by Jess Bentley
His directions prove true, and two blocks and one street crossing later I find myself at Amber’s Café. I slip inside, to find a cute little restaurant. There’s an old counter that reminds me of pictures of Woolworths. Inside are several tables, none save a couple large booths in the back designed to hold more than four people. There’s a lone woman at the breakfast bar, and two of the tables are full. By my estimation, with all ten of us in there, the café is nearing half capacity.
A pretty woman, probably in her late thirties exits from behind the counter and approaches me with a professional smile on her face. She has an aquiline nose but a jawline and prominent features to balance it out, with long blonde hair in a tight ponytail. Striking, and very attractive. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt tucked in, and there is short apron around her waist. She wears a name tag that reads Amber. She must be the Amber whose name is on the door.
“Hi there, just one?” She glances behind me as if expecting others to follow me in.
“Yup. Just me.”
“Do you mind sitting at the counter?” She gestures to the nearly empty counter behind her.
“Not at all.” I head to the counter as she walks behind it. She pulls a pencil from behind her ear and a tiny notepad from her apron. “What can I get you?”
“Just an iced tea,” I say. “And I am actually looking for someone. Jed Burke?”
Amber’s expression brightens. “Oh, you know my brother? I thought he would have mentioned a pretty thing like you.”
I smile back. “He doesn’t know me. Not yet. I’m a journalist working on a story that I’d like his input on.”
She bends over her side of the counter and rests her eyes on me. “Now what in tarnation could Jed have done to drag in some big-city reporter?”
I try not to grimace. And here I thought my disguise—jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt—had kept the fact that I was some city slicker a little bit more secret. “I’m just here to talk to him about the Lazy H. I’ve heard he has some strong feelings about the environmentally-motivated changes the Hollisters are making up there. Thought I should get his opinion for the article I’m writing this week.”
Amber stands back up and crosses her arms, disapproval oozing from her every pore. “So, you’re here about the Hollister brothers.”
“I am. I’m writing a piece for my magazine.” I sit up straighter on the stool.
“Then you’re not friends of them boys?” she asks, gaze penetrating. I have a strong feeling my answer will determine if warns her brother to run the second he comes through the door.
I can’t help but bristle at her tone. It’s obvious she isn’t a big fan of the Hollisters. But who am I to get defensive about them? I’m certainly no one to them—even to Clay. Besides, it makes no sense to piss her off before I have a chance to talk to her brother.
“I barely know them,” I say, truthfully. “But I really want to talk to your brother. Make sure the story I’m doing on the ranch is balanced.”
“What you need to get is out of that ranch as quick as you can, hon. Those boys are all sorts of messed up. Especially Trey.” She shakes her head sadly, and it seems she’s forgiven me for being there about the Hollisters since I don’t really know them. “It’s such a waste, because all four of them are hunks. Even the youngest one.”
I know I shouldn’t inquire further. I know it. But I can’t help myself. I wouldn’t be a journalist if my curiosity didn’t get the better of me regularly. “What do you mean?”
Amber leans back in, something like sick glee on her face that I asked. “Let’s just say I know exactly how overprotective and creepy that Trey is. You’d be best getting out of there soon as you can and get back to your own business.” She stands back up straight and shrugs. “Just some free advice for you.”
Again, the urge to defend the Hollisters is on the tip of my tongue. I grip the breakfast bar and force a smile. The aluminum edging is cool under my hands. “Thank you for the advice,” I finally say. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
She gives me a short nod and turns to fill up a glass of the iced tea I ordered. “No problem, hon. Jed should be in any minute. I’m sure he’ll chat with you for a few minutes.”
The desire to poke at her, even a tiny bit, to get more information about why she thinks Trey Hollister—who, as far as I can tell is as nice and chivalrous a man as I’ve ever met—is creepy. But before I can come up with a way to do so without sounding overly defensive—or, even worse, interested in Trey—the bell over the door rings and I turn to look.
