Death stalks a cowboy’s growing family

Book two in the Midnight Pass, Texas miniseries

It’s a typical Texas night when Reese Grantham intends to drown her sorrows in a local bar. Her evening soon turns around, thanks to military operative turned rancher Hoyt Reynolds. Before she knows it, Reese is expecting a bundle of joy, but when she enters a killer’s crosshairs, there’s nothing Hoyt won’t do to save her and his child.

ADDISON FOX is a lifelong romance reader, addicted to happy-ever-afters. After discovering she found as much joy writing about romance as she did reading it, she’s never looked back. Addison lives in New York with an apartment full of books, a laptop that’s rarely out of sight and a wily beagle who keeps her running. You can find her at her home on the web at www.addisonfox.com or on Facebook (Facebook.com/addisonfoxauthor) and Twitter (@addisonfox).

Also By Addison Fox

Midnight Pass, Texas

The Cowboy’s Deadly Mission

Special Ops Cowboy

The Coltons of Red Ridge

Colton’s Deadly Engagement

The Coltons of Shadow Creek

Cold Case Colton

The Coltons of Texas

Colton’s Surprise Heir

Dangerous in Dallas

Silken Threats

Tempting Target

The Professional

The Royal Spy’s Redemption

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Special Ops Cowboy

Addison Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09375-0

SPECIAL OPS COWBOY

© 2019 Frances Karkosak

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“Is the spider dangerous?”

“I know our biology teacher pretty well. Fred would know if the spider is dangerous or not, but I don’t think that it is.”

“I’m not sure waiting to be bitten is the way to find that out,” Hoyt said, his imagination already racing toward harm to Reese and the baby.

“Well, I wasn’t bitten. And we have a few at the high school. I’d hardly think the school board would appreciate having poisonous animals around the kids.”

The thought that the danger was likely minimal went some way toward calming his racing heart but he couldn’t quite banish the sense of menace that came with whatever had brought a spider to her front door. Texas was known for its wild creatures, and his cowboy boots were way more practical than they were for show, but it was the mysterious doorbell that kept gnawing at him.

Did someone deliberately do this to scare Reese?

And why?

* * *

We hope you enjoy the Midnight Pass, Texas miniseries

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Midnight Pass, Texas. For those of you who visited this past August, you know that this small town, nestled along the banks of the Rio Grande, is home to one of the biggest cattle ranches in Texas—Reynolds Station.

Youngest brother and former special ops soldier Hoyt Reynolds is known for his stoic (read: grumpy) attitude. That doesn’t stop the whole town from swooning when he swaggers down Main Street in his jeans and boots. Nor has it stopped Reese Grantham from noticing Hoyt, well, pretty much her entire life.

She’s still struggling to get past her father’s suicide the prior spring, after his murderous ways were discovered, and Reese finds herself alone one night at the Border Line bar. That’s where Hoyt finds her, and he’s determined to take care of her and cheer her up if at all possible. Their evening turns into something more and, much to their mutual surprise, goes from a delicious memory to something even bigger—a baby.

When nameless, faceless threats endanger Reese, Hoyt knows he must protect the mother of his child at all costs. But will protecting her put him in the line of fire, as well?

I hope you enjoy Special Ops Cowboy and I look forward to sharing the stories of Hoyt’s other two siblings, Ace and Arden, in future books. In the meantime, if you want to begin with the first in the series, The Cowboy’s Deadly Mission is available now.

Best,

Addison Fox

In loving memory of Annette Deoria

1921–2018

I believe angels walk among us because of you.

Author’s Note

For those of you familiar with cattle ranching, you will note I’ve played with the time of year cattle are branded. As calves are typically branded around two to three months of age, branding season is normally wrapped up by May, not early August. I hope you’ll forgive the license I took in shifting the timeline to suit the story.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Her mother had always said gossip was the devil’s work. That the idle prattle of small towns had no place in their lives. Of course, Reese Grantham thought reflectively, her mother had offered up those pearls of wisdom before her father had turned into the devil incarnate, doing far worse than some dismissive chatter over produce bins at the market.

Whatever disaster Serena Grantham had hoped to avert by diligently avoiding discussion of the misfortunes of others throughout her life had all been for naught.

That fact became abundantly clear to Reese two months earlier, when Russ Grantham was transported to the morgue due to a self-inflicted gunshot to the head. Officers from the precinct he’d served for thirty years had solemnly carried out the transfer. And it was only that self-inflicted gunshot that had kept those same officers from hauling him into the police station on murder charges stemming from Russ’s serial rampage killing drug dealers.

Some said Russ had snapped over the loss of his own son to drugs years before. Others whispered that it was bad blood, finally letting loose, hidden away all these years behind the noble facade of police captain. Still others—the ones who whispered in solemn tones—said it was a public service. Their small Texas border town, Midnight Pass, had been overrun by the drug trade and it was high time someone did something about it. So really, Reese acknowledged to herself as Tabasco Burns set down a beer and a whiskey chaser in front of her, what was a little gossip compared to all that?

“You sure you want this? I can still fix you a white wine spritzer like you usually order. Won’t charge you for this.” Tabasco waved a hand over the beer and whiskey, like a magician who could make it all go away.

Reese thought longingly of chardonnay but shook her head. She needed to forget and a watered-down glass of wine wasn’t going to get her where she needed to go. It was the very reason she’d come to The Border Line for the evening. “I’m good, but thanks.”

Tabasco looked about to argue but only nodded instead, his grizzled features going soft as he stared at her across the scarred bar. “I am glad to see you. It’s been too long.”

She nodded and reached for the beer, unable to acknowledge him with anything more for fear the lump in her throat would turn too swiftly to tears.

Tabasco took a few more beats to look at her before he moved on. He knew his customers well and had a keen sense for when they needed an open ear or a blind eye.

With the same determination that had her calling a car and heading to The Border Line bar on a hot summer Tuesday, Reese took a sip of her beer. No time like the present. She’d numb the pain while facing the gossip and maybe give half the damn town something to talk about other than her father’s crimes and subsequent suicide.

She was done with being the perfect daughter in a family that seemed functionally unable to be halfway normal. Or what she had left of one.

Even if that meant she now had a life she’d worked hard for, a job that she loved teaching high school English and a small house on the opposite end of town from her parents, decorated to her exact specifications and bearing the stamps of her own self-sufficiency. A lawn mown each week by her own hand. Address stamps that had no one’s name on them but hers. And a Christmas tree in her garage she’d put up the past two seasons all on her own.

Who knew it could feel so damn good to pay a mortgage each month?

And it did feel good. She wasn’t a woman who drowned her sorrows—she’d always found the mental fortitude to deal with what life tossed her way, reading, thinking of her students and their future, or finding new interests to explore—but for some reason the little whisper that tantalized her earlier that day, suggesting a night away from her cares was in order, had taken root.

With that thought in mind, she reached for her drinks. Although she preferred wine, the beer went down smooth enough, a cool respite from the heat outside and the perpetually ashy, bitter taste that had coated her tongue for the better part of two months. She’d nearly convinced herself the whiskey would be as good, only to shoot the glass and nearly fall off her barstool in a choking fit.

“Hey there.” A large hand covered her back while another steadied her arm. She jumped at the contact, even as a line of fire coated her throat, burning away anything that had been there.

Wide warm circles smoothed over her back and Reese accepted the gentle touch as one last racking cough shook her shoulders. The worst behind her, she lifted her gaze off the scarred wood and straight into the deep green eyes of Hoyt Reynolds.

Compelling, mysterious eyes, she thought, as their edges crinkled with a gentle smile. “You okay?”

“Sure.” Her voice was still strained from the coughing. “Wrong pipe.”

Hoyt’s gaze shifted to the empty shot glass. “Wrong drink, I’d say.”

Right drink, wrong drinker, her conscious taunted, but she kept it to herself, pushing bravado into her tone as her voice grew stronger. “It’s what I wanted. And I think I’ll have another.”

The smile faded, replaced with something she didn’t want to think about.

Pity.

She’d seen the same expression on the town’s faces more than once in her life and she refused to get comfortable with it. This was her battle to fight and her long walk to take. She would get through this.

And still, something inside of her persisted. If she could only understand the reasons for her father’s choices maybe she could push aside the awful well of sadness and anger and fury that came from the fact that Russ Grantham had thought it was acceptable to torture and kill others. Maybe she could push past the frustration that once again, her life had been thrown into chaos by the choices of her family and somehow, see her way past the wreckage.

