Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Shifting his weight, he caught her arms to hold them captive above her head, one hand on each of her wrists. The defenseless position should’ve left her vulnerable, but instead she lifted her hips to match his rhythm, urging him on. Faster now, harder, until they both reached the edge. A final thrust pushed them over.

  Lying on top, yet still holding much of his weight off her, he rested his head next to hers while they returned to reality.

  Reggie would’ve lain with him indefinitely, but, after discarding the condom, Tripp pulled on his boxer briefs and went outside. She opened her mouth to invite him to stay in the bed with her for the night, then closed it again, steeling herself against the pain of his abrupt, silent departure. Much as she longed to have him next to her, she didn’t want him to feel obligated, or that she would now expect things he didn’t want to give. The consequences may not have been outright stated in his rule, but they’d been more than clear.

  Was he now hating himself for sleeping with the woman who’d—

  The sound of the door opening again brought her head up. Tripp tossed her a quick smile before leaning over to blow out the lamp on the dining table. Despite all her internal words of warning, her heart leapt with joy. She took care of the lamp by the bed as he slipped back under the sheet alongside her. When he pulled her back against his chest, she realized he’d removed his boxers again. He tucked his chin in the crook of her neck while brushing his lips across her cheek.

  “Night, Pr—Regan.”

  “G’night,” she whispered in the darkness, praying he couldn’t feel her heart racing in her chest.

  She thought she’d been prepared. A hot kiss that led to hotter sex. Simple. Easy. She was a big girl who could have a little nostrings fun. There was a first time for everything, right? But lying in his arms, free of the weight of her guilt for the first time in years, she knew the consequences for her were entirely more significant.

  She was dangerously close to falling in love.

  ****

  Reggie eased out from under Tripp’s arm and out of bed before dawn streaked across the night sky. Quiet as possible, she gathered her things and headed outside. She’d love to wash her hair, but didn’t have time to deal with it this morning. Twisting the thick curls up into a high ponytail, she bathed in the lake and put on her clean clothes, then saddled Prince and headed out. She didn’t even bother with breakfast, afraid if she hung around too long, Tripp would wake up, and she’d have to face him.

  Back about three a.m., when she was still wide awake relishing every second spent next to his warm, naked body, she realized she wasn’t close to falling for him—she already had.

  The past couple days had revealed a man who regretted his past, but was strong enough to face the future. He was kind-hearted, protective and caring, and full of an amazing passion she’d never experienced before. She wanted to sleep with him every day for the rest of her life.

  Eyes wide open, staring into the dark, she’d pictured herself walking down the aisle toward him, her white gown simple, yet elegant. A little baby would have her dark hair, but his brilliant blue eyes. When they were older, they’d sit on the front porch swing and watch their grandkids play in the yard.

  And in return, he’d be reminded of those lost years with his father every...single...day. In the glaring light of day, the guilt was back with a vengeance. She swallowed hard and urged Prince up over the ridge where she’d seen Mason yesterday.

  She’d told Tripp she’d do anything to make things right, and she meant it. After locking away the memory of a perfect night in her heart forever, she knew what she had to do. Catch Mason, give him and the ranch to Tripp, and then leave...for good.

  Chapter 10

  From the window above the sink, Tripp watched Regan ride out. It was cowardly, he knew, but he was unable to face her just yet.

  He’d felt the loss of her warmth the moment she’d snuck out of bed. Last night had been wonderful beyond belief. For him, at least. His chest had tightened as he wondered what had made her so restless through the night and woken her in the pre-dawn hours.

  Whatever it was, she’d been in a hurry to get away from him. Desperate to get back to chasin’ Mason and securing the ranch in her name? Damn it. Did it mean that much to her? Could it really be as simple as her wanting to keep the place she called home?

  His heart ached for the little girl who’d been so desperate for love she’d resorted to her mother’s despicable methods to secure his father’s attention. Fourteen may have been old enough to know better in his world, but what was a child to do when she’d never known anything other than her mother’s manipulations?

