Branded

by Tori Carrington

  He wanted to know everything.

  And he wanted to share everything with her.

  He lazily traced the raised brand of a mustang on her pert backside. “Where’d you get this?” he asked.

  She turned her head toward him, causing her long, black hair to slide across her back. “The brand?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Trace leaned down to press his lips against it, then shifted to face her, leaving his arm around her waist.

  She looked so beautiful with her hair tangled around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes sleepy. “I got it a long, long time ago on one of the first ranches I worked on.”

  He could imagine a younger Jo driving all the men crazy with her need to prove herself not only as capable as any of them, but more.

  “About ten of us hands were sitting around a campfire after a long drive. We were drinking, probably a little too much, and one of them had a broken branding iron in the fire, using it as a poker.”

  “Broken?”

  “Mmm. The part that had the initials of the ranch had split off, so the owner had no need for it.”

  “But you did.”

  “At the time, yes.” She smiled. “I guess I felt like I had a lot to prove back then. To myself more than anyone else. So I jerked the back of my jeans down a few inches and told him to brand me.”

  Trace cringed. “Ouch.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t the bad part. What was worse was riding on the range for the next week with my jeans rubbing against this oozing wound on my backside.”

  Trace grunted. “That does sound bad.”

  She turned onto her side. “Trust me, if I had known how damn long it was going to take to heal, I would have never done it.”

  He took in the defiant sparkle in her blue eyes. “Oh, yes you would have.”

  She smiled. “Okay, I admit it.” She put her hand on his upper arm. “Something tells me you’re coming to know me too well.”

  Trace squinted. “And that’s a bad thing because…?”

  She shrugged, but he could tell she was suddenly feeling anything but nonchalant. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  She shifted closer to him and fell silent. Trace rested his chin on top of her head, content to just lie still. Jo pressed her lips against his chest and stayed there for a long moment.

  “Come away with me,” she said softly.

  Every molecule in him froze. “What?”

  She kissed his chest again. “I said, come away with me.” She shifted until she was looking into his face. “What does either of us have here? My family…” She let her words drift off, her sadness touching him. Then she cleared her throat. “I’m not welcome here anymore. And you…well, with Eric back, and Sara living in the main house, you must be feeling like the odd man out…”

  Trace rolled onto his back and folded his right arm behind his head. “Where would we go?”

  Jo shifted closer. “I don’t know. Anywhere. Montana. Idaho. Arizona. There are a hundred different places that could use a couple of experienced ranch people like us.”

  Trace stared at the ceiling, absorbing her words. Finding them as wild as the brand on her backside. Exotic. Adventuresome. Just like the woman herself.

  What would it be like to cut free from all of his responsibilities and just ride? Work for someone else without worrying about the bottom line or the overhead? Move from town to town, state to state, with no roots to hold him in place?

  He looked down at Jo, to find her staring at his chest. If only he didn’t have the strong impression she wasn’t so much running toward something as away.

  She shifted so that they were nose to nose, and kissed him. “What do you say, cowboy? How about we ride off into the sunset and rediscover the West?”

  He kissed her back. And then again. And said nothing.

  But Jo apparently needed an answer. And she needed it now.

  The problem was, he wasn’t prepared to give her one.

  She abruptly sat up, gathering the top sheet to cover herself. Trace knew an instant of regret. He’d tell her anything to keep her from putting that sheet between them.

  Almost.

  “You don’t want to leave,” she whispered.

  He swallowed thickly and sat up next to her, his shoulder pressing against hers.

  “I have family here, Jo. Wildewood is my home. No matter what problems Eric and I are currently facing, I can’t imagine living anywhere else, doing anything else.”

  She propped her chin on her raised, sheet-covered knees.

  “You have family, too,” he added. “Right here. And despite what happened tonight, maybe even because of it, they need you more than ever.”

  She pressed her cheek against her knees, turning her face away. It drove Trace crazy that he couldn’t see her expression. Couldn’t read the emotions that were surely written there.

  “You know, I would never have figured you for a coward,” he said, measuring his words carefully.

  That made her turn back to face him.

  He cleared his throat again. “You come off as this free spirit. Strong. Independent. Smart. But you don’t travel around because you’re looking for your next adventure, do you, Jo?”

  Her jaw was set so tightly he swore he could hear her teeth grinding together.

  “You leave because you’re running. At the first sign of trouble, you’re out the door.”

  He hated to be the cause of the angry, hurt expression on her lovely face. But he’d come to some realizations of his own over the past twenty-four hours. About his volatile relationship with his brother. About the ranch and the future—not just his future, but the future of the Armstrong clan. Which not only included Eric and his soon-to-be wife and child, but depended on them. It was time Trace got over their petty differences and started hammering out a compromise that would make everybody happy.

  He only wished he could have figured that out before suffering a black eye and sore jaw.

