Tori Carrington - Branded

He took a long pull from his cold bottle and then reached over to check his answering machine, which was blinking three messages.

“Hey, little bro, it’s Eric.” Trace rested his head against the back of the couch. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about wanting to expand…and, well, I’m sorry for going off on you.” There was noise at the other end of the line. “That’s it. Hopefully I’ll get a chance to call again before I come home this weekend.”

The apology did little to ease the knot of tension that had formed between Trace’s shoulder blades. The ranch had been left to them equally, and although Eric had run off and joined the marines post 9/11, Trace had left things the way they were on paper. Which meant he needed his brother’s okay whenever he made any changes. An okay that was always slow in coming. Despite being over five thousand miles away in the Middle Eastern desert, Eric liked to think he was in charge, simply because he was a year older. But the truth was he hadn’t run the ranch in any capacity for the past six years, no matter how much he wanted to think differently.

And while Trace was glad his brother was coming home from a dangerous war, his feelings were mixed about what would happen when Eric’s boots hit the Texas dirt again. This time for good.

The next message was from Alma, telling him his dinner was in the refrigerator, and reminding him that she had an appointment in the morning and wouldn’t be there until after eleven.

He wondered if it was a doctor’s appointment. Alma wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore. He made a note to return early from the range tomorrow so he could talk to her, see how she was doing.

The third was from the woman who should be starring in his wet dreams instead of the hardheaded Jo.

“‘Evening, Trace. It’s Ashleigh. I just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. If it’s not too late, give me a call. It would be nice to hear your voice before your brother’s welcome-home barbecue Saturday night.”

He glanced at the clock. Ten wasn’t too late, but he didn’t feel like calling Ashleigh just now.

He reached for the remote and surfed ESPN. Baseball. He left it on a Rangers game and settled back into the couch. He no sooner got comfortable than a knock sounded on the front door.

Damn. Vern, the foreman, would have come around back. And Trace hadn’t heard a car pull up.

He frowned, hoping it wasn’t Ashleigh. Not that she was known for showing up unannounced, but lately she’d been doing some strange things. Like popping up a couple of Sundays ago with a packed picnic basket, and enticing him out for brunch.

Another knock sounded.

He put his bottle on the table as he got up, grabbing his T-shirt as he went. He pulled it over his head and then opened the door.

But it wasn’t Ashleigh standing on his front porch. It was Jo.

“No need putting any clothes on for me, cowboy.” She opened the screen door and came in without being invited. “You’re just going to have to take them off again in a minute…”

TRACE ARMSTRONG LOOKED better than any man had a right to.

Jo stood in the open doorway, gripping the jamb. The sexy ranch owner towered over her by at least five inches, which was saying a lot, since she topped out at five foot eight. She wondered if the rest of him was in proportion, and smiled, taking in the snug cotton of his faded navy-blue T-shirt, checking out the swell of muscles as she went. Her gaze drifted down to his jeans. No belt buckle. Just a handful of metal buttons.

Yes.

She moved to step inside and then hesitated, surprising herself. But just for a moment. For two hours she’d been building up momentum to come over to the house. She wasn’t about to turn tail and run back to the bunkhouse now.

She finally brushed past Trace, breathing in the scent of something tangy. His soap? Seemed likely. It sure wasn’t cologne.

He looked out the door and then closed it.

“Nobody saw me,” she said. “I hiked here from the bunkhouses, and most everyone is either asleep in front of the television or in their bunks.”

“Vern?”

“Left a little while ago. Probably running into town for something.”

Trace turned toward her and crossed his arms over his impressive chest. “What can I do you for, Jo?”

His best boss impression amused her as she went to the couch and sat down, propping her boots up on the table and grabbing his beer. “Just craving some company, is all. Oh, the Rangers are playing. Who’s winning?”

She took a pull from the beer bottle, half expecting him to tell her to get her irreverent ass up and head back to the bunkhouse. She pretended to pay attention to the game, not realizing she was holding her breath until he budged from his statuelike stance and moved toward the couch to take the seat next to her.

She lifted the bottle back to her lips, but he caught it midway. “This is mine. You want one, there’s plenty in the fridge.”

She rested her head against the back of the couch and grinned at him. “Is that so?”

He eyed her warily as he took a swig from the bottle. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Is there more of that in there?” she asked, gesturing toward his food. “I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch.”

“Nope.” He moved the plate so that it was sitting in front of him instead of her. “You should have caught dinner at the bunkhouse with everyone else.”

“And eaten Vern’s rubbery barbecue with warm beer? No thanks.”

Trace shrugged his shoulders. “Go without then.”

Jo made a face, staring at the TV screen, although she saw none of it. Instead, she was hyperfocused on the man next to her. Inches separated them, but she swore she could feel his heat.

As a rule, she wasn’t the type of woman who went from one man to the next within the blink of an eye. In her twenty-six years, she could count the guys she’d slept with on one hand. Carter included.

Carter…

She winced inwardly, not liking the way things had ended between them now that she had a better handle on her emotions. And ended was the word, wasn’t it? He’d gone back to Dallas, and she didn’t expect to see him again. But somewhere down the line she’d learned that when the game was over, it was over. No sense in dragging things out. They weren’t married, and they weren’t committed to each other, although she certainly didn’t go around sleeping with other guys while seeing someone.

She also wasn’t one to pull her punches when she’d made a decision to go after someone full out.

So what if her growing attraction to Trace had caught her unawares? She was a woman. And he was a man. And right now that was all that mattered.

She slid a glance his way. Well, mostly, that’s all that mattered.

“You always spend the evenings alone?” she asked.

“Hmm?” He looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. She knew better. He appeared just as distracted by her as she was by him. “Mostly,” he answered.

“And that pretty woman that sometimes comes over?”

“Who? Oh, you mean Ashleigh.” He shrugged and offered nothing more.

That was good enough for Jo. If he wasn’t concerned enough to indicate he was taken, then he was free game.

Besides, she wasn’t looking for marriage. She was looking for sex. A physical connection that would chase unwanted thoughts from her mind. Make her feel human. Release the pent-up tension that coiled her muscles and prevented her from sleeping at night.

And if it was just the same to him, she’d prefer to keep any possible illicit liaison under wraps.

She cleared her throat. “This probably isn’t a very good idea, is it?”