Stepbrother Master

by Jackson, Ava

  Stepbrother Master

  Ava Jackson

  Copyright 2015 Ava Jackson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Design by Sara Eirew

  Editing by Carmen Erickson

  About the Book

  Three months.

  Three months trapped on a ranch in remote Montana with my mom’s latest husband … and his dark, brooding son.

  I shouldn’t care that my new stepbrother’s talent with ropes goes beyond lassoing stray cattle. I shouldn’t care that his every look says he wants me … but he’s going to fight it to the bitter end.

  I shouldn’t care that as the summer rolls on, my fascination overwhelms my better judgment and now I’m dying to call my stepbrother … Master.

  Chapter One

  Emma

  I expected my mother's fourth wedding to be business as usual. I'd take a few days off work, fly to some exotic locale, stand around smiling at everybody, and pretend like it all wouldn't end with Mom crying to me over the phone. But her latest fiancé owned a ranch in Montana—and he'd invited me to stay with them for the summer of their wedding.

  I tried to decline in every way I possibly could. I'd just graduated from Stanford, after four years of working my ass off, and in the fall I'd start teaching at an inner-city D.C. high school. This was my last free summer before Real Life reared its ugly head. I just wanted to relax.

  Then Mom visited me at school, and all my carefully thought-out reasons collapsed. “This one's different, Emma,” she'd said. “I've finally found my soul mate. And you're going to be so busy soon. Please think about coming ... it would mean a lot to me.” There was no way I could resist Mom Guilt that strong. Even as I cursed my lack of backbone, I caved.

  The private jet was my first indicator that my soon-to-be stepfather might really be different. Namely, in the sense that he was rich as hell. Maybe Mom's finally found someone who won't take her for every penny, I thought as I sipped white wine in my window seat, admiring the American West spread out beneath me. Although, if he’s this rich, I’m sure there’s a pre-nup.

  The jet landed on a private airstrip in the middle of nowhere. As soon as the flight attendant opened the door, a warm, bone-dry wind smacked me in the face, tightening my skin into a mask. Even my hair felt brittle. Blinking away tears, I picked my way down the airstairs.

  An honest-to-god cowboy leaned against a shiny black and chrome pickup truck nearby. With the ten-gallon hat, the scuffed cowboy boots, leather vest, and the droopy white mustache, he could have stepped out of a John Wayne movie. I tried not to stare as he wordlessly hauled my bags from the belly of the plane and tossed them into the truck bed. Good thing I didn't pack anything too fragile.

  “Thanks,” I said after a while.

  He gave a short, sharp nod. “Ma'am.” Then he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. Oh-kay, then. Getting in the truck now ... before he drives off without me.

  The grassy foothills seemed to roll on forever, and the cowboy didn't speak for the entire ride. My questions about Montana were met with grunts or jerks of his chin. I eventually gave up and concentrated on watching the horizon, where a tiny dollhouse grew into a sprawling rock-and-log mansion.

  A short while later, we slowed at the front gate of Wild Cliffs Ranch before continuing on to the house. The cowboy got out and threw my bags onto the front porch. I sat in stunned silence as I took in the mansion before me. It was a far cry from the condo in Napa that Mom had gotten from Husband Number Three in her last divorce. My escort stuck his head back into the truck’s cab and looked at me, brow furrowed with annoyance. He said nothing, but he obviously was waiting for me to get my ass out of the truck. I nodded awkwardly and pushed open my door. I slid out, wondering if I’d fall on my face, but then my feet touched the running board. I’d barely shut the door behind me before he drove off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake and me in this strange new world.

  A shirtless man rounded the corner of the house with huge bags of what looked like rocks hoisted on each shoulder. He tossed them to the ground like they weighed nothing. And he had my full attention. Hot. Damn.

  He had the kind of body you didn’t expect to see outside of men’s fitness magazines.

