Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Tripp lowered his tone. “You said there’s no danger to Nana, but what about you?”

  “There’s—”

  Her voice cracked and her throat muscles worked fast. He dropped his gaze to the rapid flutter beneath the rosy skin at the base of her neck.

  “I’m f-fine.”

  He lifted a hand and rested it on her shoulder. With one finger, he felt her life pulse beneath his touch. Anticipation hummed along his nerve endings, making him excruciatingly aware of every shallow breath she took. “Fine doesn’t begin to cover it, Princess.”

  When he slid his fingers into her silky hair to rub the back of her neck, her eyelids lowered, then closed. Her hands rose to press against his chest and the simple touch stoked the fire in his blood higher.

  God, he was pretty sure he hated her, yet he damn sure wanted her. It was the craziest thing.

  He shifted closer, slid his other hand over the curve of her hip to press against the small of her back, leaned in to inhale the evocative scent of peaches. The heat of her skin burned through the thin, satiny material of her gown to warm his hand where it rested along her spine.

  The lure of her moist lips pulled him until his mouth hovered above her mouth; his unsteady breath mingling with hers.

  “You hate me,” she whispered, her hands fisting in his shirt.

  “Such a strong word—hate,” he murmured, even though he’d just thought the same thing.

  Avoiding the sheer entrapment of her mouth, he lightly brushed his lips over her smooth cheek with its charming freckles. But it wasn’t enough to simply sample her. With the hand buried in her hair, he angled her head to give him access to the delicate column of her neck. He pressed his tongue to her pulse, licked, then sucked gently.

  Sweet as pure honey. She made a small noise deep in her throat. His body throbbed in response as his arm curled tighter around her waist.

  “You…d-don’t like me, then.”

  Stubborn witch wouldn’t let it go. That hadn’t changed. He worked his way back to her mouth. If the outside of her tasted so delectable, the inside must be positively sinful. “Do you like me?”

  Her violet eyes opened and locked with his, making his heart thump hard.

  “Don’t mess with me, Tripp. Please.”

  The sincerity in her voice was astounding.

  “Who’s messing?” he asked, making light of her plea while brushing his thumb over her moist lower lip.

  “You’re going to take the ranch from me—this isn’t playing fair.”

  The reminder of what was at stake in this game was just what his mind needed to finally override his body. Sensing her weakened defenses, he deliberately lowered his head to whisper against her mouth. “Like you played fair all those years ago?”

  In a heartbeat, she stiffened and shoved against his chest. Tripp held on. Let her see who’s in control now. Her eyes widened, and then darkened with a fury that turned him on even more. As the fierce thunderclouds in her eyes paralyzed him, his heart pounded beneath her palm, keeping time with her uneven, incensed breaths.

  And just like that, something changed, struck so deep inside his chest it terrified him.

  Tripp released her and spun away. As she grabbed the railing for balance, he braced a hand on the wall and hung his head, fighting for a lungful of air.

  “Go to bed,” he rasped. “We leave at dawn.”

  She didn’t reply. When he dared a glance, she was halfway up the stairs, white silk panties playing peek-a-boo with the hem of her nightgown. Tripp uttered a low groan and made for the porch like the hounds of hell were on his heels.

  ****

  “You don’t look so good, amigo.”

  Tripp squinted up at Ernesto from where he squatted in the aisle to finish packing his saddlebags. He’d scored about three, dream-filled hours of restless sleep on a lumpy mattress in the bunkhouse back down the drive. Hardly the restful night he needed to begin this competition.

  “You’re up early,” he grumbled to Ernesto.

  “Early to bed, early to rise—you know the saying. Besides, Rosie and I wanted to see you two off.”

  Tripp glanced around at the still silent barn. “Regan been out here yet? I told her we were leaving at dawn.”

  The small Mexican’s eyes sparkled, making it look like he was grinning without moving his lips. “Miz Reggie was packed and ready an hour ago. She looked like she got less sleep than you did.”

