"Sketch?" He lifted a brow. "That's right. You're an illustrator." Opening a drawer, he rummaged through the contents and withdrew a pad of unlined paper. He began setting supplies on the desk. "Here you go. Paper, a pencil… and a sharpener." He placed the red heart-shaped sharpener on the blotter, then glanced at Caitlan, a boyish smile curving his lips. "A Valentine's Day gift from Laura," he explained.

"I'll be sure to return it." She picked up the novelty item, relieved that he wouldn't be going to bed angry at her. No sense complicating her job any more than necessary. She headed for the door and turned just before leaving. "Well, good night, J.T. I'll see you in the morning."

"No, you won't." He rubbed his forehead and winced, then opened another drawer and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. "I'll be out of the house before you get up."

She watched him toss back two aspirins and swallow them dry. He closed his eyes, his face pale. Faint lines of pain bracketed the corners of his eyes. He wasn't in any shape to work tomorrow, but she knew her suggestion to stay indoors would only anger him.

Drawing a deep breath, he opened his eyes, grimacing at being caught in a moment of weakness. "Good night, Caitlan," he said, an obvious dismissal.

"Good night." Hugging the pad of paper to her chest, she slipped from the room.


The old grandfather clock in the living room chimed one o'clock, intruding on the quiet stillness of the house. Everyone had retired hours before. Unable to sleep, Caitlan sat on the padded cushion in the window seat next to the couch, sketching by the light of the full moon streaming through the curtainless window. She didn't need the light; the force of the visions she saw in her mind were so powerful and overwhelming, she could have reproduced them blindfolded.

Legs drawn up and the extra-large University of Idaho jersey she'd borrowed from Laura to sleep in covering her knees, she rested her pad against her thighs and let the strong images guide the strokes of her pencil across the paper.

The scratch of lead against paper soothed Caitlan in a way nothing else could.

The face of a young boy haunted her, and she duplicated every feature with precision, right down to the stubborn tilt to his chin and the rebel stance. A thick, untamable crop of hair rumpled around his head, a swath falling over his high forehead. His mouth, even in youth, was cut sensually, with the firm upper lip and the bottom full and lush.

She'd always had a natural talent for drawing and enjoyed using the skill while on a mission to pass idle time. Tonight, however, she was compelled to draw, and the pictures she created confused her. The boy she'd drawn was familiar to her, but where and how did she know him? Had she been his guardian angel at one time? And why, when she closed her eyes, did she see flashes of him and a blond-haired girl running across a pasture together, laughing and smiling at one another? The two were in love, she realized. Even at their young age the emotion shone in their gaze.

Caitlan blinked her eyes open, erasing the images. A pang of longing swept through her, a wave so strong it left her breathless. Staring at the sketch of the boy, she concentrated, digging deep into her mind for the mysterious connection tugging at her. A man's features materialized, but before she could bring them into sharper focus, a pain seized her temples. Gasping at the assault, she mentally recoiled, abandoning the thin, wispy vision. Beneath her jersey the medallion heated, tingling like fire upon her flesh. Grabbing the pendant in her shirt, she waited until the gold cooled before letting it rest against her skin again. For a reason she didn't understand her subconscious wasn't allowing her to trespass into certain regions of her memory.

Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, Caitlan willed herself to relax. Glancing out the window to the shadowed darkness beyond, she thought about her mission. She was glad J.T. had confided in her earlier about Randal. Now she understood Randal's motivation for trying to harm J.T.: greed and resentment. This wouldn't be the first time she'd played guardian to those evil elements.

However, her response to J.T. was another matter altogether. This was the first time she'd ever felt desire for a mortal as a guardian. A shameless wanting that whispered provocatively to her senses. What would it be like to kiss him again, this time without him thinking her another woman? Realizing how selfish her thoughts were, she silently chastised herself. Nothing could come of them being together. Soon she would be gone, and she'd be nothing more than a faded memory to J.T. She didn't need the added complication of their attraction while she protected him.

The old ranch house creaked and settled and Caitlan glanced toward the staircase leading to the second floor. She wondered if J.T. slept well, or if his head was still giving him problems. She'd healed the worst of the wound, but a tortuous headache wouldn't be uncommon as a repercussion to the deep gash he'd actually suffered.

