes, in the meantime, seemed to have received the message. Or Jenelle had spoken to him as well. An embarrassing thought that kept her from meeting his eyes when they did see one another.

There was no repeat of the incident in the bedroom or by the pool. Wes came and went, speaking when he saw her. He asked about the boys when he passed the nursery and they were playing. He said good night when he passed her in the hall.

It was as if those rare, passionate moments hadn't happened between them. Jean watched him as he limped down the hall to his own rooms. He hadn't seen her. He was full of mud and walked as though he was exhausted. Her hands trembled to rub some of the tiredness out of those broad shoulders and straight back. She shoved them into her pockets and turned away.

Jean had heard the horror stories about the new horse, Barbarian, that Wes was training. He was a big devil of a horse whose black coat shone in the sun. He was taller than most horses. His eyes rolled back whenever anyone tried to get near him. He'd already thrown Wes a dozen times. Jenelle had told her that the horse had killed Francis Swarrington's husband. He'd fallen and broken his neck.

Jean and Jenelle watched Wes with Barbarian in the yard. Neither one of them breathed until he was safely on the ground.

In the meantime, preparations for the first race of the season moved along. Two of Hearts was putting its money on a two-year-old filly named Wager that was one of Gambit's offspring. Jean had watched her run and was awe inspired. The little horse ran like the wind down the track, her long blond mane flying out behind her.

Bobby and David had proclaimed her the fastest of Gambit's offspring and the winner of the Derby that year. It was rumored in low voices that there was even hope for the Triple Crown. Everything seemed to be in place. Spring had brought excitement and the parties Amanda had adored but it had left Jean feeling lost and alone.

She hugged Eric closely to her as she walked to the kitchen late one night. Jake was still asleep. It was a rare thing for one to be up without the other. Eric had a slight stomach upset and was fussing and refusing to sleep. Jean thought about an old remedy her mother had given them when she was a child; a little peppermint tea.

She stopped suddenly as she realized that Wes was sitting at the kitchen table in the darkness. The baby in her arms whined and cried and squirmed but she started to walk back out the way she'd come anyway.

"It's okay, Jeannie," Wes said in a tired voice. "I'm sure Jenelle didn't mean we couldn't ever be in the same room together."

Jean felt her face grow hot and was glad for the dim light. So his mother had spoken to him. It was humiliating but probably just as well.

Eric cried and reached for his uncle.

"I'll take him for a few minutes," Wes invited, holding out his arms.

"His stomach has been upset. I was going to try giving him some peppermint tea," she explained, handing him the baby.

Wes wasn't wearing a shirt. The light from the stove gleamed off of his smooth skin. It caught in the dark hairs on his chest and played with the angles of his face. He looked as though he had just come from bed.

"I heard him," Wes said softly. "What's up, little one?" he asked the boy. "Already having some trouble digesting the world?"

Jean walked to the refrigerator and took out some of the peppermint tea, warming it in a cup in the microwave. She watched the man and the little boy. Eric grabbed for Wes' hair then rested his head on his shoulder.

The tea was too hot, of course. She had been so busy watching the pair at the table that she left it in a moment too long. She imagined going to them and putting her arms around them both. She'd touch Wes' sleek shoulders and back, stroking away that tiredness that she heard in his voice.

"I think he might have finally found someplace comfortable," Wes whispered when the baby's head didn't come up again.

"I think he's asleep," she agreed, putting away the tea. It wasn't hard for her to believe that those broad shoulders could soothe a few hurts. "Do you want me to take him?"

Wes shook his head. "No, I'll put him to bed. You can go ahead."

"I'll help," she offered, thinking about the toy animals in the crib.

She followed him back into the nursery. She tried not to notice that he was wearing only a pair of dark colored shorts. He had long legs and muscular thighs. His left leg was scarred and slightly crooked but it didn't keep her from finding all of him attractive. He was lean and tan. Probably from the hours he spent in the saddle, she presumed, watching him as he walked in front of her. But those long hours hadn't flattened his --

She looked up from her perusal of his backside. Her face grew hot with embarrassment. She didn't think part of Jenelle's program included her watching Wes' posterior when he walked.

She scooted ahead of him when they reached the nursery and swatted the toys out of the way. Wes laid the baby down gently then patted his back as he started to wake up again.

Jean held her breath. She had spent the afternoon shopping with Jenelle. Linda had told her that she'd had trouble with Eric. The boy had been cranky since she'd come home. She held her breath, hoping he would finally be asleep.

Eric sighed and closed his eyes again. He pushed his little face into the side of the crib and fell asleep.

"You're a miracle worker," she declared in a whisper. "I've been trying to get him to sleep for an hour."

"Sometimes," Wes answered softly. "It's all in the hands."

They both stood and looked at his hands when he held them up in the glow from the night light.

Jean was terrified to look at his face. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to touch him. It would have to show. She wanted him to touch her. It was an ache that throbbed through her, feeding on itself. It was as though the long weeks of self-imposed, personal exile from his company had made her even more susceptible to him.

He didn't touch her but he didn't move away from her either. He stood close to her, inhaling her perfume. He wanted to tangle his hands in her hair until she looked up at him and he could press his mouth to hers. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

"How are you feeling?" he finally managed, his voice coming out husky and terse.

"I'm fine," she answered. "It wasn't such a bad cold."

"That's good," he replied, willing himself to walk away. He'd thought so much about what Jenelle had said to him. About his feelings for Jean, about the whole situation.

He wasn't sure what would come of anything that happened between them. He wasn't sure that anything was fair to anyone. He only knew that his urge to put his hands on this woman had grown steadily more powerful. Sometimes he was afraid that it was an obsession.

It made him angry. So he drove himself past all endurance with the horses and the work on the ranch. Wasn't it possible for him to want one of the women who'd grown up in Cheyenne? A woman who understood their way of life and appreciated it? Was it only possible to torment himself by desiring a woman who would probably come to hate him and the ranch?

"You didn't catch it," she ventured. "The virus, I mean?"

"No," he said. "I guess it wasn't my time."

She nodded. And sighed. "I guess I should go." She looked up then. He was looking at her as though he was storing her face in his memory.

"I'm glad I could help with Eric," he said at last.

"I appreciate your help," she answered carefully. "I guess I better get to bed."

She walked to the door and glanced back. It was that look, that gleam in her eyes as the nightlight hit her face, that made him decide.

"I'm going for a swim," he told her plainly. "You're welcome to come."

"I shouldn't."

"I know."

Her heart beat faster. Her mind tried to keep everything under control. Go to bed, her brain said. Forget that he said that he was going swimming. What do you think could happen to you if you go? Be reasonable.

"Good night," she said finally. She escaped into her room to stand with her back against the door, listening for his footsteps, hoping he would come for her.

But he walked by on his way to the pool. She had been holding her breath in case he had stopped. Even for an instant. But his footsteps hadn't faltered. She supposed that he had issued the invitation and decided, as she had, that they couldn't gain anything from being there together. He had decided to be sensible.

Jean raged against the hopelessness of it. She pummeled her fists into her pillow, silently screaming. Was she doomed to the reasonable, sensible course for the whole of her life? Was she supposed to lock away everything else inside of her heart until it withered and died?

Wes didn't love her. She understood that he didn't love her. He wouldn't ask her to marry him. There was too much in the past for that. But surely, she breathed, surely she could take one moonlight swim with him.

Before she had a chance to talk herself into the reasonable, sensible direction she knew she should be taking, she stripped off her gown and robe and put on her pretty turquoise bathing suit. She started to put her robe back on over the top of the suit but changed her mind, purposely putting it from her. If she wore it, she might never have the courage to take it off and all that moonlight would be wasted.

Besides, she reasoned, the house was dark. Everyone was asleep. She picked up the baby monitor and raced through the quiet house with quicksilver strides. The moonlight dappled through the windows, shadowing some objects in the rooms as she passed, picking out some others. The light silvered the flowers in the courtyard at the side of the house.

When she reached the pool area, she took a quick breath and pushed herself through the open doorway. The air was warm and wet and redolent with the scent of the flowers from the open greenhouse. The lights were off in the pool but the moonlight illuminated the water clearly. There was no sign of Wes in the water.

Disappointment cut through her keenly. She should have said yes. She should have come right away before he had a chance to change his mind. She should have --

"Are you coming in?"

His voice sent a thrill down her spine. She still didn't see him but some of the pool's depths were hidden, despite the brilliance of the moonlight.

"Y-yes."

Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer. She wasn't sure exactly what it was she was praying for but she said it anyway. She walked down the two steps into the warm water then set out across the pool.

The water felt like silk, cool silk, against her overheated skin. As she moved, the sounds of the water around her were whispers in the moonlight. An arm reached out from her right side and dragged her against a hard, warm body. She heard a husky male laugh.

"I didn't think you'd come."

"I shouldn't have."

"But you did," he stated. Had it been the lure of the water that brought her? Or the focusing of every atom of his being on bringing her to his side? "You're here."

She put her hands on his wet shoulders. Exactly where she'd wanted to put them when they'd been in the kitchen. It felt right. Suddenly she was young and happy. She was with a wonderful man. A man she might never have known, much less swam with in a moonlit pool.

"Race you!" she challenged, squirming away from his hold on her waist.

"Where to?" He laughed, following her but keeping just out of reach.

"The far end," she told him. "Then back again. Winner gets to -- "

" -- take a kiss?"

She laughed and splashed water at him. "I was a champion swimmer once," she warned him. "It was only for a summer but I have several ribbons to prove it."

He glided through the water. He had absolutely no intention of winning the race. "I'm just a rancher. You could count the number of times I've been in this pool on one hand."

They swam back and forth through the pool. Wes laughed out loud when he grabbed her foot as he swam by and she let out a yelp.

"That's cheating," she told him. "You'll have to be penalized for that."

"Beat me," he urged, grabbing her foot again to hear that sound. "I'm terrible."

