by Lisa Jackson
Straightening, climbing to his feet, Trent dragged her close and wrapped his strong arms around her to cradle her while she drooped against him and pressed her face into his denim-draped shoulder. Spasm after spasm rocketed through her and for a brief second the bathroom seemed to tilt. Standing in bare feet, she clung to him, dripping in sweat, still aching from his lovemaking.
“What— Why…why did you come in here?” she said when some of her equilibrium slowly returned.
“I thought I just showed you.”
“Yes, but…I mean…” She rocked away from him and scraped her hair from her eyes with one hand. “Why now?”
“Because you’ve been avoiding me.”
“You noticed.”
“Hard not to.”
Oh, God, she was stark naked! Reason swept back with a vengeance and she groaned. “I need to get dressed.”
“Fine.” He flipped down the lid of the toilet and took a seat.
“What? You can’t stay here. It’s indecent. Someone might see…” He arched an insolent dark eyebrow and she sighed, realizing the point was moot. “Fine. Whatever.” She stepped into her panties and hooked her bra behind her back while trying not to notice that he was studying her for all he was worth. “Kind of a reverse strip show, isn’t it?”
His Cheshire-cat grin was insufferable. He stacked his hands behind his head insolently. “Maybe later I can rewind the tape and watch it the right way.”
“In your dreams.”
“Precisely.” Her head snapped up to see if he was teasing but his expression was as sober as if he’d been confessing to a priest. His laser-blue gaze burned into hers.
Instantly the heat in her cheeks ignited. She swallowed hard and looked away. What was going on here? Besides acting out some kind of sexual fantasy. Was there more? Or was it her all-too-active imagination? Snatching her shorts and blouse from a hook near the door, she quickly dressed and then, praying that the hallway was empty, unlocked the door and poked her head out.
All clear. She scooped up her nightgown.
“Not so fast.” Trent’s voice arrested her.
“What?” She glanced over her shoulder.
“What did you and Blake talk about last night?” Now she was imagining just a trace of jealousy in his gaze. Was it possible?
“Everything and nothing. Your name came up.”
“I hope in the ‘everything’ category.”
Blake’s question ricocheted through her brain again. Are you in love with my brother? Her throat was suddenly as dry as the Mojave Desert. She had to get away. “What do you think?” she quipped back at him, her hand on the doorknob again.
“What I think, Gina, is that you’re running scared.” His words stopped her cold.
“From?”
But she knew the answer before she opened the door and walked briskly along the hallway.
“Me, darlin’. You just don’t know what to do with me,” he said loudly enough that the words chased her all the way downstairs.
Amen, she thought. If I live to be older than Methuselah, I’ll never have the first idea of how to handle you.
Seated around the cold hearth in the living room of the main house, Trent surveyed the newcomer with a jaundiced eye. He was the first of the next batch of Larry’s bastards to show up. Dressed in clean, dark jeans, a plaid shirt and a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots, he’d introduced himself as Mitch Fielding. From the small talk that had erupted, Trent learned that Mitch was the youngest of Larry’s bastards.
Mitch was a construction worker who lived nearby. A widower with twin six-year-old girls, Mitch was about six feet tall, with sandy hair, tanned skin and intense hazel eyes. He seemed eager to meet Garrett and the rest of the brood and his aw-shucks, rural persona gritted on Trent’s nerves. The guy even blushed when he’d met Gina, and Trent had been certain Mitch would wear the toe of his boot out with the shy, country-boy routine. It was enough to make Trent sick, but then, he’d been acting way out of character ever since he’d met Gina.
Any man who looked at her was a potential rival.
Now, as Mitch, seated on the worn couch, gushed on about his daughters and Gina sat with Garrett and Blake listening in rapt interest, Trent wanted to plant himself next to her, throw an arm around her shoulders just to make sure that any and all males who looked in her direction knew she was off the market.
Or was she?
Never in his life had he been confused about a woman, but this one, Gina, made him think twice. He hadn’t been this possessive of any woman, not even Beverly when she’d told him she was carrying his child.
