by Jess Bentley
I’m usually able to shut off that response to women. But there’s something about her. She smells like fruity shampoo and her body feels perfectly suited to my arms. And she’s pretty—well, she’s beautiful, if I’m being totally honest. She isn’t rail-thin like the style these days, but I like her curves. Her light brown hair is just a little curly, and I suspect it’s fairly long, although I can’t tell for sure with the loose bun style she’s has it wrapped in.
I reach out and brush a sheaf of hair that has fallen out of her bun and over her eye, then I almost jump out of my skin when those big brown eyes open wide.
“What happened?” she asks, panic coating her voice. She tries to sit up, and I put a hand on her shoulder. Not trying to restrain her, trying to get her attention.
“You fainted,” I say, trying to keep my voice soothing.
Her eyes narrow and she shoves my hand off her shoulder, her expression of disgust clear. Then she sits up, but she does so slowly. At least she isn’t trying to get up from the couch.
“You lied to me. You lied to me about everything.”
She’s very obviously not feeling well. Her skin is pale, and her breath is coming quickly as if she’s on the verge of a panic attack. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with her or what she’s talking about, but maybe whatever made her faint is confusing her as well. Maybe I should be calling an ambulance, or at least driving her down to old Doc Collins. The man is technically retired, but he still sees my brothers and me when we need him. I’m sure he wouldn’t have any problem at all seeing the pretty little reporter on my couch if she’s losing her damn mind.
“Calm down, honey.” Touching her doesn’t seem like a good idea right now. But damned if I don’t want to. She smells positively delicious. Not like perfume, but something more natural and fruity.
Her gaze flashes at me and the anger in it keeps me from trying to reach out to pat her shoulder in comfort.
“Don’t you tell me to calm down. I get it, I wasn’t looking for a relationship either. But I wasn’t about to leave in the middle of the night like your rude ass.”
Damn me if she wasn’t acting sick at all. Maybe the woman is just fucking nuts. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but—”
“Listen here, asshole, I’ve heard enough from you. If you had any balls, you’d have already apologized.” Her eyes sparkle with angry fire. And for some reason her anger is making me fully hard.
Then her words hit me. Asshole? What the hell? How have I so greatly offended this woman in the five minutes since we’d met? “Where do you come off calling me—”
“I have every right in the world to call you whatever the hell I want to right now. I—” Her eyes widen, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s looking at something behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Clay. Of course, he’s here. No doubt drawn in by the noise. From behind him, Joshua comes into the room as well. His hair is messy and his glasses askew. We probably woke him up. Joshua gets up at the ass-crack of dawn every day. Clay tends to sleep in whenever he can, so I’m not surprised that he looks more together. Both of them look bewildered.
Jessa looks back and forth between my brothers, and then she looks back at me. Her mouth drops open, and she struggles to find words. But before she can say anything at all, her eyes roll back in her head, and she faints again.
Well, hell.
Chapter 3
Clay
I halt in midstep, almost stumbling. Shock reverberates through me. What the hell is she doing here?
I recognize her immediately, of course. Jessa Long. The sexy reporter I’d met in New York at a conference. Met, and slept with. The night we had together has been on my mind since I snuck out in the night. But I never expected to see her again in the flesh.
She doesn’t look much different than I remember. She’d been wearing a business casual style then, too—slacks and a button-up blouse with flat shoes. Not the type of woman or dress that would normally catch my attention. But I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off of her in that bar.
Behind me, Joshua almost runs right into my back. “The hell, Clay?”
“Jessa,” I mutter under my breath.
The stricken look on her face makes my heart twist in my chest. And when she faints, I rush toward her.
Ignoring Trey’s annoyed curse when I crowd him, I reach for Jessa. Thankfully, she merely slumps on the couch for a brief moment before her eyes flutter back open.
