by Jess Bentley
My far-too-sexy-for-my-own-good hosts.
“Ma’am.” A young man dressed for ranch work gestures for me to go ahead of him in a short buffet line that has been set up on the breakfast bar where I’d eaten my sandwich the night before. There are bacon and eggs, and potatoes cooked three different ways. Sausage and oatmeal, even some fresh fruit. Feeling awkward, I murmur a thank-you to the young man and put some small portions on my plate. I still don’t entirely trust my stomach, even though it’s now growling full-force.
I head toward the long table where everyone is sitting, then pause awkwardly. Near one of the ends, Trey waves at me and gestures to an empty seat next to him.
It’s strange that I can say for sure it’s Trey, but I have no doubts. After a quick glance, I see Clay, too, but he’s farther down the table. They are dressed differently, and unlike Joshua neither of them has glasses. But somehow I know which is which.
I smile at Trey and sit down next to him at the table. My arm brushes his, and when I feel that same spark of heat, I tamp it down immediately. Nope. No matter what my hormones are telling me, touching Trey for anything longer than a handshake is a bad idea.
Heck, the man’s sexy enough that a handshake could seduce a woman.
“This is BethAnn,” Trey is nodding to the woman in her late forties sitting across from him at the table. “She runs the house around here.”
“Nice to meet you, Jessa,” the older woman says, apparently already having been informed of my arrival. She’s in her sixties, with graying blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her smile is kind, and the laugh lines on her face speak to a life lived full of happiness. I adore the fact that she doesn’t dye the gray out of her hair. And, she’s wearing an apron. Lovely, and neither of those things do I see often in Boston. I’m not actually certain I’ve ever seen anyone actually wearing an apron in real life.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I say.
“You come see me if you need anything,” BethAnn says over the din. “Us women have to stick together around here. Especially considering there’s only the two of us.”
“Is there, really?” I say, immediately fascinated. That must be why all the eyes in the room had turned to me when I entered. It felt awkward, like I was getting the attention because I was an unwelcome stranger. But if there are only two women around... Well, that shines a new light on things, doesn’t it?
“Ranching isn’t really a profession that attracts a whole lot of women,” she says, eyes dancing. “Every once in a while we get a female ranch hand through here. But I’d say they only account for one in twenty, at most.”
I chew on that for a moment. Well, that, and my eggs. They are delicious, scrambled with some cheese, if I’m not mistaken. “Not even any women in the office, hmmm?” I say, glancing at Trey. I take a bite of bacon and the flavor explodes in my mouth. Oh my God, salty goodness. I don’t get to eat nearly enough bacon, and this is delicious.
He raises his hands in mock submission. “We don’t actually have anyone working in the office, not any employees. Joshua handles ninety percent of that—that’s why he got the fancy business degree. I tend to handle the other ten percent, but only when I have no other choice. We employ a website person and someone who helps with graphics for marketing, and they’re both women. But they work remotely.”
“Are you insinuating that women should only do office work?” I tease. BethAnn, enjoying the joke, crosses her arms and gives Trey a mock glare.
His ears redden adorably. “That’s not what I meant.”
Damn the man was hard to rattle. “I take it Clay doesn’t do much paperwork?” I say around another bite of bacon.
BethAnn laughs. “I think I’ve only seen Clay walk in that office once. And I can practically guarantee he was lost in his own house.”
Trey’s grin widens. “True enough. Clay’s really more of a hands-on worker. I am too, to be honest. But every once in a while, I find myself helping out.”
I smile back at him, before turning my attention back to my breakfast. BethAnn and I continue to chat while we eat, and in ones and twos, the ranch hands wander back outside. Next to me, Trey is quiet for the most part. He interjects a comment once in a while but seems content to watch BethAnn and I chat.
BethAnn is as sweet as she seemed at first, and I’m fascinated to find out that she’s worked for the Hollisters since the brothers were in diapers. Her expression clouds over when she mentions Mrs. Hollister, the boys’ mother, so despite my reporter’s instinct, I don’t push with questions.
