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Bryce stomped off his frustration. He’d been ready to talk to Cecily, trying to figure out how to start, and then she jumps in with her project and Grady. What about talking about the two of them? Him and her. Had he been reading her wrong all these months? Was he simply a casual way to spend an evening? Grab a pizza, a couple of beers, settle in on the couch and watch a movie or a football game?
He’d thought she might be interested, but he didn’t want to ruin things by being pushy. Should he have brought flowers? Chocolate? All that mushy romantic crap? He thought she was the take it slow type. The comfortable, just being together can be good type. Not the quick fling type.
Had he been going too slow? He hadn’t touched her. She hadn’t touched him, either. Weren’t women supposed to let you know if they were interested in ... more? She hadn’t.
He kicked a loose rock. She wasn’t interested.
What now, you jerk?
He could walk away. He should walk away. He would walk away.
She was his boss’s sister, after all.
Let her have her detective. Andy. They worked together. Probably had a lot of shared interests.
Calmer, but no less frustrated, Bryce scanned the sky for vultures. None circled. A good thing.
He scuffed toward the SUV. He was a wrangler. Cecily was a do-gooder. Because she’d been brought up on a ranch and knew her way around livestock didn’t make them right for each other.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
“Hey, Bryce, get your ass in gear.”
Bryce looked up at the sound of Frank’s voice. The cowboy stood by Andy’s RAV4’s open door and waved him over. Were they ready to leave? Or had they found something? He picked up his pace.
Andy pulled away as soon as Bryce was inside. Cecily didn’t say anything, so neither did he. When Frank told Andy to turn left instead of right, which would have taken them to the ranch, Bryce assumed they were going to the pasture to let detective Andy see the dead steer. Maybe he’d toss his cookies the way Grady had.
Despite the pleasant late afternoon sun pouring through the open windows, the atmosphere in the backseat was decidedly chilly. They slowed as they approached the first gate.
“Got it,” Bryce said, and had his door open before the vehicle came to a halt.
“Would this have been the route your guy would have used?” Andy asked. “If so, we might get some evidence from the gate or the ground around it.”
“If he was smart, he’d have taken the shortest route and gone straight through the wooded area,” Frank said. “Dirtbags aren’t always smart. If he’s a rancher, gloves are the norm. If he’s a dirtbag, he’d know enough to wear gloves, so fingerprints on the gate aren’t likely.”
“There might be boot prints,” Andy said.
“Wouldn’t they be the same as the ones you already found?” Cecily asked.
“If they are, that strengthens the case. Plus, the ones we found—that Frank found—weren’t clear. We might find something better here,” Andy said.
Frank and Andy got out of the SUV, inspected the ground and the gate for a moment, then returned. “Nothing,” Andy said.
Bryce waited until Andy drove through, then closed the gate and got into the car.
“Seems like a pain,” Andy said. “Open, close, open, close.”
“Yeah, but there aren’t any stoplights,” Frank said. They bounced around awhile longer, until Frank said, “Stop here. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“I’ll wait in the car.” Cecily turned to Bryce. “You’ve already seen this, haven’t you?”
Did Bryce detect a hint of apology in the way she looked at him? Maybe. Maybe not. “No,” he said. “I’d like to see it for myself.”
Her forehead creased. “A gross dead steer? You do?”
Did she want him to wait in the car? Or think he was crazy? Damn women, anyway.
“You want me to stay here?” he managed to ask.
“If you want to,” she said.
What did that mean?
“We’ve got it covered,” Frank said. “Shouldn’t take long.”
Didn’t answer his question, but solved his problem. He guessed. Frank and Andy took off, and Bryce stared out the window for a moment.
Say something. Anything. Just start talking.
He figured he might as well start with what Cecily wanted to hear. See where it led. “Grady’s doing all right.”
Her eyes lit up. Her smile widened. For a minute, he thought she might clap her hands like a three-year-old.
“I’m so glad to hear it coming from you, since you’ve seen the most of him. Is he doing any better with the horses?”
Bryce grabbed his ponytail and bounced his fingers from band to band.
“That bad?” she said.
“Huh?”
“When you do that bass guitar thing with your hair, I know you’re either nervous or ... stretching the truth.”
“He’s not comfortable around them, but I’m working on it. We don’t have to turn him into a cowhand, do we? There’s plenty of non-horse things to do on the ranch, and he’d still learn responsibility and pick up skills. Derek agreed.”
He waited out her silence while he watched the gears grinding in her brain. So, Derek hadn’t mentioned it to her.
“You’re right. I was transferring what I loved to do on the ranch—and the way Lemuel connected with the horses. My program isn’t designed to be equine therapy. That requires a whole different skill set, and trained therapists.”
