by Vi Summers
My tender heart jumped when movement outside caught my attention. A shadowed figure headed across the yard with purpose, and I knew without having to guess that it was Brandon. I leaned forward to try and follow his movements, but he disappeared into the darkness with no torch. Less than a minute later, a white cat raced toward the house, followed soon after by Brandon.
He glanced up at my window and did a double-take. Although I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew he was studying what he saw; the lost girl huddled in the window box, hoping to find answers among the stars.
For those two beats, I was stripped bare and exposed, yet comforted by the fact Brandon took a moment to pause, almost as if silently asking if I was okay. With a dip of his head, he disappeared from view under the porch veranda.
Despite the season recently changing into spring, there was still a noticeable chill in the air. To combat the cool bite, I pulled a thick blanket off the foot of my bed, slung it around my shoulders, then resettled in the window box. The nook had a calming effect on me, and I remained there until my booty went numb and the house grew quiet.
Tiredness pulled in my bones. Bed was both a relief and something to dread. Relief for finally being able to lie down and sleep, but dreaded because sleep also brought on the new day. Yet another day lived as a felon.
Just like in my cell, when I settled into bed, I was unable to find sleep. My mind wouldn’t stop, and my thoughts wouldn’t quieten. Today seemed like a dream. So much had changed since I woke up this morning. Being processed and released from prison was an anticlimax. There were no goodbyes, no well-wishes, just the sound of the barred doors locking back into place as I crossed over the threshold between being a detainee and an almost free woman.
Completing the paperwork had taken no more than five minutes, then I was led from the front door straight into Sheriff Wilson’s patrol car. The memory of fifteen seconds of freedom with no fences penning me in was powerful enough to make me want to cry all over again.
I groaned and glanced at the bedside alarm clock where the red luminescent numbers screamed 1:56AM.
With a sigh, I threw back the bedcovers and re-wrapped the soft, oversized blanket around my shoulders. As quietly as I could, I padded downstairs and eased the front door open. I rose onto tip toes when my feet met the chill of the wooden porch and made my way to the swinging bench hanging at the far end of the veranda.
There, everything about the night engulfed me. The darkness, the freshness in the air, the sounds from unseen movements beyond the shadow line. I folded my legs and tucked the blanket around me, huddling into the enveloping warmth. I wasn’t used to country living. While I sought solitude, the lack of streetlights allowed trickles of fear to pinprick down the back of my neck.
A flash of white along the outskirts of the shadows made my pulse painfully spike. I tried to bite back the unease by reminding myself that ghosts weren’t real—not the ones outside of my mind, at least.
A meow came from out of sight, and I relaxed marginally when the cat finally showed himself.
“Chevy,” I called quietly and clicked my fingers.
He ran up the steps, then stopped out of arm’s reach, flicking his tail from side-to-side. He was a large and completely white feline, aside from the black smudge of dark fur on his chest in the shape of a Chevrolet emblem.
“Chevy,” I cooed again.
The cat’s ears twitched to and fro. He made a couple of snappy meows in reply before deciding I wasn’t as interesting as he first thought. Both Chevy and my attention snapped toward the house door when it quietly swung open. Brandon emerged with ruffled hair and wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.
“Thought I’d heard you out here,” he murmured as he made his way over to me.
My eyes quickly scanned the length of his torso. His natural swagger seemed to emphasize the expanse of his chest and shoulders. Even when relaxed, his arms were well-defined with muscle. A sprinkling of hair wove from the base of his throat, down his chest, then disappeared under the top of his jeans, and I noted that the cold porch boards didn’t seem to be a bother for his bare feet.
“Can I sit?”
I flicked the blanket open and shuffled sideways. “Sure.”
Brandon sat, then casually draped the blanket over his lap. Although we both remained silent, unspoken tension filled the night air. Each subtle shift of his body washed over my senses like ripples on a lake. When he spoke, the gravity of concern in his voice resonated deep, and that compassion shortened my breath.
“Are you okay, Louisiana?”
I pursed my lips and focused on the dark silhouette of the barn outlined against the starry sky.
“I will be,” I whispered.
Brandon nervously rubbed the tops of his thighs. His tanned forearm accidentally brushed mine and created little zings across my exposed skin.
“If you’re uncomfortable with me or Jake, I can ask the sheriff to have you removed from the program, no questions asked.”
His business-like manner was at odds with his caring tone. While I was mildly offended, I understood we were both figuring things out.
“Why did you agree to a woman?”
Brandon stiffened and turned his head my way. “Why not? I’m not a traditionalist that thinks ranching is just a man’s work, darlin’.”
“Louisiana,” I replied.
He coughed to hide a chuckle, but didn’t correct himself.
“Brandon?” I started, then shifted my focus from the stars to find him watching me intently. “How much do you know about me?”
His mouth twitched as he carefully considered my question. “I know the circumstances of your case, and that you were incarcerated for eleven months without bail.”
“Do you think I did it maliciously?”
Brandon tilted his head. “That’s not for me to speculate on, Louisiana. However, I’d put a confident bet on the fact that most parolees who come here are indeed guilty as charged.”
