Branded

“I’ve thought about putting a leash on him and keeping him at the stables…” Trace murmured, as if thinking aloud.

“No. No, don’t do that. That’ll kill him even quicker.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

The dog in question finished slurping up water and headed back, wildly wagging his tail. Trace crouched down and Scout instantly flipped over for a thorough belly rub. Jo’s own belly suddenly felt warm. What she wouldn’t give to throw herself at Trace’s feet and have him rub her tummy…

He looked up at her from under the rim of his black hat. Hell if she didn’t think he knew exactly what was on her mind.

“Hey, Boss, you coming out to the bunkhouses for dinner?” Jackson asked as he passed.

Trace rose to his feet. “Not tonight. I have a couple of things to finish up before I call it a day.”

Jo took that as her cue to head off with the other hands, pretending she wasn’t disappointed that she wouldn’t be seeing him again that night.

Chapter Five

JO STEPPED OUT OF the small bathroom connected to her room at the far end of the bunkhouse, rubbing a towel over her wet hair. She was fully dressed, in jeans and a T-shirt, her bare feet making soft sounds against the bare wood of the floor. Once a week a cleaning person came through, but being tidy herself, she couldn’t be sure when, because she never saw her or him, only detected the scents of pine cleaner and bleach.

She picked up her watch from the dresser. Half past nine. Despite the previous evening’s activities, she wasn’t anywhere near tired. She put the watch back down and tossed the towel over the back of the desk chair.

As far as lodgings went, her room was one of the best in the long bunkhouse. It had probably been built with visiting clients in mind, and was more spacious than the others. She had little doubt that she’d been put here to keep her separate from the guys at the other end. She’d seen their rooms, and near as she could tell, they were assigned two to a room, with either twin beds or bunks. The large community room with pool tables, a fireplace and a large-screen TV divided their rooms from hers.

She had her own television, in a small sitting area with a love seat and coffee table, at one end of the room, a queen-size bed at the other. And the space was decorated in a way the others were not, with flowery curtains over the miniblinds, a matching bedspread, and contrasting striped upholstery on the furniture. A bit like a nice suite in a hotel rather than a typical bunkhouse room with shared bathroom.

Jo knew she was being given preferential treatment because of her sex, but at least she didn’t have to worry about a snoring cowboy sleeping in the bunk above hers.

And she didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing her coming and going.

She opened the door and leaned against the jamb, looking at the brightly lit main house nearly a quarter of a mile away. The house she’d left early that morning.

Should she head up there again?

Her answer came by way of her chirping cell phone.

She sighed and stepped back to the dresser. While she didn’t get great reception out on the range, Trace had set up a tower near the stables to ensure access on the ranch.

She glanced at the caller ID.

Her mother.

Lately, it seemed if it wasn’t her mother, it was Carter, who presumably had stayed in the area with the hope that she’d change her mind and invite him over again. She had no intention of doing that.

Jo frowned and considered letting the call go to voice mail. But she knew that ignoring Miss Daisy Mae’s call now would make it doubly worse the next time she talked to her.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh! You startled me, JoEllen. Dear me, I’ll never get used to that caller ID. What happened to the good old days when someone didn’t know who you were?”

Jo didn’t bother to point out that she would know the call was from her mother regardless. She was the only one who phoned her outside of Carter.

“How was your day, dear?” her mom asked.

“I’ve ridden worse.” Jo picked up her towel from the back of her chair and hung it on the bathroom door handle, as if her mother could see that she wasn’t keeping her room tidy. “How’s Pa?”

“Your father is well. He finished that birdhouse he’s been working on for me this evening.”

“That’s nice.” Since he’d retired from ranch life himself, her father’s days were filled with being at his wife’s beck and call, catering to her every whim. And her whims could be doozies. Constructing multistoried birdhouses was one of the tamer requests. “Give him a hug from me.”

“I don’t see why I should. You’ll be here tomorrow to give him one directly.”

Jo sat down on the bed and ran her fingers through her damp hair. Tomorrow was one of her two days off, the second being Saturday. Some of the hands stuck around the ranch on their off days, others went to wherever they called home.

Jo went to her parents’ place.

“You’re right. I’ll give him a hug myself tomorrow.”

She sensed her mother’s sigh of relief. Could she have somehow picked up on Jo’s intention to cancel the visit, as she had the past two times? More than likely. Of course, it didn’t exactly take a NASA astrophysicist to work out the odds.

