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After drying off, she’d dressed in jeans and a white cotton shirt, her insides humming with anticipation.
That lasted until she saw Kurt.
Yesterday she’d seen him as the answer to her prayers. This morning he quite literally stood between her and her dreams.
“Cream and sugar?” he asked.
Telling herself that she could buy clothes in Denver, she grabbed her purse.
“Your car keys are in my pocket.”
Her temper flashed. She stalked into the kitchen. Ignoring the fact that he was holding a mug of coffee and paying no attention to the differences in their height and weight, she poked her finger into his chest. “You are the most insufferable, arrogant, male...”
“Yes?”
“...jerk that I have ever met.”
“Ouch.”
“Get out of my house and my life.”
“No can do.” He reached down and shoved the cup onto the telephone stand. “Tell you what, I’m willing to make a deal.”
Her eyes narrowed, but her breaths continued in shortened gasps of fury. She dropped her hands to her sides, suddenly realizing she was touching him. From the flash in his eyes, she knew he’d noticed, too.
Something was happening to her, something she didn’t like, something she couldn’t stop.
She had never misbehaved in her life. Now, in seconds, Kurt had pushed past all her inhibitions, uncovering parts of her personality that she hadn’t suspected existed. It scared her.
“If you can convince me, in say, five days, that this is a smart thing, that collecting the donation of some man you don’t know, a man who could be a rapist or murderer—”
“More likely a med school student—”
“If you can convince me this is a good idea, I’ll drive you to Denver myself.” His voice dropped to a cajoling tenor. “What do you say? Deal?”
“It’s not your deal to make.”
“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But I’ve got your clothes and your keys.”
Her fingernails carved half-moons into her palms. “You’re holding me prisoner.”
“Offering you a chance to think this through.”
“I’ll call the sheriff.”
“Go ahead. Doesn’t matter to me if this is splashed all over the Courier.”
He was bluffing. He had to be. “It won’t be.”
“Miss Starr doesn’t have contacts?”
Jessie’s stomach tightened and frustration clawed at her.
“Five days, Jessie. I’ll convince you to do this the right way.”
“Your way,” she bit out, hardly able to keep her thoughts straight. He’d backed her into a corner, a place she swore she’d never allow herself to be in again.
She’d fought long and hard, surviving the years of being alone and unwanted, helpless to make her own decisions. And she’d nearly thrown away her independence on Sam. Instead she’d learned the lesson, in her heart as well as her mind. Reinforced by pain, it wasn’t one she’d soon forget.
“well?”
“Never,” she said.
“That’s your final answer?”
“Yes.” She’d won. She’d stood up for what she believed, had refused to cower, had proven she was in control of her own life.
“Play it your way.”
She exhaled. Now that she’d won, she could afford to be gracious. She knew he cared about her as a friend. Sometimes friends did extreme things. As long as he stayed out of her business from now on, she’d forgive him this once.
Somehow, though, his capitulation seemed easy. Too easy, maybe. “I appreciate your concern. Really I do.” In a way, she did.
Since she had no relatives, Mary had become Jessie’s confidant. Mary had expressed her reservations about Jessie’s decision to become pregnant, but since the first time they’d spoken of it, Mary had resolutely kept her opinions to herself.
Brother and sister had nothing in common, apparently. “Now if you’ll give me the keys, please.”
‘I’d rather we hadn’t had to do it this way.”
Before she had time to blink, he’d swung her from the floor.
Her breath whooshed out when her stomach connected with his shoulder. She hung upside down, grabbing for his well-worn leather belt, staring at the contours of his buttocks and powerful thighs.
She struggled, wiggling around, but didn’t dare move too much for fear of dislodging herself and toppling to the floor. “Kurt!”
“Worked my way through college calf roping,” he said, a palm pressed against her spine. “Keep still before I practice those ties on you.”
“You can’t do this. You said...”
“I said I’d stop you.”
He pivoted, and she fought a wave of dizziness. The room spun beneath her.
“Put me down!”
He ignored her.
“You were going to give me five days!”
“I will.”
When he opened the front door, winter’s last lash stole what little remained of her breath.
“Morning, Mrs. Johnson!” Kurt called out.
Jessie kicked, futilely trying to connect with bone and muscle.
“Morning, Kurt. Jessie.”
