Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  She was too tired to argue and probably wouldn’t have been able to lift it anyway. Tripp, on the other hand, didn’t appear to strain at all as he carried it into the cabin for her.

  “Where do you want it?” he asked.

  She set the dishes on the small counter near the long handled water pump. “Dump some in the sink, please, and then just leave the bucket by the bathroom door.”

  He filled the sink before striding toward the door to the left of the bed. “I was surprised to find a bathroom when I looked around earlier.”

  “Well, there’s no electricity or running water, but it’s better than nothing.”

  She lit an oil lamp to chase away the lengthening shadows as Tripp set the bucket inside the bathroom. When she would’ve started the dishes, he stepped up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed at first, but after a few manipulations of his strong fingers, she let her shoulders droop in surrender.

  “I’ll do the dishes,” he said softly. “Go get ready for bed.”

  She hadn’t met this Tripp before; he could be as dangerous as his smiles. Despite the inner warning, her exhaustion, combined with the magic of his massage, rooted her feet to the floor. He turned her toward the bathroom after another minute and gave a gentle push. By the time she’d washed, brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas of tank top and cotton shorts, Tripp had pulled a clean towel off the shelf to dry the dishes.

  The bed called her name, but she still needed to do her hair. Brush in hand, she leaned against the headboard while unraveling her braid over her shoulder. She managed two passes through the long strands before letting her hand rest in her lap.

  Tripp glanced at her as he put away the last dish. “Tired?”

  A tiny spark of energy attempted to ignite, but didn’t make it past her yawn. “Unlike some people, I didn’t get a nap.”

  He smiled that lethal smile again. “Go to sleep, Princess. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Sounded good despite the annoying name. Her lashes drifted lower.

  No—not yet. She still had things to do. Put out the fire…check the horses…close the windows…set the travel alarm…

  ****

  Reggie smelled coffee. Oh, yeah. She needed to dump it and put out the fire before she went to bed. She’d get up in just one more minute. She rolled over, throwing an arm up to block out the bright light of the oil lamp.

  As she lay there, the sweet song of a whippoorwill floated through an open window. A mountain chickadee called back with a throaty chickadee-adee-adee. Reggie smiled. She loved those cute little birds with their pretty song and little black heads. Leaves rustled in the wind and the rapid tattoo of a woodpecker drifted in through the opposite window.

  The moment all of the sounds connected and registered she sat bolt upright in bed with her eyes open wide. It was morning! And judging by the height of the sun, nowhere near dawn, either. Rushing to get up, she became tangled in a light blanket she didn’t recall pulling up and bumped the small table next to the bed. One of her ceramic mugs fell and bounced on the wood floor, spewing coffee in all directions.

  “Damn,” she muttered. She didn’t remember leaving a cup of coffee there—or even bringing one in, for that matter. Then she noticed a piece of paper drowning in the slowly spreading puddle of caffeine. Shaking off the excess liquid, she lifted it to read the bold handwriting.

  Morning, Princess. Didn’t want to disturb your beauty rest.

  She imagined Tripp standing over her as she slept. Just great. Hopefully she’d kept her mouth shut.

  Enjoy the coffee, there’s more outside in the coals if this cup is cold by the time you wake up…and breakfast, too. (I apologize in advance.) Catch ya later.

  Those last three words were all the reminder she needed. She leapt up, sprinted through the mess on the floor and threw open the door. The fire was banked and there sat the coffee pot. A quick scan revealed no Tripp. Damn.

  Her boots sat in place of his saddle on the porch and two steps later, she saw Prince standing alone in the corral. His ears pitched forward when he saw her, and he whickered a greeting. The woodpecker drummed again.

  Double damn. She’d wanted to set the alarm and get up extra early to beat Tripp to the trail. Or, at the very least, watch which way he went. Instead, she’d slept half the morning. Geez, she deserved to lose the ranch.

  How humiliating it would be if he caught Mason while she was in bed!

  Chapter 8

  Tripp scanned the canyon floor with his binoculars, but saw nothing in the afternoon shadows. No puffs of dust from fleeing hooves, no flashes of gold, bay, or chestnut hides, no flick of a disappearing tail. Not one single sign of Mason or his herd yet today, and he was already working on three o’clock.

  He ripped off another bite of beef jerky, wishing he’d brought more since Lucky had snatched his apple at lunch. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been planning on giving her the core.

  Frustration and hunger gnawed his gut. Yesterday, he’d thought about how nice it was to be back out on the range, but today he took it all back.

  He’d been so sore when he rolled out of his sleeping bag earlier, his thighs, butt, even his shoulders, and tomorrow would only be worse. Some could be attributed to the hard ground he’d slept on, but mostly it was the time in the saddle he was unaccustomed to. Though intimately familiar with hard, sometimes physical, work, it was still a far cry from how he usually spent his days. In fact, he’d distanced himself so far from this life, he’d bet no one on his executive team would believe at one time he’d practically lived atop a horse.

  Worse, he hadn’t remembered how much time a man had to think when surrounded by nothing but open space. After the last couple hours in the great outdoors, he’d give just about anything to hear his cell phone ring. Then he wouldn’t have to think about his father. Or Regan.

