Harlequin Superromance May 2016 Box Set

by Janice Kay Johnson

  She traced the triad tattoo on his chest with her index finger. He tensed—would she ask about it? And if she did, would he tell her about Eliot?

  “I didn’t know it would be so...so.”

  He chuckled. “I hope that’s a good so.” Sighing, he slid his arm out from under her. He had to get up, and so did she. “Be right back.”

  He washed up in the bathroom and took care of the condom. When he came back out, Lacy was sitting up in bed, her knees tucked up to her chin. She looked impossibly young, in this room with all its trappings of her youth. That strong urge to protect her hit him again.

  But he didn’t want to come on too strong. She was watching him as he picked up his clothes where he’d abandoned them at the foot of her bed. “Your turn.”

  He got his jeans on while she cleaned up and tried to guess which Lacy he’d get when she came out—defiant? Shy? Both?

  He’d put his money on both and was not disappointed. She strutted out, gloriously naked—but there was no missing the way she couldn’t meet his gaze.

  He stood and said, “Dinner?” in as casual a voice as he could muster. That didn’t stop him from pulling her into his arms and against his bare chest.

  “Dinner,” she agreed, leaning into him.

  A high buzzing noise cut through the house, causing Lacy to jump. “The doorbell!” She looked down at her complete lack of clothing. “Um...”

  “I’ll get it.” He snagged his shirt and yanked it over his head. “Get dressed.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “As if I was going to waltz around naked,” he heard her mutter as he headed toward the front door.

  He opened it to see a weathered older man leaning toward the locks, keys in hand. “Help you?” Ian said in his best bouncer voice, even though he was pretty sure this had to be Murph, the hired hand.

  Murph jumped back in surprise. He took one look at Ian and his face hardened into a mask of rage. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Ian held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Easy—I’m a friend of Lacy’s.”

  Murph was not impressed by this statement. “Where is she?” he snarled, advancing a step on Ian. “What did you do to her?”

  Ian was not prone to fits of embarrassment, but right then, his cheeks shot hot. He wasn’t afraid of Murph—the old coot was probably pushing sixty—but he didn’t want to give away any of Lacy’s secrets. Nor did he particularly want to admit to having been the one who broke her rib. “We’re friends,” he said in as calm and steady a voice as he could manage. At least Murph hadn’t pulled a gun on him—but the day wasn’t over yet. “I’m here to help out.”

  “Murph?” Lacy called out. “I’m here—I was in the shower! I’ll be right there!”

  “Is this guy supposed to be here?” Murph yelled back.

  “Yes! Give me a second!”

  Ian knew it might take several seconds, depending on what she decided to wear. The hot shower and the sex might have relaxed her, but jerking her arms through a shirt could still leave her gasping for breath.

  He took a risk and stuck out his hand. “Ian Tall Chief. You must be Murph. Lacy’s told me a lot about you.”

  “Funny,” Murph said, not shaking hands. “She hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

  Ian cocked an eyebrow at the older man and let his hand drop. “We were about to eat dinner. Care to join us?”

  Murph didn’t reply. Instead, after another few moments of glaring, he leaned forward and said in a low voice, “You hurt her, there’s no place you can go I won’t find you.”

  He had to give it to Murph, he was doing a bang-up job of intimidation. “Good. She needs someone watching her back.”

  This caught Murph off guard. He looked at Ian in confusion as Lacy hurried into the room, fastening the last button on her shirt. “Murph—oh, you’ve met,” she said, completely missing the tension in the room.

  “Ian, right?” Murph said. He took his hat off his head. “We met.”

  Lacy must have caught a whiff of disapproval because her head popped up. “Ian’s a bullfighter on the circuit,” she explained.

  This did not appease Murph. He shifted his gaze to Lacy, who colored prettily.

  Ian wanted to jump in and tell Murph where he could shove his judgment, but he figured that was the quickest way to a fistfight. This was Lacy’s house, Lacy’s hired hand. So Ian kept his mouth shut and let her handle it.

