by Becky McGraw
“Yeah,” he replied. He wished she’d get to her point and get out of here, before he did what his body was screaming for him to do. Pull her to him and kiss that red pouty mouth of hers until she begged him to take her inside the old farmhouse he called home now. He glanced at the house then back to her and shut down the urge to do that. “What did you have to say to me?” he asked.
She took a step toward him and he stepped back. His back was flush to his truck. His heart rate ratcheted up when she leaned forward. Her lips moved to his ear and she just breathed a minute, before she whispered, “I’m glad all you have is time, because I have a lot to say.” Her fingers pushed into his shoulder and she stepped away from him to cross her arms over her chest.
Trace shook his head and wrestled to regain his composure. He turned and put his gun back behind the seat of his truck to buy himself a minute to do that.
“What?” he asked facing her again.
“I’d keep that gun handy if I were you. You might need it before I’m done.”
“You here to rough me up?” Trace asked and his eyes skimmed her body again.
“Depends on your attitude,” she replied with a lifted brow.
Trying to keep his voice even, Trace said, “You’re the only one here with an attitude, Red. Did that come standard with the bike and getup?”
“You know damned well the attitude came standard with the red hair from the birth canal for me.” Ronnie glanced down at herself then back up and shrugged. “As for the getup. I didn’t think a power suit would be appropriate motorcycle riding attire.”
“Last time you rode a bike, you were half naked,” Trace said with a short laugh.
“Last time I rode a bike I was half-drugged. And I trusted the man I was riding with not to hurt me.”
That zinger shot an arrow right through his heart. The last thing Trace had meant to do was hurt her. He knew the way he left things between them had done that though. Like pulling a Band Aid off, he thought a quick break between them would be best for both of them. But now she was back, and he was going to have to pull the scab off of his heart again. “What are you doing here, Red?” Trace turned away from her and shut the truck door. He started walking toward the barn and she followed him. “Shouldn’t you be in court defending someone? Or making some prosecutor piss his pants?”
“I decided I needed to defend myself from here on out,” she said when he stopped at the barn door and turned to face her. “That’s what I’m here to do. I told my daddy off, told the firm off, now it’s your turn.”
Trace knew exactly what Ronnie had to say to him, but he tried to buy himself a moment more to shore up his defenses for the confrontation he knew was brewing. “You told the firm off? I thought you got promoted?” he deflected.
“They offered, but I turned them down. And I quit. You know that’s not what I’m here to talk about though.”
It looked like she wasn’t going to be distracted, so he drew in a deep breath, huffed it out and asked the question, “What are you here to talk about then?”
“Us.”
Trace shook his head. “There is no us, Ronnie. You have a career and a life in the city. I have my solitude and peace out here. We had something, it was fun, but it’s over. Just let it go.” Trace turned away from her to walk in the barn, because he knew his face would give away the lie if she studied it too closely.
He stopped when she dropped her hand on his shoulder. “Let it go?” she said in a voice an octave higher than normal. “I don’t think so. You’re not running from this one, mister. You used me, and you are going to at least explain yourself.”
Trace spun back around to face her. “I don’t have a damned thing to offer you. I’m rebuilding my life, Ronnie. This is where I want to be and how I want to live,” he said raising his hand to wave it around the barn. “It’s not the high life. It’s damned hard work. I don’t want to live in the fast lane anymore. You’re a damned Ferrari speeding down that road so fast you’re nothing but a blur!”
Both her eyebrows lifted, and she didn’t say a word, but the leather gloves she wore creaked as she clenched her fists tighter. Trace dragged his eyes away from hers to stare at Nutter, his palomino gelding who was staring at him from over the top of his stall.
He cleared his throat, because his next words formed a knot there. “You’ll find someone else, Ronnie. Conner is in love with you. Try to work something out with him. Ya’ll are two peas in a pod.”
