Lone Stallion's Lady (11 page)

Gina tossed his folder aside and shook her head. This was getting her nowhere in a hurry. The common link between these half brothers was their good looks, very different yet hinting of a Native American ancestry hidden deep in their gene pool. Their mothers were all beautiful, but from different walks of life. Adam’s biological mother had been a cheerleader who had died while giving him birth. Cade’s, a pretty housekeeper.
Brandon’s, a flashy dance hall girl. Young and beautiful and obviously not immune to Larry Kincaid’s charms, whatever they had been.

The next file was a double. The Remmington twins. Blake and Trent. Gina’s foolish, foolish heart twisted a bit. Living this near to Trent was a mistake. Each night she tossed and turned, thinking of him lying next door. She remembered their lovemaking in the DeMarco Hotel in Dallas and the other times he’d kissed her, his lips seeming to brand her own.

“Don’t even go there,” she warned herself, but her mind was already wandering from the job at hand to the feel of his skin against hers, the warmth of his hands, the magic of his breath against her flesh.

She swallowed hard and opened the file. Two pictures of nearly identical men stared back at her. Blake was dressed in a white lab coat with a stethoscope slung around his neck. A bright-eyed boy of about three was seated on Blake’s bent knee. The floppy-haired imp sported a cast that ran down a chubby leg and he grinned widely as he clutched a one-eyed teddy bear to his chest.

Blake obviously enjoyed his career and the children he cared for. She wondered why, during his marriage, he’d never become a father.

Her stomach clenched at the thought. How ironic that she might be carrying Trent’s child. She glanced at her watch, checked the date and sighed. This wasn’t how she’d planned to become a mother and yet the
thought that a baby—Trent’s baby—might be growing inside her was exhilarating. She hadn’t thought much about settling down but she’d always wanted children.

And yet she was terrified. The fact that she hadn’t yet made the time to buy a pregnancy test convinced her that she was in major denial.

She looked down at the file folder to Trent’s picture. It was a far cry from his brother’s. Oh, their features were nearly identical, but that was where the likeness ended. Everything about them from their personalities to their attitude toward life appeared to be in diametric opposition to each other.

The snapshot said it all. Trent stood in front of a gusher, a brazen slash of a smile cutting through two days’ worth of dark beard. His eyes were blue and triumphant, his hair longer than the current trend and blowing in the breeze. No hard hat for the owner of the company. Pride was etched into the set of his jaw, naked challenge flared in his eyes as he stood, arms folded over his chest, the tails of his denim shirt flapping in the wind. Rugged. Wild. A force to be reckoned with, Trent Remmington was at home in designer suits or faded jeans, a man, she was afraid, she could so easily learn to love.

She gasped.
Love?
She thought she could
love
him? Now where did that ludicrous thought well from? She barely knew the man, for crying out loud, and just because…just because she thought she might be carrying his… Her stomach clenched and she suddenly had
trouble breathing. She’d always been a reasonable woman and not one to think that sexual attraction necessarily meant love. But if she was pregnant—

Rap! Rap! Rap!

She glanced up and found Blake leaning against the doorjamb. “Want to take a break?” he asked.

“A break?”

“I’ve got to drive into town and could use a little company. Besides, you know the town and can point me in the direction of the nearest grocery store. I promised Suzanne I’d pick up some of the supplies she forgot earlier.”

“What about Trent?” Gina asked, dumbfounded.

“He’s busy.” Blake’s smile was positively infectious. “Besides, you’re prettier.”

“I—I don’t know,” she started, then decided why not? She was getting nowhere fast as it was. “Sure. Just give me a minute.”

“I’ll meet you in the foyer.” He disappeared and she told herself that any personal involvement with any of the Kincaid sons was a mistake, but then, she’d already made the worst of all. She yanked the rubber band from her hair, swiped at the wavy red locks with a brush, slapped some lipstick over her lips and grabbed her purse. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she breezed down the stairs, nearly running into Trent in the process.

It was funny, she thought, that no matter how much the twins looked alike, she knew instantly which one she
was facing and it wasn’t just a matter of clothes—nope, it was attitude.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, stopping on the stairs.

“Into town.”

His lips compressed. “With Blake.” It wasn’t a question.

“He wanted me to point out the some of the sights.”

“That should take all of two minutes.”

“You could come along,” she invited with a lift of her shoulder.

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “I’ll take a rain check. Have fun.”

Was he being sarcastic? Probably. Trent continued up the stairs and Gina sped down the remainder of the flight.

“That’s the Branding Iron, a local nightspot,” Gina said as Blake steered his plush car through the streets of downtown Whitehorn. Melodic notes of soft jazz whispered through the speakers and the leather interior smelled new.

Blake hitched his chin toward the bar as they passed. “Ever been inside?”

