THE RENEGADE RANCHER

by Angi Morgan

  Chapter Seven

  If Brian didn’t watch himself, he would be kissing the blonde in his arms and damn the consequences. Once he did, there’d be no turning back. He’d fall. Fast and hard and completely. Alicia waved from the kitchen door, verifying everything was all right. Last thing he needed was another lecture about getting involved with Lindsey Cook.

  “Let. Me. Go.”

  “God...bless America. I’m too dang tired for this.” He released his grip and the woman he’d like to devour fell into the tall Johnson grass between the fence and gravel.

  Sitting on her backside, she drew her knees to the breasts that had so recently pressed against him. The urge to swing her back into his arms, jump in the truck and drive away from the pressures of job, ranch and family was right there. Obtainable, just a few steps away.

  He couldn’t leave. He was stuck here. His hands were hot resting on his thighs, itching to soothe Lindsey’s back. It was the weirdest feeling ever, knowing so much about a person you didn’t know at all.

  “We’re just trying to help.” He finally forced words out. They weren’t the words he wanted to say to her. Nothing close.

  “I know. I’m...” she said with her forehead resting on her kneecaps. “I’m sorry about the meltdown. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “I’d normally say it doesn’t matter, but I think it does.” His ear was still ringing from the accidental slap he’d received on the side of his head. “What happened back there? Are you afraid of us?”

  “No,” she emphatically replied. “You wouldn’t have brought me to your family if you intended to hurt me. And you aren’t responsible for the accident last night or Jeremy’s death. But the talking...the closeness of the kitchen...so many people. It just sort of all caved in on me and didn’t make sense. I couldn’t think or catch my breath.”

  He knelt beside her. “Are you thinking now? Breathing now?”

  She looked at him, defiance and determination turning her eyes a deep, rich blue. The leaves from the oak trees lining their drive created a soft pattern of light and dark across her blond hair.

  The sutures itched from the sweat popping out on his forehead. Desire pounded through his blood. The swiftness knocked the air from his lungs. He felt sucker-punched crazy. “What the hell’s the matter with me?”

  “What? I don’t understand.” The confusion brought her delicate eyebrows together.

  “Nothing.” He stood and extended a hand to help her to her feet, this time dreading the touch of her silky skin against his rough palms. He’d never given a second thought about blue eyes or corn-silk hair. Never. Thirty years old and he’d never had a notion to take a woman on a third date, let alone home to his family.

  He could answer his own question, knowing what was the matter, even if he never admitted it to himself or to John. Especially John. The infatuated fool would be in hog heaven knowing he was riding the same lovesick bronco.

  He released her hand as soon as she was on her feet. “You okay now? I don’t have to worry about you trying to walk home, do I?”

  “No. Not in these shoes. But for the record, you’ll never catch me in a pair of those.” She pointed to his scuffed-up, broken-in boots.

  “Great. Let’s go to the barn for some privacy.” He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from guiding her with a touch. He couldn’t risk it, not until he got himself under control. “We’re going to sit and talk like we should have last night at the Pan-Hop.”

  She walked next to him, silent, watching the ground.

  “Do you have panic attacks often?”

  Her head snapped around, her face full of question. “Never.”

  “You’ve had two in twelve hours.” He propped the door open for ventilation. He was already hotter than blazes.

  “How do you know they’re panic attacks?”

  “First off, I’ve seen a few professionally. And you have plenty of logical reasons to be upset.”

  “Is there any way to make them go away?” She sat on a bale of hay, legs and arms crossed.

  He shook his head. “But you’ll be okay. Promise.” Stupid promise that he had no way of knowing how to keep.

  “Why are you doing this, Brian?”

  “You know why. I need to find out who framed my brother and me for murder.”

  “I get that part. I meant, why bring me here and involve your family? Why were none of them surprised I was here? And why do I get the feeling they aren’t too happy about me showing up?”

  He picked up and straightened tack someone had left on the rail. Delaying, but knowing he had to admit everything. She needed to know what was driving him and he needed to tell her.

  “Finding information about your family has been a Sloane project for a couple of months now. I tried to tell you yesterday how we pieced everything together. And I guess they aren’t too happy about more trouble on their doorstep.”

  “Because of Lauren’s kidnapping and the court case deciding the future of her trust fund?” Lindsey scooted back and leaned on the post behind her, smiling. “I have a smartphone, too.”

  “Yeah, things are kind of up in the air about that. Any calls to the police or trouble around here, well, it might cause a judge to look unfavorably on my brother. He’s trying to adopt Lauren.”

  “They want you on your best behavior and yet you contacted me anyway.” Her lips tilted upward. “So you have been following me.”

  “Yes.”

  Lindsey’s reaction wasn’t what he expected. She tilted her head back, looked into the rafters and let out a long breath. The action eased his guilty conscience, but did nothing to ease his attraction. With her body arched backward, her breasts thrust upward. She did a little kick thingy with her feet slightly off the ground, and then she laughed.