  Well, that was something, at least. But what had kept her awake? The thought of losing the ranch, or the lingering sensations from their smoldering encounter on the stairs? Tripp shook his head to clear the instant image of Regan in her nightgown. He straightened fast and lifted his loaded bags up behind the saddle of the mare Ernesto had suggested the other day. Luck Be a Lady was her registered name, but they called her “Lucky” for short. The way things were going, he needed all the help he could get.

  “Any last minute tips you care to offer?” he asked, securing the saddlebag straps.

  Ernesto pursed his lips and brought up a hand to stroke his handlebar mustache. He smiled with his eyes again. The look was beginning to creep Tripp out, like the man knew something he didn’t. He ducked under Lucky’s neck to avoid the knowing stare and triple check the cinch.

  “Nah,” Ernesto finally answered. “You are in good hands with Reggie.”

  Tripp’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like I need her. I may have been gone for awhile, but don’t forget I grew up here. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yes, but it will take the both of you to catch Mason’s Gold.”

  Tripp lowered the stirrup back over the cinch and gave Lucky a pat on her smooth, bay neck. “He’s that wild?”

  “Si.” Ernesto headed for the door in his bowlegged walk. Just before he stepped through the opening, he turned to level those disconcerting, smiling eyes at Tripp once more “And remember, amigo, there is no I in teamwork.”

  Tripp’s gaze narrowed on Ernesto’s back as the older man walked away. Sonofabitch, she’d told him. With two quick jerks, he unhooked Lucky’s bridle from the crossties and led the tall mare out into the fuzzy light of the early dawn. He noticed lights on in the main house now, and imagined the bunkhouse would be filled with the sound of chatter and the smell of bacon and eggs. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. While everyone was just getting up to face the day, he was ready to leave. The sooner they got out there, the sooner this would be over.

  Where the hell is Regan?

  Nana stepped out onto the porch with a sack in one hand and a thermos in the other. “I’ve packed you two a hearty breakfast for the trail. Reggie hasn’t been eating well lately, and I don’t want you two to forget to eat out there while you’re chasin’ Mason, you hear?”

  “Yes, Nana. Thank you.” He took the steps two at a time to plant a kiss on her cheek. Returning to Lucky’s side, he strapped the sack and thermos to the front of his saddle so they wouldn’t bounce too much as he rode. A sweep of the empty yard revealed his impatience. “I thought Regan was ready?”

  Having descended the steps to stand beside him, Nana shaded her eyes against the light cresting the horizon and gazed up the hill toward the family burial site. “I think she went to visit Judd’s grave before you two left.”

  Tripp’s chest tightened. He hadn’t planned to go back up there at all. Then he noticed the forlorn expression on Nana’s face and realized they were leaving her all alone. Sure, there’d be ranch hands in the bunkhouse and Ernesto in his house down the way, but no one except Nana in the main house. Curving an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close to his side.

  “Are you going to be okay while we’re gone?” he asked softly.

  She laid one hand against his chest, still looking toward the cemetery. “Ana’s going to bring her girls out and stay with me. I’m sure I won’t have a single moment to be lonely.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’ll be fine, Tripp.” She patted his chest and looked up at
him with a soft smile. “I will. You two just go grant your father’s last wish.”

  He closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling betrayed and guilty all at once. With a final kiss for Nana, he settled his Stetson on his head and swung up into the saddle, amazed he could still do so with ease. He hadn’t been on a horse in almost ten years. It felt good, felt right.

  Gathering the reins, he steered Lucky toward the hill and gave the mare a light tap with his heels. Nearing the top, the sight of Regan’s kneeling figure silhouetted against the rising sun struck a bitter nerve deep inside. It wasn’t fair she’d had such a close relationship with his father and he’d gotten nothing.

  You could’ve come home.

  Tripp’s entire body jerked at the silent voice that sounded in his head. Lucky startled beneath him, lurching forward. Whirling the mare, his gaze swept the surrounding countryside as he brought her under control. There was no one in the vicinity other than him and Regan, and forcing himself to calm down, he realized he should’ve gotten more sleep.