Instead, I decide on a change of subject. I glance at the big clock hanging on one of the dining room walls. “Isn’t it a little late to be getting things started? I thought ranches started work rather early.”
“These men have been up and working for hours,” Trey says. “Breakfast always starts the day, but trust me, a lot of the work is already done by then.”
“I always have a few things set out for the boys who like to eat a little something before they get started,” BethAnn says. “Pastries and cereal and such. But most of them like to start with coffee.”
I nod as if I understand. But really, my knowledge of ranch work is fairly limited. And what I do know is entirely theoretical. Learned only from the bit of research I was able to do before getting on the plane, and embarrassingly, from movies.
I finish the last few bites of my breakfast. By the time I’ve refilled my coffee once—sadly, from the carafe labeled decaf—Trey and I are the only people left in the dining room. BethAnn is cleaning up, moving with speed and efficiency. I sit down next to Trey, suddenly feeling awkward again. It’s weird to sit next to somebody at the head a big table like this when there’s no one else around. I feel too close to him. Yet my hormones are insisting I get a little closer.
Not happening.
“When you’re done with your coffee, I’ll take you on a truck tour of the ranch. If you’d like,” Trey says, leaning back in his chair.
“That would be great, thank you,” I say. Driving around with Trey will be a fantastic distraction, too. I can focus on work, instead of the sexy rancher and his too-hot brothers, one of whom doesn’t even know how complicated his life will get. Plus, the faster I build my story, the faster I can get out of here. Of course, I have to talk to Clay before I leave, tell him about my pregnancy. There is no getting around that. But the quicker I get out of here, the less I can tortue myself drooling over Clay and his brothers.
“I didn’t see Joshua here for breakfast,” I say, the words slipping out of my mouth before I can think better of saying anything.
“He isn’t much for breakfast,” BethAnn says, having heard me during her latest trip to the table to pick up forgotten dishes and napkins. I feel like I should get up and help her, but I’m not sure if she’d be insulted. I push my chair back and pause, indecision making me hesitate.
“You ready?” Trey asks, standing up, saving me from the decision.
I nod, then suck down the rest of my coffee. God, how I wish it was caffeinated. My doctor told me I could drink some caffeine, but I’m doing my best to avoid it. Of course, it’s only day one on the Hollister ranch, and I can’t rule out the possibility of needing a little pick me up later in the week. But for now, I’m being strong.
And it sucks. Big time.
I follow Trey out to his truck—an older pickup, but thankfully for my recorder’s sake, not a diesel. Unlike most of the trucks parked around the ranch.
In the daylight I can make out more detail. There are two huge outbuildings that Trey identifies as the main barn and the bunkhouse. Smaller outbuildings and even what looks like a couple cabins dot the beautiful landscape as well.
“Going to be a warm one,” Trey says, opening my truck door.
I glance at Mr. Chivalrous and decide he isn’t going for a double entendre. “I covered a conference in Vegas last year. In July. Not that warm, right?”
“No, ma’am. We’ve got nothing on Vegas up here.” He shuts the door b
ehind me.
“So tell me about all of the environmentally friendly projects you are working on here,” I say clicking on my little digital recorder once we’re buckled in.
He gives my little recorder the side eye, but he doesn’t ask me to turn it off. “There are quite a few. As I’m sure you know, given what you do for a living, it’s not enough to do one or two things. Especially not on a ranch this size.”
“I’ll bet,” I say. I don’t add that even starting with a change or two is still progress in the right direction. The Hollisters have the means to make big, meaningful changes. I’m not going to discourage that. I focused on environmental journalism for a reason. While I don’t support environmental terrorism, I do support pushing for change.
