Branded

by Laura Wright

  “And riding doesn’t leave you,” he added, watching her. “Not when it’s in your blood.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll see about that.” She started to lead her horse out of the barn; then she stopped and glanced back at him. “Should I wait for you to tack up, city boy?”

  Deacon grinned. “You go on ahead, darlin’. I’ll catch up.”

  “You don’t even know where I’m headed.” She reached for her gray Stetson, which was hanging from a hook on the wall, and dropped it on her head.

  Deacon’s eyes ran the length of her, from boots to Stetson and everything in between. Good Lord, she made his insides melt like a tarred road in August.

  “Don’t worry.” He grabbed the mare’s halter. “I’ll find you.”

  Her eyes danced with amusement. “Getting cocky ain’t gonna help your sense of direction none. But I have to say, I’m dying to see you try.”

  Without waiting for him to respond, she turned and headed out of the barn, her denim-clad ass swaying like she was hearing music inside her head.

  Deacon turned away from the dangerous sight with a low growl. Oh, he’d find her all right. Not just because he knew her scent now, or because he was a helluva tracker, but because he knew every inch of this land. His land. Knew where fences got busted most often, where the water gaps happened after the rain.

  He opened the stall door and eyed Trouble. “You and me, we got a job to do. You like huntin’ for treasure?”

  She tossed her head and snorted.

  “That’s what I thought.” He chuckled.

  But when he went to halter her, she slipped her head in the red nylon without even a whisper of apprehension.

  • • •

  Mac had fixed two fences and was just pulling up to a water gap when she heard him, heard the sound of hooves hitting earth a mile or so off. Tipping her hat back and squinting her eyes against the sun, she spotted him. Riding hell-bent for leather across the meadow, horse and rider looking like they’d been together for years. She shook her head and pushed out a breath. She’d known he’d find her. Just like he’d said, he was still a part of this land. No matter what had happened to make him hate it so. It was why she’d asked him along. She needed to find out why, needed to see if she could change his mind before it was too late.

  She reached up and wiped the sweat from her cheek and jaw. Was she actually overheated at eight a.m.? After fixing a couple of goddamned fences? She jumped down and led Gypsy to a patch of grass, then grabbed her tools. Nope. It wasn’t the sun overhead that was causing her to sweat. It was the man barreling toward her on one of the most mercurial horses at the Triple C. Standing calf-deep in water next to a downed post and a couple wires, Mackenzie just stared at him as he came toward her. Brown Stetson covering his dark hair and the top half his face, white T-shirt showing off all that muscle. Shit, she’d thought he sat behind a desk and barked orders all day long. Clearly, he was doing way more than that.

  He was about a half mile away now, coming in fast, the ground rumbling like an earthquake beneath her feet. Damn, she hated how sexy he was. Hated how her body reacted to his fierce confidence and fiercer passion. Last night, alcohol fueling her, she’d taken what she wanted. Without thinking, without asking. A long time ago, a silly young girl with a bad attitude and a fondness for getting herself and her best friend into trouble had followed a certain Cavanaugh brother around, pretending to hate him, always giving him a hard time of it. When what she’d really wanted was to be noticed by him. Not as a pest or a pain, but as a girl. Maybe even be kissed by him.

  Her heart stumbled in her chest. That girl’s silly wish hadn’t exactly been realized. Sure, there’d been a kiss. But it had been Mac who’d taken it. Lord, she’d never known that soft, full lips could be so possessive, so hungry, so feral. If she had, maybe she’d have tried something with him earlier, before he’d left the Triple C, way back when they were teenagers.

  With a sharp “Ho” he pulled up a few yards away and let Trouble walk a bit. His green eyes on Mac, Deacon circled the mare a few times, nice and easy, then brought her to a stop at the rim of the water.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well what?” she answered.

  “What’s my prize, foreman?”

  His voice, so husky, so perfect in the open air, made Mac’s hands unsteady with the wire cutters. “What are you talking about?”

  One side of his mouth kicked up. “I found you.”

