“Why the hell are you here instead of out securing the ranch you don’t want but don’t want me to have either?”
He walked in and tossed the charred pan back on the stove. “I took a nap.”
Reggie froze in her tracks. She did not just hear him say he’d taken a nap. As the clatter of the pan faded, she pivoted slowly past the rumpled bed to face him.
“What?” he asked defensively. “I was tired.”
“So, you went to sleep with food on the stove?”
“I’m not an idiot,” he said, taking a towel off the shelf to dry his face and hair. “I just can’t cook.”
Reggie stomped across the room and ripped it out of his hands, furious beyond belief. “This is a dish towel. My dish towel.”
His brows rose. “Sorry, Princess.”
The name was like gasoline on a fire. An intense desire to haul off and hit him jerked her hand up, but at the last minute she fisted the dishtowel instead. “You should be,” she snapped, throwing the towel and her hat on the small table next to the open window before stomping back outside to take care of her horse.
Un-tacking Prince calmed her as nothing else could’ve. When he was brushed, fed, and settled with Lucky in the small enclosure behind the cabin, Reggie picked up her gear. She needed dry pants, dry socks and—oh, man, what was she going to do about her boots? She didn’t have an extra pair and it would take them more than one night to dry out. She paused to inhale a deep, calming breath. Once she started a campfire, she would prop them up somehow to catch the heat.
She pulled the soaked boots off and left them by the fire pit, along with her socks, before heading inside the cabin. Two steps through the door, she came to an abrupt stop. Tripp was pulling dry jeans up over a snug pair of black boxer briefs, and he hadn’t gotten to his shirt yet.
She got about five seconds to drink her fill of six-pack abs, defined pecs, and biceps capable of lifting a two hundred pound calf as if it were a feather before he looked up, sending her heart into her throat. Tearing her attention away from his mouth-watering chest, she made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Awareness flashed between them as it had last night, rushing blood to her face and making her arms and legs feel like they weighed a hundred pounds each.
He broke the connection first, dropping his gaze down at her bare feet as he zipped his jeans and leaned to snag a black T-shirt off the bed. “I imagine you’ll want to change, too.”
She didn’t bother replying to the obvious. Much as she enjoyed the sight of his body, she was still tired and more than a little annoyed. He started to pull the shirt over his head as he passed, and she couldn’t help but watch the play of muscles in his back until he pulled the door closed behind him. She blew out an aggravated breath before tossing her bags on the bed.
After digging out a fresh pair of jeans, she slid the wet pair down her legs and then shook them out. A metal clang outside made her jump. A glance out the window revealed Tripp hanging the water buckets back on the hooks by the bench. Realizing when he turned around, he’d see her standing there in her underwear, she quickly sat on the bed and pulled on her dry jeans. Skipping socks since she could hardly walk around in them outside, she picked up her pants and his clothes from where they still lay on the floor near the bed. Men. The one boyfriend she’d lived with in college had been a slob, too.
Tripp looked up when she approached to shove the wet items into his chest. “Hang these up, I’m not your maid.” She went to lay out her jeans and socks on a log near the campfire pit.
His footsteps sounded behind her. “You’d better put your boots back on, Princess. You never know when you might happen on a rattler.”
White-hot anger seared through her again. She whirled around so fast he took a half step back.
“It’s Reggie. Or, if you prefer the bitch version, then call me Regan, but stop calling me Princess.” She took a step closer. “And touching as your concern is, my boots are soaking wet because of you, so just leave me alone.”
One side of his mouth quirked. “Poor, Princess. You didn’t see him today, did you?”
Just that quick, he flipped her on the defensive. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin as he stepped past to spread out his wet clothes.
“At least I looked,” she griped.
“I looked.”
“Yeah, right, in your dreams, maybe.”
“Saw him, too.”
She was pretty sure he was lying, yet her stomach still flipped uneasily. “Where?”
“Like I’m going to tell you.”