“I don’t need a man in my life, and I don’t love Conner,” Ronnie said following him into the barn. “But I do love you. That is the first time in my life I’ve said those words to anyone,” she said fiercely. “And the best you could do was shut me down and run away? If you don’t feel the same way, at least you could have the balls to tell me that to my face. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”
“It wouldn’t do either of us any good for you to say it or me to hear it. We’re too different, Ronnie.”
“No, we’re too much alike,” she argued taking a step closer to him. “You have fought all your life to prove to the world that you’re better than your daddy just like I have. I realized at the party the other night that if I stayed at the firm, in the profession, I was going to end up being just like him, not better. That’s why I turned in my resignation.”
Trace shook his head. He couldn’t believe that Ronnie had done that. The world was in the palm of her hand, and she blew it away like sand. “That was stupid. No matter why you did it, you’ve worked too hard to get where you are to do that. Call and tell them you had a breakdown or something and want your job back.”
“I didn’t have a breakdown, Trace. I had a moment of the clearest thought I’ve ever had in my life. I can do more than I’m doing. I’m not wasting a minute more of my life defending people who don’t deserve that minute of my time.”
“So what the hell are you going to do?”
“I’m going to work with the organization that helps abused women like the illegals we rescued. They all have legal issues I can help them with. I’m also going to do pro-bono work for people I think deserve my help. I’m going to pick and choose who I represent from here on out.”
“No wonder you bought a bike,” he said with a laugh. “You’re going to need it. Sounds like you’re going to be broke.”
“If I have to ride a bicycle and sleep in a cardboard box, I will be a better person than I was before. Better than my daddy.”
Ronnie took a step toward him and took his hand in hers. She uncurled his fingers and dropped the keys to the motorcycle in his palm, then closed his fingers around them. Her beautiful brown eyes met his. “This is my last reparation to make. The bike is yours to make up for the one you lost saving me. We’re even now,” she said, stepping back from him. “There’s only one thing I can’t give back to you.”
“What’s that?” Trace asked and fought the urge to take her into his arms. She looked so sad. So, not Ronnie. The attitude was gone. And so was her anger. What was left was a soft, vulnerable woman. A woman he knew he couldn’t resist for long.
“Your courage. Before you went to prison, along with your ego, you had courage in spades. That’s what I love—liked about you. You had balls. When everyone else ran for the hills, you stood up and fought. You fought for your partner, you fought for yourself, and you fought for what you believed in. Now, you don’t fight for anyone, or anything. If a problem pops up, you fold and run. I love you, but regardless of how you feel about me, I can’t be with a man like that. You’ve become just like Leland—a coward.” Ronnie shook her head like she pitied him, then turned away. “Take care of yourself, Trace.”
By the time he processed all that she’d said, Ronnie was gone. Trace walked to the barn door and saw she was already halfway down the driveway. That woman had some long legs, and her stride when she was determined ate up the ground. Even in those four inch boots she was wearing. She was on foot though and he knew he could catch her.
The question was, did he
want to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ronnie swiped at the tears coursing down her cheek behind the sunglasses she wore. The tears pissed her off more than anything. Ronnie did not cry. She hadn’t cried since…well except for the way back to Amarillo, she hadn’t cried ever. That this man who wasn’t worthy of her love had made her cry again by standing there looking at her like a trapped deer while she basically called him a nutless coward would piss anyone off.
Her stomach was in knots, her nerves were on edge and she felt sick. Trace had a lot to do with that. Even more now that she had finally told him she loved him, and he said nothing. Ronnie was well and truly alone. Not a damned soul gave a shit about her. But at least she finally cared about herself. Enough to know she had done the right thing by quitting the firm, and setting her daddy straight. And by telling Trace how she felt.
She thought for sure comparing him to Leland would have done the job. But her usual shock value tactic hadn’t worked this time. If Trace would not fight with her, he certainly wasn’t going to fight for her. He didn’t want her, didn’t care enough to argue back.
It would take some time, but she would get over him. She just hoped that she could find herself. Figure out who she was and what she wanted in this life.
