Bound, Branded, & Brazen

Bound, Branded, & Brazen - Jaci Burton

acknowledgments

To my editor, Kate Seaver—thank you for the time you spent brainstorming this book. Your ideas and insights are so helpful and I always enjoy plotting books with you.

To my agent, Kimberly Whalen—thank you for all that you do to keep me sane, even when I’m a giant pain in the butt. Which I know is often.

To the Writeminded Readers—you are all heroines in so many ways. Thank you for always being there when I need a smile, a laugh and a pick-me-up.

To some very amazing women who have done some very special things for me: Fatin, Jamie and Azteclady—“thank you” just never seems like enough.

To Maya Banks, who talks me down off the ledge more than anyone I know. You have no idea how much I appreciate your always being there to listen.




bound

one
valerie mcmasters didn’t know if the old adage “you can’t go home again” was true or not, but as far as she was concerned, the thought of home made her want to turn tail and run like hell. Yet here she was, pulling into the Bar M Ranch, a place she swore she’d never come back to again.
She parked her car under the giant blackjack oak tree, several steps back from the sprawling, two-story white frame house where she’d lived since she was born. It had been two long years since she’d last been here. She wanted to get a full-on view of the place, to take it in like a picture.
The late afternoon sun rained down on the gray-shingled roof, highlighting the three gabled windows arranged in neat order along the second story. Her, Brea’s and Jolene’s bedrooms. When they were kids, all three of them had climbed out those windows at night and sat on the slanted roof to watch the stars and talk.
Shaking off the memories, Valerie grabbed her suitcases out of the trunk, walked through the front door, set her bags down in the gleaming, polished hall and realized that it wouldn’t have mattered how long she’d been gone.
Nothing would ever change at the Bar M Ranch. Not the layout of the house, the dusty ride up the long road, the mooing cows greeting her as she took the winding drive along the property line or the barking dogs that wound through her legs as she maneuvered her way to the front door.
The only thing different today was that her uncle Ronald was dead. She wouldn’t have to deal with his disapproving looks and his condemnation, or hear his lectures about how she should have stayed on the ranch and how disappointed her parents would have been in her for leaving.
Not that his opinion on things had ever mattered to her anyway. He’d always been full of shit and she’d been old enough to know better. Her parents had loved her. They would have wanted what was best for her, would have understood why she left. Uncle Ronald never knew her at all, never understood how hard it was for her to be here. No one understood.
His funeral was tomorrow. Not that she’d shed a tear for the old bastard, even if he was her father’s brother. She’d cried enough when her parents had died, when she and her sisters had to have a double funeral and put both their mother and father in the ground on the same day.
That was the last time she had cried. She hadn’t even shed a tear when she packed up and left her husband, left this ranch, left her sisters behind.
She hadn’t looked back. Hadn’t come back. Not in two long years.
Until now. The only reason she was here was because Jolene had called her, told her she was now one third owner of the Bar M, and she’d better get her ass here for the funeral and help figure out what they were going to do about the ranch once and for all. Jolene had demanded Brea and Valerie give her a month to figure things out.
A month! Like Valerie had that kind of time. But Jolene could be relentless, and yes, she and Brea had kind of abandoned their baby sister to deal with the house, the land, the cattle and everything else. They’d even left Jolene to deal with Uncle Ronald, so they kind of owed her. So Valerie had agreed. Not because she wanted to come back here. Not because she had a stake in the Bar M. As far as Valerie was concerned, the ranch and all it contained belonged to Jolene now. That was going to be her decision and nothing was going to change that.
She had a good life in Dallas and a career that was just about to take off. None of her old life here on the ranch mattered anymore. She’d kissed it all good-bye the day she’d told Mason she wanted a divorce. Then she’d run like hell and hadn’t looked back. Hadn’t come back.
Until now.
She took a deep breath, unable to hold back a smile at the smell of furniture polish and Pine-Sol. Old memories, old scents. Something was in the oven in the kitchen, the fresh smell making her stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten this morning when she left Dallas, had just grabbed a latte as she drove through Starbucks on her way out of town.
She climbed the long staircase with her bags in hand, walked down the hall to her bedroom and opened the door.
Yeah, some things never changed. The room was exactly as she’d left it, the bronze lace curtains billowing in the breeze from the open windows, the hope chest that had belonged to her mother sitting just underneath the window. The top of the old, scarred chest was always adorned with fresh flowers thanks to Lila, their housekeeper—“manager” was more appropriate, since Lila took care of everything related to the house. The dresser and nightstand gleamed as if freshly polished.
Valerie stared down at the queen-sized bed that Mason had always complained wasn’t long enough, that his feet hung over the edge. Though they’d had plenty of room to make love. She stared at the patchwork quilt, remembered how she and Mason would kick it down to the end of the bed every night during their tussles together.
There had been so many things wrong with their marriage, but the sex? That had been oh so right. She still remembered the feel of his unshaven jaw rubbing against the skin of her face. She used to love his scratchy beard, would slide her palm across his jaw because it made her tingle all over.
And his kisses—good Lord the man could kiss. Even now, years later, she had vivid memories of his mouth on hers, the fullness of his lips, the taste of sweat and outdoors and the earthy scent of him whenever he came in from working cattle. He was such a . . . man. He felt like one and smelled like one and God he could turn her knees to jelly.
He was so masterful at what he did, as if he’d been born to pleasure a woman. And even when she’d been young and inexperienced and asked him to take it slow, she’d felt the fires of passion barely banked inside him, and knew how explosive his desires were.
His touch on her breasts, between her legs, the way he could coax her to orgasm faster than a brushfire in the hot, dry summer . . .