Only she hadn’t seen past anything. Not for one single minute in all the minutes that had come since the day her father kidnapped Annabelle Granger, a fellow police officer, for getting too close to the truth. The fact that he’d ultimately done the right thing and let Belle go hadn’t mattered.

Nor had the gun he’d placed to his head.

In the blink of an eye, Reese was right back to those days in high school when all the effort in the world to do the right thing and get good grades and act perfect still couldn’t make up for her older brother’s drug addiction. When the sound of her mother’s crying could be heard late at night, muffled softly from the living room in their small ranch house at the edge of town. When her father’s stiff back and broad shoulders set beneath a uniform that bore captain’s bars still couldn’t keep Jamie Grantham out of trouble.

“You sure about that?” Hoyt asked, effectively cutting into her memories far better than her first shot.

“I am.”

Hoyt let out a long sigh before taking the empty seat next to her. “Then I can’t let you do it alone.”

“I don’t—” She broke off as Hoyt waved down Tabasco, circling his fingers in the signal for another round.

Undeterred by her protest and big enough that she knew he’d be immovable once he sat down, Reese took the opportunity to look at him instead. She knew Hoyt Reynolds—they’d grown up in the same town—but she’d never spent much time with him beyond an occasional night out with mutual friends or enough to say hi at town functions. He was a loner by nature and had a grumpy, affectionately surly personality that had become somewhat legendary in the Pass.

Even without her personal connection—her father’s last potential victim, Belle Granger, was engaged to Hoyt’s brother, Tate—she’d have known Hoyt anywhere.

Everyone knew the Reynolds boys. The trio—along with their sister, Arden—ran Reynolds Station, one of the largest working beef ranches in the state. They’d run free as young men, but all had quickly settled down after their father’s poor business practices had come to light about a decade before. Hoyt had been away in the service—marines, she thought—but had eventually come back, joining his family in the work of restoring the Reynolds name.

In the time since, the four of them had worked diligently to reclaim their role in the beef industry, all while carving a new path into the twenty-first century. They used sustainable practices, methods that were as humane as possible and focused on quality over quantity. She’d even taken a few of her high school classes to the ranch on field trips, pleased with the opportunity to both show off hardworking members of their town and help her students understand there were many paths available to them for their life’s work.

She’d heard more than one teenage girl sigh on those tours over the cowboys who worked the land, but few had garnered as many sighs as the stoic, grim-faced man who blended the best of bad boy with cowboy.

Which made the gentle eyes and insistence on keeping her company that much more surprising.

Hoyt didn’t do gentle. Or kind. Or congenial. He wasn’t nasty, per se. He was just aloof. Separate.

Alone.

Hoyt Reynolds kept to himself. He wasn’t a gossip and he wasn’t prone to nosing into anyone’s business.

Which, Reese figured, probably made him the perfect companion for her evening’s adventure.

* * *

Hoyt Reynolds ignored the small licks of attraction that sizzled through his nerve endings, willing himself to focus on the bigger picture. Reese Grantham might be a gorgeous companion over a few drinks, but she was clearly in pain and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the way she was managing it wasn’t the brightest idea.

Russ Grantham had surprised them all when his sins came to light this past spring. Hoyt’s future sister-in-law had almost paid the biggest price, but something of the good man they’d all believed Russ to be must have finally shown through. Russ had let Belle go, taking his own life, and the secrets he’d buried deep along with him.

Hoyt didn’t spent much time in town, but he’d seen Reese a few times, once at the gas station filling up her car and another over produce at the market. She’d been too many bays over at the gas station for him to say anything, but he hadn’t missed the vacant look in her eyes or the emptiness that seemed to hover around her. A fact that was reinforced when he’d attempted conversation over the oranges.

She’d been polite and pleasant, but the wariness in her eyes was hard to miss. Whether it was from personal grief or their connection over Belle, he wasn’t sure, but she’d hightailed it out of there with her cart as soon as she could politely flee.

Which brought them here. The drink she’d already had seemed to suppress the flight instinct, but there was a determination in her hazel gaze that was unmistakable.

Which meant he’d keep an eye on her, prevent her from drinking too much and see that she got home safe and sound.

Tabasco caught his eye as he set down two more beers along with two more whiskey chasers. Hoyt didn’t miss the clear warning in the man’s gaze, or the equally clear directive to watch out for her, and he simply nodded as Tabasco cleared Reese’s empties.

He wasn’t a hound dog. He might find her attractive but he hadn’t done anything about it up to now; he sure as hell wasn’t going to take advantage of her at a weak moment. He wasn’t particularly successful at relationships—he preferred his own company and no one prying into his most personal thoughts—so he kept his dating out of the Pass and far away from local acquaintances.

But damn, she looked good.

Her hair fell in long dark waves down her back, the color a rich sable. She’d lost weight and was edging toward too skinny, but it didn’t diminish the round swells of her breasts beneath a sleeveless tank or the lush curve of her hips beneath her jeans. Although she was seated, he knew the long, long legs that currently ended in sexy flip-flops that bared purple-painted toenails were a spectacular sight, whether she wore one of her conservative dresses for teaching or a pair of shorts for a town picnic.

Purple polish?

He had no idea why he found that cute since he could care less about nail polish or the varied colors it came in. Yet, on Reese Grantham it looked good. Everything looked good on her, from the outfit tonight to the more severe choices she wore while teaching. She was pretty and sexy, in a way that wasn’t garish or overdone and...

And he’d do well to cut off that train before it got a head of steam.

No matter how good she looked, it couldn’t erase the sadness that lingered in her eyes or the light smudges that filled in the hollows below them.

Nor could it erase the fact that one of her father’s crimes had been committed on Reynolds land the prior spring. In the crime that had begun his descent into capture, Russ Grantham had killed his quarry at the edge of Reynolds property, seeking to make it look like a drug deal gone bad.

“What are you doing out on a Tuesday night?” Reese asked, reaching for her beer. The question was enough to jar him from the bleak direction of his thoughts and he reached out and hung on to it with both hands.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I asked first.”

She had a spine, something that had always intrigued him, and with a small nod, he answered her. “Figured I’d get a beer or two. Snag a few games of pool off anyone who was interested.”

“Please don’t let me stop you.”

Although he heard no hint of the bum’s rush, he couldn’t resist teasing her a bit. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No!” Those pretty hazel eyes widened as if she realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean you had to go away. I just meant you don’t have to babysit me.”

“Why’s it babysitting?”

“Because I can already see the good cowboy routine. The nod to Tabasco that you’ll take care of me. The whole you-can’t-drink-alone stance. You feel sorry for me.”

Although he knew she didn’t have kids, it struck him in that moment that she spent her professional life around children and had clearly developed that legendary second set of eyes in the back of her head.

“You saw that?”

“What?” She inclined her head toward the opposite end of the bar. “The manly eye contact with Tabasco, ensuring you’d get me home?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“Yes, I saw it.”

He nearly laughed at the prim tone and the way her hands folded on the bar in front of her second round of beer and whiskey chasers, but held back. She was amusing, but he wasn’t trying to make fun of her and for reasons he couldn’t quite define, he wasn’t sure she would understand the difference tonight.

Hell, he didn’t even understand it. He’d headed in because he was restless and tired of his own company. A state that had become increasingly consistent over the past year. He hadn’t felt this way in a while. The last time he could remember was his final year in special ops, when even three major wins, removing several terrorists in power hadn’t settled his thoughts of home and the help he knew his family needed on the ranch. Before that, it had been the decision to enlist, escaping the confines of that same family and the sense that the world was bigger—and needed more of him—than simply raising cattle.

Oh, how things had changed.

Which had all brought him here.

A mindless night out had seemed like a good idea. He wasn’t big on having his business spread around Midnight Pass like manure, so he hadn’t put seducing a woman on the list of activities for the evening, but he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge—only to himself—that he was enjoying her company.

He’d be lying even harder if that thread of sadness he saw in her eyes didn’t pull him in.

“Well, I might be looking out for you but I’m not sitting here feeling sorry for you.”

Her head tilted slightly, just enough to send her hair falling over her shoulder in a just-so motion that made him want to reach out and run the tips of his fingers through the strands. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m doing sitting here. Feeling sorry for myself.”

“Whiskey’s not the answer.”

“You mean there’s an answer?” Those pretty hazel eyes widened, her voice deadpan. “One that doesn’t begin with ‘you just have to take it day by day’ or ‘God has His plans, even if we can’t understand them’?”