Breathless but exhilarated, Jean arrived at the pool's end a minute before him. She watched as he surfaced lazily through the silvered water and laughed at him.

"I'm sorry but you lost. Not only were you too slow but you cheated."

His black hair was slicked back from his face. The moonlight revealed the height of his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

"You win," he congratulated her. "You take the kiss."

She felt daring and alive or she wouldn't have managed to come close to him. They were standing in chest high water. She studied his face.

"You have to keep your hands in the water," she said slowly, approaching him with both trepidation and excitement.

"Is that a forfeit for cheating?" he wondered, doing as she requested. He moved in deeper so that only his head was out of the water.

"Maybe," she answered, her voice squeaking on the last.

She stood close to him in the water. It was so quiet that she could hear their breathing and the sound of the humming humidifier in the greenhouse.

She used her fingers to trace the lines from his eyes. She touched the place on his nose that looked as though it had been broken and stroked his forehead gently. She put a hand carefully on either side of his face and looked deeply into his shining black eyes. Then she put her mouth to his.

He was warm but his mouth was cool and wet with the pool water. He tasted of chlorine and coffee and wild dreams that she had never dared to dream.

She slanted her mouth hungrily against his, willing him to respond. She wanted him to take her in his arms and devastate her with his kiss. Instead, he stood very still and didn't change his inflection. She felt as though she were kissing a statue.

"I-Is something wrong?" she asked hesitantly. She was so close to him that her vision blurred on his features but she was afraid to move away in case she should see ridicule or remorse on his dark face.

"It's your kiss," he said in a strained voice. "I lost."

"You can...move," she told him benevolently. "That was my kiss."

"That was it?"

"Well, yes." She frowned, trying to see his face. "W-would you have done it...differently?"

"Oh, Jeannie," he continued warmly. "I would've taken the opportunity to kiss you like you've never been kissed. We wouldn't be standing here talking. Yet."

Jean cleared her throat. She felt her body heat up at his words. "I-uh-maybe you could show me."

He laughed. It was a low, husky sound in the quiet pool. He wrapped his arms around her. "I thought you'd never ask."

He looked at her, standing in front of him, with her wide brown eyes and parted lips, water droplets on her face. He wondered how he had ever thought that her sister was beautiful in comparison. Jean was the most beautiful woman in the world.

He used his hands to position her in front of him so that only her head was out of the water. "You have to keep your hands in the water."

She smiled sweetly, trustingly, up into his face. "Is that my penalty?"

He shrugged. "Just trying to make it a fair comparison."

He used his fingers as she had, tracing the lines of her face, her finely arched brows and delicate lips. He put his hands on either side of her face and barely touched his lips to the corner of hers.

"Is that it?" she breathed daringly, her lips curving into a smile.

"Shh," he cautioned, kissing the other side of her mouth. He whispered kisses across her eyes and her cheek. His lips touched her temples and her chin.

Silently, he disappeared under the water but the sweet torment didn't stop. His lips caressed her neck and shoulders then he worked down to her breasts that were taut and erect for him to sample. His lips burned through her bathing suit on her tummy and further, while she squirmed but kept to her part of the bargain and didn't use her hands to subdue him...or bring him closer.

He kissed her knees and her ankles, then tickled her toes and surfaced behind her in the water.

Jean was hot and aching for his touch, still not moving. Not daring to breathe for fear that she would wake up and be dreaming the entire thing.

Wes pressed her against him. Her cool, sweet body against his hard, hungry one. "Jeannie." He breathed close to her ear. "You are driving me crazy."

He kissed her neck. Light, stinging kisses that made her catch her breath even as he was sliding her bathing suit straps down her shoulders. He followed them with his hot mouth, his teeth lightly grazing her delicate flesh.

His hands cupped her soft breasts from behind while she floated weightlessly against him in the warm water. The moonlight gilded the graceful mounds and coral peaks. Wes sighed as he touched her, his manhood bulging against his shorts.

Jean felt his hands turn her in the water until her smooth chest was rubbing against his own lightly furred one.

"Touch me, Jeannie," he implored. He took her hands and put them on his heated flesh. "Kiss me."

Their mouths locked hungrily. Jean wrapped herself around him, wondering if she could ever get enough of him. There was no past, no future, between them. Only the warm water. Their mingled breaths. The silver moonlight.

"Abouua...Amamma."

It wasn't a cry. Yet. Jean had learned that those words were Eric's way of checking to see if there was anyone around him. As soon as there was no reply, he would get a little louder.

Wes rested his face against hers. "Tell me this has to stop."

"This has to stop," she repeated for him.

He kissed her eyebrow. "Tell me that I should leave you alone."

She sighed. "You should leave me alone."

"Tell me that neither of us need this grief."

"Wes?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me that nothing that's happened between us means anything to you," she demanded. "Tell me that you don't want me."

He hugged her tightly. "I'd be lying, sweetheart."

"Abboouuaa..."

Jean pulled up her swimsuit. "He's going to get loud in a minute. I need to go to him."

Wes nodded. Letting her go was like ripping off his arm. "We can talk later. I think there's some things that need to be settled between us."

Jean agreed. She climbed out of the pool with him following on her heels. "Maybe I can get him back to sleep."

He tossed her a towel. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Not really. It won't do any good for both of us to wish he was asleep."

He agreed silently, pulling a towel around his neck. "I could at least be in there with you."

She smiled shyly. "You're too distracting. I'll get him back to sleep. Wait for me?"

He kissed her soundly. "You know where I live."

But Eric wouldn't be coerced into sleep again that night. He played and he cried and he laid his head on Jean's knee but he wouldn't go back into his crib.

Jean rocked him and sang to him and thought about Wes. She dared to imagine that there might be a future for them, that they might be together. He'd said that he wanted her. Surely that was a start?

Eric turned his face away from his bottle and whined. He scrunched up his mouth and rubbed her arm with his hand.

"Abboouuaaa?" he asked her.

"I'm here," she answered calmly. "It's okay."

Wes woke up at five am with his head buried in the sofa in the family room. He glanced around himself, trying to recall why he'd spent the night on the sofa. Then it all flooded back to him.

Jeannie.

He stood up and eased the cramp in his neck and shoulders. He walked quietly into the nursery where Jean was asleep in the big old rocking chair with Eric splayed across her chest.

They both looked as though they'd had a tough night. He didn't wake her. Watching her sleep with the baby on her shoulder made him realize that his feelings for her were more than just a passing fancy. Despite what Jenelle thought about the whole thing.

Maybe she wasn't brought up on a ranch. Maybe she wasn't the woman he'd expected to love. It didn't matter. Despite everything, he was afraid he'd fallen in love with Jean. And he wasn't sure if that spelled heaven or hell.

Wes could hear Lew already up in the kitchen, humming and knocking around pots and pans. He always cooked breakfast for the entire crew. His coffee put the fear of God in them for the day. Wes was usually up at five-thirty anyway. There wasn't any point in delaying the inevitable. He smiled down at the sleeping woman and baby and went to his own room to change clothes.

Jean didn't wake up until a loud cry from Jake rent the morning air. She looked at her watch. It was seven-thirty! She couldn't believe any of them had slept that long.

"Good morning!" Linda greeted her, closing the nursery door as she entered the room. "What a crowd, huh?"

"What?" Jean wondered.

Linda smiled. "You don't look like you're awake yet. Didn't you notice that the house is full of people?"

"I've been in here all night with Eric," Jean explained. "He was up most of the night."

"I saw Wes down by the stables with Bobby and two of the Conner women."

"Conner women?" Jean asked, her head aching. Everything that had happened last night came flooding back to her. Wes must have waited up for her. She had fallen asleep with Eric.

Eric whined and fussed a little and Linda took him. "You might want to go and get ready."

"Ready?" Jean asked again and then apologized. "I seem to keep repeating everything you say."

"That's okay. Jenelle and Wes asked me to be here for the weekend while everyone's here. I think they want to introduce you to everyone."

Jean helped Linda with Eric and Jake, despite the other woman's assurances that she could handle them. She needed the time to get herself together before she faced the guests that Jenelle had been prepping her to impress.

Jean and Linda fed the two babies while an assortment of aunts, cousins, and friends wandered through the kitchen. They played with the boys and sampled Lew's coffee and pastries. They looked at Jean when she introduced herself. She could see in their eyes that they remembered Amanda.

"There you are!" Jenelle bustled into the kitchen in a bright blue dress. "We're headed for Jerome's, Lew. We won't be doing a formal lunch since everyone won't be here until tonight. Let them scare up what they can. The caterers are just getting here. Maybe you could supervise?"

Jean was whisked away to Jenelle's hairdresser, Mister Jerome, who tsked and tutted. He lifted up strands of her fine hair and gazing at it soulfully.

Finally, he decided what to do about her hair. It hadn't been cut professionally in nearly a decade. "Pruning is good for trees and for the soul."

"She'll need a facial while her hair is being done," Jenelle supervised, daring to speak once Mister Jerome had made his pronouncement.

"Of course," he agreed pleasantly. "Although, once they see her hair, my hair, they won't want to look at her face!"

Jean grabbed Jenelle's sleeve. "I don't know about being pruned, Jenelle."

"Trust me," Jenelle assured her. "The man is a genius. I'm going to pick up our dresses for tonight, then I'm coming back for my own facial." She sighed. "They're very relaxing."

Jean fell asleep while the mud mask was on her face and her hair was set in rollers. The manicurist coughed loudly and she shook herself awake, wishing she'd taken a few aspirin before she had left the ranch. She was hungry. Her head still ached from too little sleep and a terrible case of nervous tension.

How could she have fallen asleep with Wes waiting to talk to her? The most important moment in her whole life and she had fallen asleep with a baby on her shoulder and milk on her neck!

