Tallchief: The Hunter by Cait London Page B

real anger, just the same. “You’ve changed a bit since you were young and sweet.”
    Jillian sniffed, turned up her nose and hurried away to collect another stack of dishes. Adam crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to pass by him and into the kitchen. She shot him a hot, narrowed-eyed glare. “They’ll see through you soon enough, Adam. They’ll try to put you to work and you’ll be stuck for answers and you’ll be gone, just when they are counting on you.”
    “Hmm. Work. Now there’s a new thought,” he returned lazily, thinking of all the lumber he’d cut and cleared, the horses he’d broken, the harvesting of crops, the ships he’d sailed and unloaded, the buildings he’d helped construct. More often than not, he’d dragged home at night, too tired to eat or sleep before the next day started it all over again. Even now, with Sam’s success, he preferred hard, exhausting physical labor to sleepless nights and mourning Sarah.
    She pushed the stack of dishes at him. “The other men are helping. You could do the same. You ate enough for two.”
    “So you noticed? I didn’t know I interested you so much.” Adam’s taunt belied his discomfort. He’d rarely been in family settings and was at odds with the duties of a guest.
    “You don’t. For them, you’ve got to do something with your life. So they won’t have a shirttail relative always needing money. You’ve got to be respectable,” she whispered at him, then glanced down at J.T. who was looking up at the adults curiously.
    “I’m working on it. Don’t worry, I won’t cash the check locally. No one will know you wrote one to me.”
    “You must have. Those toys are expensive.”
    “I like toys, and especially Sam the Truck,” J.T. stated firmly below the brewing, yet controlled argument.
    Adam handed the dishes back to her and picked up his nephew. “She’s pretty, isn’t she, J.T.?”
    “Aye,” J.T. murmured, and studied Jillian seriously with his gray eyes. He looped an arm around Adam’s shoulders. “But she’s lonely. There’s a boy at preschool with that same look. His mom just went to heaven. His dad works all the time.”
    “Mmm. Maybe there is a truck in the sack for him. Let’s go see,” Adam said, and carried the boy into the living room. He suspected that J.T.’s observation was correct, but now was not the time to question Jillian. He intended to make more time with her, to wipe away the memories that had haunted him for years.
     

    Why should she care about Adam Tallchief? Why would one look at him, standing with a child on his hip, a child that matched his gray eyes and glossy black hair, stun her? Why would the image of Adam, preparing to leave the Tallchiefs, their plaid slung over his peacoat excite her?
    Maybe as an artist, she was susceptible to images. Maybe as a woman, the biological tug to have a child of her own went straight to her womb. Maybe Adam Tallchief didn’t have her thinking straight; he brought the past and her pain with him, intent upon examining his own wounds.
    His face was hard now, not a boy’s, and those sleepy, careless looks he gave her didn’t fool her. The need for revenge coursed through him, the same as hers coursed through her. But she wouldn’t allow hers to erupt, to make the Tallchiefs uncomfortable.
    Jillian shoved open the door to her house and movedthrough the soft shadows. She preferred her comfortable, rented home to the bright revealing light. She stripped off her coat and lit a small arrangement of candles, intent upon having a quiet glass of wine to settle her nerves after the encounter with Adam.
    She poured sangria into a cup and kicked off her shoes. They were practical now, black leather flats and not dress heels as she once wore. She’d once had the perfect set of wineglasses, Irish crystal, and now she used a plain white cup purchased at a discount store. But then, she wasn’t hosting Kevin’s dinner parties as he wangled for a