Forcing herself not to give in to self-pity, she took out her tank pajama top and shorts, but realized she’d never be able to raise her injured arm high enough to put on the top. Pushing it back in her bag, she pulled out a short-sleeved cotton shirt with small buttons. After she’d washed, and won the struggle to put on and fasten her clean clothes, she stared in the mirror at her tangled, dusty curls. There was more than enough water left for a wash, and the last thing she wanted to do was go to bed with dirty, grimy hair.
Managing to carry the bucket from the bathroom to the larger kitchen sink, she took a few moments to get everything ready and within reach for when her head was upside down in the sink to rinse. But then she paused. How the hell was she really going to do this one-handed? The pills she’d taken had dulled the pain to a bearable ache for now, but bending over that sink would be mighty uncomfortable.
She lifted her uninjured arm to run a hand through her curls, thinking maybe she could get away with a good brushing. Only a few inches past her hairline, the tangles impeded her progress. An attempt to force her fingers through the mess only resulted in pulling at her now itchy scalp. She set her jaw with stubborn determination; washing was the only option.
Unfortunately, by the time she got her hair wet, the ache in her shoulder had increased to an insistent throb again. She measured her breaths and kept going, resolved to get the job done now that she’d started. A reach for the shampoo bottle accidently knocked the handle of the pan of water she’d set on the counter for rinsing. The pan spun, teetered on the edge, then fell to the floor with a loud clang.
Her automatic grab for the pan jolted her shoulder. “Ow. Damn it all.”
After a deep breath and a glance at the water all over the floor, she admitted this was not going to work. But, crap, now her hair was soaking wet.
Boots sounded on the porch and the door banged open.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
Reggie stiffened, mortified at how she must look with her butt sticking out as her head hung in the sink. “I’m washing my hair. Now get out.”
Silence followed, but she didn’t hear Tripp’s boots or the door.
“And how’s that going for you?”
The smirk in his voice made her feel like even more of an idiot. “Tripp, please, just go, okay?”
She heard a soft sigh. He moved then, only it was toward her.
“Tripp—”
“Shut-up and let me help.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him grab a chair with one hand, lifting it easily to carry it to her side.
“Turn around and sit so you can tip your head back.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she did as he ordered while he held her hair over the sink. Her neck rested against something soft, and she realized he’d put a towel across the edge of the basin for her comfort. Still, she cringed, adjusting her position as he picked up the pan from the floor and refilled it from the warm bucket of water. Sitting was better than bending over, but the hard chair back added pressure against her sore shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re making a face. Does your shoulder hurt?”
“A little,” she admitted, but then smoothed out her expression and tried not to wiggle anymore. He strode across the room for a pillow on the bed and returned to her side, motioning for her to sit forward. After he slipped the cushion behind her, she settled back with relief.
“Better?”
Her heart thudded at the sight of his steady blue gaze staring down at her, full of concern. She managed a quiet, “Yes, thank you.”
“Good.” He reached for the shampoo bottle. “Now scoot down some and tilt your head back.”
He poured peach-scented shampoo into his palm and rubbed his hands together before leaning over to ease his fingers into her still-dripping hair, starting along the hairline. Her eyelids drifted shut as his fingers began to knead her scalp. Wow. As he worked his way from her forehead all the way to the base of her neck, she fought a wave of tiredness. His massage was too good to sleep through.
She opened her eyes for a peek to find his chest above her face as he worked the shampoo along the roots and down the length of her curls.
Her senses filled with the mingled scent of peaches and Tripp, Irish Spring soap from his bath and warm male. A tingle spread down her neck, across her shoulders into her arms. It took over her entire body when he massaged backward, from her neck to her forehead again.
“Mmmm.”
The moment she heard her own aroused sound of pleasure, she cut it off. Damn it. Heat flooded her cheeks. Without opening her eyes, she knew he was watching her reaction, could feel his gaze as if it touched her. Her nipples tightened at the thought, and she swallowed hard. His muscled leg shifted against her arm a moment before a steady stream of warm water flowed over her scalp.
He rinsed her hair thoroughly and squeezed the water out. When he told her to sit up, the rougher than usual rasp of his voice sent a sensual ripple along her nerves. A towel fell over her head and his hands began to massage again. Aching shoulder or not, she was ready to jump him right here.
If only the idiot hadn’t thrown the condoms in the fire.
When he removed the towel, she opened her eyes to see shadows had begun to fall across the floor, darkening the cabin.
“Where’s your brush?” Tripp asked.
Not sure she could take much more without throwing herself at him, she stood up quickly and focused her gaze on his chest. “I can do that, at least. Thank you.”
He nodded, grasping the back of the chair to put it by the table. She went to sit on the bed with her brush, turning away from him as she pulled her hair over her shoulder and started on the tangles with her left hand. After a few minutes, she had to contain her frustration. At this rate, it’d be sunup before she finished.