  “He’s been helping me since Wreck,” she said, lifting her chin. Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I wouldn’t have been able to get the bulls loaded if he hadn’t been there.” Murph stared at her as if she’d spoken Latin. “We’re both going to be at the same rodeo in Pierre next week, so he offered to drive home with me.”

  “She said she had work for me to do,” Ian added. “I grew up on a ranch.”

  Murph’s gaze darted between the two of them. “Well, we could use a hand getting those cows ready for the trucks—they’ll be here on Wednesday.”

  Ian wondered if Lacy had told Murph about her rib. No, he decided. She wouldn’t want anyone else to know she was hurting.

  “Good. The carcass hauler cut me a break on...on Wreck,” she finished, trying so hard to sound strong.

  Which only made him want to pull her back into his arms. He did no such thing.

  “I sure am sorry, girl,” Murph said. He sounded sincere about it. “He was a good bull.”

  “He was a pain in the ass,” she said with an awkward laugh. “But this changes things. You’re staying for dinner?”

  Murph shot another look at Ian, one that clearly said the older man was going to leave Ian alone with Lacy as little as possible. Ian ignored him.

  “Thank you kindly,” Murph said. “Tell me what happened.”

  * * *

  LACY WAS NOT hiding in her bathroom. Really she wasn’t. She just didn’t know what she should do next. Should she go out there naked? She didn’t normally sleep naked. But then, she didn’t normally have a man waiting for her in her bed.

  She was being ridiculous, especially after everything they’d done together. The old Lacy would have hidden in the bathroom like an idiot. The new Lacy would wear what she wanted to bed and it wouldn’t be a big deal.

  Except... Murph had been doing his best impression of a dad, scowling at Ian anytime he got within three feet of Lacy and making her feel as if she was thirteen again. True, her father wouldn’t have been quite that rude about the whole situation, and yes, Ian had handled it perfectly. Just as he’d been doing for weeks now, he treated Lacy as if she was one of the guys. She felt stupid for remembering how she’d thought that meant Ian wasn’t into her.

  Now she knew better.

  She turned off the light and tried to open the door with confidence. Then she saw Ian, shirtless, sitting in her bed, her quilt bunched up around his waist, her heart-shaped pillows in his hands. She was stunned for a moment at how good he looked—how he seemed to fit right in. She wished she felt that comfortable anywhere.

  “I gotta say, I didn’t figure you to have pillow-sized candy hearts—complete with messages—on your bed,” he said without looking up.

  “My mom made them for my ninth birthday,” she said, glad he wasn’t looking at her in her long sleep shirt and panties as she walked to the bedside. She slid under the covers next to Ian, catching a glimpse of black boxer briefs. Somehow, the fact that he wasn’t naked made her feel better.

  “She made you pillows that say I LUV U and BE MINE?” He handed her a pillow, and then leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder.

  “Yeah.” Lacy looked down at the I LUV YOU pillow. Once, it’d been bright red. Mom had even gotten it to be sort of flat and heart shaped, like the real candy hearts. But the fabric had faded and years of sleeping on it had made it lumpy.
/>   Mom had loved her. “She used to say...” Lacy could still see her walking into the room when it was time to go to sleep. Mom would sit on the edge of the bed and smooth Lacy’s hair away from her face. That was their moment together, that quiet time right before Lacy went to sleep. “She used to say I was the answer to her prayers.”

  Linda Evans had never much said the words “I love you.” Instead she’d made pillows and bought plastic horses and every night, told Lacy that she was the answer to her prayers.

  Lacy hadn’t realized what Mom had really been saying until it was too late.

  She leaned her head against Ian’s. She could tell that he had questions—hell, she had questions—but he was giving her space. She changed the subject while she still could. “I’m sorry about Murph. He’s protective of me.”

  “No problem.” Ian slid down under the covers, so Lacy set the heart pillow aside and turned out the light.

