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Chapter1
Ford was the Winter sibling everyone liked. He did good when it was needed. Didn’t break the law—okay, there was the one time, but mostly he walked a straight line. But lately he felt like something had changed inside him. He was now the grumpy, pissed-off Winter, which was the title his younger brother Nash usually held.
He’d spent the past three days at a conference, which he usually enjoyed, but this time hadn’t. In fact, he was heading home as soon as possible to ride the ranch and not speak to anyone for as many days as they’d let him.
He’d come because his parents apparently wanted to step back and enjoy life for a change. It had been news to him that they hadn’t been. That meant their sons, Ford and Nash, were stepping up and running most of the operation at Sleepy River Ranch.
He didn’t mind it. Ford, like his brother, enjoyed hard work, especially if the added bonus was it made him fall asleep when his head hit the pillow. If only for a few hours.
Sleep wasn’t something he did well.
Standing under the shower’s hot, pulsing water, he let it soothe the kinks that hours spent seated, listening to lectures or talking, had given him.
Bracing his hands against the smooth tile, he let the water ease him into a better mood.
He wasn’t in a bad one exactly; he just felt like he always did when he left the ranch for too long. Ready to head back. He was a home boy, his mother said, and didn’t mind leaving and playing outside his sand pit—her words, not his—now and then. But he was most comfortable at home in the surroundings he knew that allowed him to do what he liked when he couldn’t sleep.
Lately his demons had come back with a vengeance, and he wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t sure why he couldn’t block out the memories of that time when his life had gone off the rails.
After shutting off the water, stepping out, and drying off, he pulled on his sweatpants without once looking in the mirror. Ford knew what he looked like, had seen the same reflection for years. A variation of his father and brother.
He’d order room service tonight and then sleep. He didn’t need a lot, and if he could fall asleep early, when others were still awake, it often meant he could get more than three or four hours.
A sound outside his door had him moving to open it. The handle rattled. He unlocked it and jerked it open. He wasn’t in the mood for peopling. If someone was trying to break in, they’d be met with an angry, pissed-off Ford.
He had a glimpse of dark hair in a messy knot, then his arms were full of soft, curvy woman. His hands steadied her and then eased her off his body.
“Wh-why you… my r-room?” Her eyes were unfocused and half-closed, her face pale and pinched. She had one of those faces that deserved a second and possibly a third look.
“Pretty sure this is my room.” He steadied her as she stumbled. Her sweater was soft pink with a V-neck that showed him a glimpse of the smooth skin of her neck. Long legs were in worn jeans. She squinted again.
“You drunk?” he asked.
She shook her head and then winced.
“Sure about that?”
“M-migraine,” she whispered. “Sorry. I’ll go.”
The words sounded loud in the otherwise silent hallway.
“You have a migraine?”
She made a hissing sound that he thought might be agreement. His mom got migraines, so he knew how debilitating they could be. They often put her in bed for days.
“This is my room. Where’s yours?” He still held her shoulders and was pretty sure if he released her, she’d topple over.
“I hoped it was here.” The words were spoken in a slow, concise way, as if saying them was an effort.
“Not here, no. What number is your room?”
When she didn’t speak, he eased open her fingers and took the key card to read the number on the envelope.
“502 is on the next floor. This is 402.”
“’Kay,” she managed and then pulled back. She turned without her key card, as if she were marching in a parade, and promptly fell.
He caught her, swinging her up into his arms. He then strode to the elevator and stabbed the button.
