Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology
Page 120
Mark must be the one doing the paperwork, since organization was not one of Trey’s strong suits. Then again, it wasn’t one of Mark’s, either. At least it hadn’t been. Trey never had the patience to maintain such immaculate files, preferring to be outside working the herd over dealing with numbers. He had counted it a success when he managed to enter the numbers on the correct spreadsheet on a somewhat timely basis. His accountant had required many a bribe to continue taking him as a client.
He turned his attention to the computer and rapped his thumbs on the ink blotter while the machine hummed and booted up. Once it was on, Trey frowned in disbelief at the sheer number of folders spread out on the monitor’s desktop. There were files and spreadsheets labeled with every aspect of the farm. Projections, actuals, breed versus feed ratios. He slumped in his chair as the number of man-hours it must have taken to create and populate all of those files boggled his mind.
What do I do next? He randomly clicked and dragged the mouse across the screen. Page after page opened up like a deck of cards shooting out of a magician’s sleeve. Ding-ding! Error message. What the hell?
He pushed away from the computer as if the damn machine was set to explode any moment.
Unbelievable. He actually forgot how to use the computer. A chuckle started low in his belly then got caught in his throat. This might not be a good sign. With one last cautious glance at the frozen monitor, he got up and began to rummage through the rest of the office.
Two filing cabinets, three drawers high, contained more alphabetized and color-coded papers on every bull and heifer bought and sold on the ranch over the last seven years. The files were so well organized he wondered why the hell he needed the computer in the first place.
The bottom drawer on the last cabinet was locked. He took the keys off his belt loop and found the one with the same letter etched into the metal as the label on the cabinet. The drawer clicked opened without a hitch. Inside were payroll records, tax forms, and a large lockbox. The gray metal box was cold in his hands when he lifted it out.
He flipped the latch and raised the lid. A framed black and white photo of Greta’s smiling face looked up at him. A river ran in the background behind her in the shot, and her shoulders were bare but for the straps of a bathing suit. Pure joy radiated from her eyes and wide grin. Serene, glowing, her alluring beauty took his breath away.
Underneath that frame was a second photo, this one a full color snapshot of the two of them taken in front of the house. In it they were hugging, and Greta had turned to face the camera. He looked so young, so happy. The both did. The man in the photo had a perfect world in his hands and knew it. This was the man Trey had expected to see in the mirror yesterday morning. God, had he aged.
The photo in last frame stopped his heart. The glass was smudged, as if it had been touched often. Trey added a few more prints as he ran his finger over the laughing faces. In a series of three photos, Trey and Greta were walking in a field. Between them was a tiny, dark-haired boy. In each succeeding image they had swung him higher and higher. Little Luke had had his father’s eyes and his mother’s dark hair. They had been a beautiful family.
Trey wasn’t sure how long he sat crouched on the floor staring at that photo, but his joints popped when he finally stood, with the frame held firmly in his grip. How could he have forgotten them? Why were these photos locked in a box and not displayed on his desk with pride? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember seeing any photos in the house, either.
None of this was making any sense. The house felt impersonal, while the office just creeped him out. No mementos anywhere. This was not the way he had pictured how his life would be.
Laughter, love, infinite possibilities. That was what was supposed to be in his future. This—he looked around the room and felt sick. This was the existence of a hermit, and he didn’t like it one bit.
Well, if there was one thing he remembered he had always believed in, it was that he was capable of learning new tricks.
With the decision made, he closed the lockbox with a snap. He strode to the desk and set the photos in positions of prominence. All that was important in life was right there. The people you loved and who loved you back. Never should they be hidden.
“Hey, Hoss, how’re you doing?”
Trey glanced up at his childhood friend with trouble swirling in his gut. Mark watched him with that cool as a cucumber look he always wore. “Fine. I think.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t know. When did I move my office in here?”
Mark scratched his cheek as he thought back. “A year or so ago.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know.”
Mark had a great poker face, but Trey had a suspicion that he did know. “It…man, it really doesn’t feel like me.” He squinted as he glanced around the dim interior. “It’s so organized. Is this your work or Greta’s?”
“Neither. You’ve been doing it all by yourself. I muddled through it when you were in the hospital. You have a lot of files on your desktop.”
“Yeah.” Trey laughed without humor. “I don’t remember how to work it.”
Mark frowned. “Work what?”
“The computer.” He pointed to the frozen screen. “I broke it.”
Mark stepped around the desk and reached for the mouse. A few clicks later he glanced sideways at Trey. “Damn, boy. That’s funny,” he said, laughing. Actually, it was more like a wheeze. Mark had a really dry sense of humor. “You really don’t remember how to use the computer.”
The corner of Trey’s mouth lifted in chagrin. “I turned it on. I knew to point and click, but that’s about all.”
Mark punched a few keys, and the monitor went dark. “Maybe there’s a manual around here.”
Trey gestured to the stacks of novels piled in the corners. “Mark, whose books are these?”
He received an “Are you joking?” glance in response. “I would guess that they’re yours, since you’re the only one who comes in here.”
That knowledge wasn’t comforting. “What happened to me, Mark?”