  It shouldn’t seem this natural to curl up against him, but it did. “He only threatened me a little.”

  “He did what?” She was going to have words with that man.

  Ian’s chest moved underneath her arm. “He didn’t pull a gun or anything, so it’s good. I take it he’s known you your whole life?”

  “Yeah—well, since I was two.” She sighed, letting Ian’s warmth surround her. “But then, so has Slim Smalls and he’d throw me to the wolves if he got the chance.” Ian stroked her hair and she felt her body relax. “I wish I knew what he wanted with this place. Or with me.”

  “Don’t know. But I’m not going to let him get away with anything that puts you in danger again.” His other hand covered hers as it rested on his bare chest. “At the risk of sounding like I’m taking over—which I’m not trying to do—I do have a plan for some friends to keep an eye on you when I’m not around.” He leaned up and kissed her forehead. “Although I’m going to be around as much as I can.”

  Her heart pounded faster. Because as good as that sounded, it wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for “no-strings-attached.”

  She was on her unbroken side, with her leg over his and her arm on his chest. He stroked her hair with one hand and the other was tucked under his head. The physical closeness was something she hadn’t realized she’d needed. Her parents were not overly affectionate in public—the most handsy she’d ever seen them was when they watched movies. That was when Mom would curl up next to Dad and he’d put his arm around her shoulders.

  Being able to touch another person—to hold them and to know they were holding her back?

  She thought she’d be able to sleep tonight. The pain in her ribs was better and Ian was here, her human heating pad.

  He turned to face her. “I know the land is your home, Lacy, but when that bull had you in his sights, it scared the hell out of me. And there’s not much in this world that actually scares me.”

  She gave him a weak grin. “I’d tell you that’s a load of bull crap, but I did see you take down Rattler. I believe it.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he told her, his voice a breath on her lips.

  “You happened,” she reminded him.

  He rolled into her. “Is that a good thing?”

  “Best thing that’s happened to me in months,” she told him truthfully. “And I haven’t seen any of it coming. Not just you. My parents’ deaths, the...” She swallowed. The box, she wanted to say. The box with the adoption papers in it.

  But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Which was almost as ridiculous as being unable to decide if she was sleeping in her nightshirt or not. She could share her body with Ian, but not this. Not yet.

  “I won’t let you lose another bull,” Ian told her, misinterpreting her silence. “Rattler’s a great bull. Meanest beast I’ve tangled with in a long time.”

  “You say the sweetest things.” Why couldn’t she tell him about the box? He’d never known her before, not like Murph did. He’d only known her after. He wouldn’t think any less of her.

  This wasn’t the 1950s anymore. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Her birth parents had given her to good people who had loved her and raised her right. She’d had a good life.

  All of these things made perfect sense.

  And she still couldn’t bring herself to own up to a truth that still felt as new and raw as it did the day she’d opened that damned box.

  So instead she hugged Ian as best she could without jostling her ribs. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice gentle as he cupped her cheek and lifted her face to kiss her. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the rest of my promise.”

  The only thing he’d said he’d do to her—and hadn’t yet—had been pulling her on top of him and watching her ride. Lacy shivered at the thought.

  “Tomorrow,” she whispered back.

  “Sleep,” he told her.

  Yes. She would. And tomorrow...

  Maybe tomorrow she’d tell him about the box.

  Maybe.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “HOW’S YOUR GIRLFRIEND?”

  Ian shot Jack a hard look before he turned his attention back to the rider and bull in the chute. “Dude, she’ll punch you if she hears you say that,” Ian warned him.

  Jack chuckled. “So it’s going well, then?”

  “She’s okay.”

  Jerome Salzberg nodded and his bull flew out of the chute. Ian danced out of the way of the bull’s hooves but kept close enough that he could step in when Jerome bit the dust.

  Which he did after only six and a half seconds. Ian heard a small crunch as Jerome landed on his pretty-boy face and rolled. That was probably his nose, Ian thought with satisfaction. That’s what Jerome got for being too cool to wear a helmet.