Hoyt knew those answers. Had lived them himself and dealt with the endless comments designed to be helpful and supportive. First when his mother had died of cancer, and later, when his father’s bad business practices had come to light.

Instead of offering comfort, they’d been intrusive and taxing and designed to make the person saying them feel better, not the recipient.

He knew he had a reputation for being a cold, sullen jerk and he could hardly lay all that at his old man’s feet. But he had definitely honed those personality traits after his father’s actions had come to light.

Why talk to people when they really didn’t want the truth? Each person’s own version of events was far more interesting. And why make any effort to quell the gossip when the ones engaging in it were perfectly happy to keep whispering behind your back?

“No, I don’t think there is an answer,” he said. “And I know for a fact God’s plans and how you take your days are not answers to that question.”

“On that we are agreed.” She lifted her whiskey shot and clinked it against his glass where it sat waiting on the bar. Liquid sloshed to the edges but she was obviously still steady enough not to spill. “Let’s toast on it.”

He lifted his shot glass, tapping it gently to hers. “To a lack of answers.”

“Cheers.”

Hoyt took his shot and braced himself for a second round of coughing—and the opportunity to settle his hands once more on the slender arch of her shoulders—but she held her whiskey. Her eyes did narrow into a determined squint, but she held on.

And why did he think that was sexy as hell?

She was a mystery to him. A woman who he’d known most of his life, had always found pretty enough and interesting enough, yet he’d never ventured even one single step in the direction of those waters. He wasn’t the serious type in his relationships and he sure as hell didn’t want forever.

Hoyt’s own father had done a piss-poor job of convincing everyone he wanted forever and instead had done his level best to ruin whatever legacy his time on earth might have produced. Hoyt and his brothers and sister had lived with that truth, each learning to deal with it in their own way.

For Tate it was laughter. For Ace it was taking ownership of everything and everyone. And for Arden it was playing little mother and earth mother, all in one fell swoop.

He was the one who ran away. First with his emotions and later to his time in the service. When he’d come back, he’d settled on a single truth that had served him well: as a denizen of one of the smallest towns in the entire state of Texas, he knew better than to go peeing in the good, upstanding citizen pool of available women in Midnight Pass.

Reese Grantham was a high school teacher. She was the daughter of—up until recently—a well-respected, career police officer in Midnight Pass. And she was the surviving sibling of a drug addict gone very, very bad. She was a good girl and you simply didn’t mess with women in that category. Especially if you weren’t willing to see it all the way through with a ring, a promise and a lifelong commitment.

So why were those warm, wide-set eyes so compelling? And why did that restlessness that had dogged him all day—hell, all year—seem to have suddenly vanished in her presence?

“One more?” Her lips quirked into a smile as she tapped the bar.

“Not sure that’s a good idea. And I know it won’t be a good idea in the morning.”

“Spoilsport.” She stuck her tongue out but it was through smiling lips, a sure sign she wasn’t as annoyed as her comment suggested.

“You are one ahead of me.”

“Then maybe you need to catch up.” She leaned forward and pointed a finger into his chest. The move should have been invasive—would have been on anyone else and if he’d been in his right mind—but his right mind had gone missing the moment he’d walked into The Border Line and seen Reese Grantham sitting at the bar.

Hoyt closed a hand over her finger, gently closing it so he could press her hand against his heart. “Or what?”

Heat lit up his chest where her hand lay pressed against his T-shirt and he could have sworn sparks were shooting off the place where their hands joined. “That’s a very good question.”

* * *

Reese looked over and tried to avoid goggling at the strong profile and flexed biceps of Hoyt Reynolds. She’d realized pretty quickly that she had a prime view from the passenger seat of his truck and had been shooting him furtive glances on the ride back to her house ever since they’d left The Border Line.

She had no idea how she’d ended up here, but one minute they were sitting in the bar shooting the breeze—and whiskey—and the next he was bundling her up to take her home.

She wasn’t even very buzzed, although she could have sworn she’d seen a sort of glow around Hoyt as he ushered her out of The Border Line. Had her vision gone funny? Or was she simply trying to figure out how a man she’d known her whole life could suddenly look different?

Better, somehow.

And if she were honest, he’d always looked pretty damn fine before.

“Are you sure you can drive?” The words popped out, a nervous filler to the silence that had taken over the truck.

If he’d noticed her watching him, he hadn’t said anything, but did use the question to turn and look at her as they bumped over the two-lane road out of town toward her place. “I had one beer and one shot of whiskey. I’m good.”

“People who drive drunk say that.”

“Yes, they do. But there’s one big difference. I’m not drunk.”

“Oh.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I am not! I only had a beer and a half and two whiskey shots.”

“Which is why you’re going home.”

“Grumpy much?”

She had no idea why she was baiting him. He’d done her a favor—one she’d be fully prepared to acknowledge in the bright light of morning—but right now, all she wanted was...

To rile him up.

Which was ridiculous and childish and not at all like her. Yet, there you had it. There was just something about the way he’d swooped in and taken care of her that chafed. She was a grown woman, and she had a right to a night out to do whatever she wanted. She didn’t need permission. And she didn’t need anyone watching out for her. She was sick and tired of sitting in the home she loved day in and day out, feeling like a prisoner in the one place she’d created to be a haven. So she’d gone out, looking for a nice time and a fun evening and a few hours to forget about her life.

“I’m not grumpy. I’m just not interested in seeing Midnight Pass High School’s favorite English teacher end up in trouble for puking her guts out in the Border Line parking lot. Or worse.”

“My father’s already done worse. So has my brother. It’s a rather high bar.”

Those attractive lips of his—thick and lush—had tightened back to a straight line. “I’m sorry about that. About your father.”

“Why?”

“Some decisions—” Hoyt stopped and, after braking at a stop sign, turned toward her. “Some decisions can’t be changed or reconsidered or amended. But he was once a good man. I know that.”

“He killed someone on your property.”

“So?” He phrased that single syllable more as a question than anything else and Reese momentarily found herself at a loss for words.

Didn’t that bother him? Because it sure as hell bothered her.

Only she didn’t say that. Instead, she focused on his bigger point. The one she’d struggled with for the past two months since her father’s sins had come to light. “Well—”

From her vantage point, she watched as one lone eyebrow lifted as he eyed her from the driver’s seat. “Well what?”

“How can you say that about him? He broke, Hoyt. Broke in two and became a monster. That’s not my definition of a good man. It’s not my mother’s. It’s not even the expectations my father set for my brother and me from the time we were young.”

The anger spilled out, again a product of all those years of trying to be perfect. She’d done as she was told. Had worked hard to be a model daughter. And yet, where had it gotten her?

The object of ridicule and gossip, and, if the quiet suggestion earlier that day while she selected a cantaloupe at the market was any indication, questions from the PTA asking if she was fit to keep her teaching job.

When Hoyt said nothing in response, just accelerated through the intersection, Reese realized she’d overstepped. And goodness, why had she gone there? Here he was being nothing but nice and she’d tossed out those little bons mots like they were candy. Worse, they were the creeping, dissatisfying secrets of her life.

“This your street?” he asked.

At her acknowledgment, he turned down her road and followed her directions to the driveway. In moments, he was parked and was already around the car, opening her door for her like a gentleman.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said, in a lame attempt to defuse this damned awareness of him.

“According to you, I don’t need to do a lot of things. Sit with you at The Border Line. Drive you home. Give a hand to someone who really needs one.” As if to prove his point, he took her hand and helped her out of the high seat.

It hadn’t seemed quite that high getting in, but the drop down to the ground was farther than she thought and she hit the driveway harder than expected, the backs of her heels thudding on concrete.

“Easy,” Hoyt said, shifting his grip to steady her with his large hands.

Working man hands.

Capable hands.

She settled her palms where each of his hands rested on her hips, the moment changing with all the finesse of a spring storm.

The attraction that had simmered all night, kept at bay with her frustrations and embarrassment over the public nature of her family’s downfall, suddenly had no place to go. Instead, all the pain and anger she’d bottled up for two long months—hell, for nearly a decade—needed a place to bubble up and land.

With his hands still cradling her hips and hers still pressed against the ridges of his knuckles, she ignored the little voice that always urged her to be careful and cautious and lifted her head toward his. It was a matter of inches that separated them and a quick reach on her tiptoes had their mouths meeting in the moonlight.