He would be there later, she told herself, trying to calm her frayed nerves. They would talk. He would tell her that he loved her. And he would ask her to marry him.

She realized, with a start, that those words had been in the prayer on her lips last night as she realized that she was in love with Wes.

Chapter Eight

The night was warm and dry, as the weekend promised to be in central Kentucky. It was the perfect weather for the start of the season.

The race season was only a few short weeks but it was the chance for all of the ranchers and their families to put on their dress clothes and swap stories about past glories. They bragged about the horses that were going to be raced that weekend, some for the first time, and considered new arrivals that hadn't been tried yet.

For thirty-two years, the party at Two of Hearts had been the traditional start of the season. Everyone attended the weekend party from horse enthusiasts to the governor. No one went away hungry or dry. The weekend was legendary.

And the winner of the race that was held on Saturday morning had the tradition of finishing first in the Derby, the Belmont Stakes, or the Preakness every one of those years. Once the filly had even won the Triple Crown.

Wes had finished the rounds of his guests and excused himself into the nursery. He meant to find Jean when he was finished. He'd looked for her all day. Lew had told him earlier that she'd gone with Jenelle to the hairdresser. That had been early in the morning. How long could it take to have her hair done?

He was anxious about seeing her. Last night, they had left so much unsaid. The revelations of that morning still clung to him. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to look into her eyes and have her tell him that she loved him, too.

He was nervous about it, like a boy on his first prom night. Despite all of his cynicism, and his supposed hard heart, he'd let that slip of a girl turn his life upside down. And now, only she could put it right again.

The noise from the party was muffled when he closed the door to the nursery. Jake was already snoring in his crib. Eric was asleep but he tossed restlessly. His little mouth made sucking noises as he slept.

He frowned. Linda was nowhere to be seen. He was about to go and look for her when the door opened and the woman entered the room with a plate of food. She set her two-way radio down on the chest, next to the baby monitor, and smiled at him.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Kirby?"

"Just visiting. Have you seen Jean?"

"Not since about four thirty. She was with your mother, I think. Would you like me to find her?"

"No, I'll find her. Thanks. Let me know if you need anything."

She nodded. "It's been quiet. But I'll let you know if that changes."

"Thanks. I appreciate your help, Linda."

Jenelle entered the nursery. Her cheeks were rosy with laughing. Her mind was on making last minute adjustments to everything. "I've been looking for you."

"I had something to talk over with the security group," he explained. "And Barbarian kicked over another enclosure."

"And your tuxedo isn't here yet?" she wondered, looking expressly at his jeans and t-shirt.

Wes grimaced. "I was putting it off until the very end."

Jenelle shook her well-coiffed head carefully. "This is it, Wes! Most of the guests are already out there. If you wait much longer, they'll have all gone home for the weekend!"

"I was looking for Jean," he admitted. "I thought she was with you."

"She was this afternoon. Wait until you see her! She's going to knock them all dead!"

His mouth tightened. That wasn't exactly what he had in mind. "I'm going to find her."

Jenelle put her hand on his as he reached for the doorknob. "If you do that, you'll be sorry."

"Why?"

Jenelle studied his face. "She's never been out from under her father's thumb, Wes! She needs some room to breathe. She's got some pretty new clothes for the weekend and her hair looks so nice! Give her a chance to make a choice about her life."

"I didn't make any choice for her."

"Didn't you?" His mother shook her head. "She went from taking care of an old man and waiting on a fussy sister to taking care of the boys and living here with us. She's had no time to herself. She needs to fly a little bit. You've overwhelmed her, Wes. How can she make a decision about the rest of her life when she doesn't know what else is out there?"

Wes looked away from his mother's face. "Are you saying I should hold off telling this woman that I love her so that she can play around with some other guys and decide if she really wants me?"

Jenelle nodded. "That's what I'm saying. It's the only fair thing to do. Give her this weekend. Let her be Cinderella. Then if she still wants you to be her prince, you'll have my blessing."

If anyone else had said it, Wes would have walked away. It sounded ridiculous to him. Give Jean the chance to find someone else and leave the ranch? Why the hell would he do that? But he trusted Jenelle. She knew what he'd been through. He knew that she had spent a lot of time with Jean since her arrival.

Maybe Jean wasn't ready. Maybe this was Jenelle's way of telling him that he needed to back off. She wanted him to wait until the end of the weekend. He supposed that it had happened quickly. He could even see her point that Jean had spent her life under a bushel. But he was terrified. Suppose he'd found that he loved her, only to lose her?

"All right," he said finally.

Jenelle sighed. "You haven't told her that you loved her yet, have you?"

"No."

"It's just this one weekend, Wes," she persuaded, certain that she was doing the right thing.

"I'll keep it to myself for the weekend," he agreed, his voice raw. "But that doesn't mean I'll let her go without a fight."

Jenelle smiled. "I wouldn't expect anything less from my son. I love you, Wes. I just want both of you to be happy."

Wes kissed his mother's worried brow. "I know. I love you, too. I hope to God you're right about this."

Jenelle watched him open the door. He left the room quickly. She took a deep breath before rejoining the party. She hoped she was right, too.

***

In her room, Jean looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Jenelle had surprised her with a beautiful new dress. Her hair was everything Mister Jerome had promised and her makeup had been applied so skillfully that she wasn't sure if the woman she saw in the mirror was actually her. This woman wasn't plain. This woman was attractive and graceful in her long apricot tinted gown. She would stand out in a crowd.

Jean had never stood out in a crowd. She felt strange. She wondered what Amanda would have said if she could see her. Used to blending into the background, could she even justify wearing the stunning dress? What good was a gorgeous new hairstyle and professional makeup if she was still the same wallflower?

She had given Jenelle her word that she would try to make new friends and meet new people this weekend. This was her chance to shine.

She had wanted to find a quiet place and talk with Wes but Jenelle had changed her mind. It was true that she wasn't experienced with men. It was true that she had fallen for Wes quickly and heavily. She didn't think anything or anyone could make her feel any different.

But Jenelle had gone through a lot of time and money to get her ready for this party. Jean didn't want to let her down. And maybe Wes had talked to his mother. Maybe he still wasn't ready for a commitment. Maybe this was his way of taking the time to think it over.

She understood that he had been hurt by Cherise. Maybe Amanda had expected too much. But she wasn't Cherise or Amanda. Life on the ranch agreed with her. She didn't expect or need a party everyday. She didn't need Wes to dance attendance on her every minute. She was happy there with the twins. She knew she could be happy there with Wes.

But she respected Jenelle's opinion and she was going to do her best to do what she had asked of her. She was going to dance and smile and have a good time. Maybe she'd even flirt a little. She could spread her wings.

Recalling every nuance, every smile she'd ever seen Amanda use, Jean walked into the crowd. She wasn't herself, she decided. She was a stranger who smiled and flirted and pouted her red lips.

"Hey, Gorgeous! Where have you been hiding?"

Jean glanced around. The handsome young man was speaking to her.

"Are you trying to monopolize this woman's attentions?" another young man asked.

"I apologize for Steve," the first man said to her. "He doesn't know when he's being a nuisance."

Steve glared at the first man. "Terry doesn't know when he's not needed." He reached out and took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.

"Nobody drinks champagne at a Derby party," Terry proclaimed. "We drink juleps!"

Jean graciously took a mint julep from Terry and a glass of champagne from Steve.

"So, who are you?" Steve wondered.

"I'm Jean," she answered with a bright smile. "I'm Wes' sister-in-law."

For courage, she took a sip of each drink. Terry and Steve exchanged glances.

"I think we should be introducing Jean to everyone, don't you?" Steve asked his friend and rival.

Terry took her right arm. "I think you should get lost!"

Steve took her left arm. "Not on your life. Shall we go?"

Sandwiched between them, Jean let them take her around the crowded house and introduce her to their friends. She laughed and made small talk like it was nothing. She felt beautiful and desirable. Of course, it didn't hurt that two handsome men escorted her!

Wes couldn't remember every one of those thirty-two years since his father had won Two of Hearts. He'd been a young boy when they'd come to live on the broken down ranch that his parents had worked so hard to reclaim. Usually, he reveled in this weekend and the chance to show off his hard work. That night, he wished that they could skip it.

Everyone had been handed the traditional mint julep as the first drink of the night. It was lucky. He sipped at his whiskey and frowned up at the moonlight. It had shone brighter, somehow, when he'd been in the pool with Jean. If he had his way, he'd still be there.

"Wager looks good," Ross Winters complimented as he walked by with his wife. "She doesn't stand a chance against my 'Dreamer'."

"We'll see tomorrow," Wes replied with a forced smile.

Jean hadn't been in the billiard room. He hadn't seen her as he passed through the crowd. There were a few hundred people packed into the house and around the grounds but surely he could find one brown-eyed lady.

After talking with Jenelle, he'd showered and changed into the dreaded tuxedo. He would have been more comfortable in a potato sack! He joined the party and began to greet his guests. The house was full to the rafters. Most of the cousins and aunts were never seen except during race weekend. Sometimes he wondered if they were all really related to them.

He scanned the group of people who'd just entered the room from the garden. They were friends of Jenelle's but Jean wasn't with them. He was getting irritated with looking for her. Was this some other trick of his mother's to keep them apart? He sipped his whiskey and glanced around the room again. He'd been insane to agree to go along with this charade. He didn't fall in love every day. He wanted Jean. If she wanted him, it all worked out.

Of course, he knew better. Fear was holding him back. Suppose Jenelle was right. Suppose Jean was just inexperienced and needed time to see beyond what she had always known. He didn't think he could stand to see that kind of disappointment on another woman's face again. He wanted to be sure that she would be happy there with him.

He saw his mother talking to Rick Jordan in the foyer. Jordan was a wealthy horse rancher who lived about twenty miles away. He'd taken Jenelle out a few times but they didn't seem to be in any hurry to do anything more.