A throaty engine roared beside her and Ronnie jumped back. Trace stopped the bike beside her, but he didn’t kill the engine. “Need a ride, babe?” he asked, and revved the bike a few times.
“No thank you,” she replied stiffly and started walking down the driveway again. She let her eyes wander over the pasture where she saw a few black cows grazing, trying like hell to ignore the bad ass image of Trace Rooks idling his bike down the road beside her wearing his dirty jeans with the hole in the knee and white t-shirt with that delicious cowboy hat and boots.
No, she wasn’t looking, and she wasn’t going to take a ride from him. Ronnie would walk all the way back to Amarillo, or hitch a ride once she got to the highway. So what if that was twenty miles down the road. At the thought, her feet throbbed inside the high-heel boots. In hindsight her choice of footwear for today, might not have been the best decision, but they looked damned good and gave her the confidence to actually come out here.
Ronnie wasn’t about to let Trace Rooks know she was in pain though, inside where her heart was in a million little pieces, or in her boots where her feet felt like they were on fire now. She ignored him idling beside her down the road by keeping her gaze fixed on the cows. Suddenly, her heel landed in a hole, her ankle twisted and pain shot up her calf. The dirt road came up to meet her quickly, and she landed hard on her knees. Sucking in a sharp breath she rolled to sit and unzipped her boot. Trace stopped the bike, but he didn’t get off to help her.
“Tired of being hardheaded yet, Red?” he asked.
“Go to hell,” she said massaging her ankle, before she zipped her boot back up and shoved up to her feet again. Ignoring the pain, she started walking again and made it about ten steps further, before she finally admitted she was either going to have to take a ride with him, or walk barefooted.
“C’mon, Red. I’m sorry I hurt you. Please come up to the house so we can talk.”
“Oh, ho—now you want to talk?” she said angrily turning to face him.
“Yeah, I do, so stop being stubborn and get on the back of this bike.”
Stubborn? What the hell did he think he was, if not stubborn? And Ronnie was as done here with him, as she had been the night of the party with her father and the firm. “Well, I’ve said all I need to say to you, but I would appreciate a ride back to town.” She hobbled over to the bike, threw her leg over and settled behind him. The last thing she wanted to do was touch him, so she put her hands on her thighs instead of around his waist.
“You better hold on, Red,” he cautioned, as he balanced the bike. She gripped her thighs tighter with her fingers, but when he twisted throttle and the bike lurched, she threw her arms around his waist to keep from sliding off the back of the seat. Was that a laugh she felt vibrate through him where she clutched his hard stomach? The engine was so loud, she couldn’t be sure. Trace zoomed down the hard-packed dirt road and she hung onto him for dear life, but she was still bounced on the seat with every pothole he hit.
With one final bounce he pulled onto the asphalt of the road and Ronnie breathed a sigh of relief, loosening her hold on him a little. Trace leaned forward though and the bike lurched as he twisted the throttle. It felt to her like he twisted the throttle on her heart too, as the bike picked up speed. Her heart must be at least the same RPM as the motorcycle. Excitement sent adrenaline through her veins as she leaned forward, tightened her arms around his waist again and laid her face against the strong muscles in his back.
Because she couldn’t help herself, Ronnie breathed in his scent. Sweet hay, clean sweat and Trace Rooks, the most exciting man she’d ever met in her life. He was someone who matched her snarky, abrasive, competitive spirit perfectly. She didn’t scare him, and he completed her. Ronnie had no idea how she would find someone like him again. It would be damned tough to find anyone else who could make her body sizzle like Trace did. Or someone who could put up with her.
Her eyes burned and she knew it wasn’t from the wind that was whipping her hair into a frenzy around her face. Ronnie Winters, a woman who thought she didn’t have the capacity to cry about anything, was turning into a virtual sprinkler system. This was the last time she would have the opportunity hold onto him, so she held a little tighter, inhaled his scent a little deeper and committed the feelings inside of her to memory.
