Moving on, she noticed knickknacks made from repurposed horseshoes, and a small box decorated with Magic Markers and glued-on macaroni. A formal framed portrait of all of the Colton siblings, minus Daniel, also held a prominent spot on the bookshelves. Her heart gave a sympathetic tug for Daniel, remembering how hurt he’d looked at Greta’s party when Big J had excluded mention of him. Poor Daniel. She sighed as she studied the handsome faces, the similar smiles, the matching green eyes—although Greta’s were much more hazel than her brothers’. The family dynamic was none of her business.
A tingle on the back of her neck told her Jack was watching her, even before he said, “That was taken three years ago as a Christmas present for our mother. She wouldn’t have appreciated Daniel being in the shot.”
She whipped her head around, startled that he’d so clearly read in her expression or body language where her thoughts had been. While his explanation gave the why behind Daniel’s exclusion, it didn’t soften the sympathetic ache for Jack’s half brother.
“Daniel would be the first to tell you he’s not looking for sympathy. He knows we count him as one of our own, regardless of Abra’s opinion,” Jack said, again reading her mind. But having seen Daniel’s downcast face last week, she wondered how well Jack really knew his half brother’s feelings about his place in the family.
Deciding it wasn’t her place to argue the point, she gave Jack a nod of assent and strolled to the other side of the room as Jack got back to work. A glance at her watch told her the timer on the oven should be dinging in another two minutes.
She approached a glass-topped wood cabinet with ornate carvings on the face of the drawers, and she spied another picture that caught her eye. She picked up the small photo for a closer look. The man in the photo wore a white protective outfit and had a helmet with a face screen tucked under his arm. At first she thought the man was Ryan, due to the short hair, but upon closer inspection she realized it was Jack. The clothing seemed familiar, and she groped mentally to figure out what she was seeing. She turned back to Jack. “Do you keep bees?”
He raised his gaze, his forehead dented in confusion. “Bees?”
She angled the photo for him to see what she’d found. “Isn’t this a beekeeper’s protective suit you’re wearing?”
He arched one eyebrow and chuckled softly. “No. It’s fencing gear.”
Jack couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d tried. “Fencing?”
“You’ve heard of it, right?”
“Well, yeah. It’s a sport. It’s...sword fighting.”
A disgruntled noise rumbled from his throat. “Maybe in the broadest terms. Sword fighting is about battle. Strength and physicality. The biomechanics of how to disarm and maim your opponent before they slice you up.”
She winced at the brutal-sounding descriptive, and her bullet wound gave a throb of protest.
“Fencing,” he continued as he pushed his chair back and crossed the floor to her, “is more civil. It’s about subtle movements and skill.” He took the picture from her and studied it himself. “This was taken at a tournament in New Hampshire. I was seventeen.”
She’d started her prowl of the office hoping to learn more about Jack but never thought she’d uncover such an intriguing tidbit. She lifted the corner of her mouth in amazement. “How in the world did a cowboy like you get interested in fencing?”
“Oh, I didn’t care a fig about fencing when I started.” Down the hall, the timer on the oven buzzed. He aimed a thumb toward the hall. “But I guess that story will have to keep.”
She caught his arm as he turned to leave the room. “No, please. I want to hear it now. Dinner will keep a few more minutes.”
“All right, but if your meat loaf is dry, remember...you asked.”
“A risk I’m willing to take.” She sent him a lopsided smile and leaned her back against the glass-topped cabinet.
Jack set the picture down and rubbed a hand against his stubble-dusted chin. “Well, let’s see. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a pirate.”
Startled by his explanation, she gave an indelicate snort of a laugh, earning an arched-eyebrow glance from him. “I’m sorry.” She waved her fingers, indicating he should continue. “You were saying?”