  She laughed. “And?”

  “And I won.”

  Standing in the water, she stared up at him. Seeing him sitting on that horse, his green eyes and gorgeous face peeking out from under his dusty Stetson, Mac felt as though no time had passed. He wasn’t the billionaire tycoon from Dallas, ready to bulldoze this land he’d just raced across. Not today. Today, he was a cowboy.

  “There’s no winning, Deacon Cavanaugh,” she returned.

  He eased his hat back and gave her a look of mock reproach. “You practically dared me to find you back in that barn, Mackenzie Byrd.”

  The sun shone fully on his face now, making his eyes shine like twin and very wicked emeralds. She shrugged. “Maybe I did. But there’s no winning on a dare. You either accept or you don’t.”

  He led Trouble in a small circle again. “That’s not how I remember dares.”

  She pointed the fence stretcher at him. “That’s because you’re old.”

  His eyes widened.

  She broke out laughing. “Yup. And sorry to inform you, but memory’s the first thing to go.”

  “Shit, darlin’,” he muttered, jumping down from Trouble and tying her to a tree a few feet away from Gypsy. “You know I’m only four years older than you, right?”

  She walked through the water, over to the fence. “That all?”

  Coming up beside her, he shot her a good-natured grin, then joined her in cleaning the dead grass and such off the broken wire. The top three wires were still in good shape. They just needed to fix the one on the bottom.

  “Hand me those fence stretchers, foreman,” he said. “And as far as memory goes, mine’s crystal clear.” She straightened out the wires and he spliced them together. “In fact,” he continued. “I remember you having one of the biggest goddamn crushes on me this ranch has ever seen.”

  Mackenzie froze, and within seconds her heart started slamming violently against her ribs. She hadn’t heard him right. Oh, please, God, let her not have heard him right.

  Deacon chuckled. “Not to worry. Didn’t mind it then; don’t mind it now.”

  “What?” she practically spat out, embarrassment surging through her. Had she really been that obvious back then? She’d truly thought he hadn’t even noticed her outside of all the annoying shit she pulled. “Oh, let me assure you, cowboy, there’s no now.”

  He turned and gave her a knowing grin. “Come on, Mac.”

  Oh jeez. Her skin prickling with awareness and her cheeks flaming from humiliation, Mackenzie turned away and started down the fence line.

  “You did have a crush on me,” he called after her.

  “I think you just rode right past Arrogant Town and parked in Egomaniacville,” she called back.

  He laughed. “Tell me it’s not true, Mackenzie.”

  “I’m not telling you nothin’.” She turned to glare at him, but her false ire turned soft when she saw him pounding a T-post into the ground. His face was hard, sweaty, and the muscles in his arms flexed under his skin with every drive.

  Damn.

  “So, you have a diary or somethin’? Was I in it?” He finished driving the T-post and clipped the wire to it, then turned to face her. “Did you write Deacon plus Mackenzie equals love?”

  He was so close to the truth she nearly admitted it. But that would be stupid. And after last night, she’d used up all her stupid. She eyed him. “What’s it gonna take to make you stop?”

  His grin widened. “I want my prize.”

  She felt that grin all the way down her body. “We
ll, I don’t have a ribbon on me.”

  “Don’t like ribbons.”

  “Got no gold in these pockets neither.”

  “I don’t need any more gold, darlin’.”

  No, she was pretty sure that was true. “Fine.” She gave her best foreman’s stare down. “You hungry?”

  His eyes turned from humor to heat in a split second. “Always.”

  Good God and all that was holy. This man was making her shiver in ninety damn degrees. “Easy, cowboy. I’m talking about lunch. I got it packed. Soon as we finish all the water gaps, I’ll share it with you.”

  “Oh, hell, that’s no prize,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

  “What it is, Deacon Cavanaugh, is a big goddamn sacrifice. I’m starving.”

  “Fine,” he tossed back. His eyes filled with amusement. “Then there’d better be enough. I’m starving, too.”

  “Trouble.” Shaking her head, she turned back to the fence and stretched out the wire.