Jessie groaned, fully convinced she was going to die of mortification now that the neighbors had witnessed this horrible event. She wouldn’t die, though, she vowed, until after she killed Kurt.
“Are you two going somewhere?”
“Taking Jessie away for a few days.”
“Have a nice time. I’ll keep an eye on the house.”
He opened the door to his pickup truck and dumped Jessie unceremoniously on the seat. Then he leaned toward her. “Unless you want the neighbors to really enjoy the show, stay right where you are.”
She battled the temptation to run, but he was taller, faster and didn’t mind making a scene. Jessie didn’t want this to be splashed all over the Courier, but she doubted he’d mind at all.
“Understand?”
She slumped in her seat, and he slammed the door.
Within seconds, he sat beside her on the unyielding, cold leather. When he looked at her, his eyes were every bit as cold and unyielding.
“You’re kidnapping me.” Shock dulled her words.
“Yep.”
He had her; they both knew it.
A chill chased through her. Question was, what did he intend to do next?
Three
What had she gotten herself into?
Anger and frustration were two sides of the only coin she possessed. No matter which way that coin landed, she didn’t have a chance.
Kurt moved around the kitchen, ignoring the impatient tapping of her fingers on the table.
She could call for Columbine Crossing’s one taxi, but Kurt would stand in the way of her leaving. If she called Mary, Mary would probably throw her alliance with her brother...after all, Mary hadn’t liked Jessie’s motherhood idea much better than Kurt did. Even if Jessie called someone from the children’s center, Kurt was too well-known and—damn it—respected for anyone to take her seriously.
She fumed. If she didn’t get out of here in under an hour, she wouldn’t make it to Denver in time.
Irritation gnawed at her. He had no right, was out of his mind. She’d told him that half a dozen times in the truck. He’d turned up the radio. Garth Brooks singing about a long-neck bottle of beer only drowned out her complaints.
The fact she knew Kurt would never do anything to harm her, that he believed he had her best interests at heart, did nothing to improve her mood. If anything, it made it worse.
Sunshine, Kurt’s very pregnant golden retriever, waddled across to Jessie, the dog’s toenails clicking on the scarred vinyl flooring. Sunshine placed her head in Jessie’s lap. At least it was nice to have one ally.
“Breakfast?”
“Breakfast?” she repeated incredulously.
“Thought you might be hungry.”
He was acting so cool and calm, as if something like this happened every day. Maybe to him it did. It didn’t to her. “Being held prisoner killed my appetite.”
“Fine.”
Agitated, she stood. Sunshine gave a soft whine of protest, but then curled up beneath the table, a paw across her nose, ignoring the humans.
Jessie strode to the sink, her footsteps sounding out her hostility. He didn’t react; he just hummed the same Garth Brooks tune that he’d cranked up in the truck.
What was it about men that made them think themselves omniscient?
Sam had been the same way, always knowing what was best for her, even convincing her that making love before marriage was a good idea. After all, he’d said, he wanted to make sure they were compatible before they actually tied the knot.
She pressed her hands to her face.
Agreeing with Sam’s suggestion wrapped her dreams in the reality of an unhappily ever after.
When she found a way out of Kurt’s reach—and she would, in under an hour—she vowed she would never see him again, He could find someone else to do his bookkeeping, find some other woman’s life to interfere in. Those thoughts provided the only solace she’d had since he’d pounded on her door last night.
“I’m making eggs.”
She remained silent.
Outside, a layer of frost had painted the budding branches on trees...trees that stood as solitary against the elements as she felt against Kurt.
As far as she looked, there wasn’t another house in sight. The vista of high mountain prairie stretched before her, boldly spreading out until surrendering at the base of Eagle’s Peak.
She’d known Kurt and Mary when their parents had bought their first few acres of land. Now, as sole owner, Kurt had turned it into a thousand. Sheer determination accomplished his goals, Miss Starr had once reported.
Jessie belatedly realized she should have recognized that Kurt’s determination would prove to be her undoing.
Was it only last night that Kurt and his home represented hope?
The scent of strong coffee permeated the oversize room. The sound of a satisfying sizzle accompanied the aroma. She turned in time to see him dribble the rest of the whipped eggs into the waiting iron skillet.
Her body betrayed her. Her stomach growled.
Without offering a second time, he poured himself a mug of coffee, taking it straight up, the way one of her foster father’s had, with whiskey.
That memory made her shiver.
