by Zoe Dawson
So he drove and fumed, every bump that jostled the city slicker against him ratcheting up his frustration.
“You were in the service, right?” the guy said.
“Marines.”
“I thought so. So you see combat?”
He hated when guys who had probably never picked up a gun asked him this question.
“Plenty,” he ground out. “Saw guys blown up by roadside IEDs, battled in small towns, a lot like Laurel Falls in a dust bowl, where the grit was all you tasted, ate, and drank. Where you didn’t know whether or not that female carrying a bundle had a bomb tucked against her chest, and thinking to yourself, dammit, am I going to have to kill a woman today? Or whether your next step would be your last. It was freaking hell.”
There was shocked silence in the cab at his outburst. He was satisfied. That’s what he’d wanted.
That shut up the corporate prick.
As the open fields with the rugged mountains in the distance continued to flash by, Trace slowed and turned onto a dirt road that led through the trees and the fertile green land of O’Neal’s ranch.
“If this is a ranch, where are all the cattle?” Rafferty asked, breaking the strained silence.
Trace was sad and sorry to see the empty pastures. “When Clint O’Neal, Sarah’s husband, got sick, she had to downsize the ranch, and it had only gotten worse as Clint deteriorated. We pitched in as much as we could, but this is a good-sized spread, and once he died, without children, she couldn’t sustain it.”
“It looks so barren,” Rafferty said, and he gritted his teeth when Greg murmured something about hardship. What the hell did he know about struggle? “It’s good of you to fix her equipment.”
They emerged into a large open yard after passing under the posts that held the weather-beaten sign naming it the Double Bar X.
There was a huge red barn with white trim, several other outbuildings, and numerous corrals. No livestock. Trace had expected at least the small contingent of beef that she’d had when he’d last visited. But the place looked deserted except for a rig near the house. A new rig, big enough to haul livestock trailers, a large four-horse trailer hitched to the back.
He got out of his own truck and started to walk across the expanse of the open driveway to the house nestled in a stand of beautiful aspen, giving it shade in the summer and saving the roof from snowfall in the winter.
Rafferty and Slick followed her and just as he made it to the front door, it flew open and a pretty little girl, not more than nine, exploded out of the house, her long blond pigtails bouncing as she streaked down the stairs, jumping off and flying over the last three. Six dogs burst out of the door, right on her heels.
They started barking as soon as they saw Trace, Rafferty, and Slick. The Australian shepherd, a mottled gray, black, white, and tan; a brown-and-white border collie; and a light brown sheltie were easy to identify. Trace had never seen anything like the three pure white dogs that resembled a golden retriever, but much bigger. He took a step back as all three ran in front of the little girl, halting her and baring their teeth.
“Sugar, Grits, Dazzle—heel,” the girl said, and there was a distinct accent there. Two of the dogs sat, but didn’t leave the girl. The biggest of the whites didn’t budge. “Sugar!” the little girl said again. But the dog’s bold, protective eyes watched them, and there was nothing sweet about the lead dog at all.
A man emerged on the porch dressed in a brown shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a quilted vest, jeans, a khaki bush hat on his head, and a red handkerchief knotted around his neck. “Hello, folks. What can I do you for?” He was young, not more than Trace’s age, maybe younger, his hair was blond and his brown eyes wary as he faced them.
The accent was definitely Australian.
“I was looking for Sarah O’Neal.”
“She’s done the Harold.”
“Excuse me?” Trace said.
“Right. America,” he murmured to himself. “She’s gone, mate. She left a few days ago. I’m the new owner, Finn Kelly, and this is Jilli. That mob of canines are the Aussie, Jigsaw; the pup, Edgar; and the sheltie, Radar; and you met the three Maremma. They’re guarders from Italy.”
“Guarders for what?” Trace asked. He hadn’t realized that Sarah had been so close to leaving. Time had gotten away from him.
He came down the stairs and muscled Sugar away from Jilli with his knee. “Git,” he said, and the dog went to sit with the others. The border collie, known for intuitiveness and intelligence, trotted up to them.
“What a cutie,” Rafferty said, crouching and petting him. She made an aw sound as the puppy flopped down and turned his little round belly up to her.
“He’s a charmer, he is, but you are a right spunker, Miss…”
“Rafferty Hamilton. This is Trace Black and my friend, Greg Chambers. Spunker?” she said.
“To answer your question, Mr. Black, sheep and Kashmir goats. To answer yours, Miss Hamilton, very beautiful.”
Just as he said that, there was a rumble and a distinct sound of the grinding gears of trucks coming up the drive.
“There they are now. Pardon me,” he said. “Jilli, stay here.”
The little girl nodded and silently assessed them.
Finn talked to the head driver, motioning behind him. He jumped down from the truck and went to open the paddock gate.