  He wasn’t surprised to discover he didn’t blame Regan anymore. Not now he knew the woman she’d become. If anything, he realized things had turned out the way they had for a reason. She’d needed his father more than he did. At least something good had come out of such a painful past. And not only that, but he’d survived and grown stronger. Heaven only knew what would’ve happened to Regan if she’d stayed in her mother’s care, bouncing from one stepfather to another.

  After dressing, he packed his gear for the day, and rode out in the same direction as she had. He wanted to see how well she knew Mason’s Gold. Instinct told him she’d seen the stallion yesterday. She’d been different when she came back to camp last night. More relaxed, confident—as if she knew something he didn’t. He could attribute it to the good night sleep she’d gotten the night before, but something told him there was more.

  By afternoon, for the second time in two days, Tripp sat astride his horse on the ridge. With an odd sense of déjà vu, he watched another Golden Eagle ride the wind currents in the distance, and wondered if perhaps there was a pair nesting somewhere nearby. As it disappeared from sight, his gaze drifted down and scanned the land before him. Browns and muted greens blended together, with red rock slicing through the picture every so often. He’d watched many a blazing sunset right here while working the range with his father as a teen.

  It was all so beautiful. He loved this land—always had, he realized. So, why hadn’t he come home sooner?

  The answer was easy, because his father told him not to.

  He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the glaring sun. No truth resounded in his heart. Dropping his chin, he moved his gaze restlessly over the landscape.

  No, not so easy. As Nana said, when had he ever done what he was told? Painful as it was, he dug deeper.

  He hadn’t wanted to see the spoiled little witch who’d stolen his life again.

  Copout.

  He hadn’t wanted to see the happy family they’d become without him.

  That struck a little closer to home, made him shift uncomfortably in the saddle. Because, what if he had come home and his father told him he wasn’t welcome on the ranch?

  And there it was. He hadn’t wanted to take a chance on coming home and having his father reject him, again.

  The truth socked him in the gut and created a lump in his throat so painful he couldn’t swallow past it. He certainly didn’t have to worry about his father’s rejection anymore, now did he? If only he’d taken the time to do some soul searching earlier than now, instead of nursing his anger and overblown feelings of betrayal. Things could’ve been so different.

  Something in the distance caught his eye. Grateful for the distraction from his raw discovery, he dug his small binoculars from his shirt pocket to squint through them in the glare of the afternoon sun. Dust billowed, stirred by the passage of swift hooves.

  Regan.

  Everything else faded to nothing as he watched her in full pursuit of one Mason’s Gold. A low whistle escaped through his teeth. She rode low to her gelding’s neck, urging him on with every magnificent stride. She must’ve lost her hat somewhere along the way, because her long curls streamed out behind her, whipping in the wind created by the speed of her mount.

  For just a moment, his pulse tripped at the idea of her racing across the ground at breakneck spee
d. Together, she and her horse were glorious, but if something happened—if Prince were to hit a prairie dog hole…

  Tripp blew out a deep breath and forced the worry away, reminding himself she knew what she was doing. That much was obvious from the coiled lasso dangling in her right hand as she waited to get closer before attempting a throw.

  His gaze shifted to the stallion who was the cause of so much trouble.

  A carrier of the unusual champagne gene, he was a light brown and cream colored paint, with a mane and tail that shone like spun gold in the sun. Age and the wilderness had done nothing to diminish his beauty. Despite the half mix of quarter horse blood, Mason possessed the classic lines of a purebred Arabian, carrying his head and tail high as he evaded Regan and Prince. He dodged right, then left, but they were gaining on him, Prince following his father’s lead as the thirteen year-old stallion tired.

  Tripp watched Regan ready the lasso without Prince breaking stride. Astride Lucky less than a half mile away, he leaned forward in his saddle, his anticipation mounting. Regan lifted her arm and twirled the rope around her head like a pro.

  “Not yet…easy…not…yet…almost there…now.”