She expected resistance. Sexual tension had simmered between them all evening—she wasn’t imagining that—but he’d also maintained a gentlemanly distance. A maddening distance, if she were honest.

Which meant the quick brush of lips that exploded into an inferno of hot carnal passion caught her just enough off guard that she barely had time to catch her breath. Even less time when she realized that she was being consumed, body and soul, by the delectable form of Hoyt Reynolds.

His mouth was hot on hers, his tongue filling the small O of surprise between her lips with smooth, effortless grace. His tongue was strong and persuasive and welcome, she admitted to herself. What should have felt like an intrusion was the exact opposite and as heat flared through her nerve endings like lightning, it filled every last inch of her body with the most delicious electricity.

Was this what it felt like to be kissed? Really and truly kissed?

She’d been kissed before, obviously. She’d had sex, too. If she’d considered it even an hour before, she’d have said those experiences were good ones. On a grading curve, satisfactory moving on toward excellent.

Oh, how little she’d understood.

Especially as every one of those experiences seemed to wash away in a sea of dull memory as Hoyt filled in its place. Nothing had ever felt like this. It was as if a sensual live wire lit her up, sparking from the inside out.

It was glorious.

It was heavenly.

And in that moment, she’d have gladly given up all she possessed to keep on kissing him.

Suddenly realizing she was doing way more analyzing than enjoying, Reese quickly fixed that, giving into the impulse that had her kissing him in the first place.

The strong shoulders beneath her palms flexed as he shifted his position, deepening the kiss and taking them another level. She took what he gave, all the while using her fingertips to explore the thick muscle and rounded curves of his shoulders. This was a man in his prime, of that there was no doubt. He was a product of hard, daily physical labor and she could hardly argue with the results.

Nor was she quite ready to let go yet.

Which made the lift of his head and the grim line of his mouth, more than evident in the glow of her front door light, that much harder to accept.

“I should get you to your door.”

“Why?” That same tartness that had accompanied her comments on the ride home rose up to the fore. Which wasn’t like her, yet seemed right for the moment.

“For all the reasons we talked about at Border Line.”

“I thought we talked about answers.”

That grim line of his mouth quirked up into a wry smile. “I thought we said there were no answers.”

Reese wasn’t sure if it was the smile or the heady feeling that still rode her bloodstream from his excellent kisses or something else she couldn’t define or resist. The only thing she understood as the words tumbled past her lips, one after the other, was an overwhelming sense of rightness.

“Then why don’t you stay?”

Chapter 2

Stay.

That lone word still shimmered between them, taking shape and form in the late night heat, as he walked her to her front porch. June in south Texas was always hot and this year had been no exception, with a few days already posting one hundred degrees plus. But tonight it felt different, somehow.

Hotter. More breathless. Anticipatory.

Reese Grantham tantalized and tempted, tugging at Hoyt in ways he’d never expected. And had certainly never predicted for the evening.

When had things changed?

They knew each other, sure. And he’d be a total liar if he didn’t admit to himself that he’d always found her attractive. But what was it about this night?

This time?

What was it about her?

She was different from what Hoyt remembered and it wasn’t simply because of what had happened a few months ago. She still had that beautiful face, the elegant cheekbones set off against smooth olive skin that already showed the evidence of a summer tan. She still had the long legs and mouthwatering curves that even right now tempted him and had his fingers itching to settle on her hips once again.

Maybe it was just right place at the right time.

But even that felt like an excuse as he turned the idea over in his mind.

She wasn’t easy and he wasn’t going to justify away this sudden shot of desire by trying to make himself feel better. There was something different about her but maybe there was also something different about him. Because after months of restless, aimless feelings, everything had suddenly settled in the past few hours in her company.

That strange dissatisfaction that had ridden him—one that wouldn’t be assuaged by working the land or riding his horse or mending fences or any number of things he’d found to occupy his time—had vanished in the pretty face of Reese Grantham. It was like he’d had a perpetual buzzing in his ears for a year and now all he had was blessed silence.

“Hoyt.” She whispered his name, pulling him from the aimless wandering of his mind.

“Yeah?”

Her lips feathered over his collarbone, drifting up his neck and on toward his ear. “I know this isn’t the answer, either.”

He hung on to his control by a shockingly thin thread, but was willing to do it anyway to get out and leave her well enough alone. “No, it’s not.”

“Then we’re agreed?”

He shifted back, pulling his skin away from the tantalizing strokes of her tongue so he could look down at her. “Agreed on what?”

“This might not be the answer to anything, but please don’t leave.”

“I need to go.”

“Do you?” Something sharp and deliberate stuck beneath her words, part dare and all temptation. He saw it clearly in the flash of heat in her gaze and the sultry pout of her lips. Moonlight filled the sky and, combined with her front porch lights, made it easy to read every emotion on her face.

“You think I don’t?” he asked, well aware he’d like nothing else than to follow her up those steps and on through the front door.

“All I know is we had a nice evening. We’re two grown adults and we’re both well able to determine how we want to spend the rest of it.” She held up a hand. “And before you blame it on two whiskey chasers, I can assure you I’m making this decision, not a few shots of liquor.”

“You seem sure about that.”

“I’m beyond sure.” She stepped back, removing her hands from his body, leaving a strange emptiness when she pulled away. “Aren’t you?”

That dare grew stronger and Hoyt knew he wasn’t immune to her words. Nor was he immune to the increasing heat that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the woman who stood before him.

“Being sure about tonight isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“Tomorrow.”

As excuses went, it was a cop out and Hoyt was gripping it with both hands. Hell, he’d claw at it with the tips of his fingernails if it would give him the ammunition he needed to hang on, get Reese Grantham through her front door and him back into his truck.

“I’ve spent far too many days of my life worried about tomorrow. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere close to where I want. That’s why I’ve decided to focus on a new strategy. It’s called today.”

“Why now?”

“I can’t think of a better time to start.”

Hoyt couldn’t, either. Against his better judgment—and in support of his most fervent desires—he pulled her into his arms.

* * *

The bright moonlight that had revealed every emotion on Hoyt Reynolds’s face was still in evidence when she walked with him into her room a short while later. Reese still wasn’t sure how it had all happened—she certainly hadn’t gone out looking for this tonight—but there was no way she was stopping.

Especially when it all felt so right.

It was why she’d pushed and poked at him with surprising persistence, even though she’d normally be unwilling to ask for what she wanted or be so brazen as to put voice to those thoughts.

How long had it been since she was attracted to a man? Not the cursory allure that came with light flirting or the occasional date that turned into a second, but real, bone-deep attraction and awareness.

And need.

It was the need that had tripped her up and had her pressing him to stay while they were out on her front porch. In all reality, his resistance was not only gentlemanly, but had far more foresight than she was feeling at the moment. There was nothing between them and one night of sex wasn’t going to change that. Yet, for reasons that seemed a perfect fit with the evening, nothing about that bothered her.

Instead, it was freeing.

All her life, she’d been Reese Grantham, good girl. She’d done what was expected of her and, if she were honest, she was okay with that. She was also okay with a night of mindless sex with Hoyt Reynolds.

And wasn’t that an amazing thought.

All that had come before—all the decisions she’d made because they were right for her—extended here as well. This was right. And since she had a hot, virile male standing before her, it was high time she enjoyed it.

With sure fingers, she reached for him, her hands playing along the hem of his untucked T-shirt. The cotton was soft and well-worn, heated from his skin, and she fisted her fingers in the material before dragging it over his head. Whatever she’d expected to see beneath, the hard abs, firm chest and impressively rounded shoulders were beyond her wildest imagination.

“Wow.” The word was out on a hard exhale and Reese couldn’t have stopped it if she’d tried. “Those are some impressive muscles.”

A small smile tilted up the corner of one side of his mouth. “Not sure I’ve ever gotten a wow before.”

“Oh, you’ve gotten plenty, of that I have no doubt.” She gave in to temptation and ran her hands over all that glorious muscle. “It likely just happened out of earshot.”

“I’m not sure—” His words ended abruptly as her explorations had her hands dipping decidedly close to the waistband of his jeans, the pads of her fingers trailing along the line of his belt.

Pleased with the way his abs contracted beneath her touch, she lifted her head and pressed her lips against his, whispering as she did, “I’m quite sure.”

Her initiative that had gotten them this far seemed to change in an instant. His willingness to stand still and take what she offered vanished as his arms wrapped around her, drawing her close. “You talk too much.”

