him to give more than one-word answers. “I just thought you’d have a swimming hole.”
“Swimming hole?” He echoed, sounding confused. She wondered if he had even been listening to her.
“It’s something I read about in a book. It always sounded so nice.” She forced a smile. She loved romances and read them every chance she got, which wasn’t often. Judging by the way her love life was going, the closest she was going to get to a happily-ever-after was between the covers of a book. Of course, since she was running for her life and might not get an ever-after of any kind, finding Mr. Right was pretty low on her priority list. In fact, the only item on her list was staying alive. “Do you have a swimming hole on the ranch?”
“Yes.” He was back to one-word answers.
Forget this. Clearly Jericho wasn’t interested in having a conversation. It wasn’t worth the effort to try to be friendly to someone who wasn’t inclined to do the same. Her appetite gone, she tossed her napkin onto her plate, then although it was incredibly rude and not at all in keeping with her upbringing, stood. “I don’t think I can eat another bite. I’m going to wash these dishes and head up to bed. Good night.”
When she was finished cleaning up, she felt Jericho’s eyes on her as she left the room, but she didn’t turn around. What would be the point? They were enemies. She’d just hoped that his earlier friendliness, such as it was, meant that he’d at least make an effort to be cordial. Not that she expected them to become friends. She still hated him. She’d thought they could manage a bit of civility. She’d been wrong. Apparently she was the only one willing to fake it. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
* * *
Jericho watched as Camille walked out. Why hadn’t he been able to give her a break? He’d seen just how jittery she was, jumping at every sound. Her eyes had darted around the room furtively, as if some assassin was lurking in the shadows. No doubt she was checking under her bed and searching through the closet for killers right now.
The skittish woman was so different from the person he’d met all those years ago in Chicago. That Camille had been confident to the point of being arrogant. He flashed back to the reception at her father’s law firm. He and Camille had met by the buffet table. It hadn’t taken longer than ten minutes for him to tell she was driven to succeed to the exclusion of everything else. She didn’t have any hobbies to speak of and her conversation revolved around her job and salary. He believed in hard work, but he knew life needed to be balanced. There had to be time for hanging out with friends and having fun. She hadn’t seen the need for pleasure in life.
He’d been about to excuse himself when Jeanette approached them. Even now his heart skipped a beat as he remembered just how beautiful she’d been in her floral dress. She’d smiled at him, and he’d sworn he could hear angels sing. Camille had introduced them, then spotted someone across the room she needed to speak to. He’d been so struck by Jeanette that he’d barely noticed Camille leave.
Memories of his life with Jeanette swirled around him. He cut them off. No matter how hard he tried limiting his thinking to the good times, the memory of her lying in a puddle of blood always came back. The agony of losing her and their baby haunted him day and night.
In a way he could relate to Camille. Part of him understood her need to distract herself from the reality that someone was hunting her down by engaging in annoying chatter. Heck, he drove himself to exhaustion every day in a futile attempt to keep his thoughts under control.
He heard her moving around in her room and glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. There was no way in the world she was sleepy at this hour. She just wanted to get away from him. He listened to her pace from windows to door for a few more minutes, then reluctantly rose.
Shadow lifted his head.
“Stay.”
The dog hopped to his feet and raced around Jericho’s legs. Although the dog would make a nice distraction while Jericho went to talk to Camille, he knew Shadow would prefer to run around outside. So Jericho let the dog out and resisted the urge to follow him into the summer evening.
He climbed the stairs and knocked softly on the partially open door. Camille had been peering out the window. She jumped and turned, one hand pressed against her chest. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was open as if she was about to scream.
“It’s just me.” Her visible panic once again made him feel guilty for his earlier treatment of her. He needed to think of her as a woman in fear and not someone he detested. “You’re safe here. You know that, right?”
She stood erect and lifted her chin in an attempt to appear strong. He could tell her that he’d seen her fear—heck, she was shaking like a leaf—but he decided not to mention it.
“Sure.”
She didn’t sound convinced. He blew out a breath. “How about sitting outside for a bit?”
Either she didn’t hear the reluctance in his voice or she was scared enough to ignore it. Either way, in less time than it took the words to leave his mouth, she’d flown across the room and they’d descended the stairs.
Now they were seated on the patio beside the pool. Shadow trotted over and placed his head on Camille’s lap.
“Shadow, no,” Jericho said. The dog barked once, then turned his attention back to Camille.
“I don’t mind.” She scratched Shadow’s head, and the dog began wagging his tail so hard his lower body moved from side to side. “Who’s a good boy?”
Shadow barked and then licked Camille’s chin. Camille laughed, and something in Jericho’s chest started to shake loose. Warmth flickered inside him, but he snuffed it out.
The fact that she liked dogs didn’t change his opinion of her. Still, the woman letting the dog slobber all over her face didn’t fit the image of the Camille Parker in his memory. That Camille was selfish and conniving and as cold as the ice encasing his heart.
“Thanks for sitting with me. My rational mind knows there is absolutely no way anyone can find me here, but...” She sighed and her voice faded away.
“But you can’t believe it entirely, so you’re still scared.”
“Exactly.”
She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. He interpreted that to mean she didn’t have anything else to say. The silence wasn’t entirely awkward even if it was miles away from being comfortable. But he managed to keep his dislike buried far beneath the surface, at least for now.
She sprang up suddenly, her body as stiff as a board. “I hope my family isn’t worried about me. I didn’t get a chance to call them before I left.”
“Do you talk to them often?”
“Yes and no. Rodney and I talk a few times a week. But one of his fraternity brothers is getting married in the Bahamas Saturday, so he’s out of the country this week.”
“Then he probably won’t plan on talking to you.”
“True.”
“What about your parents?”
“I speak with them every Sunday, but nothing personal.”
He stared at her. The sun hadn’t quite set when they’d come outside, so he hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. Now her expression was hidden by shadows. “How can conversations with your parents not be personal?”
“It takes a certain level of skill that only comes with years of practice.” Her voice was bitter, yet he heard pain there, as well. “We talk about work and setting professional goals. I can’t remember a time when my parents weren’t asking me where I saw myself in five years. Talking to them is a never-ending job interview.”
She sighed. “All my parents care about is professional success and money. In a way I understand because they came from impoverished families. They know what it’s like to not know where