She shuddered. Two long years of drought, without a man, without Mason. And just thinking about him could light that flame again.
There were a lot of reasons she’d divorced Mason Parks, but sex definitely hadn’t been one of them. If there’d been a way she could still jump that man’s bones, without the ties of marriage, she’d have been on him in a heartbeat.
But somehow walking out on your husband and serving him with divorce papers didn’t make that man look kindly on his ex-wife or in any way make him want to swoop her up and give her an orgasm.
“I heard you were coming in today.”
She pivoted, her heart in her throat as she faced the man she’d just been reminiscing about, and reminiscing in a decidedly sexual way, too.
Two years hadn’t changed him much. Still tall, still with that unshaven look, still wearing dusty blue jeans, cowboy boots and a work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off impossibly muscled forearms. He took off his cowboy hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Yeah, everything was still the same. His hair was still brown, his eyes the same color as his hair, and he still goddamned took her breath away.
“Hi, Mason.”
“Val.”
He swaggered into the room—because he didn’t even walk like a normal man. More like a man who commanded a woman to look at him. And really, what woman wouldn’t?
She stood frozen to the spot as he circled the bed and moved toward her. Her first thought—run. Run like hell. Her heart started pounding as he stopped in front of her.
“Jolene said she’d asked you to come.”
“Yes.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Didn’t think you would.”
“Why not?”
“Because you couldn’t wait to get away from here. And when you left you said you’d never be back.”
Damn him for remembering. “I’m here for the funeral.”
“You hated Ronald.”
“I’m here for Jolene.”
He arched a brow. “Seems to me that Jolene asked you plenty of times to come. And you didn’t. Why now?”
She shrugged, clasping her hands together so he wouldn’t see them shake. “It’s time Jolene and Brea and I settle a few things about the ranch.”
“You could do that by phone and mail.”
She circled around him, moved toward the window, needing some air to clear her head. Being near Mason jumbled her brain cells, made her think of the past, of what she’d missed. She finally turned to face him. “I didn’t come back here to argue with you, Mason.”
“No, you never liked doing that, did you? God forbid you should say what was on your mind.”
He moved in on her again, trapping her between him and the window.
She lifted her gaze to him. “I’m not going to do this with you.”
He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then, “So you’re finally a doctor. It’s been a long time for you.”
“Yes it has.”
“You worked hard for it. I guess you’ll get exactly what you wanted, won’t you?”
Not everything. “Yes, I will.”
They used to be married. She used to throw her arms around him whenever she saw him, kiss his neck, feel the beat of his heart as he pressed against her. She loved when he held her. It made her feel safe.
She’d never have that feeling anymore, would never feel his body slide against hers in the darkness, would never see his naked silhouette walk across the bedroom at night.
Funny that she never had to think about those things, never had to miss them—until now. Which was why she avoided coming home. Too many memories. Too much pain here. Too much Mason. She inhaled, the scent of leather and horses and him filling her, reminding her of what she’d walked away from.
She shouldn’t have come. She was weak where Mason was concerned, always was. And the way he looked at her. She knew he hated her for what she’d done, for walking away, and yet passion raged in his eyes as he bore down on her.
“Valerie.”
He took another step closer. She laid her palm on his chest. The contact was electric and her knees went to jelly. “Mason. Don’t.”
He slid his arm around her and jerked her against his chest. “Don’t what? Don’t hate you for leaving me? Don’t hate myself for still wanting you? You swore you’d never come back, but here you are, and I see the look in your eyes. You want this as much as I do.”
His mouth came crashing down on hers and she whimpered, didn’t so much as offer up a weak resistance. Her hand curled around the nape of his neck as she fell against him, opened her lips to him, found his tongue and nearly wept with the joy of it. Every single damn reason for how wrong this was fled, replaced by need and rampant desire for the man she’d hungered for these long two years.
His hand found her breast and latched onto it, tweaking her nipple through her shirt and bra. She damned her clothing and moaned against his lips, arching against his hand, aching for his touch. His erection, hard and insistent, pressed against her hip. She slid her hand between them, palming his cock until he groaned and slid his hand under her shirt, under her bra. And when his fingers found her nipple she cried out against his mouth.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” She wanted them both naked. She wanted him hard and heavy and thick and pounding inside her right now.
“Goddammit, Valerie.” He was panting as he dragged her over to the bed and threw her on it. She’d always loved his passion and his driving, can’t-wait-for-it need for her. She pulled off her T-shirt and swallowed as he reached for his belt buckle.
A door slammed downstairs, and like a cold bucket of water thrown over her, it slapped her back into reality.
And he knew it. His hand stilled. She scooted back on the bed, put her shirt on.
“No. I can’t do this.”
Mason’s eyes drifted shut for a fraction of a second, and when he opened them again, fury blasted her.
“Did you do this on purpose?”
Her eyes widened and shock spread through her. “Are you serious? Why would I do that?”
He grabbed his hat and took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Val. I’ve never been able to figure out why the hell you do anything. But it wouldn’t surprise me for you to throw yourself at me, fire me up, then douse the fire just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Oh! Are you out of your friggin’ mind? Or possibly just plain stupid? Couldn’t you feel my reaction?”
He shrugged as he reached the door to her room. “Hell, for all I know you always faked it.”
Fury made her blood boil. She grabbed a pillow from her bed and threw it at him. “You son of a bitch.”
His lips curled. “That’s more like it. Welcome home, Val.”
After he left, she stared in shock at the closed door, unable to fathom what had just happened.
Passion had always flared hot and heavy between them. But so had anger. And now she was riled up, horny and felt wretchedly guilty for having stirred up the hornet’s nest.
Shit.
She knew she should have never come home. This was going to be a disaster.


