branded
one
brea stared at her notebook where she’d scribbled her most recent M.A.S.H. entry. Her one and only M.A.S.H. entry written as an adult.
Silly game. Childish game. A game of fantasy, of wishes, of what-ifs. Not at all grounded in reality. Not her reality, anyway.
She stared out the window at Gage Reilly, watching him work in the corral with one of the young horses. His jeans fit snug to his mighty fine ass, his boots kicking up clouds of dust as he walked circles around the horse. Brea held her breath as only Gage’s skills as a trainer and one length of rope kept him from being trampled by one very angry, very wild horse.
How different their two worlds were.
Gage’s reality was daily tussles with magnificent creatures, primal and wild and free as the land they lived on.
Brea’s reality was quiet, books, and her fantasies. And she liked it that way. Most times, anyway. Her life in Tulsa was peaceful. She had her job as a freelance programmer/analyst and she loved it. It was challenging to her mind, and she made her own hours, which gave her plenty of time to read, and she enjoyed that most of all. Getting lost in a book, in the characters, in the romance of it all . . . now that was heaven.
But lately she had to admit she had a desire for something a little more satisfying than what she’d found between the pages of the books she read. She attributed that to being on the ranch again, instead of spending all her time in her apartment in Tulsa. Her life there was work, living in her apartment and occasional trips to the gym and the grocery store. At the gym she worked with Sheila, her trainer, and since the hot and sweaty muscle-bound guys there totally turned her off, she paid about as much attention to them as they paid to her. Men more interested in staring at their own muscles than in looking at a woman just didn’t interest her.
But here on the ranch? Now that was a different story altogether. There were real men on the ranch, with muscles built from hard work, not gym work. They spent the day surviving the elements, whether it was blazing heat, whipping wind or frigid cold, flexing muscles the old-fashioned way. And Brea had about as much chance of corralling one of them as she did of roping a man in the frozen foods section at Walmart. Especially when she was stuck in the middle of her two amazing sisters.
Valerie was a doctor. Talented, beautiful, an icon of fashion, a perfectly long, lean body and amazing green eyes, and everything that came out of her mouth was laced with wit and intellect. Jolene, their baby sister, was a knockout with blond hair, a stunning heart-shaped face, hazel eyes and a body most women would kill for. Jolene was outgoing and ballsy and afraid of nothing.
And then there was Brea. Plain old Brea. Mousy brown hair, nondescript brown eyes, dumpy figure, a little too curvy in all the wrong places, and no personality to speak of, which made her choice of career just perfect since she didn’t have to interact with . . . anyone. Computers were her friends, her books were her lifeline. And she liked it just fine. So she wasn’t beautiful, savvy and smart like Valerie or gorgeous, sexy and outgoing like Jolene. And despite Jolene dragging her into one of Tulsa’s premier salons for a haircut, color and manicure/pedicure, and forcing her to buy some new clothes that Jolene insisted fit her body better, inside she was the same old Brea. Just with better hair and clothes that fit.
A haircut and painting her toenails fire-engine red weren’t going to change who she was. Nor were these tight jeans and new cowboy boots.
She’d long ago realized—after a couple of disastrous attempts at what couldn’t even be called relationships, which included some awful tries at sex that left both her and her partners unsatisfied—she was a dismal failure with men. Her life was better suited to fantasy.
And God knows there was plenty of fantasy fodder here on the ranch, though she had to admit there was only one man who’d caught her eye since she’d come back to the Bar M.
She let her gaze drift out the window again. Gage was still wrangling the filly, who wasn’t going to give up her wild nature easily. Brea was mesmerized by the way Gage approached the horse, and found herself leaning over the chair to press closer to the window so she could get a better look.
But the corral wasn’t fully visible from the window, and she was leaning over the arm of the chair, her nose practically smashed against the window. This was ridiculous. She owned this ranch. Okay, she partially owned it, but it was still perfectly feasible for her to go out there to . . . check things out.
She stood, smoothed her hands down over her sleeveless shirt, looked over her jeans and boots, and wished for the voluminous skirts and tops she’d always worn. Damn that Jolene for hiding her old clothes after she’d taken her shopping. There was nothing wrong with what she’d worn before. These damn jeans clung to her body, outlining every flaw—too wide hips, too thick thighs and a less than cinched waistline. And a little bit of excess baggage in the booty department. She worked her body to death at the gym, and she was firm, but she was never going to have a Playboy centerfold body like Jolene’s.
Dammit. She was just going to have to live with the body she had. Besides, she was only going outside to check out the horses, not to ogle Gage Reilly. He wouldn’t even notice her anyway. Most men didn’t.
The sun beat down on the center of the corral area, and she was grateful for the shade of a couple elm trees on one side as she made her way to the fence. She spied Grizz—one of the older hands—and waved.
“What you up to today, Miss Brea?” he asked as he came up to her.
“Just decided to get out of the house and enjoy this nice spring day. I saw Gage working with the horses so thought I’d take a look.”
Grizz nodded, turned and spit tobacco juice onto the ground. “Young man’s doing a fine job trainin’. Go have yourself a look-see.”
