by Stacy Gail
“So he really did nab you.” Manny whistled softly. “Can’t imagine you went quietly.”
“It’s cool how you already know that much about me.”
“I’m thinking about what you did to that guy tonight. You’re a fighter. Better yet, you know how to fight.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “When I was twelve, Social Services landed me in this wonderful multi-age household, whose foster parents owned a taekwondo dojo. They used martial arts as a way to encourage discipline, and it also gave us foster kids a much-needed sense of confidence. My first job was at their dojo— helping out in the office and teaching self-defense to school-age kids like me. So, yeah. It’s safe to say I didn’t go quietly.”
“You’ve had a weird life,” he said, looking at her like she might be a bomb that could go off at any second. “What’d you do to Brody when he nabbed you?”
“Not as much as I would’ve liked,” she said honestly, disgusted with herself. “I was heading toward my car early the next morning, still more asleep than awake because I’d been up half the night researching my brother Des, when suddenly I was grabbed from behind. I’m ashamed to admit I froze for about two seconds, but that’s all it took for him to pick me up and get me at his truck’s door. That’s when I finally woke the hell up and tried to knock my assailant out with a head butt, but all I did was loosen his tooth. Then I tried to dislocate his thumb, but he just kept pushing me into the truck. Once we were both inside and I was locked in, I saw who my attacker was—Killian—and that I had gotten his thumb, but good.”
Manny’s brows shot up. “But he just kept going even though he was hurt?”
She nodded, and had to grin at her employer’s reluctant look of respect. “He powered through the pain like it wasn’t even there, and kept focused on the task of getting me in his truck. Once he was behind the wheel, he wrenched his thumb back into place and drove us to Bitterthorn.”
“Holy shit.” Manny shook his head in disbelief. “That’s just...holy shit.”
“I know, right?”
“That must’ve been some drive.”
“We had a good three hours to talk. That is, if you can call me yelling at him talking. Mainly I wanted to make it clear that I’d already decided to come here anyway, so what he was doing was totally unnecessary. When I asked him to take me back so I could at least pack up some of my stuff and follow him to Bitterthorn in my car, he just laughed and kept going.”
“Considering he’d just kidnapped you to harvest your organs, I guess I would’ve laughed, too.”
“Honestly, I meant every word.” She sighed, listening to the crickets and trying to absorb the summer stillness into unsettled soul. “I’m a perfect match for Desmond, Manny.”
“I figured you were,” he said after a moment. “I mean, the Brodys are keeping you for spare parts, right? That’s what you said.”
“That’s what Killian said on the drive here. I’m just repeating it.” She tried to smile and wondered if it looked as bitter as it felt. “How weird am I? I got my feelings hurt when my kidnapper said he wouldn’t have come near me if circumstances hadn’t forced him to, and just as soon as they use me for spare parts for Des, he’ll be happy to drop-kick me out of his life. Seriously, how screwed up am I?”
“Pretty screwed up,” Manny admitted, nodding. “So, what’s the holdup? Have you changed your mind about helping Des?”
“Nope. I’m told the docs are hoping his liver will stabilize and heal on its own, since a transplant is considered a last-resort kind of deal.” What she didn’t want to admit was that Des didn’t want anything from her, least of all part of her liver. She didn’t know what to do with that rejection, so she simply left it alone until the pain no longer threatened to break her in two. “In the meantime, I’m stuck here until the docs give the all-clear, because Killian doesn’t trust me when I say I’d willingly come back if I’m needed.”
“Sucks,” Manny said prosaically. “At least big man Brody let you out long enough to work here at The Dive. Though that does surprise me. Isn’t he afraid you’re going to escape, or run to the police?”
“You really think they’d believe me? Besides, I’ve pointed out my babysitter to you, haven’t I?” Dallas drawled, rolling her eyes. “The old cowboy dude who uses your place like a library?”
“Gus something.” Manny scowled. “Drinks nothing but Diet Coke and takes up one of my biggest tables. Dick.”
