by Layla Chase
She whipped her head around, and an eyebrow winged high. “Because of the ranch’s policy and your need to keep your job?”
Not to mention Brotherhood Protectors might have a no fraternization policy. Although Hank hadn’t actually spelled out one, and Rhys knew of a few hookups happening on assignments. “Exactly. Glad we cleared that up.”
“Well then, technically because I’m family and not paying a cent to stay there, that particular ranch rule doesn’t apply.”
And that means what? Frowning, he shot her a sideways glance.
A smile played on her lips. “I cannot be considered a guest.”
No more than three seconds passed for him to process her reasoning. “Couldn’t agree more.” He slammed on the brakes and steered to the side of the road at the same time he released his seat belt. In a split second, he scooted across to her side of the bench seat and slid an arm over her shoulders. Splaying his fingers along her neck and right cheek, he eased her face toward him and lowered his mouth, watching her expression for any sign of resistance.
When her eyelids fluttered, he had his answer and captured her lips. His cock twitched, and he relished the building pressure behind his jeans fly. He moved his lips over hers, nibbling, tasting, and probing with his tongue until she opened. Then he nudged her tongue to the side with his own before stroking inside and withdrawing. Blood rushed through his body. He rimmed her lips and outlined her teeth until her tongue chased his.
She clicked her belt and straddled him, rubbing her chest against his and emitting low moans from the back of her throat.
Rhys placed his hands on her thighs and pushed up the fabric of her skirt until he felt warm flesh. Her skin was soft and firm, and he caressed her legs in long strokes.
An eighteen-wheel truck zoomed by and honked.
The truck cab rocked side to side and maybe the movement knocked a little sense into Rhys. With a groan, he pulled away and gave her legs a squeeze. “Wrong place, darlin’. We can’t be doing this here.”
“Again, you’re stopping?” Whimpering, she flexed her hips, pushing herself closer to his groin. A hand lifted and covered her breast, kneading the mound.
“Don’t tease me, lady.” Rhys pulled away her hand and kissed the tip of each finger. “I’m on the clock, Caitlyn.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her breaths puffed out. “And I’m barely hanging on here.”
The sweet tang of her arousal teased his nose. “How about I take off the edge?” He slid a forefinger inside the elastic of her damp panties and rubbed a bent knuckle along her slit, circling the clit. She was so wet. Unable to resist, he rolled his hips and felt the sensuous tingle along his rigid length.
She clamped her hands on his shoulders and flexed against his hand. “So nice, um.”
He watched as she sucked her lower lip into her mouth. With his thumb rubbing her clit through the drenched cloth, he increased the tempo of his finger stroking her pussy. Her skin took on a rosy hue, and he lost sight of her eyes behind languid blinks.
Caitlyn’s hands gripped tight, and she sucked in rapid breaths until the last one squeaked. Her head crashed into the crook of his shoulder and rocked side to side as she mumbled incoherent words.
Hot breath warmed his clavicle, and pulses rolled against his slow-moving fingers. He nuzzled her neck as she recovered from her climax.
Moments passed before Caitlyn straightened, flipped her hair to one side of her face, and cupped his cheeks. “You are a generous man, Rhys Morgan.”
Then she leaned down and gave him a long, deep, slow kiss that made him regret they sat in a truck on the side of a highway. On the remainder of the drive to the Bozeman Yellowstone Airport, he kept sneaking peeks at her satisfied grin. Their living arrangements didn’t provide an easy solution for privacy and a horizontal solution to take this crazy-making lust to its logical, and desired, end. Her sleeping space was overcrowded with three others, and he couldn’t risk being discovered by taking her to the bunkhouse.
The bride’s shipment waited at the freight company office.
Caitlyn performed the inventory, making the employee match each of the six boxes and its contents to both her list and the freight company’s.
Rhys watched her as she switched between consulting with the employee and sneaking looks in his direction.
Each time he connected with her gaze, he responded with a knowing grin. The blush from their sex play in the truck clung to her cheeks. Only when she gave him an approving nod did Rhys step forward to sign the delivery receipt. Working together, they loaded the boxes and climbed into the truck. “Want to stop for a coffee or soda?”