“Just once, to interview the bartender and waitresses. Your father—”

“If you’re talking about Larry, let’s call him by his name, okay. ‘Father’ just doesn’t seem to fit.”

She snorted. “I heard the same thing from Trent.”

“So it really is true—great minds do think alike,” he joked as he drove past Whitehorn Memorial Hospital and the statue of Lewis and Clark positioned near the
front of the building. Tall cottonwoods surrounded the structure and street lamps illuminated the grounds. “I’d always thought that was a fallacy.”

“Take a right here.” She pointed to the next corner.

“Voilà,” he said as the grocery store appeared. Two pickups, a dented station wagon with duct tape holding a taillight together and a Mercedes convertible were parked in the asphalt lot. As Blake cut the engine, a tall, silver-haired man in a sharply pressed suit strode out of the store. Anger and something else—desperation?—pinched the corners of his mouth and he swept the Acura a dark look. In one arm he toted a single paper bag of groceries, but his shoulders were bent with the load of his bad attitude.

“Jordan Baxter,” Gina said as Jordan pressed his keyless lock and the lights of his convertible turned on. Opening the door, he slid behind the wheel.

“Who’s he?”

“A man you want to avoid. The bad blood between the Baxters and the Kincaids goes back for generations.”

Blake laughed. “A family feud. Like the Montagues and Capulets?”

“Not quite so highbrow,” she said, smiling at his Shakespearean reference. “More like the Hatfields and the McCoys, I’m afraid.”

“Are you? That surprises me. You look like the kind of woman who’s not afraid of anything.”

“There is no such animal,” she said as Jordan threw his Mercedes into reverse. The convertible’s sleek
finish appeared nearly liquid in the incandescent glow of the street lamps. With a well-tuned roar, the Mercedes took off.

She reached for the door handle, but Blake didn’t move. He was fiddling with his key chain with one hand, the fingers of the other hand still poised on the wheel. “Before we go inside,” he said, “I’d like to ask you something.”

Her muscles stiffened. His teasing attitude had disappeared along with his boyish smile. “Shoot.”

“Okay.” Turning his head to stare at her directly, he asked, “Are you in love with my brother?”

B
lake’s question followed Gina around like a lost puppy.
Are you in love with my brother?
Who knew? She’d managed to laugh at his suggestion and hurry out of the car into the store, but the thought that she might be in love with Trent kept nipping at her heels, trailing after her, interrupting last night’s sleep and waking her in the predawn hours. She’d given up on sleep and decided to face the day. But even now as she stepped out of the shower into the steamy bathroom, her mind spun at the thought that she just might be falling in love.

“Get a grip,” she told herself, for today was the day that the sons of Larry Kincaid were due to arrive. All her efforts at locating them would culminate this very morning. She flung a thick peach-colored towel around
her body, tucked it over her breasts and used a wash cloth to wipe the steam that had collected on the mirror.

Soon enough she could leave Whitehorn, Montana.

And what then?

Click.

The latch on the door sprang and the door itself opened with a loud creak. Holding the towel to her chest, she whirled around. Trent, fully dressed in jeans and a cream-colored shirt with the sleeves rolled up, slipped in. Her towel nearly fell to the cracked linoleum.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in a harsh whisper, her heart hammering wildly.

“I wish I knew.”

“What do you mean?”

In answer, he kicked the door shut, latched the lock, then grabbed her. Steam rose in the tiny room lit only by a single bulb in a tulip-shaped fixture over the mirror.

“Are you crazy?” What had gotten into him?

“Probably.”

“Now wait a minute—”

“No.” His eyes held hers for half a heartbeat and she was lost. She gulped. His lips crashed down on hers and though she wanted to protest, she couldn’t call up a solitary word of refusal. No, damn it, she practically melted. Just like the silly kind of woman she detested. As if of their own accord, her arms slipped around his neck and she willingly opened her mouth to him. She closed her eyes, feeling soft droplets of water drip from the ringlets of her wet hair onto her bare shoulders.

She was crazy. Downright certifiable. And yet she kissed him as eagerly as he did her. She told herself that she was only fanning the fires of a passion that should never have been lit in the first place, but she didn’t care. What harm there was had already been done.

Her towel slipped a bit, edging lower, but she was so caught up in the emotion of the moment, she didn’t feel it surrender to the insistent pull of gravity, nor would she have cared. Trent was kissing her, devouring her, and deep inside she heated, her flesh tingling, her breath shallow and raspy as she pretended they were all alone in the universe and that loving Trent Remmington was forever her destiny.

Her eyes fluttered a second then closed in ecstasy as he lowered his mouth, kissing the crook of her neck and tugging the towel down until her breasts were exposed. She moaned and leaned against the sink as he bared one round nipple and a cool current of air from the open window moved across her skin. Her nipples puckered in anticipation.