Duh, his friend’s raised eyebrows said. “You had an accident and lost your memory.”
“Don’t bullshit me.” Why did it feel as if no one ever gave him a straight answer? “What happened to me before that? Whose room is this, really, because it can’t be mine.” With a snap of his wrist, he pulled out a file from a drawer and threw it on the desk. “Who color coordinates which brand of feed fed which set of cattle in a specific area of the pasture? There are books coming out of my ass. There are instruction manuals on Chevys here, Mark. Goddamn Chevys. What kind of a sick, twisted person lives here?”
Mark swallowed hard and looked away. Either he was trying not to laugh in Trey’s face, or he found him so pathetic he couldn’t look him in the eye.
“Look.” He crossed his arms. “Luke’s death affected all of us. You took it hard, and rightly so. Afterward,” he paused to exhale in a loud rush. “Afterward, you kind of distanced yourself from everyone.”
Distanced? Trey looked around the dark, cramped room. This wasn’t distance. This was enforced solitude. Did he spend every waking hour in here? A thought hit him so hard, he felt it in his solar plexus. “Greta. What about Greta?”
Mark’s jaw tightened, his gaze steady. “From everyone.”
Trey sank slowly into the chair, which again molded to his ass like a second skin. He jumped to his feet as the truth set in. All of this craziness made sense now. He’d been hiding.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Maybe she didn’t want you to remember the bad times.” By the tone of his voice, Trey guessed they had been pretty bad.
Instantly, the room started to suffocate him. The shuttered windows, the dark furniture all seemed to close in around him like a straitjacket. “I-uh-I gotta get some air,” he mumbled before escaping into the stable. Once he reached Lucky’s stall, he reached for the nearest bridle and slipped it over the horse’s head.
In the bright sunshine, he was finally able to draw a decent breath. This was where he belonged. Out in the sunlight, not in some cave plotting the location of each blade of grass. It just didn’t seem plausible that Luke’s death affected him so deeply that hiding was preferable to being with loved ones. His mom and dad had been everything to him. They taught him the importance of family, and he couldn’t believe that he would give up on Greta and his friends.
Greta.
Now he understood her hesitation and lack of trust he had been sensing. She was expecting him to push her away again. Burned once, Greta was probably protecting herself from any more future heartache. Somehow he was going to have to find a way to convince her that he wanted to start over. The past was the past and couldn’t be changed. The only direction for them to go was forward.
Hours later and he was still processing what he had learned. Several times he was tempted to search for Greta and confront her with his newly gained knowledge, but then he’d chicken out and scoot back into the safety of the sun, even going so far as to sneak a sandwich out of the kitchen when his belly rumbled instead of asking her for assistance.
The subject of his mental desertion needed to be broached delicately, if he even wanted to go there at all. The fact that Greta hadn’t done more than wave at him from a window or the porch with that anxious furrow on her brow was just as telling.
As the sun started its descent, the dinner bell rang. A call to come home. He led Lucky back to his stall, his gaze landing on the door to the office. The coldness of the cave, or the warmth of the house?
There really was no competition.
* * *
Mark was already in the mudroom when Trey entered. “How are you doing, Hoss?”
“I’m going to be just fine.” He met his friend’s gaze head on, determined to tread a new path.
Mark nodded then finished washing up. When they entered the dining room together, Colby and Jack were already seated at the table.
“Whoa,” Steven exclaimed as he took a seat at the head of the table. “I didn’t expect to see you here, boss man.”
Trey stiffened. “Let me guess. You don’t see me much at supper either?”
“Nope.” He laughed. “Until breakfast, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat at all. We all joke that you eat nothing but dust and paper.” He laughed again.
That hyena cackle made Trey’s palm itch to pop him one on the back of the head. “Well, I’m starving, and Greta’s a fantastic cook. It’s one of the many reasons why I married her.”
Greta fumbled the heavy tray of lasagna that she was placing on the table and looked at him in surprise.
“Did you get your memory back?” Jack asked. Several pairs of eyes turned to Trey in expectation.
“It’s coming back slowly. But so far, it’s been good.” He didn’t want to let on just how much he had remembered, or at least, what he had figured out. Greta obviously didn’t want to bring up his self-imposed imprisonment, and he didn’t want her to worry about him returning to that solitude. He was done running, and he was ready to reassure her of that just as soon as he got her alone. His cock stirred as he thought about the way he planned on doing the convincing.
All through dinner he watched his wife, caressing her with a heat in his gaze that made her flush and her chest rise and fall with a rapid breath. He wanted to let loose with a big goofy grin seeing the effect he had on her. The bold, brash Greta, who seared his soul with one kiss the night they met, would not have blushed with such shyness. After the fifth time she caught his eye, a slow smile curled up one corner of her mouth and she shook her head at him as if he were a scoundrel. Oh yeah, she read him correctly and did not seem opposed to his attention.
The conversation around him was just background noise as he kept his focus on his wife. The way she drank her wine, her smile, how she looked a person right in the eye when she spoke to them.
