The summer sun hung like a flaming orange ball in the west, and the ranch was teeming with at least a couple hundred people. A bandstand and makeshift dance floor had been set up in the large yard near the fountain, and a well-known Texas country and western band was playing an upbeat number that a handful of couples gladly line-danced to. Tables with red-and-white-checked cloths stretched one after another as far as the eye could see, each with large flickering lanterns that would become more pronounced as the sun went down. A number of families with younger children had already staked their claim in the open yard with blankets and picnic baskets, getting an early run on prime real estate for the fireworks display later. Stretched across the front of the house was a banner that read in large letters Texas Welcomes Home Eric—An American Hero. And another one stretched the width of the driveway so that arriving guests passed under it.
Jo’s brows rose so high she was sure they met her hairline. When people said Wildewood did it up right, they were not kidding.
“Be still my heart. I think I just shit and fell back in it.” Jackson stood with some of the guys nearby. “I had to look twice just to make sure it was you, Atchison.”
It was too late to run back inside without looking like two kinds of a fool, so instead Jo started to walk down the stairs of the porch.
Jackson immediately stepped to one side of her while Milford appeared on the other, both of them offering an arm.
Jo hesitated slightly, looking at them in the same suspicious light she had every man she’d come in contact with since last night, outside of Trace and his family. Then there was the whole unwillingness to encourage this kind of behavior, which just wouldn’t do on the range.
But they weren’t on the range today. They were at a barbecue. And she liked that she looked feminine.
And she liked that Trace finally caught sight of her, his eyes widening to the size of the plate of ribs he held.
She took the men’s arms and walked at an angle down the stairs so the short skirt wouldn’t reveal more than she dared….
“IS THAT JO?” Clinton asked aloud.
Trace felt as if he’d been struck by lightning for the second time in a week.
It was indeed Jo. In a dress. And a short pair of fire-engine-red boots that emphasized her long, long legs to perfection.
He hadn’t broken a sweat all day, but now moisture dotted his brow. He felt as if the air temperature had just shot up at least twenty degrees. Probably the result of that arc of electricity that seemed to connect him to the woman coming down the stairs on the arms of two ranch hands as if it was something she was born to do.
“Holy Christ, it is,” Clint said.
Once she reached the ground, she thanked the men for their assistance and then began to walk in Trace’s direction. His hand had frozen in the process of lifting a rib to his mouth. But his actions were the only thing frozen. Everything else was burning-coal hot.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Jo said as she neared…and then passed them on the way to the buffet table.
Trace felt as if he’d just been sucker punched in the stomach.
“Whoowee. She cleans up nice, doesn’t she?” Jackson said, coming to stand next to him.
“Yep, doesn’t look bad at all once she brushes off all that ranch dust,” Milford agreed.
Trace handed his plate to Vern, who thankfully hadn’t said anything as he stood eating his food. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute…”
“DANCE WITH ME.”
Trace’s words weren’t so much a question as an order. Jo’s skin tingled merely from having him so near.
“What will everybody think?” she asked, liking the hungry, predatory expression on his handsome face.
“Screw what they think. I can’t concentrate on anything right now but my need to touch you.”
Jo suddenly felt the same way.
But she didn’t think it prudent to throw caution to the wind. At least not just yet.
“Can’t a girl get something to eat first?” she asked.
She’d never uttered a coy word in her life until now. And wondered why she’d waited so long. If the shadow in Trace’s tortured eyes was anything to go by, then she held a power over him that was completely intoxicating.
“You eat a single bite and you’re going to bust out of that dress,” he muttered, eyeing the button that was pinned closed.
Jo laughed. “Now that’ll earn you points.”
“I’m not trying to earn points,” he said, leaning in closer so that his breath tickled the skin under her ear. “I’m trying to figure out a way to get you somewhere private so I can get you out of that dress.”
She’d finished spooning food onto her plate, and turned toward him. “What, you don’t like it?”
Judging by his pained expression, that wasn’t the problem.
He took her elbow and steered her toward one of the tables, pulling out a chair for her at the end. “So hurry up and eat then.”
Jo felt the heat from his touch so profoundly that she didn’t know if she’d be able to swallow a single morsel.
She smiled at her tablemates, quietly introducing herself to what appeared to be a group from a ranch in the next county.
“I’ll be waiting over there,” Trace said.
Jo attacked her pulled pork with gusto. The older man to her right brought her a beer, and the one across from her offered a napkin, which she’d apparently forgotten to get for herself, earning him an elbow from his wife, who sat next to him.
Jo had never been the center of attention. Correction, she had been. As one of the few women on an all-men marine team, she’d received initial looks of disbelief and even disdain. Until she’d proved herself and become one of the guys. The same applied to the ranches she’d worked over the years.
But she’d never had this type of attention.