She realized whatever Tripp had been doing, he was done now. Intending only a quick glance behind her, she paused when she saw him straddling a chair, his chin resting on his forearms where they lay across the back. Watching her. His left brow lifted in silent question.
She held out the brush with a resigned smile.
A slow grin spread across his face before he rose and headed over. The mattress shifted as his weight settled behind her. Warm fingers grazed her neck when he gathered her curls to pull them back. A shiver of hot longing slid down her back. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice as he started combing the tangles from her hair.
After a few minutes, she smiled in wonder. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She turned slightly when he didn’t answer. “Have you?”
He lifted a shoulder. With a finger on her chin, he pushed her head back to facing forward. “My college roommate had a six-year-old daughter. I used to get her ready for school when he had class.”
Reggie’s heart melted picturing this big man combing a little girl’s hair. He was so gentle, she barely felt him pulling on her head. “That’s so sweet. Do you still see her now? Tease her about it?” She liked knowing he’d had someone.
“Jerry moved to Chicago after we graduated. We lost touch.”
“Oh.”
The hint of longing in his tone told her they must’ve been like family to him and brought her guilt rushing forward again. She shifted to half-face him, suddenly needing to know how he’d managed.
“What did you do? After you left the ranch, I mean. You had nothing.”
Without meeting her gaze, he made a little motion with his hand for her to turn back around. She shook her head, waiting until his gaze lifted.
“Turn around, Regan.”
The haunted look in his eyes convinced her to do as he asked. He started with the brush again, and she wished she hadn’t brought the subject up. The longer he was silent, the worse she felt. It must’ve been bad.
“When I left the ranch, I hitched to Amarillo and got a job at the Lucky M for a few weeks,” he finally offered. �
�The moment I had enough money to get out of town, I was gone.”
His hand ran down the length of her hair, followed by a sweep through of the brush again. Reggie held her breath, hoping he’d continue his story.
“I ended up in Dallas, got a job at another ranch outside the city, and finished high school. The owner of the ranch helped me apply for scholarships. I got accepted at the University of Texas, majored in business. I spent evenings and summers working construction, saved every penny I could, and started my own business four years ago.”
“TW Brick and Paving Tiles.” She’d researched him on the Internet between the funeral and his return to the ranch.
“Yes.”
“Very impressive for twenty-eight years old,” she murmured.
“What can I say? After one too many drunken brawls, I learned to focus my anger into more constructive channels.”
His words were light, but she heard an underlying bitterness in his tone. She took a deep breath and faced him again.
“I’m sorry, Tripp.”
He set her brush aside. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “And even then, it’ll never be enough. I—”
His hand rose to her lips, his finger silencing her words as much as his direct look.
“I realized something today.” His gaze shifted, then slid back to hers as he dropped his hand. “Yes, you were the main reason I left, but it’s not your fault I never came back.”
“But—”
“No. It’s time you stop feeling responsible for something you didn’t do.”
She looked down at her lap. “You can say that, but I don’t know if the guilt will ever go away.”
“I forgive you.”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“I accept your apology, and I forgive you,” he repeated. “For everything that happened back then. But don’t blame yourself for me not coming home. That’s on me, and I now know I have to take responsibility for my part in the past, too. My father shares an equal blame for not coming after me. We all made mistakes. Some are too late to fix, but others, we still have the chance. I want to do that now with you and put the past where it belongs.”
She was speechless. And she was going to cry. She didn’t want to cry in front of him again. Seemed since Judd died, the tears from the past eleven years were determined to get out. Before they spilled over, she leaned forward, threw her good arm around him, and buried her face against his shoulder. She held on tight, then tighter still when his arms closed around her.
To her surprise, the tears didn’t fall. She wasn’t even sure how long they held each other. The only thing that mattered was in his arms, she was home. When his hold loosened, she made a small sound of protest without even realizing it.
“Your shirt is all wet in the back,” he said in that low voice of his.
Her stomach fluttered in recognized response. She turned her face into the warmth of his neck and inhaled deep. “Yeah.”
“You should get changed.”
“Yeah.” She let her hand slide down his chest before sitting back. Gathering her courage, she looked him in the eye. “I barely got these buttons done the first time, I’m gonna need help getting undressed.”
His gaze flicked down, then back up. Heat turned his iris’s dark blue. “I lied earlier.”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant when his hand reached for the top button of her shirt. “So did I,” she admitted.
His hand trembled against her skin. “Once was not enough.”
“You burned the condoms.”
“Yeah,” he said with a rueful groan. “Apparently, I’m an idiot.”
“I won’t argue that. You could’ve made your point by simply restraining yourself.”
“I should restrain myself now.” He started to pull back, disappointment filling his eyes. “You’ve got to be exhausted.”
She caught his hand.
“Regan, I don’t want to hurt you—”
“My shoulder’s fine.” For the most part. “And believe me, I’m not that tired.”
He accepted her reassurance with a soft chuckle, unbuttoned the last button, and spread her shirt open. “In that case, I guess it’s my turn to apologize.”