Caitlyn looked up from her phone. “This text I’m preparing should relieve Tilda’s mind. But I think by the time the hour’s drive is completed, a new crisis will have erupted. I’d like to be there to help.”
“Understood.” Rhys put the truck in gear and headed southeast on Interstate 90. Traffic was light, and he set the cruise control for three miles over the posted speed limit. Just past the on-ramp for Springdale, a big black truck settled in the fast lane to his left, matching his speed. A green truck zoomed in close behind them. He tensed. Not good.
Snippets from lectures about evasive driving and getting boxed in Afghanistan ran through his mind. Although those scenarios applied to driving through villages, not on the open road. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he pulled himself erect in the truck seat. Had he seen these same trucks in the far corner of the freight company parking lot?
“What’s wrong?”
“Got a truck right on our tail.” The hated memory of sitting in front of a recon module screen and watching a disaster unfold flashed through his thoughts. He shook it away, but his stomach clamped and held tight.
She glanced behind them and frowned. “That’s way too close. What is that guy thinking?”
At the word ‘guy’, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Between the window tinting and a hat pulled low, he couldn’t distinguish features. “Too close to read the license plate.” He cursed himself for not keeping better perimeter awareness. For paying more attention to blue eyes and rosy cheeks than to scoping out the surrounding area for potential threats. He’d been trained better. His jaw clenched.
“What would you do with that?”
He spotted the sudden charge with only a second to shout, “Brace yourself!” The truck jerked, and his head snapped forward.
Caitlyn screamed and gripped the dash handle.
This stretch of divided highway was long and empty with nothing to offer escape until the highway junction and turn-off for Eagle Rock. A fact this tag-team probably knew well. Without guardrails, the truck could be forced down the embankment. Maybe he could outrun them. In his peripheral vision, he caught the black truck inching closer. He jammed the gas pedal to the floor, and the ranch truck leapt ahead. The numbers on the speedometer climbed to eighty-five, and he held the speed there. His knuckles blanched, but he didn’t dare relax his grip.
The trucks lagged by forty feet.
“Call 9-1-1.” He doubted he could hold them off for the remaining seventeen or eighteen minutes.
“With what? I don’t think I can release my death grip.”
“Please try.”Scenarios ran through his mind. He hadn’t seen any motor oil bottles or loose items on the floorboards they could toss onto the road. If he broke cover, he could squeeze off a few shots at their tires. But because this was Montana, they probably had guns, too, and he couldn’t risk Caitlyn being hit.
“Hello! We’re on the freeway and being chased. From where?“ Frowning, she extended the phone toward him.
“Springdale, driving east on Interstate 90.”
“Headed toward Big Timber?”
“For the junction with highway 191 to Eagle Rock.” He glanced in his mirrors, and the trucks had cut the distance in half. A move which held only one saving grace. “Two trucks, one black, the other dark green. Black’s license starts with forty-nine before the anim
al head, and the green’s with the single digit one.”
“Be advised your location is halfway between the Butte and Billings district offices. Highway patrol is being dispatched.”
“Ten-four, out.” Without any idea where patrol cars were at this moment, he needed to go on the offensive. He took one last glance at the mirrors. “Hold on.” Keeping his arms rigid, he jerked the wheel an inch or so to the left then immediately straightened it.
The black truck responded with an echoing swerve to the left and fell back.
Score. Rhys rolled the switch to turn on the running lights for two seconds then stomped on the gas pedal.
Brakes screeched, and the gap between his rear bumper and the green truck widened.
If he kept them second guessing his moves, he might make the junction intact. With rolling moves, he wove a tight “s” down the center lane marker. What he didn’t want was to give the trucks another chance to come up even and broadside them over the road’s edge into an adjacent hay field.
“Highway 191, two miles ahead.”
