Secrets and Lies: He's A Bad Boy / He's Just A Cowboy

“I know we could, but this is serious stuff. I’m working.”

He sighed again, long and loud. Not quite so friendly. “It’s just a few columns, Rachelle. I thought we agreed that you’d go back, write whatever it is you have to, and then come back here. Pronto.”

“If it works out that way.”

“Well, try, won’t you? I miss you already.”

“Me, too,” she replied before saying goodbye and hanging up. She wanted to sag against the wall; there was something about her recent conversations with David that seemed to suck all the life right out of her. He wasn’t a controlling man, not really, not like Jackson, but he did try to manipulate her subtly, and that bothered her. He deftly attempted to mold her way of thinking to his. She would have preferred an out-and-out confrontation. She would have preferred an honest fight with someone like Jackson.

She brought herself up short. She didn’t mean that, of course; she couldn’t mean it.

“Trouble in paradise?” Jackson said with just a trace of sarcasm.

“No trouble. And definitely no paradise.”

He glanced at the phone. “Your husband?”

“Afraid not,” she replied breezily.

“Boyfriend?”

“Look, I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

Java slunk out of the bedroom. The black cat took one look at Jackson, arched her back and sidestepped back down the hall.

“Friendly,” Jackson remarked.

“You already told me to steer clear of the Fitzpatrick murder and I told you that I was going to do my job as I saw fit, so what is it you want from me, Jackson?” Rachelle finally asked. “I thought I made it clear that you weren’t welcome.”

His eyes held hers for an instant too long, and the back of her throat tightened in memory. “What I want…” he said with a twisted smile. He rubbed the back of his neck, his hair, still slightly on the long side, brushing his fingers. “That’s not easy.”

“Not what you want,” she clarified. “What you want from me. There’s a big difference.”

He crossed to the kitchen and hoisted one leg over a barstool. Seated at the bar, he could watch her as she wiped the kitchen counter for the third time. He leaned forward, elbows on the tile, hands clasped in front of him. “What’re you trying to accomplish by all this?”

Maybe it was time for honesty. “I needed to come back here, clear up my feelings about the past, reexamine this town because it’s time I got on with my future.”

“With the guy on the phone?”

She met his gaze boldly. “Yes.”

“He gonna give you everything you want?” Jackson asked, and when she hesitated, he added, “You know, I’m surprised. I thought by now you’d probably be married and have a couple of kids.”

She flinched inside at the mention of children. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted a baby, a child to raise. For a short time, twelve years ago, she’d fantasized about being pregnant and having Jackson’s child. All things considered, she was lucky she hadn’t conceived.

“You may as well know,” she said, tucking the towel into the handle of the oven door. “Monday morning I’m interviewing Thomas Fitzpatrick.”

Jackson’s expression changed. His smile fell and his eyes turned dark. “Why not start at the top?” he asked sarcastically.

“Whether you like it or not, he’s the single most important man in this town. For the past twenty-five years, he’s shaped the future of Gold Creek.”

“Lucky him.” He climbed off the stool. “I’m surprised he agreed to talk to you.”

“So was I. But he probably decided that he couldn’t dodge me forever and even if he tried, it wouldn’t look good. Remember the man is supposed to have political aspirations.”

Jackson’s eyebrows quirked. “You like to live dangerously.”

She stared at him long and hard. “I did once,” she admitted. “But that was a long time ago.”

She walked to the front door again and held it open. “I don’t think we have much more to say to each other, Jackson,” she whispered, though the questions that had bothered her for twelve years still swam in her mind. Why had he never called? Once he was released from jail, why didn’t he stop by? Why had he left her to battle the town all by herself? And why, oh why, had he never so much as mentioned the night that she’d given herself to him, body and soul?

This time he left. He paused only for a second at the door, and for an insane instant Rachelle thought he was going to kiss her. His gaze caressed hers then moved to her mouth.

Her lungs stopped taking in air as his gaze shifted back to hers. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said as if he really meant it. Her heart ached dully for an instant, and when he traced her jaw with one lean finger, she didn’t have the strength to pull away.

“I think you should go,” she said, and he touched her lips with his thumb. Inside she was melting, her pulse rocketing, but she didn’t move a muscle.

“Do you?” he said, and in his expression he silently called her a liar.

“Absolutely.” She grabbed hold of his wrist and shoved his hand away from her face. Beneath her fingertips she felt his own pulse, quick but steady, and the smell of him, all male and clean, filled her nostrils. “Just because we’re back in the same town, doesn’t mean we have to see each other.”

A sardonic smile curved his lips. “No?” he asked, disbelieving. “You think we can stay away from each other?”

“It hasn’t been a problem for the last twelve years.”

“But now we’re back in Gold Creek, aren’t we? I doubt that we can avoid each other.”

“We can try.” She dropped his hand and refused to acknowledge his insolent grin.

“Gold Creek’s a small town. But you’re right, we can try.” Without so much as a goodbye, he crossed the porch, grabbed hold of the rail and vaulted into the yard. Within seconds, he’d disappeared into the shadows.

Jackson Moore.

Back in the town that had cast him out.

Back with a vengeance.

And she needed a damned interview with him!

Rachelle closed the door and threw the dead bolt into place as the sound of a car’s engine roared to life.

* * *

JACKSON MENTALLY KICKEDhimself all the way back to his motel. What in God’s name had he been thinking? He hadn’t intended on making a pass at Rachelle. In fact, he’d faced her just to prove to himself that his memory of her was skewed; that she wasn’t as attractive today as she had been on that long-ago emotion-riddled night.

He’d dealt with his guilt over leaving her by telling himself that they’d made love, she’d lost her virginity because of the circumstances, because they were thrust together and scared, because they were young and stupid. He’d convinced himself that he’d overdramatized their lovemaking in his mind and that she wouldn’t affect him now as she had then.

Wrong.