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  It hadn’t happened overnight, her father had told Jo. She’d put the weight on gradually, so they might not have noticed it but for the larger clothes she kept having to buy. Jo didn’t doubt him. All she knew was that by the time she was old enough to understand that not all mothers were like hers, her mom was morbidly obese. And had put on even more weight over the six years Jo had been gone.

  “Lyndon, honey, you go on and put that pie away now, and let Jo and I visit a little by ourselves.”

  Lyndon kissed his wife on the forehead, and Miss Daisy Mae smiled up at him, accepting another kiss on the mouth.

  Jo turned away from the intimate exchange. Not because she was ashamed, but because she’d always felt embarrassed by the love the couple displayed to each other no matter how large her mother got.

  In the back of her mind Jo also knew that no matter how her mother pretended to have a small appetite when in the presence of others, the instant she was left alone she’d go off and find that pie and eat the rest. If anyone asked about it, which Lyndon and Jo rarely did, she’d say something about how the pan had accidentally slipped out of her hands while she was moving it, and she’d sadly had to throw the whole thing away.

  Jo remembered one Christmas when her father had placed a tray of holiday cookies they’d all made together on top of a cabinet. Her mother was already suffering from limited mobility, but it hadn’t stopped her from climbing on top of the stepladder and getting those cookies. She’d nearly broken her leg in the process.

  Her father never put anything out of her reach again.

  “So tell me, JoEllen Sue, are there any handsome beaus in your life?” Miss Daisy Mae asked her now.

  Jo smiled. No matter what, this woman was her mother. And she never failed to make Jo feel happy and exasperated, and like a daughter who was loved. “No, I’m afraid there aren’t.”

  Her mom tsked as she reached out to push Jo’s hair behind her ear. “Perhaps if you just cleaned yourself up a little bit. Put on some of that makeup that I bought you. Wore a nice, pretty dress.” She eyed her thoughtfully. “Well, they’d be lined up around the block, just like they were when I was your age.”

  Jo’s gaze was drawn to the photos behind her mother. Long legs. Big smile. She’d been quite the looker.

  Her parents both claimed they’d fallen head over heels in love at first sight. It was a story they each related. But one day Lyndon had quietly told Jo that after the first blush had worn off, Miss Daisy Mae had begun to wonder whether her own mother had been right in thinking Lyndon wasn’t the right man for her. Questioned whether or not he’d be able to provide the type of life a woman of her beauty deserved.

  But by then they were married, and Jo was on the way, and there had been no turning back.

  Oh, Lyndon knew his wife loved him. And it hadn’t helped that they hadn’t been able to have another child. But sometimes Daisy Mae would go into what her husband called “spells,” when she’d shut him and the world out, and disappear into their bedroom for days, locking the door. Then she’d come out as if nothing had happened. And he’d go in and clean up the empty boxes of desserts she’d sneaked in and eaten while he wasn’t there.

  “Tell me about where you’re working, dear. Are there men there?” her mother asked now.

  Jo was amused. Her mom knew very well that she worked at a ranch and was, essentially, one of the guys. And that she was surrounded by men all day, every day.

  That one man in particular drove her wild was something she’d never tell Daisy Mae. Her mother would insist she bring him around for dinner, and of course, Jo would never do that. She’d never invited any of her friends home. Not as a child, not as an adult. Not because of shame, but because she wanted to protect her mother from being judged solely on how she looked.

  If there was a bit of irony in that, considering her mother’s beauty pageant days, Jo wasn’t ready to explore it.

  “There are men all over, Mama,” she said. “Take Clinton, for example. He’s the stable manager. Handsome as the day is long.”

  Daisy Mae perked up. “Oh, tell me about him.”

  And Jo did, just as she made up other stories about the people in her life to entertain and humor her mother. But she always ended with a solid reason that even Daisy Mae would agree would make any possibility of a union unthinkable.

  In this case she said, “It’s a shame he’s Daddy’s age.”

  Daisy Mae pretended shock. “Surely you haven’t had anything to do with the old letch?”

  “No, Mama. Clint and I are just friends.”

  “Be careful with the description, JoEllen Sue. There’s no such thing as friendship between a man and woman…”

  And so went the next hour. Even if it meant being preached to, Jo was happy to see her mother engaged in an activity that had nothing to do with food. Happy to see Daisy Mae as more than a woman who had suffered for years from an eating disorder.

  Finally, her mother leaned back in the chair, looking a little pale. “Dear me, this day has taken the pep right out of me,” she said.

  As always, Jo’s father was never far away. He stepped in from the kitchen and looked his wife over. “Perhaps you might like to take an afternoon nap, Daisy Mae. You’re always right as rain afterward.”

  She nodded. “Yes, yes. Perhaps you’re right.”

  Jo assisted her dad in getting her up from the chair and back to her bedroom. Then Jo drifted out into the hall, listening as Lyndon took off his wife’s shoes and stockings, and then stripped her down to her slip and helped her lie back, covering her with a light summer blanket.

  “That’s much better. Thank you, dear.”

  “You’re welcome. Jo and I will see you in a little while.”

