Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

Forcing her feet to keep moving beneath her ankle-length black skirt, she nervously brushed her long dark curls back over her shoulder. “I go by Reggie now.”

  Tripp's gaze swept from the top of her head to the tips of her boots, leaving a tingle of awareness in its wake that unnerved her even more.

  “I'll stick with Regan, it fits the bitch inside.”

  A reflexive flash of indignation warred with guilt. “People change, Tripp,” she said with cool dignity.

  He gave a rude snort and straightened from the doorway. “Okay.”

  Reggie took a deep breath to control another burst of temper. He's going off the past, she reminded herself. And in doing so, his opinion was more than justified. During the three months they'd lived under the same roof, she had been a little bitch. She'd snuck around, told well-constructed lies, and manipulated his father any way she could, all to turn the two of them against each other in her nasty campaign to win Judd's undivided attention. All lessons well learned from her mother.

  However, unlike the last three boyfriends before him, Judd treated his new love’s daughter like an individual person, not another piece of her mother's baggage to be ignored. Under his kind influence, she'd flourished, learned what a real family was like and how to be a good person.

  Then her mother found someone else. Terrified of losing the first home she’d ever known, Reggie refused to leave the ranch, and Judd let her stay. Not that her mother had put up much of an argument before blowing her a kiss as she slipped inside the limo.

  As if she’d taken Tripp’s place, Judd showed her how to run the ranch, taught her all about horses and cattle, paid for the best education money could buy, and gave her the choice to do whatever she wanted. She earned a degree in business, then returned to the ranch to run it alongside him. Like a daughter...almost.

  He and Grandma Rosie loved her, she knew, but it always felt as if they held a small part of themselves back. With her mother gone, and fearful of losing them, too, she never once spoke to Judd about his son.

  She should apologize to Tripp right now for stealing the life he should've had, but, impaled by the icy shards of his cold eyes as she stared up at his impressive height, the words stuck in her throat with a thick coating of guilt and shame.

  Instead, she averted her gaze and murmured, “I should get back to the house or Grandma will start to worry.”

  When she started to walk past, a strong, calloused hand clamped over her arm, halting her mid-stride. Startled, she jerked her chin up to find his eyes narrowed accusingly.

  “You don't get to call her that,” he ground out. “She's not your grandmother.”

  Reggie swallowed, hard. Despite the warmth of his fingers burning her skin, she forced herself to hold his gaze and show some backbone.

  “She helped raise me since I was fourteen. It was her idea, not mine.”

  His lip curled. “You wormed your way in nice and tight, didn’t you? I bet you and your mother can’t wait for the reading of the will.”

  A discreet attempt to pull free only succeeded in making him tighten his steel grasp.

  “My mother’s not here.”

  “That explains why I haven’t seen her, then. What, did she take a shopping trip to celebrate her new status as a wealthy widow?”

  She frowned, momentarily accepting his hold without resistance. Did he not know? Loretta, in fact, had called yesterday from her new yacht in the south of France to offer insincere condolences before bragging about the size of the rock her fourth husband had bought her—a wedding Reggie hadn't even known about.

  She did her best to ignore the sharp bite of bitterness that always surfaced with any thoughts of her mother and simply replied, “They never did get married.”

  The slackening of his grip and genuine surprise on his face told her he hadn’t known. His expression quickly hardened again. “Leaves more for you then, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m not the same person I was back then, Tripp.”

  His fingers tightened. “And that's why you were smiling during the service, isn't it, because you've changed so damn much.”

  “You were there?” Reggie flushed with the realization that he'd seen her bittersweet smile earlier.

  “It's not my fault you were too busy figuring out how to spend the money to notice.”

  “That wasn't it at all.”

  “Well, then, please, tell me what was so amusing when my father's body was being lowered into his grave?”

  In truth, the shock of seeing the casket disappear into the dark hole in the earth hit home with a finality she hadn't even imagined. In desperation, she'd looked away and focused on the antics of the foals in the pasture below the hill.