  He also wished that his increasing awareness didn’t shine such a new light on the woman he was coming to care for deeply.

  Jo began to move away, as if to get up, and he gently grasped her arm.

  “My father used to say something that I never really got, until now.” He smiled sadly. “Funny that it should come to me at this point, but anyway…”

  Jo looked as if she wanted nothing more than to shake his hand off and get out of bed, but she stayed, staring at him hard.

  “He used to say it was when a wild horse bucked the most that you needed to hold on the tightest. It’s then when you dig in your heels and give it all you’ve got.”

  She didn’t blink.

  “You need to fight, Jo. You’re a marine. You know how to do that on the battlefield. Can it be that much different to bring those same strategies to the problems with your family?”

  “You don’t know anything.” She finally tugged her arm free and got up, stalking into the bathroom. Moments later she returned, clothed again in the wrinkled dress.

  “Maybe I don’t know all that much,” he admitted. “But I do know this—I need to stay here. And I want you to stay, too.”

  She went to the window and opened the curtains. She stood there staring at the dawn brightening the eastern sky, smearing it with purples and deep reds, much like the bruises both he and Jo bore, real and imagined.

  She turned back to face him. “I’m moving on.” Pain flashed through her eyes, but was quickly replaced by determination as she lifted her chin. Consider that my notice, as your employee.”

  “And as my woman?”

  It heartened him that she was surprised by his words. Did he stand a chance?

  But then she picked up her truck keys and walked toward the door. “Sex does not make a relationship, Trace.”

  And she walked out.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THREE HOURS LATER, Jo was in her room back at the ranch’s bunkhouse. She’d showered and changed int
o a pair of jeans and a black tank top, and was now busy stuffing her few belongings into her military duffel. She opened drawers and closed them, checked under the bed and the rest of the furniture to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything, and then thrust her Beretta in with the rest of her things.

  She found a folded piece of paper under the dresser. Only it wasn’t paper, it was an old photograph her father had given her before she shipped off for training. She slowly rose to her feet and opened it, gazing at a shot of her with her parents, taken when she was about two years old. Her mother had been young and vibrant and healthy, smiling into the camera and holding on to Jo as if she’d never let her go.

  Jo couldn’t remember the occasion, but she’d looked at the picture so many times that she imagined she did have memories of when the photo was taken. It had been a bright summer day and the three of them had gone for a picnic on a Gulf Coast beach. The temperatures had been warm, the water cool, and they’d been a family with no problems looming on the horizon…

  She heard a sound outside and jumped, then quickly stuffed the picture into the duffel with the rest of her belongings.

  After a brief knock, Trace opened the door.

  “You’re damn lucky you didn’t get a ticket or break your neck driving that fast on the highway,” he told her.

  She refused to look at him as she drew the strings tight and put her bag on the bed. “If you’d had been driving anything other than Vern’s rusty old can, you would have beat me back.”

  He didn’t respond. She guessed he was taking in the room and the fact that she was packed.

  “You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

  She finally stared at him. “You act surprised. Did you think I’d change my mind between Beaumont and here?”

  “I was hoping.”

  She sat down on the bed and pulled on her boots.

  “What about…”

  She cut a look in his direction. “What about what?”

  His gaze dropped to her stomach.

  She knew he was referring to the possibility that she could be pregnant after the night spent out on the range.

  Jo got up and shouldered her duffel. “I got my period this morning.”

  She began to pass him, and he grasped her arm for the second time that day.

  She pursed her lips. “What is it with men wanting to exert their physical superiority over women?”

  His own mouth was drawn into a tight line. “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “What reason would I have to lie? Even if I was pregnant, there’s not a thing you can do to keep me here. And you know it.” She looked at his hand. “In fact, if you don’t release your hold right now, cowboy, you’ll find out just how capable I am in hand-to-hand combat.”

  Despite her threat, Trace stood his ground, as if trying to decipher the meaning behind her words.

  Jo returned his gaze, not about to give an inch.

  No, she hadn’t gotten her period yet. But she would. And until then, there was no reason for him to think he might soon be a father.

  He finally let her go.

  “I’m going to get my last check from Miss Dorie and then I’m gone,” she said. Jo wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to share that information.

  “It’s Sunday. Miss Dorie’s not in today.”

  Damn. “Well, then, I’ll just have to call in my forwarding address whenever I have one.”

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Good,” she countered.

  Yet neither of them made a move to part.

  Trace took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll cut you the check, Jo. Just cool your heels here for a minute and I’ll bring it out.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “I’ve got to stop in at the house first. Grab a shower, get a change of clothes. Surely you can wait that long?”

  Jo worried her bottom lip between her teeth. The sooner she was out of here, the better. She knew that.