Biting back a growl of frustration, she muttered, “Cocky jerk,” on her way over to the woodpile next to the cabin. Since she obviously wasn’t going to get the sleep she needed, she might as well start the campfire to dry out her boots and make some dinner.
Reggie piled her arms with a couple pieces of smaller kindling, a couple larger chunks, and—
An ominous rattle froze her in place.
Over the logs in her arms, her gaze sought out the source and spotted a coiled Western Diamondback who must have been sunning itself against the cabin logs—three feet from where she stood. In all her years out here, she’d never run into a rattlesnake. Because she was careful, watched what she was doing, and honestly, had just been plain lucky.
Damn Tripp and his warning—he’d jinxed her! Without her boots for protection, if the snake bit her, she’d be in real trouble.
The rattle continued and the snake’s head rose higher as it moved slightly to the side. Reggie’s fear mounted. What should she do? Throw a chunk of wood at it? Stay frozen? Run? God, she’d forgotten everything Judd and Ernesto had drummed into her head and her limbs started to tremble from the strain of holding perfectly still with the armload of wood.
“Don’t move now, Princess.”
Tripp. She would’ve sagged with relief, but didn’t dare move a muscle. She hadn’t even heard him coming up behind her.
“He’s big,” she whispered, her voice shaky.
“I see him. Easy now, I’m going to put my hands on your arms.”
She knew it was coming but still flinched. His firm grip revealed his tension, which only made her more nervous.
“Strike distance is half the length of his body.” Sure, that she remembered. “He looks at least six feet long.”
“He’s lucky if he’s five—we’ve got a good six inches on him,” Trip assured her. His breath fanned her ear as his body pressed against her back. “We’ll just give the little guy a minute to settle down.”
His hands slid inch by slow inch down her arms until he held her in the circle of his arms. She wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but she relaxed, leaning against him as he helped absorb some of the weight of the wood to relieve her aching muscles. Even though the air was still quite warm, she welcomed the reassuring heat of him against her back, somehow safe in his protective hold.
Quick as it’d begun, the rattling subsided. The snake uncoiled and slithered away toward the woods, mesmerizing in its gracefulness. Reggie followed the reptile with her gaze until the striped tail and lighter colored rattle disappeared. She closed her eyes in relief.
You’d think she could breathe now. Move. Do something.
“You can let go of the wood,” Tripp said, his voice somewhat gruff.
She wanted to press her ear against his warm mouth. Instead, she said, “It’ll drop on my toes.” He chuckled and the sound sent a curl of desire straight through her.
“Then let me help.”
Leaving one hand curved around her stomach, he used the other to methodically toss each piece of wood back on the pile. When her arms were empty, he slid his palms down along her forearms, twined his fingers with hers and wrapped her in the most sensual embrace she’d ever experienced.
With her eyes still shut, there wasn’t a single inch they touched she wasn’t aware of. His cheek alongside hers, chin resting on her shoulder, chest to back, his hips nestled just above the curve of her butt. As the tensi
on drained from her body, she let her head relax back against his shoulder. She’d gladly stay right here for eternity.
Her eyes popped open. What was she doing? The danger was not gone—he would hurt her. He’d made no secret of the fact that his main goal was to get back at her, to take away everything she held dear, like she’d done to him.
She stiffened in his arms, straining to break free of his hold. She thought she heard him sigh as he released her, but when she spun around to escape into the cabin, he caught her arm and drew her against him.
Face to face. Chest to chest. Hips to hips.
Another wave of heat swept through her when she realized she wasn’t the only one physically affected by the moment of insanity in his arms.
“It’s only going to get worse, you know.”
“W-what is?”
“This thing between us,” he said. “It’s not going away, so why fight it?”
She refused to look up; she couldn’t let him get to her—even though he was probably right. “The only thing between us is the last eleven years.”
His fingers flexed against her skin. “And despite that, I still want you, Regan.”
