Will of Steel Read online

  “That didn’t come out right.” She laughed self-consciously. “It just seems to me that women are more like the way men used to be. They don’t want commitment. They have careers and they live with men. I heard a newscaster say that marriage is too retro a concept for modern people.”

  “There have always been people who lived out of the mainstream, Jake,” he said easily. “It’s a choice.”

  “It wouldn’t be mine,” she said curtly. “I think people should get married and stay married and raise children together.”

  “Now that’s a point of view I like.”

  She studied him curiously. “Do you want kids?”

  He smiled. “Of course. Don’t you?”

  She averted her eyes. “Well, yes. Someday.”

  He sighed. “I keep forgetting how young you are. You haven’t really had time to live yet.”

  “You mean, get fascinated with microscopes and move to New York City,” she said with a grin.

  He laughed. “Something like that, maybe.”

  “I could never see stuff in microscopes in high school,” she recalled. “I was so excited when I finally found what I thought was an organism and the teacher said it was an air bubble. That’s all I ever managed to find.” She grimaced. “I came within two grade points of failing biology. As it was, I had the lowest passing grade in my whole class.”

  “But you can cook like an angel,” he pointed out.

  She frowned. “What does that have to do with microscopes?”

  “I’m making an observation,” he replied. “We all have skills. Yours is cooking. Somebody else’s might be science. It would be a pretty boring world if we all were good at the same things.”

  “I see.”

  He smiled. “You can crochet, too. My grandmother loved her crafts, like you do. She could make quilts and knit sweaters and crochet afghans. A woman of many talents.”

  “They don’t seem to count for much in the modern world,” she replied.

  “Have you ever really looked at the magazine rack, Jake?” he asked, surprised. “There are more magazines on handicrafts than there are on rock stars, and that’s saying something.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” She looked around. They were just coming into Billings. Ahead, she could see the awesome outline of the Rimrocks, where the airport was located, in the distance. “We’re here?” she exclaimed.

  “It’s not so far from home,” he said lazily.

  “Not at the speed you go, no,” she said impudently.

  He laughed. “There wasn’t any traffic and we aren’t overly blessed with highway patrols at this hour of the night.”

  “You catch speeders, and you’re local law enforcement,” she pointed out.

  “I don’t catch them on the interstate unless they’re driving on it through my town,” he replied. “And it’s not so much the speed that gets them caught, either. It’s the way they’re driving. You can be safe at high speeds and dangerous at low ones. Weaving in and out of traffic, riding people’s bumpers, running stop signs, that sort of thing.”

  “I saw this television program where an experienced traffic officer said that what scared him most was to see a driver with both hands white-knuckled and close together on the steering wheel.”

  He nodded. “There are exceptions, but it usually means someone who’s insecure and afraid of the vehicle.”

  “You aren’t.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been driving since I was twelve. Kids grow up early when they live on ranches. Have to learn how to operate machinery, like tractors and harvesters.”

  “Our ranch doesn’t have a harvester.”

  “That’s because our ranch can’t afford one,” he said, smiling. “But we can always borrow one from neighbors.”

  “Small towns are such nice places,” she said dreamily. “I love it that people will loan you a piece of equipment that expensive just because they like you.”

  “I imagine there are people in cities who would do the same, Jake, but there’s not much use for them there.”

  She laughed. “No, I guess not.”

  He turned the corner and pulled into a parking lot next to a long, low building. There was a neon sign that said Red’s Tavern.

  “It’s a bar?” she asked.

  “It’s a dance club. They do serve alcohol, but not on the dance floor.”

  “Theodore, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a bar in my life.”

  “Not to worry, they won’t force you to drink anything alcoholic,” he told her, tongue-in-cheek. “And if they tried, I’d have to call local law and have them arrested. You’re underage.”

  “Local law?”

  “I’m not sanctioned to arrest people outside my own jurisdiction,” he reminded her. “But you could make a citizen’s arrest. Anybody can if they see a crime being committed. It’s just that we don’t advise it. Could get you killed, depending on the circumstances.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  He got out and opened her door, lifting her gently down from the truck by the waist. He held her just in front of him for a minute, smiling into her soft eyes. “You’re as light as a feather,” he commented softly. “And you smell pretty.”

  A shocked little laugh left her throat. “I smell pretty?”

  “Yes. I remember my grandmother by her scent. She wore a light, flowery cologne. I recognize it if I smell it anywhere. She always smelled so good.”

  Her hands rested lightly on his broad shoulders. He was very strong. She loved his strength, his size. She smiled into his dark eyes. “You smell good, too. Spicy.”

  He nuzzled her nose with his. “Thanks.”

  She sighed and slid her arms around his neck. She tucked her face into his throat. “I feel so safe with you,” she said softly. “Like nothing could ever hurt me.”

  “Now, Jake, that’s not the sort of thing a man likes to hear.”

  She lifted her head, surprised. “Why?”

  He pursed his lips. “We want to hear that we’re dangerous and exciting, that we stir you up and make you nervous.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s a figure of speech.”

  She searched his eyes. “You don’t want me to feel comfortable with you?” she faltered.