Next time Gus came in, Dallas made a mental note to herd him toward a smaller table. “Gus keeps tabs on me, and even now is waiting out in his truck for me to leave. Not to give me a ride,” she added, and this time she could hear the bitterness. “Oh, no. Old Gus remembers my mother and he’s terrified of me. He drives behind me as I walk a mile back to the ranch, waits until I go inside the main house, then takes off without a word.”
“What the fuck is that bowlegged little gnome afraid of?” Manny demanded, and she could have kissed him for the indignant outrage. “That you’re gonna jump those ancient bones of his? In his fuckin’ dreams.”
“Not every man is as chivalrous as you.” Which was a crying shame, in her opinion.
“Well, you’re sure as hell not going to hoof it tonight. I’ll drive you back to Green Rock Ranch, or at least right up to the gate. No way in hell am I going in there.”
“You don’t have to—”
“You might be tough and know all that self-defense shit, and that’s great. Good for you. But there were two guys in here tonight, and they got bested by you. That means they’d probably love nothing better than to get you alone and vulnerable, because they’re assholes who’ve got an axe to grind and maybe half a brain between ‘em. Your babysitter didn’t do shit when hands got put on you, which means he wouldn’t do shit later if something happened. I’m not gonna rest easy until I’ve seen you home, so shut your trap and let’s go, already.”
“You’re a saint, Manny.” She smiled while her heart went all gooey. Beneath the gruff exterior, Manuel Espadero was exactly what she’d already clocked him as being—a total softie. “You won’t have to worry about my safety for much longer. I’m saving up for a junk car to get me around this little berg. I just need a week’s more tip money and I’m golden.”
“Then steer clear of assholes so you don’t have to dislocate any more thumbs.”
“Great advice,” she drawled as they headed back inside. The problem wasn’t whether or not she steered clear of a drunk or two down at The Dive. Drunks she could handle. Her main problem was the man she couldn’t handle—Killian Brody. Steering clear of the biggest, baddest Brody of them all was proving to be downright impossible.
Chapter Three
Killian’s thumb throbbed like a bad tooth as he hauled a box of groceries out of his truck. Visiting the main house—the historic yellow Victorian mansion where he and his brothers had grown up—was enough to put him in a bad mood, but his throbbing thumb made him downright surly. He’d taped it up after that redheaded hellion had dislocated it two months ago, and it had been taking its own sweet time in healing up. But since last night, when he’d thrown that piece of shit out into the parking lot for daring to put his filthy hands where they didn’t belong, the thumb joint had decided to give him holy hell all over again.
Dallas’s fault, of course.
Just about everything wrong in life right now was Dallas’s fault, as far as he was concerned. He wouldn’t have had to throw drunken idiots into parking lots if she’d just stayed put in the main house like she was supposed to. She sassed him constantly, then looked like he was Jack the Ripper whenever he moved to do something about it. She didn’t know enough to stay out of the reach of unworthy assclowns like that weed he’d taken care of the night before, yet she jumped out of her damn skin whenever he got near, like she thought he was going to attack her.
Again.
Shit.
Maybe she did have cause to be wary around him, he grimaced, moving on autopilot into the squarish blue a
nd white kitchen. But he’d been fucking desperate at the time. God knew he’d done everything in his power to assure her that he had no pervy designs on her. He had no interest in her whatsoever other than getting Des the life-saving help he needed. As soon as his brother was out of the woods, Dallas would be free to do whatever the hell she wanted. He’d even foot the bill for it, no worries.
But...he had still kidnapped her.
Technically.
Maybe he should try to cut her a little slack, he thought, dragging out a jug of milk and some butter, a carton of orange juice, lettuce, onions and a colorful array of bell peppers. Her first few days in Bitterthorn had been rocky, to say the least. Since she hadn’t exactly come with him voluntarily, he’d decided she was flight risk that had to be put under his version of house arrest. He’d taken her purse away and stationed ranch hands at every damn door, despite her claims that she’d already decided to come to Bitterthorn. Not only did that sound too good to be true, there was just something about her that he couldn’t trust.