  “What’s that?” he called out to her.

  “Your horse, cowboy,” she returned with a small smile. “After we finish up here, you’ll get on Trouble and follow me to the next fence.”

  Walking toward her with another T-post in his gloved hand, he gave her nod. “To the fence or into the fire, Mackenzie Byrd. For today I suppose I’ll follow you anywhere.”

  Eight

  Two hours later, hot and sweaty, his stomach barely appeased by the two sandwiches he’d already eaten, Deacon sat beside Mackenzie under the shade of a birch tree and watched her eat her first sandwich. Her hat was resting on the grass, and the breeze off the lake a few feet away was sending dark strands of her hair flying about her beautiful, dirt-smudged face.

  Hell, a body could get used to this. Working hard alongside such a woman, his muscles being fed by hours in the saddle and under the sun instead of in the sterile private gyms in his office building and penthouse.

  The thoughts moved uninvited through his mind, and he turned to the picnic, which was set up on a blue-and-white-striped cloth on the grass, and grabbed a third sandwich, along with a handful of chips and a bunch of grapes.

  “You sure worked up an appetite, cowboy,” Mac said, eyeing his plate.

  “Thank God you had the good sense to pack enough for—”

  “An army?” she finished good-naturedly. She grinned and crunched a slice of pickle.

  Deacon laughed. “I was going to say a country boy.”

  She cocked her head, pretended to study him. “Not sure you can call yourself that anymore.”

  “I told you—”

  “I know what you told me, but I think you’ve been out of the game too long.” She shrugged, then popped the rest of the pickle in her mouth.

  “There’s a statute of limitations on calling yourself country?”

  She nodded. “Yes. It’s ten years.”

  The flash of amusement in her blue eyes made his heart flip over like a damn fish on the bank. Out of its element and unable to breathe. “That written down somewhere, or did you just make it up on the spot?”

  “Oh, it’s common knowledge,” she said, taking her half of a brownie she’d cut in two earlier.

  He watched her eat it, watched the moist chocolate slip between her teeth. “So, if I go back to the house and ask Sam about it, you think he’ll back you up?”

  “Oh, Sam will always back me up.”

  “There’s gotta be someone I can ask.” He dropped his chin and gave her a serious look. “Someone impartial. Someone who either isn’t in love with you, doesn’t think you’re the prettiest girl they’ve ever seen, or go to bed dreaming of getting a kiss like the one we had last night.”

  Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she dropped her gaze. “Hey, Deacon, about that. I’m sorry—”

  “No, I didn’t mean anything, Mac,” he started, feeling like an asshole for shooting off his mouth.

  “I don’t know. Maybe we should talk about it.”

  “No. It was a mistake. Right?” He tried to catch her eye, but she wasn’t having it. “You were drinking, I was . . . there.”

  She turned to face the lake, her jaw tight. “Right.”

  Shit. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t like it. And he really didn’t like that she’d agreed with him about the make-out session meaning nothing.

  “Hey,” she said. “You gonna eat the other half of that brownie?”

  “You avoiding talking about our kiss, Mackenzie?”

  “Maybe.”

  He pushed a hand through his hair. Maybe he should avoid it, too. But his mouth opened anyway and he started babbling on. “Truth? It was amazing. Hell. It was the hottest motherfucking kiss I’ve ever had. It deserves to be talked about. Might even deserve to be commemorated on a plate or something.”

  She groaned. “The brownie, Deacon,” she said again, her eyes still trained on the dessert. “You gonna eat it or what?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If you’ll let me feed it to you.”

  Her head came up, and her eyes narrowed. “You have issues.”

  “That a yes?” He picked up the brownie, smiled at her. “How bad do you want it, Mackenzie?”

  She shook her head at him. “Not bad enough to humiliate myself.”

  “Come on, now. Don’t get all bent out of shape.” He leaned toward her and waved the brownie under her nose, then swiped a bit of the frosting on her upper lip. “Every man knows that women can’t resist chocolate.”