  “You don’t understand what I’m talking about, do you?” he wondered gently.

  “No…not really. I’m sorry.”

  It was early days yet, he reminded himself. It was disappointing that she wasn’t shaky when he touched her. But, then, she kept secrets. There must be a reason why she was so icy inside herself.

  He set her down but he didn’t let her go. “Some things have to be learned,” he said.

  “Learned.”

  He framed her face with his big, warm hands. “Passion, for instance.” She blinked.

  It was like describing ice to a desert nomad. He smiled wistfully. “You haven’t ever been kissed in such a way that you’d die to have it happen again?”

  She shook her head. Her eyes were wide and innocent, unknowing. She flushed a little and shifted restlessly.

  “But you have been kissed in such a way that you’d rather undergo torture than have it happen again,” he said suddenly.

  She caught her breath. He couldn’t know! He couldn’t!

  His black eyes narrowed on her face. “Something happened to you, Jake. Something bad. It made you lock yourself away from the world. And it wasn’t your experience with the traveling auditor.”

  “You can’t know…!”

  “Of course not,” he interrupted impatiently. “You know I don’t pry. But I’ve been in law enforcement a long time, and I’ve learned to read people pretty good. You’re afraid of me when I get too close to you.”

  She bit down hard on her lower lip. She drew blood.

  “Stop that,” he said in a tender tone, touching her lower lip where her teeth had savaged it. “I’m not going to try to browbeat you into telling me something you don’t want to. But I wish you trusted me enough
to talk to me about it. You know I’m not judgmental.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

  He cocked his head. “Can’t you tell me?”

  She hesitated noticeably. She wanted to. She really wanted to. But…

  He bent and kissed her eyelids shut. “Don’t. We have all the time in the world. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen.”

  She drew in a long, labored breath and laid her forehead against his suit coat. “You’re the nicest man I’ve ever known.”

  He smiled over her head. “Well, that’s a start, I guess.”

  She smiled, too. “It’s a start.”

  Four

  It was the liveliest place Jillian had ever been to. The dance band was on a platform at the end of a long, wide hall with a polished wooden floor. Around the floor were booths, not tables, and there was a bar in the next room with three bartenders, two of whom were female.

  The music was incredible. It was Latin with a capital L, pulsing and narcotic. On the dance floor, people were moving to the rhythm. Some had on jeans and boots, others were wearing ensembles that would have done justice to a club in New York City. Still others, apparently too intimidated by the talent being displayed on the dance floor, were standing on the perimeter of the room, clapping and smiling.

  “Wow,” Jillian said, watching a particularly talented couple, a silver-haired lean and muscular man with a willowy blonde woman somewhat younger than he was. They whirled and pivoted, laughing, with such easy grace and elegance that she couldn’t take her eyes off them.

  “That’s Red Jernigan,” he told her, indicating the silver-haired man, whose thick, long hair was in a ponytail down his back.

  “He isn’t redheaded,” she pointed out.

  He gave her an amused look. “It doesn’t refer to his coloring,” he told her. “They called him that because in any battle, he was the one most likely to come out bloody.”

  She gasped. “Oh.”

  “I have some odd friends.” He shrugged, then smiled. “You’ll get used to them.”

  He was saying something profound about their future. She was confused, but she returned his smile anyway.

  The dance ended and Theodore tugged her along with him to the dance floor, where the silver-haired man and the blonde woman were catching their breath.

  “Hey, Red,” he greeted the other man, who grinned and gripped his hand. “Good to see you.”

  “About time you came up for a visit.” Red’s dark eyes slid to the small blonde woman beside the police chief. His eyebrows arched.

  “This is Jillian,” Theodore said gently. “And this is Red Jernigan.”

  “I’m Melody,” the pretty blonde woman said, introducing herself. “Nice to meet you.”

  Red slid his arm around the woman and pulled her close. “Nice to see Ted going around with somebody,” he observed. “It’s painful to see a man come alone to a dance club and refuse to dance with anyone except the owner’s wife.”

  “Well, I don’t like most modern women.” Theodore excused himself. He smiled down at a grinning Jillian. “I like Jake, here.”

  “Jake?” Red asked, blinking.

  “He’s always called me that,” Jillian sighed. “I’ve known him a long time.”

  “She has,” Theodore drawled, smiling. “She likes cattle.”

  “I don’t,” Melody laughed. “Smelly things.”

  “Oh, but they’re not smelly if they’re kept clean,” Jillian protested at once. “Sammy is always neat.”

  “Her calf,” Theodore explained.

  “Is he a bull?” Red asked.

  “She’s a heifer,” Jillian inserted. “A little black baldy.”

  Red and Melody were giving her odd looks.

  “As an acquaintance of mine in Jacobsville, Texas, would say,” Red told them, “if Johnny Cash could sing about a girl named Sue, a person can have a girl animal with a boy’s name.” He leaned closer. “He has a female border collie named Bob.”

  They burst out laughing.

  “Well, don’t stand over here with us old folks,” Red told them. “Get out there with the younger generation and show them how to tango.”

