by J. M. Madden
Consumed with her own inner turmoil, she didn't realize that Brock hadn't moved until her gaze connected to his.
"It really is good to see you, Payton. I know it's only been about a couple weeks since you helped out on the round up, but it seems longer. What have you been doing?"
She blinked at the warmth in his eyes and looked away quickly. "Well, you know. Working, mostly. Same as always. Helping Cheyenne with the girls when I can."
"Are you dating?"
She blinked, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. That had come completely out of left field. Brock was looking down at his omelet, so she couldn't really get a feel for his emotions.
"Yes," she admitted. "I date."
His stunning eyes flicked up to look at her. "Seriously?"
She frowned, wondering why he was asking. "Seriously enough, I guess. One guy works with Sheridan Lane. He's a deputy and asked me out a few times, but it's more friendly than anything."
Brock held up a hand, cutting her off. "Wait, one? How many men are you dating at a time?"
She shrugged. "Just a couple, but it's not like we're going out every night. Just every few weeks or months, if we have something social to go to."
"Which deputy?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if she should even tell him. For that matter, why was he so interested? If she told him, and he knew the guy, he wouldn't be happy. Morgan didn't have the greatest dating record.
"Morgan Hampton."
As expected, Brock's face darkened, making him look fierce. The dark stubble on his normally clean-shaven jaw helped that too.
"Hampton is a womanizer. You need to stay way the fuck away from him."
She leaned back, shocked at his vehemence. More than once she'd had to defend her buddy Morgan, but she didn't think Brock would even hear her. He looked to be pretty mad.
"And how about the other guy," he snapped. "Anyone I know?"
Had his voice deepened? What the hell was going on?
"No, you don't know him. He's a professor at the college in Austin."
This time he scowled at her. "You're dating your professor from college?"
"Brock, how old do you think I am?" she cocked her head, curious to hear his answer.
His eyes flicked down her body then back up. "I don't know. Twenty-three or four. No, twenty-five."
She shook her head, amazed at his density. "I'm thirty-two, two years younger than Cheyenne. I haven't been in college for like, ten years. If I am dating a professor, I think I'm okay. I'm not a child anymore."
Blinking slowly, his gaze wandered down her body again, this time lingering a little at her breasts. "I know you're not a child, Payton."
Those words made her shiver. Peyton had never felt anything like it before and she probably wouldn't again. She didn't appreciate his patronizing attitude, though. She'd taken his brushoffs for years and never said a word. What would he do if she hit on him?
Her heart raced as she thought about leaning in for a kiss, or to stroke a finger down his incredibly ripped physique. Oh, damn. His incredibly bruised physique. Great paramedic she was, not even noticing the painful-looking injury.
Tentatively she reached out to stroke her fingers over the heavy purple coloring on his side, checking for heat. He hissed in a breath, but when she looked at his face she didn't think it was because she'd hurt him. There was an awareness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. And it made something throb deep in her body.
When he reached out to brush her hair away from her face, Payton didn't dare move. She was too scared it would make him stop what he was doing. If he kissed her on the forehead like a child again though, she was going to string Brock Lowell up by his balls.
The iris of his eyes darkened and he started to pull away, but she didn't let him. Covering his hand with her own, she turned her lips into his palm, pressing a kiss there.
Brock swallowed, the heavy Adam's apple in his throat bobbing. "I thought you were dating?"
"I am," she confirmed.
"I don't know if I'm dating material," he told her softly.
She lifted a challenging brow at him. "Are you kissing material?"
Without a word, he pushed to his feet in front of her. "I'm damn well kissin' material, but I don't know if I should be kissin' you. You're my sister's best friend. And I’m not such a great guy, Payton."
Without letting him think about it too much, she reached up to cup his neck in her hand and pull him down. Brock didn't fight her hold, but he didn't take control either. He let her do the leading, which was totally fine with Payton.
Years ago, when he'd kissed her in the bar, she hadn't had a chance to prepare herself. Now, after thinking about that incident for so long, she'd vowed to herself that if she ever had the chance to do it again, she would make every effort to remember everything about it—his smell, his taste, the emotions it evoked in her.
All of that analytical thinking flew out of her head the moment he rested his lips on hers. Excitement and nervousness made her heart race, but it was a good feeling. It made her feel vital and supremely womanly. The blood in her body headed to places that hadn't had attention in a very long time. And the same thing seemed to be happening to him. The towel still held, but something was changing behind the terrycloth. Deliberately, she leaned into his strong body, wanting to feel every one of those hard-wrought muscles against her.
Brock groaned, his mouth opening wide to kiss her deeply. His tongue glided along her own, and she was amazed that she remembered the taste of him. That tiny little kiss he'd given her years ago may not have left much of an impact on him, as far as she knew, but as soon as she tasted him now—oh, yes, she remembered. The taste of him had haunted her for months, waking her in the depths of the night with the sheets twisted around her and her breasts peaked with arousal. The memory had eventually worn away, but it flared into brilliant relief now.
