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moved up to her head to give her an affectionate pat. She
rode free, not tied to anything, in the event sudden labor set
in. Not familiar with her foaling habits, he didn't dare take the
risk she might try to lie down, despite the unlikelihood.
"Eat your hay while I run inside. We'll get you settled in
soon." He scratched her behind the ears, ran his hand down
her mane, and patted her shoulder. "No foals, Angel. You
gotta cook that one until January."
She answered his order with a lazy blink.
Satisfied they were in agreement, Clint climbed out of the
trailer and secured the door. He crossed behind his bumper,
stepped over the hitch. His gaze fell on the house. Bright
lights flooded the snow-covered porch with a warm yellow
glow. The Christmas tree twinkled behind the front window.
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Through the frosty panes, he glimpsed Alex seated on the
couch. Alex laughed at something, and though the sound
didn't filter outside, Clint could hear the rumble of his voice.
Maybe coming home wouldn't turn out so bad after all. He
hadn't seen his brothers in years.
He made his way to the porch, stopped in front of the door
to stomp the snow off his boots. Bells jangled as he opened
the door.
A chorus of laughter greeted his ears. Alex looked up with
a broad grin. But what caught Clint's immediate attention was
the flash of movement near the hearth. He glanced over in
time to see a woman punch Heath in the arm. She tumbled
back into her chair, giggling, then turned bright blue eyes on
him.
Jesse.
"Clint!" Her excited greeting blended with his brothers'
hellos.
Her smile, however, made his breath catch. Something
deep in his gut tripped as he took another step inside and
Jesse eased to her feet. Long black hair tumbled to her waist,
just as she'd always worn it. He'd seen those raven locks a
thousand times, but they'd never shone quite like they did as
she crossed the room.
To his shame, his gaze skipped down to her toes, taking in
curves he'd never noticed, and a waist so tiny he could span
his hands around it. She wore jeans that hugged thighs he
knew were muscular. Only, five years ago, they'd just been
Jesse's legs. Now, they belonged to a...
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He caught the sweet scent of lilacs as she slipped her arms
around his neck and hugged him tight. Soft curves melted
against his chest.
A woman.
When in the hell had Jesse grown up? She'd been thirty
when they'd last spent any time together. Even as an adult,
he'd still seen the tomboy she'd always been. His little sister.
But damn... She felt good. All feminine.
He collected himself enough to return her hug. "I'll be
damned, Jesse. I didn't expect to see you here."
"Is that Clint?" his mother called from the kitchen.
"Yeah, Mom. I'm here."
Jesse pulled out of his embrace, leaving his skin tingling
where they'd touched. Good grief, what was the matter with
him? He'd wrestled with her, for God's sake, and hadn't ever
been affected by touching her. For that matter, they'd all
skinny dipped in Longview Lake one summer. And those
breasts hadn't been anywhere near as compelling as they
were beneath her light blue sweater right now.
Shoot, he hadn't even known she'd had breasts back then.
Well, he'd known, but there was a distinct difference.
"Clinton, come give your mother a kiss." His mother's call
jarred him back to sense.
Thankfully, it also offered a means of escape. He glanced
about the room, offered a short nod and said, "Be right back."
Avoiding eye contact with those disturbingly unsettling blue
eyes, he followed the aroma of apples and cinnamon into the
kitchen.
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Stunned, Jesse curled into her chair with her feet tucked
beneath her and trained a smile to her face. Though she
pretended interest in Heath and Alex's conversation, her gaze
followed Clint's retreat. Loose blue jeans pulled around firm
buttocks, tapered down thick thighs to bunch at the neck of
his tan hiking boots. He ducked his head as he stepped under
the doorframe, and thick dark waves touched the neck of his
beige sweater. Wide shoulders hunched to shorten his long
frame.
She could not be staring at the same Clint who she'd
grown up with. That Clint's one-dimple grin made her want to
poke her finger in his cheek. This Clint's lazy grin had
temporarily stopped her heart.
Where had this one come from?
"Dontcha think, Jesse?" Alex gestured her way, his look
expectant.
She blinked. Not knowing what to say, she stammered,
"Oh. Ah, yeah."
