Heaven's Gift aka Kiss of an Angel

Chapter Eleven

Caitlan started at the sound of J.T.'s deep voice, the declaration she'd been about to announce caught in her throat. Whipping her head around, she glanced over her shoulder, meeting his dark gaze, smoldering with annoyance. And anger. The gold in his green eyes sparked like fire, and his mouth compressed into a harsh line. From her vantage point, he looked tall and lean and intimidating. She shivered.

Letting go of the medallion and severing her connection with her Superiors, she willed her heart to stop galloping. She hadn't heard J.T. approach. She was losing her edge, that finely honed instinct that usually kept her so alert. All because she'd fallen in love with him and couldn't keep her emotions under control.

Slowly, she came to her feet, tucking a tousled strand of hair behind her ear. "How long have you been standing there?" she demanded.

He shifted on his feet, his powerful body seemingly rippling with the movement. "Long enough to hear you babbling to yourself."

She knew he couldn't hear her Superiors, but how much of her side of the conversation had he eavesdropped on? And she'd been about to make the ultimate of confessions! Opting for the offensive, she thrust up her chin and gave him what she hoped would pass for a haughty look. "Aren't I allowed some privacy around here?"

He pinned her with a shrewd look. "Sure, as long as its near the main house. With all the strange things that have happened around the ranch, you of all people should know better than to run off on your own." His voice held a heavy dose of censure.

"I wanted some time alone to think. Out loud." Anxious to change the subject, she brushed past him, heading back toward the house. "What did you want, J.T.?"

He grabbed her arm before she could pass, bringing her up short. "An explanation."

So did she, for so many things, but it looked as though her answers would have to wait until tonight, when she'd have some privacy in which to contact her Superiors again.

The heat of J.T.'s fingers filtered through her sweatshirt, wreaking havoc on her senses and flowing through her blood like a narcotic. The clean, masculine scent of him drifted on the breeze, curling around her. His touch aroused her in a primitive, shameless way. When she looked into his gaze she saw an answering hunger there, a need to take possession and never let go. Had making love bonded them more spiritually than before?

She tugged on her arm and he let it go. The sensations receded and she took a safe step back. "An explanation for what?" If she could only clear the husky need from her voice, she'd be fine.

He looked disoriented for a moment; then the smoky desire faded from his eyes. He straightened, a determined cast to his features. "To this."

Horror ripped through her when he lifted her sketch pad for her to see. Head spinning, the wildflowers around them became a blur of colors as she focused on the one object that betrayed her most private thoughts and visions. She'd been so caught up in everything else, she hadn't noticed the sketch pad in his hand.

She recovered from her shock. Barely. "You went through my things?" she choked, shaking off the panic creeping up on her. "You had no right!" She tried to grab the sketch pad, but he jerked it out of her reach.

A ruthless light came into his eyes, made more chilling by the outright anger in his voice. "You came to my ranch with nothing more than the clothes on your back. This is my pad of paper and you're living under my roof for the time being. Considering the strange things that have happened since your arrival, I had every right to see what you've been drawing." He flipped the pad open to the sketch of him as a youth. "Somehow, I hadn't expected this. I'd like an explanation, Caitlan. Now."

Caitlan trembled from the inside out, and it had nothing to do with the sudden disappearance of the sun behind a cloud. She wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to ward off the tremors invading her body. How could she tell him she didn't know what possessed her to draw those pictures, that the images had been so clear in her mind that she'd reproduced them without any real effort. "I… I was just drawing how I thought you'd look as a young boy." The excuse sounded lame even to her own ears.

His eyes narrowed, skepticism mingling with blatant disbelief. "And you hit it right on the bull's-eye. It's impossible you could be this accurate when you didn't know me at that age." He thumbed to another page, his expression grim. "And how in the hell do you know what Amanda looked like?"

I have visions of her. Oh, God, what explanation could she give him that wouldn't make her sound like a psychiatric patient? She grasped the first logical answer that came to mind. "I saw pictures."

"Where?"

"In your office. The bottom shelf in your bookcase."

He thought for a second, then fury blazed in his eyes. "So, you went snooping through my personal things?"

She bristled at his accusation. "Unlike yourself, I wasn't snooping. I was looking for a good book to read to pass some time and I saw the photo albums and looked through them. What crime is there in that?"

"You went through the cigar box." His voice was flat, his words more a statement than a question.

"Yes," she said very faintly. A shiver passed through her when she remembered all the momentos in that box, and her reaction to each of them.

He stared at her for a long moment. She could see him struggling to accept her tale for the truth. She prayed he wouldn't realize the sketches she'd drawn of him as a boy were exact duplicates of the ones he had stashed in the cigar box. Oh, what a tangled web she'd woven! And she couldn't even explain how or why.

