“CHRIST, CARTER, what in the hell are you doing?” Jo said, automatically reaching for the 9mm under her pillow. She felt nothing but cool, smooth sheets.
“Looking for this?” Carter held up her firearm so that she could just make out its shadow. The stench of whiskey and beer made her recoil in disgust as she scrambled out the other side of the bed, her heart thudding in her chest. He must have come in and retrieved the gun when she’d gone into the bathroom to wash off the makeup she’d put on after Trace had left.
Trace…
Jo cringed. Had Carter seen her and Trace? In her experience, no man took well to watching a woman he’d kissed mere hours before kissing another man.
She reached for the light and switched it on, even as she visually and mentally swept the place for something she could use as a weapon.
“Shit, turn that damn thing off,” Carter said, blinking.
Jo backed away from the lamp and the bed, clad in her ratty old T-shirt and panties. Carter seemed to realize the same thing as his heated, drunken gaze took in her semidressed form.
“You’re drunk, Carter. You need to go somewhere and sleep it off before we have this conversation.”
“I didn’t come here for conversation, Jo. I didn’t drive down from Dallas in one-hundred-degree heat so we could talk.”
She’d figured he’d left the area after she’d turned him out yesterday. Apparently he hadn’t done any such thing. Instead, he’d stuck around, perhaps thinking he could change her mind.
“Where’d you go last night, Jo?” Carter asked, reaching to put her gun down on the nightstand, and almost missing. He nearly lost his footing as he moved quickly to stop it from falling. “I came over here and you were gone.” His usually clear gray eyes were bloodshot and watery. “Did you bunk with one of your buddy ranch hands down the way?”
Jo’s gaze trailed to where he stood between her and the door. The ranch hands. Would they hear her if she screamed? She winced. Would she ever live it down if they did?
She stiffened her shoulders. After her stint in the military, she could handle three men like Carter. Of course, that would be three civilian men. Carter was also an ex-marine and would know all her tricks. Mix in the fact that he was drunk and unpredictable, and she didn’t think she liked where she stood much. Not at all. She started to edge toward the bathroom.
“Where you trying to go, Jo?”
Within a blink, he was in front of her, grabbing her arm. She gasped.
“Who is he? Who did you replace me with?”
Jo swung her hair back. “Surely you didn’t think we were exclusive, Carter.”
She knew the words were a mistake the instant they exited her smart-ass mouth.
He grinned at her. “Damn, but you’re pretty. Have I ever told you that? Too pretty for the likes of me, that’s for sure.”
Jo didn’t know if she was more relieved that he hadn’t reacted to her challenge, or more repulsed that he was about to kiss her.
She cringed away from his sour breath even as he yanked her closer.
“Come here, baby. I need you. What’s so bad about that?”
Jo swallowed hard and simultaneously stomped on his booted toes with her heel and twisted her wrist in his grasp. He doubled over, and she bent his arm behind his back.
“Carter, you stink. I think you need to go take a nice, long bath. And think about making that trip back to Dallas and never coming here again.”
She shoved him in the direction of the door, just as it swung inward.
Jo blinked up at Trace who stood holding a 12-gauge shotgun, looking more dangerous than any man she’d ever seen.
And considering her present company, that was saying a lot.
TRACE WATCHED as the taillights of Sheriff Brody’s car disappeared down the long driveway, taking a cuffed and drunkenly angry Carter Southard to the county jail to sober up for the night. Charges, if any, would be decided in the morning, once everything was sorted out.
Trace turned to where Jo stood just inside the door to her room, absently rubbing her arms as she also watched the sheriff’s car. The rest of the guys and Vern had dispersed, leaving the two of them alone.
Trace was filled with an almost overwhelming desire to fold Jo in his arms and hold her close, if only to reassure himself that she was okay. He eyed the red marks on her upper arm, and then glanced into her face, which was void of emotion.
She finally looked at him.
Trace cleared his throat and peered down the cement porch that led to the other rooms. “I’ll have a couple of the guys arrange to take Southard’s bike to the county lockup tomorrow.”
Jo nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Trace wanted to go inside with her, finish what they’d started earlier. Although right now he’d settle for just holding her tight.
But for reasons he couldn’t define, he didn’t think his attentions would be welcome. And he suspected that her reasons weren’t the same as his. He got the impression that something other than keeping their relationship under wraps motivated her actions.
“Will you be pressing charges?” he asked.
Her heavily lashed lids closed over her eyes, then opened again. “For what?”
He squinted and stuck his thumbs into his front jeans pockets. “I can think of a whole host of crimes.” He gestured toward her arm. “That being one of them.”
She followed his gaze, only then seeming to realize she’d been marked by her experience. She turned her arm to consider the bruises more thoroughly, her frown deepening.
“I’ve suffered worse,” she murmured.
“From a man you dated?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then press charges.”
She considered him for a long moment, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, Trace, thank you for your concern. But none of this was really necessary.”
“What, exactly, wasn’t necessary?”
She gestured with her right hand. “I had the situation well under control.”
“I saw that.”
He remembered opening the door to see Jo shoving an intoxicated Southard in his direction, the man’s arm firmly pinned behind his back.
“What made you come here, anyway?”
“If you’ll recall, Vern suspected we had a rustler creeping around the barns.”
“Ah, yes.” She nodded, as if just then remembering what they had been doing when the call had come in.
“When I discovered Southard’s bike hidden next to the barn…well, I wasn’t sure what might have happened, given how you two parted the other day.”
Actually, that was only partially true. If he were to be completely honest, he’d have to confess that the thought of the tall marine being anywhere near Jo now that Trace was seeing her bothered him no end.
“That’s where he always stashes his bike when he visits,” she said in a tone that indicated challenge.
“Are you saying he was invited here tonight?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. While I’ll be the first to admit that my…dating life is not exactly ideal lately, I do not invite two men over on the same night.”
“But you didn’t invite me.”
“So you think I invited him?”
“I’m just asking if you did. It might help explain why you don’t want to press charges.”
“I didn’t invite him.”
If Trace held any lingering hope that he was welcome, it completely disappeared during their brief exchange. Jo was pissed.
He only wished he knew why.
“Well, then. So long as everything’s okay.”
“It’s fine.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “Then I’ll bid you a good evening.”
Jo gave another eye roll, stepped inside her room and slammed the door.
Trace stared at the smooth wood for long moments, trying to remember when he’d last had a door slammed in his face.
Never.