  “You aren’t old, Bud,” Theodore told his friend with twinkling eyes. “You’re just a hair slower than you used to be, but with the same skills.”

  “Which I hope I’m never called to use again,” Red replied solemnly. “I’m still on reserve status.”

  “I know.”

  “Red was a bird colonel in spec ops,” Theodore explained to Jillian later when they were sitting at a table sampling the club’s exquisitely cooked seasoned steak and fancy baked sweet potatoes, which it was as famous as for its dance band.

  “And he still is?” she asked.

  He nodded. “He can do more with recruits than any man I ever knew, and without browbeating them. He just encourages. Of course, there are times when he has to get a little more creative, with the wilder sort.”

  “Creative?”

  He grinned. “There was this giant of a kid from Milwaukee who was assigned to his unit in the field. Kid played video games and thought he knew more about strategy and tactics than Red did. So Red turns him loose on the enemy, but with covert backup.”

  “What happened?” she asked, all eyes.

  “The kid walked right into an enemy squad and froze in his tracks. It’s one thing to do that on a computer screen. Quite another to confront armed men in real life. They were aiming their weapons at him when Red led a squad in to recover him. Took about two minutes for them to eliminate the threat and get Commando Carl back to his own lines.” He shook his head. “In the excitement, the kid had, shall we say, needed access to a restroom and didn’t have one. So they hung a nickname on him that stuck.”

  “Tell me!”

  He chuckled. “Let’s just say that it suited him. He took it in his stride, sucked up his pride, learned to follow orders and became a real credit to the unit. He later became mayor of a small town somewhere up north, where he’s still known, to a favored few, as ‘Stinky.’”

  She laughed out loud.

  “Actually, he was in good company. I read in a book on World War II that one of our better known generals did the same thing when his convoy ran into a German attack. Poor guy. I’ll bet Stinky cringed every time he saw that other general’s book on a rack.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  She sipped her iced tea and smiled. “This is really good food,” she said. “I’ve never had a steak that was so tender, not even from beef my uncle raised.”

  “This is Kobe beef,” he pointed out. “Red gets it from Japan. God knows how,” he added.

  “I read about those. Don’t they actually massage the beef cattle?”

  “Pamper them,” he agreed. “You should try that sweet potato,” he advised. “It’s really a unique combination of spices they use.”

  She frowned, picking at it with her fork. “I’ve only ever had a couple of sweet potatoes, and they were mostly tasteless.”

  “Just try it.”

  She put the fork into it, lifted it dubiously to her lips and suddenly caught her breath when the taste hit her tongue like dynamite. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “What do they call this?”

  “Red calls it ‘the ultimate jalapeño-brown-sugar-sweet-potato delight.’”

  “It’s heavenly!”

  He chuckled. “It is, isn’t it? The jalapeño gives it a kick like a mule, but it’s not so hot that even tenderfeet wouldn’t eat it.”

  “I would never have thought of such a combination. And I thought I was a good cook.”

  “You are a good cook, Jake,” he said. “The best I ever knew.”

  She blushed. “Thanks, Theodore.”

  He cocked his head. “I guess it would kill you to shorten that.”

  “Shorten what?”

  “My name. Most people call me Ted.”

  She hesitated with the fork in midair. She searched his black eyes for a long ti
me. “Ted,” she said softly.

  His jaw tautened. He hadn’t expected it to have that effect on him. She had a soft, sweet, sexy voice when she let herself relax with him. She made his name sound different; special. New.

  “I like the way you say it,” he said, when she gave him a worried look. “It’s—” he searched for a word that wouldn’t intimidate her “—it’s stimulating.”

  “Stimulating.” She didn’t understand.

  He put down his fork with a long sigh. “Something happened to you,” he said quietly. “You don’t know me well enough to talk to me about it. Or maybe you’re afraid that I might go after the man who did it.”

  She was astounded. She couldn’t even manage words. She just stared at him, shocked.

  “I’m in law enforcement,” he reminded her. “After a few years, you read body language in a different way than most people do. Abused children have a look, a way of dressing and acting, one that’s obvious to a cop.”

  She went white. She bit her lower lip and her fingers toyed with her fork as she stared at it, fighting tears.

  His big hand curled around hers, gently. “I wish you could tell me. I think it would help you.”

  She looked up into quiet, patient eyes. “You wouldn’t…think badly of me?”

  “For God’s sake,” he groaned. “Are you nuts?”

  She blinked.

  He grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put it that way. Nothing I found out about you would change the way I feel. If that’s why you’re reluctant.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He glared at her.

  She lowered her eyes and curled her small hand into his big one, a trusting gesture that touched him in a new and different way.

  “When I was fifteen, Uncle John had this young man he got to do odd jobs around here. He was a drifter, very intelligent. He seemed like a nice, trustworthy person to have around the house. Then one day Uncle John felt bad and went to bed, left me with the hired man in the kitchen.”

  Her jaw clenched. “At first, he was real helpful. Wanted to put out the trash for me and sweep the floor. I thought it was so nice of him. Then all of a sudden, he asked what was my bra size and if I wore nylon panties.”

  Theodore’s eyes began to flash.