Jo had been ready to skin all of them the next morning when they showed up bleary-eyed for chores.
Ah, Guff. He missed the old codger.
Cisco had been in southern Mexico posing as a particularly repugnant low-level arms dealer when Jo finally reached out through channels to tell him his foster father had died. Even though it just about compromised the whole investigation, he had scrambled like hell to make it back in time for the funeral.
He closed his eyes, remembering the sorrow of those days, as intense as when his own father had died.
And after.
He didn’t want to think about what happened after.
The house shifted and settled around him, its old bones creaking in the canyon winds.
This was a big house for one woman. Maybe Easton ought to think about leasing out the house and moving into the smaller foreman’s house where she had lived with her parents.
He shoved thoughts of her away. Couldn’t he go two seconds without her invading his mind, for heaven’s sake?
In the kitchen, he opened the cabinet where Jo always kept a few first aid supplies. He pushed past bandages and aspirin and a tube of liniment. No ibuprofen. He pushed aside a roll of antacids when he suddenly heard a sound behind him, a shush of footsteps, the whisper of someone inhaling.
For a millisecond, he froze, then without even thinking—just acting completely on instinct—he whirled with the first weapon he could reach, the big deboning knife from the cutlery holder on the counter.
In a mortifying instant, he realized his mistake. Easton stood in the doorway wearing low-slung sleep pants and a short-cropped T-shirt, her hair tangled around her face.
Her gaze narrowed on the knife in his hand. “So far you’ve pulled a gun and a knife on me. What’s next? Do you happen to have some C-4 in your pocket?”
He carefully set the knife back in the holder, angry at himself. “You’re safe now,” he said. From any weapons he might pull on her, anyway.
She walked into the kitchen and reached for a glass from the cabinet next to the sink. He tried not to notice how the thin material of her pajamas hugged her curves as she reached over her head.
After she filled her glass with water from the sink, she turned around, leaning a hip against the cabinet. “I’m curious about something.”
In the low light above the stove, he could almost see her nipples through the thin material of her T-shirt. He quickly blinked and shifted his gaze, aghast at himself for looking.
“What are you curious about?” How he was going to keep her from noticing the sudden stir of interest below his waistband?
“Do you ever sleep? I mean, when you’re living your life in whatever country you currently call home, doing whatever you do that you won’t talk about?”
“I sleep.”
“With a gun under your pillow and a knife at your side?”
Sometimes. And sometimes even those safeguards were still flimsy protection.
His best option was to ignore her questions, he decided. His sole objective these last few years when it came to Easton Springhill was to keep the ugliness of his life from oozing into hers.
“I came down looking for ibuprofen. You have any?”
She set down her water glass. In her eyes, he could see she knew quite well he was trying to distract her and had decided to let him.
“The pain pills Jake gave you aren’t cutting it?”
“Didn’t take any today,” he admitted. “I figured I’d start with vitamin I and see if I need anything stronger.”
She gave him a long look and he could tell she had plenty she wanted to say to him, but to his relief she finally shrugged and reached into a drawer. She tossed the bottle toward him and he caught it one-handed. By the time he unscrewed the top and popped some out, she had poured him another glass of water.
“Thanks.”
She raised an eyebrow at the four pills in his hand but made no comment.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said after he’d taken the pills. “I forgot about the squeaky step.”
She smiled a little at that and he was struck again by how lovely she was, how perfect she had felt in his arms.
“Sometimes I think Guff might have done something to the wood on that particular step when he was building the house, just as a precautionary alarm,” she said. “He caught me a few times in high school.”
“Why, Easton Springhill, you naughty thing. I had no idea. Where were you going?”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Not where you think. I was a good girl, unlike you boys. Usually I just needed a midnight ride.”
“Except for those times you snuck out to be with us.”
She made a rueful face. “Well, except for that. Do you remember that time I begged you guys to take me riding with you to Hidden Falls? I was maybe thirteen and my mom said I was getting too old for overnight trips with you guys. I was crushed.”
“I remember.” That was one of the times Guff hadn’t been as forgiving, after they sneaked Easton out of her house and left only a note for her mother letting her know when they would be back.
He could still remember the long lecture Guff had given them all, his stern reminder that East wasn’t a little girl anymore and like all young ladies, she needed to be treated with respect for her reputation.
“We were a bad influence on an innocent little girl, always dragging you into trouble of some kind or another.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And what’s changed?”
He thought of Belle sleeping upstairs and all the complications his presence here had caused for Easton.
“Your mom and dad should have locked you up the moment Jo and Guff brought Quinn onto the ranch. We really were a bad influence on you.”
She was quiet for a moment as the refrigerator compressor hummed to life. Finally, one corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “My life was far richer for the three of you. Brant and Quinn were the older brothers I always dreamed of and you were, well…” Her voice trailed off.
“I was what?” he asked, despite his instincts that were urging him to get the hell out of the kitchen right now, especially with his control teetering on a razor’s edge.