mason parks let the screen door bang shut behind him, the sound echoing in his ears as he hopped on his horse and rode the pasture, letting the cool spring breeze clear his head.
Stupid move.
He’d been riding near the fence line, had seen the car pull up. His horse just found its way to the front of the house. He should have known better than to go in, to walk up those stairs, to go into her room—what had once been their room.
To see her standing beside that bed was like tumbling back to the past. Time had frozen.
She’d lost some weight. She was still beautiful, her golden brown hair teasing her chin, her green eyes still wary. Valerie had always had secrets. The one thing that had kept them apart was her inability to tell him what was really on her mind, to open up about how she felt—about anything—but especially about him. In the end he couldn’t live with that silence, figured he deserved better.
And yet there he stood in her room, welcoming her back with his mouth and his hands. He’d been all over her like a goddamned dog in heat. Thinking what, that maybe she’d changed? Not f*cking likely. He knew better. She was incapable.
Maybe he’d expected that after two years he wouldn’t care anymore, that seeing her wouldn’t be a gut punch of emotion and need. That time would have healed his desire for her, his love for her.
For Christ’s sake, he was a man. Nothing weakened him. He hadn’t cried since he’d broken his arm when he was four years old. He was the toughest son of a bitch on the Bar M. Nothing brought him to his knees.
Except this one woman. The one woman he’d loved since he was sixteen years old.
The one woman who could never manage to love him back.


