* * * * *
Trace tossed and turned in her bed, slipping in and out of a misty dream world.
The poker game went on and on, like it was never going to end.
And then she was on her back on the table, her dress hiked up around her waist and Jess sliding his cock deep into her pussy.
Everyone continued playing around them, tossing their now rainbow-colored poker chips onto Trace’s bare belly. Even as Jess fucked her, she realized the poker chips on her belly were actually condoms. Lots and lots of condoms across her stomach and scattered across the table, but Jess hadn’t put one on.
He kept driving into her, the game around them never stopping. Dee and Catie repeated something that sounded like
poison, poison
, while Jake and Jarrod responded with
fire, fire
.
All Trace knew was that she needed to come so bad she couldn’t stand it. But the tension in her abdomen only intensified until she thought she’d lose her mind…
And then she was alone.
Utterly and completely alone. Standing somewhere dark and cold, like a cave, and she was entirely naked.
Where was Jess? Without him she felt incomplete, lonely even.
Trace didn’t know what had happened, or where she was, but something in her gut suddenly told her that Dee was in danger.
She had to find her sister. Had to help her.
And then Trace was out in the open. She ran across the dream desert…she dodged through tumbleweeds and mesquite bushes, hurrying toward the barn. Yes, that was it. She had to get to the barn. She had to hurry—
Trace’s eyes flew open and she stared up at the white canopy above her bed. Her heart raced like she’d really been running and she couldn’t catch her breath.
Her limbs trembled as she sat up in bed and braced her back against the headboard and her arms on her knees. That horrible feeling that something was wrong wouldn’t go away. She’d never been superstitious. Never been one to believe in dreams or intuition, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should get up and go check on things. Why, she didn’t know, but she just had to do it.
A sense of urgency took over. She hurried out of bed, pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it onto a chair. After she yanked on her sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, she stuffed her feet into her Nikes. She grabbed her jacket as she headed down the hall and toward the front door.
Someone had left on the Christmas lights, and they helped her make her way without stumbling. Blue stirred in the kitchen and Trace heard the dog’s nails click against the tile as he followed her into the living room.
“You sense it to, don’t you, boy?” Trace murmured as she neared the window.
Blue’s ears pricked forward as he jumped up and rested his front paws on the windowsill and looked out into the night with Trace.
Everything was still. Nothing moved.
And then Blue growled.
Trace was about to look at him when she thought she saw a flicker at the far end of the barn, where the storage room was, and her skin chilled. There it was. Stronger now. Like a flashlight…but different.
Her heart pounded and she started to yell for Jake and Dee, that there was an intruder, when she realized what the flicker was.
Fire.
Blue growled and then barked, loud and sharp, and Trace shouted at the top of her lungs, “Fire in the barn! Fire in the barn!”
She ran toward their bedroom door, still yelling, but as she reached it Jake came crashing out, pulling on his boots, his pants undone and no shirt on.
“A fire in the barn,” Trace repeated frantically and then turned and ran for the front door, yanking it open and barreling into the night, screaming, “Fire! Fire!”
Blue barked at her heels and Trace didn’t stop yelling as she ran toward the barn. Vaguely she remembered seeing the man’s shadow from the house’s window, but she couldn’t be concerned with that now. There were too many animals locked up in that barn and she had to help get them out.
The acrid odor of smoke met her as she neared the barn. She coughed and choked as she tried to shout some more. The bell! Trace dove for the ancient bell and grabbed the rope hanging down from it and pulled.
It started clanging, loud and clear in the night. Above the noise she could already hear the shouts of men and saw them running toward the barn.
Smoke poured from the barn and the horses screamed their fright from inside. She’d seen the fire at the opposite end of the barn, and so far no flames from the barn door.
Trace released the bell’s rope and dove for the lights, flooding the barn with a yellow glow that blinded her for a second. She yanked off her jacket and tied the arms around her head so that her nose and mouth were covered, but she could still see. Dodging inside the barn, she ran toward Dancer’s stall.
Men shouted behind her, and Trace thought she heard someone calling her name, but she didn’t care about anything except getting those animals out.
Smoke burned her eyes as she reached Dancer. The mare was wild-eyed and frantically pawing at the stall door. Trace climbed up the side of the gate, took the jacket from her face and covered Dancer’s eyes with it before releasing the bolt lock, speaking to the mare in low, steady tones and calming her down.
As she led Dancer out of the barn, the smell of smoke nearly overwhelmed her. She heard shouts, saw men rushing back and forth, and knew they were fighting the fire. Everything seemed to be a blur, a horrific kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, smells and sensation.
When she finally made it out of the barn with Dancer, Trace led the horse to the closest corral. The teenaged ranch hand helped her open the gate and put the mare safely inside. Clenching her jacket in her hands, Trace rushed back to the barn, set to go in again.
Someone grabbed her from behind and whirled her around. “What the hell are you doing?” Jess’s face was streaked with smoke his furious glare focused on her.
“I’m getting the animals out!” She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“It’s too damn dangerous in there, you little shit.” Jess gripped her arm and started dragging her toward the far end of the barn. “That smoke could kill you,” he said as he brought her to where the men were fighting the fire with hoses and buckets and fire extinguishers. A sigh of relief rushed through her when she realized the fire was almost out.
“Get a bucket and help from this end,” he said in a tone she’d never heard from him before. “If you try to go into that barn before I say it’s time, I’ll tie you to the fence post.”
With that he strode back to where the men where still throwing buckets of water on the fire from the stock tanks, and spraying it down with the hose. Trace’s first instinct was to be furious with him for his high-handedness, but then she realized what it was she’d heard in his tone and seen in his eyes.
He’d been scared for her. Afraid something had happened, or that something would happen to her.
If she’d thought it was all a blur before, it seemed even more so, later. By the time the fire was completely out and all the animals treated and returned to their stalls, dawn was breaking. Trace was so tired that she could hardly see straight. Her muscles ached, her eyes and throat burned and she felt like she’d sleep for a week.
While the men had fought the fire, Dee had called the sheriff’s office. Jarrod had arrived by the time the fire was out, and spent time going over the scene with Jake and Jess.
After they took a look around, the three men were sure the fire had been deliberately set. And when Trace told them about the shadow she’d seen, that confirmed it in their eyes, although they intended to investigate it further.
Even as her tired mind listened to the men discuss the fire, it sure seemed like Jess knew a lot more about crime investigations than most ranch foreman would probably know.
Trace could hardly keep her eyes open, and she didn’t protest when Jess insisted she get back to the house, take a shower and then get to bed. He didn’t say another word about her running into the barn like she had. Instead he escorted her into the house, kissed the top of her head, and then left her there staring out the living room window and watching him walk away.
Chapter Eight
Jess stood behind Trace at the firing range as she aimed the handgun at the target. “That’s it, sugar,” he murmured, even though she couldn’t hear him through the protective ear coverings she wore, “you’re doing fine.”
She seemed to understand him, though, and her hands were steadier on this shot than they’d been during her first half dozen. Trace had argued with him about not needing to learn how to handle a firearm, but after that threatening note and then the incident in the barn just a couple of nights ago, he wasn’t taking any chances.
Someone was messing around with the MacLeod women, and he was going to make sure nothing happened to either of them.
When Trace finished firing that last round of bullets, she set the gun down, pulled off her ear coverings and gave him a tired smile. “I think I did better that time.”
Jess nodded and pressed the button that slowly brought the target back to them. “I think you’re right,” he said as he pulled the target off the clip. She had a tendency to aim a little high, most of her shots going to the target’s neck, but it was a sight better than her first try. Those holes had been scattered all over the target.
Trace rubbed the earrings along her left ear, something he noticed she did whenever she was deep in thought. “I don’t understand why this person would do the things he’s doing? Why the note? Why burn the barn?”
With a shrug, Jess replied, “I don’t know, but I aim to find out.” Best he could do without getting into more privileged information. Truth was he had a pretty good idea, and he knew he was getting closer to finding the bastards responsible.
Frowning, Trace looked as though she intended to say something else when she turned to look at the shooter setting up right beside them. Big Tits Newman herself.
Trace turned away and started packing up the ammo, and then slid the gun back into its zippered case.
“Won’t do you a damn bit of good in there.” Jess smiled and rubbed his hand over her back. “You need to carry it around. Get the feel of it.”
“It makes me nervous.” Trace eased the zipper up and around the case. “I feel safer using my bare fists and my feet.”
“You’re real good at it, too.” He moved his fingers to her neck and she shivered beneath his touch. “I’d wager you could kick some ass if you had the chance.”
She raised her brows. “So…you’ve watched me practice my kickboxing?”
“Every chance I get,” he murmured.
A commotion in the lane next to them caught Jess’s attention and he turned his gaze toward Kathy Newman’s target that she’d just pulled in.
“Wow,” Trace said, a touch of surprise in her voice. “She’s really good.”
He shrugged as he studied her target. The shots were all centered on the head. Apparently Newman liked the idea of blowing a man’s brains out better than his heart.
When Jess and Trace moved to pass the woman, Big Tits practically shoved her shot-up target in Trace’s face. Her smile was as thickly sweet as her perfume. “A hell of a lot better than your pitiful display,” she said.
With more class than Kathy Newman could ever hope to have, Trace nodded. “You’re absolutely right. I could never be like you, Kathy.”
Big Tits gave a smug smile and turned back to her next target, clearly dismissing Jess and Trace.
Jess draped his arm around Trace’s shoulders as they headed out to his old Chevy. “You make that call to Harold yet?” he asked.
* * * * *
Three days later, Trace glared at the punching bag Jake had set up in a corner of the barn storage room, where she’d trained every day for almost two weeks now. The difference now was the heavy odor of smoke from the fire that just wouldn’t go away.
Her breath came in angry huffs and sweat trickled down the small of her back beneath her workout clothes. Her skin was warm and flushed from her intense workout, and she barely felt the chill in the air.
Damn those bastards
, Trace fumed at those who were responsible for the fire six days ago and for the dozen cattle that had been poisoned last night—found dead this morning
.
She jabbed at the leather bag several times, a litany of
damn them, damn them, damn them
running through her mind with every punch
.
Using skill obtained from four years of kickboxing practice, Trace raised one leg, and with a powerful side kick she slammed her Nike clad foot into the punching bag. Her ponytail slapped against her back as she followed up with five quick bare-fisted jabs, each punch feeling solid and good, and relieving some of her frustration.
A little, anyway.
Part of her frustration was sexual, and no amount of punching
or
masturbating was going to make
that
ache go away. Nothing and no one could—except Jess.
Within moments of meeting him, the cowboy had turned Trace’s perfect world upside down. She had an incredible job, a great boyfriend, and
had
been genuinely happy with her life. Maybe slightly bored with Harold, but she’d figured that was normal in a long-term relationship. She’d thought that she had everything that she needed or wanted.
But ever since she’d met Jess, no matter how hard Trace tried, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Hadn’t been able to stop
wanting
him. And darn it, she’d
tried
.
If she wasn’t careful she was going to wind up falling in love with the cowboy, and that just didn’t fit into her plans.
Trace finally had gotten the courage to call Harold, to tell him that it was over, but he hadn’t been there when she’d called, and hadn’t returned her messages. If it was possible, she’d rather tell him in person, but she didn’t want him to come all the way out to Arizona for Christmas, just to have her dump him. She’d called him every day since that morning out at the shooting range with Jess. Maybe she didn’t know what would happen in the future with Jess or any other man, but she knew it was time to quit avoiding ending things with Harold.
She gave the black leather punching bag another wallop.
It was definitely time to let Jess give her what he’d been offering. Just thinking about the man made Trace’s nipples ache, her pussy tingle, and drenched her panties.
Damn but she wanted him.
Argh.
In a quick movement, Trace spun and kicked the punching bag dead-on with her right foot. In a flash she nailed it again with her left foot, then jabbed at the bag with each fist in rapid-fire succession.
Just as she was about to kick the bag again, hair prickled at her nape.
Strong hands gripped her shoulders from behind.
Wild thoughts tore through her mind—of the arsonist and the bastards who’d poisoned the cattle.
Adrenalin pumped through Trace, and she went on defensive auto-pilot.
She shot out her foot, low and hard, connecting with a booted shin. At the same time she twisted and broke free of the grip on her shoulders. She whirled, sending her fist into a hard muscled abdomen—
A fraction of a second before she realized it was Jess.
“You’ve got a helluva left, sugar.” He grimaced and rubbed his abs with his palm. “That’s certainly one way to greet a man.”
“Oops.” Trace’s cheeks burned as she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “Maybe that’ll teach you not to sneak up on a woman.”
He took a step closer, dominating her personal space, but she lifted her chin and held her ground. Beneath his dark Stetson, dirt streaked his stubbled face and he smelled of dust, horse, and testosterone. Sweat soaked his blue denim work shirt, and dang if he wasn’t wearing a pair of well broken-in chaps.
No fair. A good looking cowboy in chaps had always been one of her weaknesses. There was just something sexy about a man in all that leather.
Trace shivered, her nipples hardening, her pussy throbbing and tingling. She could picture him naked, with only his chaps on, his cock thrusting out—
Jess’s wicked blue eyes glittered as he moved so close that his belt buckle brushed her belly. “I’ve been dying to get you alone.” He placed one hand on her hip and reached up to trail his thumb along her cheekbone with his other. “I can’t hardly sleep at night, picturing you in my bed. Thinking about sliding between those silky thighs and fucking you.”
Heat suffused her body, starting from where his hand rested on her hip, flowing through her pussy, up to her breasts and neck and on up to the roots of her hair.
Trace swallowed hard past the dry lump in her throat. She licked her lips and a muscle in his jaw twitched. God but she wanted him to kiss her. Wanted to feel his sweaty naked body against her own.
His mouth neared hers and she braced her hands against his muscled chest. “Did you tell him?” he asked, the deep rumble of his words rolling through her body like thunder.
“I—I haven’t been able to reach Harold,” she whispered.
“Bullshit.” Jess slid his hand from her cheekbone, roughly brushing her earrings as he reached for her hair. Grabbing her ponytail in his fist, he pulled on it, gently bringing her closer to him. He swept his lips over hers and she tasted his breath as she moaned. He nipped at her lower lip and she sighed into his mouth. “I can’t hold off much longer. Get a hold of your ex and break the news.”
“Tracilynn?” A British man’s voice called from the other end of the barn, shattering the hold Jess had on Trace. “Are you in here?”
“Oh, God. It’s Harold.” Trace tried to push away from Jess but he kept his grip on her hip and her ponytail. “Let me go!”
Jess’s eyes narrowed, and his voice was firm as he said, “Looks like you’ll have your chance to break it to him now.”