The man who enters the diner is a couple years older than Amber, but I’d bet every dollar in my wallet that he is Jed Burke, her brother. He shares the dark blonde hair, and dark brown eyes. And they have the same nose and sharp jawline. He’s good looking, if not to the same degree as the Hollisters.
“Jed!” Amber calls out, confirming my suspicion. “You got a surprise meeting over here.”
As his sister nods toward me, Jed’s eyes narrow. But he doesn’t turn around and leave, thankfully. Instead he comes and takes the stool next to mine.
“I’m meeting who, exactly?” he asks, eyeing me up and down just a little too long for my comfort.
But I hold out my hand anyway. “Jessa Long, nice to meet you Mr. Burke.”
“Jed,” he says, taking my hand and shaking it half a second too long. Like the Hollisters’, his hands are callused and carry scars. He’s a man who works with his hands for a living—not someone who manages his ranch without getting out and working. “I’ll have my regular,” he says to his sister. She nods and disappears into the back.
“The waitress and the cook, I bet she stays busy,” I say.
“How can I help you, Miss Long?” Jed asks, getting right down to business. Apparently talking about how hard his sister works isn’t the icebreaker I was hoping it would be.
“Jessa, please,” I say. “I’m out here writing an article about the Lazy H—the Hollister ranch. But I want the piece to be balanced. And I hear you’re the man to see about the other side of the story.” It pains me more than I imagined to say that. Silly as it sounds, I’m already firmly in the Hollister camp. But I take pride in my work. If writing a good piece means listening to the Hollisters’ detractors, then that’s what I have to do. “I’m interested in their new environmentally-focused changes. Trying to get a handle on how their neighbors and the rest of the town feel about all of it.”
He grunts and relaxes somewhat. “I’d say you’ve come to the right man.”
“Do you mind if I record our conversation?” I ask, pulling my little digital recorder out of my purse.
“I’d rather you not,” he says gruffly, eyeing my digital recorder suspiciously.
Dammit. It is so much easier when they let me record them rather than taking furious notes. But Jed Burke doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to argue. In fact, my purpose for being here made him look far more irritated than when he walked into the diner. “Sure, no problem.”
I drop my recorder back into my purse and turn back to him. He watches me with narrowed eyes. What the heck have the Hollister brothers done to make this man so suspicious, so angry at the mere mention of the ranch?
Poised with my pen on my notebook, I ask, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Jed, but it seems to me like you’re not a big fan of what the Hollisters are doing out there. Can you talk me through why?”
“The bullshit they’re trying to pull out there is affecting everyone’s business around them. Fucking up my business most of all.”
I start at the anger in his tone, and swallow hard. “I see.”
“They’re fucking with my water rights, and they’re screwing with my business. Everyone’s so damn enamored with how trendy and fashionable they are with all this green nonsense. So, all the big customers are contracting for their beef. As if the only thing that matters is how goddamned good for the environment what they’re doing is. A damn marketing ploy, that’s all it is, I guarantee it. The Hollisters don’t g
ive a shit about their neighbors, and I bet they care even less about the environment.”
“Jed!” Amber says, stepping out of the kitchen with two plates in her hands full of food. “Watch your mouth in my restaurant, mister.”
Amber shoots me an apologetic look, but I guess I can’t blame him. Not if his business is really being harmed. I give her a reassuring smile, and she relaxes and heads to one of the tables to deliver the meals.
“And, they just up and cancel the long-standing agreement we had between our ranches—an agreement our granddaddies started—to share their water. As I wouldn’t help with some kinda stupid project they wanted to do to conserve water. A stupid project that would cut into my bottom line,” Jed continues, this time without the profanity, at least.
I nod and do my best to look like I sympathize. Really, he’s lost the environmentalist in me, and it happened the second he sneered at the word green. But I try to keep an open mind—green is hard to care about when you’re having trouble meeting your bills. Jed hasn’t said that, exactly, but the insinuation is there for sure. “That must be really difficult.”