“miss valerie!”
It had taken her a good half hour to pull herself together after that visit from Mason, to feel like she could face her family. Determined not to spend the day hiding in her room, she’d washed her face and firmly pushed Mason out of her mind. Valerie stepped off the bottom stair and ran toward Lila, the family housekeeper, the matriarch of this place. The pain in her stomach dissolved, replaced by pure joy.
Lila had been here . . . forever, had taken over caring for Valerie and her sisters after their parents died. Lila ran this house, kept the men in line, cooked, cleaned, and had become her substitute mother when, at age fifteen, Valerie’s world had shattered.
She threw her arms around Lila’s wide frame and hugged her tight. She inhaled Lila’s scent, always a mixture of cleaning products and baking flour.
“Lila. It’s so good to see you.”
Lila squeezed her hard. “Girl, you’re like a stranger.”
Lila was right. She felt like a stranger in her own home. It had been twelve years since she left for college, and two years since she and Mason had divorced. And in between those times she’d barely been here. Even when she and Mason . . .
Well, no sense in dwelling on that.
Lila pulled back. “Let me look at you.”
Used to the woman’s examinations, she stood still and waited.
“You don’t eat enough.”
She was used to hearing that, too. According to Lila, if you didn’t consume at least an entire cow a day, you weren’t eating enough. “I eat just fine. I exercise. I drink a lot of water.”
“Bah.” Lila waved her hand in the air, dismissing Valerie’s claims of health. “Come with me. I just made biscuits.”
Already imagining the five pounds about to be added to her butt, Valerie went willingly to the kitchen, which was, as always, spotlessly clean despite all the mud and dirt dragged in by cowboys several times a day. Lila was a godsend, though she was getting on in years. Valerie wondered if Jolene had given any thought to bringing in help for Lila. Lila had to be in her late sixties by now, and the kitchen was enormous, the size of many home’s entire first levels. The wood floor gleamed like it had just been polished, the granite countertop sparkled from end to end, and Valerie was certain she could see herself in the chrome sinks.
“Go help yourself to some juice,” Lila said as she scooped out two biscuits from the platter on the center island.
Valerie opened the oversized refrigerator—stocked to overflowing as always—poured a glass of orange juice and took a seat at the trestle table that had been in her father’s family for generations. She smoothed her hand over the scarred surface, each groove reminding her of times spent with her parents and sisters. She still remembered eating at one of the smaller tables when she was a child, wishing she could be at the “big table” with the grown-ups, where sounds of raucous laughter could be heard as the cowboys traded stories from their days.
Now she was one of the grown-ups and she longed for the simpler times of her youth. Times when her father would pull up a chair at her table, play with her pigtails and kiss her cheek. Or her mother would eat her meal with the girls and leave the men to their stories.
But you could never go back, and remembering just hurt.
“Here,” Lila said, setting down a plate of two homemade biscuits, butter and jelly that no doubt Lila had also made herself.
Valerie’s stomach rumbled. As a doctor, she was used to going a long time without food. During her internship and residency, she’d gotten used to grabbing a quick energy bar or chocolate milk on the run. To actually sit down and eat was a luxury. Though now that she was about to go into private practice with a group of general practitioners in Dallas, she was going to be able to have more regular hours again. She looked forward to it.
She bit into the buttered and jellied biscuit and let out a soft moan while she chewed. “Oh, Lila. This is heaven.”
Lila’s weathered face brightened when she grinned. “Thank you, honey. You know how much I used to love cookin’ for you girls. Jolene eats her fair share though.”
Valerie waved a biscuit in Lila’s direction. “Yeah, and she works off every calorie wrestling those cows.” Damn Jolene’s skinny little ass anyway.
“That she does. The girl gets in there and does as much as the men do. Sometimes I think she’s going to work herself to death.”