She paused momentarily, last night’s attack distracting her. Of course, she understood that rape was an act of violence, not of sex. Still, she couldn’t help having second thoughts about the way she was representing herself tonight. A part of her wanted to prove to everyone that she was all right. That it would take more than a degenerate male to bring her down physically or in spirit. But another part wanted to disappear into her bunkroom for days, until she felt ready to face the world again.
However, she’d learned long ago that the world didn’t cease to exist just because you wished it would. And that the sooner she got back up on that damn horse that had thrown her, the sooner she’d get to the other side of the field.
Why did the chicken cross the road? To move on with his life and look to the future, not dwell in the past.
She glanced at her plate, to find she’d completely emptied it, and drained most of the beer. She couldn’t have been more surprised, considering a few minutes ago she hadn’t thought she could swallow a bite.
“And she has a healthy appetite, too,” the guest to her right said. “A woman after my own heart.”
Jo smiled at the man. He was seventy years old if he was a day. And a bigger flirt she had never met.
“What is it you said you did again?” the wife of the man across from her asked.
Jo gathered her plate and bottle and got up. “I’m a hand on this ranch.”
She was vaguely amazed that word of her attack last night hadn’t made the rounds yet. Then again, maybe it was her temporary transformation that had thrown everyone off.
“Did I just hear her say she was a ranch hand?” the woman’s husband asked.
“Oh, yes, you did,” the seventy-year-old said. “And I’ve just decided I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
Jo laughed as she headed to a nearby trash bin and dumped her plate inside. And then she looked directly at Trace, who was standing next to the dance floor.
Her heart dipped low in her chest before bouncing back up again.
She didn’t dance. But in this night of firsts, she figured another one wasn’t going to hurt any….
16
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“I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.”
Trace heard his brother’s words, but waved him away with a frustrated flick of his hand.
“Now,” Eric stressed.
Trace stared at him. While he’d gone out of his way to make amends with Miss Sara all day, he and his brother had kept a sort of peace, neither adding to the tension between them nor subtracting from it.
He had a feeling that was about to change. And not in the direction he’d prefer.
“Later,” he said, as Jo finally finished her dinner and began walking toward him.
He’d been mesmerized by her the instant he’d spotted her on that damn porch. And hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from her since. He’d watched as she easily chatted with the other guests at her table, his groin tightening when he’d watched her red, red lips circle the end of the beer bottle and sip.
Dear Lord, the woman was going to be the death of him. Literally, if he wasn’t careful.
He remembered last night and how angry she’d been at him. He understood through the sheriff and Sara that she was no longer defending Carter as she had, but at the time she’d looked fit to be tied. Had she not been suffering from the side effects of the chloroform, he’d hate to think what she might have done.
Which left him swinging back and forth from frustration and fear himself. How could she defend a guy who was obviously behind her attack? The notion baffled him no end. And not only defend Carter, but threaten physical harm to Trace for defending her honor.
He took his hands out of his jeans pockets. Of course, he knew that was mistake number one—assuming that Jo would ever accept any man defending her honor.
He was so consumed with thoughts of the woman walking toward him that he didn’t realize his brother still stood next to him, until Eric cursed.
“Later,” Trace said again, then grinned at Jo. “Did you enjoy your dinner?” He barely noticed as Eric stalked off without even acknowledging her.
“I did,” she replied. “What’s going on with you and Eric?”
Trace tried to shake off the tightness in his shoulders. He didn’t want to think about his brother. Right now, all he wanted to do was hold the beautiful woman in front of him.
“May I have this dance?”
Was it him, or had Jo just blushed? Then again, it wasn’t really Jo, was it? He suspected that this was JoEllen Sue. Because the Jo he knew wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress.
What a shame. She looked drop-dead gorgeous.
She smiled at him and his heart skipped across his chest. He couldn’t remember her eyes ever looking so deeply blue, or her lips so full. Makeup? Perhaps. But it was the woman underneath he was responding to.
“Just so you know, I won’t be held responsible for any broken toes,” she said.
“Don’t worry. My boots are steel-toed.”
She laughed and took the hand he extended.
The band was in the middle of a Texas two-step. Trace draped his arm around her slender waist and held her hand in his. He expected her to be awkward, but with her gaze on his, she easily followed his lead. He grinned, pulling her closer to his side.
The quick beat put color into her cheeks, and he would swear she glowed out here on the dance floor. He didn’t see any of the other couples or the band except for a smear of color as he drank in his share of Jo’s happy smile and absorbed the warmth of having her close to him.
The piece ended and the band paused for a heartbeat.
“Thank you for the dance, Boss,” Jo said saucily.
He refused to let go of her hand. “Oh, no. We’re not anywhere done yet.”
He prayed for the band to play a slow song, and nearly gave a wolf whistle of praise when they launched into a ballad. Trace pulled Jo close, reveling in her soft gasp. In the feel of her right hand in his left, her body pressed against his, her breath falling on his neck. He hadn’t realized how narrow her waist was. He curved his hand around it, wondering what she might look like pregnant. Sara was nearly as round as she was tall, and resembled a cherub. An image of Jo wearing a cowboy hat, and those naughty red boots and nothing else, lying on her side with an arm around her swollen belly, made his breath almost cease.