When they reached Amarillo proper, they would say goodbye and that would be it. She would probably never see him again. The tears started and before long she realized she had made a puddle under her face where it was pressed into his t-shirt. She leaned back a little and tilted her chin up to let the wind dry her face and his shirt.
The bike slowed a little and he took his left hand off the handle bars. He rested it on her thigh and his fingers gave it a squeeze. The heat burned right through her leather pants and sizzled up her thigh. She wasn’t going to be able to stand his hand on her leg all the way back to town, so she reached forward and tried to pry it off. Trace grabbed her hand and wrapped it around his waist, then rested his on top. Was he trying to drive her insane, she wondered? He was doing a damned good job of it if that was his purpose.
“Relax, Red,” he yelled and she barely heard him over the roar of the bike, and the howl of the wind.
Trace patted her hand then put his back on the handlebars. The bike slowed more and he leaned to the right. Ronnie braced and leaned into the turn with him onto the narrow dirt road that was barely visible between the trees. She wondered where the hell he was going. Amarillo was a straight shot down the road they had been on.
Ronnie gritted her teeth as they bounced down the dirt road, and held onto him tighter. Trace drove into the trees, and suddenly the sunlight became muted, the temperature cooled and Ronnie felt like she’d just entered some kind of paradise when the trees parted and Trace stopped the bike by a huge pond. Cattails and tall wispy brown grass skirted it on the other side, and the sun reflecting off of the emerald green water made it look like diamonds floated on the surface.
He killed the engine of the bike and put his feet on the ground then sat there for a moment. Finally, he kicked a heel back and put the stand on the bike down. “Get off, Red,” he said.
Ronnie put her foot down and her heel immediately sank into the marshy ground. She almost tumbled off of the back of the bike, but Trace caught her and pushed her back onto the seat. “Give me your foot,” he ordered and grabbed her leg to pull her calf over his thigh. He unzipped her boot and jerked it off. “Damned high heel boots. What the hell were you thinking?” he grumbled as he threw it over the handle bars.
“I was thinking they looked pretty damned hot with my leather pants,” she said with a laugh.
“And you’re right, but they are not something you wear to ride a
motorcycle,” he replied as he grabbed her other calf, balanced it over his thigh and pulled off the second boot. He tossed it in the same direction as the first. “Now, get off.”
She put her bare foot down and swung her leg over the back of the bike then stood back as Trace did the same. Ronnie wondered why he was prolonging the agony here, instead of taking her back to town. She hoped the bike wasn’t having mechanical problems or something. She put her hands on her hips. “This isn’t Amarillo. Why did you stop?”
“Because I want to show you something. And I want to talk to you,” He said gruffly, as he reached for her hand.
Ronnie pulled hers back. “Trace this isn’t making it easier on me,” she said and the tremble in her voice pissed her off. “I just want to get back to town.”
“Well, I want to talk to you,” he said grabbing her hand in an iron grip. He dragged her over the spongy ground behind him, into the trees, up a little slope that overlooked the water and sat down beside a huge tree. The spot was a catbird’s seat to look down at the tranquil pond. Birds called happily through the trees, and she heard rustling above her and looked up to see squirrels chasing each other acrobatically through the tree limbs. Ronnie smiled and a sense of peace settled inside of her.
That fled when Trace jerked her arm and pulled her down beside him. His hand closed over hers and he gripped it tightly. His eyes were intense when her eyes met them. “You want to know what I thought about every day while I was in prison?” he asked gruffly then looked out over the pond. “This is what I thought about. It was the only thing that kept me sane. Knowing that one day, I might be able to come back here.”
Ronnie’s eyes moved around the perimeter of the pond, across the still water then met his again. “I can see where this would give you comfort.”
“It wasn’t comfort. It was freedom. This is what that means to me.”
What did freedom mean to her? Now that she had broken free of a job that was sucking the life out of her, what exactly did that mean? She could see where this place would soothe his soul. “It’s beautiful out here.”