  It was a toss up which occupied his thoughts more. When he rode out earlier, he couldn’t get the image of her sleep softened features out of his mind. She appeared so innocent.

  Which, ironically, made him think of his dad. “He really was waiting for you to come home.” If it mattered at all to him, then why hadn’t he come after his own son? Apparently, his father had known where he lived, what he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have known how well he’d done for himself. What had kept his father away? Stubborn pride that Tripp had been right about Regan’s mother, or Regan herself?

  And there she was again.

  She kept insisting she’d changed. Back at the ranch, he hadn’t believed her claim for a second. Out here, though, things were different. She cared for herself, but not in a self-centered way. More in an independent, self-reliant way that made him want to turn around and take care of her. He wasn’t quite sure how she managed to inspire that response, but he’d done it all evening.

  The damn snake had scared the hell out of him. He had visions of her being bit and not being able to do a thing to save her. And why did he feel so protective of her after the bitter past they shared?

  And the circle continued—back to his dad. Why had he forced their hands with the crazy stipulation in his will? Why not just give the damn ranch to Regan and be done with it?

  He squinted at the sky where a Golden Eagle soared overhead on the air currents. It wasn’t like they’d ever be friends if that was what his father had been thinking. Lovers, maybe. Probably. He’d bet his life his father hadn’t been thinking that when he wrote his will.

  But just thinking about Regan’s body against his made Tripp grow hard; soft skin, those long legs, trim waist and breasts he ached to lift in his palms before lowering his head for a taste.

  Yeah, they’d be lovers—soon. Once he was sure she understood the two of them sleeping together would have nothing to do with him going after the ranch.

  Her suggestion he’d use sex to get back at her had offended and pissed him off. He wasn’t out to ruin her. Dishing out a little just desserts by winning the ranch wasn’t even close by definition.
Besides, she had the money, and he only wanted what should’ve been his all along. It was only fair and—

  And oh, my God, did he sound like a whiny teenager, or what? All he needed to do was stomp his foot and declare, “It’s mine!”

  The visual made him chuckle out loud. That had been Regan’s move way back then, not his. Then he remembered her yanking the dishtowel out of his hand after she’d dumped two buckets of water on him. “My dishtowel.” The chuckle expanded, shaking his shoulders as it became a full blown laugh.

  Tripp shook his head and gave Lucky a nudge to get moving again. He had to think about catching Mason a little more and a lot less about Regan. Funny, though, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

  The odd thought mirrored his unusual actions last night and this morning. Seeing as it’d been his fault her boots had gotten wet, he sat up last night and kept the fire going a couple extra hours to make sure they were dry this morning. He wondered if she’d liked the coffee he’d left beside the bed. And he had tried with breakfast, but it was the thought that counted, right?

  He pulled up short at the alarming realization she’d begun to dominate his thoughts. Shit. He was starting to like her. Wanting her was one thing and perfectly okay, but liking her was bad. Liking led to feelings, and feelings were worse than bad; they were dangerous. They’d give her power. Regan having the power to hurt him again was not an option.

  So now what?

  Rule number five? Yeah, that’s right; he made the rules in this game. So what would it be? He thought for a moment. Regan is the competition. Liking her is not allowed. Not to mention, it wasn’t even smart. Maintain an emotional distance.

  He repeated the words a couple times for good measure and felt better. Hell, emotional distance had been his forte since he was seventeen years old.

  Removing his hat in the hot Texas sun, he ran a hand through his hair, and then resettled the Stetson a little lower with a final tug of determination. Time to go catch a stallion.

  ****

  Tripp would kill for a hot tub right about now, but he’d have to settle for the watering hole. Regan wasn’t back yet, so he took care of Lucky and then brought soap and a towel to the bench by the shore. After starting a fire, he stripped down to his boxer briefs before hesitating.

  On the one hand, it was dusk, practically dark. But on the other, Regan would most likely ride in any minute.

  Did he even care?

  The briefs joined the rest of his clothes. He waded in, and executed a shallow dive. Cool water slid over his dusty, heated skin, refreshing his tired body in moments. He swam almost to the middle before breaking the surface and shaking his hair off his forehead. Treading water, he listened to the faint crackle of the fire and enjoyed the peace of the approaching night.

  A few minutes later, a noise from the far side of the small clearing made him spin soundlessly in the water. Regan and Prince emerged from the trees, presenting a pretty silhouette as they skirted the shoreline. An unwelcome shot of longing seized his body at the mere sight of her. Her softly-whistled melodic tune of a country song caressed his ears, intensifying his desire.

  They were just about even with him when he called, “Hey.”

  The gelding shied sideways, and, though he heard Regan’s startled exclamation, she kept her balance on the horse with impressive reflexes. Even in the shadows he saw her whip her head around in his direction.

  “Geez, Tripp, you don’t do that to a person.”

  “Sorry. I just wanted to let you know I was here.”

  “Obviously you’re here—I can see the fire.”

  “I meant in the water.”

  “I’d have figured that out, too.”

  Tripp swam parallel with her when she nudged Prince back into a walk. “The water feels great—you wanna join me?”

