When they reached Ketra’s porch, Rocky turned for his house and Brooks continued to the barn. Without thinking, she scanned her porch for Trevor, her shoulders sagged when she did not see him sitting on her swing, or leaning against the railing. As she unlocked the front door, another wave of loneliness washed over her. Why are you disappointed that he isn’t waiting for you? You should be thankful.
She stripped out of her dusty clothes and relaxed beneath the hot water from the showerhead. She donned denim jeans and a soft periwinkle sweater that hugged her curves with their worn comfort. She decided against drying her hair since her stomach demanded food. Instead she blotted the unruly mass with a thick towel and dragged a comb through the tangles. After pulling on a pair of socks and her boots, she locked the door and trudged through the light rain to Rocky’s house.
She rapped twice on Rocky’s door before turning the knob to let herself in. Without warning, the door flew open and she slammed into a cotton wrapped granite boulder, which turned out to be Trevor’s chest, a chest that smelled like rain and soap and…man.
“Sorry.” He steadied her. “I wasn’t expecting you to open the door.”
“I thought everyone was gone.” She swatted at him. “Let go of me.”
He put his hands in the air. “Excuse me. Next time I’ll just let you fall on your pretty little face.”
Ketra backed away, swallowing hard at how magnificent he looked in snug faded jeans and a black torso and arm-hugging t-shirt. Quite an improvement from the long-sleeved button-down shirts he always wore. Shirts that hid super toned arms and extra tight abs. Her eyes feasted on him, with open mouth no less. This is no ordinary cowboy!
She cleared her throat, chiding herself for being curious and attracted. Unable to reign in her immodest thoughts, she hurried into the kitchen, hoping he hadn’t noticed her flushed face. Or the drool puddling at the corners of her mouth.
“Want a beer?” Rocky asked her.
“Sure.” She cringed at how breathless she sounded. Chancing another quick peek at Trevor, her flush deepened when he smiled. He glanced over the top of her head and suddenly appeared a bit befuddled. She turned her head the other way in time to catch Rocky’s frown.
“Did I miss something?” Rocky asked.
“What?” Ketra asked.
“No.” Trevor said at the same time.
“I’ll get that beer.” Ketra headed to the refrigerator for a long-necked bottle. With slow, deliberate actions, she removed the cap and dropped the opener back in the drawer next to the sink before turning around. Rocky took the roast from the oven.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Nope. Trevor already set the table, so we can all sit down and eat.”
Rocky put the meat on the table. Ketra sat. Trevor sat opposite her. Following a brief word of thanks to the Lord, they dished up the aromatic fare.
Ketra forked a baked potato onto her plate and handed the bowl to Trevor. When his fingers brushed against hers, she yanked them free and folded her hands in her lap.
Rocky beheld the exchange with wide eyes but said nothing.
After an awkward silence, Rocky said, “We need to roll out of here at first light. Lee and Stucky will travel the whole way up with us. Clint and Milo will meet us up the hill a ways. Silas will follow with the supply truck to the midday meeting point, then head over to the lake and set up camp. There’s an old logging road that should be passable enough for the truck. Briggs will stay with him until Saturday morning then he’ll join the rest of us to finish driving the herd down there.
“I’ll bring my truck and trailer back down tomorrow after we unload the horses. Silas will head back here after breakfast Saturday. Everyone should be back before dark Saturday.”
“Sounds good to me,” Trevor said between bites of roast beef and baked potatoes. “Does it normally only take a couple of days to round them all up?”
Ketra couldn’t stop staring at Trevor’s torso and shoulders. She reminded herself, several times, to focus on the delicious hunk of meat on her plate instead of the delicious hunk of manflesh sitting across the table from her.
“Most of the first morning is spent finding the hiding spots,” Rocky explained. “They stick together for the most part. It’s easy once we find their hidey holes. Lee was up there last week and found a couple of valleys with what appeared to be most of the herd. I expect you’ll have them all moving down around noon tomorrow. Once they’re all together they’ll stay bunched unless there’s a bad storm or something spooks them. Coyotes and cats won’t come near the whole herd, but they will attack the loners, so try to keep them tight.”
Silverware clinked against porcelain dishes. Even though the enticing smells of roasted beef and apple pie filled her nostrils, Ketra couldn’t manage more than pushing her food around on her plate. She wondered if anyone else noticed how hot the room had grown. She raised her lashes to have another quick look at the man across from her. He winked.
“Anyone carry a weapon?” Trevor asked.
How can he be so calm when it’s so freaking hot in here? She fought the urge to fan herself with her napkin.
“I think most everyone does.” Rocky said, oblivious to the intense heat waves shimmering across the table. “Lee and Stucky each bring a rifle, the Chisolms will have shotguns, and Carter, Jaret, and Matt carry rifles. Razor has that damned bowie knife, but I don’t know if he’ll have a gun, too. And Silas will have a rifle with him.”
“You trust them all?”
Rocky nodded.
Trevor took a swig of beer. “So, who holds the fort?”
“Ket’s here with Brooks until I get back with the trailer around noon.”
“You okay with that?” Trevor directed the question at Ketra, who until now had been silent.