  I snapped my mouth shut and bit my lip to make certain it didn’t drop open again. Is this guy for real? Tanned, with broad shoulders, perfectly formed pecs, and a defined six-pack. My eyes dropped lower. Scratch that—eight pack. I forced my gaze higher and realized he’d paused in his task.

  Had he caught sight of me? The brim of his straw cowboy hat shielded his eyes. His body was hard, and what little I could see of his face was even harder: chiseled cheekbones and a square jaw punctuated by full lips.

  Shit. I’m staring, I scolded myself. But then his hat tilted lower, and I had to assume he was doing the same thing. Reflexively, I brushed the wrinkles from my pink-and-yellow sundress, wondering what he made of my travel-rumpled state.

  I forced myself to step forward and head up the walk. I couldn’t stand here like a moron all day. A second man joined him, younger, leaner, and somehow … greener. They both watched me as I made my way to the house. Both hats tipped, but neither said a word.

  I had no idea why my heart pounded as I passed by them, but it did. I grasped the door handle, feeling his eyes on me as I stepped inside.

  Maybe this summer won't be so bad after all.

  ***

  I barely had time to look around the foyer before Mom bustled over. “Emmie!” She enveloped me in a tight hug, pressing a very European kiss to each cheek. “How was your flight? You look good. Oh, it's so nice to see you.”

  “You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in months. It’s only been a couple weeks,” I said, unable to hold back my smile as I squeezed her. It was good to see her again—especially with the same love-struck, happy expression she’d had on her face when she first guilted me into coming here. “My flight was fine. You really didn’t have to send a jet.”

  She finally released me. “Nonsense. You know I only want the best for my baby girl.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but she turned away as a tall, dark-haired man came in from the kitchen, toweling off his hands. “Russ, this is Emma! I’m so excited for the two of you to finally meet.”

  A genuine smile spread over his handsome face. I could already see why Mom liked him.

  “Well, it’s about damn time. Your mom talks nonstop about you, Emma. So glad to finally put a face to the name.” He reached out for a damp, but firm handshake. “We’re happy to have you with us for the festivities and the rest of the summer.”

  Footsteps creaked behind me and Russ glanced over my shoulder. “Hey, perfect timing, Ford. Now I don’t have to track you down to meet Emma.”

  I turned to see … the hottie from outside. I started to smile, but Russ continued, “Emma, this is Ford, my son. He runs the ranch.”

  No. Way. In. Hell.

  My libido wilted like old lettuce. My new stepbrother-to-be had the nicest ass I’d ever seen on a man. And an eight-pack I wanted to trace with my tongue. On what planet is that fair?

  I held out my hand politely and forced down a shiver as his skin connected with mine. I noticed how large his hand was—and how rough it was from his work—as he shook it. I let my eyes linger on him for only a moment this time. It didn’t take a genius to see the family resemblance: the height, the build, and—now that his hat was
off—the black hair and blue eyes. One look at Russ gave me a pretty good idea of what Ford would look like in about thirty or so years.

  Ford’s blue eyes were hard … almost cold. What happened to the stare that had caressed my entire body just outside? Apparently, I’d been imagining things. He had definitely not been undressing me with his eyes earlier. Just the thought did things to my belly. And lower. I mentally slapped myself. Bad Emma! No thinking like that about a guy who's seven days away from being family.

  Oblivious of my inner turmoil, Russ smiled at us. “Why don't you and your mom catch up while I get the steaks on the grill?”

  Mom commented in a stage whisper, “We have a darling housekeeper, but Russ likes to sear a cow every now and again. Part of the whole 'dude ranch' experience.”

  Russ snapped her butt with the towel as he went by. Mom yelped and turned to grin at him. I couldn't decide whether to feel grossed out or laugh, so I glanced at Ford. “So … you run this whole place, huh?”

  He nodded, but that was all.

  I tried again. “How long have you been in charge?”

  “Since college.” His voice was deep and smooth—in a way that would have been attractive, I forcibly reminded myself, if he weren't about to be my new stepbrother.

