There was a certain point where every man had to grow up and face his demons. Apparently for Demetrio Hernandez, that moment was right now. He had not been back to the main ranch camp of the Hernandez Land & Cattle Company since that night he had left as an angry seventeen-year-old. Occasionally he would come back to Denver when the rodeo was in town. He had arranged to stay in a hotel or with one of his brothers.

About a month or so ago, Met had come to Denver to support his brother Darren’s attempt to get his son back. Jesse had called him and asked if he would please come help them move a bunch of furniture and other items into Darren’s new rental home so that he could provide a stable home for his son. For obvious reasons, that cause had seemed like a worthy one. If Met could lend a hand and help some kid avoid a crappy childhood, then he was most definitely on board. But other than those few excursions back into family drama, Met had been all about the avoiding.

“Are you all right?”

He glanced over at the passenger side of his truck. Daphne was staring at him as if he were a bomb that was about to explode. She was actually drawing back toward the passenger door. Surely he didn’t look that forbidding. Did he?

A quick glance in the rearview mirror suggested that he really needed to relax. So, he took a deep breath and forced himself to smile at her. “I’m fine. Really. I just don’t come out here very often. That’s all.”

“How long has it been?”

Crap. He had invoked her natural curiosity. She had tilted her head in this oh so adorable way and was peering at him as though she were ready to dig deep and get emotional together. That wasn’t really Met’s thing.

“I was seventeen when I left, and I haven’t been back since,” Met said flatly. He hoped this would end the conversation.

He was wrong. “Ohmigod!” she gasped. “That’s years! What would make you leave and never come back? I had no idea that’s how you felt about coming out here. I’m sorry.”

Met started to whip the truck around on the long gravel drive. “So, we can go back to Denver?” he asked hopefully.

“Not a chance.” Now it was her turn to sound flat and mulish. Great. “I promised Carson he could take pictures out here, and I intend to deliver.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a freaking diva but he’s the best writer and photographer in the area. He writes for Denver Magazine and for the Front Range Wayfarer. He’s not the kind of man you want to piss off. Plus, I had to agree to owe him a favor, and that could cost me big time. So, I’m going to get everything I can out of this interview for your family’s benefit. That’s our best and only option at this point.”

Met hated to admit that she was right, but she was. Both Denver Magazine and the Wayfarer were the type of magazines that the upper crust of Denver society enjoyed reading, quoting, and being featured in. In fact, they were probably the only ones who really cared. But it was highly possible that a good word from one of these publications could go a long way toward fixing the current state of the Hernandez Land & Cattle Company’s reputation in and around Denver and Colorado in general.

The truck passed through the big wrought iron front gates. There was an enormous overhead sign. At this point, they were still a good six miles from the house, but it was possible to see the buildings clustered at the base of the hill. Met could almost see the familiar outline of the barns and the two-story farmhouse with his eyes closed.

“Wow. Is this where you grew up?” Daphne was staring around as though they had just landed on Mars. “This place is huge.”

“Six hundred thousand plus acres,” he muttered. Then he corrected himself. “Although I suppose you can’t count the Collins ranch anymore. So, we’re probably only around four hundred thousand acres now.”

“So, your sister isn’t really your sister?” Daphne gave a little shrug. “I think everyone has heard this story once or twice if they have much of anything to do with anyone in your family.”

“Possibly.” Met didn’t really want to talk about Jesse, her family, his family, or any of the ranch’s legal problems. “Jesse was adopted into our family after her folks were killed in some kind of accident. She’s just a bit younger than I am. Same grade in school though. We were basically bitter enemies all through school.”

“I imagine you were just such a wonderful brother,” Daphne said drily. “You’d had nothing but boys around all your life, and suddenly your parents bring a girl home? I think any young man would have had some issue with that.”

