Chapter 4

It was barely a kiss, just the slightest touch of their lips, but it was Rock’s lips—lips that even after all of these years, felt as familiar as her own.

Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t pull away, couldn’t pull away.

His mouth slanted across hers, deepening the kiss as she melted into him. Literally melted against his body as if all of her bones had vanished, replaced with molten heat that surged through her veins, warming her from the inside out.

He tasted like maple syrup and blueberries and Rock—and the smallest of sighs escaped her lips. His hands cupped her cheeks, holding her face in a tender embrace.

She gripped his shoulders, holding on, forgetting everything as she kissed him back. Sinking in to the feeling—to the sensation of being thoroughly kissed—it felt so damn good. Oh God, he felt so good.

The scent of him, his soap, his aftershave—something musky and expensive—swirled around her, both familiar and mysterious. She wanted to climb into his lap, to wrap her legs around him, to slide her hands under his shirt and explore the new contours of his muscles, to kiss and touch every scar, every inch of his body. A body that she knew, yet didn’t.

Memories swirled through her, memories of kissing him, touching him. He was her first love, her first kiss, her first everything, and she had loved him with everything she had to give.

They had loved each other. And he had walked away, left her behind.

Holy shit.

What the heck was she doing?

She pulled back, her palms flattening against his shoulders as she straightened her arms. “I can’t.” Gasping, she ignored the sting of gravel that bit into her hands as she scrambled backward. “I can’t do this.”

“Quinn.”

“No. No. No.” She shook her head, trying to clear her muddled thoughts. It was as if she’d been swimming in a beautiful perfect lake, the water warm and fluid around her, then something had brushed past her leg, and she remembered that the lake held a monster that swam just below the surface, and suddenly she couldn’t get out of the water fast enough.

She backpedaled, then pushed to her feet, determined not to get pulled down into the water again, not to get sucked in to the whirlpool that was Rockford James.

“I gotta go.” She took two steps forward, then stopped and stomped her foot, a small cloud of dust kicking up around her boot heel. “Damn it. I can’t just leave you here.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his beautiful mouth.

“Not because of that,” she sneered. Her shoulders fell as she let out a sigh. “Because you’re hurt.”

His cocky grin fell, replaced by a scowl. “Let me get this straight—you’re pissed but you’re not gonna walk away because you feel sorry for me? Well, screw that. You can keep on walking, lady.”

“I can’t. That’s not who I am. I don’t walk away when someone needs me.”

He winced. “Who says I need you?”

A flash of pain pierced her heart. No one. No one had said that. And Rock didn’t need her. Apparently, he didn’t need anyone except himself. “It doesn’t matter. I’m a mom; it’s what I do. You’re hurt, and I’m not walking away.”

“You guys need a hand? Somebody hurt?” A younger version of Rock walked around the barn, a copper-colored golden retriever on his heels.

“Nobody’s hurt,” Rock growled. “I’m fine.”

“Hey, Colt. I’m glad you’re here,” Quinn said to Rock’s baby brother. He looked so much like Rock, the same sandy-blond hair, the same broad shoulders, sometimes it was hard for Quinn to be around him, just the sight of him bringing up too many painful memories. “I’ve got to go. Can you watch him?”

“Nobody needs to watch me. I’m not a child.”

The golden ran over to Rock and set to licking his face in greeting.

No, he wasn’t a child. And he wasn’t the teenage boy who’d left her behind, the boy who still lingered in her mind and haunted her dreams. No, he was a man. A man who with one kiss, had just turned her inside out and shaken her to her core.

Shoving her hands in her pockets, she tried to control their trembling, then turned on her heels, and walked back to the house.

* * *

Rock held out his hand and let Colt pull him up. “How you doing, little brother?”

The younger man pulled him into a bear hug. “A lot better than you, by the looks of things. What’s going on with Quinn? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so rattled.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to share that it was his fault, or that it might have something to do with the fact that he’d just kissed her. Okay—it had everything to do with the fact that he’d just kissed her.

But he needed to mull that over a little on his own first—because he also wasn’t sure if he was ready to face how rattled he felt either.

“Sorry I missed you last night,” Colt said.

“It’s cool. Mom said you were working a late shift at The Creed,” Rock told him, referring to The Creedence Tavern, the local pub and restaurant in town. “Since when did you start working there?”

“I don’t work there. I was just filling in for Dale last night because his wife went into labor.”