  As if she heard him coaching under his breath, she sailed the lasso through the air. Tripp tensed, holding his breath in the seconds it took to see if she’d made the catch.

  When the rope settled over the stallion’s regal head, Tripp pumped his fist in a tight little jab of victory. “Yes.”

  She’d keep the ranch.

  Lucky sidestepped under him, making him lose sight of Regan and the stallion for a moment. He settled the mare down, then quickly scanned the range. His heart plummeted to his stomach when he saw Prince standing without his rider, and Mason fast disappearing out of sight with the rope flailing after him.

  He focused on Prince, standing near a rock formation. Where’s Regan? A frantic sweep of the immediate area yielded nothing. Without hesitation, he kicked Lucky into a gallop, fumbling to put the slim binoculars back in his pocket as he rode. What the hell had happened? His mind came up with a few possibilities, none of them reassuring.

  Prince shied away when Tripp pulled Lucky to a sliding stop and leapt from the saddle. He still didn’t see her and panic rose in his throat.

  “Regan!”

  A scuffing sound behind him made him whirl around. “Oh, thank God.” Tripp dropped to his knees beside her, but when he reached out, she gasped and flinched away.

  “Don’t! Please…don’t touch me.”

  With one foot and her left hand, she pushed herself into a sitting position to lean awkwardly against a boulder. Pain etched the beautiful face covered with dust and dirt. She moaned slightly, her eyes closing as she took shallow, measured breaths. When she looked at him, her luminous violet eyes were glazed.

  Tripp felt helpless as never before. He searched for blood or an obvious injury, but saw nothing. “Where are you hurt?”

  “My shoulder—the right one. I dislocated it when I fell.”

  He focused on her right arm and realized it did look odd, hanging there limp. “Are you sure it’s not broken?”

  She nodded, but even such small movement made her inhale sharply. “I did it once before...a couple years back.”

  “So, what did you do?” he asked, wishing he could take away her pain.

  “Hospital,” she gasped. “They put it back in place.”

  He sat back on his heels as a fresh wave of alarm hit him. “We’re hours from the ranch, Regan, let alone a hospital. There’s no way you can ride that far.”

  “I know. You’ll have to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “You’ll have to pop it back in place.”

  “No.” He stared at her, then her shoulder. His gut twisted. “What if I hurt you more?”

  “It’s the only way,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Her gaze held his, full of pain and tears that didn’t fall. Despite the dust, her face was so pale her freckles stood out in stark relief. He took off his hat and tossed it aside. Raising both hands, he raked them through his hair, linking his fingers behind his head as he considered what she asked him to do.

  He blew out a breath. “You’re sure you want me to do this?”

  Her gaze didn’t falter from his. “Yes. It won’t hurt so much when it’s back in. I hope.”

  God, even with her added whisper at the end, she was braver than he was. Another deep breath while he rubbed his suddenly damp palms on his thighs. “Okay. What do I do?”

  She leaned her head back against the rock. “Look in the front left flap on my saddle.”

  He frowned, but did as she asked and found only a tin flask in the small compartment. He held it up and she nodded. Uncapping it on his way back, he held it to his nose, inhaling the rich scent of caramel and milk chocolate with raised brows. “Dad’s brandy.” Come to think of it, he could use a drink right now—or the whole bottle. Kneeling beside her again, he asked, “What are you carrying around booze for?”

  A pained smile curved her lips. “If I caught Mason first, I wanted a shot to celebrate. If you caught him, I planned to drown my sorrows.”

  “Well, neither one will be happening today. So, what do you want me to do with it?”

  He waited for her to tell him to pour it on something, maybe to sterilize it, though what would need sterilizing, he had no clue. Instead, she held out her left hand and he handed over the flask. She held it up to her lips for a drink. After the first shot, she coughed with a grimace, but lifted it again. This time she kept drinking.

  He reached to pull it away when he counted her fifth swallow. “Whoa, slow down.”

  “If I’m drunk, it won’t hurt so much.”