Wes swallowed the last of his julep and put the glass on a passing tray. He made his way across the crowded room towards Jenelle. He was tired of all of the questions. And he didn't intend to let all of the other single ranchers have a free shot with Jean.

He reached his mother and started to speak when he caught sight of a stunning woman in a shimmering apricot gown. She was surrounded by a tight little group of men. As he watched, she laughed at a joke one of them told her. She looked young and carefree.

Jean.

Her dark brown hair had been trimmed and highlighted. It was swept back from her face and caught with a diamond-studded clasp at the side of her head. The slinky gown outlined her slender body, emphasizing her high breasts and graceful neck. A powerful shaft of desire kept him standing there with his mouth open as his mother called his name.

"She looks pretty good for the work, doesn't she?" Jenelle asked, finally getting his attention.

Wes swallowed hard and looked away from the sight of her. He turned instead to take Jordan's hand. "Sorry. I didn't see you until now."

"That's all right," Jordan replied with a smile. "You had your mind on other things."

Jenelle shook her head. "He was just surprised, Jordan. Jean and Wes are like brother and sister."

Jordan hid his smile in a sip of his julep as he noticed that Wes' attention was caught up with his sister across the room. "Brother and sister, Jen?"

Jenelle nodded stubbornly. "That's right. We only want what's best for the girl, right, Wes?"

Wes looked at his mother with a vacant gaze. "Excuse me, Mom. Jordan."

"Wes?" Jenelle tried to call him back. But he was gone.

Jean knew the moment when Wes was coming towards her. The men around her were still just as flattering. Their eyes and smiles were still just as interested in her, their new discovery. But a faint whisper of awareness shivered through her.

She looked up and felt his powerful gaze on her. He was wearing a plain black tuxedo that made his eyes seem even darker. He moved slowly, deliberately, careful of his leg. The sight of him made everyone else in the room fade away. She stared at him, unable to look away, as he approached through the crowd.

Everyone knew him, of course. The men with her were younger. Some of them were the sons of the ranchers who owned the spreads around Two of Hearts.

It wasn't anything that he said, Jean decided later. It was the casual clasp of her hand and the intimidating look he graced each of the men with when they spoke to her. It only took a few minutes for each of them to excuse themselves. She and Wes were alone in the corner of the room.

Jean sipped her drink. Instead of the false courage she'd hoped for, the whiskey was making her feel a little sick. Her heart was racing and her face felt hot. It wasn't the overblown compliments that the other men had paid her that made her pulses leap, she realized, though it was wonderful to suddenly be beautiful.

It was seeing the dark, smoldering desire in Wes' eyes as he'd approached her from across the room and realizing that it was there for her.

She regrouped her forces and pushed down that sudden surge of need he inspired when he was close to her. She repeated her promise to Jenelle and remembered that Wes might not be ready for her to tell him that she loved him.

"Nice dress," he murmured.

"Thanks," she replied. She smiled up at him though she wasn't quite brave enough to meet his eyes. "I didn't think I needed any more, but Jenelle -- "

"Knows what she's doing," he finished for her. "You didn't have anything that looked like that."

She looked up and her gaze was caught in the dark passion she saw in his eyes. Her hand trembled on the glass. "Everyone looks very nice," she said, trying to appear normal. "You look very...nice."

He clasped her hand tightly and smiled down at her. "I don't feel very nice, Jeannie."

Her heart was aching despite her best intentions. "I guess I should mingle," she said lightly. "I don't want to waste this wonderful dress."

Wes glared at the room in general. This wasn't going to work. He didn't think he could watch other men fawn all over her and act like it didn't matter to him. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. I owe it to you and Jenelle."

"We have to talk," he said, his control snapping. He caught hold of her hand and glanced around for the nearest private area.

"Wes?" Jenelle joined them. She looked pleadingly into her oldest son's eyes. "Is there a problem, son?"

Ryan Masters, an old family friend, stood beside her. "Wes," he acknowledged him with a smile. "I've heard good things about that horse of yours."

Wes let go of Jean and shook Ryan's hand. "Thanks. I've heard good things about yours, too.

"Ryan," Jenelle continued. "This is Jean, Amanda's sister. She's living here with us now. Jean, this is Ryan Masters. He and Wes grew up together."

Jean tore her gaze from Wes' tormented face. She extended her hand to Ryan Masters. "I-I'm pleased to meet you."

Ryan glanced at Wes, not wanting to invade his space but Wes turned and walked away.

"Jean and Wes are like brother and sister already," Wes heard Jenelle tell Ryan.

"Really?" Ryan looked back at the beautiful woman who was gnawing at her lip with her teeth. Her eyes followed Wes across the room. "That's...nice."

Wes ignored his mother. She could tell the whole world that they were like brother and sister. It didn't change the way he felt about Jean. He'd given Jenelle his word about the weekend. If it ripped his heart out, he wasn't going to go back on it. But he wasn't going to stand there and watch.

He grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort from the bartender and ripped off his tie on the way out the door.

"Going somewhere, Wes?" Bobby asked, a worried frown between his eyes when he saw the bottle in Wes' hands as he approached the stables.

"For a ride." was the short reply.

"Not on Barbarian?" Bobby asked, stopping as he passed him.

Wes stared at him. "Better get inside and pick up a julep before they're all gone, Bobby. I'll see you tomorrow."

His tone didn't brook any argument or question. Wes had a side to him that went dark sometimes. A place where he couldn't be reached. Bobby knew Wes would be gone before he could get to Jenelle for her to try to reason with him. All he could do was hope he'd come out of it all right.

The party didn't start breaking up until the early hours of the morning. By then, Jean had met the governor and had made the rounds of all the men Jenelle had put in front of her. She felt like Cinderella. Everything was perfect but she knew it was only for a short time. The clock would chime and she would be back to her old self.

No matter how hard she tried or what she promised Jenelle, she wasn't Amanda. Maybe she wasn't meant to spread her wings and fly. She just wanted to look in Wes' eyes and see that fire there for her.

She had stopped drinking because her head hurt. Her eyes burned on the door, waiting for some sign of Wes coming back. Bobby had told her in passing that Wes had gone out to ride Barbarian. A midnight ride on a devil of a horse.

Jean tried not to worry. He rode that terrible horse every day. She refused to think about him taking that big stallion out by himself down those dark and hazardous paths.

Several of the men she'd met, including Ryan Masters, had asked her to be their partner at the picnic after the race the next day. She'd agreed to go with Ryan, who seemed to be a nice enough man. He was about Wes' age with sandy colored hair and a mustache. His dark blue eyes were flatteringly attentive and he had a quick wit.

"I live about ten miles up the road. I don't entertain much. Not like this." He glanced around at the family room. "But I'd like to have you over for dinner one night."

"I'd like that," she replied warmly, catching a glimpse of something large and dark streaking by the front of the house. She tried to look past him without drawing his attention, hoping to see Wes' face.

"Is something wrong?" Ryan asked, watching her.

"No, I was just looking for someone."

"Wes?" he guessed.

She nodded. "He went out alone about midnight and I don't think he's come back."

Ryan looked at her with knowing eyes. Brother and sister? He didn't think so. But she was good to be with and he hated to eat lunch alone after the race. As long as Wes was sitting it out, there didn't seem to be any harm.

"He'll be okay," Ryan assured her, taking her cool hand in his own. "He knows these trails like some men know their own faces. He'll come back in one piece."

They parted at the door. Ryan kissed her cheek but didn't expect anything more.

Jean waded through the ton of debris left from the party as the catering people were starting to clean up. She looked in on Eric and Jake who were sleeping soundly. Linda was sleeping as well.

It felt strange to hand over her responsibility to another woman for the night. She had come to see herself taking Amanda's place with the boys. When they were old enough, she hoped they would feel the same about her.

She looked around the room. She had fantasized about living there with Jake and Eric, with Wes as her husband. Maybe they would even have children of their own. She wouldn't have to worry about Wes not understanding her bond to the two boys. She knew he felt the same about them.

Maybe it had happened quickly. Did that make it less important? How long did it take to realize that you were in love with a man?

She went to her room and took off the beautiful gown, hanging it carefully in her closet. She washed her face and braided her hair then pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt.

Alternately, she paced her room and sat in the chair by the window, watching for the flash of a dark horse across the hills. She wanted to go to him but tried to respect Jenelle's wishes. She had nothing else to guide her. No man had ever done the things to her that Wes had done. No one had ever touched her that way or made her feel like she was on fire. How could she know if he loved her? How could she really know if she loved him?

Someone was banging loudly on the piano and singing a song that had lyrics that would make a sailor blush.

Jean sighed. It wasn't a good weekend to expect time to sort through everything. Or to be alone. Every second of each day was planned with activities and there were thirty people staying in the house. There was too much liquor and too much food. Someone was bound to get rowdy.

She sat in the chair again and strained her eyes to look into the night. If only it were possible to look into another person that way, she considered. Wes would be able to see how much she loved him and she could see into his heart to know if he loved her.

The constant banging on the piano was beginning to get louder and more obnoxious. Worried that the singer would wake the babies, she left her room to find Lew or Bobby to help her confront him and tone down the early morning playing.

The rowdy singer was already asleep at the piano by the time she dragged Lew out of bed.

"Thanks, anyway," she said wearily.

"No problem," Lew replied with a wide grin. "Where's Wes?"

Jean was about to explain when she saw the big, black demon horse flash by the window. She ran for the door. Lew looked after her and shook his head.

Chapter Nine

The night was black and thick as syrup outside the house. In the distance was the rumble of thunder and the occasional flash of fire in the sky. Jean saw Barbarian silhouetted against the stable in one of those flashes. She ran towards the long, low building.

Wes was on the ground. He was replacing his saddle with another, tightening the cinches, adjusting the stirrups. Barbarian was fighting him. He kicked out his back legs and rolled his head. Another flash of lightning showed the demon in his eyes. He snorted when the wind blew Jean's scent to him

Wes glanced over his shoulder. "Go back to the house, Jeannie. Tell Jenelle I'm still alive."