She slid her fingers in the front pockets of her jeans and nodded. “Thanks. I think I will.”
It was just Gage and the filly, a beautiful dark mahogany youngster with a lot of spirit. She raised her muzzle and snuffled in protest as he approached.
Brea climbed up onto the top rung of the fence to sit and watch, mesmerized by the dance between man and beast. Gage gave the filly no quarter, nor did he torture her or demand submission. The filly was near as big as any of their full- grown horses, but she hadn’t been ridden yet. This was her test. And Gage’s full-time job.
It was as if every step Gage took was carefully orchestrated, as if he knew where the filly was going to go, and he anticipated it and knew where he’d go, too. The filly didn’t like Gage in her personal space, but Gage didn’t back off, didn’t show fear, only gentle dominance, making soft clicking sounds with his tongue and teeth to let the horse know he was there and he wasn’t going to back off no matter how much the filly stomped her hooves or threw her head back in the air.
It took a while, but Gage never gave up, never once seemed frustrated or angry or ready to quit. The horse would charge, and Gage would quiet her, in his own way setting the ground rules. He was the boss and the filly was just going to have to deal with it.
When the filly finally settled, Gage came up to her, pressed his shoulder against the horse and moved her in the direction he wanted her to go. And so it went, all the way through laying a blanket, then a saddle on the horse.
Gage must have known Brea was there, yet he didn’t once take his attention off the horse. Not until he had a saddle cinched around the filly’s belly. Then he tied the reins to the fence post near the water trough so the horse could have a break, get a drink and get used to having a saddle on her.
Gage wiped dust off his hands, reached down into the cooler on the other side of the fence and grabbed a couple bottles of water and headed in her direction.
He smiled as he approached, and Brea’s body quivered. Okay, so they might have exchanged a few glances since she’d been there, but she assumed he was being polite. He was being polite. She was lusting. Who wouldn’t? He walked like he owned the world around him, a sexy saunter that screamed he knew who he was and he damned well didn’t care what anyone thought. She’d kill for that kind of confidence. The closer he got, the harder she gripped the rail she sat on, poised to flee.
He unscrewed the cap on one of the bottles of water and handed it to her.
“You look hot.”
Her jaw dropped. “Huh?”
“It’s hot out here today. Thought you might want a drink.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He didn’t mean she looked hot, he meant he thought she was thirsty. Duh. She took the bottle and sipped, watched him guzzle down half of his, watched his throat work, stared at his mouth.
Unfortunately she was still staring at his mouth long after he finished taking a drink. He cast a knowing smile at her, and she blinked herself back into reality.
Damn, Brea. She felt the rush of heat to her cheeks. She really needed a life. Or an orgasm. Anything to stop her from acting like a nervous geeky twelve-year-old in front of a guy.
Especially this guy.
He tilted his hat back to stare up at her, and she fought for something intelligent to say. Unfortunately, her brain, though usually filled with all sorts of tidbits of interesting things, decided at this moment to refrain from sending any intellectual signals to her mouth. Nothing came out. How could it, when he was staring at her with ocean blue eyes that just screamed sex? The man was walking testosterone, from his sexy gait to his tight ass, flat abs and those Popeye muscles bulging from the short sleeves of his T-shirt.
“You like horses?” he finally asked, no doubt thinking she was an idiot, since all she’d managed to utter so far was “huh”, “oh” and “yeah.” Just freaking brilliant, Brea.
“Uh . . . yes, I do. I like watching you train them. You have a way with them.”
He half turned to survey the filly. “Stormy is pretty easy. She’s got a lot of passion in her, but she’s not as wound up as some I’ve trained.”
“Is that right? She seems pretty spirited.”
He turned back to her, eyed her up and down, from her boots to the top of her head. She dissolved in a puddle of desire right there.
“I like them spirited. It’s no fun if it’s not a challenge.”
Oh, honey, are you ever barking up the wrong cowgirl. “What if she’s shy and a little skittish?”
She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. It could even be considered flirting. Brea did not flirt.
Gage laid his hands on either side of her thighs. Great, the body part she least wanted to draw attention to.
“I have a lot of patience for shy and skittish, Brea. And you know,” he said, moving his hands a little closer so his thumbs brushed against the denim of her jeans and made her breath hitch, “the shy ones can sometimes surprise you.”
She shuddered out a breath. “Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“How so?” She found it difficult to swallow.
He cocked his head to the side and gave her a lopsided smile. “They can end up full of fire and passion. They just need the right kind of . . . training.” His fingers whispered down the side of her legs, the touch so light she wasn’t even sure if it was real or if she’d imagined it.
But her body didn’t think it had imagined it. It was full-on ready to jump on him and f*ck his brains out. Her breasts were tight, her panties were wet, and her p-ssy quivered.
And Gage’s nostrils flared like a bull sensing a female in heat. Was it even remotely possible he was . . . interested in her?
He tipped his finger to his hat. “Have to get back to work now. You have a good day, Brea.”
“Yeah. See you, Gage.”