“I get it.” Bryce took a breath. He wasn’t sure which of his brains was in charge, but he took her hand. “Can we talk about something else?”
She cocked her head. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”
He glanced out the front windshield and saw Frank and Andy still making their way across the pasture toward the steer. Heat crept up his neck. “Nothing.”
Confusion filled her eyes. “Something? Nothing? What do you want?”
“This.” Heart pounding, he scooted across the seat until he was close enough to brush his lips against hers. Would she draw back? Push him away? Why did he feel like this was his first kiss?
Because it’s your first kiss with Cecily.
He felt the tiniest jerk as she startled—but only for a split second. She scooted closer.
He inhaled her scent. The fruity lip gloss. The floral, woodsy aroma of her perfume. Something citrus in her hair. He dared to tease the seam of her lips with his tongue. Soft lips. A tropical taste.
She opened to him—just a fraction. Gently, he coaxed her tongue with his. Minty. She still didn’t pull away. Her free hand—because he wasn’t going to let go of the one he held—wrapped around the back of his neck. Drew him closer. Adjusted the angle of contact.
Her tongue darted deeper, sliding along his. He caressed her between her shoulder blades. Down her spine. He swallowed the sigh that escaped her lips.
A warning niggle rippled up from the farthest, deepest part of his brain. A flicker of motion, a murmur of voices. He released Cecily and slid to his side of the seat. Told that insisting part of him to chill.
Cecily ducked her head, avoiding Bryce’s eyes. He’d yanked away in the middle of one of the sweetest, most tender kisses she’d ever had. Then she heard the voices. Andy and Frank were coming back. She reached over and gave Bryce’s hand a quick squeeze, then hopped out of the SUV and intercepted the men. “You find anything?”
“Maggots,” Frank said.
“Duh,” she said. “Anything useful?”
“’Fraid not.” Andy stowed his kit in the back of the RAV4, then got behind the wheel. “Wish I could pull some fancy detecting out of my hat, but we’ve got nothing but those boot prints. The odds favor the wearer of those boots killed the steer, but it’s not conclusive.”
“Good enough for me,” Bryce said.
“You’re not a judge,” Andy said. “There was a lot of blood, which was to be expected. If there’s any of the killer’s blood intermingled, we’d have to test the entire steer, and that’s not going to happen.”
“You do have the blood from the other site, right?” Cecily climbed into the car and buckled her seatbelt.
“Yes, and once we know whether it’s even human, DNA tests would take three forevers and you’d have to send them to a private lab and foot the bill. Then, if—and it’s a big if—we get a hit in CODIS, we’d know who was in your pasture. It still won’t hold up that he killed your steer.”
“Would for me,” Bryce muttered.
“You’re not talking vigilante justice, I hope,” Andy said. “If so, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Hear what?” Frank said.
Andy started the engine. “You should report this to the branding inspector. More their line of work.”
“We can let Derek know,” Cecily said.
They bumped their way across the pastures back to the ranch house in silence. Frank and Andy went inside to report their findings—or lack thereof—to Derek. Bryce hesitated, gave her a look combining questions, embarrassment, and hope.
“It’s about time,” she said. She smiled and headed toward the paddock. “I’m going to say hi to Ginger.”
As she hoped, Bryce—after a quick glance toward the house—followed. She detoured to the barn, to the little fridge in the feed room, and snagged some carrot chunks. Bryce didn’t follow this time. Damn him. The privacy of the barn would be a perfect place to pick up where they’d left off. With a sigh, she ambled to the paddock. Bryce stood there, one foot on the bottom rail, his arms folded on the top one. Ginger had already come to say hello.
Bryce moved aside at her approach, as if to relinquish his access to the mare. As if he didn’t think Ginger would come to her? Or wanting to put distance between himself and her?
Whatever. They’d crossed a line in Andy’s SUV, and if Bryce was pretending it hadn’t happened, then she’d chalk it up to an impulsive one-off that he wished he could take back.
If that were the case, he’d have gone into the house. Or home. Since he was waiting for her, she ignored Ginger and took a spot next to Bryce. Not touching, but close enough to smell his unique scent. He wasn’t one for aftershave, or fancy hair products, or expensive body washes. He smelled like Ivory soap and Bryce—a mixture of horse, hay, and the outdoors.
Ginger nickered and shoved her head over the rail, waiting for her handout. Cecily palmed a carrot piece. “Here you go, you sweet thing.”
“You okay with it?” Bryce asked.
The kiss? Typical Bryce. When he did say something, it was straight to the point.
“Yes,” she said. He couldn’t tell?
Ginger finished her carrot and lowered her head between the two of them. “Are you playing chaperone, girl? Or doubling the odds of getting another handout?” Cecily gave her another chunk of carrot.