"Jenelle doesn't know I'm out here."

He shook his head. "Go back inside, Jeannie."

His tuxedo jacket was hung carelessly over a side rail. His starkly white shirt was smudged with dust. A tear at one shoulder told its own tale of his continued fight with the horse.

Jean relaxed when she saw him. He was alive and in one piece. That was all that mattered.

Barbarian was huge. His eyes gleamed with anger and frustration. He snorted and shook his head, his mane splaying out across Wes' hands.

"No," she said stubbornly. "Maybe I want to saddle up a horse and try to kill myself."

He winced. "I'm not trying to kill myself."

Thunder rumbled deeper and closer to them. The wind picked up and blew the scent of coming rain across the yard.

"Then you're not riding out in this storm?"

He turned enough to glare at her then climbed into the saddle. Barbarian pranced under his weight.

"Go back to bed, little sister," he told her darkly.

Jean grabbed the stirrup before he could leave. "Take me with you."

"What?"

"Take me with you," she repeated, clutching the stirrup with both hands. "If it's not dangerous, take me with you."

Wind blew her hair across her face. Thunder muttered angrily across the house and stables. Lightning cracked closer, illuminating a group of oaks at the side entrance to the ranch.

Wes looked down into her upturned face at that moment. It was his undoing. Lightning illuminated her eyes and the silk of her hair. There was a smudge of lipstick at one corner of her soft mouth and a tear on her cheek.

He didn't say a word, just held down his hand to her. She grabbed it with both of hers and he pulled her up in front of him on the saddle.

"Hold on," he said, resting his head against hers. "We're going to outrun this storm."

Jean didn't know if she had ever been more terrified. She looked down and tried to see the ground and the horse's feet. It looked like it was twenty feet down.

Barbarian gave a snort and threw up his forelegs, kicking at the air. Then he bolted forward. The powerful muscles of his body carried them effortlessly. Jean knew from walking the ranch that the ground was uneven and the path was narrow. She closed her eyes and prayed that they would be safe.

Jean was tucked closely against Wes. He couldn't hold her there. He needed both hands to keep Barbarian in check. The horse didn't like the extra weight and fought him with the full strength of his body.

The storm was coming up behind them. It howled like a dead spirit, closing in on them. Icy fingers of rain tried to claw at them but the long legged animal pulled them quickly forward. Lightning cracked open the sky above them. The earth shook with the storm's wrath.

Wes had been riding those trails since he was a boy. He didn't need to see the path. He could feel the turns and the narrow ruts. He knew the places that were likely to get slick when it rained and the fork that led to the old barn they used to store hay.

He had been drunk. He'd emptied an entire bottle of whiskey before he'd realized that something was wrong with the saddle. He'd gone back for a new one. Then Jeannie had looked up at him during that lightning strike.

If he hadn't had too much to drink, he wouldn't have brought her with him. He would have left her there. He would have insisted that she go back into the house. Hell, he would have tied her to the bed, if necessary. The thought brought a series of uncomfortable images to his mind.

He felt a rush of cold air on the back on his neck. He knew it preceded the rain by a few minutes. The storm had almost caught up with them.

Lightning flowed across the sky in a single, wide arc. The old barn was bathed in light, stark relief against the black sky.

"Almost there," he growled into her ear.

He was angry. He'd been good and drunk. He'd left his own party so that he wouldn't have to face his feelings for Jeannie. Then she'd come out and changed it all with her soft hands and her soft eyes. Why hadn't she stayed inside? Or gone home with Ryan?

The thought made him angrier. Lightning cracked like a whip above their heads.

"Where are we going?" Jean asked, hardly daring to look past his shoulder.

"The old barn," he replied an instant before the wind whipped his words away.

Jean held him tightly. The horse's hooves were as loud as thunder in her ear. It felt like they were riding forever. She didn't care. She trusted Wes. She wanted to be with him.

Lightning struck a tree limb behind them and the tree went up in flame. The cold rain that washed down behind it quenched it immediately. This hiss of the dying fire and the acrid smell of the smoke hit them. Barbarian reared back, terrified. It took all of Wes' strength and skill to stay in the saddle.

Jean cringed and held on tightly.

Wes swore and urged the horse forward. What had he been thinking, bringing her with him? He'd never been so drunk that he couldn't make decisions without endangering someone's life. Why had he brought her when he knew he was going to be riding like a damn lunatic? The answer was as frightening as the storm. He loved her. He wanted her with him. He wanted to take the chances.

He wasn't sure when it had happened to him. It might have been that Christmas three years ago. It might have been happening from the moment he'd seen her.

She'd found a place in his heart. The thought of losing her to someone else was tearing him apart. He wanted to appreciate her position. He agreed with Jenelle in principal. But seeing those other men with her was driving him insane. He just wanted to take her and run away. He was running away with her.

The staid, responsible Wes Kirby. A man who knew his duty. A man who would never run away from a problem. He was running as far and as fast as he could.

The barn loomed up before them. Jean felt the horse slow to a stop.

Wes dropped her quickly to the ground. "Run!"

The barn was little better than a roof that sheltered extra hay from the elements. The sides were open to the wind and the rain. The wood was missing in some places on the walls, leaving a gap-toothed impression in the quick flashes of lightning.

Jean didn't need urging twice. She ran through towards the open doorway. Rain hit, whipped to fury by the wind. Her back was soaked in the seconds it took her to get through the opening.

Wes followed her, leading Barbarian. The horse was calm, too exhausted to put up much of a fight. The barn cowered at the full onslaught of the storm. Doves roosting in the rafters flew in circles and cooed as the thunder and rain pounded the night.

"Are you okay?' Wes asked her breathlessly.

Jean nodded until she realized that he couldn't see her. "Yes. If the barn holds up."

"It's been here for fifty years," Wes told her. "It'll make it through one more night."

His voice was loud to get over the top of the storm. Jean shuddered at the lightning flashes and kept her back against the barn wall.

"There's some stuff in here somewhere," Wes said, trying to feel along the wall in the thick blackness. "Here, hold this."

He handed Jean Barbarian's reins. She took them and hoped that the horse wouldn't decide to bolt. If he did, he would be gone. She wouldn't be able to hold him. She heard the rasp of a match against a matchbook cover then smelled sulfur. The pinpoint of light turned into a glow when Wes lit an oil lamp.

"All the comforts of home," he told her, opening a small door in the wall.

There was a tiny room that was covered better than the rest of the barn. In one corner, there was a bed frame with metal springs. In another, there was a potbelly stove. The floor was dirt liberally sprinkled with hay.

Wes gave her the lantern and took back the horse's reins. He found an old piece of blanket and thoroughly dried Barbarian's shivering body. He tied the horse in a dry corner of the barn and set out some hay for him. Barbarian snorted but he didn't try to move.

The wood around them sighed with the wind and the rain. Lightning still lit up the darkness better than the lantern. The smell of hay and wet horse mingled with the clean smell of rain.

"This used to be for an extra hand or when you just couldn't make it back to the ranch," he explained. He picked up the lantern from the place she'd set it on the stove and hung it from a hook in the ceiling. It bathed the room in an eerie, pale light.

He was soaking wet. Jean watched him wipe the water from his face with his hand. He must have made it inside an instant after her. The hard rain had drenched him immediately. His white shirt clung to his chest, emphasizing his flat stomach and wide shoulders.

She had never wanted a man before. She'd heard Amanda talking about it. Jean didn't think she was made that way. Desire was something dark and reckless that would never come her way. She was sheltered from it in her father's house with its smells of medicine and decay.

Then Wes had touched her. He had kissed her and set her soul on fire. Desire was something dark and reckless but it was inside of her. It made her skin hot and her hands tremble. Her eyes felt like liquid fire when she looked at him. Her body ached. She was weightless and wanting.

When she didn't say anything, Wes turned to her. "Are you okay, Jeannie?"

Thunder shook the barn around them. Rain pounded on the roof. Jean was looking at him. Her lips parted at his question and he felt his body grow hard. His limbs turned molten. He stripped off his wet shirt without another word. Jean stood up slowly. Wes held out his hand to her and she put her fingers into it. Their eyes locked and he drew her slowly to him.

He bowed his head and kissed the hand he held, savoring the taste of the rain on her skin.

"Wes," she whispered.

"Shh," he replied, putting a finger against her lips.

She closed her eyes and kissed his finger. Her lips lingered on his skin.

"Jeannie," he groaned, putting an arm around her waist.

"Shh," she repeated, her face close to his now. She looked into his black eyes and followed the line of his face to his lips. She pushed up a little on her toes then closed her eyes again and gently kissed his lips.

Wes let his hands slide up to touch her breasts. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him greater access to her aching body. His kisses grew deeper. Her lips opened and welcomed him. His mouth moved down her throat. Her neck arched vulnerably for his caress.

She felt languid; drunk with the pleasure he was giving her. When her shirt joined his on the steel bed frame, she barely surfaced. Their damp skin created spirals of awareness that circled from her chest to her stomach. She was kissing his shoulders and his muscular stomach, timidly touching his smooth skin. She nipped at his neck and kissed his ear.

Wes growled and rolled over. He realized then that they were on the floor. His wet jeans were barely on his hips. Hers were open, revealing the fine lace on the band of her pink panties.

Jean was straddling him. The hard imprint of his body pushing against hers was feeding the tearing ache inside of her. A crack of thunder startled her and she pushed down on him. He groaned and cupped her thighs with his hands.

"Did I...hurt you?" she asked through kiss swollen lips.

"No," he assured her. "There's not enough of you to make a dent on me."

She smiled and smoothed her hands down his stomach. "You are beautiful."

He laughed easily. "Sweetheart, from my vantage point, you're an angel!"

