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Cramming for finals was never fun, but Allie Sauer didn’t mind since it was necessary to achieve her goal of getting a master’s degree. Her spring schedule was much lighter, thank goodness. She loved being outdoors, and the winters were long in Wyoming. Like most young people, she’d believed there was more to life than her home town of Eagle’s Nest, Wyoming had to offer and had taken off for the big city of Houston to teach high school math after getting her bachelor’s.
God, what a mistake.
Allie stayed for three years, honoring her contract, hating every day of fighting bumper-to-bumper traffic, maneuvering six lanes going one way, and the forty-five minutes it took to get to work. Simple chores such as grocery shopping and hair appointments would take the better part of a day. And then there was the crime. Coming from a town a fraction of the size of one Houston suburb, she wasn’t subjected to the depths of desperation or depravity that drove some people to unleash horrendous actions upon others.
At the end of her contract, she couldn’t pack up and move back home fast enough, much to her parents’ delight and relief. She switched careers and took a job in Casper’s actuary department but soon realized to move up the ladder, she would need more than a bachelor’s degree. If she could ace her upcoming finals, she would have her master’s in statistics before she turned twenty-eight in May, and she looked forward to partying with her friends again.
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, chewing on the end of a pencil with the television’s low volume the only sound in the apartment, she squinted her eyes at the open book before her. The sunny spring afternoon had slid into early evening without her being aware of the passing time as she struggled with the statistics swimming before her fatigued eyes. Sighing in frustration, she’d started to close the book and think about food when a deep voice penetrated her tired brain and drew her gaze to the small television on top of her dresser drawers.
Whoa.Tingles entered her bloodstream when the live image of the eldest Kincaid brother filled the screen as a reporter shoved a microphone in his face. Bright green eyes stood out against a tanned, rugged face sporting a sexy five-o’clock shadow along his strong jaw. Thick black hair curled around the open collar of a blue sweat-stained work shirt that did little to disguise the breadth of his shoulders. The tall cowboy packed a wallop, but it was the emotion roiling in his vivid gaze that caught and held Allie’s attention when the reporter snagged him as he left a paddock, slapping his Stetson against his jean-clad thigh. At the mention of the troubles surrounding the split with his wife, those sparkling eyes turned flat with suppressed emotion.
“Is it true your wife wants to reconcile but you won’t budge on going through with the divorce?” The nosy reporter thrust the microphone in his face while onlookers milling around the rodeo grounds cast them speculative glances.
“My personal life is none of your business,” he snapped, those eyes darkening with anger and something else Allie couldn’t define.
“Are you seeing someone else? Is infidelity what caused your split?” the reporter persisted, ignoring his comment.
Wow, if looks could kill, that woman would be keeling over from Brett’s ice-cold glare. Behind the indignation, his face reflected a painful resignation that stirred her pity for him. She wondered if his wife had stepped out on him or if the rude question brought up memories of his father’s escapades, a lifestyle none of the brothers had appeared to follow.
“No. I don’t cheat. Now, back off,” he answered in a frigid, clipped tone.
She’d forgotten about the annual rodeo fundraiser the wealthy ranch family sponsored every year, the only time the three siblings opened themselves up for the press. Growing up in the nearby town of Eagle’s Nest, it was impossible not to hear the rumors that had abounded about their father, Casey Kincaid. Casey had never tried to hide his numerous affairs or shied away from landing in the tabloids. Since his death at the end of last year, his sons had carried on their father’s business reputation as a successful rancher and oil producer but otherwise kept their personal lives quiet.
Allie had read about Brett Kincaid’s pending divorce, her first thoughtlike father, like son. But now, watching his face as he ignored the people around him, the low snorts and stomping hooves of bulls coming from the pens adding to the chaotic noise of the popular event, she wondered if that was a fair assumption. He lacked the cocky air of a playboy, like his father. He turned away from the reporter in a silent rebuff, his profile now revealing morose instead of anger. Allie itched to see that arresting face smiling or wreathed in pleasure. An odd craving considering she’d never met the man.
The determined newswoman zeroed in on Reed Kincaid, the middle brother who was as striking as his older sibling only with gray-green eyes. Leaner than Brett, with coal-black hair clinging to his damp neck below his hat, he gave the pesky reporter a friendly smile that revealed dimples. Despite his stirring voice and eye-catching looks, Allie found herself searching the screen for another glimpse of Brett. She spotted him in the background, his broad back tense as he spoke with his youngest brother, Slade, who was rumored to keep to himself since leaving the military. He always made an appearance at the charity rodeo that benefitted the children’s home but was reputed to take off after participating in several events.
The station switched back to the regular newscast, and Allie set aside her unusual attraction to a man she’d only heard rumors about and now seen on television. Apparently, she’d failed to ignore her odd interest since she woke the following morning tired and restless from vivid dreams of getting naked and doing the nasty with Brett Kincaid. When she opened the paper and found his picture with the reporter, she questioned her reasoning for cutting it out and putting it on her refrigerator for the time being.
Chapter One
Three months later
Ajagged streak oflightning lit up the pitch-black eastern Wyoming sky as Brett Kincaid entered Casey’s, the club he and his brothers had named after their father. The tension from a long, grueling day in court eased from his shoulders as he wound through the tables greeting friends with a wave or nod on his way to the bar. He always looked forward to ending the week with a few hours’ socializing, relieved to take a break from making decisions that could have a strong impact on his client’s lives.
In the last few months, he’d added pro bono cases for child welfare and spousal abuse to his already busy schedule of managing the legal issues of their family business. Some cases left him emotionally drained but were infinitely rewarding when he won justice for a neglected or abused child or woman, as he’d done today. Knowing Sheila Morrison’s scumbag of an abusive ex would go to prison for a good long while, and her children would no longer live in fear of their own father, made the hours he had put in on their case worthwhile as long as Sheila stayed away from him until his arraignment in a few weeks. Right now, he needed a cold brew to wash away the distaste of dealing with such low-life scumbags.
