From This Moment On. Debbi Rawlins

drove home alone at midnight. It was that sort of reaction that made her realize Matt didn’t truly understand how she and her mom had lived. Because Nikki would feel a whole lot safer with a pack of coyotes than she’d felt in her old neighborhood.

      Holding three mugs made it hard to open the front door. She managed, but pulling it closed was trickier. If only she had someplace to set down…

      In seconds Trace was at her side. “I figured you went back to bed,” he said, closing the door and reaching for a mug. “Which one’s mine?”

      “The blue.” She held it out to him.

      He wrapped his hand around the cup, his warm fingers brushing against her knuckles. It had to be deliberate, the way he let the tips trail along the backs of her own fingers before he took the mug from her.

      She stared down at his hand. “You have calluses.”

      “What?” He gave her a funny look. “I work on a ranch, you know. Here, I’ll take Matt’s.”

      “I didn’t mean anything. I was just—” She let go of the coffee with cream and sugar, and this time, he was careful not to touch her. “Trace?”

      He’d already started walking toward Matt and acknowledged her with a quick glance over his shoulder.

      It was too awkward to talk with all that space between them. Plus Matt would hear her fumbling to explain that the calluses had surprised her and she had no idea why. She followed him in mute frustration wishing Matt wasn’t standing so close to the corral where two mean-looking horses had been kept yesterday. No sign of them now, but Nikki was already edgy and she preferred a vast distance between her and where any animal the size of a horse might be. Dogs and cats were fine. She’d always wanted a cocker spaniel or a cute little poodle. But people’s fascination with horses? She didn’t get it. Those beasts were huge and dangerous.

      “You said something back there.” Trace had already given Matt his coffee, and he was leaning against the railing watching her as she joined them. Well, sort of joined them…by stopping a good six feet away. “Sorry, I didn’t catch it.”

      “Oh, it was nothing.” She cradled her mug with both hands and sipped from it, sweeping a gaze toward the barn and stable.

      “You haven’t been out here before, have you?” Matt asked, and Trace laughed.

      She could see why he thought it was a joke. They weren’t that far from the walkway, but still farther than she’d ever ventured. The area between the front door and where she parked the truck on the side of the house, now that was her turf.

      “No,” she said, and had to clear her throat and try again. “I haven’t.”

      A pair of hired hands left the barn on noisy ATVs so no one bothered to say anything. Trace drank his coffee, watching her, his brows puckered in a slight frown. She hoped he wouldn’t ask why she hadn’t been to the corral, because she didn’t really want to answer in front of Matt. He didn’t know about her fear of large animals. It had only started after she’d watched him compete in the Houston rodeo last year.

      He was a professional bull rider, with fancy belt buckles and millions in prize money. Nothing intimidated him. He’d been calm and cool sitting on top of that fifteen-hundred-pound bull. She was pretty sure his eight-second ride had knocked a year off her life. That had been the first and last time she’d gone to a rodeo.

      Matt kept glancing toward the stable as if he were waiting for someone. Trace apparently preferred to stare at her. It made her nervous, and she pretended not to notice, but what annoyed her most was that she would’ve liked the chance to check him out.

      He wasn’t dressed all that differently from when he came into the bar. If he owned more than one pair of pants that weren’t jeans she’d be shocked. And he seemed to like T-shirts. He wore them all the time, even in this chilly morning air. Twice he’d come into the Watering Hole wearing cool Western-cut shirts. But the other guys gave him so much crap about it she knew it wasn’t a normal thing. The cowboy boots and Stetson seemed to be daily requirements.

      When the ATV engines had faded and they could be heard again, Matt spoke first. “Do you know if Wallace is awake?”

      Nikki shrugged, feeling a bit defensive. No reason for it because Matt never criticized or pushed. He accepted her refusal to have anything to do with the man.

      “How’s he doing?” Trace asked.

      Matt shrugged. “Depressed. Not even interested in drinking, if you can believe that.”

      “I believe it,” Trace murmured.

      “Yeah.” Matt sighed. “Right.” He knew Trace understood because his own father had died of cancer years ago. And Nikki knew this only because Matt had told her.

      It got quiet after that. She wondered if Trace was thinking about his father. The McAllisters were a close family, but she didn’t know anything about Trace’s relationship with the man. Or much about Trace, really.

      The night Matt had gotten beaten up was the only time she’d spent alone with Trace. She’d had a bit too much to drink and he’d driven her home. He’d been a perfect gentleman, not even trying for a good-night kiss, though she knew he really wanted to.

      She wasn’t used to guys like him. He’d kind of rattled her at the time. But when she thought about it, all he’d really done was show restraint. And only because she was Matt’s sister.

      Trace’s mouth curved into a slow, sexy smile.

      She blinked, her insides fluttering with the realization that she’d been staring at him as if he were a hot fudge sundae. And he was loving it.

      “What are you doing here anyway?” she asked, wishing she could just disappear. “Don’t I see enough of you at the Watering Hole? You have to come sniffing around here?”

      “Jesus, Nikki.” Matt frowned at her. “You need more sleep. I phoned Trace. He’s here to help me.”

      She looked from her brother to Trace, who was still smiling.

      “It’s true,” he said, touching the brim of his hat. “Though I’m always happy to see you, Nikki.”

      “Oh.” She took another sip, sorry she’d gotten out of bed. “So I’m interrupting.”

      “Nope.” Trace casually glanced over his shoulder. “We’re just waiting.”

      “For who?”

      “Petey,” Matt said. “He’s our best man, been here for over twenty years. You met him yet?”

      “Is he the really big guy with the shaggy beard?” she asked, and when Matt nodded, she said, “I’ve seen him around but I haven’t actually met him. He always seems to be working with the horses.”

      “That’s what a wrangler does, though we can count on Petey for just about anything.”

      “Nowadays we use ATVs a lot,” Trace said. “Back when I was a kid, everything was done on horseback and the horses had to know how to work around the cattle. You needed a good wrangler so you didn’t spend half your time with your ass planted in the dirt.”

      Matt nodded, grinning. “Now they even use helicopters for roundups and drives. The job’s gotten too cushy.”

      “Hey, as soon as we start seeing profits again, we need to chip in, start a co-op and buy a chopper,” Trace said. He put his mug on the corral post, then flexed his shoulders as if trying to get the stiffness out. “We’ve already got ourselves a pilot. That’s half the battle, right?”

      She knew he meant his brother Jesse, but she didn’t understand the remark about profits. According to Matt the Lone Wolf was doing great. The Sundance seemed to be doing well, too. But watching Trace arch his back and stretch his arms in that snug black T-shirt, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but his broad chest and muscular biceps. She’d never thought of him as