"I don't like strangers going through my personal things," he finally said in a terse tone. "Stay out of my office unless I'm in there, Caitlan." Turning, he walked away, retaining her sketch pad.

Strangers. The word made her feel so lonely, so solitary. After everything they'd shared he still thought of her as an intruder in his life. But what had she expected from a man whose heart had been battered and bruised? A declaration of love? No, he'd warned her up-front that he didn't have a heart to give, and she had no right asking for it. The thought brought on an avalanche of feelings she didn't want to acknowledge.

Panicked at the thought of him having free access to study her drawings, she quickly caught up to him, breathless. "Can I have my sketch pad back, please?"

"No."

"It's mine," she argued heatedly.

He slanted her an uncompromising look. "It's mine."

Caitlan drew a deep breath, not knowing what to say. She walked silently beside him, watching him brood and think.

Minutes later the barn came into view, along with Frank, Randal, and Mike, standing in a semicircle in front of the structure. Loud, angry voices carried their way, and J.T. frowned, glancing at his watch. The hands weren't due back in for another hour. "I wonder what's going on now," he muttered, picking up his pace.

J.T. watched as Randal shoved at Mike. The other man automatically bounded back, fists raised, face contorted in rage.

"Come on," Mike challenged. "Give me a reason to plant my fist in that face of yours!"

A taunting smile curled Randal's lips. "You're nothing but a washed-up Marine," he retorted, puffing out his chest like a peacock.

"Both of you, cool it," Frank said, doing his best to stop the two men from brawling by insinuating himself between them. Randal and Mike yelled accusations and insults at each other until their language became descriptive and crude, and they shoved at Frank to get to one another.

J.T. swore, then glanced at Caitlan beside him. "Go on up to the house," he ordered.

"I'll be fine-"

"Now!" His tone brooked no argument. He gave her a gentle shove toward the walkway and strode purposefully to the group of men.

Knowing J.T. wouldn't appreciate her verbally refuting him at a time like this, she headed toward the house but stopped after a few yards. There was no way she'd leave J.T. unprotected when Randal had murder in his eyes. She stood off to the side, out of the way, but within hearing and viewing range, so she could monitor the situation.

J.T. reached the trio, tossed the sketch pad on a clump of grass a few feet away, and assessed the situation as best he could without knowing any details. Randal looked like hell, his face unshaven, his eyes bloodshot. The faint scent of stale whiskey reached J.T.'s nostrils, enough to confirm that Randal had been tipping the bottle while working. Mike looked like a formidable opponent, jaw clenched, the muscles across his shoulders bunched as he affected a boxing stance.

Who had provoked whom? J.T. wondered. "What's the problem here?"

Randal and Mike glared at one another, each declining to comment, both too intent on waiting for the other to make the first move.

J.T. looked at his foreman. "Frank?"

Frank shrugged and stepped to the side. "You'll have to hear it from these two, J.T. The details I have are secondhand."

"Either of you care to explain?"

Mike kept his fists raised and his gaze trained on Randal, ready for any sudden moves. "You've got a drunk working for you, and he's gonna end up hurtin' someone."

Randal tossed his head, malice darting from his gaze like sharpened daggers. "And Mike's looking for a piece of that woman you dragged home with you," he goaded with a sneer. "But I already told Mike you don't share."

Like an enraged bulldog, Mike emitted a low-throated growl and charged Randal, knocking him down into the dirt. Mike threw a punch, clipping Randal hard beneath the jaw, snapping his head back. Randal howled in pain, and Mike raised his fist for another blow.

Even though J.T. had the urge to do the same thing to his cousin, he grabbed Mike by the collar and hauled him off Randal before the other man could mutilate Randal's face.

With Frank's assistance, Randal stood, stumbling slightly to regain his balance. Touching his jaw gingerly, Randal winced, then shot Mike a menacing glare.

J.T. glanced from Mike to Randal. "I'll ask one more time for an explanation," he said in a succinct tone. "Mike?" he offered, allowing the hand a chance to go first.

Mike flexed the fist he'd just used to punch Randal. "I found Randal sitting beneath a shade tree drinking from a flask-"

"That's an outright lie!" Randal burst in, charging toward the other man.

J.T. pressed a hand to Randal's heaving chest, and his cousin backed down. "Let him finish, Randal, and then you'll have your say." J.T. felt like he was dealing with two small children. "Go on, Mike."

"I don't want some drunk watching my back during a roundup. When I told him to put the flask away he started getting abusive, insulting my work, and when that wasn't enough, he started saying some things about your lady friend I didn't care for."

