Sheri WhiteFeather - The Morning-After Proposal

“We should go inside,” he said, the twisted need to protect her coming back. “You should get warmed up.”

She didn’t respond. He didn’t speak again, either.

He opened the screen door for her, and they entered the house.

Their silence bedeviling the air.

JJ fixed lunch. After being alone with Dylan, she needed something to do, something to keep her mind off of their intimate conversation.

While French onion soup simmered, she set the table, an old chrome and Formica booth that Henry and his wife had purchased from a bankrupt diner and reupholstered in a pretty fabric.

As she reached for the everyday china, white with tiny blue flowers, she thought about Henry’s widow. Her name was Lois and her recipe box was still on the counter. JJ used it regularly. In some odd way she felt closer to Lois, a woman she’d never even met, than she did her own mother. The thought made her teary-eyed. At this point, she would do anything to have her mom back, to start their relationship over.

Finally the meal was ready. She told herself to relax and call the men for lunch. Dylan was still here, still making her nerves jangle. Henry was giving him a quick tour of the refuge, probably trying to convince him to get involved in the fundraiser.

She used a hand-held radio, a common communication system on ranches, to tell Henry to come inside and bring their guest.

When they arrived, Dylan smiled at her, a barely-there tilt of his lips, and her knees went girlishly weak.

“This looks good,” he said.

“Thanks.” She met his gaze, memories drifting in and out of her mind. His touch, his scent, the kiss that never happened.

After a beat of silence, Henry interrupted. “We can wash up at the sink.”

By the time they sat down to eat, JJ couldn’t think clearly. Dylan was beside her in the booth, his shoulder nearly brushing hers.

Henry devoured his soup, where thick slices of toasted bread and melted cheese had been placed on top. Dylan seemed to enjoy his, too. Along with the ham sandwiches and Caesar salad she’d prepared.

“Henry asked me to help with the fundraiser,” Dylan said.

“We could use someone with his background,” the older cowboy added.

She turned to her boss. “I knew you’d talk him into it.”

“It didn’t take much talking. He’s happy to help. I told ya he was a good one.”

“Yes, you did.” She sent Henry a brave smile. She wasn’t about to spoil this for him. If Dylan’s participation in the fundraiser could keep the Rocking Horse afloat, then she who was she to complain?

“I owe this to Henry,” Dylan said. “I misrepresented myself when I first arrived. You know, using the fundraiser as an excuse to see if you were here.”

She speared a lettuce leaf. “Did you misrepresent yourself at other ranches, too?”

“Yes, but none of them are non-profit organizations. When I called them and set up phony meetings to discuss training their horses or conducting clinics or demonstrations, it wasn’t for charity.”

“How many other ranches did you search?” she asked, unable to quell her curiosity.

“I couldn’t begin to count.” He paused, studied her. “I’ve been all over this state. The FBI said you were probably hiding out on a horse farm in Nevada, working as a housekeeper.”

“Because I used to be a maid at a motel?”

He nodded. “And because you like horses. They figured you’d be drawn to a ranch setting. They did a profile on you.”

“Like on TV?” Henry seemed impressed. “I’m surprised they didn’t flash JJ’s picture on that missing person show.”

She was glad they hadn’t. She’d been bombarded with publicity right after the kidnapping, at least in her hometown. Dylan hadn’t made the papers, though. He’d been reported as “the private citizen” who’d found her.

And now, eight months later, he’d found her again.

Like fate? Like destiny?

No, she thought. She’d already told Dylan that she didn’t believe in those things. She used to, when she was Julia. But JJ was trying to be stronger than Julia. She was trying to rule her own life.

Henry reached for his sandwich. “I figured you young folks could work together on the fundraiser.”

Her pulse spiked. “Dylan and I?”

“Dylan has lots of rich acquaintances. The highfalutin horsey set who invite him to their parties and such.”

JJ shook her head. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

Dylan spoke up. “I’d like you to attend some of those parties with me, to charm these people into making sizable donations or bidding on the horses you’ll have up for adoption.”

“It’s a win-win situation,” Henry put in. “Either way, The Rocking Horse comes out on top.”

“It’s a great idea.” JJ’s nerves cranked up a notch. “But I’m not really the party type. Dylan would probably fare better without me.”

Henry disagreed. “Someone should be with him who represents the refuge. Besides, you’ve been cooped up here for months, hiding from the world. A couple of parties will do you good.”

Would it?

She glanced at Henry and he smiled, boosting her confidence. He was right. JJ, the woman she was becoming, needed to break free, to live a less sheltered life.

“You better introduce me as JJ,” she told Dylan.

He frowned a little. “What are you talking about?”

“At those parties.”

He didn’t respond, but she was glad she’d made her point. That she was fighting for her rights.

After the meal ended, Dylan returned to his motel room in town. But before he left, he asked JJ to walk him outside.

She got her coat, and they stood on the porch once again, with the breeze blowing bitterly around them.

“I’ll call you later,” he said. “To give you our flight itinerary.”

“That’s fine.” She tried to keep their conversation light. “Henry seems thrilled that you’re helping with the fundraiser and that I agreed to attend the parties.”

“Maybe so. But I’m not introducing you as JJ.”

She held her ground. “Yes, you are.”

The wind kicked up a notch, rustling his jacket. “No, I’m not.” He moved a little closer, scowled at her. “Being around you is so damn frustrating. Why can’t you—” He stalled, traced the battered porch rail, running his hand back and forth, caressing the wood, nearly catching a splinter.

She sucked in a much-needed breath. “Why can’t I what?”

“Behave like the girl I remember.” He trapped her gaze. “The girl who almost kissed me.”

Oh, God. Somewhere in the pit of her captive soul, she wanted to explore the knotted chemistry between them, to rekindle the moment their mouths had almost met.

But she wouldn’t dare. Not while she was on the verge of going home with him.

Her voice betrayed her. “I’m not Julia anymore.”

“Aren’t you?”

She didn’t reply, and he walked away without saying goodbye, without clearing the air. She watched him leave, wondering how long it would take for him to call.

After he was gone, she returned to the house, the forbidden kiss still lingering in her mind.

Hours passed, dragging with each tick of the clock. By the time the phone rang, JJ nearly jumped to answer it. Then she took a moment to calm her nerves. If it was Dylan, which she assumed it was, she didn’t want him to know she’d been waiting for him.

She picked it up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Julia?” It was him, being headstrong as ever.

Irritation hit her hard and quick. Waiting for his call had been a mistake. She decided not to respond.

“Julia?” he said again. “I know damn well you’re there.”

She glanced out her window and saw the wind snag a branch on a barren fruit tree. Two could play at his game. “Maybe I should start calling you Darrin or something.”