His jaw grew hard and he touched the ancient rifle mounted over the mantel, running an experienced finger down the dark barrel of the weapon. For a moment he thought of this morning when he’d heard Gina rise and dash into the bathroom. He hadn’t been able to keep himself from following her. He’d planned to just talk to her but she’d been so damned sexy in the steamy room, her wet red hair framing a fresh face devoid of makeup. Her green eyes had rounded, her towel had slipped and suddenly he’d forgotten about saying anything. Even now, remembering her thrown back against the counter, her breasts so white and tipped with perfect peach nipples, he started to grow hard. Closing his mind to the erotic memory, he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
“…so I was glad to get the call,” Mitch was saying, his fingers laced, his hands hanging between his knees. “My little girls need to know their roots. Their great-grandpa. Their uncles.”
Trent’s stomach turned sour.
“I agree,” Garrett said, casting a knowing look in Trent’s direction. “We’re family.”
Blake laughed. “Kind of an odd mix, but, yeah, we are a family.”
Trent wasn’t buying it. Not for a minute.
He suspected Larry’s legitimate kids, Collin, the man who was about Mitch Fielding’s age, and his daughter, Melanie, might not swallow the “one big happy family” fantasy, either.
He hazarded a glance at Gina, caught her gaze for just a second and realized that the reason he was sticking around the ranch wasn’t because of Garrett and his half brothers. Other than idle curiosity about them, Trent really didn’t give a damn. No, his attraction to the ranch was solely Gina Henderson.
“…and so once I found out that you all existed, I knew I had to do something,” Garrett was saying, standing at the head of the huge dining room table where the newfound illegitimate sons of Larry Kincaid and a few other Kincaid relatives had gathered. All the men had shown up earlier this morning and the tension in the ranch house had been nearly palpable. Strangers who were half brothers, men who had grown up not knowing about their biological father, this ranch, or each other, were understandably wary. Uncomfortable.
Trent was by far the worst.
Half-drunk cups of coffee were scattered over the oak top and a few of the brothers had brought notepads. Trent hadn’t. Sitting low in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, he watched the proceedings silently, appearing as if he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet.
Gina had claimed a chair next to Garrett’s. The box of paraphernalia and her notes lying open, some tossed around the table as the men perused her work and the mementoes Larry had kept of his children. Adam’s report cards; a citation from the juvenile system on Trent; a rodeo ribbon of Cade’s; a yearbook with pictures of Brandon scoring half-a-dozen touchdowns; a copy of Blake’s application to medical school; a photograph of Mitch and his daughters and, of course, the date book/journal indicating that there was one son missing from the table, a baby boy as yet unlocated—maybe never to be located.
Each man had fumbled through his file and the small pieces of his life that Larry had squirreled away. A range of emotions was on display from wistful smiles to barely controlled rage. Other stares were bored or vacant, as if a silent agony was being reined in.
Gina’s throat was tight when she witnessed the pain of rejection some of these men, who all had once been impressionable boy
s, experienced.
Larry Kincaid should have been castrated, then drawn and quartered for leaving his sons to grow up on their own. But they were here now. And they had questions.
As Garrett spoke, Gina’s stomach was in knots. She felt like the proverbial fish out of water. On top of it, she was the reason all these men had been found and found quickly, though, it seemed, there wasn’t a whole lot of animosity directed her way.
Except from Trent. He hadn’t quite forgiven her for the lies she’d told him in Dallas. Not that she could really blame him, she supposed, but looking at him now, she felt her heart thump deep in her chest. He sat low on his back, regarding everyone with guarded eyes, as if he trusted no one. Which he probably didn’t. For a second she thought of this morning, how intimate they’d been, then she looked quickly away and tried to concentrate.
“…so I got together with Wayne here.” Garrett motioned to his cousin, seated to his left. Wayne, a lean, wiry man with tanned, lined skin and the same startling blue eyes as Garrett’s, half stood and nodded a full head of silvering blond hair. “And along with a few other people who were involved with this ranch, I decided that I’d buy it back and divide it between all of you. Until now Wayne’s managed this place, but he lives in town. Rand Harding’s our foreman and he and his wife Suzanne are occupying the foreman’s quarters. They’ll stay on, along with some of the hands who’ve been working here for years.”