“I’m a teacher. It comes with the job description.”

“Then let me teach you a new lesson.”

Hoyt’s words were full of delicious promise and Reese quieted as he made good on his instructions. The hands that had remained at his sides went into action, drawing her blouse up and over her head before working some fast, clever magic at the close of her bra. In a flash, her bra slipped to the floor and his fingers had replaced the cool air-conditioning, covering her breasts even as his thumbs found her nipples.

Heat arced through her, racing over her skin before settling low in her belly, pooling there. The sensation was so strong—so deep—she gasped at the need that sparked under her skin. With unspoken understanding, Hoyt pressed his lips to hers, his tongue filling her mouth in long, tantalizing strokes that matched the work of his hands.

Pleasure exploded beneath and around and over the heat, drawing a light moan from deep in her chest. The thoughts that had been crystal clear when she’d walked in had fragmented, floating in abstract images of warm skin and vivid green eyes that remained steady on her and a hard, firm body that pulled the darkest, most wicked sensations from her. But one thought did gain purchase, rooting deep.

This was right.

Real.

And there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Reese kissed him back, willing all that rightness into the moment, determined to enjoy every single second of their time together.

Resuming her explorations, she reached for the button of his jeans, flipping open the closure and slipping beneath the waistband of both jeans and underwear. The solid strength of his erection met her hand, filling her palm as she gripped him more firmly. The stomach muscle contractions that had captured her attention flexed even harder in response to her touch, visible proof of what she already felt in her hands.

“Reese.” He gripped her arm, firm yet easy in his hold, disengaging her from his body. “I’m not sure either of us are ready to end this too soon.”

“I know I’m not.”

“Then maybe you should let me set the pace.”

Reese missed the feel of that warm flesh as he pulled her hand free and was nearly embarrassed for her eagerness until she caught sight of his cocky grin. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” The sultry cocoon that had woven around them vanished like disintegrating cotton candy and Reese took several steps back. “Did you just ma’am me?”

“I did.” Hoyt coughed. “Ma’am.”

“That’s the biggest insult I’ve ever—”

Before she could get the rest of it out, all those large muscles she’d so admired went into motion, wrapping her up and pulling her close. His lips hit hers with the same momentum as his hold, and heat and need and a delicious sort of lightness filled her before she realized she was floating in his arms, heading for the bed.

The momentum of his body carried them to the mattress with a heavy thud, his large form taking the brunt of her weight as she fell on top of him in a tangle of limbs.

It was awkward and silly and laughter rumbled in her chest. “Smooth, Reynolds.”

He answered her with a smile of his own, one that lit up his features like the sun clearing the clouds. “I guess I’m just going to have to try harder. Smooth,” he said as if to himself, before eyeing her with a wink. “I need to work on that.”

And, oh, how he worked at it. He lifted his hands to thread through her hair, pulling her close for another kiss. The heat of his body pressed along hers, the delicious warmth of his chest against her breasts sensual and sexy and...right.

So very right.

And as far as smooth went... Hoyt certainly didn’t have to try very hard. Everything about him was smooth. And perfect. And beyond her wildest imaginings.

Yes, she’d found him attractive. She’d be hard pressed to find a woman in the Pass or five surrounding counties who didn’t think any of the Reynolds boys were attractive. It was sort of a rite of passage to get a head nod or hat tip from one of them in town or leaving church or attending the annual summer festivals in the town center.

But to be the recipient of all that sexiness up close?

Wow was the understatement of the century.

No matter how successful he and his siblings became in business, that success was steeped in the fact that they worked their ranch. His body was prime evidence of that fact, the thick ropes of muscles and work-worn hands the proof. Even as she enjoyed the results, Reese knew it was more than just the physical.

He was a quiet man and while he was known for his surliness, she’d seen another side this evening. One that both warmed her and made her feel special. As if he’d pulled out that gentler side of his nature just for her.

Aware her thoughts were veering into sentimental territory, she pushed them all away. Tonight wasn’t about analyzing the softer nature of hardworking cowboys or why said cowboy had decided to favor her with his time. It was about sex and a wonderful, mindless joining with another. She’d do well to remember that.

He momentarily shifted from the bed, reaching for his jeans and a condom stowed in his wallet. That quick slip from the bed went a long way toward reminding her even further of what this was.

Sex.

Clearly, he’d ensured he was prepared should the opportunity come his way and she wasn’t going to get upset about it. Or think too hard about what it meant that she’d not considered protection at all.

For all her internal admonishments to not be affected, something must have shown on her face. His gaze met hers in the dimmed light of her room, a distinct blush creeping up his neck. “I. Um. That’s been in there for a while.”

She offered up a small smile before extending her arms, welcoming him back to bed. “I’m glad, since I hadn’t given protection much thought.”

“You don’t keep anything? In your house?”

“I think I may have something colored and vaguely dirty from a bachelorette party last year buried in the back of the medicine cabinet.”

Hoyt resettled himself over her, holding his weight up on his forearms. “Dirty, you say?”

“Very.”

“Since my wallet stash extends to one, perhaps we can go hunting in the back of your medicine cabinet later.”

The indication he didn’t have a stack of condoms waiting to be used on his person went the rest of the way toward defusing the situation and Reese deftly ignored the subtle sense of relief. Maybe he didn’t do this every week. Or maybe even every month. And maybe she wasn’t just a notch on his belt.

And maybe you need to stop thinking, Grantham, and get back to feeling.

Desperate for those gloriously mindless moments in his arms, Reese reached for the condom in Hoyt’s hand and did the work of sheathing him herself. In moments, he was repositioned above her, fitted intimately inside of her.

It had been a while since she’d felt that delicious stretch of warm welcome, and she took him in, the thoughts that had dogged her fading as he began to move. And as pleasure once again took the place of thoughts or words, Reese gave herself up to the moment.

And the mindless oblivion of making love with Hoyt Reynolds.

The small, quiet neighborhood had settled down for the evening, the good citizens of Midnight Pass nestled snug in their beds. Normally, the small split-level with the neatly mowed lawn that sat toward the end of the lane housed the same. Front room lights that went on precisely each evening at eight o’clock and then snapped off promptly at eleven o’clock. A porch light that burned most evenings, whether the owner was home or not. And a driveway that remained persistently empty of guests.

Only not tonight.

The woman sat in her car, taking in the altered landscape and wondering what had finally made Reese Grantham snap out of that Prissy-Missy attitude and drag herself home a hot cowboy. If she didn’t hate Reese so badly—or bear such a deep-seated grudge and anger—she might have actually cheered for the woman.

About damn time Prissy Missy got some.

The stick that sat perpetually lodged in her ass must get awfully uncomfortable.

But that large truck tucked up in the small driveway proved everyone had urges and needed to let ’em out for a walk every now and again.

The real question, the woman thought, was how she could use this to her advantage. It would be easy to whisper a few words in some well-placed PTA members’ ears. Or drop a few hints down at the general store about what she’d seen.

But that would be easy. Crass, really. Besides, this game had gone on far too long to fold with such an easy hand.

Gossips got discovered. And someone always remembered where they heard something first.

As she pulled away from the curb and took one last pass in front of the house, that porch light still flaring bright this late at night, the woman knew what she needed to do.

Bide her time.

She’d waited this long, what was a bit more? The right moment would show itself. And when it did, she’d strike.

Swift. Immediate. And utterly remorseless.

* * *

Reese talked too much.

That was the first thought that drifted through his mind as Hoyt lay there, early morning summer sun beating over his eyelids. The second thought was that he couldn’t seem to find the energy to mind. In fact, he thought, with no small shot of surprise, he sort of liked it.

Her voice was slightly husky—like just after she’d done that shot of whiskey—and drifted over him with a light, sultry drawl.

“Just in case you’re concerned I have a big mouth, I won’t say anything to anyone.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“Good, because I’m not like that.”

Hoyt often considered himself more perceptive than he usually let on—subtext wasn’t nearly as hard to read as others often made it out to be—but he’d have had to have been deaf to miss what lay beneath Reese’s words. Rolling to his side, he took in the flushed face and still-sleepy eyes. “I’m not worried about anyone finding out anything.”

“But people saw us leave The Border Line.”

“So?”

“And your truck’s been in the driveway all night and now it’s morning.”

“And?”

He wasn’t quite sure why he was enjoying this so much—gossip had a way of causing problems, no matter how deftly you ignored it—but something about the little furrow that creased the space between her eyes and the small frown that marred those incredibly kissable lips had him smiling.

