5
Collision
Lawson’s Landing, early September
Life was funny. And not in the ha-ha sense. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed running, and the four weeks in rehab rekindled that love.
He had a second chance.
A new lease on life.
And he was not going to fuck it up this time.
His feet pounded the Texas dirt with renewed determination.
While in Colorado he’d had time to think about his future. Aidan’s antagonistic reaction had him reconsidering his initial desire to stay on the ranch. The job offer from the DEA — training undercover recruits — he’d rejected out of hand. He was done with anything connected to his former life.
He veered left, leaving the gravel road, taking a shortcut to the back of the Main House.
Another option was the cabin in the woods. Colorado had some wonderful scenery. A lot of remote areas.
Or he could buy his own bit of land here in Texas.
He had choices.
Yet none of them appealed.
He wanted to be here .
Close by the people he had let down.
To do that, he’d have to take whatever shit his brother heaped on him, and—
She came out of nowhere, and he swerved, but she was too close and he too fast. They collided and momentum sent them to the ground. He barely managed to avoid falling on top of her by twisting his torso at the last moment, executing a nifty tuck and roll, leaping back onto his feet.
He looked down at the woman sprawled across the lawn, her hair spilling over her face, catching fire in the early morning sun. Faded jeans, scuffed boots, and an open checkered shirt over a white tank that clung to her curves.
She wasn’t wearing a bra, the soft cotton of her top almost translucent.
What a glorious sight. That was his first thought — before his mind registered that she wasn’t moving.
As in not breathing.
“Fuck.” He dropped down beside her and touched her shoulder.
Her torso bucked, her breasts heaved, and an ominous whistling sound emanated from her lungs. “Easy, darlin’.” He slipped a hand under her shoulders and eased her up a bit, settling her back against his bent knee.
Her hair flowed over his forearm, his bare thigh. A wave of copper silk. The last time he’d seen that exact shade of auburn hair was nearly twenty years ago. And the reminder sent a jolt through his pulse.
He shook off the memory and moved a hand across her face, gently tucking some flyaway tendrils behind her ear. Her earlobe was pierced in two places. A tiny diamond-encrusted horseshoe and a small dangling gold loop.
She sucked in a rattling breath.
“Breathe in through your nose, exhale from your mouth,” he said. From his vantage point above her head, his gaze fell on the delightful view of the deep valley between her breasts as she followed his instructions.
With a silent curse, he averted his eyes.
Don’t be a perv, asshole. She’s hurting. You hurt her.
A fair amount of grey streaked the glorious red, and once again, his mind wandered back to the verboten one. He’d never had the pleasure of touching her hair, but he’d bet his last dollar it would be as soft and luxurious as this woman’s.
Her breathing evened out, each inhalation less rasping than the previous.
“You ready to stand, darlin’?”
She nodded, bending her knees. He hooked his hands beneath her arms, helping her to her feet. And ignored the surge of lust when the tips of his fingers brushed against the soft curves of her breasts. She took a moment to dust her backside with her palms before lifting her head.
And he got his first proper look at her face.
For a moment he figured his mind was playing tricks on him.
But those eyes.
Flawless emeralds.
“The fuck?” He blinked and refocused his stare. She was still standing before him. “Brandy-Lyn?”
“You’re back,” she wheezed.
“You’re … here ?”
He looked around. It had to be an illusion. There was no way Brandy-Lyn, Sullivan’s Brandy-Lyn , was standing before him, here , on Lawson’s Landing.
But the sun beat hot on his head; birds flitted in the air; cattle lowed in the distance. He was on the ranch. And she definitely stood before him.
This was not a weird hallucination contrived by his muddled mind. Even though it had been years since he’d seen her, her image was immortalized on his grey matter.
She was real.
And here.
“What the fuck are you doing on Lawson’s Landing?” He narrowed his eyes. “Do not think of causing trouble for my brother,” he warned, wagging a finger at her.
Her eyes turned frosty, and she slapped at his hand. “Go to hell.” She pivoted and stepped away. Swaying, the color drained from her face, her freckles stark against pale skin.
“Fuck,” he muttered, moving fast, effortlessly lifting her into his arms. He scanned their surroundings, looking for a suitable place to set her down.
She stirred. “Put me down,” she mumbled.
“You might have concussion.”
“I did not knock my head.”
“Red, you whacked that ground something awful.” Brandy-Lyn lurched again, and fearing she would tumble from his hold, he loosened his grip and set her on her feet, keeping his hands on her waist.
Her eyes narrowed to green slits. “Are you insinuating I’m fat?”
