Heaven's Gift aka Kiss of an Angel

expression grim. 'And how in the hell do you know what Amanda looked like?'

I have visions of her. Oh, God, what explanation could she give him that wouldn't make her sound like a psychiatric patient? She grasped the first logical answer that came to mind. 'I saw pictures.'

'Where?'

'In your office. The bottom shelf in your bookcase.'

He thought for a second, then fury blazed in his eyes. 'So, you went snooping through my personal things?'

She bristled at his accusation. 'Unlike yourself, I wasn't snooping. I was looking for a good book to read to pass some time and I saw the photo albums and looked through them. What crime is there in that?'

'You went through the cigar box.' His voice was flat, his words more a statement than a question.

'Yes,' she said very faintly. A shiver passed through her when she remembered all the momentos in that box, and her reaction to each of them.

He stared at her for a long moment. She could see him struggling to accept her tale for the truth. She prayed he wouldn't realize the sketches she'd drawn of him as a boy were exact duplicates of the ones he had stashed in the cigar box. Oh, what a tangled web she'd woven! And she couldn't even explain how or why.

'I don't like strangers going through my personal things,' he finally said in a terse tone. 'Stay out of my office unless I'm in there, Caitlan.' Turning, he walked away, retaining her sketch pad.

Strangers. The word made her feel so lonely, so solitary. After everything they'd shared he still thought of her as an intruder in his life. But what had she expected from a man whose heart had been battered and bruised? A declaration of love? No, he'd warned her up-front that he didn't have a heart to give, and she had no right asking for it. The thought brought on an avalanche of feelings she didn't want to acknowledge.

Panicked at the thought of him having free access to study her drawings, she quickly caught up to him, breathless. 'Can I have my sketch pad back, please?'

'No.'

'It's mine,' she argued heatedly.

He slanted her an uncompromising look. 'It's mine.'

Caitlan drew a deep breath, not knowing what to say. She walked silently beside him, watching him brood and think.

Minutes later the barn came into view, along with Frank, Randal, and Mike, standing in a semicircle in front of the structure. Loud, angry voices carried their way, and J.T. frowned, glancing at his watch. The hands weren't due back in for another hour. 'I wonder what's going on now,' he muttered, picking up his pace.

J.T. watched as Randal shoved at Mike. The other man automatically bounded back, fists raised, face contorted in rage.

'Come on,' Mike challenged. 'Give me a reason to plant my fist in that face of yours!'

A taunting smile curled Randal's lips. 'You're nothing but a washed-up Marine,' he retorted, puffing out his chest like a peacock.

'Both of you, cool it,' Frank said, doing his best to stop the two men from brawling by insinuating himself between them. Randal and Mike yelled accusations and insults at each other until their language became descriptive and crude, and they shoved at Frank to get to one another.

J.T. swore, then glanced at Caitlan beside him. 'Go on up to the house,' he ordered.

'I'll be fine-'

'Now!' His tone brooked no argument. He gave her a gentle shove toward the walkway and strode purposefully to the group of men.

Knowing J.T. wouldn't appreciate her verbally refuting him at a time like this, she headed toward the house but stopped after a few yards. There was no way she'd leave J.T. unprotected when Randal had murder in his eyes. She stood off to the side, out of the way, but within hearing and viewing range, so she could monitor the situation.

J.T. reached the trio, tossed the sketch pad on a clump of grass a few feet away, and assessed the situation as best he could without knowing any details. Randal looked like hell, his face unshaven, his eyes bloodshot. The faint scent of stale whiskey reached J.T.'s nostrils, enough to confirm that Randal had been tipping the bottle while working. Mike looked like a formidable opponent, jaw clenched, the muscles across his shoulders bunched as he affected a boxing stance.

Who had provoked whom? J.T. wondered. 'What's the problem here?'

Randal and Mike glared at one another, each declining to comment, both too intent on waiting for the other to make the first move.

J.T. looked at his foreman. 'Frank?'

Frank shrugged and stepped to the side. 'You'll have to hear it from these two, J.T. The details I have are secondhand.'

'Either of you care to explain?'

Mike kept his fists raised and his gaze trained on Randal, ready for any sudden moves. 'You've got a drunk working for you, and he's gonna end up hurtin' someone.'

Randal tossed his head, malice darting from his gaze like sharpened daggers. 'And Mike's looking for a piece of that woman you dragged home with you,' he goaded with a sneer. 'But I already told Mike you don't share.'

Like an enraged bulldog, Mike emitted a low-throated growl and charged Randal, knocking him down into the dirt. Mike threw a punch, clipping Randal hard beneath the jaw, snapping his head back. Randal howled in pain, and Mike raised his fist for another blow.

Even though J.T. had the urge to do the same thing to his cousin, he grabbed Mike by the collar and hauled him off Randal before the other man could mutilate Randal's face.

With Frank's assistance, Randal stood, stumbling slightly to regain his balance. Touching his jaw gingerly, Randal winced, then shot Mike a menacing glare.

J.T. glanced from Mike to Randal. 'I'll ask one more time for an explanation,' he said in a succinct tone. 'Mike?' he offered, allowing the hand a chance to go first.

Mike flexed the fist he'd just used to punch Randal. 'I found Randal sitting beneath a shade tree drinking from a flask-'

'That's an outright lie!' Randal burst in, charging toward the other man.

J.T. pressed a hand to Randal's heaving chest, and his cousin backed down. 'Let him finish, Randal, and then you'll have your say.' J.T. felt like he was dealing with two small children. 'Go on, Mike.'

'I don't want some drunk watching my back during a roundup. When I told him to put the flask away he started getting abusive, insulting my work, and when that wasn't enough, he started saying some things about your lady friend I didn't care for.'

'Such as?' J.T. prompted, a slow burn traveling through his veins.

'He thought maybe the two of us could show Caitlan a good time.' He transferred his gaze to Randal, and J.T. somehow knew more had transpired between the two men than Mike was revealing.

Randal's eyes narrowed to slits. 'More like the other way around. You were the one talking about how long it's been since you've had a woman and the things you'd like to do to the little lady.' A sadistic smile transformed Randal's features. 'Better watch Caitlan real careful J.T.-'

'Enough!' J.T. roared, enraged at Randal's insinuation.

Looking at both men, J.T. didn't know whom to believe. Their behavior was juvenile, but there was no doubt one had goaded the other. Why would Mike defend Caitlan when he didn't even know her? J.T. wondered. A code of honor left over from his Marine Corps days? Or hadMike been the one to make the slurs, as Randal had suggested? He didn't know, but there was no mistaking the fact that Randal had been drinking, or that problems had started arising since Mike's arrival a few months back. Both men were suspect.

J.T. decided a joint reprimand was in order. 'I won't tolerate this kind of behavior from any of my men. Both of you are suspended without pay until next Monday.'

Randal's face flushed bright red. 'You can't do that!'

'I can, and I did. I've given you plenty of warnings to sober up. Maybe this will do the trick.'

'Go to hell,' Randal hissed, eyes glittering.

Spinning on his heels, he strode down the dirt drive toward his cabin.