“Most of our water here comes from an artesian well, which can give the illusion of your water supply being unlimited. In reality, a ranch this size still needs to be responsible in how that water is used. A chunk of our environmental projects focuses on saving water.” He grimaces. “Unfortunately, that’s led to some disgruntled members of our community. But water issues always do in the West.”
I let the recorder do most of the work and I do little except murmur something appropriate when he pauses, and watch his lips move. The man has some beautiful lips. Full and kissable. I catch some of what he’s saying, but a lot of it--okay, most of it--slips by. My brain just isn’t as interested in water conservation efforts as it should be at the moment. But I catch enough to know what they’re doing isn’t cheap, nor is it easy.
“Our power is almost all geothermal now. We are also experimenting with solar power and wind. The idea being, not to just get entirely off the grid, but to start selling power back to the electric company.”
“Interesting,” I say. “How long of a payback period are you expecting with some of these investments?”
A small smile plays at his lips. “Joshua can give you all those numbers. He’s really the number cruncher of the family. But a financial payoff isn’t primarily what we’re going for here.”
I nod, understanding. “I guess being environmentally sound doesn’t go hand-in-hand with making the most profitable decisions.”
He chuckles. “Generally, no. But that is something we take into account, anyway. We’re hoping to set an example—show that making a profit and choosing what’s right for the environment don’t have to be mutually exclusive decisions. We’re lucky. We have the financial ability to try a lot of different things and to absorb the impact for the ones that don’t work. Or the ones that don’t work as well as we’d hoped. But what we’re trying to do is find some viable, cost-effective methods that other ranchers and farmers can use someday, too. Pave the way, I guess you could say.”
“Not having to watch the bottom line too closely has to make some of these decisions easier.” I try to be careful with my words. I don’t want to offend him. Sure, it’s a heck of a lot easier to risk money when you have billions of dollars in the bank. But, that didn’t mean there wasn’t still a risk involved.
“We’re fortunate,” he concedes, amusement still sparkling in his eyes. “But it doesn’t do us or anyone else any good if we throw money around without a thought to the consequences, or plan behind it. Some of these projects are big enough to make a total screw-up really hurt.”
I lower my voice, as if there’s anyone around his rumbling truck that could hear us. Conspiratorially I say, “Tell the truth, Trey. Is this your brainchild?”
An outright laugh rolls out of his chest. And the sound of his happiness makes me grin.
“Would you believe me if I told you the idea originally came from Clay?”
I cross my arms and harrumph, then I click off the recorder. “Calling you a liar outright would just be rude.”
He laughs harder and pulls the truck off to the side of the dirt road next to a beautiful meadow. Two horses graze in the distance, and I wonder if they come and go as they please or if there is a fence around this area that I missed.
Damn. It is beautiful here.
“I’m afraid it’s the truth.” He shakes his head and makes a hard right turn, following the road. “Much as it pains me to admit. Because it was a damn good idea.”
I turn back to Trey and grip my chest dramatically. “Say it isn’t so.”
“Trust me, it physically hurts me that all this wasn’t my idea. And it’s damn tempting to take all the credit. But I’m sure this is one article that my brother is going to read.” He gives me the side-eye, but I ignore it.
“What gave him the idea?” God, I so do not want to have to interview Clay. I don’t even want to look at him right now. Oddly, looking at his exact double, Trey, doesn’t incite the same ire within me. Sure, they look exactly alike but I know which is which. Somehow, I feel certain that even if they tried to trick me, I’d still be able to tell them apart.
“He minored in environmental science in college. Beyond that...well, you’ll just have to ask him.” Amusement is still plain in his tone. He steps out of the truck, and I pack up my recorder, then open my door to do the same. I take another long moment to appreciate the gorgeous view before I move.
Only I don’t step out gracefully like Trey. I slip out of the truck, and stumble right into a hole. Trey has already made his way around the truck, and he catches me. Strong arms wrap around me and pull me back up. Our faces—our lips—are only inches apart. The world around us disappears, and in that moment there is only Trey.