  Still, in her heart of hearts, she suspected that she was dragging her feet this time. Praying Trace might say something, do something, that would make her want to stay.

  She dropped her duffel. “I can wait.”

  He smiled.

  And that alone was almost enough to make her want to unpack her things.

  Almost.

  DAMN IT ALL TO HELL and back.

  Trace knew he was living on borrowed time. He didn’t know if Jo truly planned to stick around to get her check or if she’d roar by in her truck the moment he went into the ranch house.

  He had planned to leave Vern’s truck in the parking lot behind the bunkhouse and walk back to the stables, but instead floored the gas pedal, in a race with time to figure out a way to get Jo to agree to stay.

  He was going so fast, a dust cloud kicked up behind the truck. At the stables, he jammed on the brakes, causing the cloud to crowd around the cab, billowing inside the open windows. The quick stop had also apparently knocked something loose under the seat, and it hit the back of his heel. He coughed and reached down to pick up the plain brown bottle.

  That was odd.

  The bottle was unmarked and bore no label of any kind. So he unscrewed the top and warily took a whiff.

  Christ. Chloroform.

  He sat for a long moment staring at the container.

  The only connection he could make between the ranch and chloroform was the soaked pillowcase that had been pulled over Jo’s head…

  Trace quickly got out of the truck and looked under the bench seat. A few rags, fast-food wrappers, an empty beer can…He pulled the lever to release the seat back so he could search behind it, his heart beating a million miles a minute.

  He didn’t know what he was looking for. The man responsible for the attack had already been charged, not only with assault against Jo, but for the rash of other rapes in the area over the past six months.

  He rummaged through the foot-deep garbage behind the seat. It wasn’t possible, was it? It had to be a coincidence that Vern had the anesthetic in his truck.

  He spotted an empty plastic sleeve. Snatching it up, he searched for something to tell him what it had held. He turned it over.

  It was packaging for a pillowcase.

  Jo…

  “Always did say you two boys were a little too righteous for your own good.”

  Trace jerked upright at the sound of the voice behind him. Before he could turn around and address the speaker, something hard hit him in the back of the head. His legs buckled underneath him. He grabbed on to the truck door to try to stay upright, but couldn’t stop himself from dropping to his knees.

  A second blow rendered him unconscious.

  JO PACED THE LENGTH of the room and back again before stopping at the open door to watch for Trace’s return.

  He didn’t appear.

  She made a sound of frustration. “He’s playing me. I should just get out of here and call the ranch office later.”

  Instead, she started pacing again, her gaze falling on the love seat. She paused behind it, curving her hands over the back. Was it really a few short days ago that she and Trace had sat right here, making out like a couple of teenagers while listening to music? It was hard to believe. Harder still to accept as true the notion that she’d lived her life so long without him in it.

  And here she was two steps and a drive away from never seeing him again.

  The music…

  Realizing she had never taken out the CD that had been playing that night, she stepped to the TV stand and bent over to eject it now. Sure enough, the Eagles Greatest Hits popped out.

  Carefully holding it around the edges, she walked to her duffel on the bed and felt inside for her CD case, shuffling everything else so that the heavy stuff fell to the bottom. Finally, she found what she was looking for and safely inserted the disc into its protective envelope.

  “Going somewhere, Atchison?”

  Jo started and looked toward the doorway. “God, Ve
rn, scare the devil out of a body already.”

  She pulled on the duffel drawstring and turned to face the older man, who stood with one boot on the step as he leaned against the jamb.

  “You didn’t go out on the run today?” she asked.

  He turned his head and spat toward the grass on the other side of the sidewalk, one of the few men at the ranch who still indulged in tobacco chew. “Eric decided not to send the guys out after last night’s party. Quite a few of them may have had one or two too many, if you know what I mean.”

  Jo squinted at him. Never had Vern singled her out for a conversation. And he’d certainly never come to her room.

  She absently rubbed her bare arms, not quite comfortable with the way he was looking at her.

  He nodded toward the bed. “Going somewhere?”

  “Um, yes. I thought it was time for me to hit the road. I don’t generally spend much time in any one place. A rule of mine.”

  “Were you planning on giving notice? Or was I just supposed to note that you weren’t present tomorrow morning?”

  “I gave Trace my notice. He’s supposed to be cutting my final check as we speak.”

  Vern’s smile somehow wasn’t the least bit friendly or cordial. “Is he now?”

  “Yes. He should be back any minute.”

  Vern stepped inside, and for reasons Jo couldn’t define other than gut instinct, she took a step back.

  “Where you going, JoEllen Sue? You know there aren’t any exits that way.”

  And he closed the door, still wearing that creepy smile…

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “TRACE?”

  Trace heard his name being called from a long distance away. It was dark. Was he out on the range? Had night fallen before he’d driven the cattle back home? No, no…he was lying on the hard ground. Where was Jo?