Lash argued, but it did little good. He could feel the blood trickling down the side of his face from the deep cut just above his eyebrow, and he knew it needed stitching, but damn, he didn't want to see Jessi. Not like this.
Garrett took him inside the little house, since the clinic was still a jumble of unpacked boxes and equipment. He hollered for Jess, and she came out of the living room, took one look at Lash and scowled.
"Garrett, how could you!" she cried.
Garrett frowned, and Lash caught Jessi's eyes and shook his head slightly.
"How could I what?" Garrett asked.
Jessi's eyes narrowed. "You didn't do that to him?" she asked her brother.
Garrett blinked. "'Course not. Why would I—"
"What happened?"
"Some stranger insulted you, little sister. And since there were no Brand brothers at the bar to defend your honor, Lash stood in for us."
Jessi's eyes widened, and her hard expression softened as she searched Lash's face. He felt the touch of those big brown eyes on him. "You did that?" And she smiled just a little, and reached out to brush the hair away from the cut on his forehead. "You got this defending me?"
Lash nodded, then winced as Garrett slapped a hand on his shoulder. "I gotta go see to my prisoner. You take care of that gash for him, okay, Jess?"
"Yeah," she muttered, and damned if she didn't look a little worried as she took Lash by the arm and led him to a kitchen chair.
Garrett hurried out. Lash had told him who Zane was on the way over. Now, he supposed, he'd have to repeat the whole damned story to Jessi.
She leaned over him, pushing the hair away from his forehead and examining the cut. She was touching him. Damn, but he liked her touching him. "Are you all right?" she asked him.
"Fine."
"You sure? No, just stay there. Sit. I'll get my bag. You look awful."
"Zane looks a lot worse than I do." It was male pride that made him say it, but he didn't take it back.
She had turned to retrieve her bag, but she paused with her back to him. While he could no longer see her face, he felt the warmth drain out of her. She wasn't soft toward him now. That straight spine spoke volumes. "You were duking it out with your brother?"
"Make no mistake, Jessi, that slimebag is no brother of mine."
"I can't believe you would beat up your own brother!" She fetched the bag and returned, tearing open alcohol wipes with her teeth. Then she began cleaning the cut, and it stung like crazy. Which was good, because it kept him from enjoying having her hands on him so much. Lash sucked in a breath and pulled his head away, but she caught it in one hand and held him still. "Why did you do it?" she asked. "Just because he asked me out to dinner?"
"He really did that?"
"Sure he did. And what's it to you, anyway?"
Lash shook his head, catching her arm in one hand and stilling her. "You stay away from him, Jessi." He stared up into her eyes, making his own hard and his voice firm. "He's trouble, you understand? Don't you go anywhere near him."
"I'll go near him if I want to, Lash Monroe. Since when did you decide you were one of my brothers? Don't I have enough men trying to run my life without you joining the ranks?"
"But, Jessi—"
"No buts. You don't want me for yourself, but you don't want any other man anywhere near me, either, is that it?"
"What the hell do you mean, I don't want you for myself? I offered to marry you, didn't I?"
"Lucky me," she snapped.
"Jessi, Zane's a bastard. He only wants you because of me," he stated.
Jessi stepped away, blinking down at him as if she'd never seen him before, and Lash knew he'd said the wrong thing, yet again.
"Gee, thanks for the compliment. I don't suppose it's even in the realm of reason that he might want me because of me, is it? No, of course not. So tell me, Lash, what is it about you that makes your brother—I'm sorry, foster brother—want me?"
"Because making me miserable is his reason for living," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Always has been. He thinks you mean something to me, so—"
"Oh. Well, then, there's no problem, is there? Because I don't mean anything to you. He's dead wrong about that. No harm, no foul, Lash. You beat him up for nothing. All you had to do was tell him that I was no more to you than a roll around the garage floor, and he'd have left me alone."
"Dammit, Jessi, you know that isn't the way it is!"