“It was just weird.” Met shook his head. “You have to understand what the family was like. And then you have to understand how adding Jesse shook stuff up. I had always been my mother’s favorite.” He frowned. He really didn’t like talking about this. It made him feel ashamed. “Suddenly my mom had a girl around and I went from being her constant favorite to being just another one of those rowdy Hernandez boys.”

“That would suck.” She sighed and reached over gently to pat his hand. The gentle touch seared him so deeply that he almost missed her next comment. “I was an only child. And let me tell you, that was far worse.”

“I can’t even imagine it.” In fact, the idea was a complete blank to Met. He’d had brothers around since he was born. “Although it might have been nice to be compared to nobody but myself.”

“Trust me,” Daphne grumbled. “My mother compared me to just about anyone and anything she thought her daughter should have been like. She wanted a ballet dancing, cartwheel turning, tumbling, gymnastic beauty queen.”

“Shit,” Met grunted. “There’s nobody who could measure up to that!”

“No doubt.” She was bobbing her head. “I played softball, volleyball, and even went to college on a soccer scholarship, and it’s still not enough for her. She calls me now just to tell me how successful her friends’ daughters are and to ask me when I’m going to hurry up with this ridiculous career nonsense and settle down to raise a family.”

“That’s harsh!” Met pulled his truck up in front of the bunkhouse. He shut off the engine and wondered when her magazine crew was going to get here, or if Cal had already murdered them and buried them on the property somewhere.

“That’s okay,” she murmured. “My mother probably would have liked Justin. So, that tells you what I think of her and her opinions.”

Met wasn’t buying it for one second. If she truly didn’t care, she wouldn’t have brought it up to begin with. It would have been dead and gone and long buried. Nope. She cared. She wanted validation, just like he did. They were peas in a pod on that subject at least.

“Okay.” Met nodded his head at Daphne. “Let me get out first. Then you get out nice and slow.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure my brother Cal is around here somewhere.” Met got out of the truck. “It’s been years, but he’ll at least recognize me.”

He heard Daphne climb out of the vehicle, and then he finally heard the sound of boots on a wood front porch. There was a click. Cal was apparently not in a good mood because the first thing Met noticed was the shotgun his brother was cradling in his arms.

“How’s it going, Calvin?” Met called out.

Cal clomped down the three stairs leading from the bunkhouse to the gravel parking lot. The rowels of his spurs were dragging on the ground as though he hadn’t had a chance to take them off yet. “I’m pretty good, and yourself?”

“Oh, you know. Just another day. And this is Ms. Daphne Evans. She works for that PR firm Dad hired a few years back.” Met waved his hand in the air. “Apparently we’re having a photo shoot out here. Dad wants us to improve the image of the ranch and the company so we get that contract.”

Cal shook his head. “Dad is a moron. What good does he think it’ll do to have you pose with a few horses? Will that somehow wipe out the fact that Paul Weatherby is painting us to be some old-time horse and cattle thieves?”

“You know how it goes.” Met shrugged. He could see a plume of dirt billowing into the air as Daphne’s writer and photographer arrived on the scene. “I just do what I’m told.”

“Funny thing is that I don’t recall you ever being very good at that, Met,” Cal drawled.

“Can you just pull a few horses out and maybe stick a bull in the pen?” Met growled. “Please? Just help me out for once, big brother. All right?”

“Fine.” Cal flipped the shotgun end over end and then set it up against the porch railing. “I’ll meet you in the yard in ten.”

Daphne was edging closer to Met as she watched wide-eyed while Cal stalked off across the yard. “He’s just super warm and fuzzy. Isn’t he?”

“He was abused as a child,” Met said flippantly. “We all were. But now Cal has taken it to a whole new level. He’s a recluse. He doesn’t talk to anyone but Jesse. It’s all very dysfunctional and pretty much insane.”

Daphne’s slender hands wound their way around his arm. She rested them in the crook of his elbow. “I’m really sorry I set this up without asking. I had no idea it would be such a big deal.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” For some reason, it was really important to him that she not feel badly about herself. He cupped her cheek and gently ran his thumb along her full lower lip.