“Hoyt Reynolds, tell me you’re not that dense.”

“I’m not dense at all. I’m just trying to figure out what happened between that convincing speech you gave me on the front porch last night and right now.”

“What speech?”

“The we’re adults speech. And it was rather convincing.” Unable to help himself, he reached out and ran the tip of his index finger over her shoulder. Her skin was still warm from sleep and as soft as he remembered from throughout the night.

Something flickered in her gaze, erasing any lingering vestiges of sleep, but that small divide remained between her eyes. “It wasn’t a speech.”

“Monologue, then.”

“I was hardly the host of a late-night comedy show.”

“Soliloquy?”

“You’re being—”

Hoyt struck quick, the move at odds with the contented, lazy feeling that still suffused his limbs. But damn it all, she was cute, with the confuzzled look and the worry about something they could neither change nor take back.

Something he had no interest in taking back.

That thought gripped him as he rolled her onto her back and covered her with his body. His lips found hers—ready, waiting and willing—and everything else seemed to vanish except for the two of them. Hoyt refused to think about the implications of that.

Or why those implications didn’t bother him nearly as much as they should have.

It was a long while later that he lifted his head. They’d eventually hunted up the stash of party condoms in her bathroom and, even now, he couldn’t help but smile to himself at the novelty of wearing neon green.

“That’s a rather smug look?”

Since Reese wore one that matched his, he reached out and traced her full lower lip. “A look I think you’re rather well acquainted with.”

“I’m not smug.”

“Smug and well loved. It’s a good look on you.” He leaned in and gave her one more kiss before she could protest, then pulled back. “My smile was for the vivid memory of a neon-green condom. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one of those before.”

“Clearly, you haven’t spent much time around bachelorette parties.”

“Maybe I need to start.”

He got a light swat on his shoulder for the effort and leaned in, nuzzling her neck once more as his hands drifted over her shoulders and on down over her breasts. Damn, when was the last time he’d felt this good? He hadn’t had sex in a while—he’d nearly tossed that condom in his wallet a few weeks ago—and had long stopped even considering a relationship or anything that smacked of permanence.

Or even semi-permanence.

But what had he given up because of it?

His evening with an interesting, engaging, pretty woman had been special. She had thoughts and ideas and hadn’t been afraid to express them. They’d finally wandered into her kitchen around three o’clock, fixing sandwiches, and she’d shared her ideas on teaching and what she hoped for her students and chattered happily about one who’d recently written her after graduating from college.

He’d seen pride shining from her and a happiness for others that was rare. And beautiful. Reese had captivated him, that excitement and enthusiasm still shiny and bright, undimmed by the events with her father a few months back. It was awesome to behold, especially as someone who’d allowed his own parent’s poor behavior to keep a firm grip on his emotions.

Maybe that had been the root of his displeasure of late. Reynolds Station was doing well—beyond his, Ace’s, Tate’s and Arden’s wildest imaginings—yet, he hadn’t found a way to enjoy any of it. He’d hit that very same point in the marines and then, later, in special ops. Years of working toward promotions and the respect that came with growing leadership had fulfilled him, and then one day it simply hadn’t satisfied any longer. The orders and the structure and the reality that he was a chess piece on someone else’s board had finally gotten to him.

In both cases, he’d lost the ability to take those precious moments of joy and pleasure and happiness at what his own hard work had produced.

It was a strange place to be, when all the hard work—work that was supposed to save you and occupy you and lift you up—simply didn’t. Each accomplishment felt hollow, like it should mean more.

So why did he still feel empty?

“Hoyt?”

His name was a soft whisper in the room, but it was enough to pull him from his musings. “Yes?”

“I’m glad you stayed.”

“No regrets?” The question was out before he could stop it and he was surprised to realize just how much he hoped the answer was no. Never.

“Not at all.”

“Me, either.”

“Thank you for being there. I’m glad you pulled the responsible cowboy routine on Tabasco.”

“I’m glad I did, too.”

“Then why don’t you prove it to me before you have to head out for work.”

He hadn’t mentioned leaving or work or a timed departure, so it was with no small measure of surprise that Hoyt realized Reese had been thinking it.

As he lowered his lips to hers, once again wrapping himself up in her body, he knew it was stupid to feel even a shot of sadness. What man didn’t want an easy exit after a night of unexpected sex? But as Reese shifted beneath him, drawing him close and setting the rhythm that had become intimately familiar overnight, Hoyt couldn’t quite shake his disappointment.

She’d been unexpected, yes. But more welcome than he ever could have imagined.

Chapter 3
Two months later

“I’m sorry, Jake. Run that by me again?” She set the stapler down on her desk for fear the heavy object might become a weapon if her vision hazed any redder. Reese had learned a long time ago to never tell herself things couldn’t get worse. It was one of the harshest lessons an addict had taught their family, and she’d had a crash course by the time she was a freshman at Midnight Pass High School.

Jamie had been the best of big brothers, but by the time she’d turned fourteen, their three-year age gap had made all the difference. What had been a bit of bad behavior—smoking marijuana at the end of the day or drinking too much out at the edge of town—had quickly become an addiction when his urges took a hard turn. Cocaine was plentiful in the Pass, brought up from South America by the drug runners who controlled the border, and her brother had been an easy mark.

But it was the heroin a year later that had sealed his fate.

By the time she’d started freshman year, her parents had already placed Jamie into two addiction programs and a solid amount of familial house arrest. Reese hadn’t fully understood it at the time, but she’d done the only thing she had understood: acting the exact opposite of her brother.

Straight A’s. A steady diet of after-school activities. And her role as the good girl of Midnight Pass. She never smoked, drank and hadn’t even kissed a boy. They were traits that formed her and built the foundation of her life, and up until her late night foray with Hoyt Reynolds back in June, she hadn’t deviated from that plan.

Oh, she’d been kissed since high school. And she certainly enjoyed liquor from time to time. Four years at the University of Texas had helped see her through both rites of passage. But the core of who she was—the good daughter of Serena and Russ Grantham—had stuck.

Which made the warning shots fired across her classroom that much harder to accept.

“Aww, come on, Reese. Don’t make me say it again.”

“No.” She shook her head, even as her fingers itched to pick up the stapler once more. “I need to hear you say it. I want to make sure I got it right the first time.”

Jacob Walters was a friend. He was about five years older than her, but they’d both taught in the English department until he was promoted to assistant principal two years before. It was that steady core of friendship—and the knowledge that Jake was an unfailingly kind human—that kept her in check.

And her hand off the stapler.

“The PTA is concerned,” Jake said.

“Define concerned.”

Jake sighed but kept his gaze level, his words simple and straightforward. “They’re concerned your father’s passing a few months back was too big a trauma not to take some time off.”

“I took time when it happened. Mourned the passing of a parent good and proper, just as dictated in the union bylaws. Two whole weeks,” Reese added for good measure, as if Jake had forgotten.

“They think you may need more.”

“More what? Time to think about something I can’t control or change?” She broke off on a hard exhale when a new thought filled her. “Has someone said something? Is my teaching lacking somehow?”

Reese fought the roiling of her stomach, refusing to let that steady layer of sickness that had accompanied her for six weeks have its way. “And why have they suddenly decided to bring it up now? After I’ve bought supplies for my classroom and set up for the new school year? Why is that, Jake?”

“Come on, Reese. Your father killed himself. After—” Jake hesitated. “Just after.”

“After he killed four people, you mean. Tortured them, too.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“No, it’s not. Nor is the fact that I was teacher of the year two years ago. Or has that conveniently slipped everyone’s mind?”

“No, it hasn’t. Nor have I stopped reminding them every chance I get.”

It was the stalwart support—which she knew she had from Jake—that finally had her standing down. Enough so that she physically sat down, dropping into the rolling chair behind her desk. “You really think they’re going to fire me?”

“Leave of absence. That’s all. They want the fuss to die down a bit more.”

“That’s a load of hogwash and you know it. The fuss has died down.”

“It had until they found that other body.”

The urge to shift her gaze was strong, but Reese kept her focus level with Jake’s. She would not cower. Nor would she slink away in embarrassment. Her father’s crimes were extensive enough—and repetitive enough—to be considered serial in nature. What she hadn’t expected was that his choices in life would leave him a perpetual suspect each and every time a body bearing even the slightest resemblance to his victims was found.