She tilted her head, staring down at him. "No? Suppose you tell me just what way it is, then, 'cause I sure as hell don't know."
"I … I don't know. I don't know, Jessi. If I did … I'd tell you. But … hell, if nothing else, we're friends, aren't we? Or, hell, I thought we were."
Her eyes fell closed, but not before he saw the little flash of pain that came into them. Hell, he'd gone and hurt her again.
"I got plenty of friends, Lash. I don't need another one."
"Jess—"
"Just sit still. This is gonna hurt."
He had no doubt she intended to make sure it hurt as much as possible. He grated his teeth while she readied some needles and silk thread.
"He came to the ranch, didn't he?" he asked, to distract himself from the inevitable. Not the pain of the stitches she administered, but the pain of wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Of wanting to scoop her up into his arms and carry her into that bedroom and love her…
Love her?
"Sure he did," she was saying as he blinked in shock and tried real hard to figure out why such a turn of phrase would pop into his mind. "Sunday. We had a nice talk."
"About what?"
She shrugged. "Nothing in particular. Ranching, cattle. He didn't tell me any of your secrets, Lash. Maybe he'll get to that when I have dinner with him, though."
"Dammit, Jessi, I told you—"
She pinched the edges of the cut together and jabbed the needle through his flesh. He winced. "I don't give a damn what you told me," she said. She tied off the stitch, snipped the thread with a tiny pair of scissors, then prepared to install another.
He looked up and met her eyes. "Don't do this," he whispered.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't." And there was something in her eyes, something that should have told him what he was supposed to say, but he couldn't read it quite clearly.
He searched his mind, sought for the right words to convince her. "He'll hurt you," he said. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Jess."
Her chin lowered, and her eyes fell away from his. "Wrong reason," she told him, and then she put in another stitch.
A week later, she was still every bit as miserable as she'd been the night she stitched up Lash. He had avoided her as if she carried some deadly plague, and she told herself she didn't really care. She did, though. She must be a hundred kinds of fool, but she did. She hadn't had dinner with Zane, who'd spent one long night in Garrett's jail before her big brother turned him loose and told him he had one week to get out of town. She might have gone, if she'd had the time, just to see if it would make Lash realize that he belonged with her. But with the clinic coming together so fast, there hadn't been a free night yet. And today was her grand opening.
Chelsea had been helping her plan for this all week long. Lord knew she had plenty of time on her hands, what with Garrett so busy trying to track down the rustlers. There hadn't been another incident all week, and Jessi was of the opinion that the creeps had left to go prey on some other cow town, but her stubborn brother refused to let it go.
Monday morning came far too early. But Jessi couldn't have slept anyway, it being the biggest day of her life and all. She dressed quickly, and drove her smoke-belching pickup over to the clinic. The decorations were already in place. She and Chelsea had done all of that last night. Balloons and streamers danced in the early-morning breeze. Picnic tables lined the lawn out front, and that beautiful sign Ben had given her hung proudly over the clinic's front door. Jessi parked in the driv
eway, and walked slowly past the house, unlocked her clinic and stepped inside to take it in. Her dream come true.
The reception area was lined with chairs and a potted plant Elliot had brought over. A wide counter sectioned off the area where the receptionist would work, once she hired one. Meanwhile, she'd handle that job on her own. The phones were hooked up, lights had been installed, everything was done.
She had two treatment rooms, their cabinets stocked with supplies. She had a surgery room, with sterile instruments at the ready. She had a kennel area with pens of various sizes for overnight guests. And she had an office of her very own. Situated right on the spot where she and Lash had made love. Some demon had compelled her to put her own private space there, not wanting to share it with anyone else. It was her own precious memory, and she'd keep it here, safe.
Damn the man.