He paused to eye each of his grandsons, then continued. “Now, before you all start talking about not being interested in the spread, or not needing it or not even wanting to be bothered ranching, just hold on. I’m thinking the place will be kind of a touchstone, a place you can all own and where you can all connect. Those who want to run it, well, okay, those who want to be silent partners, that’s okay, too.” Again he hesitated, tapped his fingers nervously on the ancient oak table. “Well, hell, there’s no way to say this other than straight out.” He looked at each man in turn. “My son Larry didn’t do right by any of you and I want to make it up to you and make you feel wanted—all part of the Kincaid family.”
Gina watched the men’s faces. They were all serious now, staring at the man they hadn’t known was their grandfather. Blake and Trent, seated next to each other, acted as if there was a wall between them.
Adam Benson, the oldest, sat next to Wayne Kincaid. Gina wasn’t sure she liked the brooding man who hadn’t bothered hiding his arrogance. She could well believe that he was a corporate raider by trade. He was wearing a starched white shirt, power tie and sleek navy-blue business suit. Hawklike, he silently observed the scene around him, and Gina could almost see the wheels turning in his mind.
On the opposite side of the table, Mitch Fielding tapped work-roughened fingers on the arm of his chair. His expression was serene, as if all the melodrama of his biological father didn’t bother him a bit. With sandy-brown hair, streaked by hours working under the sun, and hazel eyes that were warm and filled with energy, Mitch seem to accept what Garrett and Wayne proposed without much concern. His plaid shirt was clean but worn, his jeans, too, had seen better days, yet he was as unconcerned about his appearance as he seemed about all the fuss about the land.
“You want us all as equal partners?” Adam asked.
“Yes,” Garrett said as Wayne nodded.
Adam leaned forward. “Once you called, I did a little research on the place. It’s held in trust, right? For a Jennifer McCallum—”
“She’s a Kincaid, as well,” Garrett interjected. “A cousin, like Wayne here.”
“I’m one of the trustees,” Wayne said, “but we all voted and have agreed to sell the ranch to Garrett. It’s unanimous.”
“And there are no liens?” Adam asked, his face a study in concentration.
“No.” Garrett shook his head.
Wayne agreed. “We’d already decided to sell the place when Garrett came up with the idea to buy it and give it all to you.”
“And you’re doing this with no strings attached.” Adam’s dubious gaze was centered on his grandfather.
“All I ask is that you stay as long as you want, get to know each other, become a part of the family.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mitch said.
Adam’s mouth became a thin line of distrust. “I don’t believe in getting something for nothing.”
Trent’s jaw twitched a bit, as if he’d had the very same thought. He caught Gina’s eye, held it for a minute, then leaned back in his chair even further and glanced away.
“I think it’s a hell of an idea.” Cade Redstone slapped his hand on the table. Gina guessed it took a lot to intimidate this rough-and-tumble cowboy. Ranch-tough, Cade was a strong-willed, no-nonsense man who had traveled all the way from his stepfather’s spread in Texas. Cade met Adam’s hard glare and didn’t back down for a second. “A hell of an idea,” he repeated.
“I didn’t say it was a bad idea, I just had a few questions.”
“As well you should,” Garrett cut in, spreading his hands as if he were indeed pouring oil on troubled waters. “As well you should.”
“Didn’t you sell off twenty acres awhile back to the Laughing Horse reservation?” Adam zeroed in on Wayne.
“That’s right. They needed it for a hotel and spa.”
“And a casino.”
“Maybe,” Wayne agreed.
“But it won’t have any bearing on the rest of the land?” Adam wasn’t convinced.
“That’s right,” Garrett answered. He leaned forward and impaled his firstborn grandson with his own hard glare.
“Even if it did, we could work things out through the county,” Brandon Harper, the second of Larry’s sons, thought out loud. He stuck two fingers under his collar and loosened his tie. An investment banker who’d made his fortune on his own, he was used to dealing with property disputes and seemed to relish any kind of battle, be it legal or otherwise. Blue eyes, so much like his grandfather’s, held Adam’s. He didn’t flinch. “It’s not a problem,” he said with authority.
