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Bryn moved restlessly, turning in his arms to find his lips. She moved her mouth over his drowsily, murmuring her approval when he slid his tongue between her lips and deepened the kiss.
His shaft hardened, but the lust he felt was overlaid with a patina of contentment, seemingly an odd match-up, but true nevertheless.
He wanted her, but the need to protect her was stronger.
As she lay on her side, her breast nestled in his palm. He felt its weight and ached to undress her and caress her everywhere. She had become as necessary to him as breathing, and for once in his life, he didn’t have a course mapped out. He didn’t know if determination was going to be enough. No business model existed to tell him what a woman was thinking. No amount of money could buy her trust.
And there was still a secret between them…something she was hiding.
She fell asleep, her breathing slowing to a gentle rhythm. He reached for the lamp and plunged the room into darkness.
It was hours before he slept.
Ten
Bryn woke with a dull headache and a sensation that something was wrong. Then it all came flooding back. Her aunt’s phone call. Her son’s illness.
She scrambled out of bed and dressed haphazardly, pulling her hair into a messy knot on top of her head. It was almost nine. For God’s sake, why had Trent let her sleep so long?
She made her way to the kitchen, dialing her cell phone as she walked. Mac was there, drinking coffee, looking old and tired. Corralling Jesse would have been his main focus for many years, a drain on his time and energy. With Jesse gone, and once the grief dulled, surely Mac would regain his customary vigor.
She clicked her phone shut and paced. “Beverly’s not answering her phone. What if something has happened?”
Mac reached for her hand as she passed his chair for the third time. “Relax, Brynnie. The plane is in the air. They’ll be landing in a little under two hours. And all reports are good.”
Bryn couldn’t sit still. She went to the sink and stared blindly out the window. Allen was on the way…and Beverly. Now if only Gage and Sloan were here, she would have everyone she loved under one roof.
When she had herself under control, she sat at the table. The cook set a scrambled egg and some toast in front of her. Bryn was too excited to eat, but she forced herself to get it down. Mac passed her a section of the morning paper. One of the ranch hands’ jobs was to make a run into town early every weekday to pick up the three papers Mac devoured without fail. It was an expensive habit given the gas consumption, but Mac refused to read newspapers online, though he was fairly computer savvy.
Bryn was too jittery to concentrate on the printed words for long. “When should we leave?”
Mac grinned. “Trent’s going to bring the car around in thirty minutes or so. Think you can be ready?”
She punched him on the arm. “Very funny.”
The trip to the airport lasted forever. Trent drove, of course, and he and Mac sat in the front seat talking ranch business. Trent had kissed her briefly when he appeared, but there hadn’t been time for anything more personal or intimate. Bryn sat in the rear, her legs tucked beneath her, and leaned her head against the window, watching the world go by.
She loved Wyoming. And as much as she missed her son and her aunt, she wouldn’t have traded this time for anything. Being home—and it was home—had healed the dark places inside her. She didn’t know what the future would bring, especially because of the unrevealed letters, but it was enough to be here for the moment and to know that Mac and Trent no longer mistrusted her.
There had been no overt apologies, no verbal acknowledgment that Jesse had lied repeatedly, but she sensed in Trent and Mac a softening, a willingness to listen.
Soon, maybe tonight or tomorrow, she would pull Trent aside and show him the letters, even if it meant finding out that Allen wasn’t a Sinclair. Trent, as Mac’s eldest son, would have to make the decision about whether or not to let Mac see what his ex-wife had written to Jesse. And after that, who knew what would happen.
They pulled in to the parking lot of the small Jackson Hole airport and parked. Mac stayed in the car, but Trent and Bryn got out and leaned on the hood, hands over their eyes as they watched for landing aircraft. Prop planes were common. Occasionally a larger, commercial airliner.