The driver backed in and then went around the truck and opened the back. The bleating was loud as he let down a ramp and out came white, tan, black, and brown sheep. As one truck pulled away, another took its place until sheep filled the pasture and started to graze. Then it was a truckload of what looked like the rams. Finn whistled and the Aussie and the sheltie streaked off. He gave orders and the mottled dog started to herd the rams into a holding pen. Finn shut the gate when they were inside. When another truck pulled up, this one was filled with big goats with spiraling, twisty horns and silky, long flowing coats in gray and white. They were released into a larger holding pen, then a smaller truck off-loaded the small herd of males, also in a separate corral. Trace did a double take and realized he wasn’t seeing things. There was a llama strutting down the ramp.
Finn came back and said, “Guard.” The three big white dogs took off and slipped under the pasture gates.
He bent down and picked up the puppy, who licked his face. “Sorry you missed her. She’s a nice lady. Would you be the mechanic she mentioned? The one who owns the petrol station in Laurel Falls—Black’s?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“She said you might come by and that you were first-rate. I could use some maintenance on a bloody tractor she sold me in the barn, yonder. Could you take a look at it for me?”
“I can.” Greg’s cellphone rang and he moved a little away to answer it. “Why don’t you come with me?” he said, grabbing Rafferty’s arm. “I’m sure Mr. Kelly is very busy.”
“It’s Finn, and I do need to tend to the livestock.”
As he pulled her away from the center of the driveway, Finn started toward the trailer, leading out a dappled gray. Trace’s destination the garage-like building that housed what had once been Clint’s farm equipment, his anger and frustration had built to dangerous levels. By the time he got to the structure, and Finn was guiding out a big buckskin, he was ready to rip the side door off the hinges. As soon as the door closed, he swung her back against the wall. “Rafferty.” He growled her name, the rush of sensation so intense that he had to grit his teeth against it. His hand tangling in her hair, his heart hammering, his breathing constricted, he fought for some discipline, something that came so second nature to him was now lost somewhere in the deep blue of her incredible eyes. His voice more gentle, he whispered her name again, then his mouth came down on hers.
Her breathing shallowed, as if she was feeling the same rush coursing through her. So, instead of breaking the kiss and talking like he should have, he kept his lips on hers, breathing her in, teasing her, rubbing his lips over her lush m
outh, hungrily. He wasn’t one to push himself on a woman like this, and he felt one tiny twinge of panic before she compromised herself and sent relief surging through him.
Her lips were very soft, her breath catching in her throat, her body melting into his. That should have made him feel better, but it didn’t. He needed something from her.
He needed to have a conversation with her. That’s why he brought her here, hoping for just a few minutes to clear up what had been nagging at him for too long. He couldn’t use Harley as the excuse for the sleepless hours he’d experienced last night warring with himself.
Feverishly, he’d fought against the attraction of her, the irresistible draw, because no matter how he sliced it, she was very much like his mother in so many ways, but also so not like her in many others. The gaping wound of being an inconvenience in her life still pulsed, and the way she had so callously treated his father during their relationship was something that Trace couldn’t forget. It went against every fiber of his being to let himself be seduced by someone who could turn out to be as cruel as his mother had been to his dad.
Trace had been the one to hear all about it. How his dad had never gotten over her. At the time, he couldn’t understand, didn’t get how his dad had taken to the bottle to drown out the pain of his loss, her absence unbearable. But his dad’s addiction had never been alcohol.
It had scared Trace, that depth of passion. It still did.
Shunning complicated relationships was his MO. If he even got a hint of it, like he did with Melissa, he was gone. Desire, he understood. It was basic, a normal human appetite. But, he had to be honest with himself, honest about his own thoughts and feelings. He’d never experienced anything like this for any other woman. She was special and he wanted…more.
And his life couldn’t get any more complicated. Could it?
She was driving him out of his mind.
His nerve endings felt as if they were stripped raw as he tried to ignore the feelings pounding through him. He gathered her harder against him as he pressed her against the wall, unable to control the urge to widen his stance a little, show her what kind of state he was in physically, mentally. His heart, for the first time in his life, fully engaged.
He slid his tongue inside, into soft, wet heat, into the sensual seduction of her mouth—into serious trouble.
He’d wanted to kiss her again. God, how he’d wanted to kiss her, and he’d known it would be just as good, but he hadn’t known it would make wanting the rest of her instantly so much worse.
He should have expected it. He’d been kind of crazed lately, and all because of her. He’d let his imagination get way out of hand, but maybe so had she. When he buried his hand deeper into her hair, she pressed her body closer to his. When he slanted his mouth across hers, she moved with him, making the kiss hotter, deeper, giving herself up and all but turning him inside out.
Had it only been days ago that he’d heard her sultry voice over the phone? If he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose his head and forget that she was here on a temporary basis. It put the skids on his thinking, his feelings. As good as this kiss was, and the one before it, it wasn’t nearly everything he needed, didn’t go far enough, deep enough.
But after waiting so long to get this close to her, he needed something. Something more than a kiss. He gathered her more tightly to him, loving the feel of her in his arms, the melting heat of her body against his, the shape of her. She made another soft, surrendering sound in her throat, her arms sliding up around his neck, her hands tunneling up into his hair, displacing his hat. Every functioning brain cell he had left dissolved into pure instinct and sensation.