"Such as?" J.T. prompted, a slow burn traveling through his veins.

"He thought maybe the two of us could show Caitlan a good time." He transferred his gaze to Randal, and J.T. somehow knew more had transpired between the two men than Mike was revealing.

Randal's eyes narrowed to slits. "More like the other way around. You were the one talking about how long it's been since you've had a woman and the things you'd like to do to the little lady." A sadistic smile transformed Randal's features. "Better watch Caitlan real careful J.T.-"

"Enough!" J.T. roared, enraged at Randal's insinuation.

Looking at both men, J.T. didn't know whom to believe. Their behavior was juvenile, but there was no doubt one had goaded the other. Why would Mike defend Caitlan when he didn't even know her? J.T. wondered. A code of honor left over from his Marine Corps days? Or hadMike been the one to make the slurs, as Randal had suggested? He didn't know, but there was no mistaking the fact that Randal had been drinking, or that problems had started arising since Mike's arrival a few months back. Both men were suspect.

J.T. decided a joint reprimand was in order. "I won't tolerate this kind of behavior from any of my men. Both of you are suspended without pay until next Monday."

Randal's face flushed bright red. "You can't do that!"

"I can, and I did. I've given you plenty of warnings to sober up. Maybe this will do the trick."

"Go to hell," Randal hissed, eyes glittering.

Spinning on his heels, he strode down the dirt drive toward his cabin.

J.T. released a long breath. He'd already been to hell and back today, without Randal's good wishes. Between his morning talk with Caitlan, finding her sketch pad, their confrontation, and now this, he was pretty well wiped out.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Mike said in a low voice.

J.T. looked from Randal's retreating back to Mike. Sincerity etched his features, but not knowing much about the man, J.T. couldn't give Mike his complete trust. "You're the newest hand here, Mike. This is the first time I've had a problem between my men."

Mike's jaw clenched, but he refrained from further comment. With a slight nod of acceptance, made more mocking by the rage of injustice burning in his gaze, he turned and walked away.

"You did the right thing," Frank said, placing a reassuring hand on J.T.'s shoulder. "Kirk found them having it out, but we can't be sure who started the fight." Frank's gaze slid beyond J.T., his eyes widening in sudden surprise. "Uh, afternoon, Caitlan."

"Good afternoon, Frank."

J.T. jerked around upon hearing Caitlan's soft voice. Seeing her standing conspicuously off to the side, hands clasped behind her back, he realized she'd never gone up to the house as he'd ordered. The sweet, angelic smile curving her mouth did nothing to soften his sudden irritation. He was gonna wring her neck for not listening to him!

"I'll talk to you later, Frank," J.T. said, dismissing his foreman.

Casting a speculative glance from J.T. to Caitlan, Frank nodded, then headed toward the barn.

Grabbing the sketch pad he'd tossed to the ground earlier, J.T. strode purposefully toward Caitlan, scowling at her. "Dammit, I told you to go on up to the house."

Her chin lifted a fraction, and stubbornness sparked from her violet eyes. "I was worried about you."

He stopped in front of her, his large build shading the sun from her eyes when she looked up to meet his gaze. I was worried about you. Her caring words took up residence in that isolated portion of his heart, making him ache for a more physical kind of connection, a touch, a caress, a kiss, anything to ease the fierce need dominating his emotions.

Shoving those tender feelings aside, he focused on his annoyance, which was quickly becoming as thin and wispy as the clouds above. "I'm a big boy, Caitlan. I can take care of myself and my workers."

"I never said you couldn't." Chewing on her bottom lip, she shifted on her feet, suddenly anxious. "I didn't mean to become a problem with your men. I know there aren't any unmarried women on this ranch, and I never meant to…" A pink blush swept her cheeks. "I mean, I'd never…"

"You, personally, didn't do anything to provoke them, Caitlan," he interrupted. "You're a novelty to the men and it's only natural they talk about you, but I won't condone this kind of crude talk and behavior. If any one of my men so much as touches you, he'll be off the Circle R so fast his head will spin." His tone was possessive, but he couldn't help himself.

"And what about you, J.T.?" she asked very softly. Her gaze probed his, searching past the barriers he'd erected around his heart to the man who'd branded her his the night before.

Will you touch me again? He could almost see the question reflected in her eyes. His chest tightened painfully, and he resisted the urge to show her how many different ways he could touch her, make her burn for him. A gentle caress. A slow slide of his hand. Bolder, more intimate stroking.

He swallowed back the thick need gathering in his throat and lower, swirling in his belly. "I won't touch you either, so you don't need to worry about it."

She glanced away, but not before he'd caught a glimpse of hurt and hopelessness shimmering in her gaze. "It's for the best."

