“Miller Daggrepont is dead.”

Shock struck like a fist to the solar plexus, forcing half the air out of her lungs. She turned back to face him, a little unsteady on her feet. “What? What did you say?”

“Miller Daggrepont is dead. I found him out on Little Snake Creek this afternoon. Quinn thinks he had a heart attack.”

“And what do you think?”

“Looks to me like someone choked him.”

Automatically, Mari’s hand went to the base of her throat. She walked past J.D. to the spot along the rail she had vacated and leaned against it, staring out into the gathering gloom of twilight. But she didn’t see the mountains turning purple or the orange of the sky or the parade of ranch trucks heading to the Hell and Gone. She saw Lucy’s lawyer, his weird eyes rolling behind the slabs of glass in his spectacles as some faceless killer strangled the life from him. The image made her shudder.

J.D. stepped in behind her, cupped a big hand on her shoulder, and ran it down her arm. No more than an inch of air separated their bodies. All she had to do was lean back a little and she would be enveloped by his warmth, his strength. He took the decision away from her, closing the distance, resting his cheek against her hair.

The action was both foreign to him and automatic, natural. He wasn’t the kind of man who offered comfort easily. But she looked so small, so lost. And despite every warning he had given himself, despite every rotten thing he had said to her, the sense of possession was still there, primal, basic, answering some invisible call from her. She was vulnerable; he wanted to be her strength. She was frightened; he wanted to be her courage.

It was foolish. It was dangerous. He thought… She thought.

Mari had no doubt that in the end he would push her away for getting too close. But in the meantime… In the meantime, she could close her eyes for a moment and imagine… pretend… wish… hope… all those futile, naive practices.

God, you’re such a fool, Marilee… stayed with a man you don’t love, love a man you can never have… He had made it clear where she stood with him. Any tenderness he showed her now was only token or worse, a means to an end. She was so tired of feeling used and abused. And yet she still wanted… and wished… and hoped…

She curled her fingers tight around the railing and held on.

“Quinn’s sending the body up to Bozeman to be posted,” he said.

“Why are you telling me?”

“He was Lucy’s lawyer.”

“So? You think Lucy’s death was an accident-not that you’d give a damn either way.”

“That’s not true.”

She laughed and twisted her head around to look at him. “Yes, it is. You don’t care about anyone, remember, J.D.? You’re the lone wolf protecting his territory. The land-that’s all you care about.”

“There are probably a dozen people who would have liked to see Miller dead,” he said, simply ignoring the subject of feelings as deftly as he ignored the feelings themselves. “He had his fingers in a lot of shady land deals. But if this has anything to do with Lucy, then it might have something to do with you. I don’t want to see you dead, Mary Lee.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a comfort,” she said sarcastically. Turning to face him, she crossed her arms again and tipped her chin up to a challenging angle. “But then, if I were dead, you’d have a hard time trying to screw me out of Lucy’s land, wouldn’t you?”

She meant to hurt him, as he had hurt her, and she struck unerringly at his integrity and pride. But it didn’t make her feel any better to see his eyes narrow or his jaw harden. It only made her feel more alone.

He leaned over her, big and tough and menacing, and braced his hands on the rail on either side of her. “I admit I want the land,” he said, his voice a rumble as low and throaty as a cougar’s growl. “But the screwing part was strictly for fun. You gonna try to tell me you didn’t enjoy it, Mary Lee?”

“You bastard.”

His eyes were as hard and dark as raw granite. “Tell me you didn’t want it. You didn’t give a damn what I was after as long as I gave you a good ride.”

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” she said, glaring at him. “Too bad for you she happens to be dead. I’m beginning to think you were made for each other.”

J.D. stepped back an inch and looked away, planting his hands at his waist. He didn’t like the role he was trying to play. He hated himself for playing at all. Games had been Lucy’s forte, not his. He’d been raised to deal fair and square. That was part of the code. God help him that he’d let himself be reduced to this.

Mary Lee looked up at him, her big eyes shining with tears and condemnation. He could feel the weight of her stare, could see her in his peripheral vision. Standing up to him again. Fighting for herself.

“I cared what you were after, J.D.,” she said tightly. “My mistake was in thinking you had something in you worth putting up with all your macho bullshit. Something good. Something tender. Stupid of me to think you might let me find it. Stupid of me to think it was ever there.”

She held herself as if she were cold as she paced a short distance down the walk, her paddock boots thumping dully on the wood. When she turned around, a hunk of rumpled blond hair tumbled across her face and she tossed it back.

“You keep confusing me with Lucy,” she said. “Well, let me set you straight on a few things, cowboy. I’m not Lucy. I don’t like being used. I don’t like being hurt. I don’t play games. When I care about someone, it’s real-not always smart or what’s best, but it’s real. If you don’t want that, fine. It’s your loss. But don’t come around telling me what to do or who to trust or where I belong or don’t belong. You can’t have it both ways, Rafferty. You can’t just take what you want and leave the rest.”

J.D. lowered his head and sighed. The pressure in his chest was as heavy and spiny as a mace. He didn’t want it. He told himself he had never wanted it, had never lain awake in the night craving it. It would be far easier to keep himself intact without it. He had battles to fight, a ranch to run. He couldn’t afford to expend energy needlessly.

Mari watched him, breath held, waiting. The foolish part of her heart was waiting for him to beg her forgiveness and confess his feelings. Capital F on foolish. He wasn’t that kind of man. The tenderness she had glimpsed in him had been an aberration. He’d been bred tough enough to spit tacks and wrestle bears; a man made for the life he had inherited. But that kind of toughness didn’t come without a price and it didn’t magically stop short of his heart. She couldn’t change his past or alter the rules he lived by. What they had together was not what she needed. There was no point trying to hang on. Better to cut her losses early and just walk away.

The side door to the lounge opened and Drew leaned out, his eyes flicking from J.D. to her. “Is everything all right, luv?”

Mari held that breath just a little bit longer, just another few seconds of pointless hope, her stare hard on Rafferty’s bowed head. He didn’t say a word.

“No,” she murmured. “But I’ll get over it.”

She slipped in the door past Drew and headed for the ladies’ room.

At one-thirty only the hired help were left in the Mystic Moose lounge. Tony the bartender wiped down bottles and arranged them to his satisfaction beneath Madam Belle’s gilt-framed mirror. A custodian who bore a striking resemblance to Mickey Rooney put the chairs atop the tables and vacuumed the floor. Gary and Mitch, Drew’s trio partners, said their good-byes and left together, talking music. Kevin stood at the cash register behind the bar, checking the receipts and laughing at Tony’s cowboy jokes. Mari settled her guitar in its case and flipped the latches.

“Would you care to talk about it?” Drew asked softly.