  As much as Ian might like to see the jerk get a few more bruises, he couldn’t let a rider get trampled. He jumped between Jerome and the bull and waved his hands, ready to dodge if the bull took it personally.

  The animal wasn’t in the mood to fight. Instead, after tossing its head at Ian and Jack, the bull trotted out of the arena.

  “Thanks,” Jerome muttered. His nose was bleeding. It was almost as satisfying as if Ian had punched him.

  “Yup,” Ian said. While they were in the arena, he could be a professional.

  “Just okay?” Jack said, picking up the conversation after Jerome had made it to the fences. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Dude,” Ian snapped as he found Lacy standing on top of one of the chutes. Her bull Chicken Run was in the chute and it looked as if the Preacher was due up. “Get your mind out of the damned gutter. I drove her home and spent the next four days working my ass off.” Jack snorted, but Ian ignored that. “She’s got about eight hundred head of cattle and one hired hand—plus a broken rib. I don’t know how the hell she’s kept her ranch going for the last eight months.”

  “You really worked?”

  Ian would have said a few choice words, but the Preacher had gotten his grip and Chicken had exploded out of the chute. The bull gave it a good shot, but the Preacher hung on until the buzzer. Even better, when he let go and went flying, he landed behind Chicken.

  Jack did the waving this time as Ian circled around to make sure the Preacher’s escape was covered as the bull left the arena. “Wooee!” the Preacher said when his score of eighty-four was announced. “Making a good run for Vegas this year.”

  Ian nodded, trying to keep an eye on Lacy without ignoring the Preacher. She was hopping down off the chutes and probably following Chicken back to the paddocks. “You’ve got a hell of a shot.”

  The Preacher chuckled as he followed Ian’s gaze. “You gonna be up there with us?”

  Wasn’t that the ten-thousand-dollar question. “Working on it,” Ian told him. If he could make it to Vegas, he could contact Eliot’s parents.

&n
bsp; Of course Ian knew he could contact them, anyway. But if he was going to meet the son he’d given away, he wanted to be someone the boy could be proud of. He wanted Eliot to know that he came from good people, people who could do anything they made up their mind to.

  Once the Preacher was out of the arena, Ian walked back over to Jack. “Seriously, man—what are the odds we’ll get called up to Vegas?” They were amassing points but he didn’t know if it’d be enough.

  As if on cue, Jack rubbed at the leg that’d been broken two years ago in a bad wreck. “Seriously? Maybe fifty-fifty.”

  “Dammit.”

  “You’re young. You’ve got time,” Jack said, his Texas drawl heavy. He tried to stretch out his bum leg and winced. “Either we’ll get there or we won’t. All we can do is take it one rodeo at a time.”

  “Zen is a really weird emotion on you, man.”

  “You should try it sometimes,” Jack retorted.

  Garth was up now, but he didn’t make it more than four seconds. His landing was rough and the bull was pissy. All three of them wound up running for the fences, where they sat until the rider on horseback could get the bull roped and out of the arena.

  “Hey,” Garth said as they waited, “how’s your girlfriend?”

  “Dude, seriously? We’re just friends.” Ian could feel his cheeks getting hot, though. “Friends,” he repeated with more force.

  “Yeah, sure,” Garth snorted. “I know I’d sleep in a truck for days on end to watch a ‘friend’s’ bulls.”

  “Don’t you have someplace else to be?” Ian snapped. “Ropes to pull, bulls to step on you?”

  Garth shot him a smarmy look and hopped down. “I gotta keep an eye on those bulls. I’ll tell your girlfriend you said hi.”

  “She’ll wipe the floor with you!” Ian called after him.

  “That, I believe,” Jack said. “You got the plan set up?”

  “I don’t think anyone’s going to try anything here—not on my home turf.” Not too many people had made the three-plus-hour drive out from the rez today, but tomorrow? Yeah, it was going to be a party.