by Elle James
She stopped seeing Trace and quit calling him over the next few days. It was the only thing she could think to do. Lily paid a visit to Matt, hanging out with him, watching baseball with him and taking a selfie photo with him. They’d been friends for a long time. He hadn’t seemed to think anything of it.
When it came time to let go, Lily had hated lying to Trace. But it appeared to be the only way to get him to leave and ensure his background check passed without the hitch of her and her parents. So, she’d waited until he was scheduled to ship out for in-processing and then broken it to him that she wasn’t going to wait for him. She wanted to remain in Whiskey Gulch and she’d been having an affair with the sexiest hoodlum in town, Matt Hennessey. She was going to stay and marry him.
At first, he hadn’t believed her and blamed the fight with his dad for her sudden change of heart. Then she’d showed him the photo of her and Matt in his trailer, sitting on his leather sofa drinking beer.
To say Trace was angry would have been an understatement. He’d been so mad, his face turned a ruddy red. He’d gathered his duffel bag, turned and climbed aboard the bus that would take him to San Antonio’s Military Entrance Processing Station and his future in the army.
Lily had cried all the way back to the run-down shack where she’d lived with her mother.
She didn’t see Trace for five years following that fateful day. Then for the next six years she’d only caught glimpses of him from afar when he came back to Whiskey Gulch to visit his mother.
As far as she’d known, he’d never patched his relationship with his father, and he hadn’t spoken to her.
That morning, she was out in the barn, cleaning the hooves on one of the registered quarter horse mares James Travis had been so proud of.
Lady was temperamental and impatient with the process, but she’d collected a number of rocks and sticks and needed them cleaned out before she developed sores and went lame.
After the fourth time Lady jerked her hoof out of Lily’s hand, she straightened her aching back and shook her head. “I get it. I’m not as good at this as James or Roy, but it has to be done.”
“Leave her to me,” a voice said from the door to the barn.
Lily stiffened. Though he stood blocking the sunlight, and his face was shadowed, he was unmistakably Trace.
Her heart skipped several beats and then raced ahead. “I can do this. It just takes time.”
“Leave it,” he said, his tone more direct, unbending and final.
A spark of anger rose up her chest. She marched across the barn. “Look, you can’t do everything, but since you think you can, go for it.” She held out the handle of the horse hoof pick.
When he took it from her, his fingers brushed against hers, making her pulse beat faster and her knees tremble.
She backed away too fast and stumbled, teetered and flung out her arms as she fell.
Trace reached out, grabbed her hand and yanked her forward, slamming her against his chest. He held her there until she regained her balance, and then a little longer.
Her pulse pounded as she glanced up into his familiar yet unfamiliar face. Trace had been the boy with whom she’d fallen in love in grade school. He was still the same person, only he wasn’t a boy anymore. His shoulders had broadened, the soft curves of youth had hardened in the planes of his face and his arms were steel bands wrapped around her waist.
Lily found it hard to catch her breath, realizing it had nothing to do with how tightly he held her but how pinched her heart was inside.
How different would her life have been if she’d asked him to stay in Whiskey Gulch and move in with her. They could have found an apartment or a little cottage to rent. He could have gone to work on one of the other ranches, or as a carpenter’s assistant. She’d worked as a waitress. Between the two of them, they could have survived.
Looking at him now, she knew she’d done the right thing. He’d needed to get clear away from his father, the ranch and the small town of Whiskey Gulch. As the son of the richest man in the county, he never would have shaken the stigma of being the spoiled rich kid.
She looked at him, really looked at him. He was harder, more confident and a man his father would have been proud of. It was too bad James Travis never got to tell him. He’d expressed his pride to Lily, if not directly to his son, and regretted the distance between them that kept him from telling Trace how he felt to his face.
Trace’s hands tightened around her waist, warm, strong and steady. They sent ripples of awareness throughout her body, making everything inside her burn.
“You said you were going to marry Hennessey,” Trace said. “Why didn’t you?”
Like ice water splashed in her face, he brought her back to reality. She pushed against his chest. “It doesn’t matter.”
His grip tightened, trapping her. “Did you ditch him because he wasn’t good enough?”
She held her chin up and stared into his gaze. “It’s really none of your business.”
Trace lifted his hands, sliding them up her back to tangle in the hair at the base of her skull. “Did he make you moan when he held you?”
Her breathing came in ragged gasps. Pressed against him, she couldn’t ignore the way her body reacted. She was on fire, her core burning with desire. She had no words. None could move past her frozen vocal cords.
“Did he kiss you until you melted in his arms?” he whispered, his mouth descending to hover over hers.
“No,” she murmured, the sound swallowed by the crush of his lips against hers.
At first she remained stiff in his arms.
But as his mouth moved against hers, she melted against him. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have slipped bonelessly to the floor, her knees unable to hold her weight.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips.