“Cold?”
From the bones, out. Didn’t Kurt miss a thing? “I’m fine. As fine as someone who’s been kidnapped can be.”
“Good.”
She scowled at him, without any effect. He took another drag from the mug, and when the toaster popped up two perfect slices of bread, her stomach growled once more.
Kurt removed a single plate from the cupboard, then pulled a knife and fork from a drawer. “Even a condemned man gets a last meal,” he stated. “It’s okay to admit defeat.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I intend to.”
Their gazes connected. He held it as captive as he’d earlier held her body. In that moment, things crystallized. Kidnapping her hadn’t been an impulse. She should have known that. He did things carefully, calculatingly.
To win.
A second shiver, this time nothing to do with a chill, raced through her.
“There’s enough for both of us. If you intend to fight me, you need to keep your strength up.”
He’d offered her a way out without having to back down. She appreciated that more than words could express. He wasn’t an ogre. At least not all of the time. “You cooked, I’ll do the dishes.”
“Lady, I might never let you go.” He set another place at the table and fed a couple more slices of bread into the toaster’s waiting slots. “So, Jessie,” he said, pouring her an unasked for—but very much needed—cup of coffee. “What are you going to tell your child when he asks about his father?”
Hunger faded. His chivalry had only been an act to catch her off guard. He was an ogre.
She slid into a chair, her spine supported by the rigid back. “I was going to decide on that when the time was right.”
“How many other things haven’t you thought about? Isn’t there a place on the birth certificate for the father’s name?”
“Of course.”
“And if I’d agreed to your business arrangement, would you have put my name there?”
She wrapped her hands around the mug he’d placed in front of her, not because she was going to take a drink, but because she needed something to hang on to, something to do.
She should have realized Kurt would show no quarter; he hadn’t last night, nor had he given up this morning. Up until three hours ago, she’d thought tenacity was a positive trait.
Time ticked, tension threading between each second.
“Would you have put my name there?” he repeated very, very quietly.
“No.”
Thunder clouded his eyes, darkening them to stormy forest green. His brow furrowed and a pulse thumped in his temple. She should have lied.
She should have lied.
“And you wanted me to keep quiet about it being my kid? You wanted me to sit back and live in the same town as you and watch you raise our child, my child, my child, and pretend nothing happened, that I had no part in it?”
The words were carefully cloaked in a quiet tone that scared her much more than his anger.
At that moment, she saw things clearly from Kurt’s point of view. She winced.
She’d always considered herself unselfish—until she was faced with the awful realization that in asking him to help her out, she had been anything but unselfish.
He shoved his untouched plate toward the middle of the table.
She shrunk back.
“Hadn’t thought of that, either?”
This time, his question landed with a squeeze around her midsection, like a lasso inexorably being tightened, cutting off her air.
“Why, Jessie?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Kurt wanted answers, deep answers, ones that threatened to bare her soul. And he deserved them.
She doubted she’d done anything more painful in her entire life.
“You were right earlier,” she admitted quietly, looking at him and accepting the full force of the hostility he directed toward her. “When you said I was trying to make up for what I didn’t have, you were right.” Until now, she hadn’t been honest with anyone, including herself.
Jessie hoped he’d acknowledge what she’d said and allow both of them to move on. Instead he remained silent, waiting while she exposed the secrets she’d rather keep buried.
“I’ve never told anyone else this, not even Mary.”
He nodded.
Realizing that was all the encouragement he intended to give her, she continued. “I grew up believing in ideals. I wish I still did. I was found on the steps of the church. The doctors thought I was about a week old.”
Kurt cursed.
“No one knew where I came from, or when I was born. I’ve never had a birthday celebration. I don’t even know when my real birthday is.”
Jessie stared into the inkiness of the cooling black coffee. “I never had my own room, my own clothes, my own family.” She paused, the past mingling with the present. “The only thing I ever truly had of my own was the teddy bear that they found me with.”
A newly forming tear prickled the corner of her eye. She wished more than anything, that she could blink it away. “Even that, one of my foster parents took away when I misbehaved.”
She looked at Kurt then. The furrow between his brows had eased, but not the anger. She wondered, though, if it was still directed at her. “I wouldn’t eat my peas,” she said, the distance of years not helping her to make sense of the incident. “And for that, they took away my teddy bear. I cried myself to sleep for three nights. No one cared.”
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