"Yeah," he agreed, wondering who he was trying to convince.

After supper J.T. retired to his office, leaving Laura to finish up her homework and Caitlan to watch TV in the den. He wrote up individual reports on Mike and Randal, noting their suspension, then filed the slips of papers in each of their employee files. Impulsively, J.T. withdrew Mike's file from the cabinet and brought it back to his desk to peruse.

Shuffling through the contents, he pulled out Mike's employment application. A few lines had been left blank, mainly in the family-and-relative emergency information section, but that kind of vagueness wasn't unusual when hiring a seasonal hand. Most were drifters and had no family to call their own.

Mike's reference sheet listed the four previous ranches where he'd been employed. J.T. had called two of the spreads for references, and both told him Mike was quiet but a good hand. The first ranch laid him off due to lack of work, and the other ranch claimed there had been a personality conflict between Mike and the foreman, and Mike had opted to move on. A conflict in personalities was hardly a crime, J.T. thought, unless it interfered with work, as it had today.

Randal wasn't guiltless, J.T. knew. He had a volatile temper, more so these past months since his father's death and the debts that had been heaped on him. His flare-ups and bouts of drunkenness were increasing in frequency. J.T. hoped this suspension would force Randal to get his priorities together.

As for Mike's suspension, J.T. hadn't decided whether or not it would be permanent. He didn't know much about the man, not even if he was capable of setting up the sabotage attempt on his life. But what reason would Mike have for harming him? Mike had nothing to gain, unless he'd been hired by someone, which didn't make sense. J.T. didn't have any real enemies that he knew of. The "accident" down by the creek still confounded him.

Mike had the perfect motivation for tossing the kittens into King's stall-retaliation for J.T. reprimanding him for smoking in the barn-but J.T. had no concrete evidence that Mike had actually done the deed.

Maybe he ought to cut his losses and let Mike go with a week's severance pay. J.T. had no proof the man was guilty of anything, but he couldn't afford to keep Mike on and possibly risk a potentially dangerous incident that might involve his family. Tomorrow, he decided, would be soon enough to let the hand go.

J.T. scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Hell, when had his life become so complicated? Ever since a violet-eyed woman had drifted into his life and saved him from a certain death. Even her sudden appearance he still found hard to believe, although he had no reason to distrust her.

Tossing Mike's file aside, J.T. reached for the sketch pad on the corner of his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he opened the cover. The shock of seeing Caitlan's portrait of him as a young boy had worn off, but he was still baffled as to how she'd accomplished the detailed and oddly accurate sketch.

The longer he studied the picture, the more it seemed familiar, as if he'd seen this particular drawing before. Putting the pad down on his desk, he sighed heavily. His gaze strayed to the bottom shelf of his bookcase, and he thought of the cigar box he'd stashed there, and Amanda's sketches of him tucked inside.

"Amanda," he murmured, waiting for the familiar piercing pain to lance through him at the thought of her. The sorrow was dull and distant, overshadowed by his feelings for another woman. Caitlan. Despite his resolve to keep her at arm's length, he cared for her. Deeply. More than he wanted to admit. Making love to her had changed him in intense, unsettling ways.

Shrugging off the thought, J.T. stood, wanting to compare Amanda's sketches to Caitlan's. Just as he reached the bookshelf, the phone rang, detering his quest.

He picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"J.T., I've got an emergency on my hands," Kirk said urgently. "A waterline in my basement busted, and I know you have some spare pipe-"

"I'll be there in five minutes."

"Great. Thanks."

J.T. hung up the phone, the cigar box and sketches forgotten. He strode toward the den to tell Caitlan he'd be gone for a while, and paused in the doorway. Laura sat cross-legged on the floor, her schoolbooks and homework spread out on the coffee table in front of her. Caitlan sat on the couch watching TV, legs tucked beneath her, arms wrapped around a throw pillow.

Caitlan's soft violet eyes slowly lifted to meet his, and everything in the world receded from his mind but her. The quiet longing in her gaze reached past his heart and into his soul, nestling there like a warm ray of sunshine. The powerful, unexplainable link between them tugged at his heart, wrenching it open, ultimately allowing her warmth and gentleness to breach the emptiness he'd lived with for sixteen years.

His breath hitched in his lungs. Lord. He loved her.

"What's up, Dad?"

Snapped from his startling revelation, he jerked his gaze to his daughter, trying to remember his original purpose for seeking out Caitlan. Certainly not to come to the conclusion that he loved her! When had he fallen in love with her? Or had it been happening all along, and he'd been too blind to see it?

"Dad?" Laura tilted her head to the side, gaze curious. "Who was on the phone?"

