Texas Blaze. Debbi Rawlins

way he stroked her back, and had started to cup her fanny. Mitch had physically reacted to her. And definitely not as little Katie Manning. The thought registered with shocking clarity. At the time she’d felt too guilty about Dennis to absorb what had happened, but she wasn’t wrong.

      She swallowed. Was she?

      Before she lost her nerve, she opened her bedroom door, checked to be sure the coast was clear and slipped into the hall. If she hurried, she’d probably beat him back to his place.

      

      IT HAD BEEN GOOD TO SEE Clint again, Mitch thought as he passed the detached garage and parked his pickup near the front door of the rambling old ranch house. The porch steps needed a few repairs and the whole front a new paint job, but considering the age of his family’s place, it was still in pretty good shape. No thanks to him.

      Mitch pushed away the guilt that had started to gnaw at him the moment he’d set eyes on the wooden sign that arched over the entrance to the ranch. Though his father had never once complained, Mitch knew that keeping the ranch operational for the past few years had been a struggle. Their longtime foreman had retired, and then Clarence, who’d been expected to take his place, had to step aside after injuring his back while dropping hay from the back of a pickup. Soon after, the rustlers had struck for the first time.

      It was Mitch’s sister who’d finally filled him in on the news. His parents hadn’t bothered. Why should they? Hadn’t they figured out long ago they couldn’t count on their only son for help? That the only thing they could count on was for him to selfishly go his own way?

      Exhausted suddenly, Mitch climbed out of the truck and headed for the front door. He’d driven ten hours straight yesterday, and another ten today with only a half hour stop to shovel in some fast food. Turned out he’d pushed hard for nothing. He’d missed the July Fourth celebration anyway. Probably just as well. Once again he’d been thinking about himself by wanting to use the gathering to talk to as many neighbors as possible. But the folks around here deserved a festive weekend without their thoughts being consumed by the rustling problem.

      Just as he got to the porch steps he thought he saw a light flicker from the second floor. He stopped, his gaze scanning the darkened windows. The moon was full, and he decided that he must have seen a reflection off the glass. He’d stopped by earlier, long enough to take in his duffel bag and grab a quick shower. As he’d always done, he’d left the front door unlocked without giving the habit a second thought. Maybe he’d better start paying more attention.

      He let himself in, then waited and listened. Enough moonlight shone in through the windows that he didn’t need to turn on lights. He climbed the stairs, smiling at the familiar creaks. How many times had he been busted trying to sneak in after curfew because of these damn noisy stairs? More than he could count. Even his sister had gotten in trouble a night or two.

      He stopped in the bathroom to brush his teeth before going to his old room. Now that he was six-one, he wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in the double bed that had been perfectly fine until college. His parents had a king-size bed in the master bedroom that would be more comfortable, but the pull of his old room was too strong.

      The moon’s glow continued to provide enough light until he got to the end of the hall. His parents had left most of the furnishings, but surprisingly, he noticed the few missing pieces they had taken with them. As a kid he couldn’t have cared less about the cherry table his father had painstakingly labored over for two winters or the grandfather clock his great-great-grandmother had brought with her from Germany, but their absence produced a pang of sadness he couldn’t explain.

      When he got to his room, he stopped short of flipping on the switch for the glaring overhead light. Instead, he used the moonlight to guide him to the lamp.

      “Mitch?”

      The soft voice startled him and he nearly knocked over the lamp. “Who the—Katie?”

      “Yes.”

      He righted the lamp, found the switch and muted light flooded the room. Lying in his bed, the blue handmade quilt drawn to her chin, she blinked and squinted at the invading glow of the lamp.

      “Damn it, Katie, you scared the hell out of me.”

      Her mouth curved in a tentative smile. “I didn’t think you were afraid of anything. You even worked as a bodyguard for that TV actress for a while, didn’t you?”

      “What are you doing here?”

      Her lips thinned and she shrank back. “Waiting for you.”

      “In my bed?”

      She blinked, uncertainty and embarrassment filling her green eyes. And then she lifted her chin. “You want me to leave?”

      Mitch stared at her, feeling more helpless than he had in a long time. His mind flashed back to the earlier scene at the bunkhouse. Obviously that’s what this was about. She was hurting, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d only make her feel worse. But this was Katie…in his bed. Shit. This was totally messed up.

      “No, I don’t want you to leave,” he said finally.

      She gave him a fleeting smile of relief, and then moistened her lips. “The front door was unlocked.”

      “Old habit. Maybe not such a good idea these days.” Giving her his back, he walked to the dresser to toss his keys, feeling like a flustered fourteen-year-old.

      “Probably not,” she said, sounding wounded.

      He realized what he’d said, how she had taken it, but he had no idea how to backtrack. Or move forward. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Remind her she was engaged? Yeah, that would go over real well. He tried to get a furtive glimpse of her in the mirror but the angle was wrong. What was she wearing? She had the quilt pulled so far up he couldn’t tell. A succession of possibilities flitted through his head, the one of her totally nude shocking him back to reality.

      He cleared his throat and slowly turned around to face her. “What’s going on, Kate?”

      She hesitated, and then calmly lifted the quilt and folded it back. “Just keeping your bed warm for you.”

      Black lace and bare creamy skin. Just this side of naked and as tempting as sin itself. All thoughts of her as his friends’ skinny sister fled as he slowly traced the curves of her body. Everything about her was lush and inviting, and his cock hardened in response.

      Somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain he knew he should look away. But he just stood there, mesmerized. The sight of her plump pink-crowned breasts sent his ache deep. Visible through the sheer black material, her nipples were large and budded. His whole body tensed. Man, he had a thing for large pink nipples. He could almost taste them. Hungered to roll his tongue over those tight nubs as he thrust into all that magnificent heat. He stepped forward, reminding himself he was invited.

      Then he saw her hand tremble. He gave himself a mental shake, and moved back as he lifted his gaze to her face. “This isn’t a good idea.”

      She blushed. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

      In spite of himself he glanced at her breasts. “No, you certainly aren’t.”

      She looked pleased, and then her brows drew together in a frown. As if the thought had just occurred to her, she slowly asked, “Are you involved with anyone?”

      “No.” Too late he realized he should’ve lied.

      “Good.” Her attention shifted to below his belt.

      No use trying to hide his erection, which only grew at her blatant stare. He had to do something now, stop this before he made a huge mistake. “I’m not involved, but you are.”

      Her eyes widened, flooding with hurt and humiliation, before she shuttered them. Her chin quivered, and she pulled the quilt back over her body. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

      A rush of fierce protectiveness hit him like a tidal wave, sweeping away his