  “Is it weird to have your dad as a boss?”

  He studied me for a second. “My dad’s retired, actually, so I’m the boss around here.” His voice was as icy and cold as the look on his face. “Probably a good thing, because someone has to look out for him.”

  What the hell is that supposed to mean? His posture stiffened when he glanced toward the window. I followed his line of sight to where our respective parents acted like teenagers, playing grab-ass while pretending to grill. I snapped my gaze back to Ford. That wasn’t something I wanted to see—and apparently he felt the same. Something told me he was less than happy about this whirlwind romance and upcoming wedding. I looked for a way to break the awkward silence.

  But before I could think of anything, Ford turned away. “Excuse me. I've got work to do before dinner.”

  And then he just walked off. I stared after him, trying really hard not to notice how his worn jeans clung to his perfect, you-could-bounce-a-quarter-off-it ass.

  Mom swept back into the house, wincing as the front door slammed behind Ford. “Everything okay in here?”

  I gave her a wry look. “Ford doesn't seem like the 'singing kumbaya' type.”

  Mom made a thoughtful noise. “He's a little … um … shy,” she finally said. “He takes a while to open up. You have to get to know him.”

  Bull to the shit. He's not shy; he’s just an asshole. I decided to try my best to ignore him for now—both his dark mood and his disturbing hotness. I needed to change the subject. “Can I see your wedding dress, Mom?”

  She immediately lit up again. “Of course. I’ve been dying to show you. I’m still disappointed you couldn’t come with me to that last fitting.” She threw one arm around me and squeezed me to her side. “But now that you’re done with school, I’ve got you all to myself for the summer. The dress is in the guest room closet, but I’ll move it so you’ll have room for your things.”

  She chatted on about her plans for the wedding and our summer as I followed her upstairs. I was still skeptical about Husband Number Four, but Mom's excitement was becoming infectious. I hadn't seen her so animated and genuinely in love since Dad died when I was twelve. If it weren't for her being my mom, her lovebird routine with Russ would be downright cute.

  And the ranch itself didn't hurt. What little I'd seen of Wild Cliffs had done its best to enchant me. The rustic mansion, with its beautiful views of the distant mountains, overlooked the rolling hills and private lake ... everything seemed picture perfect.

  When we reached the guest room, I noticed that someone had brought up my bags. I also noticed that this single room was bigger than my Stanford apartment. “Who's that?” I pointed to the framed photograph on the dresser of a fierce-looking, uniformed man. “Is he coming to the wedding?”

  “That's Ford's older brother, Nixon. He's overseas on a Navy SEAL training mission right now, but he sent us a really nice card. You should remind me to show it to you.”

  Light footsteps tapped down the hallway. “Ma’am? Are you looking for any—” An aproned woman came in with a feather duster; she looked about my age, but dark-haired and dark-eyed. She stopped in the doorway when she saw me. Something about her quick up-and-down glance rubbed me the wrong way. It felt hard and calculating, like she was trying to read my price tag.

  “I told you, call me Cynthia. We’re all family here.” Mom turned to me. “Celeste, this is my daughter. Emma, this is my guardian angel. When I first got here three months ago, I couldn't do a thing without her. She's the sweetest, most helpful girl—besides you, of course,” she quickly added.

  Celeste smiled, but it was so brittle, I thought her face might crack. “Oh, right. Emma. So you're just staying until after the wedding?” Without waiting for my reply, she smiled at Mom. “Don't worry about it, Cynthia. This place is so big, I got lost for weeks when I first came here. You’ve managed to make yourself at home in such a short time.”

  I couldn’t tell if her words were sarcastic or if she just had a naturally bitchy tone. I was going with both.

  “Just seven more days.” Mom sighed. “I'm so lucky. Russ is … the man I never thought I’d find. And just look at this dress.” She opened the walk-in closet and flipped on the light.