  When he crested the hill, Tripp reined in alongside Regan’s chestnut gelding ground-tied near the cast iron gate. He didn’t bother to dismount.

  “Ready when you are,” he drawled.

  Regan’s back stiffened, but she didn’t rise to her feet immediately. She brushed her hand over the cut green sod that didn’t quite match the rest of the grass in the cemetery, then sat back on her boot heels and bowed her head. He imagined her saying a prayer, which only irritated him more. He certainly had no desire to pray over his father’s grave.

  “Time’s a wastin’, Princess.”

  She glowered at him when she rose and snapped, “Don’t be so disrespectful.”

  Flipping the long, thick tail of her French braided hair over her shoulder, she exited the gate and strode toward her horse. Ernesto was right—she did look tired. But still beautiful.

  And short-tempered. He steeled himself against her allure, even when crabby, and remembered what Ernesto said in the barn. “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about our arrangement,” he accused.

  After she donned her hat and swung into the saddle, she reined her mount around so they faced each other. “About us splitting up? I didn’t.”

  “Then why was Ernesto preaching there’s no I in teamwork?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  She kicked her horse and took off across the field at a gallop. Tripp spun Lucky around and followed, wondering if he could believe a word the damn woman said. He couldn’t help but study her as she rode ahead of him, dark braid bouncing with each stride her horse took. Spine straight, shoulders back, heels down. With one hand on the reins, the other riding her left thigh, she sat a horse like she’d been born in a saddle, yet, if he remembered correctly, she’d never been on one before coming to the ranch.

  She kept at a steady canter for about a mile, slowed to a trot while they traveled through a shallow canyon, and finally to a walk up the other side. Good as it felt to be in the saddle, Tripp knew he’d be hating life even more by the end of the day. At least he remembered how to sit, how to move with the horse like Regan did instead of bouncing to hell and back like a greenhorn. That would help some.

  Even so, when Regan paused a short time later to let her horse drink from a dwindling creek bed, Tripp was ready for a break. He dismounted next to her so Lucky could drink, then untied the breakfast sack and thermos.

  Regan dropped the reins to ground-tie her horse before she turned on Tripp. “It was your idea we do this separately, so don’t expect me to lead you straight to the prize.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Good. Then you go your way, I’ll go mine.”

  Tempting as her command was, Nana’s concern about Regan’s recent lack of appetite echoed in the back of his mind. He withdrew one of the delicious smelling packages from inside the sack and extended his hand.

  “Nana packed breakfast.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated a few seconds before taking the sandwich. “Thanks.”

  Sitting on a nearby rock, he took a big bite of his homemade bacon and egg biscuit before pouring coffee into the thermos cap. Regan finally moved to sit on the other side of the rock, so he offered her the cup first. They ate and drank in silence as the sun climbed further into the sky, shortening the shadows around them. She declined a second sandwich, but he was satisfied she’d at least finished the first.

  Much to his surprise, Tripp found he was in no hurry to get moving. It felt good not to have a meeting to rush to, a conference call to take, or some contract needing his immediate signature. For the first time in years, he wasn’t being pulled in ten different directions at the same time. He could just sit here and breathe.

  Regan brushed crumbs off her hands and lap as she stood. Flipping that long braid over her shoulder again, she gave him a smile that was a little too bright to be sincere. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around. I’d say good luck, but we both know I wouldn’t mean it.”

  She headed toward her horse. This was it. This was where they parted ways and he wouldn’t have to see her again until after he’d caught Mason and the ranch was his. Tripp dumped out the remainder of the coffee in the cup and screwed it back on the thermos.

  “Rule number three.”

  Regan turned around with a wary expression as he rose and ambled toward her.

  “We camp together each night.”

  “What?” she exclaimed with an instant frown. “No way.”

  “No matter who catches Mason, we have to return together, right?”