  She licked it off instantly. “Where did you hear that?”

  “You.” He shrugged. “And somewhere else, too. I’ll tell you if you open up and take a bite.” Deacon broke off a piece of brownie and waited. When she let him slide it between her lips, he felt his entire body tense.

  “Lucky brownie,” he whispered.

  Her eyes cut to his. They were worried and confused and glazed with attraction like they’d been last night.

  Deacon knew he should stop this. It was so damn dangerous, playing around with her feelings, and shit, his own. But they were so close, and her eyes were on his, and her sweet, salty scent was pushing into his nostrils.

  He bent down and whispered, “I know I’ve never tasted anything better than your mouth. No hotter, sweeter place in the world.”

  For several electric seconds, she stared back at him. Then she swallowed hard and looked away. “Now, who else told you women can’t resist chocolate?”

  Deacon grimaced, his insides tense and bleeding with the need to kiss her, taste her again. But he shoved it away.

  “I learned that valuable piece of information,” he said, handing her the rest of the brownie, then stretching out on the blanket, “in the sixth grade.”

  “Sixth grade? That’s mighty young.”

  “Forget math and science. I wanted to kiss girls.”

  “So, not much has changed.”

  He laughed. She had no idea. “Right before a guy enters junior high, he’s taught what girls really want.”

  She turned to look at him, her eyes no longer wary, but curious. “Is that right?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “From who?”

  “Whom,” he corrected with a teasing grin.

  “Get outta here,” she drawled.

  He shrugged. “Hey, we’re talking about school. Just triggered something in me.”

  “Like your schoolteacher gene?” she shot back.

  He pointed at her. “Exactly.”

  “Come on.” She laughed as the wind kicked up across the lake and blew her hair about her face.

  “I’m serious.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. From whom did you learn what girls really want?”

  “The older guys. Juniors and seniors mostly.”

  She snorted. “And they told you it was chocolate that a girl really wants?”

  He grinned wickedly. “Among other things.”

  “I’m not even going to ask,” she sai
d.

  “Good, because I’m pretty sure I’d have to demonstrate a few of them. You know, to make sure you were clear on things.”

  Her face split into a grin. “I think I’m clear. I’ve got a great imagination.”

  His blood started to heat up. Damn woman. “Maybe you need to stop talking like that, or I might be forced to bring up last night again.”

  “And maybe you shouldn’t be threatening to spill all those sacred male secrets,” she said, her grin growing wider. “What if the big boys heard about it? You might get in trouble.”

  He sighed, watched as far above him, a young hawk flew back and forth, from branch to branch, practicing—preparing for a longer journey. “Clearly, I like getting into trouble.”

  She laughed and started cleaning up. Baggies and foil, cans of soda. Deacon moved to help her.

  “Hey, remember that lemonade stand you had?” he asked.

  She glanced up. “With Cass?”

  He nodded. “You wanted to buy me a bolo tie for my birthday, so you charged all the hands a dollar a glass.”

  She looked stunned. “You remember that?”

  “I’m not as old as you think.”

  “Cass forgot to put sugar in it.”

  He laughed and stuffed a few napkins in the picnic basket. “The cowboys had to smile through their puckers so they wouldn’t hurt your feelings.”

  “You still got that tie, Deac?”

  His gaze cut to hers and held. ’Course he didn’t have the tie. It had been a million years ago. But in that moment, her eyes to his, under the dome of blue, he wished he could say yes.

  “You know, it wasn’t just from me,” she continued with a soft smile. “Cass helped me pick it out.”

  His gut twisted at the mention of his sister. Especially here, on this spot near the water. She’d loved to play around here. “Cass hated shopping and clothes . . .”

  “She really did,” Mackenzie confirmed. “But she loved you.” Her eyes warmed. “And she knew you. Makes buying a gift a lot more fun.”

  “I don’t know where that tie is, Mac,” he admitted a little sheepishly.

  She smiled, shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m sure it wouldn’t stand up to the silk ones you got hanging in your closet now.”