“Not a brother. I would think that’s obvious,” she murmured.
He let out a breath and stepped closer to her, ignoring the strident warning bell in his head. He couldn’t seem to help himself, driven by the low throb of desire that had been humming through him since she walked into the kitchen.
Her gaze flashed to his and her eyes widened. He saw awareness flicker there, saw her breath catch. She swallowed hard, her hand tightly clutching her water glass.
Not a good idea to act on lesser impulses when he was tired and hurting and not completely in control of himself. Better to just walk away now, before he caused even more trouble in her life.
He might have done just that, but then he thought he saw something deep in her eyes, a hunger there that matched his own.
“Cisco—”
Whatever she intended to say was lost, swallowed up by his mouth brushing against hers.
Heaven.
Her mouth was cool from the water glass and she tasted minty and sweet. Her breath caught between them and her skin smelled sleepy and sexy, of wildflowers and warm, luscious female.
During his darkest moments when he was so tangled in a job he couldn’t always figure out where his cover ended and he began, he would cling to the memory of Easton’s kisses, of those stolen moments in the shelter he and Quinn and Brant had built on the shore of Windy Lake.
The unexpected delight of having her in his arms, the vague sense of wonder to find her kissing him back. The desperate heat, underscored by their shared grief for her uncle, his foster father.
He remembered every moment of their time together five years ago. Each sigh, each gasp. The angle of her head as he touched her, the flutter of her hands curling into his shirt. The agonizingly sweet welcome of her body.
This, though, th
e sheer delicious reality of having her in his arms once more—of her heat and softness against his skin, of her mouth trembling beneath his—beat the echo of those memories all to hell.
He knew it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. In a moment, one or both of them would find a semblance of good sense and pull away. But for now, she was here in his arms and she was kissing him and the prowling restlessness inside him quieted.
She clung to him, her small, capable hands wrapped around his bare waist. He pressed her back against the edge of the kitchen table. Either those ibuprofen tablets were sheer magic or she was one powerful distraction because he forgot all about the aches and pains that had left him weak and miserable for the last two days.
All he could think about was Easton. When it came right down to it, she was the only thing in his life that mattered.
“Cisco.”
Just that. His name.
The sound of it was at once unbearably erotic and the harsh slap of reality he’d been half expecting.
He couldn’t do this. Not here, not with her.
Things were tense enough between them and had been for the last five years. He knew he was to blame. He lived with that knowledge, along with his memories. He was a bastard who had allowed his feelings to roar out of control five years ago, who had completely taken advantage of her vulnerability and their shared grief over Guff’s death.
She had been a virgin. Twenty-four years old and she’d never been with anyone else. He still hated himself for taking that from her and for the pitiful little part of him that still found a primitive, macho satisfaction in that.
Nothing had been the same since that fateful night. The next day, he had returned to the job, to slogging his way through the grime and the muck, a world away from Winder Ranch and Easton.
Three months later, a letter from Jo had been passed to him by his handler. He’d been recovering again, this time from the gunshot wound from that stupid little rebel soldier with the uncharacteristically accurate aim.
Jo had mentioned, almost in passing, that Easton was taking a job with a cattleman’s association in Denver and leaving Winder Ranch.
Because of him.
His foster mother hadn’t needed to spell it out for him to understand. Not that Jo knew anything. He sensed she might have suspected something had happened between them after Guff’s funeral, but she’d never outright asked him.
But he knew, even if Jo hadn’t, that Easton must have been so upset with him for taking advantage of her that she was willing to leave everything she loved, even the still-grieving Jo, so she wouldn’t have to see him again.
He had tried to stay away as long as he could, but eighteen months later he couldn’t avoid it. Quinn tracked him down to tell him he was throwing a surprise birthday party for Jo and if Cisco didn’t find a way to make it, Quinn would fly down to whatever hellhole he currently called home and drag him back by his scrawny little neck.
He had managed to squeeze out a few days to go home. By then, Easton had moved back to Winder Ranch, apparently finished with her short-lived thirst for adventure beyond Pine Gulch.
Cisco had been stunned by the differences in her. She had been quiet, pale. Had barely looked him in the eye.
In the three years since, little had changed. Her eyes still turned that murky blue when she looked at him, she still flinched whenever he touched her.
Except now. He frowned. This was a fluke, he told himself. She must be as tired as he was. That still didn’t make it a good idea.
Though it took every ounce of will, he forced himself to slide his mouth away and step back a pace.
Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him, though he couldn’t read her emotions in her eyes. She used to be so open, exuberant with happiness, tender-hearted toward anyone in need. Over the years, she had become adept at hiding herself away.
“If Quinn or Brant were here, they would probably warn you in their capacity as the protective big brothers you never had that you really ought to stay away from dark rooms in the middle of the night with men who aren’t fully in control of themselves. I’m sorry, Easton.”
After a long moment, her expression turned chilly and finally he could clearly read the emotion there—she was supremely pissed.