  “I was only remembering how much Judd enjoyed watching the newborn foals every spring,” she whispered. “He used to love it when they—”

  Tripp's fingers bit into her skin, effectively cutting off the rest of her sentence. His eyes darkened for a few seconds before he subjected her to another sweep of his chilling gaze.

  “You took everything from me. You and your gold-digging mother. You can dress all respectable and shed some of your well-timed tears, but we both know you’re nothing but a conniving stepsister in Cinderella’s clothing.”

  Chapter 2

  Tripp let go when Regan wrenched against his hold. Her eyes flashed with anger, but she didn’t say a single word in her defense, only stalked toward the house where he now saw Nana watched from the porch. Because the deceitful little bitch couldn’t defend against the truth of his words.

  But, damn it, he wished she would’ve tried. He’d been spoiling for a fight since the moment he’d set eyes on her at the gravesite. It would’ve been impossible not to recognize her—the spitting image of Loretta Reed, twenty-some years younger. Jet-black hair and a body made for sin with ample curves, a slim waist, and long legs judging by the couple inches she had over his grandmother. And those arresting violet eyes that if he hadn’t known she’d inherited from her mother he would’ve sworn were colored contacts.

  In that instant, he’d understood a little of his father’s attraction to her mother. That Tripp himself had felt an undeniable jolt of male interest looking at the woman Regan had become had pissed him off as much as seeing her sitting in the spot that should have been his, next to his grandmother, burying his father.

  He’d seen her dash across the yard to the barn after the service was over, but steeled his heart against any rise of compassion and instead went to greet his family for the first time in eleven years. He nodded at vaguely familiar faces, but went straight to Nana. She hugged him so tight he feared her thin frame would snap. Then, before he or anyone else could say a word, she tearfully begged him to find Reggie and make sure she was okay.

  Pain lanced through him. Once again, it was all about her. Reggie. As if softening her name would cover up the calculating evil she harbored inside. But he’d gone, for Nana—and to avoid saying something he’d regret later.

  He’d met Ernesto on the way, and, after a warm handshake and brief one-armed hug, the older man had requested to speak to Miz Reggie first. Tripp gladly waited by the door because the longer he could put off talking to her, the better. No matter how hard he strived to be mature about his emotions, the rage-filled seventeen-year-old Tripp was right there arguing how unfair it was his father had chosen Loretta and Regan over him, his own son.

  And it was all Regan’s fault.

  Shoulder against the barn, he’d watched Ernesto’s approach. When her strangled sob reached his ears, echoing the grief pounding in his heart, compassion flared. If nothing else, she must’ve loved his father, he’d give her that. Thankfully, the emotion didn’t last long. The way she’d spoken to Ernesto, as if he were hired help instead of his father’s best friend, exploded Tripp’s anger and resentment like a rag doused in gasoline and lit with a match. The effort of maintaining a calm façade tensed every muscle in his body, even though Ernesto’s eyes told Tripp he hadn’t taken it personally.

&
nbsp; “People change, Tripp.”

  Her soft, husky voice echoed in his head as he watched her across the yard, entering the house with an arm around Nana’s shoulders.

  “Bullshit,” he muttered.

  Her declaration was nothing more than empty words. She’d stunned him for a moment with the news their parents had never married. It explained why Loretta wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but not why Regan was still here at the ranch.

  Well, maybe it did. Once she’d gotten rid of Tripp, she obviously realized there was one more obstacle to being the Queen of Sheba and gotten rid of her mother, too. Apparently, there was no saving the apple when it was rotten to the core. Those wide, beautiful violet eyes may express innocence, pain, and a surprising flash of remorse, but without her backstabbing lies to turn father against son, Tripp believed he could’ve gotten his father to see Loretta for what she was before it was too late.

  Reluctantly, he made his way back to the house and spent the afternoon going through the motions while doing his best to avoid coming within ten feet of Regan. Instead of the distance helping him calm down, he found his resentment growing with each passing hour. It didn’t help that ever so often, if she passed close enough, the scent of peaches he’d detected in her presence earlier in the barn teased his consciousness.