He, running a thumb over one breast, teased and played with the rosy little bud of the other with his tongue, teeth and lips until desire pumped liquid fire through Gina’s veins. Hot. Raw. Hungry. She lolled her head back, her hands at her sides, her fingers gripping the porcelain sink as her knuckles grew white. She wanted him—more than any reasonable woman would hunger for a man. The ache deep inside her pulsed in white-hot beats that pounded through her brain and evoked a whispered moan from her throat.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she should stop him. On this day of days, when the house would soon be crawling with Kincaids, she needed to be composed and relaxed, cool and collected. But his tongue was liquid magic, stroking, touching, caressing. The serrated edges of his teeth toyed with her skin and she arched closer to him, wanting more.

“That’s it, love,” he said, and slowly pulled the towel away from her to let it pool on the bathroom floor. Steamy mist hung in the air as he settled onto his knees, his mouth easing lower, his tongue rimming her navel, his hands moving over her abdomen. Calloused fingers smoothed her skin and she thought of the baby that might be growing within her.

His
child.

His breath was hot against the damp nest of curls at the apex of her legs. He kissed her there and she moaned again, her skin on fire. With little urging, she opened to him and he kissed her, softly at first, then with more insistence, his lips and tongue sucking and licking, his breath swirling hot within her.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming, felt him lift her legs over his shoulders as she balanced against the sink. His groan reverberated through her, and the entire universe seemed to center deep in the most feminine part of her. As a morning breeze swept through the cracked-open window, chasing away the last remaining wisps of mist, the pressure mounted. Sweat sheened her body. His fingers dug into her skin. Lifted higher and
higher, she was climbing, gasping, panting, until she reached the brink and fell over. Her entire body convulsed, the cold porcelain pressed into her hips, the heat of the man she loved breathing fire deep inside.

“Oooohh.” Her throat was dry, her skin fevered. She couldn’t think, could barely speak. “Trent…oh, Trent.”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay.” His words pulsed through her.

“No…I… Ooooh!” She bucked again and the universe collided. Her hands grabbed his head and held him close. She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her mouth against the primal scream that threatened to roar from her.

And then it was over. Her body went limp as he slowly let her legs fall back to the floor. She was dizzy, still spinning.

Straightening, climbing to his feet, Trent dragged her close and wrapped his strong arms around her to cradle her while she drooped against him and pressed her face into his denim-draped shoulder. Spasm after spasm rocketed through her and for a brief second the bathroom seemed to tilt. Standing in bare feet, she clung to him, dripping in sweat, still aching from his lovemaking.

“What— Why…why did you come in here?” she said when some of her equilibrium slowly returned.

“I thought I just showed you.”

“Yes, but…I mean…” She rocked away from him and scraped her hair from her eyes with one hand. “Why now?”

“Because you’ve been avoiding me.”

“You noticed.”

“Hard not to.”

Oh, God, she was stark naked! Reason swept back with a vengeance and she groaned. “I need to get dressed.”

“Fine.” He flipped down the lid of the toilet and took a seat.

“What? You can’t stay here. It’s indecent. Someone might see…” He arched an insolent dark eyebrow and she sighed, realizing the point was moot. “Fine. Whatever.” She stepped into her panties and hooked her bra behind her back while trying not to notice that he was studying her for all he was worth. “Kind of a reverse strip show, isn’t it?”

His Cheshire-cat grin was insufferable. He stacked his hands behind his head insolently. “Maybe later I can rewind the tape and watch it the right way.”

“In your dreams.”

“Precisely.” Her head snapped up to see if he was teasing but his expression was as sober as if he’d been confessing to a priest. His laser-blue gaze burned into hers.

Instantly the heat in her cheeks ignited. She swallowed hard and looked away. What was going on here? Besides acting out some kind of sexual fantasy. Was there more? Or was it her all-too-active imagination? Snatching her shorts and blouse from a hook near the door, she quickly dressed and then, praying that the hallway was empty, unlocked the door and poked her head out.

All clear. She scooped up her nightgown.

“Not so fast.” Trent’s voice arrested her.

“What?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“What did you and Blake talk about last night?” Now she was imagining just a trace of jealousy in his gaze. Was it possible?

“Everything and nothing. Your name came up.”

“I hope in the ‘everything’ category.”

Blake’s question ricocheted through her brain again.
Are you in love with my brother?
Her throat was suddenly as dry as the Mojave Desert. She had to get away. “What do you think?” she quipped back at him, her hand on the doorknob again.

“What I think, Gina, is that you’re running scared.” His words stopped her cold.

“From?”

But she knew the answer before she opened the door and walked briskly along the hallway.

“Me, darlin’. You just don’t know what to do with me,” he said loudly enough that the words chased her all the way downstairs.

Amen,
she thought.
If I live to be older than Methuselah, I’ll never have the first idea of how to handle you.

Seated around the cold hearth in the living room of the main house, Trent surveyed the newcomer with a jaundiced eye. He was the first of the next batch of Larry’s bastards to show up. Dressed in clean, dark jeans, a plaid shirt and a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots, he’d introduced himself as Mitch Fielding. From the small talk that had erupted, Trent learned that Mitch was the youngest of Larry’s bastards.

Mitch was a construction worker who lived nearby. A widower with twin six-year-old girls, Mitch was about six feet tall, with sandy hair, tanned skin and intense hazel eyes. He seemed eager to meet Garrett and the rest of the brood and his aw-shucks, rural persona gritted on Trent’s nerves. The guy even blushed when he’d met Gina, and Trent had been certain Mitch would wear the toe of his boot out with the shy, country-boy routine. It was enough to make Trent sick, but then, he’d been acting way out of character ever since he’d met Gina.

Any man who looked at her was a potential rival.

Now, as Mitch, seated on the worn couch, gushed on about his daughters and Gina sat with Garrett and Blake listening in rapt interest, Trent wanted to plant himself next to her, throw an arm around her shoulders just to make sure that any and all males who looked in her direction knew she was off the market.

Or was she?

Never in his life had he been confused about a woman, but this one, Gina, made him think twice. He hadn’t been this possessive of any woman, not even Beverly when she’d told him she was carrying his child.

His jaw grew hard and he touched the ancient rifle mounted over the mantel, running an experienced finger down the dark barrel of the weapon. For a moment he thought of this morning when he’d heard Gina rise and dash into the bathroom. He hadn’t been able to keep himself from following her. He’d planned to just talk to
her but she’d been so damned sexy in the steamy room, her wet red hair framing a fresh face devoid of makeup. Her green eyes had rounded, her towel had slipped and suddenly he’d forgotten about saying anything. Even now, remembering her thrown back against the counter, her breasts so white and tipped with perfect peach nipples, he started to grow hard. Closing his mind to the erotic memory, he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“…so I was glad to get the call,” Mitch was saying, his fingers laced, his hands hanging between his knees. “My little girls need to know their roots. Their great-grandpa. Their uncles.”

Trent’s stomach turned sour.

“I agree,” Garrett said, casting a knowing look in Trent’s direction. “We’re family.”

Blake laughed. “Kind of an odd mix, but, yeah, we are a family.”

Trent wasn’t buying it. Not for a minute.

He suspected Larry’s legitimate kids, Collin, the man who was about Mitch Fielding’s age, and his daughter, Melanie, might not swallow the “one big happy family” fantasy, either.

He hazarded a glance at Gina, caught her gaze for just a second and realized that the reason he was sticking around the ranch wasn’t because of Garrett and his half brothers. Other than idle curiosity about them, Trent really didn’t give a damn. No, his attraction to the ranch was solely Gina Henderson.

“…and so once I found out that you all existed, I knew I had to do something,” Garrett was saying, standing at the head of the huge dining room table where the newfound illegitimate sons of Larry Kincaid and a few other Kincaid relatives had gathered. All the men had shown up earlier this morning and the tension in the ranch house had been nearly palpable. Strangers who were half brothers, men who had grown up not knowing about their biological father, this ranch, or each other, were understandably wary. Uncomfortable.

Trent was by far the worst.

Half-drunk cups of coffee were scattered over the oak top and a few of the brothers had brought notepads. Trent hadn’t. Sitting low in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, he watched the proceedings silently, appearing as if he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet.

Gina had claimed a chair next to Garrett’s. The box of paraphernalia and her notes lying open, some tossed around the table as the men perused her work and the mementoes Larry had kept of his children. Adam’s report cards; a citation from the juvenile system on Trent; a rodeo ribbon of Cade’s; a yearbook with pictures of Brandon scoring half-a-dozen touchdowns; a copy of Blake’s application to medical school; a photograph of Mitch and his daughters and, of course, the date book/journal indicating that there was one son missing from the table, a baby boy as yet unlocated—maybe never to be located.

Each man had fumbled through his file and the small pieces of his life that Larry had squirreled away. A range of emotions was on display from wistful smiles to barely controlled rage. Other stares were bored or vacant, as if a silent agony was being reined in.

Gina’s throat was tight when she witnessed the pain of rejection some of these men, who all had once been impressionable boys, experienced.

Larry Kincaid should have been castrated, then drawn and quartered for leaving his sons to grow up on their own. But they were here now. And they had questions.

As Garrett spoke, Gina’s stomach was in knots. She felt like the proverbial fish out of water. On top of it, she was the reason all these men had been found and found quickly, though, it seemed, there wasn’t a whole lot of animosity directed her way.