Free Jillian Hart by Lissa's Cowboy Page A

slipping them down. "Did you happen to buy a nightshirt when you went to the store today?"
    "I don't wear one." His eyes sparkled.
    Goodness. That meant... His hands stayed on his hips, ready to whisk those drawers off at any moment. Flustered, she fumbled for the doorknob. "I don't think I'm ready for this."
    "Then you'd better leave." He winked.
    Her face grew heated. She closed the door. John Murray was much more of a man than she had anticipated—maybe even more than she wanted.
    He expected a real marriage. She was afraid, because he wanted what she could not give.
     
    "Jack."
    He spun away from the steel bars of the jail, the ring of keys in one fist. Sunlight slatted through the open door, offering a glimpse of the dusty street. A tall man filled the threshold, a badge on his chest. "Here's another reason why you can't leave. You'll miss locking up the criminals. Face it. You like the power. "
    "I would like something different." His own voice and the yearning for wide open spaces.
    Jack, Jack, Jack ...

    He sprang up in bed. Pain drummed in his head, making the dream fade. He tried to snatch back the pieces, tried to remember. He'd almost had it—the sliver of an image, of something tangible. What was it? He was in a jail. He was locking up a criminal. He was leaving his job. Yes, that was right.
    Was the dream a piece of true memory? It had to be. He had read in Jeremiah's letter how he had once been a deputy, and he already knew he wanted his own ranch. This only confirmed it, and made something more important clear.
    Jack, Jack, Jack... The name echoed in his head, cracked with the pain through his skull. He tried to remember, but there was only blackness and a void.
    His breathing slowed. Moonlight peeked through the edges of the curtains, painting the room with a pale glow. The room felt silent. He turned and saw the bed beside him was empty.
    Lissa filled his mind—her cinnamon scent, her musical voice, the light of her smile. He could relax now. All the pieces fit. The troubled feeling in his gut was better now. He knew what was wrong. He knew what was right. Finally.
    A floorboard creaked in the hallway. He waited as the doorknob turned and Lissa's presence filled the room. The swirl of cotton, the pad of quietly placed feet, the sweet rhythm of her movements. "You're awake."
    "Yep." He rubbed his brow, wishing away the pain. He needed a clear head. He had the rustlers, this new marriage, and this woman to figure out—no easy task. "I remembered my nickname."
    "John is a pretty hard name to shorten." She reached for her buttonhook, and it rattled against the wooden surface of the bureau.
    "I know my own name when I hear it. Call me Jack."
    "Jack? That doesn't sound right." She leaned forward to unbutton her shoes. "Michael always referred to you as John, although your father is also named John. You mentioned it in one of your letters."
    "That explains it, then. It's awkward having two Johns in the same family." Yes, that explained it, all right, and he was glad.
    "Do you want me to call you Jack?"
    "I do."
    "That will take some getting used to." She stood, shoeless, and her smile was nervous. "Are you sure—"
    "I'm sure. Look, I got shot in the head. Have pity on me. Call me Jack. It will make me happy."
    "Jack." She tested the word on her mouth, those supple soft lips shaping the name like a kiss.
    It was no struggle at all to remember the texture and heat of her lips to his, and the sweet wondrous taste of her mouth. "You need to undress?"
    She dipped her chin. "I hadn't planned on sleeping in my clothes."
    "I won't peek, I promise." He scooted back down beneath the covers, rolling on his side away from her. "That's going to be a hard promise to keep."
    "Try." Nervous laughter filled the room, glowing like lamplight.
    "A true test of my willpower." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Why is Will your only ranch hand?"
    Fabric rustled as it hit the wood floor. "He was the only one who stayed after Michael died.