Jean blushed self consciously, glancing down at her white bra and their intimate position. "Thanks."

Wes pushed himself up and kissed her again. "I'm sure this wasn't what Jenelle had in mind."

"I know," she replied, getting to her feet. She pulled on her sweatshirt and watched from beneath her lashes as he looked at his ruined white shirt.

"Not enough there to save," he pronounced, putting it back down on the metal springs.

He looked around the room. There were no chairs but hay was piled in one corner. Jean started to perch on the edge of the bed frame. He took her hand and drew her across the room with him.

"This hay will be more comfortable," he explained, sitting down on the pile. His back was against the barn wall. "The storm will pass."

He pulled her down. She was half on his lap, half in the hay. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again. The thunder still rumbled around them and the night was still wild. Barbarian snorted, as though he were protesting their intimacy.

Jean sighed, happy to be in his arms. Part of her was afraid of what he might say to her. All of her wanted to stay with him. But could she go on that way? Enjoying his kisses and his caresses with no commitment? Could she crawl into his bed when the twins were asleep and Jenelle wasn't looking and still have any respect for herself?

It wasn't a modern way to feel. But maybe she was a generation behind. She loved Wes and she wanted to marry him. She didn't know if she could live with anything less.

"That's better," he remarked. His arms were loosely around her. Her head was against his chest.

The rain continued to beat a steady tattoo against the roof but they were dry inside the barn. Wes' chest was smooth against the side of Jean's face. She fit her nose into a hollow in the side of his neck. He smelled like rain and fresh air and his spicy aftershave that she had come to think of as being part of him.

"I've been a fool in my life, Jeannie. I've done some things I'm not proud of to keep a roof over our heads. But when my father died, that was all I had to keep his memory alive. I felt like if we lost the ranch, I'd lose him all over again."

She nodded. "I know what you mean. I feel like that with the boys knowing about Amanda. It's like I can keep part of her alive as long as they know about her."

He sighed and kissed the top of her head. "I want you to know that I never touched your sister, in anger or passion. When Grif and I first met her, she couldn't seem to make up her mind who to set her cap for. One day she'd want me to take her out for lunch. The next, she'd be kissing Grif in the swimming pool. I knew she wasn't the one for me. I never dreamed that she and Grif would get serious about each other."

"Why?" she asked, pulling her head back to look at him. A muscle worked in his jaw. Whatever he was about to tell her wasn't pleasant.

"I was married once. I'm sure Jenelle told you."

She nodded but didn't interrupt. She wanted to hear about Cherise.

"Cherise was so beautiful that she was like a statue or a painting. She looked at me and it was like standing in the moonlight. I was infatuated with her, I guess. Or obsessed. I don't know. She was different than any woman I had ever known."

Jean closed her eyes and imagined the ill-fated Cherise. She cringed when she heard Wes' deep voice telling her how beautiful the other woman was and how much he thought about her.

"We met in New York. I was there for two weeks buying a stallion. She was working there as a model. It was different while we were there. All cafes, late nights and nightclubs. I knew I was coming home. I understood the difference. I thought she did too. I thought she could live here with me and we could be happy."

"What happened?"

He shrugged. "She didn't know what she was getting into. She thought about the mint juleps and the parties and the races. She didn't realize that most of the year is just plain hard work and nothing fancy. She wanted me to take her away but I had a promise to keep. Grif was still in school. Jenelle couldn't run the place by herself. I couldn't lose my father again by letting go of the ranch. But I didn't want to let go of her either."

Jean heard the anguish in his voice and put her arms around him.

Wes smiled and kissed her before he continued. "She wasn't meant to be here, Jeannie. I knew it and she knew it. We kept going even though she started drinking. Even when she was miserable enough to take another lover just to get my attention. Until she climbed on a horse like Barbarian, dead drunk. She couldn't have handled him even if she'd been sober."

Jean was silent while the rain and wind battered against the barn. Lightning flashed through the cracks in the wall. "And you thought Amanda was like Cherise?"

He nodded. "I'm not doubting that Amanda loved Grif. I think Cherise loved me at the beginning. But things change people. Some people are stronger than others. They can handle living out here, the long hours and the smell of horses. Cherise couldn't. Neither could Amanda. I saw it from the beginning but Grif didn't. It was like watching a bad rerun of my own marriage."

"It must have been hard not to interfere," she sympathized.

"It was. I know living here killed Cherise. I know it made Amanda unhappy. Even my mother left my father once after he won the ranch. She came back but the worry and the hard work has taken its toll on her. Things are good right now but they can get rough."

Jean's chin came up. She looked him in the eye. "I guess it's a good thing you didn't have to ask me to live here then."

He studied her face thoughtfully for a minute and then smoothed his hand across her cheek. "I guess so."

"Because you need me," she continued. "The boys need me."

"We do," he admitted. "Our lives are better with you here."

Jean was sorry she brought Jake and Eric into it. She wanted him to say that he needed her. That he couldn't live without her. That he loved her and wanted to marry her.

"But what about you, Jeannie?"

"What?"

"You haven't had enough time on your own to figure out what you need. Jenelle was right. You went from taking care of an old man to taking care of two babies. There's more to life than just taking care of someone else."

"I like taking care of Eric and Jake," she answered quickly. "I like living on the ranch with all of you."

He kissed her forehead but when he looked into her eyes, he saw doubt there. It made his heart freeze. "You don't ever have to be afraid again, Jeannie. You have a place here with us as long as you need it. We'll always be here for you."

Jeannie felt as though someone had punched her. It was like telling her that he wouldn't ask her to marry him.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him. That she wouldn't leave him, even if times got rough. But she couldn't offer herself to him with no hope of commitment for the future. It was wrong. If she did that, she would end up as unhappy as Cherise or Amanda.

Wes didn't know what to say to her. To feel her withdraw from him was more painful than anything he'd ever felt. He knew what it sounded like to her. He wasn't stupid. She had to feel like he was offering her a place in his bed but not in his life. He'd kissed her, touched her. A woman like Jean had to think that he was going to offer to marry her.

And he loved her. That was the real piece of work. He wanted her so badly that it made his teeth hurt. But in all fairness, she was a baby. Fresh out of one caregiver role and into another. It was nearly as bad as expecting a model from New York to want to live there with him.

If things had been different, he told himself, hating the look of confusion and betrayal he saw on her pretty face. If things had been different, he would have given it another try. If she had lived a little more or had some idea of what she wanted out of life, he would have gone further.

But he knew he was lying to himself. He was just plain scared. He didn't want to love Jeannie and see that look come over her face when she realized that she didn't love him anymore. He wasn't willing to take that chance again.

Jean stood up slowly. It was very quiet inside the barn. "I think it must have stopped raining."

He nodded and stood up beside her. "I guess we can head back."

She looked at him closely, trying to determine if it was something she had done wrong or if it was just him.

He caught his breath sharply at the look of pain and hurt in her eyes. "Jeannie, I don't want you to leave. I know we've had this...physical thing...between us. I didn't mean to take advantage of you."

"You haven't," she assured him. "I've only done what I wanted to do."

"It won't happen again," he promised. "Our relationship means a lot to me."

"Our relationship?"

He nodded. "You're family. The boys love you."

"The boys," she repeated.

"We...all want you here," he answered, trying to choose his words carefully.

She stared at him for a minute more then she ran out of the barn.

"Jeannie, wait!"

Barbarian snorted and tossed his mane at her but she ignored him. She looked around herself, tears blurring her vision despite her best attempts to stop them.

She ran into the trees that led back to the house. She'd walked the paths down through that area and knew they couldn't take the horses through the thick woods. It was at least two miles from the ranch but she didn't care. Maybe she would have cried herself out by then.

He wasn't worth crying about, she told herself, scrubbing her fists against her face. He was cold and hard and wasn't worth her loving him. He didn't even ask her to sleep with him!

Not that she would have, she told herself as she raced back to the ranch. New leaves and twigs caught in her hair as she ran through the trees. She ignored them. She heard Wes call her name when he came out of the barn and couldn't find her. She ignored him, too.

He wanted her. She might not be experienced but even she could tell that. He was just too stubborn or too scared to love her. It was easier to pretend that he was doing the right thing. That he was protecting her from not knowing her own mind. It was easy to hide behind his memories of Cherise and Amanda.

Maybe he just didn't love her the way she loved him. Maybe she was better off without him and she would find someone else to share her life. He and Jenelle were both too quick to judge her life. She might have taken care of her father and Amanda but that didn't mean she didn't know her own mind.

The trees cleared and the ranch was laid out before her. She was breathing hard from her sprint through the trees but she ran across the wet grass to the back door. The powerful stallion came bounding up from the trail as she was closing the door behind her.

She heard him call her name as the door slammed shut. Resolutely, she turned away and stalked into the nursery.

Chapter Ten

Later in the morning, the sun was shining and the house and grounds were immaculate. It was as though the party and the long night had never happened. Jean knew that was a piece of fanciful thinking as she helped Linda feed Eric and Jake. The disastrous night had happened and there was no going back.

Linda kept twisting her neck painfully, complaining of the way she'd slept in the chair the previous night. Lew was listening to his music while he made several urns of coffee and popped croissants by the dozen out of the ovens.

It was still early, too early for most of the guests to be up after the party last night. Jean had showered and changed when she'd come in just after dawn. The house had been quiet and she had slipped in unobserved. Thank goodness. She felt like enough of a fool.

"Morning, Wes," Lew said with a huge smile. "Hell of a party last night, eh?"

Wes shook his head and poured himself a huge cup of coffee. "It makes my head hurt to talk about it, Lew."

Lew laughed and went back to his baking. Wes stood at the counter and drank his coffee, reading through some documents.

"Good morning, Mr. Kirby," Linda sang out sweetly. "I hope things were...satisfactory last night?"

Wes looked up at her and glanced at Jean and the twins. "Everything went fine."