He felt his bemused grin turn into a frown as he watched her talk to Adam about a necklace she was making for him to give to his mother and he realized how far away from each other they sat. Why was he at the opposite end of the table from his woman? He wanted to be the one to sit next to her, ask her about her day while he held her hand. That was one more thing to add to his list of changes.
Dinner seemed to drag on forever and he nearly wept for joy when Greta started to stack dishes. “Would anyone like thirds or fourths?”
“I couldn’t eat another bite. Right, fellas?” His tone left no room for argument.
After the men exchanged curious glances, general rumbles of consent followed.
Trey came around and took the plates from her hands. “We got this. Why don’t you head on up and relax in a nice bath?” His gaze swept up and down her body as if he were imagining being in the tub with her.
Greta’s breathing hitched. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah, magpie, I’m sure.” Lust and desire roughened his voice.
“Okay.” She walked toward the doorway, only to pause. Lip between her teeth, she glanced back at him as if to reassure herself that she had understood him correctly.
He put all of the want and need he felt for her in his eyes and the predatory curl of his grin. In response, that siren’s smile, the one he fell in love with when they first met, flitted across her lips before she turned and walked away.
Trey anticipated cleanup to take only a few minutes with the extra hands, and he rushed to the kitchen to do his share.
“Man, can you imagine Greta in the bathtub?” Steven was saying as he entered. “Do you think she uses bubbles or that bath oil stuff? I would love to see her all slippery.” He turned to throw away the paper towel he was using to wipe down the counter and froze when he saw Trey. “Uh, not that I ever imagine Greta naked, or clothed. I don’t think of her at all,” he added hastily. The flush that raced up his neck brought out the freckles in his cheeks.
Trey arched a brow and placed the dishes in the sink. “Do you often talk about my wife in such a manner?”
The room went deathly quiet as everyone watched Steven pale. His throat worked up and down as he swallowed. Was he rethinking that third helping of lasagna? “No, sir. I wouldn’t do that.”
“And why not?” he asked, low and dangerous.
“Because it’s disrespectful, and we shouldn’t covet our boss’s anything.”
Trey nodded. “That’s right.” He took a quick glance around. “I think you can handle the rest, right, Steven? I’m gonna see if my wife needs help with her bath.”
Cat calls and whistles echoed behind him as he made his way up the stairs with an anticipatory smile.
9
The bathroom door was open a hair, which Trey took as an invitation to enter. On silent feet, he crept into the steamy oasis and stopped dead in his tracks.
Greta was reclining in the tub. Hair up, eyes closed, she was the poster girl for relaxation. With the clear water, he had an unimpeded view of her curvy body. One leg was bent with her knee guarding her womanly secrets. Cinnamon-colored nipples barely broke through the water’s surface and glistened with temptation. Man, he couldn’t wait to taste them.
He should have taken her that morning. To deny himself something he wanted so badly that his teeth and balls ached had been the most boneheaded promise he ever made, especially when she was his for the taking. But no, he had to be an honorable bastard.
And now the possibilities flipping through his head as quickly as a teenager with a remote control were not in the least bit honorable.
“No bubbles?” he asked. Desire made his voice raspy.
She jerked in surprise, causing a little splash before she slowly rolled her head in his direction. She lifted her lashes. “That was quite the ninja move there. I didn’t even hear your boots on the tile.”
“No bubbles?” he repeated, lost to all but her.
She caught her plum
p lower lip between her teeth, stifling her grin. “Earlier, I was getting the impression that you might be planning on kissing me all over.”
Despite her bold words, he saw her slight tremble and the uncertainty in her gaze. She was bracing herself as if she expected him to reject her. No way in hell was that going to happen.
“That would be correct,” he said.
Her tongue flicked out and wet her lips. His words must have pleased her, for she glowed with an inner light that tempted and beckoned. “If that was true, then I wanted you to taste my skin, and not bath soap.”
Geez-us. He had his boots off in seconds, followed by his belt that hit the floor with a clang. “Stand up,” he commanded.
Like a goddess from the deep, Greta rose from the water. Glistening and ripe, she was ready to be plucked. Trey grabbed the nearest towel and began to dry her pink skin. He hunkered down on one knee to pay special attention to her legs. With her delicate foot in his hand, he was right at eye level with the lips of her sex that were glistening wet, and not solely by bath water. The sight of her arousal snapped what little control he clung onto.
With a barely restrained growl, he threw the towel to the side and stood. The clip in her hair snapped in his hand as he whipped it out and tossed it over his shoulder, where it bounced off the mirror and clattered into the sink.
He dug his hands into her thick tresses and held her still while he ravaged her mouth. She softened against him, feeding his hunger with her submission. He supped on her lips until the pressure in his cock became too much to bear and he had to break away, sweeping her up in his arms.
“Trey, your arm,” she protested even as she clung to his shoulders.
“Don’t worry about me, magpie. I’m more than healthy enough to love you right.”
He set her down on the bed like a precious treasurer. She rested back on her hands and watched him with her plump lower lip trapped between her teeth. Her bent knees gently bounced open and shut, teasing him with a glimpse of heaven. Dusty nipples peeked out from the long, dark hair covering her breasts.