“Of course.” She almost choked when he winked at her again. She huffed at his arrogance. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I didn’t say you did.” Their gazes locked. “Just wondering if you were comfortable being here by yourself.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ketra’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh, I don’t know…maybe because…you’re terrified of—”
“Enough,” Rocky admonished. “Besides, she’s not going to be here by herself. Brooks’ll be here. And Kettie’s got her own gun. She’ll be fine.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Trevor said. “The shotgun.”
“She’s got a good aim too,” Rocky said.
“Well, she’s likely to do more damage with that razor-sharp tongue of hers—”
“Fuck you!”
“Ketra Miranda Weston!” Rocky snapped, “You know I don’t allow that kind of language at my dinner table.”
“Hey,” Trevor murmured, “I was teasing.”
Ketra pressed her lips together and bowed her head.
Rocky stood up, empty plate in hand. “Who’s ready for dessert? Sadie left one of her homemade apple pies.”
“None for me, thanks,” Ketra said. “I believe I’ll head home.”
“I’ll cut you a piece to take with you.”
“No, thank you. I’ve lost my appetite.” She rose with her plate of half-eaten food, scraped it into the trash and rinsed the plate. “Thanks for dinner.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Rocky said. “Some of the guys are back from town. I saw them drive in after you got here.”
“I can take care of myself. I can use my razor-sharp tongue if I need it.”
Trevor’s mouth twisted into a lopsided grin, but he had the decency to look contrite. Without a backward glance, she left the room.
“Why must you taunt her?” Rocky challenged.
Ketra opened the front door but stopped out of sight to hear Trevor’s response.
Instead of Trevor’s voice, Rocky said, “You remind me so much of your dad. He used to
act the same way. He couldn’t leave her alone to save his soul.”
Who is he talking about?
“I thought you said they loved each other,” Trevor said with disdain.
A beer bottle clinked when it came in contact with the table. “They did,” Rocky said. “That’s what has me worried.”
Trevor sounded horrified. “No. Not a chance.” A chair scraped against the wooden floor. “I hate women.”
Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, she eased through the door and onto the porch.
“No,” Rocky said. “You hate one particular woman.”
Rocky’s words stopped her in her tracks. Who does he hate?
“Are we done here? I’m done. Are you done?”
The anger in Trevor’s voice propelled her off the porch. She left the door gaping open as she fled to the barn and the sanctuary of her tidy tack room.
She flipped the light switch and closed the door behind her. At the workbench on the far wall she braced her hands and hung her head while she waited for her breathing to return to normal.
The door opened, and the heavy tread of boots drew closer. Assuming it was Trevor coming to see if Carter had cleaned the stalls, she sucked in a breath and held it, not wanting to face him until she had regained her composure.
Large hands landed on her shoulders and twisted her away from the workbench. She jerked her head up. Plump wet lips slammed on to hers. Pinned between the sharp edge of the work bench and his rounded body, she kicked and punched with all her might. Her attacker not only outweighed her, he was much stronger.
He tried to slide his tongue between her lips. She screamed and pounded on his ribs with her fists. She kicked until her knee connected with his groin. He yelped and curled over in pain.
She screamed again, hoping that Trevor had in fact left Rocky’s house like he’d threatened to do.
Chapter Sixteen
Trevor and Rocky raced off the porch and into the dark barn at record speed. Light glowed under the tack room door. Trevor threw it open, anger blazing at the sight of Ketra pinned against the wall, Brooks’ hands on her breasts. Her sweater hung off one shoulder, blood ran down the side of her head from a gash on her temple. She kicked and screamed but Brooks held her firm against the workbench, one hand half covering her mouth. Trevor yanked him away, slammed him against the opposite wall and punched a fist into his stomach.
“Trevor!” Rocky grabbed Trevor’s arm to prevent him from delivering another blow. “Let him go. I’ll take care of him. You see about her.” Trevor made no move to release his captive. “You’re in no mood to handle this right now, son. Let him go before you do something you’ll regret. You’re already in trouble in Phoenix. You don’t need any complications from here.”
Ketra’s scream had roused the curiosity of several of the hands, who gathered in the breezeway. Trevor shoved Brooks away from the wall. Rocky caught him before he fell to the floor, but not in time to prevent his skull from connecting with the door knob. Brooks cried out as Rocky steadied him and dragged him out of the tack room.
“Go home,” Trevor yelled to the observers. “Party’s over.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Carter pushed his way to where Rocky stood holding Brooks’ arm behind his back. “What’d the little pervert do?”
“Go back to your cabins,” Rocky ordered. “Things are under control here.”
“Who screamed?” Matt asked.
“Probably that little pussy.” Carter pointed at Brooks. “Probably saw a mouse or something.”
“Sounded like a woman to me,” Jaret commented.
Carter stared at Trevor then voiced another guess, “Or maybe Ketra screamed when Rambo here attacked her little boyfriend.”
A red haze exploded behind Trevor’s eyes. He connected his fist with Carter’s jaw, driving him backward. Before Carter could rebound, he advanced, ready to strike again.
“If you all want to keep your jobs,” Rocky’s authoritative tone stopped the action cold, “you’ll get out of this barn right now.” The crew disappeared.