“She could use some exercise,” Bryce said. “A nice walk would do her old joints some good.”
“Are you inviting me to come along?” Cecily asked. Bryce’s straight and to the point didn’t always include the details.
“If you want to. Twenty-thirty minutes.”
She gave Ginger the last piece of carrot and rubbed her between the ears. “What do you say, girl? Want to take a stroll around the ranch?”
Ginger nickered as if she understood. Maybe she did. “I’ll get a lead rope.” Cecily headed to the barn.
She thought about suggesting this as a task for Grady, but decided it might be wiser to leave him out of conversations for a while.
She clipped the lead to Ginger’s halter and Bryce opened the paddock gate. The other horses looked up expectantly, but he told them it was Ginger’s turn. “You’ve all had your workouts today. Enjoy some down time.”
One of them on each side of Ginger, Cecily and Bryce strolled around the barn, down the ranch road toward the pond.
“She’s slowing down.” Cecily knew aging was inevitable, and Ginger had led a long and productive life. But she couldn’t help the way her voice cracked. She took a calming breath. “You have her on senior feed and supplements, right?”
Bryce flashed her a look that said You think I don’t know my job? but his expression melted into one more sympathetic, and he said, “Yes. And she’s blanketed at night.” He stopped and rubbed Ginger’s muzzle, but his eyes were on Cecily. “It’s good you’re here.”
“You’re keeping her comfortable. Not much else you can do. I understand.” She buried her face in Ginger’s mane. “I love you, baby.”
“Hey, it’s not time for goodbye,” Bryce said. “She’s got plenty of life left in her. She perks up when you come by, which is good for her.”
“I’ll try to make it more often.” They’d reached the pond and Ginger lowered her head for a drink. That it was difficult for her was obvious, and it tore at Cecily’s heart.
Needing to change the subject, she said, “What are your theories of who killed the steer? It was deep into Triple-D land, so it had to be someone who knows his way around. A local? Do you know anyone with a grudge against Derek? Maybe an extra hand he hired? Hard to think of it as random.”
Bryce took the lead from Cecily and turned Ginger toward the house. “Been thinking about it. The pasture wasn’t far from McMillan’s old place. The route Frank said the guy took would be an easy way to get from there to here.”
“So maybe the person thought he was killing one of Kenny McMillan’s animals.”
“Can see more people having a grudge against McMillan than Derek,” Bryce said.
She thought it through. “Derek hasn’t retagged Kenny’s herd yet, has he?”
“Nope. Given there’s no McMillan Ranch, it wasn’t a priority. Not like he could accuse us of rustling them.”
Cecily mulled that over. “So if this creep thought he was killing one of Kenny’s steers, he was going by where it was, not how it was tagged.”
“Can’t wrap my head around that. Seems to me he came in, whether he thought he was on McMillan’s land or ours, and killed a handy steer. Might not know what the tags mean.”
“Why kill it at all?”
“We knew that, we might know who to look for.”
“Guess there’s not much we can do,” Cecily said.
Strolling in a comfortable silence, they rounded the last turn before the barn. Bryce led Ginger to a small stand of trees and looped the lead over a shrub.
“What’s over here?” Cecily asked.
“Nothing,” Bryce said in the same tone he’d used right before he’d kissed her. She gazed into his eyes. Same expression there, too. Soft. Warm. The late afternoon sun haloed his face.
She took both his hands in hers. No fidgeting with his ponytail this time. “Tell me what you want. I need to hear you say it.”
He ducked his head. “I—” He lifted his gaze. “I want to kiss you.”
“I’d like that.” She closed the distance between them, rested her hands on his shoulders. Leaned in, lips parted.
Bryce pressed his hands against the small of her back, drawing her against him. He covered her mouth with his. Unlike the first, there was nothing tentative in this kiss. His lips were firm against hers. His tongue probed. Explored. Danced. She draped her arms over his back, pressing closer. Tighter. Her breasts tingled. Sensations shot downward, heat pooling between her thighs. Bryce’s hands moved lower, cupping her bottom. Not breaking the kiss, she wriggled against his hardness.
She reveled in the myriad sensations of a single kiss. The scent of him. Musky and masculine. The taste of him. A hint of coffee. The way his tongue slid along hers. Hot and wet. The way hers found his teeth. Hard and slick. The feel of his stubble-covered jaw against her cheek. Rough and scratchy.
The nudge at her butt. No, that wasn’t Bryce. Smiling through the kiss, she murmured, “I think someone’s jealous.”
A snort and a head shake brought them out of the moment.
“Ginger, next time, I’m tying you up,” Bryce said. “Tight.”
Next time. The words lifted Cecily’s heart.