As time went on, he’d finally figured out what that something was.
As much as he hated to admit it—and he still refused to, for the most part—if Dallas’s mother was half the beauty Dallas was, it was no wonder that canker of a woman lured his spineless father into having an affair. And as for her daughter...
Her daughter could break any man with nothing more than a glance from her peridot eyes.
Any man.
Except him.
Dallas wasn’t beautiful, he thought furiously, jamming the groceries into the refrigerator. She was a pain in his ass, and that made her ugly as hell, as far as he was concerned. After a week or so of being his enforced guest, she’d begun bugging him about getting to work. At first he’d thought she was kidding. Then he thought she had cabin fever, so he’d taken her into San Antonio for the graduation of a close family friend, Lilah Ledbetter, who was now his brother Fin’s fiancée.
But that hadn’t put a dent in her obvious restlessness. It was work Dallas wanted, or so she claimed. She claimed she’d be happy with anything they had available there at the ranch, even doing something like mucking out stalls.
Ha.
As if someone like her would ever actually want to shovel horseshit.
Then she said she could do oil changes for the Green Rock Ranch’s fleet of rolling stock. That was equally laughable, but she swore up and down she’d done it before. At first he thought she was trying to get her hands on a vehicle so she could leave Des in the lurch, but to his utter shock she’d verbally walked him through a basic oil change step-by-step like she was reading from a manual. Then, while he’d stared at her with his damn jaw scraping the ground like an idiot, she explained she’d once worked at a Jiffy Lube.
A fucking Jiffy Lube.
Holy hell.
But even after she’d proven herself on that front, and it was clear she was going stir-crazy being cooped up in the main house, he still couldn’t allow her to work at the ranch. It was easy to picture how that would go. Dropping Dallas in with the ranch hands would be like dropping a match into a vat of gasoline. The chaos and carnage she’d unleash would make Pompeii on volcano day look vaguely distressing.
So, no. No way was he unleashing her onto his family’s ranch. Generations of Brodys had carved a kingdom out of the sun-baked wilds of South Texas, and it had taken a century and a half to do it. He wasn’t about to let one demon woman tear it to shit in a single day.
But keeping Dallas a prisoner in the main house also wasn’t right. When she’d announced she’d found a potential job off-property but “within walking distance” he’d warily let her go, though the first few nights he’d followed her all the way to The Dive in addition to having Gus Anders tail her. He hadn’t been worried she’d go screaming to the police to have him arrested for kidnapping and false imprisonment—though God knew she had him dead to rights there. From what little conversation they’d had, it seemed clear she understood the name Brody meant something in the town of Bitterthorn, and not even she was willing to mess with that.
But even if the authorities weren’t going to hold him accountable, his own conscience had been giving him hell. Now that he’d calmed down and Des had slowly begun to heal all on his own, Killian’s brain had finally gotten back on an even keel. Enough, anyway, to realize he’d gone overboard in his quest to save Des’s life.
Way overboard.
And Dallas Faircloth had been made to pay the price for it.
It was the insane way he’d been trained to protect his siblings that had triggered him to act in such an extreme manner. When his parents had still been alive, his father had counted on Killian to stand guard over his brothers, especially Des, so his crazy-ass mother wouldn’t harm any of them. From the age of twelve, that had been his number-one duty—to protect his brothers at all costs. That training had driven him to hire a private agency to locate Dallas Faircloth the same day they’d found out that neither he, Ry nor Fin were a compatible match for Des. The plan had been to find her, and if possible, persuade her to help the brother she’d been separated from nearly twenty years ago.
That had been the plan.
Then it had all gone sideways.
It had seemed so simple at the time. All he’d wanted to do was talk with Des’s long lost half-sister. He had wanted to come off as calm and rational, and explain how important it was for her to step up and try to save Desmond’s life. If money was something that would help steer things in Des’s favor, that wouldn’t be a problem, and he certainly wouldn’t think any less of her. What mattered were results.
