Hard Lovin' Man. Peggy Moreland
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With a sigh, she glanced around in hopes of catching Mandy’s eye, but instead her gaze settled on the groom’s brother, who stood on the fringe of the festivities. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Though she couldn’t agree with his methods, she figured his heart had been in the right place when he’d tried to stop the wedding. And at the moment, he looked as if he felt as out-of-place and miserable as she did. Sensing a kinship of sorts, she moved to stand beside him.
“How’s the lip?”
He lifted the ice pack he held at the corner of his mouth and muttered, “It hurts,” then replaced it.
Lacey stepped in front of him, squinting her eyes to better see his face in the glow from the torches lining the fan-shaped patio. “That eye looks pretty bad, too. Have you put anything on it?”
He puckered his brow, obviously unaware of the injury, and lifted a hand to inspect it. He flinched when his fingers grazed the raw flesh.
She bit back a grin. “I guess you haven’t.” She glanced toward the house, wondering if she could find a first-aid kit in the kitchen, then shuddered when she saw the sea of people she’d have to wade through in order to reach the back door. Squaring her shoulders, she hooked her arm through his. “Come on, killer. I’ve got some horse liniment in my trailer.”
“Horse liniment!” he cried, jerking her to a stop. “I’m no horse.”
She chuckled and gave him a tug, all but dragging him toward the barn where her truck and trailer were now parked. “No, but judging by the show you put on earlier, you could be a distant relation. A jackass,” she explained at his questioning look.
He snorted, then winced at the pain the action caused him.
Chuckling, she slipped her arm from his and opened the side door that led to the trailer’s sleeping quarters. She stepped inside, pausing to flip on a light. Moving easily in the confined space, she opened a cabinet door and pulled down a first-aid kit. When she saw that Travis still stood outside, watching her warily, she gestured for him to join her. “It’s okay, killer,” she said, holding up the box. “I’ve got medications for humans, too.”
Reluctantly he climbed inside. She waved him toward a wide, padded bench that she hoped to someday convert into a bed for use when she was traveling the rodeo circuit. “Have a seat and I’ll take a look.”
He dropped down, his look guarded as he watched her flip open the box and remove a packet.
“Pre-soaked antiseptic gauze,” she said, responding to the suspicion in his eyes.
When she tried to apply the gauze to the cut, he reared his head back and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “You hurt me,” he warned, meeting her gaze, “and I’ll have to hurt you back.”
The strength in his hand surprised her, but it was the emotion in his brown eyes that had the breath backing up in her lungs. Anger, frustration, concern. They all churned there, but it was his concern—a concern she instinctively attributed to his lingering worry over his brother’s marriage—that squeezed at her heart. Hoping to distill the sympathy she felt building, she teased, “Sissy.”
His scowl deepened, but he loosened his grip on her hand.
Mindful of his warning, though she sensed he wasn’t the kind of man who would make good the threat, she kept her touch gentle as she dabbed the gauze at the cut, cleaning it. “That brother of yours has a mean right hook.”
“Lucky punch,” he muttered disagreeably.
She bit back a smile. “Maybe,” she conceded, and continued to cleanse the wound. “Was it really worth all this to try to stop his wedding?”
“It would’ve been if I’d succeeded.”
“You said he was crazy.”
“Poor choice of words.”
“What is he, then?”
“Confused. Grieving.” He sighed heavily. “He lost his son and his ex-wife in an automobile accident less than a year ago. He’s been on the run ever since.”
“Tough break.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“So you think he’s marrying on the rebound?”
“It’s a possibility. A strong one.”
“He sounded sincere enough to me.”
“Maybe,” he said doubtfully.
With a shrug of apparent indifference, Lacey tossed aside the strip of gauze and picked up another.
Travis watched her, frowning, wishing he shared her detachment. But he didn’t. Jack was his brother. His twin brother. And when Jack hurt, so did he. Jack’s first marriage had left scars that Travis felt partially responsible for, and the accident that had stolen his son had left his brother—in Travis’s opinion—emotionally unstable. As a result, he felt duty-bound to see that his brother wasn’t hurt again.
He sighed heavily, feeling the frustration building. He didn’t want to think about his brother’s current emotional state any more, or his own failure to stop the wedding.
And the woman who was nursing his cuts offered just the distraction he needed to forget his troubles for awhile. A tight little butt, small waist, full ripe breasts. Sensuous lips pursed in concentration.
His own lips began to curve upward as she moved to stand between his spread knees again. Yeah, she was just the distraction he needed. Pleased with his current situation, he laid his head back and closed his eyes, prepared to enjoy the feminine attention. He felt her fingers graze his temple as she combed back his hair, then the weight of her hand when she pressed her palm against the side of his head, holding his hair out of her way. Soothed by her touch, he inhaled deeply…and filled his senses with her. No flowery perfumes for this woman, he reflected, fully relaxed now. Just soap, sunshine and pure woman.
Intrigued by her and by the brief story John Lee had shared with him about her questionable ancestry, he opened his eyes to study her. The light was behind her and left shadows on her face, but he could see well enough to make out her features. Wide green eyes framed by long dark lashes, a cute button of a nose with a light sprinkling of freckles across its bridge. Full sensuous lips, a stubborn chin.
A face full of contradictions.
As he decided this, she placed a finger beneath his chin and angled his face toward the light, furrowing her forehead in concern.
“That cut’s pretty deep,” she said uneasily. “You might need a couple of stitches.”
“Can you sew?”
Startled by the question, she shifted her gaze to his. “No,” she said, then bit back a smile when she saw that he was teasing. She glanced at the cut again and sighed, shaking her head. “But without stitches, you’re going to have a scar.”
“It’ll just add character.”
She shrugged as she straightened. “It’s your face.”
“And a handsome one, huh?”
She snorted a laugh and tossed aside the square of soiled cotton. “Watch it. Your ego’s showing.”
He caught her hand, and pulled her back around to face him. “Are you a nurse?”
Standing so close, Lacey had to admit that he was right. He did have a handsome face. And, fat lip or not, the sexiest smile she believed she’d ever seen.
Uncomfortably aware of the hand that held hers, she eased free and reached for the antiseptic cream. “No. I’m a barrel racer.” She squeezed a dollop of cream onto her finger and leaned to smear it on the cut.
“A barrel racer, huh? Too bad. You’d have made a good nurse. You’ve got a nice touch.”
Not knowing what to say