Jeannie Watt Read online

  “Oh, yeah. That’s right,” Ryan said sarcastically. “I remember now. Your lies. My job.”

  “I had nothing to do with you losing your job,” she said bluntly. And it was true. She’d had nothing to do with his being fired from his cushy job with the accounting firm in Elko, where he’d hoped to become a partner. Jack had. But Ryan didn’t know that and she wasn’t going to tell him.

  “You’re a liar, Tara.”

  Tara simply shifted her weight as she waited to see what was coming next. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “Actually I’m here because of the crass attempts you’ve been making to embarrass my father in public.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, I think you remember raving in the bank about my father trying to steal your house.”

  She didn’t remember using the word steal, but in Night Sky, embellishment was the rule rather than the exception.

  “Ryan, surely you have better things to do than chase rumors.”

  “Tara,” he murmured, “if you keep doing things like that—if you embarrass my father or falsely accuse him, especially at this reunion—you’ll be very sorry.”

  Tara studied Ryan as if he were a nasty insect. “I can’t wait to see what you try to do to me that you haven’t already done.”

  “I haven’t taken your house.”

  “And you won’t,” Tara responded with a grimly confident smile.

  “I will if you don’t come up with a hell of a lot of cash, and it won’t be stealing. I’ll take it just to torch the place, if nothing else.”

  “Will you be using Daddy’s money?” Tara asked. “Or Stacia’s?” She smirked. “Congratulations, by the way. Helluva catch.”

  Ryan acknowledged her touché with a slight sneer, which turned into a rather nasty smile as he raised his hand to her face.

  “Touch me even once and you will be a sorry man.”

  His perfect lips curved even as his hand stopped in midair.

  “You know Tara, you really…challenge a man.”

  It was both a threat and a reference to their past.

  “I’m sure Stacia would love to know I still challenge you,” Tara replied with mock sweetness. “Now, kindly get out of my house and off my property.”

  She spoke the words matter-of-factly, hoping against hope that Ryan wasn’t aware his presence unnerved her, that her heart was beating harder than it should be.

  “And while you’re at it, tell your father to mind his own business. He isn’t getting my house and he isn’t going to stop me from opening my business.”

  Ryan merely shook his head and moved even closer, his smile fading. It was the first indication Tara had that he might honestly be a threat. Her body tensed, instinctively preparing for defense, when the side porch door scraped open and they heard booted footsteps in the kitchen.

  Ryan’s head swung around and, from his startled expression, Tara knew he’d been aware her brother wasn’t here. He hadn’t expected anyone—had probably thought Matt’s old truck was her own.

  And that frightened her.

  “Do you need something, Connors?” Tara called as the footsteps continued down the hall toward the parlor. Matt appeared in the doorway a second later, frowning when he saw that Tara was not alone.

  Ryan was already several feet away from her. He smiled as Matt entered the room, wearing his charm like an exoskeleton. Tara blinked at the change. Incredible. Who’d believe her side of things when confronted with…this? Ryan extended a hand.

  “Hi. Ryan Somers.”

  Matt dusted his own hand on his jeans and accepted the handshake with a nod, his expression unreadable. “Matt Connors.”

  Ryan waited, but when no further information came, he glanced at Tara with a this-isn’t-over look in his eye. “I won’t keep you any longer,” he said congenially. “Stacia will be in touch.”

  “Yeah,” Tara replied softly. “I can’t wait.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Ryan said as he walked past Matt.

  Matt followed Ryan with his eyes until the man was through the front door.

  “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gave her an impatient look. “I’m not stupid, Tara. Something happened.”

  Tara shrugged. She picked up her wallpaper brush and idly ran her thumb over the bristles. “Did you need something?”

  “No. I just came in to remeasure a frame.” His mouth tightened as he studied her carefully composed expression.

  Tara dropped her gaze. She wished he’d go back to work so she could have her breakdown alone. It was the first time she’d been alone with Ryan since…she couldn’t think about it now.