"See, little brother?" Alex tossed a rolled up paper at
Heath. "No way can Arizona beat K-State. Don't you know
Jesse's never wrong about football?"
Once upon a time, maybe. But until right now, she hadn't
even known her Alma Mater had made it to the bowl. Or
which one for that matter. However, now wasn't the time to
clue the King brothers in on the fact she'd given up her
tomboy ways years ago. That would require conversation.
Until her heart stopped this ridiculous hammering, she didn't
dare brave her voice.
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Clint's deep laughter rumbled from the kitchen. Her gaze
pulled back to the open doorway. A strange tingling sensation
tripped down her spine. Somehow, he'd changed his laugh
too. It no longer made her want to join in. Instead, the urge
to giggle set in. Giggle, for heaven's sake.
How come that hadn't happened when he came back
earlier this year for his father's funeral?
Because he wasn't laughing, dummy.
Well that logically explained the prickling of her skin. Yet,
it didn't reason why she hadn't noticed the man in July. He'd
worn a suit and tie, but even all dressed up, she hadn't really
seen him. What did jeans and a cable-knit sweater have over
formal wear?
Why in the world did she care? This was Clint. Clint, who
lived in Kentucky. Clint, who liked horses, and she didn't
know the first thing about them. Clint who knew the
embarrassing secret that at sixteen, she'd let Mark
Hammond, the school nerd, put his hands up her shirt in
exchange for the right to copy off his Algebra quizzes.
Of course, she hadn't told Clint. He'd found out when Mark
asked if Clint could barter up a better payment for answers.
Still. Clint knew things about her no man should.
His heavy heel squeaked the board just inside the kitchen
doorway. He stepped through carrying four small plates of
homemade apple pie. His gaze flicked to her, a
nd to Jesse's
shame, her stomach clamped into an anxious ball.
Lord, he was handsome.
Amelia King hobbled to her chair beside the twinkling
Christmas tree, her recently broken ankle slowing her usually
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quick pace. She bent over to set her plate and a coffee cup
down on the end table and paused. With a tip of her head,
she peeked out the front window. "Sweetheart, is that a horse
trailer in my front yard?"
His arm half-extended to offer Jesse her plate, Clint froze.
His amber eyes locked with hers. A touch of color flushed his
cheeks as he answered, "Ah, yeah."
Amelia sat down and frowned at her oldest son. "Why?"
"Well..." Clint handed Jesse the plate. Their fingers
brushed, sending a jolt of pleasant energy rippling up Jesse's
arm. Clint's gaze flashed with something she couldn't define.
He pulled his hand away so fast he nearly dropped the pie in
her lap. She caught it at the last moment, then dropped her
gaze to stare at the sugar-dusted crust.
He eased himself into the couch cushion closest to her and
fixed his stare on his mother. "I was going to ask you if old
man Jameson still ran that boarding stable on the north end
of town. I had to bring my mare along. She's due to foal any
day."
Jesse let her gaze stray sideways to his knee. It rested
close enough that if she unwound her legs they'd touch. Solid,
sturdy—she could almost feel the way his leg would lean into
hers in a silent expression of affection.
She gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking?
Clint would never do something like that. At least not with
her. She had no business even letting the thought register.
He might be handsome, but he was still Clint, and she was
still his little sister. The way he'd jerked his hand away said
more about his thoughts on touching her than anything.
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Blinking, she pushed aside the thoughts that clouded her
mind and focused on the conversation. All three raptly
discussed who might have a boarding stable, who might be
willing to take on a pregnant mare on short notice, and how
far Clint would have to drive to tend to his horse.
"Clint," she began with a slight frown. His gaze pulled to
hers so quickly she stumbled over her immediate thoughts.
Swallowing, she willed her voice not to shake. "Why don't you
use Mom and Dad's old barn? I put a new roof on it last year,
so it should be watertight. I use half for storage but there's a
stall we could fix up. You'd be close to your mother and your
horse."
"Hey good idea. I can help you fix it up tomorrow, Clint,"
Alex offered.
Clint's gaze held Jesse's, spreading unfamiliar warmth
through her veins. The urge to move, to somehow extract
herself from that rich, amber intensity, gripped fierce. A
woman could get lost in those expressive eyes. Dangerously
lost.
[Back to Table of Contents]
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