The rough statement weakened her knees, but his use of her given name reminded her of his true opinion of her. It gave her the strength to finally meet his blue eyes, desire-darkened to the color of a midnight sky. When it came right down to it, she was fighting for her life.
“No, Tripp. You want to ruin me, and apparently, you’ll use any means necessary.”
His grip on her arms became painful. His eyes flashed with indecision, confusion—then went cold and hard. “Something so unscrupulous may be secondhand to you, but I’d never lower myself to your level.”
He released her so abruptly, she stumbled back a step. This time he walked away. She should be relieved. Instead, she stared after his rigid shoulders, wanting to scream, yet again, that she’d changed! She wasn’t the conniving, insecure little girl she used to be. But she could shout until she was blue in the face; he’d never believe her, so what did it matter?
After a careful look around to make sure there were no more perilous surprises, she reloaded her arms with firewood and started the campfire. Inside the cabin, she lifted one of her saddlebags onto the table and took out what she’d planned for dinner. She’d prepared a number of her meals to various stages back at the ranch to allow extra time on the range to catch Mason. Tonight and tomorrow, all she had to do was reheat over the fire.
She reached to close the flap and saw the dishtowel half under her hat. Her gaze flicked to the pan on the stove while her mind registered the lingering smell of charred food. After a moment’s hesitation, she sighed and removed tomorrow’s lunch and dinner as well, and then put her saddlebag in the airtight storage locker where she kept staples. Despite everything else, after the snake, the least she could do is make Tripp dinner. And it was difficult to stay mad at him when guilt was her constant companion.
While the food warmed over the fire and the coffee began to percolate in the pot she’d set in the coals on the side, she rounded up a couple of iron stakes to pound into the ground near the edge of the campfire to hang her boots upside down. Hopefully they’d catch the heat and dry out faster, enough for her to wear them with minimum discomfort tomorrow. Whether Tripp had indeed seen Mason today or not—and she’d bet not—she couldn't afford to waste a whole day waiting for her boots to dry.
She’d just finished driving the second stake into the ground when Tripp returned. He didn’t look at her or say a single word as he passed. From the corner of her eye, she saw him squat down where his saddlebags sat on the wood porch.
If the next however many days were going to be bearable, they’d have to put the earlier scene behind them and at least be civil to each other. Ignoring the nervous churning of her stomach, she took a deep breath and strove for a neutral tone.
“I’ve made enough here for both of us.”
After a quick glance toward the campfire, he withdrew an empty hand from within his bag and stood. “Thanks.”
As she arranged each boot to catch maximum heat, he approached the fire. The strong, reviving aroma of brewed coffee rose up and mingled with the scent of cooked beef and wood smoke. Tripp shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the flames.
She was just wondering at his quiet mood when he said, “Dad used to say I made the best camp coffee he ever tasted.”
Wow, that came out of left field—along with a healthy surge of guilt. She didn’t dare look at his face. Not after hearing the note of longing that she wondered if he even realized resonated in his voice.
“In that case, you can make it in the morning,” she replied casually. “It’s the one thing I haven’t quite been able to master.”
A simple nod was his only answer.
She dished up their plates, he poured the coffee, and they exchanged one of each. After a quick pass of her hand under her boots to see how warm they were, she settled back onto a log while smothering a yawn. Without meaning to, she glanced at Tripp—just in time to see him lower his coffee cup with a comical look of distaste.
She gave a rueful shake of her head. “I told you.”
He gave her a half-grimace, half-smile. “Next time, ease up on the grounds and add a little sugar.”
She shrugged one shoulder as she took a sip. Yeah, it was pretty bad. At home, she had no problem, but for some reason out here, she couldn’t quite get it right. She’d just lifted her first bite when a low, appreciative groan from Tripp brought her head up. He finished chewing, pointing to his plate with his fork.
“Rule number four—you cook from now on.”