Jessi had also had a big metal box installed in the old pickup truck's bed, its dozens of drawers and compartments filled with still more tools of her trade. Most of her work would be with large animals, and it would be done from that truck, at the homes of her neighbors. But there would be plenty of business here, as well. Cats and dogs, mostly, she figured. And it would all begin today. In a couple of hours, half the town would start showing up with food for the celebration picnic. Freddy from La Cucaracha had promised to bring a keg of beer over. Chelsea would be hauling in the salads and casseroles she'd made. People would come to admire the clinic while eating, drinking and making merry.
She really ought to be happy. She really, really ought to be.
But there were a couple of things still undermining her happiness. One was Lash's indifference, of course. That was the main one. The second was the home pregnancy test she had tucked away in the bottom of her purse. She hadn't bought it at the local drugstore. She'd gone out of town for it yesterday, because Lord knew how tongues would have wagged around here if she was seen making such a purchase. Garrett would have known about it within the hour, she'd bet.
She hadn't used the thing yet. Hadn't been able to work up the nerve last night, and she'd told herself that she'd just go ahead and enjoy today's festivities first. That she'd rather not know the results until later. She'd been wrong, of course. She was only going to worry until she had the answer. It was cowardice that was keeping her from doing it right now and having it over with.
"The place looks great."
She sucked in a breath and turned fast. Lash leaned in the doorway, studying her. She felt the same old rush she always felt when he looked at her that way. Scanning her, head to toe, and maybe liking what he saw. At least he hadn't gone back to looking at her as a kid. Maybe he was even remembering … how it had been. She hoped he was. She hoped he wanted her so badly his teeth ached with it.
"And so do you," he said, finally. "Look great, that is."
She didn't. She knew damn well she didn't. She was pale and tired-looking, and she couldn't seem to keep those dark circles under her eyes from growing on a daily basis. But all that would change once she used the stupid kit in her purse and got the negative result she knew was inevitable. It was the not knowing that was getting to her. That kernel of doubt.
"So you showed up after all," she said.
"What, you didn't think I would?"
"The way you've been avoiding me, Lash, I figured you'd hole up in that stupid apartment of yours and stay there until the festivities were over and done."
He shrugged, his gaze falling away from her accusing one. "I thought it was for the best."
"Sure you did."
"Every time I see you, it seems like I say something that hurts you. I don't like hurting you, Jess."
"You don't care one way or the other, and we both know it."
"You're dead wrong on that score. Hell, I proposed to you, didn't I?"
"Yeah. As penance. It's real flattering to be considered the wages of sin, you know that? All that ol' Pharaoh got for his crimes against Israel were plagues and locusts. But you—you must be a far worse sinner than he was to think God would sentence you to something as horrible as marriage." She turned away from him as she spoke, but felt his hand on her shoulder a second later, pulling her around to face him again.
"If it sounded that way to you, Jess, then I'm sorry. It's not how I meant it."
"No? Suppose you tell me just how you did mean it, then?"
He stared down into her eyes, and she could see the confusion in his. His hand eased on her arm, his palm rubbing the spot he'd been gripping before. "You're like that apple must have been to Adam, you know that?"
"Lord, but we're full of biblical references today, aren't we?" Her words lacked the acid she'd intended them to carry. It was the look in his eyes that was making them come out soft and whispery, instead of harsh and condemning.
"I still want you, Jess. Dammit, I know it's wrong. Your brothers have treated me like family. They trust me, and I'm surely gonna burn in hell for it, but I can't stop thinking about you … the way it was with us that night…"
His eyes closed. She saw the battle he was waging, saw the guilt in the little lines between his brows and at the corners of his mouth. And, like an idiot, she leaned up, and pressed her lips to his. Lash shuddered, and his arms slipped around her waist. He pulled her close, tight to his body, and he kissed her, long and slow. And Jessi thought there might still be a chance for them. The damn fool had to care a little. He must. He couldn't kiss her like this, hold her like this, if he didn't. He was just too dense to realize it, was all. And right now she didn't know whether to start tearing off his clothes, or smack him upside the head.