  “Is there anyone in this town you don’t have some kind of a problem with?” Matt muttered as he turned to leave.

  “No.” She’d snapped the word. Tara drew in a sharp breath and made an effort to bring her voice back to a more even tone, “Now, would you do me a favor and let me get back to work?”

  To her relief, he gave her one last look and then walked out of the room and down the hall, the sound of his footsteps fading as he passed through the kitchen and back out onto the side porch.

  She walked to the window and watched Ryan’s BMW roll down the driveway and turn onto the main road. She hugged her arms across her middle and found that she was shaking. And, worse than that, she was close to tears.

  Tara swallowed, disgusted with herself for being so weak, for letting Ryan intimidate her. She needed to get hold of herself. Ryan couldn’t hurt her again as long as she stayed out of his way. She just needed to think logically, not let fear get the better of her.

  She was still facing the window, arguing with herself, when she heard Matt come back into the room. She didn’t turn around.

  “Tara?”

  “Matt. Go. Please.” She spoke in a fairly normal voice, if a little husky. She just didn’t know for how much longer she’d be able to hold on.

  “Tara,” Matt replied in a tight voice, “I’m not going away.”

  “Why?” she asked, abruptly swinging around. “Do you want to see me cry? Is that why you’re back? Do you want to see me cry, too?”

  “What do you mean, ‘too’?” he asked quietly.

  Tara stilled at his very logical question. “Oh, man.” The words came out as a whisper. She dropped her chin, but he reached out to tip it back up with his thumb and forefinger.

  “What do you mean, ‘too’?” he repeated. “Did that guy want to make you cry?” he asked.

  “He wants to see me crawl.”

  “Why?”

  She shook her head, afraid that if she spoke, her voice might break.

  “Not ready to discuss it?”

  She shook her head again, pressing her lips together, hoping he didn’t notice that her eyes were shiny.

  Matt looked down at her and Tara stubbornly held her tears at bay until, with the air of a man acting against his better judgment, he reached out and gently put his arms around her and pulled her against the warmth of his solid chest. And, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, Tara let him do it. It had been a very long time since anyone had tried to comfort her and, dammit, it felt better than she imagined it would.

  “It’s okay,” Matt whispered. She exhaled and leaned into the warmth of this man she barely knew. She let him hold her until Nicky drove into the yard few seconds later, unknowingly breaking the spell she had fallen under.

  She frowned as she stepped back out of Matt’s loose embrace and he gave her a quizzical look.

  “I don’t do this.”

  “What don’t you do?” he asked softly.

  “I don’t act like this,” she answered. “I never act like this.”

  “You don’t let people comfort you?”

  She shook her head.

  To her surprise he smiled. “Hold still, Tara.”

  “What?”

  “Hold still.” He moved a step closer and once again he tipped her chin up. B
ut this time he slowly and, oh so gently, kissed her and Tara felt her knees go weak.

  “Hey, T.” Nicky burst into the house and Tara took a stumbling step backward just before her brother strode into the room.

  “Looks like you’re making some headway,” Nicky said to his sister, oblivious to the stunned expression on her face. “Hey, Matt.” He went on into the kitchen, talking the entire way. He reappeared with a pitcher of orange juice and a glass. He filled the glass, drank it, filled it again.

  “What a time,” he said shaking his head. “Remember Tiff? The blonde I dated my freshman year? She works for the Hilton now. I got the Hollywood suite for the single-room rate. We had to pretend I was twenty-one, but nobody figured it out. It was great.” He paused and looked at his sister. “You all right, T?”

  “Fine,” she mumbled, pulling her attention away from Matt and the feeling he had managed to evoke in her traitorous body. The jerk. First Ryan and now this. Kissing wasn’t part of the deal. Tara might have allowed herself to ogle Matt when he wasn’t looking, to appreciate what he’d been blessed with, but he was not supposed to kiss her. That was how complications started. Complications she knew from bitter experience could lead to pain. Mental…physical…

  She muttered a short expletive. “So everything went okay?” she said to her brother, pointedly ignoring Matt.