J.T. gave himself a firm mental shake. "Kirk. He needs my help to repair a broken waterline in his basement. If I don't get going, he'll be up to his knees in water by the time I get there."

He looked at Caitlan and his pulse pounded, reverberating throughout his body. He loved her. The rusty words scratched his throat like barbed wire, yet he refused to give them release. His feelings changed nothing between them. She'd be gone in a few days, and he'd be smart to let her go now, unburdened with such a declaration, instead of a year down the road, when she decided ranch life wasn't enough for her. He had no right to shackle her here, and she'd given him no indication that she wanted to stay. She'd leave and he'd forget about her before the month was out. Not likely, his heart taunted.

He glanced at his watch. Eight o'clock. "I'll be back in an hour or so." Caitlan nodded, and he transferred his gaze back to Laura. "And if I'm not, I want you in bed by nine, Smidget. It's a school night."

"Okay," Laura said on a reluctant sigh.

His gaze flickered to Caitlan once more, and he struggled with the chaos raging inside him. Abruptly he turned and left the den before he said or did something that would make him look like a fool.

Caitlan watched J.T. go, hating the hollowness swallowing her up with his departure. For a fleeting moment she'd seen something soften in his eyes; then those barriers of his slid carefully into place, shutting her out. She shivered from the chill of loneliness and gathered the pillow tighter to her chest.

For the next half hour she tried to concentrate on the sit-com on TV, but her mind refused to cooperate. J.T. filled her thoughts, and all that had transpired between them in the last twenty-four hours.

A gradual uneasiness crept up on her, an awareness she couldn't shake. As if something evil was going to happen, but she wasn't quite sure what. After J.T.'s confrontation with Randal today she knew Randal was close to exploding in a mad rage. She'd seen the hatred in his eyes and sensed his building fury. She should have gone with J.T. to Kirk's, but she didn't believe the danger was with him, but lurked nearby instead, sharpening her senses to full alert.

Leaving the comfort of the couch, she padded to the kitchen for a drink of water, searching for the source of her unease. Filling a glass with the tap from the sink, she stared out the window, seeing nothing but the murky darkness of night. Black, like an impending doom. An electrical current of anxiety raced along her nerves.

King's Ransom.

The stallion's name whispered through her mind without provocation. A chill eddied down her spine. A strong, niggling intuition propelled her into action. Setting the glass on the counter, she started for the front door, stopping for a second at the den.

She stuck her head in the doorway. "I'll be right back, Laura."

Frowning at Caitlan's brusqueness, Laura stood and followed Caitlan down the hall. "Where are you going?"

"To the barn," she said over her shoulder, jogging down the porch steps. "Stay here."

Laura dogged her steps. "Dad said we shouldn't go anywhere alone."

"Stay in the house!" Caitlan ordered, her boots crunching on the gravel.

Laura ignored her. "I'm not letting you go to the barn alone. Dad's gonna freak when he finds out we went down there."

Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. Caitlan could feel it in her bones; her intuition so strong, so overwhelming, it nearly smothered her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a large silhouette slink around the side of the barn, then disappear behind the structure.

"Hey!" Caitlan yelled to get the person's attention. A blur of shadowy movement took off toward the bunkhouse. Knowing she'd never be able to catch up to the person, she let him go.

"Who was that?" Laura asked, her voice full of bewilderment.

"I don't know." A horse's high-pitched cry, full of terror, rent the night. King. Caitlan broke into a run toward the barn, apprehension rippling through her. Flinging the door open, a cloud of smoke billowed out. The biting, acrid scent of burning wood slipped up her nostrils.

"Oh, God, Laura. The barn is on fire!" Caitlan's heart pumped furiously and she automatically pushed Laura in the opposite direction, out of harm's way. "Go back to the house and call Frank, and then your father."

Laura's eyes widened, her expression frightened. She clutched at Caitlan's sleeve, tears of fright filling her eyes. "Don't go in there-"

Caitlan stole a precious moment to smooth a reassuring hand over Laura's cheek. 'I'll be fine, I promise, but I need you to call for help."

Bottom lip trembling, Laura nodded. "Please be careful." Whirling around, she ran back toward the house, her long hair flying out behind her.

Once Caitlan assured herself of Laura's safety, she rushed into the barn. The crackle of fire devouring wood reached her ears. Unable to see more than three feet in front of her for all the smoke hazing the area, she guessed the blaze to be at the far end of the barn.

Swallowing back the alarm crowding her throat, she started unlatching stalls and quickly guided the terrified horses, one at a time, out the side door leading to the open pasture. With each horse she released, the heat, smoke, and snapping fire intensified.