She gasped as one hand drifted down to cup her side, pulling her tighter against him. There was no missing the erection straining into her hip now. It was hard and unyielding, and she wanted to strip away the towel to look at him. Even better, she wanted to tug him to her bed and have him scratch the itch he'd given her so long ago.
Arching into him, she let him know beyond a doubt that she was interested, but instead he jerked away, panting. His ocean colored irises were almost completely swallowed by his pupils, he was so aroused.
But his jaw firmed as he stepped away.
"No," he ground out. "This is not happening."
Payton was shocked. Things had been happening pretty damn near perfectly and he'd just jerked everything to a screeching halt. What the hell?
"Why?"
"It's just not… dammit! I respect you too much to sleep with you. You need to get over this crush you have. I know I can be a dick, but I refuse to alienate the only sibling that still talks to me by sleeping with you."
Without another word, he gripped the straining towel and walked out of the house.
Payton collapsed to the chair, wondering what the hell they were going to do. She’d crushed on him long enough. She needed to resolve this situation one way or the other. The taste and need for him had haunted her for years and it was time to be done with it.
But honestly, was it still just a crush? Maybe it had started out that way, but it had morphed into something so much stronger over the years.
No man ever measured up to Brock Lowell. They needed to commit to something, or be done all together. Either way she could be done with daydreaming about him.
Chapter 4
Brock's legs carried him out to the porch steps, but no further. Collapsing to the top riser, he gripped the towel in his right fist even harder. Wouldn't do to show the world all his glory now, especially when his body wasn’t showing much constraint. Fuck it was hard, though… no pun intended, he snorted.
Payton Hanniford had always held a forbidden appeal for him. And that's all she could be. She was the definition of off limits fo
r him and all that much more tempting than any other women he'd ever hooked up with. She had a level-headedness to her that he appreciated, and a natural confidence that drew him to her.
Yes, he was flattered that she had a crush on him, and a time or two he'd contemplated hooking up with her. Honestly, though, if he slept with her there would be hell to pay from Cheyenne, as well as the rest of the family. They all looked upon Payton as one of the family for a long time, since she, Chad and Cheyenne had been in middle school. And he’d been around the block a few times too many. There were only so many eligible women in Honeywell.
Family BBQs, holiday vacations, weekends, she'd always been there for Cheyenne. She still was. Occasionally Cheyenne could get their folks to watch her three girls and Payton would take her out for something fun, usually along with their friends Katie and Rebecca and Tansy.
She'd always been a kind woman like that, not letting Cheyenne deal with her troubles alone.
So there was no way he was going to risk that relationship with a quick roll in the hay. Fuck that. It was not happening. He respected Payton too much to even think about adding her to his collection of former bedmates.
Morgan Hampton was not the guy for her either, though. The thought that Hampton had had his hands on her, or his lips—fuck!—did not make him happy at all. Morgan was a user. Even on the Blue Star he'd heard stories of the good-looking deputy working his way through the women of the town. If Brock heard a story like that with Payton attached to it, he would be livid, and badge or no badge he'd have to kick Hampton's ass. And, looking at it from Morgan’s point of view, he would probably feel the same if Brock slept with her.
What a potentially drama-filled emotional minefield this was.
Payton left him alone as he air dried on the porch, waiting for his clothes to be done. They probably could have dried just as quickly out here in the heat, but he didn't want to go back in until he absolutely needed to. Slouching back against the post of the porch, he watched the horses in the field as he waited for his body and anger to ease.
He'd been out there the better part of forty minutes when she came through the exterior door, his clothes on her arm. Brock watched her face, but her expression didn't tell him anything. Her eyes connected with his once, before darting away, her skin flushing pink. "As soon as you're dressed, I'll drive you over to the Blue Star. Then you can have someone else drive you across town to your truck."
Brock frowned, wondering why her voice sounded so cold. Was she pissed that he'd bitched about Hampton? Was she more involved with him than she wanted to let on?
She disappeared back inside the house, obviously giving him time to dress. He looked out at the road. No one had passed the entire time he'd been here, so he prayed his luck would hold as he dropped the towel and reached for the athletic boxers and Wranglers.
A sharp wolf whistle pierced the air and he jerked his head around. Jackson Windwalker, the Blue Star foreman, sat astride his big paint just a few yards away, on the back side of Payton's lawn. He'd apparently let himself through the farm gate, crossed the field to her yard gate, and let himself through here as well. The property butted right up against theirs, and was actually easier to get to by crossing the open pastures than on the road.
Why was Jackson here?
Brock cleared his throat. "Hey, now Jackson, you're gonna make me blush."
The big man snorted as he pulled the horse to a stop a few feet away, hooked his knee over the saddle horn, then leaned his elbow down onto it. With one finger, he tipped his black hat up, but didn't look away as Brock scrambled into his clothes. They were bone dry and comfortable, if still a little too warm for the morning or maybe that was just the embarrassment he was feeling.
Brock fought the unmanly blush as he finished dressing. It was on the tip of his tongue to spout something off, but Jackson had been his friend and coworker for a long time. He'd seen a lot, and understood more. The man wouldn't say anything too out of line, even if he was grinning at Brock’s discomfort.