She opened to him as naturally as if she were a flower opening its petals to the sun. Greedily, she drank him in, her tongue sweeping against his, caressing, thrusting and tasting this man she’d loved so much she’d pushed him away to explore a better life without her.
After what seemed like an eternity and yet a blink of an eye, he raised his head, abandoning her mouth.
Lily drew in a shaky breath and sagged against him. This couldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t be happening. Trace didn’t love her anymore.
“Bet he didn’t kiss you like that,” he said, his voice gravelly and sexy as hell.
His words brought her back to earth with a jolt. She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed.
When he still didn’t let go, she drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Let go of me.”
As if he just realized he was still holding her, he let go suddenly and stepped away from her.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to work here,” he said.
“I don’t work for you,” she said. “I work for your mother. When she’s ready for me to leave, I will. In the meantime, she needs the help, and I like working for her.” And if she could find another job that paid as well, she would leave in a heartbeat. Being around Trace was harder than she’d ever imagined. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that again.” She wiped the back of her hand over her still tingling lips.
“Do what?” he asked, his blue eyes smoldering as he stared down at her.
“You know damn well what.”
“You mean kiss the ranch hand?” The corners of his mouth quirked upward.
“I mean it.” She lifted her chin, praying her lip didn’t tremble. She’d never felt as unsteady and out of control as she did at that moment. “Don’t do it again.”
He stared at her for a long time and then dipped his head in the hint of a nod. “Okay. I won’t kiss you...unless...”
“No unless.”
He held up his hand. “I won’t kiss you, unless you ask me to.”
She snorted. “Good. I won’t be asking.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I won’t.”
He gripped her arms and drew her close. “You won’t?” he asked, his mouth so close she could feel his warm breath across hers.
Once again, air lodged in her lungs and she waited for him to claim her mouth.
As if of its own accord, her head tilted upward to receive his kiss.
The sound of a horn honking shocked Lily out of the trance Trace seemed to put her in. He glanced toward the barn door, a frown creasing his brow.
Another honk sounded.
Trace cursed. “We’re not done with this conversation.”
“Yes. We. Are.” When Lily pushed away, Trace released her.
Her knees wobbled and her breathing seemed to come in shallow gasps, but she was free of his hold on her.
At least his physical hold. Damn the man to hell. He still had a hold on her heart, and that would never do.
* * *
TRACE LEFT LILY and emerged from the barn to find a shiny charcoal-gray truck parked beside his black four-wheel-drive pickup.
A man had dropped down to the ground on the other side of the open driver’s door.
When he closed it, he looked around and grinned when he saw Trace.
“Trace, you old son of a gun.”
“Irish.” Trace hurried toward his friend and former Delta Force teammate. “I thought you’d be recuperating for another couple of weeks.”
“Seems I’ll live after all. The doctors treated my wounds and scanned my head.”
“And?”
“Concussion, a few shrapnel wounds, but nothing life-threatening. I was released once I got the all clear from the docs. Then you said you were in need of help.” Irish shrugged and winced. He rolled his shoulder and held on to his middle. “So, here I am.”
“I need ranch hands who can work hard. You’re not up to that yet.”
“But I will be within a few weeks. In the meantime, I can still handle a weapon, and I brought my own.” He reached into the back seat of the truck and pulled out a gun case. “I have my own AR-15 military-grade rifle, a 9mm Glock and night vision goggles.”
“What kind of help did you hear I needed?”
Irish stood in front of Trace, meeting his gaze straight on. “I heard you needed combat veterans to help with the ranch work and protect your family from whoever killed your father.”
Trace hated that he even had to call on old friends to help manage the family ranch. His father had run the operation for so many years without much problem. What had changed so drastically that they’d come to this?
“Well?” Irish raised an eyebrow. “Can you use someone like me? I like to think I’m good with animals and you know my combat skills.”
Trace held up a hand. “Stop. You know you’re hired. But more than that, it’s good to see you’re all right.” He pulled Irish into a bear hug, squeezing him tightly.
“Hey, not so hard,” Irish said through gritted teeth. “Injured man here.”
With a chuckle, Trace released his friend and stepped back. “Just what exactly can you do right now? Can you haul hay?”
Irish cringed. “As long as I don’t reopen my wounds, I can do just about anything.”
Trace frowned. “We’ll take it easy the first couple of weeks. I can put you to work driving the truck we’ll use to haul the trailer full of bales.”
“Let me see what I can do with the bales. I bet I can toss a few, no problem.”
“Yeah, I bet you can. Then you’ll rip a stitch and bleed everywhere. I’ve seen enough blood to last a lifetime. You can drive the bailing machine.”
“When do you want to start?” Irish asked.
“I’d hoped to start tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. Who else do you have helping?” Irish glanced around the barnyard. He nodded toward the barn. “Wow. You didn’t tell me about the great scenery you had on the ranch. Please tell me she’s your sister.”