  Hoover Dam! He searched the barn entrance for work. Tack, salt, saddle, something heavy to lift and force his body into submission. Fifty-pound feed bags were ready to put in the storeroom. He hefted one on his shoulder and dragged another with his free hand.

  There was something between him and Lindsey Cook. Somehow, he knew it would be very good if he just gave it some time. That possible relationship—if he understood the use of that word—would go nowhere fast if he gave in to desire and crushed her body to his. What he wanted versus what he needed were fighting a battle, and he really didn’t know which would win.

  “Can I help?” Their hands collided on the edge of a feed bag.

  “No.” He hefted the bag to his shoulder and forced another under his arm. Work. Good, honest sweat would keep him on track. Head down, one foot in front of the other. Nothing to watch except his boots. “You should head back to the house.”

  “Not so fast, mister. I want some answers.”

  “I have work to do before I take you back to your rental.” He stacked the feed and turned for the last bags.

  “You agreed to tell me everything.” She placed a searing hand on his chest.

  “That’s not a good idea right now.” He looked at her hand, but it didn’t move. Such a small thing that had him stuck in his tracks.

  “We aren’t leaving until you start spilling what you know.”

  “Drop it.” He meant her hand. He’d tell her what he’d discovered. He just needed sleep and some space between them. Preferably an entire room, maybe filled with his family.

  “I will not.”

  She pushed at his chest a little, nothing he couldn’t have withstood, just enough to get closer and make him need to back up. But soon there was nothing behind him other than a stack of horse feed. She kept pushing and he sat, the bag he was carrying falling to his side. He went from looking at the part in her silky hair to staring up at her heaving breasts in a blouse that had no business in a barn.

  Especially his barn.

&n
bsp; “Okay, okay. You win.” He threw his hands in the air, closing his eyes to block the view. Praying she’d back away with his surrender.

  Silence blasted through him. The point of entry was her hand. No longer just a finger forcing his retreat. Her palm had weight behind it. He could hear her breathing hard, smell the maple-coffee scent of her warm puffs across his cheek. If he opened his eyes, he’d see her closer than she’d been since he’d carried her to bed this morning.... If he did that, there’d be no stopping his body from doing exactly what it wanted.

  “Open your eyes,” she whispered.

  “Not a good idea.” His body was about to betray his resolve and if she took a closer look...

  “But you need to see this thing.” Her breathy whisper was having an irrational affect on his senses.

  “I don’t think so.”

  No way they were talking about the same thing. But when she shook his shoulder, he opened one lid and then the other. Her look of iceberg fright was the complete opposite of his volcanic heat. He tilted his head, but his hat got in the way.

  “Don’t move. It’ll get you.”

  By the look on her face it had to be a barn critter. “Is it a snake or a mouse?”

  “Just be still and maybe it will slither away.”

  “Sometimes those things hang in the rafters until a mouse creeps by. You don’t have to be afraid of—”

  Lindsey’s hand cut him off. Her stare moved behind his right shoulder and her body slowly inched on top of his. Within seconds she’d shifted and pulled herself onto his lap, and the simple rat snake disappeared under something in the corner.

  “You can stand up now.” And she should hurry up before he forgot what he wasn’t doing in this small space with a gorgeous woman on his lap.

  “But it’s...”

  “Hell’s bells.” He scooped her into his arms and marched into the sun before setting her on the ground.

  When he let go, her arms were still locked around his neck and his arms steadied her at a tiny waist. Satiny red shirt to sweaty T-shirt. Slacks to jeans. Designer belt to rodeo buckle. City high heels stood on top of his country Western boots.

  * * *

  LINDSEY WAS COMPLETELY aware of standing on Brian’s toes and pressing against every part of him. She didn’t want to move. Safe from the snake and other horrible four-legged crawly things, she kept her arms where they were for a much simpler reason.

  She liked Brian’s hands where they were. Maybe it was the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing—even though she hadn’t seen him near a white horse. But if her lips began moving, she’d babble nonsense and he’d never kiss her.

  And, man alive, she wanted to know how he kissed. Bad, bad, bad idea.

  Either way, she couldn’t get higher or closer to him. He’d have to bring his chiseled chin down on his own. The smolder in his eyes she’d seen earlier when she’d run down the driveway returned and she knew what was next. His head tilted to his right ever so slightly, he bent his neck and then...

  Tsunami tidal wave.

  Brian Sloane was a skilled kisser. He had controlling firm lips, just the right amount of curiosity mixed with pure desire. He applied the right amount of pressure on her back to tow her tighter against him without trapping her. She parted her lips and encouraged more exploration, doing a bit on her own.

  He wrapped his arms tighter and raised her to his height. Her fingers had been itching to play with that hair growing at the back of his neck. His cowboy hat toppled to the ground.

  Go for it. Encouraged by her body, she shifted and wrapped her legs securely around Brian’s waist. He did some shifting of his own, including a move with his hands cupping her bottom.

  “Uncle Brian?”

  Lindsey’s feet hit the hard dirt faster than she could blink her eyes open. Lauren stood holding Brian’s hat, smiling and looking as though she knew something they didn’t.

  “Whatcha need, baby girl?”

