Welcome To Wyoming. Kate Bridges

enough to the O’Sullivan woman to kiss her again. In fact, he would try to physically avoid her so there was no opportunity for him to be drawn in. If he kept his cool and stayed his distance, he’d get the information he damn well needed to get from her—the location of the railroad’s stolen property—and be on his way to the next assignment.

      It was simple. And simple plans always worked the best.

      * * *

      At the sound of the firm knock on her hotel-room door, Natasha’s pulse leaped. It rattled her composure. She reached to open the pine door and found Jarrod Ledbetter on the other side.

      He was dressed more casually today, in a black suede coat and hat that might belong to a cowboy, but a crisp white shirt and tailored wool trousers that a businessman might wear. In the light of day, he seemed more alive and intimidating than ever. Good heavens, she thought, her mind racing with sensual thoughts of what it might be like to disrobe him of those fancy clothes.

      “Good morning.” He gave her a charming smile that in no way alluded to any uncomfortable regrets he might have about the intimate kiss they’d shared last night. Her face, however, flushed with heat at the searing memory.

      “Morning, Jarrod.”

      His gaze sharpened over her plain calico dress. It had been a hand-me-down gift from one of her friends at the boardinghouse. It was a size smaller than she usually wore and therefore too snug in the bodice. However, she would take her shawl with her and drape it over her shoulders for modesty. She’d leave her hair loose, too, in the manner she’d noticed other younger women wearing last night at dinner.

      “How did you sleep, Natasha?”

      “As deep as an ogre. Utterly wiped-out. You?”

      He shrugged. “I never seem to sleep well.”

      “That’s a shame. Perhaps it’s because of all the traveling that you do. Have you ever tried camomile tea or—”

      “That’s a lovely cameo,” he said, glancing at her throat.

      She wondered if he’d purposely changed the subject. “Thank you.”

      “Made of pink shell,” he said, “mounted on a black velvet ribbon. The scene depicts ‘Rebecca at the Well.’”

      Her hand sprung to the nicely weighted oval above her cleavage. She was pleased he knew so much about jewelry and that she could share this love of the craft with him. “I thought the length of the ribbon nicely balanced the size of the cameo.”

      “Very becoming. And cameo earrings to match.”

      “Do you like them? They were originally mounted on posts. I converted them to fish hooks so they dangle, more in keeping with the length of the velvet ribbon.”

      His penetrating eyes flashed. “Very simple, yet very elegant.”

      The heated manner in which he said it made her feel as though he was appraising her, not her jewelry. Either way, she was flattered. His opinion meant a lot, since he was such a fine and experienced jeweler. He didn’t wear much jewelry himself, besides the handsome silver buckle on his belt that was engraved with his initials, J. L., and encrusted with studs. Most men did not wear a lot of jewelry, but she truly enjoyed seeing the occasional lapel pin or watch fob on a well-suited man.

      “Ready to go?” he asked. “I thought we might take a stroll and have breakfast outside in one of the cafés. The food’s not fancy, but the sightseeing is grand.”

      She was relieved to take the focus from herself and happy to explore the town.

      She took her white shawl and exited the room. He tugged the door closed for her, and she turned to lock it with her key. Their fingers brushed accidentally. Her belly rippled with sensations, but he removed his hand so quickly from hers that she felt the space between them rather cold. When she turned around and placed the key in her beaded handbag, he was already standing several feet away.

      Oh.

      Such an abrupt parting.

      He seemed more relaxed when they got outdoors. He smiled at her and motioned her to pass first along the crowded boardwalk and shops, all with the good manners of a schoolboy.

      This man was no schoolboy.

      She swallowed hard at the glint of metal in his eyes. There was something hardened in him, something she feared might be impenetrable.

      Valentina from the boardinghouse popped into Natasha’s head, reminding her to ask about his mother.

      “Jarrod, I—I was wondering if you might tell me more about your family. I realize your parents passed away when you were rather young. Six, right?”

      He nodded, his expression remaining hard. “Barn fire.”

      “I’m awfully sorry. Do you recall anything about your mother?”

      He shook his head.

      Nothing? Six was old enough to have some memories, wasn’t it? Valentina wouldn’t want Natasha to give up on the line of questioning. “How about your grandmother? What was she like?”

      “A nice lady.” Jarrod ushered her through a crowd of people coming at them at the boardwalk, then changed the subject. “That’s an unusual clasp in your hair.”

      The signs were not good. He wasn’t letting her into his world.

      “Something my grandfather gave me,” Natasha answered sadly due to Jarrod’s refusal to confide in her. “My most valuable piece, actually.” The stones were modest in size, but beautifully set, and she recalled how delighted her granddad had been when he’d presented it to her. “It contains four precious stones, set in eighteen-karat gold from the new mines in California. The brooch means the world to me, not because of its monetary value but its meaning.”

      “Of course. The gems are arranged in a secret code to spell out a message from your granddad to you.”

      My, she thought as he continued to elaborate, Jarrod Ledbetter was very keen to notice details, wasn’t he? She tried to understand that it might take some time for him to open up about his family. His mother’s passing must’ve been tragic for him.

      That’s all it is, Valentina.

      Jarrod elaborated on the one topic he seemed quite pleased to pursue. “The first letter of each gemstone spells out the word DEAR. There’s a diamond, emerald, amethyst and ruby.”

      “He was sentimental,” she explained. “An excellent goldsmith and gem setter. He made it himself.”

      Many people from many different countries used gemstones to spell out words in their jewelry. It was a common practice, and if the message was written in a different language, extremely difficult to decipher.

      “I once repaired a ring that I secretly deciphered,” she recalled. “It spelled out FOREVER. And a lapel pin that spelled APOLOGY.”

      He quirked an eyebrow. “Did you share the information with the owners?”

      She shook her head. “That would have been indiscreet. They more than likely already knew the messages, and I was simply the hired help.”

      “Ah, the ethics of jewelry repair. You must keep your eyes and ears closed to the secrets of others.”

      He was teasing her. A rush of excitement coursed through her at the possibility of what the day might bring.

      It was interesting to discuss jewelry with him. She had always been thrilled in learning and practicing what she’d learned with her grandfather. Intimate messages and meanings in jewelry were also represented with symbols, not only spelled out with words. Shamrocks were symbols of luck, for instance, and mistletoe represented a desire for a kiss.

      Jarrod strode beside her. It seemed that he was being very careful to leave several inches between them as they walked. She could understand his desire to be a gentleman, but she wouldn’t be