  “There isn’t enough here to get drunk on.”

  “I can’t hold my liquor worth a damn,” she informed him.

  He couldn’t help a brief smile. “Yeah, well, still.”

  He started to set the flask aside, then thought better of it and took a healthy swig himself. Unlike the other day in the office when a sip had pleasantly warmed, this gulp burned down his throat into his stomach. He waited for a surge of extra courage, but it never came. So then why did people in the movies always drink before doing something like this? Maybe if he had another…

  No, if anything, Regan needed it to dull the pain more than he did for his damn nerves. He offered her the brandy again. She took another long drink before handing it back. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked around without moving her head.

  “We need a counter weight—so the only thing that moves when you pull is my shoulder.”

  When you pull. He cringed inwardly, but shook it off and thought for a moment. “I’ve got my rope, I could use it to anchor you to the boulder.”

  She nodded. “Take off your shirt.”

  He raised his brows, but stripped it off without asking why. Whatever she wanted.

  “Ease it under my arm to go around me and tie it to the rope.”

  That made sense; otherwise, the stiff fibers of his lariat would cut into her tender skin through her thin shirt. He folded the material to make a wide band before sliding it under her limp arm. Her breath hissed in. His hands fisted, but it had to be done, so he bit the inside of his lip and kept going.

  A sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead by the time he finished with the shirt and the rope. Feeling awful, he asked in a low voice, “Now what?”

  “You’ll have to take my arm and pull hard to put the bone back in the socket.”

  His stomach churned, making him wish he hadn’t had that drink. But he reached for her right arm.

  “Wait!”

  He froze. “What?”

  “Have you ever seen this done on TV?”

  “I don’t watch TV—no time.”

  “Just my luck,” she muttered before taking a breath. “You’re going to have to pull really hard. Don’t jerk. You have to do a strong, steady pull until it goes back in.”

  He gave a
n uneven nod. “Okay.”

  “You can’t stop—even if I scream.”

  His gut clenched even worse than before, but he forced himself to nod and meet her gaze. “Ready?”

  One deep breath. Two. She closed her eyes on the next one. “Ready.”

  Shifting his weight to one knee, Tripp braced his other foot on the boulder, then reached for her right arm. She sucked in a harsh breath as he moved into position, but he focused solely on her shoulder. If he saw the pain that he heard in her raspy breathing, he wasn’t so sure he could go through with this—and he had the easy part.

  Gripping his left hand above her wrist, he slid his right hand up to fit their forearms against each other and held tight at her elbow. “On three. One...two...three.”

  He pulled, almost let up when she did scream, but then felt her shoulder give. When he dared a glance, instant relief had flooded her face.

  “Was that it?”

  Silent tears streamed down her face as she nodded and leaned her head back against the rock. She was so white. Sweat dampened her forehead and her eyes squeezed tight. He felt as sick as she looked. She took short, measured breaths as he relaxed his hold and gently bent her arm at the elbow to rest her hand in her lap. He watched closely, and while her face remained pale, and she moaned slightly, it was nothing near like the agony of before.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  Excess adrenaline left him shaky. A lump formed in his throat. Using his knuckles, he brushed away the moisture leaving tracks on her dusty cheeks. Her left hand rose to help, but ended up grasping his forearm. Leaning forward, he cradled her face in his palms and kissed one closed eyelid, then the other. He gave her a final soft kiss on her lips before lightly resting his forehead against hers.

  Her lashes fluttered open. She stared at him with wide eyes, and he suddenly felt exposed all the way to his soul. Damn it! He’d gone and broken rule number five in one day. Dropping his chin, he pivoted and sat next to her against the boulder as casually as he could while his mind shouted for him to get up and run.

  The rough surface of the rock bit into the bare skin of his back, but it gave him something else to focus on. Getting back up, he moved over to her other side and untied the rope from his shirt, then from around the boulder to coil it up and hang it back on Lucky’s saddle. When he turned around, Regan had pulled his shirt free from around her to hold it out to him.