“I doubt that. Jolene’s always been a bundle of energy, and she’s been working the ranch since Daddy set her on her first horse as soon as she could stand upright.”
Lila laughed. “Well, you know that’s the rancher’s way. Put your kids out there among the horses and cattle as soon as they’re old enough to sit a horse.”
“I remember.” Valerie had ridden her own horse at age four, though under close supervision from her father. Each of the girls had followed in succession. Living on a working cattle ranch meant as soon as you were old enough, you were taught to get in there and work. Fun when you were young, and not as much work, but you had to live the life. She’d loved it.
Until the accident.
Which she didn’t want to dwell on. “Where is Jolene, anyway?”
“Out riding the north pasture today. They’re bringing in some of the pairs.”
“Ah. How many mamas had babies this year?”
Lila shrugged. “No tellin’ until they bring ’em in.”
“Guess I’m here at the right time, then.”
“The right time for what?”
Valerie looked up to see her younger sister, Brea, standing in the doorway. At least she thought it was Brea. Valerie hardly recognized her.
Brea sure looked different than she had the last time Valerie had seen her. As a child, Brea had always worn her hair short. Now it was long, stringy, her bangs so overgrown they hid her eyes. And her ankle-length skirt and equally shapeless blouse covered her body completely. It was almost as if she was trying to hide herself.
Valerie rose from the table and went over and hugged her sister. “Brea.”
Brea hugged her back. “Val. You smell like grape jelly.”
Valerie laughed. “Lila made me eat a biscuit.”
Now it was Brea’s turn to laugh. “Of course she did. It’s required before you can unpack your bags, isn’t it?”
“You bet it is.” Lila stepped in to envelop Brea in a bear hug, then held her out at arm’s length. “Let me look at you. Too thin. You don’t eat enough.”
Brea’s gaze shifted to Valerie and they exchanged knowing looks.
“Guess I need a biscuit,” Brea said, then went to the cupboard, retrieved a glass and poured juice while Lila fixed her a plate.
Valerie watched Brea with some amusement. Funny how easy it was to slide into old habits once you got home.
Home. No, this wasn’t home anymore. Home was Dallas, and that’s where her new life had begun. She had to remember that. She was excited about her new job. She’d worked her ass off in medical school. The new partnership was her payoff. She was just feeling melancholy and wistful about being back at the ranch again. As soon as she got the hell out of here and back in Dallas she’d be her old, cheerful self.
“When did you get in?” Brea asked in between mouthfuls of thick biscuit.
“Maybe twenty minutes before you. How’s Tulsa?”
“Good.”
“And how’s life as a freelance programmer?”
Brea smiled and said, “Fine.”
At least Valerie could see Brea’s mouth, which was about the only part of her that wasn’t covered up by hair and clothes. “Staying busy?”
“Always.”
Valerie shook her head. Had it always been this difficult to talk to her sister? Then again, how long had it been since they’d all lived under one roof? Valerie had moved out at eighteen to attend college. That was twelve years ago. Other than visits home in the summer, she hadn’t really lived here full-time since then. She and her sisters had been like ships passing in the night.
And even when Valerie had still lived here, she’d been with Mason a lot. He’d stolen much of her time through college and med school—what little time she’d been willing to give to him. Which in all honesty, hadn’t been all that much beyond their first summer together. But oh, what a summer that had been. Would she have married him if not for that hot, sexy summer?
She’d been so impulsive back then.
Ha. Back then? What about now? What about a half hour ago when she’d so easily fallen into Mason’s arms, almost eradicating every vow she’d made two years ago to distance herself from Mason. Yeah, that had been more than a little impulsive. And stupid. But she could still taste him on her lips. How could regret taste so good?
“What put the smile on your face?”
Her head shot up. “What?”
“You’ve got this wistful smile on your face,” Brea said. “What are you thinking about?”
Mason. “Nothing.”
“No, really, what were you thinking about?”
This part she didn’t miss at all. Her sisters always prying into her every thought. “I told you, nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Bite me, Brea.”
