Romancing the Rancher. Stacy Connelly

that moment before the O’Malleys arrived rushed back. That split second when it had taken every ounce of self-discipline not to crush Theresa in his arms, to feel every inch of her delicate curves pressed against him as he claimed her mouth with his own.

      Jerking his gaze away, he focused on settling Lightning into her new stall, an easy enough task with the good-tempered mare. The horse stepped inside, her hooves crunching on the fresh straw as she took in her new surroundings. As he closed the stall door, he flinched a little, thinking of Chloe’s promise to return and bring the engraved plaque with Lightning’s name on it to adorn the front of the stall.

      The girl’s eyes had glowed as she said, “I was going to keep it, you know, as a memento, but now it’ll be right on her door where it belongs so that she’ll know that she’s home.”

      He hoped Chloe didn’t have anything else in mind to help the horse feel welcome. He could just imagine the stall covered in flowers and draped in girlie fabrics.

      Judging by the hint of smile Theresa was unsuccessfully trying to hide, she knew what he was thinking. And wasn’t that one damn scary idea? Because while he was as eager to throw off Chloe’s gratitude as an ornery bull to shake off a rider, the warmth in Theresa’s gaze made him feel...he didn’t know what. But he knew for sure letting himself get pulled into that blue flame was a surefire way to get burned.

      “It’s no big deal,” he ground out.

      “Tell that to Chloe and her father,” Theresa countered gently.

      The ringtone on his phone interrupted the moment, and he reached into the back pocket of his jeans with relief. He didn’t need Theresa thinking he was some kind of hero. Not when he knew the truth. When it came to being there when a person needed him most, he was nothing but a failure.

      The phone call saved him from the rush of unwanted memories, but the minute he heard the sweet, Southern drawl, he cringed.

      Talk about trading the frying pan for the fire. But at least Summer was on the other side of the country, unlike Theresa, who, despite his words, was gazing at him with a softness in her blue eyes that made half of him want to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her while the other half—

      Hell, that part of him just wanted to grab hold of her and not let go.

      “Well, it’s about time you picked up your phone. I suppose it’s too much to ask for you to return one of my messages.”

      “That would mean having something to say.”

      His half sister sighed. “J.T.—”

      “Don’t call me that.” The childhood nickname—like his brief childhood in Atlanta, like his family—were things he’d left behind long ago.

      After a slight pause, his sister murmured, “Sorry, Jarrett.”

      His hand tightened on the phone. Truth was, he had no issue with his half sister and no reason for acting like such a jerk. “That’s just...not who I am.”

      Her voice was wistful as she replied, “It’s how I remember you.”

      It amazed him somewhat that Summer remembered him at all. Or at least that she remembered him fondly. The eight-year age difference had always struck him as huge. Most of his memories of Summer were of a crying baby, an annoying toddler and a spoiled child. Even if his memories were accurate, Summer had only been ten when he stopped going to Atlanta, fulfilling the regular, court-mandated visits.

      That had been over a decade ago, and if he’d missed most of her bratty teenage years, he’d also missed her turning into a bright, beautiful—if stubborn—young woman.

      Still, he argued, “You’d be better off forgetting.”

      “How can I?” Some of that bright, stubborn streak showed in her relentlessly cheerful tone. “You’re my big brother.”