Brock's legs carried him out to the porch steps, but no further. Collapsing to the top riser, he gripped the towel in his right fist even harder. Wouldn't do to show the world all his glory now, especially when his body wasn’t showing much constraint. Fuck it was hard, though… no pun intended, he snorted.

Payton Hanniford had always held a forbidden appeal for him. And that's all she could be. She was the definition of off limits for him and all that much more tempting than any other women he'd ever hooked up with. She had a level-headedness to her that he appreciated, and a natural confidence that drew him to her.

Yes, he was flattered that she had a crush on him, and a time or two he'd contemplated hooking up with her. Honestly, though, if he slept with her there would be hell to pay from Cheyenne, as well as the rest of the family. They all looked upon Payton as one of the family for a long time, since she, Chad and Cheyenne had been in middle school. And he’d been around the block a few times too many. There were only so many eligible women in Honeywell.

Family BBQs, holiday vacations, weekends, she'd always been there for Cheyenne. She still was. Occasionally Cheyenne could get their folks to watch her three girls and Payton would take her out for something fun, usually along with their friends Katie and Rebecca and Tansy.

She'd always been a kind woman like that, not letting Cheyenne deal with her troubles alone.

So there was no way he was going to risk that relationship with a quick roll in the hay. Fuck that. It was not happening. He respected Payton too much to even think about adding her to his collection of former bedmates.

Morgan Hampton was not the guy for her either, though. The thought that Hampton had had his hands on her, or his lips—fuck!—did not make him happy at all. Morgan was a user. Even on the Blue Star he'd heard stories of the good-looking deputy working his way through the women of the town. If Brock heard a story like that with Payton attached to it, he would be livid, and badge or no badge he'd have to kick Hampton's ass. And, looking at it from Morgan’s point of view, he would probably feel the same if Brock slept with her.

What a potentially drama-filled emotional minefield this was.

Payton left him alone as he air dried on the porch, waiting for his clothes to be done. They probably could have dried just as quickly out here in the heat, but he didn't want to go back in until he absolutely needed to. Slouching back against the post of the porch, he watched the horses in the field as he waited for his body and anger to ease.

He'd been out there the better part of forty minutes when she came through the exterior door, his clothes on her arm. Brock watched her face, but her expression didn't tell him anything. Her eyes connected with his once, before darting away, her skin flushing pink. "As soon as you're dressed, I'll drive you over to the Blue Star. Then you can have someone else drive you across town to your truck."

Brock frowned, wondering why her voice sounded so cold. Was she pissed that he'd bitched about Hampton? Was she more involved with him than she wanted to let on?

She disappeared back inside the house, obviously giving him time to dress. He looked out at the road. No one had passed the entire time he'd been here, so he prayed his luck would hold as he dropped the towel and reached for the athletic boxers and Wranglers.

A sharp wolf whistle pierced the air and he jerked his head around. Jackson Windwalker, the Blue Star foreman, sat astride his big paint just a few yards away, on the back side of Payton's lawn. He'd apparently let himself through the farm gate, crossed the field to her yard gate, and let himself through here as well. The property butted right up against theirs, and was actually easier to get to by crossing the open pastures than on the road.

Why was Jackson here?

Brock cleared his throat. "Hey, now Jackson, you're gonna make me blush."

The big man snorted as he pulled the horse to a stop a few feet away, hooked his knee over the saddle horn, then leaned his elbow down onto it. With one finger, he tipped his black hat up, but didn't look away as Brock scrambled into his clothes. They were bone dry and comfortable, if still a little too warm for the morning or maybe that was just the embarrassment he was feeling.

Brock fought the unmanly blush as he finished dressing. It was on the tip of his tongue to spout something off, but Jackson had been his friend and coworker for a long time. He'd seen a lot, and understood more. The man wouldn't say anything too out of line, even if he was grinning at Brock’s discomfort.

"Barb at the grocery called to say you looked a little worse for wear this morning, and she'd heard you'd spent the night in jail. She was nibbin', but I didn't say anything, just let her ramble. You know she'll call your mama though."

Brock sighed, knowing he spoke truth. "Yeah, I know, the old busybody. Why can't she leave us Lowells alone?"

Jackson chuckled. "Well, you're always gettin' into trouble. You make it easy for her."

Brock knew he was right, but it didn't make him any happier.

The mudroom door opened behind him and Payton stepped out, carrying his boots and hat. She looked completely collected, and smiled when she saw Jackson at the edge of her porch. "Hello, Jackson. Come looking for your wandering bull?"

Jackson chuckled. "Well, seems you found him for me."