"Barb at the grocery called to say you looked a little worse for wear this morning, and she'd heard you'd spent the night in jail. She was nibbin', but I didn't say anything, just let her ramble. You know she'll call your mama though."
Brock sighed, knowing he spoke truth. "Yeah, I know, the old busybody. Why can't she leave us Lowells alone?"
Jackson chuckled. "Well, you're always gettin' into trouble. You make it easy for her."
Brock knew he was right, but it didn't make him any happier.
The mudroom door opened behind him and Payton stepped out, carrying his boots and hat. She looked completely collected, and smiled when she saw Jackson at the edge of her porch. "Hello, Jackson. Come looking for your wandering bull?"
Jackson chuckled. "Well, seems you found him for me."
Payton grinned, her bright eyes clear, and Brock looked between the two of them. They seemed friendly, but her look seemed especially warm. Or maybe it just seemed warm after the freezing look she'd given him.
"Payton, you mind if Brock takes Chico? I need for him to see something." Jackson motioned back the way he'd come.
"No, that's fine." She dropped Brock's boots near his feet and handed him his hat. "He's worn out his welcome anyway."
Brock scowled, wondering if she actually meant that. He shoved his hat on his head and his feet into the boots, refusing to wonder why that possibility didn't sit well with him.
"I appreciate your hospitality, Payton," he told her, "and the pick up from the jail."
"No problem, Brock."
Her eyes were narrowed against the sun, and he couldn't tell what she was thinking. With a tip of his hat, he turned toward the steps. "I can tack Chico up. And we'll get him back to you."
"I'm not worried about it. He needs the exercise. I'll ride over on Mineer and get him tomorrow. I'd like to check on your dad anyway."
Brock didn't say anything, just headed toward her barn. He found the saddle and bridle he knew the chestnut gelding normally wore and hauled them out to the field. All five of her horses crowded the gate, hoping for treats and attention. He glanced up from beneath his hat to see what Payton was doing. She had leaned against the post where he had been sitting and was now grinning up at Jackson, her arms folded beneath her lovely breasts. She tilted her head back, laughing at something and his gut clenched. She'd never laughed like that with him that he could remember.
Chico took the bit without a fuss and stood still for the saddle. As Brock led him through the gate, the other horses seemed to get anxious. Not giving them a chance to get too excited, he swung up into the saddle and urged Chico toward the yard gate. Once through it, he waited for Jackson to join him before taking off in a slow canter. Unable to help himself, he glanced back behind him to the house.
Not bothering to see them off, Payton had already gone back inside.
* * *
When they reached the edge of her property, Brock leaned down to open the farm gate that connected their properties, then left it for Jackson to close. "What did you want me to look at?"
Without a word, he headed toward the east. Brock thought they were heading to one of the range cabins, but he trotted the paint around the side, then up the bluff behind the building.
"I don't know if it was hunters or what, but I thought you should take a look at this."
At the very top of the bluff was an area where boots had mashed down the struggling grass. Against an outcropping of rocks was a place where a small fire had been lit. Not very big. Not enough to give away the person's location, but enough to warm them on these cool spring nights.
There was a depression to the side that looked like where a body had lain. And on the opposite side of the small flat spot was a tripod, set up against the trunk of a tree and in a position that looked out over the Blue Star Ranch. It was a pretty good spot for watching the comings and goings, but Brock was at a loss as to why it was there.
"You haven't seen anyone up this way?"
&nbs
p; Jackson shook his head. "I only came this way to look for a mama cow gone missing. When I got close enough, I saw the glint of sunlight on metal." He motioned to the tripod, a dark silver color. There was no device mounted to it, and no other materials in the camp other than the tripod itself. Apparently the person had thought that the tree itself would be enough camouflage.
"I wonder what they're looking for..." Brock thought on the problem for a few minutes before backing his horse away.
Jackson scattered some dirt to obscure their prints and backed away as well.
"No one's been in the cabin?"
"Not that I noticed."
They rode back down to the cabin, looking for any unfamiliar prints. But they didn't see anything.
"Let's mount a game camera up there and see what we can see. I don't appreciate people trespassing on our land."
Jackson nodded, and they turned the horses toward the main house.
It was a little anti-climactic getting back to their own place. Brock untacked Chico and tucked him into a comfy stall with snacks. If he didn't take care of Payton's horse, there would be hell to pay.
Brock started on his own work, but even as he began to sweat out the shit he'd drank the night before, his mind stayed on Payton. Quite simply, he didn't know what to do about her. For years there'd been some draw there, but he'd always convinced himself it was just affection for one of Cheyenne's friends. He didn't think he could do that any more. Something had changed drastically.
The taste of her lips had always haunted him, making him lick his own in remembrance when he thought of that kiss on her birthday, but over the years it had faded away.
Now after this morning he wanted to taste her again. And he wanted it bad.
And when the fuck had she grown up? For that matter, when had he gotten so old that the attentions of a younger woman turned him on? No, that wasn't it. He wasn't sure how old she'd been when he first recognized her as a woman. Probably that twenty-first birthday party.