He led her in the slow dance, swaying to the tempo of the music. He didn’t want to think about anything but Jo and the possibilities the future might hold.
“You know nearly every eye in the place is on us,” she whispered into his ear. She was staring down at their feet, no doubt in an effort to put some space between them.
He hauled her closer again, refusing to let her escape. “Let them look.”
She leaned back so she could see his eyes. “You’re not worried what they might think?”
He searched her face, trying to discern if she was. Then he realized this was Jo. He couldn’t imagine her caring what anyone thought of anything she did.
He grinned. “Right now, right this minute, I couldn’t care less.”
Her smiling response touched a spot so deep within him it almost scared him.
“I think you’ve had one beer too many,” she stated.
“Maybe.” He tightened his hand against her back. “Maybe not.”
He nuzzled his chin in her soft, sweet-smelling hair and tilted his head down, the rim of his hat protecting them both from prying eyes.
All too soon, the song ended. But their dance didn’t. Trace kept leading. And Jo kept following. Until the band announced they were taking a break and that a CD would be put on until they returned.
Jo finally took a step back. “Well,” she said.
“Yes, well.”
“Thanks for the dance.”
“May I have the next one?”
She smiled and looked around. “Oh, I’m not sure. I’ll have to check my dance card and let you know.”
He narrowed his eyes and nodded. “You do that.”
She laughed and walked off the dance floor like a woman who was not only used to wearing dresses, but a pro at it.
Trace shook his head and let out a low whistle as she walked away.
His brother was instantly on him.
“We need to have that talk. Now.”
JO WENT BACK UP TO THE house to see if there was anything else that needed doing in the kitchen, and to check how Sara was. But she only got as far as the porch.
“Hey, Atchison. I’m next in line.” Jackson was leaning against the stair railing.
She hesitated, not liking the slur in his voice. While it was questionable whether Trace had had one beer too many, it was clear that Jackson had.
“I don’t think I’m going to be dancing again tonight,” she said, taking the first two steps.
He made a loud teeth-sucking sound. “Now that would be a shame. A real shame, indeed. Seeing as you’re the prettiest girl out here.”
“You need to have your eyes examined, Jackson. Take a look around. There are at least two dozen better than me.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t spent the past six months imagining them naked.”
Jo’s nerve endings instantly went on alert. She glanced at his arms, but like every other man there, he wore long sleeves, the cuffs rolled up twice, revealing nothing.
Could Jackson have been capable of the attack?
Sara came out onto the porch. “Jo! Come on up here and sit with a pregnant woman for a minute.”
Never had she been so glad for an escape.
“WHAT IN THE HELL do you think you’re doing?” Eric demanded, after leading Trace to the side of the dance area, nearer the large fountain their father had built for their mother shortly before their deaths.
Trace blinked at him. “It would help if I knew what in the hell you’re talking about.”
Eric got in his face, his eyes as angry as Trace had ever seen them. Which ignited an answering anger within him.
This was it, he thought. Things were going to boil over right here, right now.
“Look,” Trace said, raising his hands. “This is your party. I don’t
think it’s a good idea that we do this here.”
“Like you said, it’s my party. I’ll do whatever I like.”
“Christ, Eric, would you just stop your putzing around and get to the point? What has got you so hot under the collar?” Trace was afraid if his brother didn’t stop, he was going to haul off and slug that sneer right off his face.
“What in the hell are you doing, sniffing after the help?” Eric said under his breath.
Trace’s eyes narrowed so tightly his brother was nearly a blur. “What? I know you didn’t just compare Jo to a dog.”
“No, I didn’t.” He jabbed his index finger into Trace’s chest. “I’m calling you one.”
Trace knocked his brother’s hand away, then had to hold his own stiffly at his sides to try to stifle the itch.
Eric paced away a short distance and then came back. “What are you thinking? Or, rather, what are you thinking with? ’Cause it sure ain’t your head.”
“Since when is my personal life any concern of yours?”
“When?” Eric raised a brow. “When there’s a woman at the table over there crying over you, that’s when.”
Jo was crying?
Trace looked in the direction his brother pointed…and spotted Ashleigh Trent.
“Shit.”
Trace had completely forgotten about Ashleigh.
“That’s all you have to say?” Eric demanded. “That girl has been pining over you since y’all were in the third grade. And that’s all you have to say?”
Trace took his hat off and dragged his hand through his hair. The last time he’d talked to Ashleigh had been a few days ago…or, rather, he’d gotten her message on his answering machine. The night Jo had sneaked into the house, his bed and his life.
He felt like a complete heel. Especially seeing the pretty blonde swiping at her cheeks with a tissue while her friend Jill tried to console her.
“Jesus.” He put his hat back on and paced one way and then the other. While he’d had no real interest in pursuing Ashleigh even before Jo had coming riding into his life, she certainly deserved to be treated better than this.
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