He looked a little pale but otherwise, Jean couldn't tell that he was any worse for the experience. He must have a strong constitution, she decided, feeding Eric his last spoonful of cereal. Jake was already finished and ready to go back to the nursery and play.

"I'm glad to hear it," Linda finished lamely. She turned her gaze to Jean. "I'll take the boys back to the nursery. Mrs. Kirby was looking for you."

"Don't be silly," Jean protested, picking Eric up. "I have to go back that way anyway. I'll take this one."

Jean started out of the kitchen with Eric squirming to get down out of her arms. He was reaching and calling for Wes, his baby hands making grabbing gestures towards his uncle.

"I'll take him," Wes said, holding the baby's hands in return. "Did you miss me? Haven't I been paying you enough attention the last few days?" He put the baby on his shoulders. Eric laughed and reached for the pen in his pocket. Wes held him tightly and bounced like a horse with him to the nursery.

Along the way, he stopped and introduced Eric to a few of the guests. Eric obligingly blew bubbles for them and tried to say his favorite word sandwich. Wes took them into the nursery and let Jake show off.

Jean watched them from the doorway, feeling out of place. Wes was proud of his nephews. Anyone who knew him could testify to that. And he was a good man. Anyone who knew him would agree with that statement. He'd make some lucky lady a fine husband, many of his friends had told her at the party. She turned away and went in search of Jenelle.

She wished the day were over. She wished that she would never have to face Wes again. A part of her just wanted to forget that anything had ever happened between them. She could go on caring for the boys and everything would be as she'd thought it would when she had set out for Two of Hearts. But she couldn't forget.

Even as she was in the kitchen with Wes, she could feel that indefinable pull. She didn't look directly at him. He didn't look at her at all. Yet that feeling that had drawn her to him was just as strong. She was afraid that if he had spoken her name that she would have wept and begged him to love her. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted him to call her sweetheart and burn his kisses on her lips.

But you can't make him love you; a small, terrifying voice in her head reminded her. You can't make him trust you.

Jean found Jenelle in the greenhouse, mourning some wilted orchids.

"Just look at these," Wes' mother invited, holding up the flower. "Too much mist, I think."

"Jenelle," she began. Then she dissolved into tears. Before she could catch her breath, the whole thing was out of her. When she was finished crying, Jenelle was staring at her with a terrible look of sorrow on her face.

Jenelle sighed. "I was afraid this might happen. I could talk to Wes for you."

"No!" Jean didn't want that. "I'll sort this out myself."

"I'm sorry," Jenelle said quietly, looking tired and sad. "No one would have liked it to work out between the two of you more than me."

"Even though you don't think I can decide what I want?" Jean asked plaintively.

Jenelle looked embarrassed. "I was trying to protect you both. I care about you, Jean. I didn't want you to be hurt but Wes is my son. I didn't want him to be hurt again, either."

"I understand. But I do love him. If he'd give me the chance, I could prove it to him."

"We should be getting ready for the race," Jenelle told her, putting down her gardening supplies and pulling off her apron. "Let's walk back together. Maybe we can think of something."

Already the houseguests were buzzing around the coffee and croissants. Jenelle went down the long, back hall to her rooms. Jean walked through the house to reach hers.

Wes was sipping coffee with several of his friends, talking about horses and the weather. It took all of his will power not to call out to Jean as he saw her walk by the group without speaking. His head ached this morning. His eyes felt like sandpaper.

He wanted Jean. In his arms. In his bed. He wanted to wake up next to her and play in the nursery with their children. He wanted it all. The whole dream. But he knew it wasn't going to happen.

He'd never thought of himself as a romantic but he knew he must be one. Only a hard-headed, dyed-in-the-wool romantic would let himself fall in love twice with the wrong woman.

This time, though, he hadn't let it go as far. Maybe that meant he was getting better. If he could let Jean go before she caused him permanent damage, maybe there was a chance for him.

He put down his cup and left the laughing crowd where they stood at the coffee urn. Who was he kidding? He was already permanently damaged. He had acted like a fool last night, getting drunk and riding Barbarian without a thought for the fact that the horse was barely broken. He was already past damage control and was walking that twisted path to crazy.

He knocked on Jenelle's door and entered when she called for him. He stood for a long moment, watching her carefully put on her makeup and adjust her hair.

"You look awful this morning," she remarked, glancing at him in the mirror. "Too much whiskey or too much night?"

He ran a hand around the back of his neck, trying to ease out the knot he felt there. "Just plain stupidity. Did Jean say anything to you about last night?"

Jenelle's face became guarded. "I spoke with her."

"Is that it? Don't I even get a hint what's going on?"

Jenelle turned to face him. "What's going on with you, Wes? You seduce the girl, then you decide you can live without her."

His eyes didn't leave hers. "I didn't seduce her. I kissed her. Probably more times than I should have but I haven't tried to put any hold on her. For what it's worth, I think you're right. I think she doesn't know what she wants."

"Or who?" she demanded.

"Or who," he agreed in a low voice.

"Wes," his mother began. "I think I may have been wrong."

"What are you saying?"

She looked away from him. "I think this girl really loves you. The once in a lifetime kind. The kind that sees you through good and bad times."

"You said yourself that she's spent her life as a care giver," he reminded her.

"I know what I said, Wes," she answered promptly. "I was afraid for her. She seemed so young and helpless when she first came here. But the more I know her, the more I realize how strong she is. I was afraid for you, too. I was afraid you might not be able to handle another woman who didn't love you enough to stay in your life."

He nodded. "So, you protected us both?"

"That's right," she defended. "Jean doesn't have a mother to speak up for her. And I am your mother. That gives me a right to interfere when I'm afraid something bad might happen to you. It also gives me the right to be wrong. I was wrong to keep this ranch and expecting you to take care of it, no matter what. And I was wrong about you and Jean. If God lets me live a few more years, I expect to be wrong again."

Wes frowned but he kissed his mother. "I can live with that."

Jenelle smiled through tear misted eyes. "Do you love her?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I do. I've just been too stubborn to admit it."

"And scared that she could be Cherise all over again?"

"That too."

"What are you going to do?" she wondered, looking at her handsome, unhappy son.

"I don't know," he admitted, thinking about what he had told Jean in the barn and her reaction to it. "I just don't know."

For the first time since he could recall, Wes wanted to skip his duty that morning and look for Jean. But Bobby and David were waiting for him to take 'Wager' to the track and a young mare was foaling. Duty and responsibility warred with his heart and his desire. He turned back towards the house to find Jean.

He saw her with Jake and Eric. Ryan was helping her into a carriage he'd brought to take them down to the track. Pride made him stop and watch as Jean smiled into Ryan's face while he lifted her into the carriage. She was wearing an outfit he'd helped her pick out. The bright colors made her skin glow and the fitted waist made her look dainty in the other man's grasp.

It should have been me at her side.

Wes was angry. Ryan was a good friend and a gentleman. He didn't have to worry about anything happening between them. There was nothing to rescue Jean from, except his own imagination. He reached the carriage as Ryan was getting in next to Jean and the boys.

"Morning, Wes," Ryan greeted him with a smile. "How's 'Wager' feeling this morning?"

Wes glanced at Jean. She didn't look up at him. Eric and Jake were both calling to him. "Nice carriage."

"Thanks," Ryan replied, looking from Jean's unhappy face to Wes. "Something wrong?"

"No," Wes growled at him.

Ryan tried to understand his friend's mood. "I'd ask you to join us but the carriage is pretty full."

"So I noticed."

"Can we go now?" Jean asked quietly. "The boys are getting restless."

Ryan glanced at his watch. "We're all going to miss the race if we don't get down there."

Wes stepped aside. "See you there."

They watched him stalk away towards the stables. Ryan wisely said nothing.

Multicolored blankets were thrown across the grounds, under trees and gracing hills in the lush green grass overlooking the track. Crystal fluted glasses were filled with champagne and silver chafing dishes were set out with every imaginable food. Flags near each picnic area marked the number of the ranch and the horse that was in the race. The governor, his silver hair gleaming in the sun, was ready to start the race.

Jean looked around the area. She saw Jenelle and her guests by the flag for Two of Hearts. They were seated on a candy-striped blanket. She saw Francis Swarrington and her colorful party. But there was no sign of Wes.

"I see 'Wager'," Ryan picked up on her anxiety. "She's with Bobby and David at the starting gate. But I don't see Wes."

"He wouldn't miss the race," she speculated.

The governor's starting pistol sounded and the horse's were off. It took less than three minutes for Ryan's horse Annabella to beat all the others, including 'Wager', who showed up a strong second. The men were congratulating each other. The women were toasting the winner.

"Excuse me," Ryan said to Jean, his blue eyes gleaming brightly. "I think I have a Derby winner to congratulate!"

Jean nodded, happy for him. Jenelle had told her how badly Ryan's ranch needed a winning horse. Without one, he would probably lose everything.

There was still no sign of Wes. She gathered the twins together and walked down the hill. Jenelle was looking for her son as well.

"I can't believe he missed the race," Jenelle told her. "What could have happened to him?"

Jean squinted into the sun to look for Bobby and David. "If you'll watch the boys, I'll try to find out."

Jenelle nodded and smiled at Jordan. "Between us, I think we can manage."

She started to tell Jean about her conversation with Wes that morning then stopped herself. She'd done enough damage already trying to be helpful.

***

Jean walked down the steep slope to the winner's circle where Bobby and David were congratulating Ryan on his win. "Have you seen Wes?"

"He stayed back at the stable with Windsong. She was having a rough time," Bobby told her.

"Windsong?" she wondered with a frown.

"She's a young mare," David explained. "She's having trouble foaling."

On impulse, she decided to walk back to the stable. The twins were in good hands. She wanted to see Windsong for herself. Maybe the foal had been born. She could tell Wes that 'Wager' hadn't won but she had finished second. She didn't know if that was good or not. It was really just an excuse to see him.