His hips arched against hers, and she leaned toward him. She could smack him later.
God, he tasted good. And his arms around her felt right. Strong and sure, as if they belonged there. Always. He tasted her with his tongue, threaded his fingers in her hair to tip her head to just the right angle as he fed from her mouth.
And then a horn sounded, followed shortly by the slamming of a car door. Lash straightened and moved away from her, albeit reluctantly. And as he did, he looked at her, confusion clouding his eyes. She just barely resisted the urge to say, "You're falling in love with me, you big dope. Don't worry, it's not fatal." But she said nothing. Because she wasn't at all sure that was the case, and besides, even if it was, he was going to have to realize it on his own.
The door opened and Garrett stepped inside. He stared from one to the other, and frowned.
"You're early," Jessi said, because it was the only thing that popped into her head to say.
"I'm right on time," he replied. "Apparently Lash is the one who's early."
"He just got here." She dragged her gaze from Lash's, and battled the insane surge of hope she felt trying to wash her sense of reality down the drain.
"Well, people are startin' to arrive, Jess. You ought to be outside to greet 'em."
She plastered a smile on her face and nodded at her brother. Then she went outside to join the festivities. As soon as she exited the clinic, she was hit full in the face with the cheerful noise of a mariachi band. They struck up the second they saw her. She smiled. A person couldn't help but smile when a mariachi band was playing in her face. And she turned to Garrett, blinking in surprise. "Where'd they come from?"
Garrett shrugged. So she glanced to her right, where Lash stood, looking slightly sheepish. "Surprise," he muttered.
Her heart felt as if some big hand were squeezing it. "I didn't know you had it in you to be so sweet," she said. "I can't believe you did this."
"Neither can I," Garrett put in, but the suspicion in his tone didn't break the hold Jessi's gaze had on Lash's, and if he saw the tiny tear that came to her eye, well, she couldn't help it, could she? It was a sweet gesture that touched her—probably a little more than it should.
And maybe she was reading more into his actions today than she should, but it seemed that maybe his heart was finally giving his brain a wake-up call.
Lash reached out to take her hand in
his, and as soon as he did, the mariachis changed to a slower tune. And then he actually pulled her into his arms, and danced with her. Right there on the lawn in front of her clinic, with the entire town, and all her brothers, watching. He danced with her, and he leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Don't give up on me just yet, okay, Jessi?"
She tried to swallow and couldn't. "If you think I'm planning to give up, you don't know me very well."
He spun her around the grass until Freddy Ortega cut in. After that she danced with each of the Loomis boys, and then her brothers, except for Elliot, because Elliot hated to dance. And then she danced with Lash again.
The food was put out on the tables, and the music ended as everyone headed that way to eat. And Lash sat beside her during that picnic lunch. As if he belonged there. As if they were a couple or something.
Lord, if he was getting her hopes up like this only to let her down again, she'd never forgive him. Or herself. She had to be realistic here. She had to remember that he felt strongly about marrying her because he'd taken her virginity. And she'd turned him down, so maybe all of this was just his attempt at getting her to change her mind. So he could do the right thing and clear his conscience.
Or maybe … just maybe … he was falling in love with her after all.
It might not mean anything at all, this attention he was suddenly paying her. She told herself that over and over. But for some reason, she just couldn't quite make herself believe it.
At any rate, the party itself was a huge success. The entire town turned out. But Jessi noted one absence that disappointed her right to the toes of her boots. She'd made a point of inviting Zane to this event, having made up her mind that even a foster brother was a brother of sorts. He was the only family Lash had, so far as she knew. And Jessi felt strongly that no family should remain estranged when there was a Brand around to help fix things. She'd run into Zane in town one day, and she'd told him all about the party, talked it up as big as she could, hoping to entice him to attend so that she could try to help him and Lash patch things up at long last. They'd obviously been estranged for quite a while now. Too long, in Jessi's opinion.
The Baddest Virgin in Texas Page 14