  A few minutes later, father and daughter walked the property line, the dogs sometimes bounding out in front, or lagging behind to sniff a suspicious scent.

  “She should sleep for a good two hours,” Lyndon said. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I can make your apologies.”

  Jo squinted at him in the afternoon sun. Was her father now trying to protect Daisy Mae from her own daughter?

  “That’s all right. I’d like to see her again before I leave.”

  He nodded, but Jo couldn’t help thinking he looked disappointed.

  She knew the expression well. It was one she’d worn more than once in her life.

  “How long has she been needing to take naps?” Jo asked quietly.

  He gestured vaguely. “She doesn’t take them all that often. And she doesn’t need them…”

  Jo stopped walking and put her hand on his sleeve. “Daddy, this is me you’re talking to. Not some stranger.” She searched his creased face, alarmed by the anguish she saw there. “If you don’t tell me, then who will you tell?”

  “Good God, Jo, I just don’t know what to do anymore,” he said, his brown eyes looking watery. “I try. The Lord knows I try. But lately I find I’m lying even to the doctors, backing up what she says. To do otherwise…it feels like a betrayal.”

  Jo hugged him, clinging the way she used to as a child. But even as she shared his anguish, she also knew that she couldn’t allow them to go on the way they were. Her mother was only fifty-five. If none of them did anything, she might not live to see fifty-six, and that thought was simply unbearable.

  TRACE PRODDED CROCKETT into a gallop, feeling the evening sun on his back as he rushed toward something he couldn’t define, someplace he didn’t know, looking for a salve that might ease the raw emotions inside him.

  Damn it. Why hadn’t Eric told him he’d gotten on an earlier transport and was coming home two days before scheduled? Surely Trace deserved that much?

  As it stood, having Eric show up now, with all the problems that had lately befallen the ranch, made it seem as if his older brother had purposely wanted to catch him at a disadvantage. And Eric had made it very clear that he didn’t like what was going on with the ranch.

  The exchange between them had rem
inded Trace of the time he was sixteen and had wandered off a cattle drive to visit a nearby ranch, wanting to woo the rancher’s teenage daughter. When he’d returned, he’d found that the herd had broken apart at the point where he was supposed to be watching it. Eric had caught up with him and tackled him off his horse, wrestling him to the dirt, where they’d tussled for long minutes until their father had finally dragged Eric off him.

  His brother had stood brushing the dust from his jeans, sporting the start of a black eye. “Christ, Trace, it’s long past time you learned to use your head for more than a hat rack.”

  Long years had passed between then and now, but it might as well have been yesterday. Trace still felt the same way every time he was in his brother’s presence, as if Eric was measuring him for a suit that not only didn’t quite fit, but never would.

  Crockett neighed and Trace forced himself to ease the stallion to a canter, then a trot. The big animal hadn’t gone out on the drive today, but he wasn’t used to being run so fast for so long. Trace spotted a live oak tree growing atop a low rise and headed in that direction. As soon as they’d stopped, he climbed off, took out the shallow watering pan and filled it with cool liquid from his canteen. Crockett lapped at it happily.

  “Sorry about that, boy,” Trace murmured, rubbing his palm against the horse’s muzzle. “I must not have been thinking.”

  It didn’t help that it was exactly what Eric would have said.

  Damn.

  Trace stared in the direction of the ranch house, even though he couldn’t see it this far out. He couldn’t stomach the thought of returning to sleep in the same building as that insufferable ass. Not even their father had been so domineering. What made Eric think he could get away with it?

  More to the point, what in the hell was Trace going to do now that his brother was back?

  He made out a thin line of dust coming from another horse. The land was too uneven for a vehicle of any sort. Trace pushed back his hat and shielded his eyes, trying to identify the rider. He hoped to hell it wasn’t Eric. He checked his satellite phone to be sure it was working. Surely if something had happened back at the ranch, he would have been called.

  If not Eric, then who was approaching?

  He found out soon enough.

  He watched, feeling instantly better than any man had a right to, as Jo rode up, drawing her own filly even with his stud.

  “Vern said you might have come out this way.”

  Trace raised a brow. “You let someone know of your interest in finding me?”

  She smiled as she dismounted, then tied the reins to the same branch where Crockett was tethered.

  “Of course not. I overheard him tell your brother where he thought you might be.” She shrugged, taking off her riding gloves. “After everyone was gone, I came out myself.”

  Trace couldn’t help looking at her. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that she’d come.

  His gaze took in her shapely curves.

  Oh, definitely good…

  Chapter Ten

  IF JO HAD BEEN in a better frame of mind, she might have taken offense at Trace’s quiet physical appraisal. He didn’t seem to know what to make of her, as if torn between viewing her as a wild mustang in need of taming or a sexy mare in heat. And he didn’t seem to know which he wanted her to be.

  While some of the residual effects from their heated disagreement last night remained, the day with her parents had pretty much erased petty grudges. In light of the seriousness of her family situation, everything else came up short.

  Surprisingly, one of the things that remained was her growing need to be near Trace.