God, those beautiful brown eyes—so expressive. I’ll never forget how expressive they were that night—every touch had elicited such a reaction that I’d felt like I could have gotten addicted to touching her. My pants tighten uncomfortably, as I take in her angry gaze. She’s beautiful—as lovely as I remember. And here I’ve almost convinced myself that she couldn’t be that beautiful. That sexy.
But boy is she pissed.
“Xander?” Her voice is sharp enough to make me flinch. And I’ve never regretted a fake name as much as I do now. Why did I do that? Sure, I didn’t want to have to tell her my life story—and the Hollister name at an environmental conference was just famous enough to be recognized. But making up a name now seems more than a little immature.
“...the hell is going on here?” Trey asks from next to me.
“I was going to ask the same thing,” Joshua says, still behind me.
For a moment I don’t answer either of them, I look at Jessa. “How did you find me?”
I don’t ask why, I’m not sure I want to know. I mean, we had a hell of a night, but for a woman to track me down back to Wyoming? That’s some sort of horror-movie-level obsession. Good thing she doesn’t seem to be carrying a gun.
Instead of answering, she glares at me harder. Apparently, I asked the wrong question. Then she looks away from me, turning to Trey.
“So sorry for passing out on your couch.” She winces. “Well, for passing out on you twice, technically.” She glances behind me at Joshua, including him in her apology. “I haven’t eaten much today. I guess between that and the flight and the drive...”
“Let’s get you some food,” Trey says. And then before I can say anything to her, I’m shoved aside as Trey helps Jessa to her feet. He leads her toward the kitchen, with Joshua trailing behind them, confusion still plain in his expression.
I frown. Trey is treating her like spun glass, and she’s completely ignoring me after coming halfway across the country to find me. This makes no sense. The situation has already gotten completely out of hand, but there’s nothing much I can do except follow them to the kitchen.
“Why are you here?” I ask after Trey has settled her one of the barstools. I try to keep the accusation out of my voice, but I’m just so damn confused that it comes through anyway.
Jessa shoots me another glare, and I notice Joshua has moved to her side. It makes sense since Trey is rummaging her some food from the fridge, but I don’t like it. I’m not a jealous man, especially not of my brothers. Maybe if she’d just stopped glaring at me, I could get a handle on things.
“I’m not here for you,” she says, disdain dripping from her voice. “I’m a journalist. I’m here to do an article for Environmental Monthly. The magazine I write for, remember?” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and guilt hits me. Here I am, poking and prodding at her when she’s obviously not feeling well.
Even if she is talking to me like I’m a bug under her shoe.
“I’m a writer. Or did you forget that already?” she adds, arching an eyebrow. “I guess it could be hard to, considering it’s been all of two months since we met.”
Displeasure rolls over me. Jessa didn’t come here looking for me. She wasn’t trying to find me. It’s all one big fucking coincidence. An epic coincidence, really, but life is full of that kind of shit.
I should be relieved, but all I feel is disappointed.
Chapter 4
Jessa
“Is turkey okay?” Trey asks, pulling a few items out of the refriger
ator.
“Turkey would be wonderful,” I reply, just a little too exuberantly. “With mayo if you have it.” Lots of mayo, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. My mayo addiction is my little secret.
I really need to remember to eat more regularly. First, I pass out in front of these men. Now, I’m ready to start drooling over a simple sandwich.
With quick precision, Trey cuts some thick slabs of bread, slathers it with mayo and adds cheese and lettuce like a damn hero. He brings me the sandwich and a small bag of potato chips, and I smile at him gratefully. Across the room, I can feel Xander’s eyes on me. Only that’s not his name, is it? Four Hollister brothers and not a single one of them is named Xander, Alex, or Alexander. At least, not one involved in the Hollister business. And there’s no way that this man isn’t a Hollister.
Triplets? Who’d have thought it?
I wonder if the fourth Hollister brother—I’m pretty sure there are four—is also identical to the rest, or if at least one of them actually ended up being born at a different time.