King's scream shattered Caitlan's concentration. His fear and panic squeezed her heart like a tight fist. Please let him be okay, she silently prayed, her only request for divine intervention.

Smacking the last mare on the rump, sending her into the pasture with the other horses, Caitlan headed toward the echo of King's terrified screams. Searching frantically through the cloud of churning, pungent smoke, she finally located King's stall and found the true source of the fire.

The empty stall next to King's was an inferno of hungry flames, the bright orange flares eating their way into the stallion's pen, lapping the walls of King's stall and sparking the hay covering the ground. King thrashed wildly, trying to escape the blaze consuming his stall.

She moved forward, grabbing an old towel someone had draped over a wooden bench. The smoke made it difficult to find the coiled lead rope hanging near King's stall, but her searching fingers finally found the nubbly cord. Eyes stinging, she threw open the stall door. Tossing the towel over King's head to shield his eyes, she quickly clipped the hook to his halter and guided the screaming and terrified horse from his burning stall.

Struggling against King's urge to flee, she blindly found her way through the barn. Smoke choked her. Every breath she took burned her lungs.

Her grip on the lead rope slipped, and King took advantage of the slack and shied away, his high-pitched neigh of fright piercing the air. A battle of wills ensued. Caitlan jerked him forward, but he was a powerful animal, driven by fear. He tugged on the rope and danced about, neighing. Thick smoke curled around them, making it difficult to see King, or the entrance.

The crackle of wood splintering sent chills up Caitlan's spine; then a deafening crash shook the ground beneath her, sending King into another fit of panic and throwing her off balance. She knew King's stall had collapsed and the fire was rapidly spreading. In the distance she heard urgent shouts for help from the hands, and tried to focus on the sound, to use it as a guide to lead them out of the barn.

Disoriented from King's thrashing, she started forward. The roar of raging fire filled her head. Scorching heat seemed to surround her from every angle, closing in like a monstrous shark feeding frenzy. She stopped short, trying to find a familiar landmark, but was unable to see anything through the murky smoke. King jerked wildly against the rope and she stumbled.

A helpless sound escaped her raw throat. The structure seemed to close in on her, snatching the breath from her lungs. Head spinning and stomach rolling, she groped for the medallion beneath her sweatshirt.

Heaven help her, she'd lost all sense of direction.

Bringing his truck to a skidding halt in front of the house, J.T. jumped out of the driver's side before the dust and gravel had a chance to settle. His feet hit the ground running, too anxious to wait for Kirk, who'd pulled up in his truck behind J.T.'s.

When Laura had called him, sobbing, and told him the barn was on fire and Caitlan was in it trying to save the animals, his heart had stopped beating. All he could remember thinking was that if he lost Caitlan in that fire he'd never be the same again.

Laura's plea of, "Hurry, Dad, I'm scared" propelled him to hang up the phone and yell the message to Kirk before bolting out of the house to his truck. The drive had taken him less than three minutes.

Now, adrenaline and gut-wrenching fear for Caitlan's life ruled him. Shoving aside his worry, he ran to the barn, his gaze scanning the area for Caitlan. His men were just arriving on the scene. Frank shouted orders as he opened the storage shed off to the side, flipped on a flood light to illuminate the area, and began tossing out buckets for the troughs, extinguishers, and water hoses.

Oh, God, where was Caitlan? Stark terror twisted in his heart as he neared the barn. Smoke spewed out the doors, the windows, and even slithered through minuscule cracks in the structure. The sinister sound of flames enveloping wood, and anything else in their path, breached the night. More adrenaline surged through his body at the thought of Caitlan being trapped in there.

"Dad!"

J.T. whipped around. Laura stood away from the activity, all alone, her arms wrapped around her stomach. The floodlight shone off her tear-streaked face. Relief poured over him at seeing her unharmed, only to be replaced by dread. "Where's Caitlan?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

A sob broke from Laura. "She's still in the barn!"

J.T. swore profanely, hating the fear that made his blood run cold. He despised even more the horrifying memories of another woman's tragic death. And that he'd been helpless to save her.

Not this time, he vowed, racing toward the barn. He wouldn't lose Caitlan. Not without a fight. Not after she'd insinuated herself in his life and made him fall in love with her. Especially not after she'd made him feel and need and care so deeply again.

Thinking only of Caitlan, he pushed aside his men and entered the barn first. The darkness of night, mingled with the hazy smoke, momentarily blinded him. He swallowed to ease the rasp in his throat, unsure if the bitter taste in his mouth was fear or smoke.

"Caitlan!" he bellowed, charging into the thick of it.

He heard her cough weakly, and King's sharp cry of alarm, just yards away from him. Breathing shallowly, he moved forward and nearly ran into her. He found her clutching that damnable medallion of hers like a lifeline in one hand and the rope secured to King in the other.