His eyes lock onto mine, and then they shift down to my lips. And then, he turns away so we’re both facing the field. But he keeps his hold on my elbow.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I can’t speak, so I jerk my head in a nod. He releases my elbow, leaving only the heat of his skin behind.
I’m trembling and I’m having a hard time focusing. But Trey has already switched gears. He’s pointing things out. Talking about the work they’re doing here. I only see a field but he’s talking about geothermal activity beneath it.
I fumble with my recorder but manage to turn it on and point it in his general direction. I’ll have to sort through the recording later. Because in this moment the environment is the last thing on my mind. I stare at the field, and in the distance I see a couple of large wind turbines that I hadn’t noticed before. They’re nothing like the ones I’ve seen out on the plains, but they’re large nonetheless. Still, my mind refuses to move on from Trey.
His muscular body, stripped of every piece of clothing. Out here in the fresh air, surrounded by lush fields and no other person probably for miles. What would it feel like he laid me on the ground, kissed me until my brain stopped? And all I can wonder is if he would fill me the same way Clay did. Make me scream out his name as we crash into each other. Out here where no one could hear us, under the sun with the fresh air touching our hot skin.
I can feel myself grow wet, and I feel hot, flushed. Then it suddenly hits me, Trey hasn’t been speaking for a long moment.
I break away from my thoughts and meet his gaze. There’s a knowing there, in his eyes. Desire. The same need that is running through me.
I hold my breath.
Then Trey steps back, and it’s over. I’m suddenly, inexorably, unhappily back in the real world.
“Well, we had on back to the ranch,” he says, voice quiet. “You can work on your story, while I get some of my work done. Get some lunch.”
He turns back to the truck, and he doesn’t touch me again.
Chapter 7
Joshua
With my laptop open at the bar in the kitchen, I watch Jessa practically run through the front door and head upstairs. I know that she went on a tour of the ranch this morning with my brother, Trey. But he doesn’t follow her in.
I push up my glasses and try to refocus on the spreadsheet in front of me, but I can’t seem to get the woman out of my head. She’s lovely. Smart, gorgeous, and willing to take zero shit from my brothers. I like that in a woman.
I should probably head ba
ck to my office now, but I can’t seem to pull myself away. My gaze darts between my computer in the stairwell. How had two of my brothers already managed to piss her off? If Tyler were around, I have a strange feeling he’d somehow already be on her shit list, too.
I’m not like my brothers. I find spreadsheets and business plans easier to navigate than relationships. Not that we all don’t have our own hang-ups, but mine are different than Clay’s and Trey’s. And Tyler…well, he never has had a problem getting women, and he doesn’t even seem to keep his guard up constantly like Clay when he got one. But his inability to grow up ensured that he has just as much trouble, relationship-wise, as the rest of us.
Clay has never had a moment’s hesitation with women. But I have a hard time envisioning him ever settling down. He enjoys the hunt too much and has always seemed to find the idea of settling down into domestic life almost offensive. That’s why he travels, I think, so he can get a taste of adventure that he doesn’t find here on the ranch. Not just the women—although I suspect that’s no small part of why he wanders. No, it’s all of it. A new city equals a new adventure to Clay.
Trey’s issues are worse, far more serious than any of ours. And him... Fuck, I can’t fault him. We’d all loved Claire, and Trey still hasn’t gotten over what happened.
As for me, well, most of the time I don’t have much use for women.
But Jessa has my attention.
As if summoned by my thoughts, she appears again. This time, she has her laptop under one arm and her charger in the same hand.
She sees me at the bar and smiles, but the expression is tentative. She isn’t as comfortable with me as she is with my brothers yet. But that’s not exactly uncommon. I get by on my brains, not my sparkling personality. I’ve never been charming like Clay, nor do I have the authoritative presence of Trey. I certainly don’t have the brashness of Tyler. I’m quiet, and I think before I speak. It didn’t afford me the same cowboy charm as my other brothers.