  She moved around the house and interacted with his family as if she’d been born into it. She smiled, hugged and consoled aunts and uncles he distantly remembered and cousins whose names he’d forgotten and faces he didn’t recognize. She presided like royalty, showing off her palace.

  Tripp felt like a stranger in what should’ve been his home. They all welcomed him, yet none of them seemed to know what to talk about with him. But he understood; what could they say?

  Sorry you’ve been gone for the past eleven years.

  Sorry your father chose a tramp and her evil daughter over his own son.

  Sorry he didn’t care enough to come after you.

  The last thought was like a knife to his heart, sucking the air from his lungs as the pain stabbed deep. He looked around the room, searching for one thing to ease the emotions seething just under the surface of his skin. Unfortunately, his gaze was drawn straight to Regan, who’d given an Oscar-worthy performance all afternoon. Right now, she stood next to his cousin Cole, her hand resting on his shoulder as they both smiled at a picture in the photo album on the coffee table. Sitting across from them, Aunt Edna said something and they all laughed in remembrance.

  Tripp tensed even more. He hated this, feeling like an outsider, like his presence in this house didn’t matter one way or the other. Why had he even bothered to come? He was a grown man—a successful business owner at that, with nothing to prove. He didn’t need to put himself through this.

  Regan’s smile slipped, giving Tripp a glimpse of pure exhaustion. A second later, she straightened, her calm expression back in place, making him wonder if he’d imagined how tired she looked. She happened to glance across the room just then, and her gaze locked with his as if an invisible line connected them. His breath caught in his throat as he abruptly turned away. He definitely didn’t need to put himself through this.

  He nodded to Ana in the hallway, but didn’t stop to talk. The young housekeeper he remembered now had three little girls running around outside with his cousins’ kids.

  The closed office door beckoned him, promising solitude and peace. Once inside, he back leaned against the solid wood and swept his gaze around the familiar room. Besides a second smaller, organized desk bordering his father’s, not much had changed in here over the years. The original massive oak desk was still covered with files and papers that’d probably been there for months. The chair by the window held stacks of livestock magazines. Same pictures on the walls, same lamps bracketing the couch, and the bar along the right wall still held a decanter half-full of brandy.

  Regan had once caught him sneaking out to meet his friends with a bottle of his father’s finest brandy just a few weeks after she and her mother moved in. It was the one thing she’d used against him that had actually been true. His father had shaken his head in acute disappointment before grounding him for a month for lying and stealing. Something he never would’ve done in the first place if not for the hell Regan had been making of his life then.

  These days, Tripp didn’t touch the stuff, no matter what the brand. So, why did he want a drink now? A frown creased his brow as he shoved away from the door. He’d found his solitude, but no peace.

  He made his way over to the bar and splashed a liberal amount of the golden liquid into a glass. As he lifted it to his lips, he turned to face the room once more, an interesting array of aromas wafting across his senses. He inhaled deeply, identifying a combination of caramel and milk chocolate. A cautious sip reminded him of the mellow flavor of Nana’s pecan pie. It lingered on his tongue, the flavor warming him on the inside.

  Taking another sip, he savored the rich liquid before straightening with annoyance. He hadn’t come in here to connect with his father, no matter how tenuous the thread. That time was long past. In fact, he’d already done what he came to do. See his father laid to rest and shut the door on his past.

  End of story, time to move on...right?

  He tossed back the remainder of his glass of brandy, poured a double this time, and ended up hanging around until the last guest departed about three o’clock. Stepping from the air-conditioned house onto the shaded front porch with his suit coat in one hand, he stood with Nana and put an arm around her shoulders.

  God, when had she become so frail?

  “I’m so glad you’re home, Tripp. It’ll help so much.”