She was just so beautiful. There was nothing in her full, bright dark eyes to suggest malice or ill intent. She looked troubled and maybe even sorry. Her cheeks were full, and her nose was adorable. She had those freckles and that outdoor look that made him think of health and happiness. She deserved a dozen or more reasons to smile.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. He knew this was probably not the time. No. It was definitely not the time. But it was how he felt, and he was tired of pretending otherwise.

“You could kiss me just a little,” she suggested. The tip of her tongue gently brushed over her full pink lips.

It was an irresistible invitation. He could not even pretend to himself that he did not want this. Leaning down, he captured her lips in the softest kiss he could envision. Self-control. It was all about self-control and trying to remember that this woman was more important than some fling he’d met in a bar.

He cupped her face in his hands. Her cheeks were round and soft. He could hear her little exhaled breaths and knew that she was affected just as much as he was by what was happening. Her lips parted. Her tongue darted out to brush so hesitantly against his. It felt as though she was tasting him, experimenting, and finding him to her liking as she grew bolder and bolder.

She wound her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. The tug of hair at the base of his neck was strangely erotic. She sifted her fingertips through that hair and then scored his scalp with her nails. He groaned and felt her press herself even tighter against him.

He wrapped her in his embrace and held her as close as he dared. She smelled so damn good, like flowers and honey, and something else so feminine that he could only dream of tasting that sweetness in a deeper and more intimate way. He moved his mouth against hers and plunged his tongue deeper inside her. She moaned, and he made love to her in the only way available to him in this moment. For now it was enough. Just the physical contact was enough. The feel of her in his arms, the sound of her breathing, and the taste of her kisses were something perfect he did not want to let go of.

“Well, now. I think I could take a photograph of that if you’re looking to steam up the cover of a magazine.”

The slightly nasally and fully sarcastic words came from a man standing just to their right. Met ended the kiss but did not step away from Daphne’s side. He had apparently missed the approach of a large SUV that now sat parked beside Met’s truck. The black vehicle was covered in a thin layer of dust that appeared to be the only form of dirt that had ever graced that paint job.

Daphne cleared her throat. She was still holding tightly to his side as though she were afraid her knees would give out, but she was trying to make herself look composed. Met wished he could just tell her out loud that she looked perfect and always would no matter what the circumstances.

“Ahem,” Daphne tried again. “Demetrio Hernandez, may I introduce Carson Phillips?” Daphne pointed to the cynical man in the designer cowboy gear. He looked as though he had just stopped by the outfitters store before heading out here.

Met forced himself to give a nod. “Nice to meet you, Carson. Daphne tells me you’re the only chance I have of looking respectable.”

“Oh, honey,” Carson snorted. “I’m not a miracle worker. But I think we can at least make everyone want you, which should have the desired affect anyway.”

Met heard Cal approach with a horse in tow. Turning to see what animals Cal had chosen for the photo layout, Met nearly choked on his tongue. Widowmaker. Either Cal had no idea what had happened during Met’s last ride, or he had a sick and twisted sense of humor. Met was rather prone to thinking it was the second option of the two.

“Oh my!” Carson gushed. “What a gorgeous horse. Can we saddle him up or something? Saddles make fantastic props.”

Met managed not to snicker as his brother sighed and tied the horse to the split rail hitching post in front of the bunkhouse. “I can go get you a saddle if you want one sitting around, but you’d best not try and put it on this horse.”

“Huh?” Carson looked very confused.

Met started to answer, but Daphne beat him to it. “Carson, they raise rodeo stock. That’s what this article should be about. Met is a former pro rodeo rider. I’m going to guess that this is a bucking horse, not a riding horse.”

“You would be correct,” Met confirmed. And he even managed not to laugh or cry. It was certainly a good beginning for any news story on a rodeo man.