“Difficult? It’s fucking impossible. They’re putting me out of business—me and all the other hard-working ranchers out here. All so they can play at ranching. So they can experiment and mess up tried-and-true methods ranchers have been using out here for over a hundred years. Their daddy would roll in his grave if he could see it.”
I flinch at the mention of the Hollisters’ father, but cover it quickly and nod again. And then I just listen. But after that there’s not much information to be had in Jed Burke’s tirade. At one point, Amber comes and brings him a delicious-smelling burger that makes me wish I ordered more than the iced tea. But he ignores his lunch in favor of continuing to tell me how the Hollisters have wronged him.
When he finally pauses to take a breath, I cut in. “Thank you so much, Mr. Burke. Do you have a card so I can follow up with you over the phone if I need to?”
He grumbles something under his breath and reaches into his shirt pocket pull out a card. It’s so bent around the edges I wonder how long he’s been carrying it around. “You call me if you need to hear more of the real story.”
I thank him again. Then I leave five dollars on the table for my iced tea and head out the door.
I do my best not to rush down the street away from café, but it’s difficult. Just the amount of anger spilling out of that man is enough to make me cringe. But is it possible his anger is well-founded?
I trot down the immaculate sidewalk of Sweet Lake, and text Clay as I go. To my surprise, he’s waiting by the truck when I get there. And he gives me a lazy grin when he sees me.
“How do you like our little town?” he asks, waving at the street around us.
“It’s really nice.” Maybe I would have been more emphatic in my assessment before talking to Jed, but I can’t help it. He left a sour feeling in my stomach.
I hop into the passenger seat and toss my bag ahead of me, but I’m not used to the height of the pickup, and I stumble. The bag—filled with only one thing—tips and spills. Leaving my prenatal vitamins in the open for all to see when Clay opens his door.
Panic grips me and I grab the bottle then shove it back in the bag. Praying under my breath he didn’t see the bottle.
“You ready to head back to the ranch?” Clay asks, voice casual.
I nod, unable to speak. He didn’t see, thank God.
Chapter 10
Trey
I watch from a chair in the living room as Jessa walks down the stairs. Cut off jean shorts reveal long, sexy legs. She’s also changed into a tank top, and is wearing boots.
Damn. Just in time, I manage to pick my jaw up off the floor.
Jessa smiles at me and pulls her earbuds out. “Hi Trey.”
I grunt and clear my throat. “Evening.”
Despite the fact I’m doing my best to keep my eyes on hers, she glances down at her outfit and frowns. “I’m sorry. My travel kit only includes one pair of jeans. I thought I should borrow your laundry facilities before they started standing on their own. I couldn’t bear to put on real work clothes, if you know what I mean. You guys are spoiling me here with the casual wear.”
Legs aside, just her smile is enough to stun a man. It lights up the whole damn room. And despite the fact that I know I should be keeping my distance, I smile back. “We appreciate you not stinking up the place up.”
She laughs, a sensual noise that makes me want to grab her. Kiss her. I can’t do that.
But I’m starting to forget all the reasons I shouldn’t.
“You ready for some dinner?” I ask, standing up. I have to say something, otherwise I’m going to start looking like an ogling creep.
She follows me to the kitchen. “I was hoping there might be something left. I got started writing and totally missed the normal time.”
I shrug. “I’m sure I can rustle something up for you. I ate a light dinner, so I’m hungry, too.” I open the fridge and stare inside. Ah-ha. A casserole that just needs tossed into the oven. BethAnn is amazing, one in a million. She always keeps things around the house that are easy to cook. “Some kind of chicken casserole, sound good to you?” I ask, after peeking under the aluminum foil.
“Sounds amazing.” She hesitates, frowning. “You mind if I ask you some questions in the meantime?” She rushes to add, “For the story, I mean.”
“After dinner work for you?” I ask. “I been out wrestling cattle most of the day so my brain could use a few minutes before answering your tough reporter questions.”