  He ignored a stab of guilt and gave her a gentle smile. “I can’t stay, Nana. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  She made a small sound of disapproval and pulled away to look up at him. “Tomorrow? But you just got back!”

  “I know, but—”

  The screen door squeaked open, then slammed as Regan exited the house dressed in a green-plaid cotton work shirt, old jeans, and even older riding boots. Arms raised in the middle of raking her long, dark hair back to put on her Stetson, she pulled up short when she saw the two of them. Tripp dragged his gaze from the stretch of worn fabric across her full breasts.

  “Reggie, you can take one day off,” Nana chided. “Ernesto will handle things.”

  She turned away while tugging the hat low on her forehead. Tripp was intrigued by the flash of guilt he’d glimpsed in her expression before the tan brim of her hat shielded her face. His interest sharpened as she kept her gaze averted. What could possibly make her feel bad?

  “I have a few things to take care of, Grandma Rosie, but I’ll be back for supper.”

  “Thank you,” Nana said. “I’m looking forward to all of us having dinner as a family.”

  Regan froze on the step at the same time Tripp stiffened alongside Nana. Was she losing her senses in her old age? No way could she expect them all to sit down at the same table together. He’d rather eat with the devil himself.

  “I’m heading back to my hotel in town,” he said, keeping a tight rein on his resurfacing resentment. “I’ll grab a bite to eat there.”

  Nana’s shoulders drooped. “But…I thought you’d stay here tonight.”

  “I’ll be back in the morning. My plane doesn’t leave until five p.m., so we’ll have most of the day. Whatever you want to do, Nana.”

  She lifted her face toward his, her faded blue eyes all watery like earlier. Tripp cursed silently and slid his gaze toward Regan for help. Surely, she didn’t want to sit down to dinner together any more than he did?

  Regan mumbled again about being home in a few hours, then hurried the rest of the way down the steps and crossed the yard. He held in an annoyed sigh. Nothing had changed there; she always had thought of herself first.

  “Have you already checked in to your hotel?” Nana asked.

  Tripp tore his gaze away from Regan’s retreating form. “I’m going to do that righ
t now.”

  “There’s no sense driving an hour into town when we have plenty of room here. Why don’t you stay?”

  Because I’d feel more at home in a hotel. “I don’t want to be any trouble, Nana.”

  “Ana’s already cleaned your room and put all fresh linens on the bed.”

  This was the last place he’d ever wanted to spend another night. She had no idea what it had taken for him to even come back to the ranch in the first place.

  Nana rested her gnarled hand on his white shirt sleeve. “Tripp, please. I’ve missed you so much, I want to hear all about your life.”

  He hesitated. Damn. Her plea waffled his resolve further.

  “The house has been so empty without your father here this past week. But, bad as it was…w-we…Reggie and I, were busy planning the service.” Her voice rose at the end before she drew a shaky breath. “Tonight, I have nothing to do, no plans to make. The house is so empty without my son’s footsteps or the sound of his voice. All I’m asking is for you stay one night...please.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment to prepare himself for what was to come. He’d be lucky to get any sleep tonight, God help him. Then again, he could deal with it the same as he had in the past. Right now, it wasn’t about him. It wasn't until he'd seen his grandmother again at the funeral that he realized how much he'd missed her. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her close as emotion clogged his throat.

  “I’m sorry, Nana, I should have considered how hard this is for you. Of course I’ll stay.”

  Chapter 3

  Reggie rode Prince up alongside Ernesto’s gray mare and reined the gelding to a stop. Unsure how to begin, she stared straight ahead to watch the young foals run around on their spindly legs for a few minutes.

  Ernesto broke the silence first. “These little ones sure do bring joy to my sad heart.”

  “Mine too.” Finally glancing over, Reggie said, “I’m sorry I spoke so harshly earlier.”

  He nodded without looking at her. Ernesto was a man of few words, but the faintest of smiles lifted the corners of his mustache, and she felt comfortable turning her attention back to the foals. Most of them were almost two months old now, and playful as could be.