“No way. I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

He shrugged. “It’s only been for about the last nine months now.”

Rock elbowed him in the side. “I was gonna come down and see you, but Ma wouldn’t let me out of her sight last night.”

His brother chuckled. “Yeah, I bet. So, how’s your head? For real.”

“For real?”

Colt nodded, his gaze solemn.

“For real, it hurts like a bitch sometimes and other times not at all. I’m sore and pissed and embarrassed that I let that punk get the drop on me, and I feel like I let the whole damn team down and we’re out of the finals because of me.”

“Whoa. That’s a lot. I know you’ve got some pretty broad shoulders, but I didn’t realize you carried the whole team.”

He sighed. “Shut up. You know what I mean. I just feel like I let ’em down. And I hate that the coach sent me home to ‘recuperate.’” He lifted his fingers to make air quotes.

“It must have been pretty bad then.”

“It’s a few dizzy spells and some bruises. But I’m not a freaking invalid, and regardless of what Quinn Rivers has to say about it, I do not need a babysitter.”

Colt held up his hands. “All right, dude. Although you’d be hard-pressed to find a prettier babysitter than Quinn. She used to babysit me, and I never seemed to mind.”

Rock let out a chuckle. “Point taken. I just don’t want her, or anybody, making a fuss over me. That includes Mom.”

“Good luck with that one.” He gestured toward the pasture. “I’m headed out to check on the calves. Want to keep me company? Stretch your legs a little?”

“Sure.” He picked up a stick and threw it for the dog as he fell into step behind his brother. It would be good to stretch his legs and to focus on something besides the blond cowgirl who smelled like vanilla and whose kiss still sent him reeling, making him dizzy in ways that had nothing to do with the concussion.

* * *

Two hours later, Rock took a biscuit from the plate and inhaled the sweet, buttery aroma before taking a bite.

Okay, he could admit, there were a few good things about being home, like sitting around the table with his mother and his brothers, and the taste of his mom’s homemade biscuits.

“Pass the roast beast,” Mason said, indicating the platter brimming with roasted beef, potatoes, and carrots.

Rock and Colt took after their mother, inheriting her blond hair and Norwegian stock. But Mason was the one who looked just like their father, with his shock of black hair and the five-o’clock shadow of dark whiskers that seemed to show up by noon.

They’d lost their dad in a farming accident when they were little, and Rock sometimes wondered if it was hard on his mom to have a son who shared such a likeness with the man she lost. The man they’d all lost.

Rock had been nine years old, barely older than Quinn’s son now, when he took on the role of the man of the house, stepping into his father’s boots to take care of his mother and younger brothers.

Maybe that’s why he felt so responsible for what happened with the team, and why he felt like he’d let them down. He was used to taking responsibility, for shouldering the burdens of those around him.

He passed the platter to his brother. “I took a walk with Colt this morning. The calves look good.”

“Yeah, we’re branding them and putting ’em out to pasture over the next few weeks. We’re scheduled to start at Rivers Gulch day after tomorrow. Probably take us a couple days to get theirs done, then they’ll come over here in a week or two and help us with ours.”

“Wait. You’re going over to Rivers Gulch to help them with their branding?”

“We all are. Including you. We can use the extra hand. We’ve both got close to three hundred head this year.”

“But what about the ‘feud’?” He lifted his fingers in air quotes. “Since when do we go over and help Hamilton Rivers do anything.”

“Oh Lord, son, you’ve been gone too long,” his mother said. “We only worry about the dang feud when it’s convenient. But we’re neighbors, and we share grazing land, and when there’s work to be done, we come together and get it done.”

Colt nodded. “We’ve been branding together the last several years, and it helps both of us. Plus, it’s kinda fun. We eat first, and Quinn always puts out a great spread. So does Ma.”

They were referring to the annual tradition of branding and castrating their calves. Every spring, they roped and branded their own, then let them out to pasture together to spend the summer grazing on their shared land. In the fall, they culled the herd, separating out their cattle by their brands and bringing them back to their respective ranches.

Both the branding and the roundup were big events on the farm.

“I’m glad to help,” Rock said, speaking around a mouthful of biscuit. “But I don’t think either Ham or Logan would want me around.”

“They’d be happy to have the extra hand. Like Mom said, it’s easy to put aside our differences when there’s work to be done. And Logan’s not such a bad guy.”