  “I got everything on the list. It should only take about an hour to unload it all.”

  “Do you need help?” Tara asked.

  “Got it covered.”

  As soon as Nicky left, Tara turned on Matt. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. But he looked unrepentant as he stared down at her. Unrepentant, unfazed and sexy. Men wearing glasses weren’t supposed to look sexy. He followed Nicky out of the room, leaving Tara seething.

  She was tired of men. She just wanted to get away from them for a while. She whacked off a piece of wallpaper, slid it through the wetting tray and folded it on itself with two decisive thuds. Whomp. Whomp. Men.

  MATT DEBATED ABOUT even showing up for lunch. He was kind of afraid of what she might feed him; besides, he had some things he needed to mull over.

  What had he been thinking, kissing Tara Sullivan?

  He hadn’t been thinking. He’d been reacting. He’d done what seemed natural at the time. And it had felt good, holding her, kissing her, even if it had only been a shadow of the kiss he’d wanted to lay on her.

  Matt focused on cutting the bottom edge of the door. If he let his mind wander too much he’d be minus a digit or two. He passed the blade over the door, inspected the cut and measured the finished length.

  She’d definitely been startled when he’d kissed her, and she was royally pissed right now, but she had kissed him back. She’d liked the kiss—at the time.

  Well, she didn’t like it now, for whatever reason, and Matt had to respect her feelings. He smiled humorlessly. That he was still on the property attested to the fact that she needed him. She needed him to help her accomplish something, and now he knew it was something more than just getting a house ready for a cocktail party.

  TARA THREW TOGETHER a chicken salad. She was still upset. Between Ryan and Matt…she needed to talk to someone. But who? She had no one except for Jack, Rafe and Luke. Men. Not likely to understand, even if she cared to explain. She could just imagine how they’d react to Hi. Ryan came to visit today and, I hate to admit it, but he frightens me. Why? Oh yeah, I didn’t tell you everything that happened between us, did I? Well, let me fill you in…my first sexual experience was kind of brutal…and then he came back for more….

  Tara brushed under her eyes with the back of the hand holding the knife, telling herself it was the onions making her tear up.

  She could never see herself explaining what Ryan had done. She didn’t even know if she could find words to convey how deeply she’d been affected by it. The act had been consensual—in the beginning—and that made the selfish way he’d used her body, with no consideration for her or the fact that it was her first time, hurt even more. She’d trusted him.

  Tara put down the knife before she hurt herself. The chicken salad was as done as it was going to get. She put plastic wrap over the bowl and shoved it in the fridge. The guys could make their own sandwiches. She had work to do.

  It took most of the afternoon and four walls of rose paper, but Tara finally came to the weary conclusion that it was pointless to obsess over Ryan or Matt or anything else. She had made it clear to Matt that what had occurred between them was never going to happen again, and she didn’t think he was the kind of guy who pushed things—not the way Ryan had pushed them. Anyway, she hoped he wasn’t, because she needed him. A working relationship. He worked, she compensated him monetarily and there were no gray areas.

  Tara hated gray areas.

  And as far as Ryan was concerned…today had been an eye-opener. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d stopped by for the exact reason he had given—because she’d made a few unflattering public statements concerning his father. She knew better than most that with the Somerses, image was everything.

  But for the first time, Tara was beginning to see the depth of anger Ryan carried within him; anger that wasn’t caused solely by losing his job or having his nose broken. No. She suspected that anger was part of his personality, simmering just below the surface, and that it was a part of himself he hid extremely well. He had to. He was a Somers with an image to uphold.