A low chuckle escapes her, and my dick goes hard in my pants. How could a laugh sound so sexy?
“Fair enough,” she says.
“How about a game of pool while we wait?”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “Only if you’ll teach me how to play.”
I grip my chest in mock shock. “You’ve never played pool? Have you been living under a rock your whole life? There’s really no other excuse.”
She shakes her head, and small curls of hair that brush the smooth line of her neck. “Can’t say I have.”
“What did you do during college for fun?” I tease. I immediately regret the question. It came out far too flirtatious and despite my intense attraction toward this girl, I’m not ready to go there. Not because of her and Clay—at least, not just because of her and Clay. But because Jessa is the kind of woman who deserves a whole heart. And I’m not sure that’s something I can ever give anyone again.
I lead her to the billiard room and hand her a pool cue. I set up the balls as she watches with a critical eye.
“Why don’t you try a break?” I ask. “Unless you’re scared?”
Shit. Can’t stop flirting with her even when I try.
She gives me a look of mock outrage. “I’m not scared of you or your big stick.”
My jaw drops and she laughs, clearly teasing me. She bends over to hit the cue ball. I walk around the pool table as she lines up her shot. Beautiful or no, I don’t want to be on the other side of the pool table when she is trying to break.
She tries to hit the ball, and her cue slides off. A sexy, frustrated growl escapes her lips and she starts to line up the shot again.
“Because you’re new, this is the only time you get to try again. I’m a nice guy, I’ll let you.”
She glances over her shoulder at me. “You’ll let me? Try and stop me, big guy.”
Damn me if she isn’t flirting with me, too.
I lean over her and grip the stick, silently sliding her hands into the places where they should be on the cue. The front of my body molds perfectly against her back. And it takes all of my self-control I have not to push my dick into her ass.
“Like that,” I murmur into her ear. Lined up properly, with some brief instructions for me on how to hit the ball, she manages to make a decent break. Darn right brilliant for a first-timer.
She jumps up and down and screams, “Yes!” Then she t
urns and jumps into my arms and hugs me. “Did you see that?”
I know she’s happy about her break, but I can’t seem to release her when she steps back from the hug and looks up at me. The tension in the room tightens into an almost physical thing as our eyes meet. And then I lean down and kiss her.
Her lips are soft, so soft, but not pliant. The second my tongue dips between them, she’s kissing me back. What starts as something gentle, quickly twists into anything but.
She slides her hands up my chest, then wraps her arms around my neck. Her tongue matches mine thrust for thrust. I pull her close, feeling the fullness of her breasts against my chest. My dick is painfully hard, and I want nothing more than to bury myself inside of her.
She moans into my mouth, and I pick her up and set her on the edge of the pool table. Her legs wrap around my waist, and the urge flares to take her here, now.
No. I have to take it slow. Even though it’s been so goddamn long. I break our kiss and move to her neck. She moans and pulls my shirt out of my jeans, and her warm hands slide against my bare stomach.
Still kissing her neck, I cup her breast with one hand, feeling the weight of it. Then I slide my hand down over her flat stomach. Unable to resist, I move into her shorts.
A slight gasp on her lips, and she stills. I cup her mound, and then slide her underwear to the side. Like a deer in the eyes of a predator, she seems afraid to move. I hesitate, and she nuzzles my neck.
I slide my finger tip over her sensitive clit, and she moans and pushes against me. I slide down further and dip my finger inside of her.
“Oh my God,” she whispers into my neck. “Trey.”
In that moment I’m certain of it. I’ve never wanted anything so badly as I want to be inside this woman. Jessa. My Jessa.
I press my palm against her clit and rub the inside of her with my finger. She moans again, louder this time. She’s close, I can feel it in the way her tight walls hug my finger. In the way she’s moving against me, seeking her release.
The door slams. And we both jump.
Jessa hops off the table and straightens her clothing. Her gaze locks on someone behind me. Her skin is bright red, and she looks mortified. I’m just pissed.