I glance around the kitchen while Trey makes the sandwich. A chef’s dream kitchen, it’s huge, with oversized commercial appliances and a huge breakfast bar. It fits the house, I suppose, as the place isn’t exactly tiny. But I wonder why it’s so big? Do they feed their ranch employees here as well? Wouldn’t that be something? Billionaires who eat with the help.
“I can get you something different, if you like,” Trey says, nodding to the sandwich that he set in front of me.
My cheeks heat. I’ve been sitting here staring at nothing for longer than a couple of seconds, thinking about the man behind me and ogling these guys’ kitchen. “No, thank you. This is perfect.”
The third brother, apparently now confident I’m not going to faint again, moves away from my elbow to sit on the barstool next to mine. He still watches me closely, but he doesn’t seem terribly concerned that I’ll collapse at any moment.
Please, let me keep this down, I silently pray. I’ll never be able to get over the embarrassment if I vomit in front of these men on top of fainting twice. I wouldn’t even care about what they thought if I was at all worried about the pregnancy. But, tonight isn’t the first night that I’ve fainted. Granted, it has only happened once since I discovered my pregnancy, but my doctor wasn’t worried about it. She told me I need to be careful, that I need to make sure I eat right and often. And that if the morning sickness gets too bad, that I should go back to her so she can figure out a way to help. This is my own fault, although these men haven’t helped, not with their appearance, anyway. Just seeing Trey’s face had sent me into a shock.
He does, after all, look exactly like my baby’s father.
“So which Hollister brother are you?” I ask the triplet in the barstool next to me.
“Joshua,” he says, simply. He looks different from the other two brothers, yet eerily the same. His hair is a bit shorter, and he wears glasses. He’s also dressed differently, but that might only be because the poor man is wearing a T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. No doubt the commotion with Trey and I woke him up.
I take a bite of the sandwich, and the flavors explode in my mouth. It’s simple food, but I’m suddenly ravenous. I eat the whole thing before I consider that I probably look like a pig in front of three of the hottest men I’ve ever seen.
“I’m Clay,” a voice says behind me.
I don’t turn around. Clay. That is one of the names on the list Argus had sent me. I don’t have a good reply for him, so I ignore him in favor of my chips. The salty taste of the plain potato chip is divine.
Joshua glances back and forth between me and Clay. There’s interest behind his glasses, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Instead, he gives me a small wave, and says, “Well, goodnight, Miss...?”
“Long. Jessa Long,” I say like I’m freaking James Bond, before popping another chip in my mouth. I give him a smile but don’t show my teeth. I don’t really want to share the remnants of my sandwich and chips with him, not after already dragging the poor man out of bed. “Nice to meet you, Joshua. Sorry for the dramatic introduction.”
He gives me a small smile, and butterflies swirl in my stomach. Do all of the Hollister brothers have to be so damn hot?
“Think nothing of it,” he says. “We could use a little shake-up around here.” And with that interesting declaration, he leaves the room. Presumably heading back to bed.
Trey takes Joshua’s place in the barstool next to mine, carrying a glass of water. He sets the water in front of my plate. “If you’d rather, we have milk, juice, soda.” He grins. “Probably some whiskey, too. But I don’t know if that’s the best idea given how you seem to be feeling tonight.”
I chuckle. “That is perfect. Thank you for being so considerate.”
If there’s a small jab in my words toward Clay, I can’t be blamed for that, can I?
“If you’re still hungry, we’ve got plenty of food here.” Trey waves at the big kitchen. “I’m no chef, but I could probably manage something hot and edible.”
I’ll bet you could, I almost say.
Has Trey somehow gotten closer without my noticing? No, his barstool hasn’t moved. But his voice is low, almost intimate. And maybe it’s just the long trip, but I would swear there is interest in his eyes.
Nope. Not happening. One Hollister brother already caused me enough trouble for a lifetime.
