Rough Rider (Hot Cowboy Nights, #2)(60)

“It wasn’t for nothing,” she protested. “Maybe I didn’t believe in the war, but you were doing what you thought was right. I admire that and I respect you for it, but I still don’t understand why you did it. Why, Dirk?”

His gaze met hers with a quelling look. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to understand—”

He hadn’t talked about the war to anyone. Ever. Not since the long torturous sessions with the military shrink at Walter Reed. She was pushing him again, but he’d already been an * to her once today. Maybe once was enough.

He forced a deep breath in and then slowly exhaled it. “No more apologies,” he cut her off. “Let’s just move beyond all that, all right? There’s a shitload of work to do around here. C’mon. I’ll start by showing you around the place.”

*

Janice spent the day as Dirk’s shadow, following his routine. Most of the morning he’d shown her where everything was, from tools to first aid, and then they’d ridden through the herd checking for sickness and injuries. It was all just mundane ranch work and nothing she couldn’t have handled on her own, but she was secretly happy just to be with him.

After he’d shown her around and checked the herd, they’d returned to the shop to find the tractor repaired. Janice then offered to load up the hay and haul it out to the cattle. “I know how to operate the bale splitter,” she insisted.

“All right,” he agreed after a moment of hesitation. “If you can take care of feeding, I’ll load up the fence posts.”

She was proud that he’d trusted her to do the job and even more that she’d surprised him with her knowledge of farm equipment. After feeding, they’d taken the ATV out to repair the fence. Janice rode behind Dirk with her arms around his waist, and her face mere inches from his back. She loved the smell of him, all musky male with a hint of sweat and spice.

They’d spoken very little since the morning, mainly just exchanging questions and answers, but she was OK with that. She could sense that he still needed to decompress, that his distress from the morning still simmered close to the surface. In her experience, silence and mindless farm chores were the most therapeutic to a troubled soul.

They worked together with Dirk stretching the barb wire and Janice pounding the staples into each post. They’d finished the last strand of the last post when Dirk cut the wire with a grunt of satisfaction, straightened, and tossed the stretcher and wire cutters into the ATV basket. Janice’s hammer joined the rest of the tools.

She stood as well with a low moan and a long stretch and then stepped away a pace to admire their handiwork. She massaged her lower back. It was killing her after hours of manual labor that she was no longer accustomed to. She didn’t even want to think how much her abused body was going to ache the next morning.

“You stiff?” Dirk’s voice broke two hours of near silence.

“Yeah”—she laughed—“but it’s nothing a couple of Advil and a long hot bath won’t fix.”

“It’s time for a break anyway,” he said. “Let’s go back to the house and I’ll fix us something to eat.”

She hopped behind him on the ATV but they didn’t speak again the whole ride back to the bunkhouse, or while he fixed a simple meal of grilled cheese sandwiches. Just being in his kitchen again had her on edge. She sat at the same table where they’d joined so passionately only hours ago. She’d never be able to sit here again without thinking of him moving inside her. She wanted to feel him again. With his back to her, she was free to watch him unobserved. Her gaze tracked over him, inciting a quiver of desire. Even injured as he was, Dirk was still one big, strong, and very desirable man.

Dirk worked with a fascinating economy of movement, his actions in the kitchen just as brisk and efficient as he’d been setting fence posts. In minutes he placed a plate in front of her and then pulled a couple of beers from the fridge, popped the tops, and handed her one.

“Go ahead,” he urged.

Janice took a big gooey bite of her sandwich and rolled her eyes in rapture. It was absolutely delicious. Definitely not Wonder Bread and Kraft American. “What kind of cheese is this, anyway? It’s fabulous.”

“Gouda with fresh basil on sourdough.” He took a long swig from his bottle but didn’t touch his sandwich. “You ever miss him?”

“Who?” His question had taken her completely off guard.

“Grady. You said Cody adjusted quickly to his death, but what about you?” His gaze searched hers. “Can’t be easy losing someone you’ve shared years of your life with.”

Janice didn’t want to sound cold, but she also couldn’t lie. “You asked if I missed him. Maybe I miss the man he used to be, but not who he became. Things changed…he changed. There’s a lot of stuff you don’t know, Dirk. Stuff I don’t want to talk about.”

“Maybe I know more than you think. He and I traveled together a long time. I know how he was, especially with women. I know how he treated them. Did he hurt you?”

She looked away. “Please. It’s an ugly story that I don’t want to talk about. I just want to move beyond it.” She took another bite but it might have become sawdust between slices of cardboard. She’d been starving moments ago, but now her appetite was replaced by a giant knot in her stomach at the thought of reliving the nightmare. She pushed her plate away and watched him watching her. “Look, Dirk, I didn’t press you when you didn’t want to talk about the marines.”