“It started when I was ten, and I watched an Errol Flynn movie with Big J.” Jack’s deep voice warmed to his subject, and Tracy realized she was getting a rare peek beneath the tough surface of the normally taciturn cowboy. “All that swashbuckling appealed to the rambunctious kid I was. I spent months battling my brothers with plastic swords and broomsticks...pretty much anything I could find. Our nanny got tired of the inevitable roughhousing that would result— Eric and Ryan both thought wrestling was the best way to deal with my pirate obsession—so she told Big J to find me a better outlet for my new interest. Thing is, public schools in Oklahoma just don’t teach sword fighting, and the closest he could come was fencing. Even then he had to drive me to Oklahoma City for private lessons. Like I said, fencing is similar to sword fighting, but it didn’t quite satisfy me.”
“Not swashbuckler-y enough for you, huh?”
“Something like that. I was looking for something more physical, more challenging. Well, Big J could tell I’d never really given up my first love, my real interest, so when he found these at an auction—” He nudged her aside with his hip and stepped up to the cabinet. Thumbing a latch open, he lifted the glass top “—he bought them for me.”
Tracy peered down into the chest, where a pair of ornate swords were nestled in a red velvet bed, their blades crossed. She drew a sharp breath. “Oh, my word! Those are beautiful!”
She angled her head to glance up at Jack, and an unquestionable pride gleamed in the eyes. “Eighteenth-century small swords. They’re from France. See the inscription here?” He tapped the engraved hilt of one sword, and she leaned closer for a better look.
“L’Honneur ou la mort,” she read aloud. “Honor in death?”
“Close. Honor or death.”
“Oh, right. My high school French is rusty.”
“Anyway, the guy selling the swords asked Big J if he was a collector. Big J explained my interest in sword fighting, and the guy hooked me up with a friend of his who had trained in actual sword fighting.”
“And you were able to take lessons from him?”
“For a while, yes. Meanwhile, I’d also gotten involved in the rodeo.”
Her gaze traveled to the trophies on the shelf next to the horseshoe art.
“Bull riding and calf roping,” she said, remembering the inscriptions on the awards.
His eyes widen briefly in surprise. “How did you—?” Without finishing the question, he turned and let his eyes follow hers. “Oh. Right. Anyway, rodeo started taking most of my time. For one thing, it had practical applications on the ranch. And that’s where my friends all spent most of their time, and—” he cut a quick glance at her, his expression sly “—that’s where the buckle bunnies were.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry? Buckle bunnies?”
His lips twitched. “Women. Rodeo groupies.” He lifted one of the swords from the case, resting the blade carefully in one palm, the grip in his other while he stroked a thumb along the hilt. “When you’re a testosterone-driven teenager, one thing always trumped all, and the buckle bunnies were happy to oblige.”
Tracy felt her cheeks sting with a blush. “Took advantage of the admiring fans, did you?”
His eyebrows dipped. “Depends on what you mean by ‘took advantage.’ I was hellion in the past, no doubt about it. But Big J raised me to respect women. To know no meant no. I never preyed on a girl’s vulnerabilities.” He paused and handed her the sword. “But I never lacked for a date when I wanted one, either.”
As she accepted the antique weapon, something deep inside Tracy squirmed uneasily at the thought of Jack with all those other women. Laura had told her Jack had been rather wild and sowing his oats before they married. As much as Laura had been suffoca
ted by ranch life, Jack had chafed at the confines of marriage early on. Jack’s attitude had changed when Seth was born.
Tracy kept these tidbits of insider information Laura had shared to herself, though she found it hard to reconcile the image of Jack as an adrenaline-loving, risk-taking womanizer with the quiet, doting father and responsible rancher/businessman. Greta had said Laura broke Jack’s heart, but had their divorce also broken his spirit?
“All of this work was done by hand, by an artisan in Paris around the time of the French Revolution.” Jack’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts as he waved a finger to the scrolled knuckle guard and elaborate engraving on the hilt.
She weighed the weapon in her hands. “It’s heavy. Hard to imagine anyone wielding something like this as a weapon.”
“But they did. The chinks here and here—” he pointed to the spots on the blade he meant “—are signs of use.” He furrowed his brow as if in deep thought. “I like to imagine the circumstances of the battle or duel that put those chinks there.” He scoffed lightly in dismissal. “Oh, well... That meat is getting drier by the minute.”
He lifted the sword from her hands and placed it back in the velvet bedding.