  She paused. “Yeah…”

  “Well, how will you know when I’ve caught him if we don’t check in with each other at night? You could be searching for days while I cool my heels waiting for you to realize it’s over.”

  “If you catch him first,” she corrected.

  “When I catch him first.”

  “Dream on. Problem with your little rule is you’ll end up knowing exactly where I’m looking.”

  Tripp lifted a shoulder. “Goes both ways.”

  “Not quite—I know his hideouts.”

  “After only the occasional, half-hearted attempt to catch him?”

  She started to say something, but hesitated before giving a soft, surrendering half-laugh with her gaze focused across the canyon they’d ridden through. “Let’s just say I’ve watched him a lot, okay? He’s one hell of a horse.”

  Tripp didn’t look away from her wistful expression. “I bet he is.”

  She glanced back, caught him studying her, and abruptly turned to her gelding. “Fine, we’ll camp together. You remember the watering hole at the base of Warner’s Ridge?”

  Tripp nodded. He’d spent plenty of hot, summer afternoons swimming out there in the small lake. Many times he’d skinny dipped. Had she?

  Regan mounted up and adjusted her hat as she looked down at him. “Your father built a cabin there about six years ago. I’ll see you at dusk.”

  Tripp chuckled to himself as she rode away. No wonder she protested so quickly about camping together. Underhanded sneak. While he slept on the hard ground under the stars, she’d planned to snuggle up like a baby in a cozy little cabin.

  Yeah, she could talk all she wanted, but his Princess hadn’t changed.

  Chapter 7

  Reggie neared the cabin about five o’clock, bone-tired from lack of sleep the last couple of nights, and even crabbier than she’d been this morning. She wanted dinner and the bed, and at this point, she didn’t care which came first. She’d even knocked off the search a couple hours early to make sure she arrived before Tripp. It was her cabin—Judd had built it for her—and she’d be damned if she didn’t get the bed.

  Camp together my ass. Did he think she was stupid? He just wanted to spy on her, wanted her to find Mason so he could ride in and steal him. Well, that wasn’t about to happen. If she had to stay out here all month and run him around in circles, no way was she leading him to the stallion.

  When she rounded the thick stand
of Loblolly Pines concealing the small log cabin, she was shocked to see the door wide open, smoke seeping from the top of the doorjamb to crawl along the roof of the tiny front porch.

  Her cabin was on fire!

  She kicked free of her stirrups, swung her leg over Prince’s neck to jump down, and hit the ground running. After grabbing two buckets off a bench by the watering hole, she splashed into the water deep enough to fill them full, then hurried across the yard as fast as their weight allowed. When she reached the porch, a tall figure burst through the doorway with a frying pan engulfed in flames.

  Reggie dropped one bucket, grabbed the other with both hands, and tossed the water.

  “What the—!”

  Tripp? She peered at his shocked face through the diminishing smoke. The water had soaked his entire front, plastering his thin cotton shirt and jeans to his long, lean frame.

  What the hell was he doing here already? Burning down my cabin, that’s what! She picked up the second bucket and aimed for his face this time.

  He sputtered, uttered a few swear words, and wiped his face with his free hand to glare at her. “Enough with the fricken’ water, already. You can see the fire’s out.”

  “Why are you here?” she demanded.

  He frowned. “This is where we’re supposed to meet, right?”

  “Not until later.”

  She sloshed past him in her squishy boots to go inside and survey the damage. The smoke hovering along the low ceiling made her cough, but a quick visual sweep of the one room cabin revealed the only thing on fire had been the pan. Strike that—her temper was flaming pretty high now.

  Her gaze landed on the bed and lingered with longing. God, she was tired.

  With an infuriated growl, she stalked over to open a window and used her hat to wave some of the smoke out. It didn’t help. A low grumble accompanied her around the cabin to open the other four windows. It would take at least a couple hours for it to air out. She was ready to snarl when she caught sight of Tripp watching from the doorway. The sight of him soaking wet didn’t help when water filled her boots.