  Thinking back, though, she could see that she’d had glimpses of the anger during their relationship, culminating on the night they’d finally slept together, when he’d lost both patience and control. But at the time she’d thought it was the situation. Now she suspected it went beyond that. He seemed more volatile than before, possibly because he blamed her for his being back in a hick town like Night Sky, essentially on his father’s payroll.

  She was going to have to be more careful around the man. That didn’t mean she was going to let him push her around.

  TARA WAS GOING to work his butt off.

  In the three days since he’d kissed her, Matt had cut and hung the doors, finished and painted the side porch and started replacing parts of the gazebo, all in virtual silence. Tara wasn’t talking to him, except when giving orders, but she did feed him well. The woman had a knack for cooking, which worked well, since he had a knack for eating. He was wishing he had a knack for conversation, because, surprisingly, he found himself wanting to coax Tara out of her silence. He wanted to find out more about her, more about what had happened with that guy who had wanted to make her cry.

  As if she would tell him.

  Tara kept her secrets. If anything, she was as guarded as he was.

  And he wondered why.

  That night Matt had the dreams, and they were the worst ever. He jerked awake in a cold sweat, his heart hammering. Adrenaline continued to pump through his body as he sat up in bed, making his breath come in rasping gasps.

  He was never a hero in his dreams…he never saved anyone’s life. Someone always died, and most of the time it was Matt. His father was usually the one who pulled the trigger. To see his own father raise the gun, to watch the bullet enter his flesh in slow motion, to see the small, deadly hole in his chest, the blood and bits of tissue fly in full Technicolor. To lie on cold pavement, feeling life trickling away, wondering why…

  Matt knew he had to move, had to do something until he calmed down.

  He swung his legs out of bed, sat on the edge, pushing his hair back from his forehead. The clock read 3:30 a.m. He wouldn’t be going back to sleep before he drove to the Sullivan house at 6:15 a.m.

  He walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Twenty minutes later he let himself out his back door and crossed the alley to where the twenty-four-hour fun of the Owl Club beckoned. The fat cat followed him as far as the gate, then sat, apparently winded by the long walk from the porch.

  It was a Monday morning—a very early Monday morning—and busi
ness was pretty slow. Matt sat in one of the booths near the bar, thinking that he might try that notorious breakfast special—available twenty-four hours a day—again.

  There were two small groups of people at the bar and he could see a few miners eating breakfast in the restaurant, either before or after their shift. Deputy Sanchez was also eating breakfast. Matt knew he could probably join him, talk shop, but right now he just wanted to concentrate on…nothing.

  “Hey, sweetie.” Pink trousers appeared in his line of vision. Matt raised his tired eyes.

  “Hi, Ginny.” He knew all the waitresses by name now. There weren’t that many of them. Jack kept a skeleton crew.

  “A little early for you, isn’t it?”

  “Trouble sleeping,” Matt said truthfully.

  “Want anything?”

  Matt thought. “Tea,” he finally said.

  Ginny’s eyebrows went up. “Tea?” she asked dubiously. “Okay. Want a shot in it or something?”

  “No. Just the tea.” He stared down at his blunt-tipped fingers with their woodworking scars after Ginny left. He liked carpentry, but he was committed to police work. Only one of those two occupations gave him nightmares, though. Maybe he needed to think about that.

  He blew out a breath. Nothing to think about. He was a cop and he wasn’t going to quit.

  A cup clinked onto the table, followed by a glass. Next came the Pyrex teapot. He glanced up to see not Ginny, but Becky. And she obviously intended to join him. Matt gestured to the opposite side of the booth. Becky smiled and sat, pushing her curls over her shoulder.

  “You on duty?” he asked. She shook her head. She had a lot of hair. Not hair like Tara’s, but bigger, blond hair. But she did smell good.

  He smiled. “Then I guess I don’t have to tip you.”

  “Guess not,” she said as she squeezed his knee under the table. She left her hand there as she stirred her drink with the other. “You never really struck me as a tea drinker.”

  Matt smiled politely at her comment, then put the bag in the cup and poured the water over it.