“Have you ever used them? You know, for fun. A mock duel or whatever?”
“Not these. They’re too valuable. But I have another small sword I use when I have time to indulge my hobby.”
“Thank you...for showing these to me. They really are magnificent.” She shook her head and grinned. “I’d never have guessed you had an interest in something so...unusual.”
He lowered the top of the cabinet and paused with his hand resting on the display glass. “I’m not sure if I should feel insulted or complimented.” He cast a side glance and cocked one eyebrow. “Are you saying you thought I was mundane?”
Hearing the teasing note in his tone, she laughed and curled her hand around his arm. “No...gosh, no! I’d never say that about you. I only meant...you were largely a mystery to me when I arrived, and what I’ve discovered about you this week has been...surprising.”
He cocked his head. “As in, still waters run deep?”
His voice was as smooth and intoxicating as aged whiskey, and it rolled through her with a heady warmth. “Something like that.”
When she started to remove her hand from his forearm, he covered it and wrapped his fingers around hers. “I have to admit, you’ve surprised me a bit, too.”
Tracy was so startled by his touch, so enthralled by the scrape of his calloused palm against her skin, that she needed a moment to catch her breath. Heart thrashing in her chest, she croaked, “Oh? How?”
“You’re tougher than I gave you credit for.” His thumb stroked her wrist with the same gentle fondness he’d employed when he’d admired the decorative hilt. A low buzzing sounded in her ears, the sound of her blood pumping harder, faster in response to his mesmerizing touch and rumbling voice. “My first impression of you was that you were fragile. Like a doll that would break under pressure. But I realize now I was judging your character based on your appearance.”
She forced her throat to swallow despite her rapidly drying mouth and worked to flash a smile that didn’t tremble. “Now I’m not sure if I should feel insulted or complimented. You thought of me as a doll?”
He tugged her hand to bring her closer as he faced her and raised his free hand to her cheek. “A china doll, yes. Because you have that sort of delicate beauty. Big, innocent blue eyes and skin so pale I can see your veins.” He tracked one of those veins in her throat with a fingertip, then lifted the same finger to brush her lips. “And a rosebud mouth.”
Jack’s voice had grown even softer, and his eyelids lowered as he focused on her lips. He dipped his head toward hers, nudging her chin up with a thumb as he cradled her cheek. Tracy’s breath stuttered from her. She canted toward him, drawn to him by a force more powerful than common sense. She felt the moist heat of his breath as he exhaled a sigh of resignation, and angled his head—
“Dad?” Seth bellowed a fraction of a second before he crashed through the office door. “When’s dinner? I’m starving!”
Tracy gasped and stumbled guiltily back a step. Disappointment speared her. Of all the bad timing! Or maybe it was providential that Seth had interrupted when he did. Becoming involved with her cousin’s ex had never been part of her plan when she came to the Lucky C.
“We’ll be in there in a minute. Meanwhile, you wash up and set the table.” Jack’s tone held none of the irritation or frustration that vibrated through her for their lost moment. When she turned a side glance to him, only the hint of color in his cheeks and dark pools of his pupils gave any indication how close they’d come to kissing.
Seth divided a look between the adults, then shrugged. “Okay.”
“Hey! Turn the oven off, too. Okay, Spud?” Jack called as Seth trooped out.
Finally catching her breath, Tracy moved toward the door, pressing a shaky palm to the swirl of jitters and unsatisfied lust in her belly. “I’ll help him.”
But Jack caught her arm, stopping her. “There’s something else you should know about me, Tracy.”
She met his heated gaze, and her heart flip-flopped.
He drew her close again with a firm grip on her arm and a guiding hand at her hip. “I finish what I start.”
With that, he captured her lips with his.
Chapter 13
Jack pulled her body flush to the whipcord strength and lean muscle of his, and Tracy’s knees buckled as desire stampeded through her. Only his arm around her waist, cinching her to him, kept her upright. Once the shock of his kiss faded, heady sensations rolled through her and pooled low in her belly. A tiny mewl of pleasure escaped her throat, and she slid her arms around his neck, relaxing in his embrace.
