The Rancher And The City Girl. Kathy Douglass

knees wobbled, and she reached for the door. Unfortunately, she was too far away to grab it. He rushed forward and caught her as she collapsed, sweeping her into his arms. Her gentle scent wafted in the air and wrapped around him. Some random part of his brain noticed how well she fit in his arms, but he quickly banished the unwelcome thought.

      “I’m okay. I can walk,” she said in a small voice that belied her words. “It was just a little weakness, you know, from all the nerves. I’ve been so scared.”

      He ignored her protests and kept her in his arms until he reached the sofa, where he gently eased her onto the cushions. “When was the last time you ate?”

      Her brow wrinkled, and she closed her eyes. “I’m not sure.”

      No doubt she was running on adrenaline coupled with a good dose of fear. Now that she was safe, her strength was gone. “Here’s an easier question. When was the last time you slept?”

      She laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t know if that’s easier. I overheard the conversation around two yesterday afternoon. I freaked and rushed around the city in a panic for a couple of hours. I actually started toward Maine before thinking of coming here. I checked into a fleabag hotel in Virginia around two in the morning, but to be honest I didn’t sleep very well.”

      He stood, needing to put some distance between them. “I’ll heat some soup. Give me your keys and I’ll put your car in the shed so it’ll be out of sight. I don’t think anyone will look for you here, but better safe than sorry.”

      She grabbed his arm, and unwanted warmth shot through his body.

      “Thanks, Jericho.” Her voice was small but earnest. “You’re saving my life.”

      Uncomfortable with her thanks and even more uncomfortable with the way his body responded to the feel of her hand on his forearm, he snapped, determined to set her straight so she didn’t get the wrong idea about his motives. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m repaying a debt.”

      “What debt?”

      “Your parents helped Jeanette after her parents died and she had nowhere to go. So I’m helping you. When this is over we’ll be even and I’ll never have to lay eyes on you again.”

      Telling himself it couldn’t possibly be pain he saw on her face, he stalked to the kitchen to warm up some soup. The sooner he got her fed and safely in the guest room, the better off he’d be. But somehow he had the feeling getting her out of his mind wasn’t going to be as easy as getting her out of his sight tonight.

       Chapter Two

      Camille looked around the kitchen as she sipped the chicken and rice soup. Spacious and up-to-date, the room still managed to remain in keeping with the rest of the farmhouse. The pink-and-green-flowered curtains and matching canisters on the soapstone countertops reminded her that Jericho may live alone now but there had been a woman here. Jeanette.

      Camille closed her eyes on a wave of guilt. Had she really turned her back on her best friend simply because she’d fallen in love? True, Jeanette had broken Rodney’s heart, but she hadn’t meant to. She’d let him down as easily as she could. Yet Camille had refused to forgive her friend. She’d rejected every one of Jeanette’s overtures. Now Jeanette was gone and Camille would never be able to make things right between them.

      Sorrow and regret filled her, turning her stomach. She put down her spoon, her appetite gone. The irony of her present situation didn’t escape her. She’d forced Jeanette out of her life because she’d chosen Jericho over Rodney, and now Camille was forcing herself into Jericho’s life. He was letting her stay only because of Jeanette.

      “Is something wrong with the soup?” Jericho asked, his voice hard. It was as if he was waiting for her to complain. Was he looking for an excuse to throw her out? There was no way she would give him one.

      She squelched a sigh, swallowed more soup, then looked at her reluctant host. “No. It’s delicious. It tastes too good to have come from a can.”

      The corners of his mouth turned down. “A friend of mine is a chef.”

      Male or female? For some insane reason the thought of another woman bustling around this kitchen disturbed her. She shoved that feeling, whatever it was, aside. She was a guest here. Her welcome was tenuous at best. She didn’t have the right to start asking questions about Jericho’s life. Still a part of her was curious about the man her friend had fallen so hard for. What was it about him that had been so appealing that it had caused Jeanette to break off her engagement to Camille’s brother?

      One thing Camille now knew: Jericho was dependable. He might not like her—heck, he hated her—but he’d been willing to provide her with a safe haven. More than that, he hadn’t asked for a thing in return. True, he viewed it as repaying a debt, but if there was a debt, it wasn’t his to pay.

      Her spoon clanked against the bowl, and she realized she’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t been aware she’d been eating.

      “More?” Jericho asked.

      She shook her head, then caught herself. Hadn’t her mother drilled into her the proper way to respond to a question? She must be even more tired than she thought. The soft light and the warmth of the room had lulled her into a calm she hadn’t felt since she’d first discovered the criminal activity at her firm. “No, thank you.”

      She wiped her mouth with her napkin and pushed away from the table. Grabbing her bowl, she stood, intending to wash her dishes in the ceramic farm sink beneath the large window. Even from across the room she could see the sink was empty; she didn’t want to leave a mess for Jericho to clean up later. Nor did she want to leave him with the impression that she was the spoiled rich girl he thought she was.

      “I’ll take care of this,” he said, taking her bowl from her.

      “That’s not necessary.”

      “I insist.” His tone ended all discussion.

      “Thanks.” She waited quietly as he washed her dishes, wiped them dry and placed them in the cabinet beside the sink.

      He leaned against the counter and stared at her. For all his concern about feeding her, his eyes were remarkably cold, his voice remote. “I’ll show you where you can bunk while you’re here.”

      Bunk. A cowboy word. Not a word she was used to hearing on Wall Street. It had a nice ring to it. Soothing. It conjured up images of honorable men on the range who would ensure no harm came to anyone. Hopefully, this horse ranch in North Carolina and its owner could provide the protection she needed until the danger passed. And it had to pass, didn’t it? She forced that worry away. She was safe for now, and that was what she would focus on.

      Camille followed Jericho through a narrow hall and up a flight of stairs. A gray and burgundy runner centered on the old oak risers muffled their footsteps. The house wasn’t as large as the Chicago Gold Coast mansion where she’d grown up, but it was a good size and quite cozy. Jericho led her past a closed door and paused briefly before a second.

      He opened the door a few inches. “This is the guest bathroom.”

      She caught a glimpse of a white pedestal sink before he closed the door.

      He opened a door farther down the hall, and she hurried to catch up with him. “Linen closet.” He pulled out towels, folded sheets and two blankets, then handed them to her before shutting the door with a definite click. What? Did he think she would steal his linen?

      He crossed the hall and opened another door but didn’t step inside. “You’ll be sleeping here. This is the only bed you’re welcome in.”

      She gasped, and her cheeks heated with remembered embarrassment. Before she could think up a suitable reply, he’d vanished back down the hall. She heard the stairs creak under his feet, and a minute later a door slammed.

      Truthfully