But... I’m almost tempted to ask for more food. I’ve already pushed their hospitality to the max. I’m supposed to be here to interview them, write a story about their ranch, not here for them to take care of me. Although, I have to admit, the idea of being taken care of even a little bit, for a little while, is sort of appealing to me. And just acknowledging that to myself is grating. “I’m good, thank you. Actually, if I can find my bag, we can go ahead and get started with the interviews.”
Please, let’s get the interviews over with before I jump more than just the one Hollister brother.
Trey smiles. “You’re committed to your work, I’ll give you that. But why don’t we start that in the morning?”
I open my mouth to answer, but it isn’t really a question. Next thing I know, Trey is by my side. He touches my elbow ever so softly, sending another small jolt through my body. I know he’s trying to help me stand. Can’t blame the man after I fainted in front of him not once but twice in one evening.
Another blush crawls up my neck at the thought, and I move away from his offered arm. But damn, it’s tough. The man smells good.
“Thanks,” I say again, by way of apology.
“Follow me,” he says, not seeming annoyed by my response. “Clay will get your bag.”
An annoyed grunt is Clay’s only reply to being volunteered. And I can’t help but wonder if he’s actually annoyed at helping me, or if he’s annoyed at being bossed around by his brother.
Trey strikes me as the elder brother, although that’s a silly thought considering the three of them couldn’t be more than minutes, maybe hours apart. But I sense an authority coming from him. He’s a man who is no stranger to giving orders and having them followed.
I shiver at the thought, then cover it up by rubbing my arms.
“Are you cold?” Clay asks.
“Just a chill,” I lie. My voice is cool, but I can’t help that. Maybe it isn’t fair, but I’m mad at him. It was one thing to sneak out in the night, but to lie about his name? Ugh.
I follow Trey back out to the living room, and up the staircase, I’d admired before. The loft area is large enough to be another living room by my estimation, at least it is larger than the one in my apartment. They seem to be using it as a sitting area. No television, but a couple comfy looking sofas and chairs dot the area. Bookcases line the wall opposite the banister. Shooting off of both sides of the loft are hallways. One that goes toward the back of the house is long and seems to lead to a dead end. The other goes around the corner that must lead to an area above the kitchen. Trey heads down the longer
hallway.
The doors are spaced far apart—large rooms, then. When we reach the end of the hallway, he opens the door on the left. Once again, he waits for me to walk through before following.
Chivalry isn’t dead in Wyoming.
The room is big and, in keeping with the rest of the house, decorated with a cabin-feel. The log-style bed matches the rail for the loft perfectly. And what looks like handcrafted nightstands and a matching dresser go with it nicely. A big old rug covers much of the hardwood floor, and it smells like Christmas.
I feel movement behind me and turn to find Clay. He holds my suitcase in one hand, with something that might be an apologetic smile on his face.
I give him my deadliest smile in return and take the bag. “Thank you.”
And then, ever so slowly, ever so purposefully, ever so rudely—I shut the door in his face.
I hear the rumble of the laugh behind me and turn to face Trey. I set my suitcase down by the door and follow him to the other side of the room. By unspoken agreement, neither of us mentions Clay.
“That door goes to a closet area, there are a few hangers in there if you need to hang anything up.” He nods to the other door. “That’s your bathroom. There are fresh towels and even a spare toothbrush just in case.”
“Fancier than a hotel,” I tease.
Something that looks like interest flashes in his eyes. “We do aim to please.”
God, I am tempted to step closer to him. To see if it’s really interest I’m seeing, and not just kindness and humor that my pregnancy hormones have decided to interpret otherwise.
I mentally shake myself. What am I thinking? “Thanks for everything.”
“Sure. Let me know if you have any problems or questions. Otherwise, we’ll see you for breakfast. The crowd gets together around eight. Might be a good thing for you to come if you can manage it. That way I can introduce you around. Show off our reporter for the week.” He winks.