“Screw you, Val.”
“Ah, the harmonic tones of my sisters, home again. Picking up where you left off, I see.”
Valerie swiveled around to face Jolene, their baby sister, leaning against the back door. She wore jeans, boots and a long-sleeved work shirt. Her hair was twisted in dark blond braided pigtails, and her entire body, including her face, was covered in dust from a day out working the ranch. And she looked just as beautiful as always.
Valerie took an affected sniff of the air. “I thought I picked up the distinct odor of cattle.”
Jolene snorted. “Nice to see you, too, Valerie.”
“Shut the door, Jo. You’re letting flies in.”
“Yes ma’am,” Jolene said to Lila. She closed the door and sauntered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator to grab a can of soda, popped the top off and took several long and loud gulps. Then she burped.
“Such a lady,” Brea said.
Jolene burped again.
“Jolene! Mind your manners.”
Jolene giggled. “Sorry, Lila. Couldn’t help myself.”
“Born in a barn, Mama would always say,” Valerie said with an upraised brow.
“Please,” Jolene said. “If I recall correctly, you were the one who always won the burping contests.”
Valerie raised her chin. “I was ten years old at the time.”
Jolene shrugged. “And I live with twenty-five guys.”
“Lucky you,” Brea mumbled with an arched brow.
Or at least Valerie thought Brea arched a brow. Hard to tell under that thick mop of hair.
“It has its advantages,” Jolene said.
“How many pairs did you bring in?” Valerie asked.
“Haven’t hit all the pastures yet, but we’ve gotten about fifty from the northeast.”
“Great. Can’t wait to go look at the babies.”
“You can do more than that. Now that you’re here, you can help process them.”
Valerie rolled her eyes. “Oh, joy.”
“It’s your ranch as much as it is mine, Valerie. And yours, too, Brea. Climb into your old boots, put on your jeans and get to work.”
Valerie took a sip of juice and studied her sister. “Is that why we’re really here, Jolene? Need a couple extra hands for spring cattle work?”
“I think you know me better than that. I never have trouble hiring hands. But this is your ranch. Those who own it work it. So yeah, that’s part of why you’re here. We also have a funeral to attend tomorrow.”
“Uncle Ronald was a prick,” Brea said. “It’s not like we need to pay our respects to a man we could barely tolerate.”
“Brea Louise.” Lila narrowed her eyes at Brea.
“Sorry, Lila. But you can’t tell me that you had any respect for that bast—For that man.”
Lila turned her back to them and ran water in the sink. “What I thought of Mr. McMasters doesn’t matter. You speak respectfully of the dead.”
Valerie rolled her eyes. “Or don’t speak of him at all if you can’t think of anything nice to say.”
“Then I guess his funeral will be a silent one,” Jolene added.
Brea snorted.
Lila turned and gave them all a pointed look.
“That’s our cue to head upstairs,” Valerie said to Brea.
“Your rooms are ready,” Lila said, grabbing a towel to dry her hands. “Supper will be at six thirty.”
“That’s in an hour,” Valerie said. “I just ate two huge biscuits.” Which was more than she usually ate in a day.
“Supper is at six thirty,” Lila said again.
“Have you forgotten that no one misses supper around here?” Jolene whispered over her shoulder. “Better get unpacked in a hurry.”
“I heard that. And you, missy, had better go wash your hands and face before you sit your butt down at my table.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jolene said, then winked at her sisters. “Guess I’d better get my butt upstairs to my room, then.”
Jolene sauntered off, leaving Brea to lug her suitcases up the stairs.
“Thanks for the help, sis,” Brea yelled after Jolene.
“Quit whining. It builds muscles,” Jolene hollered over her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time, her boots leaving a trail of dust behind her.
“She thinks we’re lightweight city girls now. Little does she know how hard I worked during my internship and residency. You build muscles rolling bodies and running down hallways, always on your feet.” Valerie grabbed one of Brea’s bags.
Brea started up the stairs behind her. “I have an awesome gym membership and I work out two hours a day. Pool, weight room, running track. I’ll show her ass who’s not in shape.”
Valerie grinned. Wasn’t this month just going to be oh so much fun?