His thumb tilted her chin upward. Her face was streaked with tears and soot, her eyes laced with red. Her damp, swollen lips parted. When Brock bent and kissed them, they tasted of smoke and salt. She resisted for an instant, then responded with the hunger of a woman who’d been too long alone, whimpering softly as she stretched on tiptoe to deepen the kiss. Brock’s body stirred and began to harden. But with the fire moving close, this wasn’t the time or place. Right now, he had to get both of them to safety.
He ended the kiss and boosted her into the passenger seat. “We can take that up later. For now, let’s get out of here,” he said, closing the door.
By the time he’d walked around the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat, Tess had regained her composure. She sat rigidly erect, her seat belt fastened. “What happened outside—that wasn’t real,” she said. “I want you to forget it.”
“It felt real enough to me, but whatever you say.” He put the vehicle in gear and stomped on the gas pedal. The tires spat dirt as Brock swung the wheel around and headed back toward the ranch.
“Is everybody all right at the house?” she asked.
“As far as I know. When I left, they were getting ready to fight the fire in case the wind changed direction. But now it seems to be blowing the fire back toward the hayfields. Hay is a lot easier to replace than people and livestock and buildings.”
“I’m sorry about the hay,” she said.
“It’ll grow again. But whose damned cockeyed idea was it to have a party and burn that house without checking inside first? You’re lucky there wasn’t a propane tank in there.”
“Since I wasn’t involved in the planning, I can’t answer your question. But the house was filthy inside—rats, cockroaches, spoiled food, and heaven knows what else. Nobody wanted to go in. As for the propane tank, there was one on the back of the house. But the propane company took it when nobody paid the bill.”
Brock parked at the edge of the front yard. Tess opened the passenger door and stumbled out into the arms of her sisters.
The worst of the fire danger appeared to be over. The wind was blowing the fire away from the ranch, sending smoke and burning fragments over the hayfields. The stubble would burn, but the green blades should sprout again.
Tess’s sisters, flanking her on either side, rushed her into the house, leaving Brock by the truck with his lips still tingling from their kiss. Something told him Tess would not want to face him anytime soon. And the rest of the ranch family was busy making sure the fire didn’t change its path. It wasn’t his job to lecture them about how the house burning should have been handled. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.
After making his excuses and promising to clean up what little remained of the burned house, he climbed back into his vehicle and drove up the switchback road to the pass. Stopping, he climbed out and looked back over the ranch.
By now the fire was burning itself out. Seen by moonlight, the blackened hayfields stretched to the rocky gulch. But aside from burning an old wooden fence, the blaze had not touched the ranch. Brock had never been a praying man, but he murmured a word of thanks in case anybody was listening.
It was time to get back to the rest of his life—the mysterious clipping and the unknown stranger who seemed intent on ruining everything he’d worked for.
Was it Tess?The memory of that brief but torrid kiss still burned on his lips—even though, afterward, she’d turned cold again.
Did that flash of heat between them mean anything? Maybe he’d never know. But he’d be foolish to rule her out as a suspect. She’d had motive, means, and opportunity to kill that bull. But how would she have learned about his past, and where would she have found the clipping?
As he swung the truck onto the asphalt, he switched on the radio, tuned it to a classic ’80s rock station, and punched the volume to the max to keep him awake. He wouldn’t be home until after midnight. He was bone-tired. His throat burned from breathing smoke. His head ached from thinking in circles. And he couldn’t recall that kiss and the feel of Tess in his arms without wanting more.
He’d been away from his ranch for one very long day. The worst of it was, he’d learned nothing. And for all he knew, another crisis could be waiting for him when he arrived home.
* * *
Tess sat on the edge of her bed, dressed in her softest flannel pajamas. Her hair had been washed in the shower, the spark burns on her arms, hands, and cheeks dotted with pain-numbing salve.
Now that the fire was out, the house was quiet. Ruben and Pedro had volunteered to keep watch for any flare-ups. Everyone else was settling down for the night. Thank heaven the danger was over and that the damage, which could have been devastating, wasn’t worse. Now Tess’s only challenge was to relax enough to get some sleep.
Mitch’s photo, the one he’d had taken before he was deployed, sat on the nightstand in its silver frame—a handsome man with dark blond hair and sky-blue eyes that would never open again. As she had almost every night since she’d last seen him, she whispered a barely spokengood nightand reached for the switch to turn off the lamp, then paused.
Tonight she had kissed another man—willingly and passionately. And not just any man. Driven by fear and relief, she had melted into the arms of her sworn enemy.
She had sensed that Brock was going to kiss her. She could have stopped him with a word or even a look. But she hadn’t. She had just let it happen. And that kiss had reawakened desires she’d buried so deeply, and for so long, that she’d almost forgotten them.
Afterward, sitting in the vehicle, shame had washed over her like cold, muddy water. She’d made a fool of herself. Whatever had happened between her and Brock, she had to stop it at once. So she had.
But now, gazing at the image of Mitch’s innocent face, she couldn’t deny what had happened. That would be lying. All she could do was make sure her dealings with Brock were strictly business and that she never lost her self-control again.
Still, the guilt that tightened a knot in her stomach made her want to lay the photograph facedown so she wouldn’t have to look at it. Instead, she switched off the light, crawled under the covers, and closed her eyes. But try as she might to forget Brock’s kiss, it lingered in her memory as she drifted into fitful dreams.
* * *
As the night deepened, Lexie lay on her side with Shane spooned against her back. In the final weeks of her pregnancy, a good night’s sleep was hard to come by. The days drained so much energy that she went to bed exhausted. But there was no such thing as a comfortable position. And even when she could settle, the baby’s shifting and kicking kept her awake.