Despite his death the prior spring, Russ Grantham had been considered for murders in El Paso, Houston and as far north as Waco. All crimes in which he was exonerated, but all of which had claimed front-page headlines and the lead focus on the nightly news.

“That wasn’t him.”

“But it made his crimes front and center once more. That scares people. Makes ’em skittish.”

“Their small mindedness means I’m somehow at fault?”

“No, Reese. Not at all.”

Well aware Jake was only doing his job, she opted to play on his softer side. The PTA members had a voice, but they couldn’t simply oust her from her role. Not without garnering a lot more support from a lot more people.

With that in mind, she pressed on.

“I need my job, Jake. My benefits. My salary. What else am I going to do? I have a contract.”

“Which the district knows. You’re locked in for the year. All I’m saying is take some bereavement leave and let this die down. By the time you come back, you’ll have plenty of time to work your magic the next time contracts are being signed.”

The urge to rant and rail at the unfairness of it all was strong, but Reese avoided saying anything further. Jake was just the messenger and he clearly hadn’t taken any joy in delivering his missive. More, he was her friend and he was in her corner, two facts she refused to lose sight of. “Please tell me I don’t need to make a decision today.”

“Of course not. School doesn’t start for nearly a month and the PTA doesn’t have nearly the power it thinks it does. I wouldn’t have taken this job if it did.”

“Alright then.” She nodded at Jake, surprised when he crossed around her desk and pulled her into a close hug.

“Take care of you, okay. As long as I’m here, there will be a job for you.”

“Okay.” She hugged her friend and knew his words for truth. It was only after he’d left her still-unfinished classroom that Reese let her gaze drift to the walls. She’d already begun decorating, her back bulletin board full of pictures of authors who were a mix of the classics, as well as the modern writers her students were reading in droves. She’d worked them all into her curriculum, too, ensuring her students would get as strong a dose of Jane Austen as Suzanne Collins.

Story was story and words were words, no matter where they got their enjoyment. Some of her best students had become that way because she’d encouraged them to read the things they enjoyed—pop fiction, sports almanacs and fashion magazines—well before they dived into the authors who’d been long dead.

That mattered, damn it. It mattered a lot. She was a good teacher. Even if...

Reese tamped down on the direction of her thoughts, resolutely refusing to go there. She was a good teacher—a hardworking, caring teacher—and she’d be damned if she was going to conflate that with her personal life. She wasn’t responsible for her father’s actions. And while she was responsible for her lone night of abandon with Hoyt Reynolds, that wasn’t the town’s business, either.

Even if she had heard the occasional whisper or two.

Jake had been too kind to say it, but she wasn’t stupid. The PTA’s inputs had begun in earnest after word had spread around town that she’d spent an interesting evening at The Border Line with Hoyt Reynolds. She’d ignored the implications—and, best she could tell, he’d done nothing to fuel the flames of innuendo and gossip—but it was out there all the same. She could only thank her lucky stars she lived on a quiet street and Hoyt had left early enough that no one had seemed to notice the large work truck that had taken up space in her driveway one summer evening.

A lone evening that had changed her life.

Reese stood and crossed to the bulletin board, remembering her excitement as she’d tacked up information about the various authors, their bios and covers of some of their most well-known stories. It was only as she reached Nathaniel Hawthorne that she stopped. She’d used the cover of his most renowned novel, The Scarlet Letter, for her board and Hester Prynne stood there in the illustration, back straight, face somber, staring right through Reese in all her puritanical glory.

Reese had never particularly enjoyed the original classic on slut shaming and repressed emotion, but had taught it along with the rest of the American canon of literature through the years. Of late, she’d paired it with Pretty Little Liars to identify the differences in cultural approach and storytelling and found her students to be both receptive and engaged in the discussions that came of both. Their ability to connect the injustice of the time with collective attitudes, regardless of the period, always made for lively discussion and Reese loved seeing their young faces light up when they made a connection or looked at the world in a new way. It was her greatest joy as a teacher.

Only now, someone was trying to take it away. While her choices were neither as dire nor as alienating as Hester’s, Reese couldn’t help it as her gaze flicked back once more to settle on that cover. For the first time in nearly a decade of teaching that book to her students, she’d gained a fresh connection of her own.

Only unlike Hester Prynne’s literary child—a figment of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s imagination and talent—Reese Grantham’s was 100 percent real.

* * *

Hoyt dragged off his heavy work gloves and reached for the towel he’d stuffed in his back pocket earlier, running the thick terry cloth over his face and neck. He hated branding day—knew there was nothing to be done about that, though—and considered what was still left to do.

They’d branded about half the new calves and would need at least another hour to work through the rest. The work was strenuous and tiring and made for a general sense of unease on the ranch the day they did it. The new calves hated it—and who could blame them?—and their protective mothers fussed over their young’s distress.

“Earning our keep today.” Tate’s voice was husky from shouting orders over the loud sounds from anxious calves, and Hoyt didn’t miss his brother’s stiff shoulders and general unease as he took his place beside him at the corral fence.

“That we are,” Hoyt agreed.

He, Tate, their brother Ace and their sister, Arden, were the fourth generation of ranchers and the current owners of Reynolds Station, a large and once-again prosperous Texas cattle ranch. Mismanagement and poor acts by their father had seen to the sell-off of some property and a decade-long process toward getting back on their feet.

And back they were.

Hoyt knew he should take pride in branding day and all it stood for—his father sure as hell had—but he could never muster up the stomach for it.

“Everything okay?” Tate’s question was casual and his brother was wise enough to ask the question with no one in earshot, but Hoyt bristled all the same.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure about that?”

Hoyt shoved the towel back into his pocket, pushing himself off the thick steel bars of the corral fence. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” Tate shrugged, his casual motions at odds with the sharp focus that filled his green eyes. “Seems like you’ve been as skittish as those calves and as upset as their mamas for the past few months now.”

Tate had never been the sibling to poke an emotional hornet’s nest—Arden and Ace were far more adept at the chore—which made the fact his brother was standing there attempting to make inroads that much more of a surprise. “You’re seriously comparing me to a cow?”

“Consider it illustrative.”

“Or annoying.”

“The fact you’re evading the question only adds to my curiosity.”

Hoyt ignored the unsettled feeling that scored his skin like barbed wire. His family usually gave him a wide berth emotionally and accepted his surly personality at face value, but even he knew he’d been worse than usual lately. Not that he was even remotely interested in mentioning that. Or the pretty, sweet woman who’d put him in that unbearably surly mood, with lingering memories of the softest skin and the sexiest kisses that refused to leave his thoughts for more than thirty seconds at a stretch.

He’d wanted to call her, and nearly had numerous times. But then he’d consider it and all he could conclude was that things would eventually grow messy. Something about Reese Grantham made him think about a commitment and a future and that scared the hell out of him.

So what else was a man supposed to do when his brother dug into choppy emotional waters?

Fight back for all he was worth.

“I know Belle Granger and I find it hard to believe she’s down with all these feelings. What happened? She get sick of you so you’re trying them out on me?” Hoyt said.

Tate’s voice stayed level but the easy-going smile he’d worn faded. “Belle’s got nothing to do with this.”

“You sure? Because four months dating the woman and you’re so wrapped around her little finger I’m surprised she even lets you out of the house. What’s the matter? Leash getting tight?”

The remark was nasty—even for him—but Hoyt saw it the moment he met his mark. Tate was a big man, his large frame made even larger by ranch work, and all that muscle bunched up as he stepped back from the fence. Hoyt and his brothers had stopped pummeling each other into oblivion around the age of fourteen, but he had the immediate thought that perhaps old habits died hard.

“Belle has nothing to do with this. But I’m not sure you can say the same.”

“Oh?” Hoyt asked, deliberate and slow. “Why’s that?”

“I think you’re the one walking a short leash. One held firmly in hand by Reese Grantham.”

Whatever casual calm Hoyt had attempted as he stepped back from the fence faded as Tate’s words hit a mark of their own.

* * *

Reese had imagined quite a lot as she drove over to Reynolds Station after leaving the high school. The secret that had gnawed steadily at her for over a month—the one that grew harder and harder to ignore as she spent a solid hour each morning desperately trying to keep down her bland breakfasts—needed air. It needed room to breathe.

And it needed its father to know of its existence.

After the initial shock had worn off, she’d been unable to suppress the sheer joy and happiness that filled her. She was pregnant.

