Montana Passions: Stranded With the Groom / All He Ever Wanted / Prescription: Love

That secret something behind his eyes was telling her no. “Justin?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there…something else you want to say to me?”

Justin looked at the incredible woman across from him and never wanted to look away.

His chest felt tight—as if something strong and relentless was squeezing it. His gut twisted.

The urge was there, in his clenched gut and his tight chest—an urge almost too powerful to deny.

To tell her everything. To throw over his carefully constructed plans.

To lay it all out for her: what Caleb really was to him and how he meant to make the older man pay for the cruel things he’d done.

To hit her with the whole truth: how from the first night fate threw them together, he’d felt the heat between them and decided to make use of it, to toss her into the mix. How he’d purposely set out to take advantage of the situation, and of her.

It was crazy, even to think he might open his mouth and…

No.

He wasn’t going to blow it. He’d waited too long to get to the man who’d ruined his mother’s hope and happiness. He had to remember…

All of it. The times she didn’t come home until he was sick with fear and worry. The nights she was home, when he’d wake and have that strange, lost feeling and come out of his room to find her at the kitchen table or curled up on the couch, her eyes swollen and red from crying, the end of her cigarette glowing like a burning eye in the dark.

He had to remember…

The suicide attempts. The never-ending new starts that always went wrong. Caleb’s name on her lips like an unanswered prayer the day that she died…

Of lung cancer. She never would give up those damn cigarettes until the last few months of her life. And by then it was too late. Lung cancer got her—but Caleb Douglas killed her as sure as if he’d put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

Caleb Douglas broke her heart and she never did find a way to mend it again. Justin, just a kid, had been powerless to help her.

He wasn’t powerless anymore.

And damned if he was giving up now.

He was set on a course and it was a just course. What he would do was perfectly legal; he had the power now—power Caleb himself had put in his hands—and he would use it.

In the end, if all went according to plan, there would be big profits for everyone. Including Caleb.

That was the beauty of it. Everybody would win.

At least in terms of the bottom line.

He only wished…

Wished.

It was a word for fools, for helpless little boys who spent too much time alone, for boys with no fathers, whose mothers too seldom came home…

He wasn’t a little boy anymore.

And he wasn’t going to spew his guts to anyone—not even to sweet Katie Fenton who was turning out to be a hell of a lot more woman than he’d ever bargained for.

Those amber eyes were still waiting.

He couldn’t stand the disappointment he saw in them. “I want to see you when we get out of here, Katie. I want to see you and I will.”

And I will.

Now, where the hell had that come from?

He’d been so careful. He’d never actually lied to her.

Not until now.

But then again, he did want to see her again.

Though he knew damn well he shouldn’t, he wanted to keep on seeing her. He wanted…

A whole hell of a lot more with her than he was ever going to get.

He shouldn’t have lied. But the words were out now. No calling them back. In future, he’d just have to keep a closer watch on his tongue.

He silently vowed he would do just that as she watched him with worried eyes.

Chapter Eight

Katie opened her eyes to the sight of the shadowed rafters overhead.

For a second or two, with the soft mist of sleep still fogging her mind, she wondered where she was.

And then she placed herself: the four-poster bed in the Historical Museum. With no windows to let in the light from outside, she couldn’t begin to guess what time it was. There was one clock. An intricate gold leaf ormolu piece with Cupid strumming a lyre perched on top. It sat on the mantel in the “parlor” area.

She couldn’t see the face of it from the bed. Plus, it wasn’t wound and always read ten-fifteen.

And what did it matter, anyway, what time it was? She and Justin weren’t going anywhere until the snowplow finally showed up. They could sleep all day and stay up all night. There was no schedule, just whatever suited them.

Justin…

What was going on with him?

There had been a certain…reserve—a new distance between them, since dinnertime, when she told him she wanted to see him after they got out of here and asked him if he wanted to see her.

He’d definitely withdrawn from her after that. From then on, when she spoke, he gave her single-sentence replies. When she looked at him, his gaze would slide away. Also, it had seemed to her that he was careful to avoid touching her. He kept his distance emotionally—and physically, too.

All evening she’d told herself to let it be. The guy didn’t have to be hanging on her every word every minute of the day. Maybe he just wanted a little time to himself. In such close quarters, there was no easy way for him to claim some private space.