She looked up at him, gratitude touching her features. "J.T.," she rasped, then coughed.

Torn between throttling her and hugging her, he took the rope from her fingers and grabbed her arm, navigating her and King around his men rushing to put out the blaze.

Once outside, J.T. didn't give King a chance to put up a fight or turn wild on him. Keeping up a steady, fast-paced stride, with Caitlan jogging to keep up, he dragged the skittish stallion to an empty corral. Letting go of Caitlan long enough to unlatch the gate, he removed the towel from King's head, then led the horse inside and set him free.

Then he turned toward Caitlan.

Now that the crises was over his blood ran hot in his veins and his pulse beat erratically. Knowing Frank and his men could handle things without his assistance, J.T. focused on the more important matters pressing in on him.

Needing to affirm that Caitlan was truly alive and unharmed, he dropped the towel and took her face in his hands. He cupped her warm, smooth flesh, his thumbs caressing her cheeks, her nose, her lips. Reassured by her presence, giant shudders of relief rippled through his body.

Her thighs pressed against his and her fingers curled desperately into his shirt. She drew in a deep, cleansing breath; then her lashes fluttered closed and her lips parted on a sigh.

"J.T.," she whispered, leaning into him, lifting her mouth to his.

Sensing the same urgent need in Caitlan that flowed through his own body after such a harrowing experience, he crushed his mouth to hers without coaxing preliminaries or gentleness. No, this kiss was meant to possess and brand her as his own.

God, he could have lost her, he thought desperately, wrapping his arms around her back and hauling her body flush to his. He could have been thrust back into the same kind of nightmare that had shattered his life sixteen years ago. If he lost Caitlan, he'd die inside. She'd become a part of his heart and soul and he couldn't imagine living without her. He refused to think of living the same lonely, desolate existence he had before she'd arrived on the Circle R.

With a groan of surrender, he opened his mouth wider over hers, kissing her deeply, thoroughly. Her mouth was warm and sweet and generous. The gates imprisoning his emotions broke, and he poured every worry, every need, every feeling he had for her into the hungry kiss.

She tasted like smoke and woman, like life itself. He saturated his senses in her, took greedily and gave openly.

When he finally lifted his mouth from hers they were both breathing hard. Shimmering moonlight enabled him to see the exhaustion painting her features and the desire brightening her eyes. As he looked at her, drinking in her disheveled appearance and dirt-smudged face, an incredible protective feeling drenched his heart. This time he accepted the emotion willingly, treasured and cherished it like a rare jewel.

Sweeping a hand down her spine, he molded her to him. He held her so close they were practically one, so intimately he was certain she felt the hard, aroused length of him straining the confines of his jeans.

"Don't ever do anything so foolish as that again!" he said fiercely, burying his face in her neck, skimming his lips along her soft, warm flesh. He couldn't get enough of her. Touching her, tasting her, confirmed that she wasn't just an illusion.

She pulled back so she could look into his eyes. "I had to save King." Her resolute tone clearly stated that she would have risked her life for the horse again if faced with the need.

Her goodness and loyalty should have surprised him but didn't. Not anymore. "You could have been killed trying to save him." His arms tightened around her. "Don't you understand? I could have lost you!" I love you! his heart shouted, but the actual words snagged in his throat.

She smiled and touched her warm fingertips to his jaw. "I'm fine, really."

An abrupt laugh escaped him, releasing the last of the tension coiling his body. He shook his head, unable to believe how unflappable she was about the incident. "Only you would shrug this off as an everyday event. Until I find out what happened in the barn I don't want you around here. Take Laura and go on up to the house."

Her gaze flickered to the stallion in the corral. "But King-"

"I don't want you near him right now, Caitlan. He doesn't look in the mood for company." She opened her mouth, but he covered it with his hand. "If you don't stop putting yourself in danger with that horse, you're going to make me crazy," he growled. "And if you don't stop arguing with me, I'm going to throw you over my shoulder and haul you up to the house myself." His voice lowered huskily. "And I won't be responsible for what happens after that."

His sexy threat registered in her eyes.

"What's your decision, Caitie?"

She hesitated a moment, something warm and inviting glistening in her eyes; then she backed away. "I'm going." She gave him one last, lingering glance that filled him with warmth. "Be careful," she said softly, then turned and headed toward Laura.

J.T. stood there, watching Caitlan take Laura under her arm and comfort the girl as they walked up to the house. Once they were inside J.T. strode into the barn. The fire had been extinguished; now his men were busy sopping up water and piling the debris. The pungent scent of burnt wood and wet ash surrounded him.