Adam wasn’t about to back down. Underlying currents of tension snapped in the air. Every man in the room had his own personal ax to grind and grind it he would.
“I think Brandon’s right.” Garrett took charge again. Though the least volatile of any man at the table, he was a force to be reckoned with. “Besides, I didn’t call you together to hassle over the legalities of what I’m doing. I just wanted to start us out together, on the same page. Now, Gina here is convinced that there’s another boy out there somewhere, a young one, still a baby.”
“A boy Larry fathered?” Brandon asked, tossing back a hank of black hair that fell over his eyes.
“Yes.” Garrett sighed and tapped his knuckles on the table. “Unless that notation in his journal’s a fake. You all saw it there, in the box.” He moved his gaze from one grandson to the next. “Now, I’d suggest we all have lunch and get to know each other. I believe Rand and Suzanne have things ready on the back porch.”
He scraped his chair back and the others did the same. A few men tried to make small talk. Mitch and Cade were the most outgoing. Blake tried to draw Brandon into conversation while Adam kept to himself and Trent shot Gina a look that reminded her of their encounter in the bathroom. Her skin flushed, but she ignored it and muttered as she passed him, “I think it would be a good idea if you tried to connect with your brothers.”
“Half brothers.” Scowling, he fell into step with Gina and sighed. “The old man’s a fool, you know. All this idealistic, maudlin crap. He feels guilty because his son was a first-class jerk, but that doesn’t mean any of us will ever get along or want to have anything to do with each other.”
The caustic sound of his words scraped her raw. “It wouldn’t hurt you to try, Trent,” she said, coming to Garrett’s defense swiftly. Pivoting to face him, she poked a finger at the middle of his chest. “And while I’m giving advice, why don’t you lose the attitude, okay?” Her voice escalated passionately. “You’re damned lucky to kn
ow your grandfather and no matter what Larry might have been, Garrett Kincaid is one extremely earnest, decent, hardworking and fair man. Things could be worse. A lot worse. Think about it!”
With that, she marched out of the dining room, not giving one damn who had heard her outburst. Trent Remmington was the most irritating, exciting, passionate man she’d ever met in her life, but she wasn’t going to listen to anyone second-guess Garrett’s intentions. And if Adam Benson or any of the other half brothers opened his mouth against Garrett, he’d get a piece of her mind, as well.
Still steaming, she walked through the French doors to a back porch where the afternoon temperature was already climbing. Country music was playing softly from a radio propped on the windowsill. A long picnic table had been covered with a plaid cloth anchored by platters and serving dishes steaming in the shade of the porch’s overhang. Suzanne and Rand were smiling as they met Larry’s sons. A pretty woman Gina recognized as Janie, a waitress from the Hip Hop Café helped the half brothers load their plates while a weak breeze turned the leaves of the cottonwoods standing guard near the fence line.
The tangy scent of barbecued chicken vied with the aromas of baked beans and garlic bread. Gina’s stomach rumbled softly, yet she didn’t think she could swallow a single bite. A barrel of ice held soft drinks and bottles of beer, while a coffee urn stood ready at one end of the picnic table. Yellow jackets had already begun buzzing near the overflowing platters, and the dog, ever vigilant, lay just at the edge of the porch, head in his paws, brown eyes bright and expectant as he hoped for a tidbit tossed his way or a scrap to fall to the floor.
“Danged bees,” Garrett rumbled, swatting at a pesky yellow jacket that hovered near his head.
“They won’t each much,” Wayne said.
“They’d better not, or I’ll shoot ’em.” Rand winked at his wife who rolled her eyes.
“Behave, Rand Harding,” Suzanne teased. She glanced at Gina. “I swear sometimes I’m afraid to take him out in public.” She touched her husband’s chin. “You’d better mind your manners, or I won’t let you go to Leanne’s wedding.” As if she realized Gina might not understand, she scooped up a spoonful of beans and as she plopped them onto a plate added, “Leanne is Rand’s younger sister and she’s getting married soon. It wouldn’t do to have him show what a true bumpkin he is.”