Oh, the timing was off and the situation was far from ideal. The grief over her father was still fresh and the unsettling nature of his crimes had given her a few sleepless nights about what might be lurking in the DNA she was passing on to her child. She’d given the thoughts room to breathe, aware that addressing them was better than burying them, but in the end recognized the gift of life was just that. A gift. She’d be doing herself and her child a disservice if she let fear choke away her happiness.

Add on that she had no relationship to speak of with her child’s father and the Midnight Pass PTA would go ballistic at the news, and she really shouldn’t be this happy. Yet, even with that steady reality, she couldn’t hide her contentment or the overwhelming sense of gratitude that had filled her the moment her gynecologist had confirmed the news. She hadn’t once wavered since.

It was that surety—that absolute rightness—that had kept her focus steady and sure on the fact that she needed to tell Hoyt. She wouldn’t hide this from him or try to keep him from knowing his child. If he chose not to embrace fatherhood that would be his call, but it wouldn’t be from her lack of honesty.

She knew this. Felt it to her very core.

Yet, for the past month, the reality of getting in her car and driving to Reynolds Station had seemed like a chore she could put off another day. Oh, she’d plotted and planned what she’d say, worked through the words and how she was going to say them. But she hadn’t done it.

Jake’s news about the PTA had only solidified the fact that she couldn’t wait any longer.

Nor would the thickening of her stomach that was going to spill her secret unless she did the job first.

Truth and conviction pushed her on, through the large gates and enormous wrought-iron arch that announced the entrance to Reynolds Station. She drove down the immaculate concrete drive that seemed to stretch on for a mile, the ranch house rising up in the distance. That conviction never even wavered as she got out of the car and marched toward the side door that was the entrance to the kitchen and, as Arden had invited her in before, she knew was the preferred spot for family and friends to enter.

Ignoring the steady flutter in her stomach that was entirely different from morning sickness, yet nearly as harsh on the few contents still in there, she knocked on the door. A loud, masculine “Come in!” greeted her and she laid a hand on her stomach, willing what little was left to stay put.

And walked straight into chaos.

Ace Reynolds, the oldest brother and resident patriarch, stood in the middle of the kitchen like a football referee. Only instead of his arms extended in demonstrating football plays, each of his large hands was firmly planted on a shoulder. One belonging to Tate and the other to Hoyt.

Both men were filthy, layers of dust covering their shirts and faces, blood dripping from various cuts. Arden flitted around Hoyt with a first aid kit in hand and Belle Granger, Tate’s fiancée, hovered around his head with an ice pack she kept trying to press to his eye. A mix of low growls and muttered curses continued between the two patients which, best she could tell, seemed to be the cause of Ace’s firm and unwavering hold.

“Reese!” Arden’s voice broke through the noise and the greeting was enough to have Hoyt glancing sideways at her from beneath the steady pressure of a bloodied bandage. “Welcome to the O.K. Corral.”

“There wasn’t a gunfight,” Hoyt muttered.

“And thank God for that,” Arden said before lightly smacking him on the back of the head.

Although it had been a long time since she’d swatted at a man, Reese remembered the urge and couldn’t smother the smile. “It looks like I picked a bad time to visit. I can come back later.”

“Stay.”

That lone word—firm and unyielding and without even the hint of a grunt—left Hoyt’s lips. The order seemed to have an effect on everyone in the kitchen, with puzzled looks coming from everyone except Tate.

Instead of uncertainty, a bright wide, triumphant smile spread across Tate’s face. That same sense of triumph filled his words when he spoke. “Why don’t we give them a few minutes.”

“But you’re still—”

Tate cut off Belle with a squeeze of her hand over the ice pack. “I’m fine. Or I will be, once Ace gets his damn hands off me.”

Reese knew it wasn’t polite to laugh, but the harried exit of four adults, all of whom looked as if they’d rather stay and watch, fell firmly into sitcom territory. She wouldn’t be half surprised if the four of them had considered taking up posts on the other side of the kitchen door to listen with empty glasses through the walls. In the end, though, it was Belle’s firmly worded instructions to head outside that had everyone moving, the kitchen door slamming in their wake.

And then she was alone with Hoyt.

He had tossed the bandage Arden had held against his head, his wound obviously tender but no longer bleeding, in a garbage can by the edge of the counter before turning to look at her. “Sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“The middle of our kitchen doesn’t usually look like a MASH unit.”

“Really?” Reese fought the butterflies that had suddenly taken flight in her stomach by picking up a box of bandages on the table and refitting them in the first aid kit. “With a working ranch full of cowboys, I figured this was par for the course.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged before a small grimace marred his firm, full lips. “But usually that’s due to an accident and not a fight between brothers.”

Although the tableau she’d walked in on—complete with Ace holding each man at bay—had suggested as much, it was curious that Hoyt would readily admit it. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“That was some heavy duty first aid for nothing.”

His grimace grew wider and for a moment, Reese was half convinced Hoyt wasn’t going to say anything. “He suggested I’ve been in a mood,” Hoyt said.

“At the risk of sounding indelicate, aren’t you always in a mood?”

The surly look on his face broke wide open with a smile so dazzling Reese had to take a moment and simply stare. Good Lord, why hadn’t she remembered just how attractive he was? Her fevered dreams each night had convinced her of just how handsome and good-looking he was, but nothing in those heated imaginings came close to the real thing. She’d thought more than once about calling him, but each time chalked it up to the whole one-night thing and left the situation alone. But now? With that broad smile? Oh, the man was lethal.

And she couldn’t help wondering why she’d stayed away so long.

When he finally stopped laughing, his face settled into easier lines than when she’d first walked in. “Right you are. A point my brother was attempting to point out. I think.”

“Why the fight?”

“Because he brought you up.”

“Me? What’s that supposed to mean? And why is it worthy of a brawl?”

“He had the nerve to suggest I’ve been a raging bastard for the past few months over you.”

“Oh.” She hesitated before pressing on. “Was he right?”

Hoyt seemed to consider the question before that gorgeous green gaze settled directly on hers. “Yeah. I think he is.”

“What would I have to do with anything?”

“Reese.” His voice stopped her, any hints of teasing gone. “You know what happened between us.”

Knew?

Goodness, she’d lived with that knowledge each and every day since. She knew the moments they’d spent together—had watched them on the backs of her eyelids like a vivid film—and hadn’t spent a single day since not thinking about him. While it hadn’t been the only cause of her delayed visit, those vivid reimaginings were one of the reasons she’d stayed away. What had been intended as a casual evening, assuaging an adult need in a very adult fashion, had grown out of proportion in her mind.

Hoyt Reynolds wasn’t her knight-errant come to save her from all the problems in her life. In fact, truth be told, he’d added a complication to her life that—while welcome—was absolutely an obstacle to getting her world back to normal.

Normal had vanished. It had begun back in the spring with her father’s deeds and had only gotten more and more pronounced with her own choices. She was pregnant. And this time next year she’d have a small child utterly dependent on her. Life had changed and it wasn’t ever going to return to where it had been.

“While I’m sorry you’re injured and that I might have had any cause in that, I do need to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Hoyt nodded, pulling out a chair. “Sit down. What is it? Something with your father?”

His concern touched her, as did his immediate willingness to speak to the elephant in the room that most everyone else went out of their way to ignore.

“No, not my father. Although the PTA isn’t crazy that the child of a killer is teaching their children.”

The words popped out before she could stop them, her discussion with Jake still bearing more residual anger than she’d realized.

Hoyt laid a hand over hers, folded on top of the kitchen table. “Reese. They don’t matter. You can’t believe they do. You’re a great teacher. Surely they understand that.”

That overwhelming support struck her hard and deep, like a punch to the chest. Only instead of pain, there was a strange warmth, filling her up even as she struggled to catch her breath at the kindness and ready support. “You going to go over and swing at them, too?”

“Will it work?”

“I doubt it. Although I’d pay big money to see Amanda Carneros take a punch to the nose.”

“She still kicking around?”

“She’s a fixture on the PTA. Eight kids have a way of doing that to a person.”

Hoyt gave a mock shudder. “My condolences.”

“Much as I appreciate the support and the diverting imagery, there’s actually another reason I’m here.”

“Sure.” A soft smile had settled over his features, which nothing—even a split lower lip—could mar. “What is it?”

The stomach jitters ramped up as she accepted the fact that she bore life-altering news. News, she knew, that wouldn’t change or grow any easier to hear by waiting another moment longer.

“I’m pregnant.”

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