“I was hoping that you could stop at that little doughnut shop downtown on your way over tomorrow, sweetie. You know, to pick up one of those bourbon pecan pies I like so much.”

Jo fixed the right cuff of her jeans. “Sure, Mother.”

“That’s a good girl.”

She swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling. “Is there anything else? It’s been a really long day and I’m beat.”

“No. No, that’s all. I just wanted to make sure you were still coming, so I don’t have your father get out the good china for nothing.”

Jo didn’t bother telling her that she didn’t have to get out her good anything, that she wasn’t coming over to drink tea out of tiny teacups, but to see how they both were doing. She knew her words would only fall on deaf ears.

“I’m coming. Good night, Mother.”

“Good evening, JoEllen Sue. Sleep well.”

Jo slowly took the cell from her ear and pressed the disconnect button, sitting for long moments staring at the piece of technology that had allowed her mother to follow her all over the world, when all Jo wanted to do was escape.

There was a sound outside the open door. She immediately slid her hand under her pillow, her fingers molding over the cool, hard metal of her M9 Beretta. The instant the shadow appeared, she pulled the gun and held it on the unexpected visitor.

Trace held up his hands and grinned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think shooting the boss is a good idea.”

Jo blinked once. Then twice. Had the man who’d occupied so many of her thoughts all day just materialized in her doorway? Or was she imagining things? Her gaze flicked down his tall, muscular frame and then back again. She licked her lips. He had to be there. Because her imagination wasn’t nearly this good.

She slid the safety back into place and put the firearm on the bedside table. “Yes, I’d say it rates right up there with sleeping with the boss.”

“Regrets?”

She shook her head. “Merely stating facts.”

Jo met his heated gaze, feeling the same sizzle she’d come to expect every time their eyes met. Damn, but he had an effect on her that she couldn’t cool down with any size bucket of cold water.

Trace glanced around. “Mind if I come in?”

“You own the place.”

“I meant, am I welcome?”

She held his gaze.

He came in and shut the door.

Jo immediately felt the heat ignite into a full-out fire. She got up from the bed and moved toward the bathroom. “Pour yourself a drink if you’d like. Fix one for me while you’re at it.”

“What’ll you have?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

Jo closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against the smooth wood, surprised to find herself out of breath, as if she’d just run an eight-minute mile rather than walked five feet.

She caught her reflection in the mirror, grimacing at her faded purple high school varsity T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans, her regular bedroom attire. No silky nighties for her.

At least her undergarments were one hundred percent pure Victoria’s Secret. Yes, while even she bucked falling into the traditional roles, she wasn’t without her wicked interest in sexy underwear. A passion that Trace had seemed to appreciate last night.

Of course, she couldn’t exactly walk back into the bedroom in nothing but her bra and panties. Well, she could, but she wasn’t going to. Instead, she stepped to the sink, took out a hair dryer she rarely used, and applied scant makeup that she rarely wore. A citrusy lotion was about as close to perfume as she got.

Minutes later, she stared at her reflection again. Was it her, or did her eyes look a little bit brighter? Her lips a little bit plumper? Her gaze dropped to the front of her shirt, finding her breasts high, her nipples clearly visible. She ran her palms over them and shivered in response, anticipation coursing through her veins.

She hadn’t had an inkling that Trace would show up at her room tonight. In fact, she’d pretty much accepted that if there was going to be a repeat of last night, it would come at her doing. The fact that he appeared to want her as much as she wanted him made her hot in areas she normally didn’t pay a great deal of attention to.

Jo finally exited the bathroom, to find him sitting on the edge of the small sofa, sifting through her selection of CDs.

“Interesting collection.”

She smiled. “Find anything you like?”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “I see a lot I like.”

She was a Southern rock kind of girl, the louder the better. But somehow she got the impression that he wasn’t talking about her taste in music.

He raised a CD case. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

He fed the disc into the player located under the TV, and within moments strains of the Eagles filled the room. He switched off the television, then sat down on the love seat and held up a glass in her direction.

Jo rounded the coffee table and sat down next to him, accepting his offering. She coughed when she got a mouthful of plain soda. She lifted a brow.

“You told me to get you what I was having,” he stated.

“So I did.”

He stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing his boots at the ankle. Jo watched the move, appreciating the hard line of his thighs, the way his jeans bunched at his crotch. Damn, but he was a tall glass of sweet tea. She could climb on top of him right now and not want for a single thing for the next six hours.

Instead, she stayed right where she was, allowing her right arm to brush against his left, the only sounds those of the CD and the ice clinking in their glasses.

“Is this a date?” she asked, staring at their reflection in the blank TV screen.

“Date?”

She shifted on the cushion, folding her right foot under her other knee and resting her elbow on the back of the sofa. “Yeah, you know, those things that people go on or schedule in order to talk or eat before they screw.”

His grin was as filthy as her words. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a crude mouth?”

She smiled back. “Just about everybody I come across.”

She rubbed her eyebrow with the pad of her thumb, remarkably satisfied to be sitting there looking at him. Just looking at him.

She’d never been a girl given to mooning over a man. She was either attracted to someone or she wasn’t. And things pretty much escalated after that. Even in high school, she hadn’t been the hand-holding, meandering-down-the-hall-and-staring-up-into-her-beau’s-eyes type. She had too little time on her hands, so she’d figured out pretty quickly that she’d have to learn how to put those same hands to good use with the time she did have.

She glanced at her knee. Of course, there were other reasons for her actions. Mostly, she’d been needed at home. And when she hadn’t been home, she’d been thinking about what she’d have to do when she got there.

“Uh-oh. No filthy words now?” Trace asked.

“Huh?” She looked at him. “Oh.” She offered up a smile. “What, do you want to hear me say the word screw again?”

He chuckled.

“I don’t know what it is with men. You’d think women never used profanity, the way y’all react.”

“Tell me, is it something that you and your girlfriends do frequently?”

“Cuss? Hell yeah.”

Of course, she really didn’t have any girlfriends. She’d learned a long time ago that it was better to fly solo than to face uncomfortable explanations.

“But enough about me,” she said. “I want to hear more about this brother.”

His eyes darkened. “I didn’t realize we were talking about you.”

Jo got the impression that his change in expression had everything to do with her mention of his brother.

She held up her hand. “I don’t need to know all that,” she said. “So what’s say we keep it simple.”

He cleared his throat and reached for his soda. “Fair enough. Just so long as you know that I’m going to be asking a few questions of my own…”

Chapter Six

TRACE’S MUSCLES TENSED tighter than tow wire. On a level he was loath to acknowledge, he should be happy not only that Eric had survived the past six years in the Middle East, but that he was coming home.

Trace wasn’t.

Jo shifted again, drawing his gaze to the way her full breasts swayed beneath the thin cotton of her old T-shirt. “Is he older or younger?”

“Who?”

She made a face.

“Oh, you mean Eric.” It was Trace’s turn to shift. “Older.”

“There’s just the two of you?”

He nodded.

“Do you get along?”

He stared at her.

She lifted her right palm. “Just picking up on some strange vibrations here, that’s all. If you don’t want to talk about it…”

Trace knew that by saying that, she was making it virtually impossible for him not to talk about it.

Besides, when it came to Eric, it was probably long past time Trace stared down that particular unbroken horse and tried to tame his emotions. While much of what had passed between the two of them could be chalked up to simple sibling rivalry, there was nothing simple about what was happening now.

“We used to be closer than two brothers could be,” he said thoughtfully. “We grew up doing everything together. He saved my ass when I got my foot caught in the rope lassoing my first bull. I saved his when his horse went down twenty miles out, while he was on a solo run.”

Trace trailed off, remembering that day. He’d been seventeen to Eric’s nineteen, and his brother had been an hour late for dinner. While his parents pretended not to be worried, despite his mother’s washing the same pan five times and his father staring out into the sunset as if the world had up and disappeared, Trace had saddled his own horse and gone out looking for Eric. He’d found him five miles away from where he’d been forced to put his injured horse down. Eric was walking in the general direction of the ranch house, the temperature already beginning to dip low in the January night.

“What happened to change that closeness between the two of you?” Jo asked.

Trace drew a deep breath. “I don’t know…”

That was a lie; he did know. But it was more knotty than a single conversation could untie.

“You asked yesterday out on the range why I hadn’t enlisted in the military,” he said quietly. “I know you didn’t mean for me to specifically answer the question. You were just trying to deflect mine, but…”

When his silence dragged on, she prompted, “But?”

“Well, I was the one who was supposed to ship out to marine recruit training six years ago, not Eric.”

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