Branded. Tori Carrington
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and a large-screen TV divided their rooms from hers.
She had her own television, in a small sitting area with a love seat and coffee table, at one end of the room, a queen-size bed at the other. And the space was decorated in a way the others were not, with flowery curtains over the miniblinds, a matching bedspread, and contrasting striped upholstery on the furniture. A bit like a nice suite in a hotel rather than a typical bunkhouse room with shared bathroom.
Jo knew she was being given preferential treatment because of her sex, but at least she didn’t have to worry about a snoring cowboy sleeping in the bunk above hers.
And she didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing her coming and going.
She opened the door and leaned against the jamb, looking at the brightly lit main house nearly a quarter of a mile away. The house she’d left early that morning.
Should she head up there again?
Her answer came by way of her chirping cell phone.
She sighed and stepped back to the dresser. While she didn’t get great reception out on the range, Trace had set up a tower near the stables to ensure access on the ranch.
She glanced at the caller ID.
Her mother.
Lately, it seemed if it wasn’t her mother, it was Carter, who presumably had stayed in the area with the hope that she’d change her mind and invite him over again. She had no intention of doing that.
Jo frowned and considered letting the call go to voice mail. But she knew that ignoring Miss Daisy Mae’s call now would make it doubly worse the next time she talked to her.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh! You startled me, JoEllen. Dear me, I’ll never get used to that caller ID. What happened to the good old days when someone didn’t know who you were?”
Jo didn’t bother to point out that she would know the call was from her mother regardless. She was the only one who phoned her outside of Carter.
“How was your day, dear?” her mom asked.
“I’ve ridden worse.” Jo picked up her towel from the back of her chair and hung it on the bathroom door handle, as if her mother could see that she wasn’t keeping her room tidy. “How’s Pa?”
“Your father is well. He finished that birdhouse he’s been working on for me this evening.”
“That’s nice.” Since he’d retired from ranch life himself, her father’s days were filled with being at his wife’s beck and call, catering to her every whim. And her whims could be doozies. Constructing multistoried birdhouses was one of the tamer requests. “Give him a hug from me.”
“I don’t see why I should. You’ll be here tomorrow to give him one directly.”
Jo sat down on the bed and ran her fingers through her damp hair. Tomorrow was one of her two days off, the second being Saturday. Some of the hands stuck around the ranch on their off days, others went to wherever they called home.
Jo went to her parents’ place.
“You’re right. I’ll give him a hug myself tomorrow.”
She sensed her mother’s sigh of relief. Could she have somehow picked up on Jo’s intention to cancel the visit, as she had the past two times? More than likely. Of course, it didn’t exactly take a NASA astrophysicist to work out the odds.
“I was hoping that you could stop at that little doughnut shop downtown on your way over tomorrow, sweetie. You know, to pick up one of those bourbon pecan pies I like so much.”
Jo fixed the right cuff of her jeans. “Sure, Mother.”
“That’s a good girl.”
She swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling. “Is there anything else? It’s been a really long day and I’m beat.”
“No. No, that’s all. I just wanted to make sure you were still coming, so I don’t have your father get out the good china for nothing.”
Jo didn’t bother telling her that she didn’t have to get out her good anything, that she wasn’t coming over to drink tea out of tiny teacups, but to see how they both were doing. She knew her words would only fall on deaf ears.
“I’m coming. Good night, Mother.”
“Good evening, JoEllen Sue. Sleep well.”
Jo slowly took the cell from her ear and pressed the disconnect button, sitting for long moments staring at the piece of technology that had allowed her mother to follow her all over the world, when all Jo wanted to do was escape.
There was a sound outside the open door. She immediately slid her hand under her pillow, her fingers molding over the cool, hard metal of her M9 Beretta. The instant the shadow appeared, she pulled the gun and held it on the unexpected visitor.
Trace held up his hands and grinned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think shooting the boss is a good idea.”
Jo blinked once. Then twice. Had the man who’d occupied so many of her thoughts all day just materialized in her doorway? Or was she imagining things? Her gaze flicked down his tall, muscular frame and then back again. She licked her lips. He had to be there. Because her imagination wasn’t nearly this good.
She slid the safety back into place and put the firearm on the bedside table. “Yes, I’d say it rates right up there with sleeping with the boss.”
“Regrets?”
She shook her head. “Merely stating facts.”
Jo met his heated gaze, feeling the same sizzle she’d come to expect every time their eyes met. Damn, but he had an effect on her that she couldn’t cool down with any size bucket of cold water.
Trace glanced around. “Mind if I come in?”
“You own the place.”
“I meant, am I welcome?”
She held his gaze.
He came in and shut the door.
Jo immediately felt the heat ignite into a full-out fire. She got up from the bed and moved toward the bathroom. “Pour yourself a drink if you’d like. Fix one for me while you’re at it.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
Jo closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against the smooth wood, surprised to find herself out of breath, as if she’d just run an eight-minute mile rather than walked five feet.
She caught her reflection in the mirror, grimacing at her faded purple high school varsity T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans, her regular bedroom attire. No silky nighties for her.
At least her undergarments were one hundred percent pure Victoria’s Secret. Yes, while even she bucked falling into the traditional roles, she wasn’t without her wicked interest in sexy underwear. A passion that Trace had seemed to appreciate last night.
Of course, she couldn’t exactly walk back into the bedroom in nothing but her bra and panties. Well, she could, but she wasn’t going to. Instead, she stepped to the sink, took out a hair dryer she rarely used, and applied scant makeup that she rarely wore. A citrusy lotion was about as close to perfume as she got.
Minutes later, she stared at her reflection again. Was it her, or did her eyes look a little bit brighter? Her lips a little bit plumper? Her gaze dropped to the front of her shirt, finding her breasts high, her nipples clearly visible. She ran her palms over them and shivered in response, anticipation coursing through her veins.
She hadn’t had an inkling that Trace would show up at her room tonight. In fact, she’d pretty much accepted that if there was going to be a repeat of last night, it would come at her doing. The fact that he appeared to want her as much