Her fingers curled into the hair that brushed his collar. The silky wisps tickled her palm, while the stubble of his chin scraped lightly against her cheeks. His kiss tasted like the bourbon he’d been sipping, and his skin smelled like sweet hay, mellow leather and sensual man.
Jack took command of the kiss, holding her head pinioned with one hand splayed at her nape. While her body wallowed blissfully in his skill and seduction, a small voice in her head whispered a warning. Cliff had been demanding, unyielding, overbearing. His tyranny had become the source of her terror. Don’t make the same mistake, her brain whispered.
Jack must have sensed the shift in her thoughts, because he broke their kiss and peered down at her. “You can tell me to go to hell if this isn’t what you want.”
“No, I—” Her voice cracked, and a tiny tremor shimmied through her. “You just...surprised me.”
“Did I?” His fingers pushed a lock of her hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “Are you going to tell me you haven’t felt the undercurrent of heat between us since the day you showed up at Greta’s party?”
“I—” She swallowed audibly. She wasn’t going to lie to him. Especially since she’d so obviously enjoyed his kiss. And because she desperately wanted his trust. “I have. I just...didn’t want my purpose for being here, my wish to know Seth, to get tangled up in what I was feeling toward you.”
“And I didn’t want my desire for you to cloud my judgment of your purpose. But you showed me today—” he whispered as he trailed kisses along the line of her jaw and throat “—that you have an incredible core of strength. No matter how fragile...your appearance, you proved...you are no pushover.”
Though his compliment warmed her heart, her gut tightened. She squeezed her eyes closed, feeling like a fraud. “I didn’t feel strong,” she admitted. “I felt horribly vulnerable.” She tightened her grip around his shoulders as the chilling horror of those moments washed through her again. She buried her head under his chin, her ear pressed to his breastbone and shivered. “I did what I had to to protect Seth, but...I was scared to death.”
Beneath her cheek, a hum of acknowledgment rumbled in his chest, and his arms tightened around her. �
��Fear doesn’t determine your courage and inner strength. What you do in the face of fear does.”
He angled his body away and tipped her head up with a hand under her chin. “Based on what you’ve said about your ex, I’d say you also showed that inner strength by breaking away from him.”
She gave her head a little shake. “I couldn’t have done it without Laura. She helped me get away, in so many ways. Not just by driving the car that day...” She let her voice trail off. The usual roil of unrest swirled through her, remembering Laura’s death in the car accident, the high-speed chase that precipitated the wreck. But today, here, wrapped in Jack’s arms, she felt safer than she had in months. In years.
He stroked the back of his hand along her cheek. “I stand by my assessment. What you did today—and when you left Cliff—took courage.” He paused, his penetrating gaze locked on hers. “And I thank you for protecting Seth.”
“Jack, I—”
He silenced her with another deep, toe-curling kiss, and Tracy forgot what she’d planned to say. She forgot everything but that cozy office and the cowboy holding her snug against him. She leaned into the kiss, parting her lips when his tongue sought entry to her mouth.
Falling for Jack may have been the farthest thing from her mind when she arrived at the Lucky C, but life was nothing if not full of surprises. She’d have never guessed a madman would track her to Tulsa and try to kill her, either. The dizzying speed of events, taking her life in directions she couldn’t have predicted, left her mind spinning, the ground shifting beneath her feet.
Or was it the thorough, sultry way Jack took charge of their kiss that made her legs rubbery and her head light? Some of each, probably.
“Now...how ’bout that supper?” he said, when he finally raised his head, and Tracy sucked in a shuddering breath. He gave her shoulders a squeeze before stepping back from her, his gaze still dark with desire.
With her heart drumming wildly, she nodded, not trusting her voice. Later, Tracy couldn’t have said anything about the meat loaf, potatoes or salad that comprised their meal, because her mind kept straying to Jack’s office, to his kiss. She didn’t miss the intimate sense of family as they shared the meal. She savored the chance to watch Seth and Jack interact. To be included in the conversations about the ranch and Seth’s video game. She marveled at Jack’s loving reassurance when Seth mentioned the shooting, his ability to say just the right thing to calm the boy’s fears without lying or evading.
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