“Ha. You can take that rule and shove it you-know-where.”
He laughed, and the honest-to-God humor in the sound warmed her more than the barely receding evening heat.
Settling to a smile, he said, “It was worth a try.” After another bite, he added, “As if you hadn’t already figured out from earlier, I’d rather eat your food on a bad day than mine on a good day.”
She looked down at her plate again, her pulse erratic. His smile, when genuine, was lethal. And, he’d just complimented her. It appeared a truce had been called. Where was a pen when she needed it? The fire popped and the wood settled as they ate in companionable silence. She finished before him, but she’d also given him twice as much. Setting her plate on a log, she couldn’t help reaching to feel her boots again.
“I see Mason’s got himself a small harem,” Tripp said.
He had spotted him. Reggie ignored a small spike of panic and rose to her feet. “Did you get a count?” she asked as she walked over to get some water from the small lake.
“Eight mares, four foals.”
Filling each bucket only partially full along the bank so she didn’t have to get wet again, she carried them over and hung one on the metal tripod over the fire. “Are you sure? Were they in the open?”
“Yeah—let me get that.” He set his plate aside and reached to take the second bucket.
“I got it.” She didn’t mind the flare of testosterone, but it wasn’t like she was helpless. After she dumped the buckets together for the water to heat, she sighed with sadness and sat down. “He must’ve lost a few since spring.”
“Mares or foals?”
“Both. Last I saw him he had nine mares and six foals.”
“You know, I didn’t get that close a look, but those mares didn’t appear to be mustangs.”
“They’re not.” The silent question in his eyes made her explain further as she stared into the fire. “Judd noticed Mason hanging around the ranch after a couple weeks, so he let loose three of his Quarab mares to keep him company. Each fall he rounded up the foals after they’d been weaned and left another mare for Mason. In fact, Prince is one of his sons from the first year.”
“That your gelding?” When she nodded, he smirked. “What’s a Princess without her Prince?”
Reggie rolled her eyes, then watched the fire aga
in. “Judd let me pick him out on my fifteenth birthday.” She smiled softly with the memory of Prince’s wobbly baby legs, chocolate brown eyes and little white nose. She’d fallen in love at first sight. To this day, she’d never gotten a better gift. “He knew exactly what he was doing, too. Taught me to care about someone other than myself for once.”
Tripp said nothing. She wanted to look at him, to see if she could tell what he was thinking, but was afraid of what even a glance would reveal in his expression. Disbelief. Contempt. Hate. So she kept staring at the fire in the gathering darkness of night.
Before she knew it, the day caught up with her, and she’d zoned out long enough for the water to start boiling. After yet another yawn, she blinked a few times and focused her gaze. Her pulse gave a funny little leap when she realized Tripp watched her with curious interest.
She almost looked away for fear of disturbing the tenuous truce they’d begun, but wanted to say more about his father. Unwilling to let the subject opportunity pass, she took a deep breath and forced the words out. It was way past time to stop being such a coward.
“He really was waiting for you to come home, you know.”
Tripp held her gaze for a moment. Her chest tightened at the hurt look in his eyes. Maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut. Just when she thought he’d speak, he rubbed his hands on his jeans and pushed to his feet. One hand raked through his hair before resting on the nape of his neck as he turned his back to her. The water started to boil over, splashing water onto the flames with spit and sizzle. Small, thin plumes of smoke billowed skyward.
“Tripp…”
He spun around and nodded toward the pot. “I take it this isn’t all for dishes?”
It was the first time she’d mentioned his father that he hadn’t gotten angry, although the tension in his tone suggested he could go either way, making her hesitate to force the issue. She couldn’t make him believe her, so it might be best to let it rest for now. Standing as well, she accepted his change of subject and reached for the thick pot holders to handle the heated metal bucket. “I wanted to wash up.”
He was next to her in an instant. “I got it this time. You’re not carrying a bucket of boiling water with bare feet.”
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