His knee went between hers, his hand slipping under her pretty shirt, sliding up over silky skin. It all felt so good and there was absolutely nowhere to go with it because he had her mashed up against the wall in a garage. He had no intention of taking it any further anyway. The first time with Rafferty needed to be much more comfortable than this. He burned for her, but he wanted her to enjoy it, to savor it as much as he did.
How could this be so much better than he not only could have imagined, but better than anything he’d ever experienced? Was it because, in the small amount of time he’d gotten to know her, she had gotten in? Under his skin, through his armor, taking something no other woman had ever been able to even touch?
He’d like to think he was kissing her senseless, but she wasn’t that far out of it. She cupped his face and rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone, then down his face to his jaw. He wrapped his hand around her slender rib cage, his thumb rubbing along the skin just below her breast. She stilled in his arms, then she made a low, desperate sound and twisted her head, her mouth suddenly hot and urgent against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her like her life depended on it.
The bolt of pure, raw sensation knocked the wind right out of him. Trace shuddered, and he widened his mouth against hers, feeding on the desperation that poured back and forth between them. She made another wild sound and clutched at him, the movement welding their bodies together like two halves of a whole, and he nearly lost it right there. But common sense—and the fact that he was pissed at her—intruded.
He needed that conversation, although, her reaction did a lot to assuage some of his anger.
He pulled away and closed his eyes to get his control back. When he opened them, she was looking up into his face.
“Are you avoiding me?”
She looked away. “Not on purpose. After that night we were together, I thought it might be a good time to put a little space between us so that we could breathe and think.”
“There’s not too much to think about, unless you’ve got something going on with that suit who blew into town.”
She stiffened and that also made him feel better, even as her eyes flashed.
“I told you I wasn’t involved. Don’t you believe me?”
“You looked pretty cozy.”
“Oh, man. That’s why you stayed away. I thought you had second thoughts.”
“No. I wasn’t about to jump to conclusions. I wanted to ask you about it.”
“Really? No conclusion jumping?” She set her hands on her hips. “Looks to me like you were jealous.”
“I didn’t say I was completely mature about it. So who is he to you?”
“Remember I mentioned my father’s girlfriend?”
Trace nodded.
“Greg is her nephew and we’re good friends.” She took a breath. “He’s more like a big brother to me.” She slipped out of his arms and walked a short distance away, running her hand through her hair. “Trace, I was only recently divorced.”
He bent down, picked up his hat, and slapped it against his thigh. “How long?”
“I signed the papers right before I left New York City.”
“That would have been good to know, commander,” he said, now feeling like a complete idiot. “Okay, I jumped to all kinds of conclusions. I’m sorry, princess.” He glanced out the window, and Greg was looking a bit stressed as he paced in front of the stairs, running his hand through his hair.
Her face softened and he took a step toward her, but made himself stop. “I didn’t tell him I was leaving, and he’s worried. My family is worried about me. That’s all.”
“He was the designated person to check to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage of you, huh?” Trace looked out the window at the guy he had wanted to give a beat down to only moments before, and he took a breath. Depending on how he looked at it, bad or good, he’d met her because her car had broken down right outside of Laurel Falls. He reined in his temper and jealousy, or tried. Even in light of how close he was getting to this woman who had somehow gotten initiated into his family, he could admit when he was being a jerk. What she had done for Harley was so decent and caring.
“Yes, I’m sure his aunt had something to do with it.” She was quiet for a moment. “The reality of…failing…at the marriage was hard for me to take. I don�
�t like to fail.”
“Raff. He cheated on you. That’s on him, not you.”
“But, he said—”
“I don’t give a damn what he said. If you were traveling a lot for work or things had been getting bad between you, he should have stepped up like a man and talked to you about it, try to work it out, make the decision together to end it. They’re vows for a reason, and they mean something. Sleeping around and then blaming it on the other person is a freaking cop-out. He’s a coward and a dick, and you shouldn’t give him a second thought.”
“That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
He jammed on his hat because this woman made his insides turn into mush. He stepped up to her; she drew him magnetically. Cupping her face in his hands, he rubbed his thumbs along her soft-as-sin cheekbones. The connection he made with her arrowed right through him. How could any man have cheated on such a woman? How could he have had this in his hands, with her vow to pledge her life to him, and throw it away on meaningless sex? How could he be so brain-dead?
If he was heading for a fall, he was eagerly taking that first step. He wanted to spend time with her, regardless of how long she’d be here. Quality over quantity, and he bit his lip thinking about all the women that he’d been with. She made him feel different, lighter, even with the heaviness of his brother’s issues. “Come dancing with me tonight.”
“What kind of dancing?”
“Two-stepping. There’s a honky-tonk over on the highway.”
“I don’t know how to two-step.”
“I’ll teach you,” he said, twirling her.
“I bet you will.”
For the first time in two days, he grinned.
He grinned for the second time as she snuggled next to him on the ride back to Laurel Falls.