Brandy-Lyn sounded so vexed, he couldn’t help grinning. “No, ma’am.” He dared not tell her exactly what he thought of her shapely form. And what he’d like to do with that form.
She was off-limits, his brother’s ex-girlfriend.
“And don’t call me Red. That’s so … clichéd,” she spat, twisting from his hold.
He kept one arm stretched out. Just in case.
She glared at his offending limb. “I’m not gonna fall over.”
Rafferty gave her a quick once-over. The color was back in her face and she seemed stable on her feet. He dropped his arm “What are you doing here, Brandy-Lyn?”
A frown creased her forehead. “What do you mean?”
“Think my meaning was clear. What the fuck are you doing on Lawson’s Landing?” he expanded, enunciating each word.
“I live here.”
“The fuck you say?”
“I. Live. Here.”
“You live here?”
“Seriously? Have the drugs addled your brain?”
He reared back, his jaw falling open.
A red hue flooded her cheeks. “My bad. That was extremely insensitive.” She reached for him, her fingers touching his arm.
He flinched.
She dropped her arm and inclined her head to the assortment of buildings a short distance away. “I part-own Blaze Canyon Stables.”
He viewed the equine breeding and training centre. Lawson Stables, not— “Blaze Canyon Stables?”
“We changed the name, rebranded, after I bought in.”
“You own a business with my brother?”
“I do.”
He squinted at her. “What game are you playing?”
Brandy-Lyn cocked her head, frowning again. “What do you mean?”
“ Your brain addled now?”
“My business,” she hissed, “has nothing to do with you.”
“If it involves my brother, it does.” He moved closer and snarled, “If you even think of messing things up between him and Marielle, think again.”
She leaned in, so close their noses almost touched. “I have no intention of ‘messing things up’ for Sullivan. And just so we are crystal clear, you” — she jabbed a finger in his chest — “stay the hell out of my life.”
Straightening, she tossed her head back, eyes no longer icy. Rather, they blazed with censure. “You’ve enough trouble of your own to sort through.”
*
Brandy-Lyn was still steaming when she stomped onto the veranda.
Rafferty Lawson’s return was on everyone’s lips.
She’d heard multiple versions of his past, all varying degrees of appalling.
What an ass. She yanked off her boots. Like she needed the added aggravation in her life.
Sullivan’s twin had rubbed her the wrong way twenty years ago, and absolutely nothing had changed since.
And it was not, one hundred percent not, sexual attraction as Jackie had claimed.
But holy shit, the man was hot.
Sleeveless tank, sheen of perspiration, all those sinewy muscles.
And thighs — thick and strong — perfectly showcased in the silky shorts.
And his …
Ugh, Brandy. Get ahold of yourself, woman.
Not noticing his dancing package.
There are no waltzes with Rafferty Lawson in your future.
The man was trouble.
T.r.o.u.b.l.e.
And your ex-boyfriend-current-business-partner’s identical brother, which renders him off limits.
Off. Limits.
She pushed into the mudroom and placed her boots beside the door. “Too soon, Dad,” she heard Preston say from the kitchen.
Dammit . She had forgotten. Richard had called her earlier (he was the reason she was caught off guard rushing from the stables) and told her of his intention to come to Bulwark to see the kids.
She had told him to hold off informing them until she’d figured out how they felt. As always, he’d ignored her advice.
“Whatever,” Preston said, followed by a thunk .
Brandy walked into the kitchen. Preston stood behind the counter, his back to her. The girls were on the other side of the breakfast counter facing her.
Olivia’s eyes met hers. “Dad’s coming this weekend.”
“I know.”
“I told him it’s too soon, Mom,” Preston added.
“Y’all have to face him sometime.”
“I never want to see the slimeball again,” Amelia declared.
“Don’t be a bitch!” Olivia shouted.
Brandy poured a cup of coffee.
Amelia scraped her stool back, aiming a glare at her sister. “You can find your own way to school today.”
“Fine by me,” Olivia snipped back.
Amelia fingered a rude gesture and stormed up the stairs.
Brandy gulped a mouthful of coffee.
It burned all the way down her esophagus.
And Lordy, her shoulder ached where it slammed into the ground.
“Mom, you need—”
“Olivia,” Brandy cut in, “not now.” She turned to Preston. “You got breakfast?” It was her son’s week preparing breakfast.
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’m gonna shower.” Mug in hand, she walked into her bedroom. It was a new addition to the house, her private oasis from the general mayhem of loud and opinionated teenagers. The sage green and off-white décor only added to the overall sense of tranquility.
Don’t get her wrong — she loved her kids. Truly. And would walk through fire to protect them. But some days …