Glancing around the immediate area, he found no fire damage. He moved with purpose down the row of stalls toward the back of the barn and froze when he saw King's burnt and blackened stall, and the stall directly next to his, the only area seemingly devastated by the fire. The beams overhead had collapsed into the stalls and would have crushed King if Caitlan hadn't saved him. Hell, those beams could have been her coffin!

Impotent anger tangled with new emotions swirling inside him. Who was behind this latest incident? he wondered.

Frank walked into the barn from the south end, followed by Jack, a lanky hand of twenty-two. "Once we get this mess cleaned up let's start moving the animals back into their stalls," Frank ordered.

"What should we do about the stallion?" Jack asked.

Frank picked up a water hose and began coiling it. "Hitch one of the other mares at the far end of the barn and give him his own stall for the night so he doesn't hurt anyone."

"Who's gonna bring him in?" Jack asked, hands placed defiantly on his hips. "Andy's the only one crazy enough to drag King into the barn, and he isn't here. You can't pay me to get within five feet of the beast."

"Then leave King in the corral for the night," J.T. ordered. "Andy can bring him in the morning."

Both men glanced his way. Jack's expression turned sheepish and his hands dropped back to his sides.

"Here, Jack." Frank passed the other man the water hose. "Take this back to the shed."

Jack took his cue and left.

"How's Caitlan?" Frank asked, his tone softening.

"Fine. I sent her up to the house with Laura. I think I'm more shaken by what happened than she is." J.T. rubbed at the tense muscles in his neck, still baffled at how calm Caitlan had been. No tears over the ordeal, no hysterics, just a hot, needy kiss that reached to his soul and beyond.

Glancing back at King's incinerated stall, a fresh batch of fury coursed through him. "What, exactly, happened here?"

Grabbing a rag from his back pocket, Frank wiped his dirty hands. "Seems like a fire started in the empty stall next to King's. All the animals are fine and the damage minimal, thanks to Caitlan's foresight."

A prickle of awareness skittered over J.T.'s skin. "Foresight? What do you mean?"

Bewilderment creased Frank's bushy brow. "It's the damnedest thing. From what Laura says, Caitlan ran out of the house earlier like something was wrong. She got to the barn just as the fire started and began releasing the horses from their stalls."

J.T. dragged a hand down his face, somehow not surprised that Caitlan had sensed the fire. Strange. Strange like her drawings. Strange like her medallion. Strange like the link that made her seem so much a part of him, even when she wasn't around. Who could explain any of that?

Kicking that nonsense out of his head, he rerouted his thoughts back to business. "What do you think about the fire? Was it set deliberately?" Did he even need to ask?

"Most likely." The tone of Frank's voice bordered on resignation as he concentrated on rubbing soot off his palm. "There was nothing in either stall that could have started the fire."

J.T.'s jaw hardened as his first two prime suspects entered his mind without any prompting. "Where were Randal and Mike?"

Frank shook his head, already ahead of the game. "I checked them out first thing. Mike had a solid alibi and Randal said he was watching TV in his cabin when he heard the hands yelling for help. Both men helped to put out the fire."

Uneasiness crept over J.T. "I want the fire marshall out here tomorrow to conduct an investigation." And maybe he'd mention the strange occurrences that had happened over the past week, just to get them recorded for future reference.

Frank nodded. "Will do."

Nearly an hour later, after the animals had been secured in the undamaged section of the barn, J.T. slipped into the quiet, dark house. The guest bathroom shower was running, and J.T. assumed Caitlan was in there, scrubbing the smoke and soot from her body. He found Laura fast asleep in her bed. Placing a loving kiss on her cheek, he smoothed the covers, then left her room and headed back down the hall.

J.T. restlessly paced the guest room while waiting for Caitlan. He tried not to imagine her in the shower, the warm water and slick soap sluicing over her silken skin, and failed. He wanted her too badly not to respond to the merest thought of her.

She was well and truly in his blood, a growing fever that made him burn from the inside out. He thought of having a wife, a mother for Laura, and how he wanted all that with Caitlan, a woman who would risk her life to save a horse. A woman who gave him so much without realizing it. Love. Laughter. Anger. Passion.

He didn't know how he'd been fortunate enough to have found her-or the other way around, as the case might be-but he was willing to fight for her, to prove that she belonged here on the Circle R with him and Laura.

Before he could talk himself out of joining her in the shower, he began stripping off his clothes. With every article hastily shed, his body grew achingly hard for her, his heart opening to receive her in the purest sense. Seconds later he stepped into the steamy bathroom and smiled when he saw her misty outline through the frosted glass shower stall door.

The time had come for him and Caitlan to settle a few things.