Trevor longed to smash his fist against something fleshy. Until Ketra whimpered and wilted on to the floor. She curled into the fetal position.
“Ketra.” Trevor knelt beside her, sweeping his fingers across her shoulder. She recoiled, squeezing her arms around her waist. She rocked from side to side, keening like an injured animal.
“Hey, Ket,” Trevor whispered. “I just want to protect you okay? I’m so, so sorry. I’m not going to hurt you. Please let me hold you.” He tried to put his arms around her shoulders, but she curled farther into the corner. After several attempts, he scooped her up and cuddled her petite, frightened body until she stopped shaking. As she calmed, she wilted like a rag doll, nestling against his chest. He struggled to his feet. She let out a cry, but he shushed her, whispering soothing words in her ear.
He carried her to her house, frustrated when he encountered the locked door. He knew she carried the key in her front pocket, but he puzzled over how to remove it with her body tucked against his chest.
“Can you reach your key?” he asked.
Uttering unintelligible gibberish, she squirmed in a feeble attempt to reach her pocket. When she managed to uncurl enough for him to slip his hand around her waist, he felt inside her pocket while she tried in vain to help.
“Just be still, I’ve got it.”
He managed to work the key out of her pocket and into the lock. Swinging the door open, he carried her straight to her bed, sitting her on the edge as if she were made of paper-thin crystal.
“Sit. I’ll take off your boots.”
She mumbled, tilting sideways when Trevor removed his arm from around her shoulders. He laid her down in the middle of the mattress, gently tucking a pillow behind her head.
After removing her boots, he tried to convince her to let him help her get undressed. Receiving only whimpers and incoherent responses, he followed his instincts and removed her clothes, keeping up a barrage of sweet talk and shushing while he tugged off her jeans and pulled the ruined sweater over her head. He examined her temple, using gentle pressure to probe the skin around the wound. He cringed every time she whimpered.
His experience in law enforcement kicked in. Women who’d been assaulted always felt dirty. He’d heard time and time again that the first thing rape victims wanted to do was shower, often destroying DNA evidence in the process.
“Come on, baby. A hot shower will make you feel better. Can you manage alone? Or would you rather I help you?”
She remained unresponsive as he carried her to the bathroom. Her body slid along his as he lowered her feet to the floor. He bit back a curse when her knees buckled. Keeping one hand on her shoulder to prevent her from toppling over, he adjusted the temperature of the water in the shower.
“Ketra,” he said with a strained voice. “I’m going to get in the shower with you, all right?” She rocked back and forth with unfocused eyes. Keeping one hand on her shoulder, Trevor struggled out of his boots, jeans and t-shirt. To stay focused on the task at hand, he left their underwear on even though he knew the wet material sticking to her skin would only enhance the desire he was trying to suppress.
“Ready?” He received no response. He walked with her into the stream of hot water, warm steam filling his constricting lungs. He hoped she was too numb to notice his instantaneous erection at the sight of her in her clinging underwear, transparent when the water soaked through. He closed his eyes and inhaled several deep breaths, commanding his attention to her anguish instead of his throbbing penis.
After a few minutes, she stopped shaking and became more aware of her surroundings. She put her hands on his chest and looked up at him with huge blue eyes, pooling with hurt and shame. Holding on to her elbows, he asked if she was feeling better. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“You can manag
e on your own?”
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she bit her bottom lip, nodded and turned away. His cue to leave. Although leaving her alone in the steam filled shower was one of the hardest things he’d done in a long time, he removed a towel from the shelf and swiped it down his arms. Watching as she removed her bra and panties, he stilled when she was naked on the other side of the glass, his mouth dry, his body wanting release. She lathered shampoo into her hair and the smell of tropical flowers drifted toward him on a current of steam. He closed his eyes, struggling to regain his composure.
“I’ll get you something dry to wear,” he managed to squeak out.
He turned and spied her robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Through the glass shower door, her arms crossed over her breasts. He blew out a breath, wrapped the towel around his waist and gathered up his discarded clothing. In her bedroom, he removed his underwear in exchange for his jeans and t-shirt. He rolled his wet undershorts inside his hat and laid them by the front door then gathered items necessary to build a fire. A few minutes later, as the blaze leapt in the fireplace, the shower turned off.
She emerged from the bathroom, robe wrapped tightly around her waist, hair twisted turban-style in a towel. She stopped outside the bathroom door and fixed her eyes on the floor.
Rising from the sofa, he stood in front of her to examine the purpling lump on her head.
“How did this happen?”
She didn’t answer.
“Do you have any antiseptic or gauze?”
Again, no response.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her to the couch then searched her bathroom cabinets for medical supplies. With a tube of Neosporin and an oversized Band-Aid, he returned to the sofa. He patted ointment on the wound and covered it with the bandage.
“Do you need me to take you to a doctor? Did Brooks—”
“No!” She panicked. “No doctor.”
“Ketra—” Trevor started to ask if Brooks had touched her in a more intimate place than her breasts, but decided, since her jeans had not been out of place or unzipped, she was safe from disease, internal abrasions, or pregnancy.
On Common Ground Page 10