  Jo cleared away some brush and then sat down on the hard, dry earth, drawing her knees up and staring out at the setting sun. “Well, it must have been a surprise to see Eric back so early,” she said carefully.

  She remembered their conversation in her room last night, before all hell had broken loose. Trace had admitted more with his tone of voice than his words how he felt about his brother. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that more than sibling rivalry existed between the two. And considering all that she’d heard had gone wrong on the ranch that morning, Trace would have been pushed to his limits well before his brother’s unwelcome surprise.

  She took a deep breath and stretched out her legs as he took a seat next to her.

  “I hear his woman’s coming tomorrow,” she said. “The same time a moving truck’s due to arrive.”

  Trace squinted at her.

  “Bringing her stuff. Not taking his away.”

  Trace stared straight ahead. She wasn’t surprised at his reaction.

  “Vern says the two of you have always had a volatile relationship.”

  “Yes, well, Vern talks too much.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps. But I think he’s worried about you.”

  “What makes you think it’s my brother that drove me out here?”

  He had her attention.

  “Who’s to say it wasn’t you?”

  She leaned back on her hands. “And why would it be me?”

  “You haven’t asked what happened to Southard.”

  She swallowed hard. “That’s because I already know. I called the sheriff’s office this morning. Told him I wouldn’t be pressing charges and that he should be released with a warning.”

  “And you did that because…?”

  “I did that because without drink, Carter would never have done what he did.”

  “And if he drinks again?”

  She stared at him. “Quit trying to change the subject. You didn’t ride out here because of me and you know it.”

  His quick glance away told her she was right. While it would have been flattering if she had been the cause for his restlessness, she felt better knowing she wasn’t.

  And glad that he wasn’t rejecting her present company.

  “Funny how long it takes for the sun to reach the horizon throughout the day, then just when it’s within kissing distance, it sinks right down,” she murmured, watching the golden orb set.

  “Mmm.”

  She didn’t have to look to know that Trace wasn’t responding to her comment, but rather considering her.

  But she wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

  “The way I see it, if I hope to move from temporary hire to full-time ranch hand,” she stated, “then you and your brother are going to have to bury the proverbial hatchet and start getting along.”

  He raised his brow. “Oh?”

  “Mmm-hmm. You see, if the two of you are going at it, that leaves the ranch in a state of flux. And the ranch hands at odds and ends.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen it before. And it ain’t pretty.”

  “Mmm…pretty.”

  “Not pretty,” she emphasized.

  “And you think you can help…how?”

  “Well, before I can help, I need to understand what sharpened that hatchet you’re holding.”

  He stretched his own legs out, his thigh pressing against hers. Jo ran her tongue along her bottom lip, feeling electricity dance along her nerve endings at the innocent touch.

  “I don’t want him here.”

  Trace appeared as surprised as she was at his words. But now that they were out there, he could take a good long look at them and see if that was how he indeed felt. And whether he wanted to do anything to change it.

  “I’ve spent the past six years running this ranch, even though I’m sure he’s convinced I’m nothing but a hired hand doing his bidding from halfway across the world.”

  Jo didn’t know what to say, so remained silent.

  “Damn it, he doesn’t know the half of what’s been going on around here. The problems I’ve encountered. The celebrations we’ve had. And then he comes riding in here like he’s on some big white steed ready to save the day. A day that doesn’t need saving.”

  Jo bit her lip. “Have you tried telling him that?”

  “Are you crazy? Every damn time
I talk to him. All he does is try to twist my words in order to prove that I’m not ready to take on full responsibility of the ranch.”

  He got up, and Jo immediately felt the loss of physical contact.

  “Just who in the hell does he think he is? Who does he think has been running this place for the past six years?”

  Trace paced away from her and back again, but Jo was convinced he couldn’t see her. And it had nothing to do with the growing darkness.

  “I don’t need him here. I don’t want him here. I want him to go up east with his wife and just leave me alone.”

  Jo didn’t dare touch his last comment with a ten-foot cattle prod. Instead, she issued a single cry that sounded like a goat’s call.

  Trace stopped pacing and stared at her.

  She made the sound again.

  “Just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Jo pushed herself to her feet as well, advancing on him without fear, without a second thought. She poked her index finger into his chest. “What it means, cowboy, is that you know that kid your brother is accusing you of being? You showed him to me in spades just now. And he’s not only unattractive, he’s downright ugly.”

  Trace’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Jo stood her ground.

  “Look, I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t have one clue what’s going on between the two of you. But I am coming to know you. And the whiny kid you’re acting like doesn’t fit anywhere into that neat little picture I’ve begun to paint. You’re screwing with my canvas and I want you to stop.”

  “Whiny kid?” he asked incredulously.

  “You heard me. And not just any old whiny kid, but one of those snot-nosed, stubborn as a jackass, insufferable so and so’s that you want to take out back for a whupping even though the damn kid’s not even yours.”

  Trace rocked back on his heels, obviously stung by her words.

  Jo smiled. “Hey, I figure somebody’s gotta be man enough to tell you what’s what.”

  “And that man would be you?”