Her voice was tight but not panicked. Good. Those tactics weren’t holding them off—the green truck with a heavy-duty bumper in front closed the distance. At the last possible moment, Rhys lifted his foot from the accelerator and veered right onto the off ramp. He’d hoped they’d overshoot the exit, but the trucks fishtailed and then followed.
Now on city streets, Rhys debated between maintaining the speed limit or speeding to catch the attention of whatever law enforcement this small town had. But he decided against endangering innocents. Somewhere while driving the road along the north side of Big Timber, the trucks disappeared into a side street. Probably so he couldn’t note the license numbers.
“They’re gone.” Caitlyn shifted from looking over her shoulder.
“Ducked out a block or so back. But we’ve still got about twenty miles to go before reaching Eagle Rock.” He kept his gaze in constant motion, looking for the first sign of the trucks resuming their pursuit. “I’ll be stopping at the sheriff’s office.”
“Of course. Wonder why we never heard a siren?”
My thoughts exactly. At the stoplight where they waited to turn left, he watched a sheriff’s vehicle with a brown shield showing a mountain encircled by a golden rope cruise by. Maybe a jurisdictional issue existed which kept the sheriffs from pursuing a highway patrol matter. He hated to think any other reason existed.
“Light’s green, Rhys.”
Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he steered through the intersection and then cut north over the Yellowstone River. The next few minutes of driving proved uneventful. Caitlyn released several long sighs, although he’d bet she wasn’t aware of her actions.
On Main Street in Eagle Rock, he spotted the single-story sheriff’s office and pulled into the parking lot. Finally, amidst sights that were somewhat familiar, his stomach unclenched, and he took a full breath as he climbed out. “You don’t have to come inside.” All he wanted was a few second to signal to Sheriff Barron to keep his bodyguard role quiet.
“I’m a witness, too.” She hopped out and headed for the door, her long hair swishing with each stride.
The sight reminded him of how her hair had tickled his cheek and neck during their intimacy on the drive to the airport. He shook his head and strode forward to open the door. Once inside, he glanced around and spotted a dispatcher toward the back.
An officer, black-haired and mid-20s, stood from his desk. “I’m Deputy Doug Lucas. How may I help you?” He approached the front counter, his boots resounding on the linoleum floor.
“Need to report dangerous vehicular pursuit on the interstate.”
The officer scratched his chin for several seconds. “That’s Highway Patrol jurisdiction. Their offices are—“
Rhys straightened to his full height and glared. “Yeah, we know. Butte and Billings.” A gentle squeeze on his forearm cut off the rest of what he was about to unleash.
“We’ve had quite an upsetting experience of being chased by two trucks.” Her lips pouted, and she sighed. “I bet your agency has a procedure where you take our report here and forward it to the proper office?” Caitlyn tilted her head and smiled. “We would be ever so grateful.”
Deputy Lucas cleared his throat, and then looked below the counter and shuffled some papers.
The next twenty minutes were occupied with making their statements to Deputy Lucas, separately. When Rhys spelled his name, the guy gave no indication he knew anything about a connection to Brotherhood Protectors. But the realization Rhys kept this fact from Caitlyn nagged at his conscience.
The minute he escorted Caitlyn through the exit door, he experienced a huge sensation of relief. Flashes of the mission that went south in Afghanistan disoriented him. Bile burned his throat, but he swallowed hard. He would not upchuck in front of Caitlyn and scare her. Uncontrolled shaking overwhelmed his muscles, and he staggered to the side.
“Rhys, what’s wrong?” Caitlyn grabbed his elbow and dragged him to a wooden bench in front of the office.
Unable to answer, he slumped down. His vision blurred and then grew sharp again. The thumps of his heart rate beat in his ears.
“You are all right, Rhys.” Caitlyn scooted close but didn’t touch. “Close your eyes and breathe.”
As if from a great distance her soothing voice reached him. He grabbed onto the sweet sound like he would a life preserver in a stormy sea.
“Think of a pleasant place you’ve visited. A place where you were relaxed. Describe it.”
“Hill side with rows of green-leaved plants.”He yanked in a full breath and let it whoosh out. His chest wasn’t as tight.
“Good. A farm, perhaps?”
