Big Sky Standoff

She rushed to the receiver terminal, half expecting to see that Dillon was no longer in his room.

But the steady beep assured her he was right next door. Or at least his tracking device was.

She thought about knocking on his door to check, using the food as an excuse. But instead she went to tip the deliveryman, closing her door behind him.

As she placed the Chinese food sacks on the table in the corner of her room, she heard a soft tap on the door between their rooms.

“Dinner’s here,” she called in response. Unconsciously, she braced herself as he stepped into her room.

His hair was wet and curled at his neck, his face flushed from his bath, and he smelled better than sweet and sour shrimp any day of the week. On top of that, he looked so happy and excited that anyone with a heart would have felt something as he made a beeline for the food.

She knew she was considered cold and heartless with no feelings, especially the female kind. It made it easier in her line of work to let everyone think that.

But how could she not be moved to see Dillon like a kid in a candy store as he opened each of the little white boxes, making delighted sounds and breathing in the scent of each, all the time flashing that grin of his?

“I can’t believe this. I think you got all my favorites,” he said, turning that grin on her. “You must have read my mind.” The look in his eyes softened, taking all the air from the room.

She turned away and pretended to look in her suitcase for something.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat while it’s hot. Work can wait. Can’t it?”

She pulled out the map she’d planned to show him later, and glanced toward the small table in the corner and Dillon. “Go ahead and start.”

He shook his head. “My mother taught better than that.”

Reluctantly, she joined him as he began to dish up the rice. “I just want a little sweet and sour shrimp.”

He looked up. “You can’t be serious. Who’s going to eat all this?”

She couldn’t help her smile. “I figured you would. You did say you’ve been starved for Chinese food.”

His grateful expression was almost her undoing—and his subsequent vulnerability as well. He ducked his head as if overcome with emotions he didn’t want her to see, and spooned sweet and sour shrimp onto a plate for her.

She made a job of putting the map on the chair beside her, giving him a moment. Maybe she’d underestimated what four years in prison had done to him. Or what it must be like for him to be out.

When she looked up, however, there was no sign of anything on his face except a brilliant smile as he dished up his own plate. She warned herself not to be taken in by any of his antics as she took a bite of her meal and watched him do the same.

He closed his eyes and moaned softly. She tried to ignore him as she pretended to study the map on the chair next to her while she nibbled her food.

“You have to try this.”

Before she could react, he reached across the table and shoved a forkful of something at her. Instinctively, she opened her mouth.

“Isn’t that amazing?” he asked as he intently watched her chew.

It was amazing. Spicy, but not too hot. “Which one is that?” she asked, just to break the tense quiet in the room as he stared at her.

“Orange-peel beef.” He was already putting some on her plate. “And wait until you try this.” He started toward her with another forkful.

She held up her hand, more than aware of how intimate it was to be fed by a man. She was sure Dillon Savage was aware of it, too. “Really, I—” But the fork had touched her lips and her mouth opened again.

As he dragged the fork away slowly, she felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the spicy food.

She met his gaze and felt a chill run the length of her spine. The smile on his lips, the teasing tilt of his head, couldn’t hide what was deep in those pale blue eyes.

She had forgotten that she’d been the one to put him behind bars, but clearly, Dillon Savage had not.

Chapter Four

Dillon stared into Jack’s gray eyes. For a moment there he’d been enjoying himself, so much that he’d forgotten who she was: the woman who’d sent him to prison. His mood turned sour in an instant.

He dragged his gaze away, but not before she’d seen the change in him. Seen his true feelings.

She shoved her plate aside, her appetite apparently gone, and spread the map out on the table like a barrier between them. “We need to get to work, so as soon as you’ve finished eating…”

He ate quickly, but his enjoyment of foods he’d missed so much was gone. He told himself it was better this way. Jack had to be aware of how he felt about her. She would have been a fool not to, and this woman was no fool.

But he doubted she knew the extent of his feelings. Or how he’d amused himself those many hours alone in his bunk. He’d plotted his revenge. Not that he planned to act on it, he’d told himself. It had just been something to do. Because he would need to do something about the person who’d betrayed him. And while he was at it, why not do something about Jack?

Only he would have to be careful around her. More careful than he’d been so far.

Food forgotten, he shoved the containers aside and stood to lean over the map. But his attention was on Jack. He could tell she was still a little shaken, and wanted to reassure her that he was no longer a man driven by vengeance. No easy task, given that he didn’t believe it himself.

But that wasn’t what bothered him as he pretended to study the map. As a student of human nature, he couldn’t help but wonder why, when he’d been so careful to mask his feelings for years, he had let that mask slip—even for an instant—around the one woman who controlled his freedom.

Jacklyn watched his eyes. They were a pale blue, with tiny specks of gold. Eyes that gave away too much, including the fact that behind all that blue was a brain as sharp as any she’d run across. And that made him dangerous, even beyond whatever grudges he still carried.

On the map, she’d marked with a small red x each ranch that had lost cattle. Next to it, she’d put down the number of livestock stolen and the estimated value.

Some of the cattle had been taken in broad daylight, others under the cover of night. The randomness of the hits had made it impossible to catch the rustlers—that and the fact that they worked a two-hundred-mile area, moved fast and left no evidence behind.

Dillon had been leaning over the table, but now sat back and raked a hand through his still-wet hair.

“Something wrong?” she asked. Clearly, there was. She could see that he was upset. If he was the leader of the rustlers, as she suspected, none of this would come as a surprise to him. Unless, of course, his partners in crime had hit more ranches than he was aware of. Had they been cheating him? What if they’d been double-crossing him? She could only hope.

She reminded herself that there was the remote chance Dillon Savage wasn’t involved, which meant whoever was leading this band of rustlers was as clever as he had been. Another reason Dillon might have looked upset?

“Just an interesting pattern,” he said.

She nodded. She’d been afraid he was going to start lying to her right off the bat. “Interesting how?”

He gave her a look that said she knew as well as he did. “By omission.”

“Yes,” she agreed, relieved he hadn’t tried to con her. “It appears they are saving the biggest ranch for last.”

He smiled at that. “You really think they’re ever going to stop, when things are going so well for them?”

No. That was her fear. Some of the smaller ranchers were close to going broke. The rustlers had taken a lot of unbranded calves this spring. Based on market value, the animals had been worth about a thousand dollars a head, a loss that was crippling the smaller ranches, some of which had been hit more than once.