Payton grinned, her bright eyes clear, and Brock looked between the two of them. They seemed friendly, but her look seemed especially warm. Or maybe it just seemed warm after the freezing look she'd given him.

"Payton, you mind if Brock takes Chico? I need for him to see something." Jackson motioned back the way he'd come.

"No, that's fine." She dropped Brock's boots near his feet and handed him his hat. "He's worn out his welcome anyway."

Brock scowled, wondering if she actually meant that. He shoved his hat on his head and his feet into the boots, refusing to wonder why that possibility didn't sit well with him.

"I appreciate your hospitality, Payton," he told her, "and the pick up from the jail."

"No problem, Brock."

Her eyes were narrowed against the sun, and he couldn't tell what she was thinking. With a tip of his hat, he turned toward the steps. "I can tack Chico up. And we'll get him back to you."

"I'm not worried about it. He needs the exercise. I'll ride over on Mineer and get him tomorrow. I'd like to check on your dad anyway."

Brock didn't say anything, just headed toward her barn. He found the saddle and bridle he knew the chestnut gelding normally wore and hauled them out to the field. All five of her horses crowded the gate, hoping for treats and attention. He glanced up from beneath his hat to see what Payton was doing. She had leaned against the post where he had been sitting and was now grinning up at Jackson, her arms folded beneath her lovely breasts. She tilted her head back, laughing at something and his gut clenched. She'd never laughed like that with him that he could remember.

Chico took the bit without a fuss and stood still for the saddle. As Brock led him through the gate, the other horses seemed to get anxious. Not giving them a chance to get too excited, he swung up into the saddle and urged Chico toward the yard gate. Once through it, he waited for Jackson to join him before taking off in a slow canter. Unable to help himself, he glanced back behind him to the house.

Not bothering to see them off, Payton had already gone back inside.

---

When they reached the edge of her property, Brock leaned down to open the farm gate that connected their properties, then left it for Jackson to close. "What did you want me to look at?"

Without a word, he headed toward the east. Brock thought they were heading to one of the range cabins, but he trotted the paint around the side, then up the bluff behind the building.

"I don't know if it was hunters or what, but I thought you should take a look at this."

At the very top of the bluff was an area where boots had mashed down the struggling grass. Against an outcropping of rocks was a place where a small fire had been lit. Not very big. Not enough to give away the person's location, but enough to warm them on these cool spring nights.

There was a depression to the side that looked like where a body had lain. And on the opposite side of the small flat spot was a tripod, set up against the trunk of a tree and in a position that looked out over the Blue Star Ranch. It was a pretty good spot for watching the comings and goings, but Brock was at a loss as to why it was there.

"You haven't seen anyone up this way?"

Jackson shook his head. "I only came this way to look for a mama cow gone missing. When I got close enough, I saw the glint of sunlight on metal." He motioned to the tripod, a dark silver color. There was no device mounted to it, and no other materials in the camp other than the tripod itself. Apparently the person had thought that the tree itself would be enough camouflage.

"I wonder what they're looking for..." Brock thought on the problem for a few minutes before backing his horse away.

Jackson scattered some dirt to obscure their prints and backed away as well.

"No one's been in the cabin?"

"Not that I noticed."

They rode back down to the cabin, looking for any unfamiliar prints. But they didn't see anything.

"Let's mount a game camera up there and see what we can see. I don't appreciate people trespassing on our land."

Jackson nodded, and they turned the horses toward the main house.

It was a little anti-climactic getting back to their own place. Brock untacked Chico and tucked him into a comfy stall with snacks. If he didn't take care of Payton's horse, there would be hell to pay.

Brock started on his own work, but even as he began to sweat out the shit he'd drank the night before, his mind stayed on Payton. Quite simply, he didn't know what to do about her. For years there'd been some draw there, but he'd always convinced himself it was just affection for one of Cheyenne's friends. He didn't think he could do that any more. Something had changed drastically.

The taste of her lips had always haunted him, making him lick his own in remembrance when he thought of that kiss on her birthday, but over the years it had faded away.

Now after this morning he wanted to taste her again. And he wanted it bad.

And when the fuck had she grown up? For that matter, when had he gotten so old that the attentions of a younger woman turned him on? No, that wasn't it. He wasn't sure how old she'd been when he first recognized her as a woman. Probably that twenty-first birthday party.

A hard bolt of heat arrowed down through his groin as he thought about the feel of her full breasts against his chest. That had really been something. The entire interlude had been thrilling. Well, up until he'd gone off on her dating preferences.

Deliberately shifting his mind to horses, he pushed the arousal away. It wasn't going to do him any good. He was not the man for her.