Trace stiffened and turned to find Lily leading the mare out to the paddock, her blue chambray shirt unbuttoned enough to display a significant amount of her cleavage and the shirttails tied in a knot around her waist, displaying her slim midriff.
He cursed beneath his breath. “I’m an only child.”
Irish shot a glance toward Trace. “She with you?”
Trace snorted. “No.” Then he saw the smile lighting his friend’s face as he turned toward Lily. “But she’s off-limits,” Trace added.
The smile faded as Irish looked back at Trace. “Is she married?”
“No.” His lips firming, Trace continued. “She works for my mother.”
“She works for your mother, and she’s off-limits.” Irish shook his head. “Okay.” He smiled. “You sure you’re not interested in her?”
His jaw tightened as he forced out the words, “I’m sure.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know her, since she works on the ranch, too. Are you going to introduce me?”
Trace didn’t want to introduce Irish to Lily. Irish had a reputation with the ladies. And he’d been pretty open about why he was getting out of the military. He wanted a real life with a real job and eventually a wife and family.
The thought of Irish flirting with Lily made Trace’s gut clench.
Why was he getting wrapped around the axels about Lily? She wasn’t his to claim. She’d made that perfectly clear eleven years ago when she’d chosen Matt Hennessey over him. What had happened between the two of them, he didn’t know. But he intended to find out.
His best source for information might be the one closest to him.
His mother.
So many people had been to the ranch before, during and after the funeral that Trace had been hard-pressed to keep an eye on her, the ranch and Lily. The people of Whiskey Gulch had come out in force when the richest man in the area had been laid to rest. Women had shown up with food, groceries and their condolences.
His mother had stood stoically at the funeral home, receiving the guests with a warm hug and an occasional smile when someone mentioned an anecdote about his father.
Trace had stood by her, listening to how much the people had admired his father, some of the charitable actions he’d performed to help out a rancher when he was down, or a business owner who needed a loan to keep going until he could get on his feet.
Who was this man they all knew, and he didn’t? His father had done things without any fanfare or expectations of undying gratitude. He’d been kind to people.
Trace had been happy to be a man on his own, making his way through life on his own terms. When he was home, he’d helped with the chores and run errands without being asked. Eventually, when they were seated at the dinner table, just the three of them and sometimes the new foreman, Roy, talk had always turned to the business of running Whiskey Gulch Ranch. Trace had refused to get caught up in his father’s narrative about how he should quit the military and come home to work the ranch. His father had never accepted that he was happy with his choice to remain in the army. Never once did he say he was proud of the fact Trace had made it into the elite Delta Force. Trace tried to tell himself that he didn’t care. But just once, he would have liked some acknowledgment that his father didn’t think of him as a complete loser.
His mother stepped out of the house, shaded her eyes and looked their way. When she spotted Trace and Irish, she hurried out to the barnyard to greet their guest.
Lily had released Lady into the pasture and was on her way back to the barn when Trace’s mother called out to her, “Lily, do you have a minute?”
Lily picked up her pace and fell into step beside Trace’s mother. They spoke quietly as they closed the distance between them and Trace.
When she stopped in front of Trace and Irish, his mother gave Irish a br
oad grin and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Rosalynn Travis.”
Irish took her hand. “Joseph Monahan, but my friends call me Irish.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
Trace’s mother gave a weak smile. “Thank you.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as she always did when she was being brave. “Are you a new ranch hand or a friend of Trace’s?”
“Both,” Trace said. “Irish is from my unit. He’s coming to work for you at Whiskey Gulch Ranch, if you’re okay with it.”
Rosalynn frowned. “Of course I’m okay with it. You can hire all the ranch hands you want. We need the help. Our foreman should be back soon. Even then, he will be hobbling on his broken foot for a while.” She turned to Lily. “Lily and I had been holding down the fort. We’re so glad Trace is home and taking up the reins. Have you met Lily?” She smiled.
“No, ma’am, I haven’t.” Irish held out his hand to Lily.
Lily smiled at him and took his outstretched hand. “Glad to meet you.”
Trace’s chest tightened. She used to smile at him like that. For years, he’d wondered where he’d gone wrong with Lily. Why had she been so into him one day and then ditched him for the town bad boy?
Irish grinned. “I’d have given up the army a lot sooner if I’d known Texas was hiding some of the prettiest ranch hands in the country.”
Lily’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink.
His mother laughed and waved a hand at Irish. “If you were my son, I’d ask you what you were up to.”
Irish winked at her. “And I’d say I only want the pleasure of your company.”
His mother chuckled. “Well played.”
Trace groaned. “If we could pull our feet out of the horse manure being spread so thickly on the ground, we might get some work done this afternoon.”
His mother patted his cheek. “Don’t be such a grouchy bear. I like your choice of a ranch hand. Irish will fit in quite well.” She smiled at the man, slipped her arm through his and started toward the barn. “Come on, I’ll show you where everything is. And until we get the bunkhouse cleaned up, you can stay at the house.”