“Vineyard.”As he shook his head, he registered his muscles were relaxing.
“Now, what smell do you associate with this place?”
He lowered his forearms to his thighs and let his hands hang loose between his knees. As he remembered, he felt his lips curl. “It’s bloom week. Sweet like the skin of a pear or the flesh of almost-ripe honeydew. But the scent doesn’t linger.” Opening his eyes, he turned to meet her gaze. “Thanks. I feel normal after whatever that feeling was.”
“Probably a panic attack.” Her brows furrowed. “You haven’t had one before now?”
He stiffened, dread tightening his chest. He shot her a glare. “What did Tilda tell you?”
“About what? I’m a clinical psychologist and have worked with lots of returning veterans.”
Shit. She probably thought he was a head case. “How’d you know I was a vet?”
“After years of working with the population, I’ve learned to spot how returning soldiers carry themselves. You’re a bit hyper-vigilant about your surroundings. I noticed that habit in the airport.” She smiled and crinkled her nose. “You checked the mirrors in the truck probably twice more than anyone I’ve ever ridden with.”
Not only didn’t he think he was that obvious, but she was observant. “That’s your job in St. Paul?”
She blinked wide-eyed. “You know where I’m from?”
He shrugged. “Met your plane at the airport, remember?”
“Right.” She leaned back and crossed her ankles. “My father’s a doctor, a psychiatrist, and a vet himself. He started doing volunteer work with veterans years ago. Then when…” She swallowed hard and looked off into the distance.
Rhys turned to watch her expression as she fought back tears. A close relative? Or a lover? His well-being from moments earlier fled.
“My grandfather took his own life. Dad always attributed Grandpa Sean’s depression to undiagnosed battlefield trauma. That’s what the condition was called in his time.” Her legs swung front to back as she spoke. “That helplessness and loss spurred Daddy to start a foundation called Bridging Veterans. I can’t claim the honor of being a vet because Daddy pushed me toward college instead. But I’m a clinical researcher at Bridging Veterans. Mom’s a retired nurse, and she volunteer
s in some of the clinics associated with our foundation.”
“I had no idea. Your family’s work is to be commended.”
She shook her head and rested a hand on his thigh. “What we do doesn’t count a fraction of what soldiers have done on our behalf.” Her gaze searched his face. “Are you better? The tightness in your chest and the impaired vision are gone?”
Again, observant. “I’m good.” He stood and held himself in place to make sure his muscles got the message about being recovered.
Caitlyn held out her hand, palm up. “The keys?”
“You aren’t—“
“I’ll make whatever explanation is needed to my cousin. You, sir, are relaxing for the duration of the trip.”
“Taking control, huh?”
“Maybe. Mostly, I’m making sure your body processes all the adrenaline still flushing through your system.”
As much as her take-charge attitude might bruise his male pride, the act of sitting in the cab with his neck braced on the headrest and gazing at the scenery felt pretty damn fine.
Chapter Seven
Hours later, the guests were fed and had wandered off to their own pursuits. Caitlyn completed her assigned cleanup chores and begged off sharing a bottle of wine with her cousins. Her vacation time was slipping away, and she needed to spend a quiet hour working before they returned to the modular for a promised poker game. From the swinging door, she glanced toward the women still packaging food. “Remember, wait an entire hour starting five minutes from now. Some of us need peace and quiet to do our best work.”
“Yeh, yeh.” Jude turned, pointing with the carrot sticks in her hand. “I bet you’re headed out into the forest for some moonlight nooky.”
Caitlyn’s hand slipped on the door. Had someone noticed a difference in hers and Rhys’ behaviors when they returned? With barely a goodbye, they’d gone their separate ways, but maybe her changed feelings were visible in her expression. “Ha, ha, very funny.” She wrinkled her nose and only barely kept her tongue inside her mouth. “See you later.” After crossing the empty dining room, she grabbed a flashlight from the table next to the back deck door and stepped outside. Cool air nipped at her cheeks and arms. Looking up at the sparkling stars, she shivered and crossed the wooden deck.
