Evidence of Trust Page 2

  “Will do.”

  Five minutes later, he rode back into Brittany Lucas’s camp as she threw a couple pieces of wood on the campfire that’d been nothing but banked coals when he left. She brushed off her hands before bracing them on her hips.

  “Now what?”

  He dismounted to unpack his gear. “I’ll be camping here with you tonight.”

  “Ranger Morgan, let me assure you, I have every intention of leaving in the morning.”

  “And until then, I’ll make sure you stay safe.”

  “I don’t need you to babysit me,” she insisted, irritation flooding her voice as she sat by the fire.

  Ignoring the fact she’d heard him earlier, he met her stare over the top of Nobel’s saddle. “You got a gun?”

  Her gaze faltered. “No.”

  “Well, the poacher does, so I’m staying.” That shut her up, until he tossed his sleeping bag inside her tent.

  “I don’t think so.” She shot to her feet.

  “Don’t worry, I promise I’ll stay on my own side.”

  “No.” She stalked over and half-crawled into the tent to drag his bag out. When she straightened, she shoved the roll into his chest. “We can share a fire, but you are not sleeping in my tent.”

  He fisted his hand in the material, leaned around her, and tossed it back inside. When she would’ve spun around, he grasped her arm to keep her facing him. “Did you happen to notice those clouds rolling in?”

  She lifted her head toward the darkening sky, and he read the concern in her eyes.

  “We’ve got a storm headed our way,” he confirmed. “We’re better off sharing body heat to keep one tent warm instead of two.”

  A mutinous glint lit her eyes as she jerked free. “I’ll take my chances alone.”

  Of course she would. “You take too many chances alone,” he said, returning to Nobel’s side. After unbuckling the cinch, he gave a jerk to loosen the saddle and decided to try to reason with her. “I realize the situation is not ideal, but the temperature is predicted to drop, and we could get upwards of a foot of snow.”

  “So?”

  He met her gaze over the horse’s back. “So, it’s my job as a ranger to keep you safe, and that includes making sure you don’t freeze to death.” When she reached inside the tent once more, he lost his patience. “You’re on my turf, which means my rules. Unless you’re worried about keeping your hands to yourself?”

  She straightened to face him, hands empty, gaze narrowed. “Oh, please. Spare me the ego.”

  When she stomped away without further protest, a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. Talk about an easy bait, and definitely something to keep in mind. She didn’t like being challenged whether it was in her favor or not.

  While he unpacked the rest of his gear, she returned to camp with an armload of wood. He watched her walk away again, then turned a speculative eye toward her tent. Top of the line, the best money could buy. Same with her backpack and other gear. He hadn’t missed the mutiny in her expression when he’d called her a spoiled little rich girl, and now he wondered how much truth the statement held.

  His initial, knee-jerk assessment of the beautiful woman and the evidence of money was impairing his judgment, but he couldn’t let those damned ghosts distract him. An objective evaluation of the contrary evidence was in order.

  Her gear, her horse, and her attitude suggested he was right on the money with his initial assumption. