Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

I continue through the house and out the back door. The summer heat sucks the air from my lungs, and I squint against the unforgiving sun, wishing I owned sunglasses.

At least he didn’t follow me.

Weapons training will have to wait until I can stomach the thought of looking at him again.

I have plenty of distractions, such as an herb garden to revive, berries to forage in the grove across the field, and meals to plan.

I spend the rest of the day doing just that. I don’t know where Lorne went, and thankfully, I don’t see him again until dinner.

The smoky aroma of barbecued meat permeates the kitchen as I set out the brisket, fried hominy, and warm bean bread. These were some of my favorite foods as a child. I doubt I prepared them as well as my grandmother did, but everything smells delicious.

The door to the mudroom opens, followed by the clomp of boots. One by one, the ranchers find their way to the table, leaving a trail of dirt on the floor I just cleaned.

I didn’t sign up to be their maid, but I can’t stand a dirty kitchen. Some ground rules might be in order.

Lorne is the last to enter, his jeans carrying fewer stains than the others. His eyes dart directly to mine, and I busy myself with the pans in the sink.

“This looks amazing, Raina.” Maybe lifts a spoonful of hominy to her nose and inhales.

“Thank you.” My stomach rumbles.

I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and I don’t know the protocol. What’s my role here? John never ate his meals with me.

“Oh my God, this is delicious,” Conor says around a mouth full of brisket.

“How was your day?” Jake settles in beside her and runs his knuckles along her cheek.

“I treated a horse with desmitis. The poor thing.”

As she launches into her medical care, Lorne pulls out the chair next to his and finds my eyes.

Sit, he mouths.

I’d rather not sit by him, but it’s the only seat left. I can act like a child and refuse. Or I can do the mature thing.

As I lower beside him, Conor points her fork at him and asks, “What did you do today?”

He kicks back in the seat, all swagger and sex appeal. “I bought a cell phone, renewed my driver’s license, worked out, and was put in my place by a very scary woman.” His eyes drift to me.

A tide of heat rises up my neck, and not just because I’m imagining him working out.

“Why were you put in your place?” Jake glances between Lorne and me, his expression indecipherable.

“I showed my ass,” Lorne says matter-of-factly.

“In the metaphoric sense?” Conor lifts a brow.

“In every sense.” He stretches a leg beneath the table, his fathomless green eyes fastened to mine.

It’s not an apology, and I’m not willing to let it go just yet. “Was there a lesson learned?”

He stares down at the food he hasn’t touched on his plate, his lips twisting into a cocky smirk. “Don’t piss off the woman who prepares your meals.”

Around the table, mouths freeze in mid-chew.

“The food is safe.” I pick up my fork and demonstrate by taking a hearty bite of barbecued brisket.

A communal sigh of relief ripples through the room, and the conversation steers onto safe topics, like this year’s cattle stock.

After dinner, Lorne sticks around to help me tidy up. The family is good about loading the dishwasher and offering to pitch in. They’ve been fending for themselves their whole lives. But I chase them away to clean up the mess I made while cooking.

“I have a few more errands to run tonight.” Lorne leans against the counter beside me. “You’ll be riding along.”

“Why?” I toss down the towel and turn toward him.

“We both need clothes.”

“You want to take me shopping?” I can’t picture it. “I don’t have money. Besides, the stores will be closed.”

“You’re earning your keep, and I have a friend who owns a shop.” He strides away. “We leave in ten.”

“I need to take a shower.”

“I’ll be in the truck.” He prowls out of the kitchen.

I growl under my breath and head to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, I stroll out to his pickup. I skipped washing my hair in lieu of cutting a pair of his jeans into shorts. And I cut them short, right beneath the panty line, giving a new meaning to boyfriend jeans.

His gaze flies straight to my legs as I climb in beside him.

“You can’t go out in public like that.” He rests an arm on the steering wheel, his expression tense.

“I can, and I will.” I latch the seat belt.

“You look like a buckle bunny.”

“If you don’t lay off, you’ll be shopping alone.” I adjust the knot of the flannel top to sit higher so my entire midriff is bared.

With a grunt, he starts the engine and hits the road.