Reggie leaned forward to press her lips to his. He wasted no time deepening the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers as he carefully laid her back on the bed. Soft kisses whispered down her throat, across her collarbone to her injured shoulder before he moved down to the swell of her breast. The clasp of her bra was no challenge and, seconds later, he pushed the cups aside.
“I have a feeling you’ll—” She sucked in a breath as his tongue flicked her sensitive nipple. “Y-you’ll figure out a way to make it up to me.”
He raised his hot gaze to hers without lifting his head. Her insides quivered in anticipation at the intensity of his look and the skim of his hand past her navel.
“You can count on that, Princess.”
Chapter 12
Tripp made up for his idiotic, impulsive act more than once. And considering she apologized quite skillfully for her part in the argument that’d destroyed the condoms, he fell asleep with a satisfied smile on his face.
Waking up was a whole other matter. Regan’s warm, supple body snuggled tight against his side under the sheets. Her head was tucked under his chin, the scent of her peach shampoo from her still-damp hair teased his senses. A perfectly wonderful way to greet the morning, until he realized it was the second time he’d slept with her in his arms, and he wanted to do it again tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the day after that.
A nervous quiver turned his stomach, tensed his muscles. Caring for people only gave them the power to hurt you, exactly the reason he didn’t do things like this. Since they’d been out on the range, here at the cabin, Regan had blindsided him left and right, turning his opinion of her upside down as he saw every little way she had changed into the amazing woman lying next to him now. He’d meant every word he said about forgiving her and taking responsibility for his own mistakes, but it didn’t mean he was ready for this.
What is this?
He didn’t know. Didn’t know how to figure it out, and, judging by his suddenly racing heartbeat, now was not the time to ponder the answer. Easing Regan’s head onto the pillow, he slipped out of bed and gathered his clothes from the floor. One glance back stopped him in his tracks. She murmured in her sleep and curled onto her left side. His eyes widened at the bluish-black discoloration mottling the soft skin of her right shoulder and upper back.
My God, how she must hurt, yet she hadn’t complained once. Just looking at the large bruise made him ache for her and a rush of emotion without a single sexual motivation hit him for the second time in a few minutes.
Panic struck hard as he turned away from the bed and dragged his clothes on. Locating breakfast items so he wouldn’t have to come back inside, he carried them and his boots out the door, desperately needing some time to himself.
Even after the fire was crackling and the coffee had started to percolate, he couldn’t get rid of the restless energy singing through his veins. His mind kept trying to think, and worse, visualize Regan still lying in bed, but he concentrated on mixing up a batch of pancake batter instead.
Add water, stir.
Christ, he needed something else to do.
A noise at the door of the cabin brought his head up fast. Regan stepped out, completely dressed and respectable looking, except for the thick mane of curls tumbling about her shoulders. Just the sight of her kick-started his pulse again and reminded him of her wild response to his touch last night.
His groin throbbed, and he shifted his gaze from her face. The light-colored shirt-sling he’d fashioned for her yesterday stood out against the chocolate brown button down top she wore. Good, focus on her shoulder. And then, though it was the stupidest thing, knowing his shirt eased her discomfort gave him a sense of possessive satis
faction.
He returned his attention to the batter and poured some into a pan over the fire. Stupid wasn’t even the word for it. Pathetic, maybe. Childish for sure. Primal.
What the hell was he? An animal?
“Smells good.”
Her husky, early morning voice made him want to carry her back inside the cabin and spend the entire morning in bed together. He managed a brief smile in her direction without looking at her specifically.
“Good morning. Coffee?”
“Yes, thanks.”
He poured for them both, and then lifted his for a sip of the steaming brew. Without meaning to, his gaze strayed to her over the rim of his cup. The shy smile in her eyes made his hand jerk. He took too big of a drink and burned his mouth. Biting off a curse, he set the cup down and flipped the pancakes.
“Thanks for making breakfast,” she said, balancing her cup on her thigh. “We’ll need to get started looking for Mason right away.”
Tripp looked up with surprise. “How’s your shoulder?”
Her gaze shifted to the pan in the fire pretty darn fast. “Good.”
“Regan.”
Her chin took on a defiant tilt. “Well, of course it’s a little sore—that’s to be expected. But I took a couple ibuprofens, so it’ll be fine. Mason is more important.”
Take care of her first, or the horse? A reawakened remnant from his early years of living on the ranch tipped his indecision toward the horse, but then the last eleven years of a different life made up his mind. Much as he hoped the stallion hadn’t been injured by the rope, Regan came first. The best thing would be to head back to the ranch and get her to a hospital. After seeing the ugly bruise on her delicate skin, he worried she could be seriously injured and too stubborn to tell him.
Besides, getting back to the ranch would be exactly what he needed for a little dose of reality, put his head back where he could think straight. He flipped the first batch of pancakes onto a plate for her, then poured the remaining batter into the pan for himself. The pancakes sizzled in the hot iron.
Sugar and Sin Bundle Page 12