My voice barbed. “So, why do you open your home up to convicted felons?”
Sure, he was a kind-hearted guy, but I was still skeptical about his motives.
He swiped a hand over his mouth and chin, then let out a heavy sigh. “I believe in second-chances, darlin’. And I know I’m not meant to be calling you darlin’, but it’s a habit.”
A shrug, then a cheeky flash of his grin made my stomach flip.
The peaceful night created a pull between us, and just for the briefest moment, I wasn’t a felon bound by a contract for getting released early on good behavior.
My eyes dropped to Brandon’s lips when he licked the lower one, and despite the trickle of need that began to weave through me, I tore my attention away and stared into the night again before I did something we would both regret.
Chapter 8
Brandon
The look on Louisiana’s face broke my heart. I could see the thoughts play out over her face—the night doing little to disguise her despair. She was hurtin’ being out here.
Her case file had been comprehensive and contained information I wouldn’t discuss until Louisiana broached the subject herself. I’d read enough to know she wouldn’t open up about her biggest heartache until she trusted me. And until then, I would respect her privacy. But still, her heavy sigh and the way her mouth trembled when she thought I couldn’t see it… Christ, it made my chest burn.
It took a whole lot of willpower not to enter her room earlier tonight when I saw her staring out of the window. My steps had faltered, and I found myself gazing up at her, transfixed by both her beauty and her sorrow.
“Brandon?”
I turned to my whispered name. “Yeah, Louisiana?”
“I never said thank you, for giving me this opportunity. It means so much…”
“I know, darlin’.”
Her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind my words. I subtly held my breath, willing her not to do what I thought she was going to. After a quirk of her
lips, she stood abruptly.
“I think I’m ready to head back to bed.”
Swallowing down the tension that built in my throat, I rose with her and held the house door open. I followed her blanket-shrouded form as she climbed the stairs, then looked up when she paused at her bedroom.
“Goodnight, Brandon.”
“Goodnight, Louisiana. Sleep well.”
She wordlessly edged the door closed, leaving me standing on the landing worrying about her.
Sleep wouldn’t come while Louisiana consumed my head. From one moment to the next, I fluctuated between trying to keep a hold of her lingering scent and warmth from her sitting close outside, then cursing myself for finding my thoughts wandering in her direction more than strictly necessary. It crossed too many boundaries to be wondering if her eyes were open or closed, or what position she slept in. Or hell—what she was wearing.
With a frustrated groan, I rolled and buried my head under the pillow. Surely Louisiana wouldn’t be as alluring in the morning…
. . .
“Mornin’ boss,” Jake grumbled as he entered the kitchen, just after dawn as per usual. “Sleep well?”
I scoffed and shoved another forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth. “At a guess, I got a solid four hours.”
Surprise lifted his brows, and he kept one cocked. “What the fuck were you doin’ all night?”
Setting my fork down, I lightly massaged my temples. “I heard Louisiana go outside at two, so I followed.” I grimaced at how creepy that sounded.
Jake sniggered and shook his head while pouring a coffee. “So much for bein’ chill.”
I glared while chewing down the last of my breakfast. It wasn’t like me to get riled up over some gentle ribbing, but Christ, Jake was irritating me like sand in an asscrack. I all but tossed my plate and cutlery into the dishwasher, then left him to eat while I let the dogs out.
The closed curtains of Louisiana’s bedroom window taunted me and dared me to take a second glance as I passed. Resisting the urge, I kept my eyes forward to deliberately avoid hoping to catch a glimpse of her pretty face peering down at me again. She was probably still asleep anyway—at least, I hoped she was, because we had a big day ahead of us and she was going to need all the energy she could get; I planned to get her in the saddle, and I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be an easy task.
When I got back to the house, I found Jake casually leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to Louisiana.
While I mentally tsked at her wearing the itty-bitty shorts again, I tried to hide the amused smirk that wove itself onto my mouth. I was positive I hadn’t encountered the ‘real’ Louisiana yet—aside from her telling me not to call her Ma’am, she hadn’t given me much attitude. Today would test that theory.
“End up sleepin’ okay?” I asked, composing myself.
“It was okay,” she replied. The bags under her eyes told me otherwise. “So, what’s the plan for today?”
Jake sniggered into his mug, already knowing what lay ahead. I gave him a quick glare, then softened my expression on the pretty blonde.
“This mornin’ Rory is taking you into town to go shopping.”
Louisiana’s curiosity piqued. “For just the morning?”
Jake weighed in. “One mornin’ with Rory is all you need, jailbird. Trust me. I’ve been shopping with her before and one mornin’ was enough to leave me cowering.”
Full-bodied laughter filled the kitchen, and true happiness briefly made Louisiana’s blue eyes come to life.
“Surely she can’t be that bad.”
I shrugged. She really could be, but I didn’t want to put Louisiana off my sister before she met her.
“Power-shopping is her specialty. Mostly because she hates shopping,” I explained.
Louisiana’s eyes narrowed, and she squared her shoulders. “I still don’t think I need new clothes.”
Jake chuckled and threw up his hands. “I’ll leave you to deal with this, boss.” He smirked on his way past, knowing he was skipping out on a pending argument.