Apparently she had a vivid imagination. He turned his back on her and headed back to work. She enjoyed the view of his ass in those tight jeans. And sighed.
She watched him work with Stormy awhile longer, then decided she’d rather hang herself than torture herself further. She headed back toward the house and ran into Jolene along the way.
“Ogling some hot cowboy?”
Brea shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Looks like he likes you.”
Brea rolled her eyes. “Please. How would you know?”
“He practically had his hands on you. I thought maybe he was going to throw you down on the dirt in the middle of the corral and have his way with you.”
Brea ignored the visions pummeling her of Gage doing just that. Instead, she snorted. “Yeah, right. We were just talking horses.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Brea. You’re hot for him, he’s hot for you. I can see where this is headed.”
She pushed through the front door, sighing in blessed relief at how much cooler it was in there. “How can it be forty degrees at night and blistering hot during the day?”
“You grew up here, Brea,” Jolene said, tossing her work gloves on the hallway table. “You know what spring is like here. Or lack of spring. It’s either cold or hot. Today it’s hot. And you’re avoiding talking about Gage.”
She followed Jolene into the kitchen. “I’m not avoiding at all. He’s not interested. Neither am I.”
Jo reached into the fridge for a beer. “Now I know you’re lying. Your tongue was dragging the ground.”
“You’re so full of it, Jolene. Why don’t you go chase your own man and quit browbeating me and Valerie.”
Jo kicked a chair back and took a seat. “In case you didn’t notice, my browbeating of Valerie resulted in her and Mason getting back together. Where they belonged in the first place.”
She had a point. But God her sister was pushy.
“And second, it just so happens I have my eye on a man.”
“Walker Morgan.”
Jolene tipped her beer in Brea’s direction and smiled. “You got it.”
“And does Walker have his eye on you?”
Jolene laughed. “Of course he does. He’s just being . . . wary.”
Brea pulled out a chair. “Wary? Why?”
Jo shrugged. “Don’t exactly know yet. But I aim to figure it out. I want that man naked and on top of me.”
Brea laughed. “The poor guy. He doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”
“Nope.” Jolene took a long swallow of beer, then set the bottle down on the table. “I’ve had my eye on him for a while. I let things simmer between us for a bit. Soon, though, it’ll be time to set the temperature to boiling.”
Brea leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Set your mind to something . . . or someone . . . and get it.”
“Well, I haven’t exactly gotten Walker yet. But I see no reason to be shy around a man. Walker’s hot and sexy and just flat-out melts my butter. If he wants the same thing, why be coy about it?”
“How can you tell he wants the same thing?”
Jolene arched a brow. “Brea, don’t you know anything about men?”
“Not really.”
“Then I guess Jolene and I need to educate you.”
Brea looked up to find Valerie leaning against the door frame, a wry smile on her face. Great. She so didn’t want to discuss her lack of skills in the romance department with her sisters. Then again, maybe she did need some advice. And despite the squabbles they got into, she trusted her sisters.
“I mean it’s not like I’m a virgin or anything. I’m just . . . not very good at this.”
Valerie pushed off the door and came into the kitchen, grabbed two more beers out of the fridge and passed one to Brea, then pulled up two chairs—one to sit on and one to prop her feet up.
“Long day?” Jolene asked, still so damn happy to have Valerie permanently back at the ranch. And now that she and Mason had hurriedly remarried down at the courthouse and Valerie had decided to set up medical practice there, Jolene couldn’t be more content. At least with one of her sisters.
“Long day on my feet. But it’s over now. So what’s up with Brea?”
Jolene took another long drink before setting her bottle down. “She has the major hots for Gage Reilly.”
Valerie’s brows rose. “Really. Good choice. Great ass.”
Brea laughed. “I think so. But we’re not exactly . . . compatible.”
“Why do you say that?” Jolene asked. “He’s hot, you’re hot. He’s a man, you’re a woman. Sounds pretty compatible to me.”
“He’s more than just a man. He’s way out of my league.”
“And you, my younger sister, underestimate your value. You always have,” Valerie said, pointing the tip of her bottle of beer toward Brea. “You’re stunningly beautiful, especially now that you’ve cleared that bird’s nest of hair away and got your eyebrows mowed. You have the sexiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. And with your hair cut like that . . . you look like Mom.”
Brea’s heart tumbled. “Really? You think I look like Mom?”
“You’ve always looked like her. More so than either Valerie or me,” Jolene said. “Same color hair. And you have her eyes.”
Brea’s eyes welled up with tears. “Mom was beautiful.”
“And so are you,” Valerie said.
“I don’t know about that. I’ve always thought myself a bit plain . . . and on the chubby side.”
Jolene snorted. “Please. You have a woman’s body. Beautiful curves. I’d kill for long legs like yours. Don’t you see how the guys around here look at you when you walk by?”
“Uh . . . no.”
“Maybe you need to stop staring at the ground and lift your head up, Brea,” Valerie said. “Men are looking.”
“Gage is looking,” Jolene added.
Her gaze whipped to Jolene. “He is?”
“Hell yes he is. Pull your head out of your ass and pay attention.”