Before she could analyze her true intent, she stood and padded across the floor and up the stairs, telling herself the whole way that the urge to check on J.T. was purely maternal. Turning the knob, she slowly opened his door, grimacing when the hinges gave a small squeak of protest. She waited and watched the form on the bed, illuminated by the beam of moonlight filtering through the window. No movement. Soundlessly, she crossed to the bed, careful not to trip over the jeans and briefs heaped on the floor.

J.T. lay on his back, gloriously naked, limbs sprawled, the blanket tangled at the foot of the bed. The only thing affording him a measure of modesty was the thin cotton sheet draped over one leg and the juncture of his thighs. Searching his face, she found his features relaxed and softened by slumber. He looked peaceful. His breathing was steady and deep. Even after she reassured herself he was fine, she didn't leave.

The muscular contours of his body fascinated her even though she'd seen him naked before. She followed the light sprinkling of hair covering his wide chest down to a stomach washboard lean. She wanted to touch him there, feel the strength of work-toughened muscles flex beneath her fingertips. His hip was bare, tapering to a hard, muscular thigh. Even his calf was defined and lean.

A slow heat flowed through Caitlan, that curious desire coiling like a tight spring inside her. Leisurely, she journeyed back up the length of his body-until her gaze collided with his wide-eyed stare. She froze, her heart slamming against her ribs. She made a move to turn, but he was faster. Lunging at her, his hand manacled her wrist and jerked her toward the bed. With a soft gasp of surprise, she stumbled and fell on him. Still holding her wrist, he rolled, pinning her beneath the heavy weight of his body. It all happened so fast, Caitlan's head spun.

The unexpected attack was like the one in the line shack while he'd been delirious, but this time he wasn't sleeping or dreaming. His eyes were wide open, hot and fierce-predatory and a little savage, like a hunter gone too long without capturing his prey.

In the fray, her shirt had worked its way up to her hips. He'd wedged a thigh between hers. The sheet no longer providing a barrier between them, she couldn't miss the hard, heated length of him pressing against her thigh. Their position was compromising, thrilling, and arousing in a way that should have shocked her but instead sent uninhibited quivers racing through her body.

She swallowed hard and found her voice. "What are you doing?"

"More like what are you doing in mybedroom?" he countered in a low, husky voice. "A woman usually comes to a man's bed uninvited for one reason only. Are you looking to finish what we started this morning in the line shack?"

"No." She tried to move away, but his body was hard and solid as a rock. She wouldn't be able to escape until he allowed her to. The hand that had so deftly grabbed her now secured her wrist at the side of her head. The other hand cupped the back of her head, his long fingers tangled in her hair, his thumb grazing the shell of her ear. She shivered.

Releasing her wrist, he picked up a strand of her hair and absently rubbed it between his fingers. "Then what are you doing in here?"

Her free hand came between them as a safety precaution, her palm flattening on his chest. Upon contact, warm, firm muscles bunched and rippled, but he didn't move. "I only wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay."

Frowning slightly, he gazed into her eyes. "Why do you care?"

"I don't know why, but I do." And that was the truth. She cared more than was appropriate, but she didn't understand why. She needed and wanted him in ways that frightened her. He felt like a missing part of her soul.

Slowly, he trailed a finger down her cheek, his gaze warm and sensual as his eyes tracked the path of his touch. His thumb stroked over her bottom lip, then tugged so his finger could slide along the edge of her teeth. A sensation laboring between fever and chill swept down Caitlan's spine. Feeling frantic and trapped, she pushed at his chest and tried twisting away. "Please, let me up."

"No." He grabbed her hip to still her, his strong fingers biting into her flesh. His other hand tightened at the back of her head, holding her hostage.

Spears of fire shot along her nerve endings. Continuous waves of heat and sensation found their destination in the tips of her breasts and that secret place where his thigh fit so snugly. Eyes darkening, he lowered his head, skimming his lips over her jaw to her ear. He gently bit the sensitive skin just below her lobe, then soothed the nip with his soft, damp tongue.