Then he saw her.
That was all it took for him to lose his damn mind.
For a full second he’d thought he was looking at Delphine Faircloth, Dallas’s mother and the bitch who’d ruined not just his parents’ marriage, but his happy, stable world. To see that she-devil recreated in Dallas had almost been too much as he’d stood there in the doorway of the music store where she’d worked, staring at her. Even before she’d opened her mouth, something dangerous had snapped inside him. The emergency break that had always been on his thoughts and actions had broken, and in the span of a heartbeat, he’d gone from rational-minded business tycoon to crazed kidnapper.
All because of her.
The red menace.
Whenever she was around, he didn’t even recognize himself.
Hell, he didn’t even like himself.
And she obviously didn’t like him.
Damn.
The jangle of a telephone broke him out of his reverie, and with it came a shaft of something close to alarm. What the fuck was a phone doing here? The main house had once been the business hub of Green Rock Ranch, but as of last spring they’d had their business calls and emails rerouted to a temp agency. No one actually lived there, so he’d thought the landlines were disconnected.
But if there was a phone, Dallas could call for a taxi and be nothing more than a memory without him being any the wiser.
Abandoning the remaining groceries, he went in search of the sound even as a flash of white disappearing down the hall leading to what had been the front parlor caught his eye.
Was that...?
A slow-burning fever began to simmer in his veins, and he kept going even as the logical side of his brain told him to stop. He needed to stop, because if what he’d glimpsed was true, he had no right to roll up on a woman wearing nothing but a towel when he’d already manhandled, abducted and terrified her, all the while trying to convince her he wasn’t a horny perv.
His steps never faltered. His breath shallowed out in head-spinning anticipation as he came around the corner just as the phone was snagged up.
“Hello, you’ve reached Green Rock Ranch’s main house. How may I help you?”
He blinked, stunned.
Oil changes, self-defense skills and a killer receptionist’s voice. How was it Dallas Faircloth was like a weird Jill of all trades?
And damn, he thought
, coming around the corner. Did that woman know how to wear a towel, or what?
Her back was to him, and it was a sight that made him wish with all his heart that he knew how to paint. As a true redhead, she had that glowing, ultra-pale skin that the Texas sun would destroy in an instant if given half a chance, and it was shiny with wet. Her hair was dripping as well—long ropes of hair water-darkened to the color of rubies. He’d never seen hair like that, except in her mother, but Dallas’s hair was even more spectacular—thick and waving like a model’s in a damn shampoo commercial. The white towel she’d wrapped around herself didn’t do much to hide the willowy body underneath. Lean limbs and shapely curves in all the right places, covered in that glowing pale skin that begged to be touched...
“Right, like I said, try the stud barn’s number that I just gave you, and they’ll be able to assist you with whatever you need. Yes sir, my pleasure. I wish you the best of luck in building up your Black Angus herd, and I thank you for thinking of Green Rock Ranch for your business needs. Have a nice day.” She hung up and turned, then screeched when she saw him standing there.
Because of course she did.
“I was delivering groceries,” he began, then immediately felt like a fool. Disgusted with himself, he made himself turn away from the one thing he wanted to look at in the whole damn universe, and headed for the front door. “Get dressed and meet me out on the front porch.”
Embarrassment warred with anger as Dallas stomped through the foyer and out the front door. As houses went, the original homestead of the Brodys was magnificent, a sprawling Victorian mansion with loads of gingerbread scrollwork and turrets. A wraparound verandah with a whitewashed spindle balustrade and hanging plants made the exterior postcard-perfect, and normally it was one of her favorite places.
But with Killian Brody there, not so much.
“I know this is your family’s house, but you can’t just barge in whenever you feel like it, Brody,” she announced by way of greeting. Considering he’d just seen her pretty much naked, polite greetings at this point were ridiculous. “My first foster daddy liked barging in on me whenever he felt like it, too, especially when I was in the shower or changing clothes, so I’m not a fan. Understand?”