  His heart thudded three times before she asked, “Are you naked?”

  A smile tugged his lips at her suspicious tone. “As the day I was born.”

  Her derisive snort carried across the water, instantly followed by, “I’ll pass.”

  A click of her tongue sent the hulking shadow of Prince into a trot, carrying her away from the shore. Tripp chuckled to himself. She could pretend not to be interested all she wanted, but he’d felt her body respond to his, twice. Her shortened breath, the tiny shivers that shook her when he spoke against her ear—he loved that particular reaction.

  Whoa. Rule number five. Remember it. Repeat it.

  No sense borrowing trouble. He soaped and rinsed while she was busy with her horse. No more than he stepped out of the water and wrapped a towel around his waist, she walked around the corner of the cabin. Her step faltered. The quick sweep of her gaze over his chest and down past his towel stirred up the trouble he was trying not to borrow.

  It didn’t help that she liked what she saw. Her body language read like an open book. A nervous swallow, the lingering look, and her hasty retreat—but not before he caught a quick glimpse of her tongue as she wet her lips.

  What the hell was rule number five again?

  No feelings—emotional distance.

  Okay. It wasn’t so hard. So he was physically attracted to her. Any healthy man would be—didn’t mean he liked her at all.

  He gathered his dusty clothes and headed back to the cabin. Regan stepped through the door as he reached the porch, her arms full of pans and food for her dinner. Lucky her. What she’d made last night had been delicious; he didn’t relish what he’d have to cook up tonight. Of course, there was no cooking involved in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  He realized she hadn’t moved and her violet eyes were trained on him. A couple drops of water from his hair ran down the side of his face and dripped onto his chest. As Regan’s gaze followed the moisture; Tripp’s blood simmered. He quickly sidestepped at the same time she did.

  “I’ll just get—”

  They both went the opposite direction.

  “—out of your way,” he finished as they came to a stop.

  She still stared at his chest, but he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. He had a sudden urge to tease her until the smile broke free, take her in his arms and dance across the floor with her body flush against his until they reached the bed. Shit. If he kept up those thoughts, his towel would become a tent.

  When she went to the side again, he stayed where he was and let her pass. It was time to stop acting like an idiot.

  Inside the cabin, he finished drying off and pulled on clean clothes and his boots again. He carried the towel outside to dry near the campfire, but paused to look around, thinking he should put up a line. Since he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Mason all day, there was no telling how long they’d be here.

  “Is there some rope around here I can use as a clothesline?”

  Regan glanced up from the fire. “Um, sure. In the storage closet near the bathroom.”

  He found what he needed and made quick work of stringing up the line. After hanging his towel, physical hunger rushed to the forefront and he started back to the cabin to make his sandwiches.

  “Do you care if I add pepper to the potatoes?” Regan asked as he passed.

  Tripp’s step slowed and his gaze zeroed in on the pan over the fire, right next to a Dutch oven for making biscuits. Homemade biscuits? His mouth watered. “Uh…no.”

  “Good. This’ll be done in a little while if you want to start the coffee.”

  He reversed direction. Rule number four had been a joke last night. He was pretty sure she’d understood that after telling him where to shove it. But if she was offering dinner, no way would he argue with an alternative of PB&J. So, he measured coffee grounds, added sugar, and set the pot to percolate. Then he reclined back and absorbed the scene before him.

  Whatever she was making in that big pan didn’t look like much, but his stomach grumbled in anticipation from the delicious scents wafting in the air. Based on yesterday, he had nothing to worry about. How many times had she prepared food like this out on the ra
nge?

  He let his gaze linger on her. She’d come a long way from the spoiled, manipulative brat who’d turned his life upside down. When he stopped to think about it, the difference was amazing, really. He never would’ve believed it without seeing it. It made her all the more appealing, her self-reliant, confident capableness that—

  Tripp reined in his thoughts with a hard jerk and leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. His plan of action was not working. He needed a reminder of why he didn’t like her.

  “So, how come our parents never got married, Princess?”

  Her brows rose in surprise. There was a short pause while she reached for the plates behind her, as if she were carefully considering her answer. “I guess you could say my mom got antsy.”

  “Antsy? Is that a nice way of saying she found someone else?” He poured coffee as she dished up the food.

  “Not right away.”

  “But she did?”

  “Yes.”

  They exchanged plate for cup. “Because my dad wasn’t good enough for her?” he asked, an edge to his tone he couldn’t control.

  She lifted a shoulder. “He might have been, I don’t know.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, he was waiting for you to come home, and my mom got tired of waiting for him.”

  Tripp sat back slowly. How ironic he’d argued for three months and demanded his dad not to marry Loretta to no avail, and, without even meaning to, his departure had accomplished what he’d wanted in the first place.

  The satisfaction he would’ve expected was nowhere to be found. He regarded his plate loaded with meat, potatoes and a couple of steaming, golden biscuits, and wasn’t all that hungry anymore. He wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  Regan sighed softly. “Tripp, I honestly don’t know what might have happened if they’d gotten married. In a perfect world, my mom would’ve been happy. She would’ve let Judd’s love be enough—because he did love her. But the reality is, you were right about her.”