  Even though her heart was surfing faster than she’d ever surfed before, the little girl’s cute giggle brought another type of smile to Lindsey’s lips.

  “Pawpaw said to give you back your hat ’cause...’cause your head was getting too hot.”

  “Thanks.” He kissed his niece’s cheek, shoved his hat on his head. “Now skedaddle back to your pawpaw.”

  Brian grabbed Lindsey’s hand, forcing the rest of her to follow him back into the darkness of the barn, shutting the door behind them.

  Desire skirted her like champagne bubbles popping up the side of a glass. More kisses? No. They couldn’t. Brian dropped her hand and headed straight to the pile of leather, turned his back and untangled more rope.

  “I think it was a very wise decision for your dad to send Lauren outside. Don’t you? I mean, your family’s here and I’ve got a nut job trying to kill me.”

  “You’re right. We’re too different for this to work out.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. My old self would be all over you for a beach romance.” But they weren’t at the beach. They were on a ranch. And someone wanted her dead.

  “Old self? Beach romance?” He quirked one of those wing-tipped eyebrows.

  He didn’t need any more information about her. She was the one in the dark when it came to him and his reasons for helping her. She shimmied onto the bale of hay, just so no little creatures would crawl across her shoes. “Forget about me. Spill it. Where do we start looking for this monster who’s been killing my family?”

  “I’ve explained before that I’m a paramedic, not a bodyguard. Do I really have to tell you how I am not trained or skilled enough to investigate twenty-year-old murders?”

  “You keep denying you’re capable of looking for this guy. Yet you’ve discovered more than anyone else. I knew about my immediate family, but twenty years...? I don’t understand how he hasn’t been caught.” She brushed aside a piece of hay that poked her backside and pulled her legs back tightly against her chest, keeping them far from the barn floor. “And by the way, I can hold my own.”

  “Right. That’s why your feet have barely touched the ground since we’ve been inside.” He waved toward her sitting position.

  “Don’t deviate from the question.”

  “Deviate? Son of a biscuit eater.” He yanked a bridle or something to the dirt and the rest tumbled after. The tall man shifted his hat, blocking his eyes from her view. He wasn’t pleased. He mumbled a couple more disguised expletives, scooped up the tangled mess and started over.

  “I can explain something I bet you don’t even know.”

  “Is that right?” He looped a rope, finally free from the rest, into a coil and hung it on a post.

  “I know all those ‘sons of biscuit eaters’ and ‘Hoover Dams’ are your attempt at not cursing in front of a five-year-old.”

  He acknowledged her with a hmph and a finger pushing the brim of his hat a little higher on his forehead.

  “And I know why you brought me here.”

  “Why’s that?” He looped a second rope over one palm, making it all nice and tidy.

  “You hoped that if I met your family, I’d trust you and your information.”

  “Or it could have been I was tired, my head hurt and you were asleep in my truck.”

  “I don’t think so. You wanted me to trust you and I think it worked.” She could see the truth of her words reflected in his eyes. He had a hard glare when he was hiding emotion, but it was very easy to spot if you knew the signs. And she did.

  “Got me all figured out?”

  “You think you know me because you’ve done all that research and followed me around.” She searched the shadows along the wall to verify they weren’t moving, then she stood and leaped to the door. “There are so many things in my life that can’t possibly appear on paper, Mr. Sloane. Aren�
��t you just a wee bit curious?”

  She backed out of the barn door, almost tripping on the way. She turned and squinted into the bright sunshine, raised her hand to shade her eyes and found herself face-to-chest with duplicate Brian.

  “Back inside before they see you out here.” John spun her around and through the door. “We’ve got a visitor taking a close look at the property from the south.”

  “Why were you watching the road? Did you think we were followed?” Brian asked, moving quickly. He pulled keys from his pocket and went to a newish-looking locked cabinet. “How many and where?”

  “Old habits are hard to break.” John shrugged. “Same van parked across from Mabel’s place now was in town three hours ago when I went to get the buttermilk. Binoculars or a camera lens reflected in the sun while I was trying to get a better look from the stock tank.”

  “Someone want to fill me in?” she asked. “I’m completely lost even though I hear English being spoken.”

  Brian and John removed weapons from the cabinet. They were a wonder to watch as they moved as one, without instructions, each anticipating where the other was reaching. They handed each other ammo and they both pocketed it, but left the guns empty.

  “Whoever’s after you found you.” Brian connected a scope to a rifle on the edge of a stall.

  “That’s plain enough. What do I do?” Surprisingly, her voice hadn’t quivered like her insides currently were.

  “Sit tight,” John and Brian answered together.

  She swallowed the panic. Now that Brian had put a name to the overwhelming apprehension, it made it a little easier to handle.

  “Just wait. Let us take a look,” John continued as Brian slung the rifle across his back and climbed the ladder to the loft.

  The horses, silent before except for a few shakes and tail flicks, whinnied or neighed—whatever the noise was that sounded so nervous. She could feel it, too. The tension from the two brothers radiated off them like sun reflecting on the white sand.