  Damn. Her wedding dress really was gorgeous. A waterfall of soft ivory chiffon draped from an empire waist, opening at the back into a long, scalloped satin train. The sheer, long-sleeved bodice was heavy with floral lace appliques, accented in seed pearls. Classy and sophisticated, without sacrificing an ounce of sexiness. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Celeste's gaze turn hungry.

  “It's a custom design,” Mom said. “Great for old ladies like me with a little extra around the tummy.”

  “As if you needed any help,” Celeste said.

  Suck up harder; I think there's still some left.

  “If I were the dreaming type ... well … maybe someday I’ll find what you’ve found with Mr. Bennett. I only hope I don’t have to look too far.” Her gaze drifted to the window, and I caught sight of Ford in the yard below, once again hauling bags of rocks. If Celeste had looked hungry while she surveyed the wedding dress, right now she looked downright ravenous. I tried not to let it bother me. But it made a certain sort of sense as to why she acted like a complete bitch … but it didn’t explain his behavior.

  Celeste suddenly cocked her head at me. “Are you seeing anyone, Emma?”

  Caught off guard, I replied, “Not at the moment.” I told myself not to pry, but I couldn’t hold the question back. “What about you?”

  Her eyes drifted to the window again. She gave a cat-like smile, close-lipped and teasing.

  Fabulous. Beautiful, rustic mansion, an incandescently happy mother, and a raging bitch of a housekeeper. I frowned. I couldn't put my finger on why Celeste bothered me so much. Whatever it was, though, I certainly wasn't sold on Mom's glowing opinion. God knew she wasn't the world's best judge of character—at least, not with men. But I didn't want to jump all over someone I'd just met, either. I tried to give Celeste the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was just trying to make nice with Russ’s new wife to solidify her position.

  Russ yelled, “Dinnertime!” from downstairs, and I pushed Celeste to the back of my mind. I'm over-analyzing things. I probably just need some sleep ... but first, I have to get through a meal with my new family.

  As the three of us entered the enormous dining room, with its vaulted ceiling of bare timber and a gorgeous two-story fieldstone fireplace, I realized that we had become four. Ford had returned.

  He clipped out a low, “I’ll be right back,” and headed toward the same hallway as the guest room we’d just been in. Shit. Was his bedroom close to mine? God, why do you do this to me? I was still trying
to wrap my head around the thought of eating across the table from my new stepbrother; I didn’t have it in me yet to deal with spending a whole summer just down the hall from him. My stomach felt tense. Nerves, that’s all. Just nerves. Nothing at all to do with the fact that my soon-to-be stepbrother was both drop-dead gorgeous and a complete asshole.

  I need to get better at lying to myself.

  Chapter 2

  Ford

  My father was thinking with his dick.

  It wasn’t something I wanted to contemplate because no son wants to think about his dad’s dick, but it was a fact I had to face.

  I tossed the two fifty-pound bags of river rocks to the ground and watched our newest ranch truck roll to a stop in front of the house. If my stepmother-to-be hadn’t absolutely needed to have those damn rocks lining the walkway before the wedding, I would’ve been the one fetching our newest guest. Instead, I’d had to send Griff. Despite being as old as dirt, Griff could still move quickly when he wanted to. The way he slammed the door and rushed to retrieve the luggage would make it obvious even to a blind man that he wanted this task over and done with.

  Couldn’t say I blamed him.

  I waited, eyes shaded by my hat from the spring sun beating down, to see our latest arrival.

  A fucking stepsister.

  And a spoiled bitch of one.

  Just what I needed.

  Her mother had already settled in and taken a liberal hand to adding a woman’s touch to the house. I wasn’t sure what had been wrong with the house before, but we had throw pillows now, for fuck’s sake. Who needs goddamn throw pillows? My dad and I had functioned just fine before throw pillows and river rocks, but it seemed there was a new sheriff in town: Cynthia Carter Yates Palmer —and you could tack Bennett on in a few more days. Which brought me back to my dad thinking with his dick.

  For the record, he loved the fucking throw pillows. And Cynthia, it seemed.