Rock arched an eyebrow at his baby brother. “You sound like you’re friends with him.”

Colt shrugged. “He helps out down at The Creed sometimes too, and I’ve known him my entire life, so yeah, I’d say we are friends.”

“You’re friends with the guy that used to tease you and always make you be the goalie when we played hockey on the pond?”

“Dude, you used to make me do that too. And that was a long time ago. We were kids.”

“Well, I was over there yesterday, and he’s still pissed at me.”

“Can you blame him?”

“Point taken.”

“Look, you’ve been gone a long time. We’re neighbors. It’s easier to get along. And just because the guy thinks you’re a douche, which by the way, sometimes you are, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be part of your drama.”

Vivienne held up her hands. “All right, that’s enough. We’re going to Rivers Gulch to help with the branding, they’re coming over to help us—that’s just the way it is. Rockford, we’d be glad to have your help, if you’re feeling up to it. Now I would like to get back to the meal, and I prefer if you not call each other feminine cleansing products while we eat.”

All three men grimaced.

“Ew.”

“Gross, Mom.”

Rock let out a groan.

Vivi chuckled. “Pass the gravy.”

* * *

Two days later, Rock sat in the passenger seat while Mason pulled his pickup into the driveway of Rivers Gulch. Vivi sat between them, and Colt rode in the back with the two dogs.

The bed of the truck was full of gear to help with the branding, and they made quick work of unloading while the dogs ran around and greeted everyone.

Logan was already at the grill and called the crew in to eat.

Rock followed his family into the front yard, where two long picnic tables were covered in red vinyl tablecloths and set with plates and silverware. Three large pitchers of iced tea and several baskets of rolls were already on the tables.

Besides the James and the Rivers families, they both had their hired men come along to help, making a total of ten people to feed. The group gathered together, grabbing rolls and filling their cups with tea as they settled around the table.

The scent of grilled meat filled the air, and someone had set up a wireless speaker so an old country song was playing softly in the background. With the sound of quick guitar-picking and banjo strums, the day had a festive feel to it, and Rock’s spirit lifted for the first time in the last few days.

Not that he’d been moping around the house the last day and a half. Okay, yeah, he’d been sort of moping. More like brooding—that had a more manly feel to it.

Whatever it was, it felt like crap. It was bad enough that his body hurt, but he also felt like crap for the way things had ended with Quinn.

And his bad mood was apparently evident enough that the rest of his family noticed. Although they all handled it differently. His mom had made his favorite blueberry cobbler the night before, Colt had challenged him to a game of foosball, and Mason had asked him if he was on his period.

Even though he appreciated the cobbler, it was good to snap out of it.

Why he was wasting energy on something that had ended years ago was a mystery to him. He needed to redirect his focus to something he could control, like working out and getting healthy, blueberry cobbler withstanding.

He needed to look to his future, not focus on things in the past that he couldn’t change.

Quinn was just a girl—er, woman—whom he used to know. It’s true, she was his first love, but so what? That didn’t mean he had to moon over her forever. And it didn’t mean that she still had any kind of hold over his heart.

Yeah, right. You keep telling yourself that, buddy.

The screen door slammed, and he looked up to see Quinn walking down the porch steps, a bowl of potato salad in her hands.

Her hair was in a braid and pulled through the hole in the back of a pink ball cap. She wore a black tank top, low-heeled boots, and snug jeans that hugged her curvy hips. A pouch holding a multi-use tool hung from the brown leather belt encircling her waist.

Quinn Rivers was a country girl through and through. Tough enough to run a stallion at top speed through a barrel-racing course and serve a bunch of hungry cowboys a meal complete with yeast rolls and homemade potato salad, yet still feminine enough to have Rock’s hands sweating and his mouth starting to water.

And it wasn’t from the rolls.

It was from the tall, gorgeous woman who stopped in the middle of the steps, her back held straight, as she waited for Max to follow her, his small arms laden with a big jar of pickles.

Her laughter rang through the air at something Max said, and she set the bowl on the table and reached for the jar in her son’s hands.

“I got it,” Rock said, hastening from his seat to grab the jar and set it on the table. “How you doing, Max?”

Quinn’s easy smile faltered, just for a moment, then she forced it back in place. Her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes as she avoided Rock’s gaze. “Max, you remember Rock from the other day.”

Max grinned up at him, his eyes bright behind his round glasses. “Hiya, Rock. Are you gonna be a pirate today?”