“Since they’re not here, I’m sure they would appreciate you stepping in with your wise advice. Next time, maybe you ought to think about pulling that out first instead of a carving knife or a .45.”
It was a 9 mm, but he decided this probably wasn’t the best time to correct her.
“I’m going back to bed,” she said.
“Don’t worry about Belle in the morning. I should be able to handle things from here on out. Thank you for everything you’ve done the last few days.”
She gave him another cool look, then turned from the kitchen, leaving him alone with his guilt and his memories.
Chapter Five
Few things could match the sheer breathtaking beauty of a Cold Creek morning in late spring.
The sun hadn’t come up yet, though the mountains to the east wore a pale blue rim. The predawn air was cool but not cold enough for frost. Here in the mountains above the ranch, everything smelled sweet and pure, a delicious mix of sage and pine and new springtime growth. Add to that the distinctive scents of leather tack and horse and she was in heaven.
Jack, her best cow dog, ran ahead on the trail, sniffing at squirrel scents or bugs or who knew what else.
She loved these morning rides, even with this little twinge of guilt that had settled on her shoulders.
She didn’t really have time for a pleasure ride this morning. Despite Cisco’s last words to her the night before, she knew Belle would be waking soon and she wasn’t sure she felt comfortable leaving her with a man who had been out of his head twenty-four hours ago with fever.
On the other hand, he had somehow summoned enough energy to kiss her senseless, so he was right that he could probably handle the baby for a while.
This was ranch business anyway, she told herself. Burt had e-mailed her—his new favorite form of communication since his daughter bought him a netbook for Christmas—that the creek was running high up on one of the high pastures and he was worried about it flooding the nearby hay shed.
She thought she might be able to sneak away to check out the situation and return to the ranch before the baby even awoke.
Besides, it wasn’t as if she could sleep anyway, not after her encounter with Cisco in the kitchen. She sighed and tried to push the memory away. Better to focus on the beauty of the morning, of the strong horse beneath her and her dog’s happy snuffling.
The mountains around the ranch gave peace to her spirit. They always had. When she had come back to Pine Gulch and Winder Ranch five years ago, she had been lost, scoured raw with grief. The depth of her pain seemed unfathomable, so vast and all-encompassing she had been certain it would pull her under.
She hadn’t told anyone, not even Jo, though she was almost certain her aunt had suspected something about what had happened in the year since Uncle Guff died. Jo had welcomed her back to Winder Ranch without asking questions. Easton had always adored her aunt, but Jo’s gentle love, her unfailing acceptance, during that time had been exactly what she needed.
Easton had thrown herself into running the ranch, learning all she could in preparation for taking over for Jo one day.
She had soaked in all the advice her aunt had to offer, every bit of guidance from Burt, even the half-joking tips from the old codgers who hung out at the café in town shooting the shinola, as Guff used to say.
And then only a year after her return, Jo had first been diagnosed with cancer and Easton’s thirst for ranch knowledge had become insatiable.
For the next three years as Jo fought her illness, more of the responsibility for the ranch had fallen on Easton. She hadn’t minded. She loved the land, the changing seasons, the thrill and the challenge of it.
No matter what she was going through, she had turned to the mou
ntains when her spirit was troubled or worn down.
Like now. Coming to check on the hay shed had only been an excuse. She could have done it later in the day or even tomorrow since Burt had assured her the creek had a few days before it crested. She also could have taken a pickup and driven on the dirt road on the other side of the foothill, which would have made for a much shorter excursion.
She had other reasons for wanting to be on Lucky Star instead of a pickup. She needed the comfort and routine she found on horseback and she had to admit, it was working. She certainly felt better now than she had since the early hours of the morning when she had left Cisco’s arms.
She almost thought she might be able to make it through the rest of the day with him there at the ranch house.
“Almost,” she said aloud, and Lucky’s ears flickered.
Jack yapped agreement and Easton smiled as the first rays of the sun peeked over the mountain.
After checking out the flooding situation, she paused a moment to appreciate the morning, then decided she had dawdled enough. She turned her horse around and was heading down the hill toward the ranch house when the jittery bleat of her cell phone shattered the quiet morning peace.
Jack barked in response, while Easton fumbled in her pocket of her denim jacket for two more rings before her fingers finally closed around the dratted thing. She assumed Burt was trying to reach her to make a decision about something, but to her considerable surprise, the number on the caller ID display was someone else entirely.
“Mimi!” she exclaimed when she answered the call. “What are you doing up so early? I can’t imagine the sun is even up in L.A.! It’s barely daylight here.”
Mimi van Hoyt Western—spoiled society heiress, adoring wife, mother of one of the most darling little girls on the planet, and one of Easton’s closest friends—gave a rueful chuckle. “Brant had to report at 0500 for a training mission, so of course Abby and I had to wake up to see him off. Well, I woke up to see him off and Abby woke up because she’s teething. As a bonus, she got to say bye to her daddy.”
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