Not that she needed one, she considered with a sigh as she picked a dandelion out of the thick grass. She would be seeing him every day for the rest of her life and she would know that she couldn't have him. Torturing herself by seeing him alone with the mare seemed unnecessary but her feet felt compelled to follow the path back to the house.

She wanted to rage at him. She wanted to tell him that he was ruining both their lives by refusing to take a chance on her. He was giving in to his fear. If he loved her, he would want to be with her. All those things that she'd wanted to say to him as she walked back were lost as she saw him in the stall with the pretty young horse.

He was coaxing her into standing again. The young colt at her side was nudging her with his white nose. He was standing on wobbly spindle legs that threatened to give out on him at any time. His mother made a few rumbling sounds in her throat but she stared away from her offspring.

"Come on, girl," Wes whispered to her. "This little one will be left without his mother if you don't get up. Try once more for me. Come on."

He stroked her neck and nuzzled his face into hers. The horse didn't look as though she was going to make it.

"I know you're tired. And I know a thing or two about giving up. I've been too stubborn sometimes and held on when I should have let go. I probably helped kill Cherise like that. But I shouldn't have given up on Jeannie. I should have trusted my instinct. I should have believed that it was possible when I knew that I loved her

The horse laid her head back further. Wes continued to stroke her neck.

"You can't just leave him here, Windsong. He's strong and healthy but he needs a mother. Everyone needs someone to love them."

A tall, gray haired man rushed into the stable and Jean stepped back behind a block of hay stacked against the wall.

"She's still hanging on," Wes told the man.

"I got here as soon as I could. The colt looks good and strong."

"He needs his Mama to stand up, Doc."

"She's already been down a while, Wes."

Wes stood up beside the animal and took her head in his hands. "Come on, baby. I know you can do it. It's got to be now. You've got to stand up now!"

The horse made a whimpering sound but then she started to gather her legs under her. It took a few tries but she lurched to her feet. The baby nuzzled her and Wes kissed her face.

"Damndest thing I ever saw," Doc pronounced.

"Wes! Wes!" Bobby ran into the stable.

"She was gone, boys," the old vet told them when they looked at the mare on her feet, licking at her baby. "I woulda' sworn she was gone. Wes talked her into getting up again."

Jean disappeared from the stable before anyone could see her. She stood with her back to the white washed wall for a long time, absorbing the warm sunshine and Wes' words.

I should have believed it was possible when I knew that I loved her.

Wes did love her! What could she do?

***

Once Windsong was on her feet, Wes joined in the celebration. He gave Ryan a bottle of good champagne and raised a toast to his horse. If Wager couldn't win the Derby, Ryan's Annabella was his next favorite pick.

"So, what's up between you and Jean?" Ryan asked when they had a moment alone.

Both men glanced up the hill where Jean was playing with the twins. Her brilliantly colored dress was a splash of brightness against the deep green.

"I don't know," Wes admitted to his long-time friend.

Ryan sipped his champagne. "Maybe you should find out before someone else snaps her up. She's great."

Wes eyed him critically. "Are you threatening to be the one?"

"I might be," Ryan replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Let's not find out, huh? Take care of it, Wes."

The local paper wanted a picture of Ryan with Annabella. He left Wes standing by the track, watching Jean and the twins.

Wes sipped his champagne and his mind went around in circles. What could he say to her that would make her understand? I'm sorry. I love you sounded simplistic. He wanted something more spectacular. Something that would inspire her to tell him if she loved him.

He tossed back the rest of his champagne and headed back to the stable to check on Windsong. Maybe something would come to him. He couldn't talk to her in the middle of the party anyway. Everyone would be gone on Sunday. Maybe he could talk to her then.

He glanced at Jean one more time, loving every part of her. The way the sun highlighted her hair. The way she smiled. The way she moved and laughed. He was pathetic but with any luck, he wouldn't be alone anymore.

***

Jean was resolute in her plan. It had occurred to her when she had walked back to the picnic from the barn. She knew what she had to do. She left the boys with Linda after the picnic. Fireflies were starting to sprinkle across the shadowed lawns. They lit up the trees and sparkled against the night sky.

"Will you be coming back to help with their baths?" Linda asked hopefully.

"Not tonight," Jean answered her firmly. "I'll see you in the morning for breakfast. Have a good night."

She closed the door behind her. She could tell that Linda was disappointed that she wouldn't be getting off early so that she could join the rest of the party. For once, Jean was putting her own interests first.

She went back to her room and took a long, hot bath. She thought about Wes. About how good they'd be together. About the wonderful life they could have if he loved her half as much as she loved him. She didn't think about the possibility that her plan could fail. She'd read once that a good general doesn't recognize defeat. She was going to be that good general. Defeat wasn't going to be part of her that night.

Jean chose her weapons carefully. She put on the gold earrings that Jenelle had given her for the party. She draped the matching gold necklace around her throat. She dried her hair then brushed it until it gleamed. She hesitated over the clasp then decided against it. It would look better without it.

She wore her good perfume and she used her cosmetics with a lavish hand. She smoothed on lip gloss and darkened her eyelashes to make her eyes look deeper and more noticeable. Then she put on a delicate ankle chain that had a tiny gold bell on it. The chain had been a gift from Amanda. Her father had called it tawdry.

Jean flicked the bell with her fingernail and smiled when she heard the bell chime prettily. It chimed again when she walked. She looked at herself in the full- length mirror then pulled on her robe.

Quickly before she could lose her nerve and her battle plans melted into sheer terror, she walked down the back hall to Wes' rooms. She opened the door carefully and glanced around the darkened room. There was no sign of Wes. She closed the door behind her but didn't turn on the light. With as much grace and courage as she could muster, she took off her green robe and laid it over the back of a chair.

She pushed at Wes' mattress with her hand then laid down on it. At that point, her battle plans failed her. Should she drape herself artistically across the pillows? Should she playfully plump up the pillows and perch in waiting for him? She yawned, exhausted from the long day and the wild night. She lay down on the bed and stared at the dark ceiling. Then she promptly fell asleep.

Wes came in a short time later. He had showered and shaved and put on a hated tuxedo one more time. Tomorrow, it would be over for another year, he promised himself. Tomorrow, he was going to sort things out with Jean.

He had looked for her everywhere. No one had seen her since she'd come back from the picnic with the twins. Eric and Jake were asleep in their cribs while Linda read some dark detective novel. She admitted that she hadn't seen Jean in two hours.

It started to worry him when he asked around and no one had seen her. He'd finally come back to his room, away from the crowd, to call security. Everything was probably fine. He just wanted to know where she was and that she was all right.

He switched on the light next to the bed and drew in a deep breath. There was a woman asleep on his bed. A naked woman. She was lying in a semi-fetal position, faced away from him. Her tiny waist curved into a slim hip and thigh. Her dark hair was spilling over her shoulder. Her --

"Jeannie?" The name came from his lips as he realized who it was.

She opened her eyes and looked at him carefully. "Wes. I've been waiting for you."

Wes took in the gold chain at her throat and as she moved, the tiny gold bell at her ankle. She moved her hair away from her face with a languid hand and smiled at him.

He thanked God that he was in good condition. Anything less and he would have had a heart attack on the spot. His pulses were hammering at him. All brain activities ceased. He sat down on the side of the bed and stared at her as though he were a virginal teenager on his first date.

"What are you doing in here?" he finally managed to croak out. He couldn't take his eyes away from her. She was beautiful. And he wanted her so much that he had to put his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her.

She stretched, hoping it was a good sign that he was staring at her and seemed to be having a hard time talking. "I came because I give in."

"You...give in?"

"I love you, Wes. I just want to be with you." She swallowed hard. "If you won't marry me, I'll take what I can get. Maybe I'm not...experienced at these things. But I know what I want."

"What did I tell you about that second-hand stuff?" he demanded.

She blinked.

He laughed. "You always manage to surprise me, Jeannie."

She looked at him. Doubt was beginning to cloud her battle plan. "You're surprised that I love you?"

He ripped off his tie and kicked off his shoes. "No. I'm surprised that I never pictured you this way. You make one hell of a seductress, sweetheart."

When he took off his jacket and dropped it to the floor, her head came up. He was taking off his shirt and pants.

"Wes?" she asked, starting to get nervous. "Isn't there something you want to say to me?"

"Not right now," he denied, his eyes freely roaming her luscious body. "It can wait."

He was down to his under shorts. His thumbs were looped across the waist when she sat up and grabbed at the comforter that covered his bed.

"Wes!"

He leaned over. His body pinned her back to the bed. His dark eyes gleamed into hers. "I love you, Jeannie. And I could never be happy knowing my ring wasn't on your finger. There aren't enough dangerous horses or Kentucky bourbon to take away that pain."

"Wes -- "

He kissed her slowly, lingering over the taste and smell of her. Indulging himself in the pleasure of looking at her. "I was a fool, Jeannie. I'm sorry that I couldn't say what was in my heart. I'd like to tell you that I'm sorry you felt you had to do this for me." He grinned at her. "But I'd be lying. I've dreamed of you here in my bed for so long. I can't find fault with whatever put you here."

Jean smiled back at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She brought him down close to her. "I'll be here for you. I want you to know that, Wes."

"We'll be here for each other," he added.

"Life has its ways," she observed soberly.

"So does love," he answered, kissing her chin and her nose. "I'll always love you, Jeannie."

She snuggled up close to him and smiled in a wicked way. "Can you start...tonight?"

Wes tried to take in a deep breath. It was no use. She'd stolen it away.

"I think I could, sweetheart. Tonight and the rest of my life."

The End

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Table Of Contents

eBook Info

1-58749-300-4

Two of Hearts

Joyce and Jim Lavene

8/20/2002

Awe-Struck E-Books

Romance