Rock chuckled. “Nope. Gonna be a cowboy.”

“Too bad. You made a pretty good pirate.”

He liked this kid. Squinting one eye closed, he did his best pirate imitation. “Thanks, matey. But I’m afraid I’m in trouble with the captain, and she’s gonna make me walk the plank.”

Max giggled and climbed over the bench seat of the picnic table. “You’re weird. But funny.”

“Yeah, he’s funny all right,” Quinn muttered as she took a seat next to her son.

Rock slid in next to her, lowering his voice and resting a hand on the small of her back. “You think maybe we can have a parley?” he asked, referencing the pirate term for truce. “If I tell you I’m real sorry and promise to swab the decks?”

“Fine, but you have to stop talking like a pirate.” Their legs were pressed next to each other, and Quinn discreetly slid an inch away, just enough that their thighs were no longer touching. She also removed his hand from her back. “And don’t even think about touching my booty.”

He chuckled, okay with the directive, for now. As long as she was talking to him again. Although he’d had plenty of thoughts the last few days about touching her booty, and all the rest of her.

Before he could come up with a clever response, Ham stood up at the head of the table and held out his hands, signaling the group to quiet down for the blessing.

Rock held out his hand to Quinn, who grimaced as if it had cooties, but took it anyway.

He tried to focus on Hamilton’s prayer, but all he could think about was the fact that he was holding her hand, the weight of it comfortable and familiar in his. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckle.

“Amen.”

“Amen,” she said, pulling her hand away and avoiding his gaze as she focused on helping Max with his plate.

Rock picked up the potato salad and dropped a spoonful on his plate. That was okay. At least he’d made progress, and it felt like they were back on good terms again. Tentative good terms, but good terms nonetheless.

He’d earned a smile, and that was enough for him.

* * *

Quinn let the lasso fly, and the loop sailed through the air and landed perfectly around the calf’s neck.

Her heart raced as she tightened her grip, pulling the rope taut as she sprinted toward the calf and wrestled him to the ground.

There was a certain rush to roping a calf, from the skilled precision of the lassoing to the physical contest of wrangling it off its feet. Her dad had taught her and her brother to rope when they were little, and they were both proficient.

Her skills were a little rusty, since she didn’t find a lot of use for roping anymore, but it was fun to participate in the annual branding ceremony.

And it was a ceremony, complete with the time-honored traditions of having a big meal together first, then setting up the branding pot and having a round of cigars while the branding irons heated.

A lot of ranches were using chutes to brand, but Hamilton Rivers wasn’t big on change and liked the traditional ways of doing things. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” was a common quote heard from his mouth.

Unless the new way saved him money, then he was much more amenable to a change.

Quinn sometimes liked the old ways too. There was something comforting about keeping to tradition, to teaching her son methods of doing things that her dad had taught her, and his dad had taught him as well.

She’d be fine if they let go of the cigar part of the tradition—although she might miss the sweet tobacco scent mingled with the propane and smoke that was all part of branding day.

And the scent of tobacco was preferable to the stench that the brand gave off when it hit the calf’s skin.

They had a system, and everyone had different jobs. She and Colt roped while Logan and Mason did most of the wrestling and holding the calf down while it was vaccinated, branded, and sometimes castrated. Ham and a couple of the hired men did most of that, and Vivi ran the branding station, keeping the irons hot and refilling syringes with vaccine.

They’d all done this together for the past few years and knew the system. Except for Rock. He was usually still playing this time of year and hadn’t been home for a branding in years. And not since the two ranches had started working together.

Vivienne had assigned him to do the vaccinations, a job that still required some strength and skill, but wouldn’t put as much of a physical strain on his already bruised and beaten body.

But she’d never known Rock to do things the easy way, and he was right in the thick of things—working next to his brothers and hers, doing the vaccinations, plus slinging rope and wrestling calves.

As much as she tried to ignore him, Quinn seemed to be aware of him everywhere he went—whether he was across the corral helping Mason or kneeling next to her, vaccinating the calf she’d just roped. His presence alone added another layer to the day, and detracted from the concentration she needed to do the job.

It was enough to keep an eye on Max, who was either running around with the dogs, reading a book, or advising Vivienne about how to fill the syringes with the exact amount of medicine.

He approached her now, running toward her, a rock held out in his hand. “Mom, check this out.”

“Max, get back!” she yelled just a second too late.