His departure heightened my awareness of the gorgeous woman standing in my kitchen, scantily clad and looking at me with eyes that saw into my soul.
Christ, I internally cursed, then took a steeling breath.
“Louisiana, you can argue until you’re blue in the face, but I’m telling you now, darlin’, you’ll be needing jeans and boots before the day’s out.”
She jutted out her chin. “And I’m telling you, I won’t.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Humor me.”
“Fine,” Louisiana exclaimed. “I’ll humor you just to get you off my back.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
The fire in her gaze lit a little somethin’ inside of me, and I lowered my head to look at her from under my brows.
Frustration was at odds with my amusement. I liked a challenge. Need burst to life in the pit of my stomach, sending me into a war between my morals and my desire to get a little filthy with her.
Visions of the tender skin of her inner thigh rubbing against the saddle caused my throat, and jeans, to grow tight. The thought morphed into what it would be like nestled between her legs, tasting her, feeling her writhe under my weight, inhaling each gasp as it left her parted lips.
I’d had my respectable share of women, but never before had I been dry-mouthed with greed for one, nor brazen enough to let those thoughts show.
Louisiana’s elevated breathing brought back my awareness, and I almost staggered from the lust in her eyes. The sexual tension was unignorable. I knew she felt it; looks like the one in her eyes didn’t lie.
“Fuck,” I hissed and ran a hand over my face. “Louisiana, I’m-”
“It’s okay,” she said, breathy enough to almost crack my composure all over again. “How long have we got?”
My jaw hit the floor. “Pard’n?”
A flush washed over her cheeks when she realized that her question sounded like a very tempting proposition. “Oh.” The nervous tinkle of her laughter flowed around me before she hastily explained. “I meant, how long have I got before Rory arrives?”
I coughed away my embarrassment over the misunderstanding and flicked my wristwatch. “Half an hour or so. She’ll bring you back at lunchtime and this afternoon you’ll get stuck into what I showed you yesterday. Also, I’d like to get you in the saddle.”
Louisiana balked. “I told you yesterday, that ain’t happening.”
And here we were, back to facing-off. “And I told you yesterday, that it was. You know what?” I added with a wave of my hand. “It’s semantics that I don’t have time for.”
Coffee in hand, Louisiana wordlessly pushed past and strode from the room. Moments later, her heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs as she headed for her room.
Cursing myself all over again, I slapped my Stetson on my head and headed out into the yard. Jake’s smirk met me in the barn.
“You’re lookin’ a little ruffled, boss.”
“Shut the hell up.” With a growl, I dragged a hand over my face. “I don’t know where my head’s at, ya know?”
He let out a burst of deep laughter. “It’s down south, brother.”
Flipping him off, I opened the second barn door and hooked it back. “She’s sure as hell got me confused.”
Jake shook his head and hummed. “Bitches be, Bran. Bitches be.”
“That literally explains nothing.”
He gave me a wry look and smirked. “Yet everything.”
What was up with everyone today?
When I heard the distinct sound of tires on gravel, I only hoped that Rory would bring some sense of normality with her.
Sure enough, I exited the barn to see her drive into the yard at an excessive speed, then slam on the brakes. As a result, a large dust cloud engulfed the front porch—no doubt sending particles streaming through the screen door to settle across all the surfaces of my lounge and hallway—again. I marched towa
rd my sister with my teeth clenched and fists balled at my sides.
“Morning brother,” Rory sang as she stepped from her pickup.
“Rory, how many times! You have no idea of the amount of dust that kicks up and sends inside.”
A sinister grin broke out on her face. “Don’t I?”
Grumbling under my breath and choosing to otherwise ignore the taunt, I leaned my ass against her truck bumper and brought her up to speed.
“Make sure she gets some damn boots, jeans, and shirts. Nothin’ skimpy,” I emphasized, as flashbacks of Louisiana’s smooth thighs ruthlessly sprang to mind.
Rory’s attention flicked up and over my shoulder, then filled with curiosity. I resisted the urge to turn and follow my sister’s line of sight, already knowing exactly what she was eyeballing. Or whom.
“She’s watching, ain’t she?”
“Yup.” Rory’s hazel eyes flicked to mine. “She’s pretty, Bran.”
My pulse jumped uncontrollably while I tried to appear nonchalant. “Ya reckon?”
“Blonde…” Rory mused out loud. “Good thing those aren’t your type, ay, big brother.” Her light laughter caused me to duck my head and inspect the toes of my boots, just in case my expression gave away the secret.
“Oh, I think she’s coming down! I’ve been lookin’ forward to meeting her. Louisiana, isn’t it?”
I spun and followed my sister, hurrying up the front steps. “It is. And just calm your rush, will ya.”
As per usual, my sister pulled open the screen door with an excessive force that sent it slamming against the external cladding.
“Jesus, Rory. Stop bein’ so goddamn rough!”
“Rough?” Her brows scrunched in the middle. “I wasn’t bein’ rough—I’m excited!”
Muttering under my breath again and removing my hat, my back snapped ramrod straight when Louisiana’s long, bare legs appeared through the banister of the stairs.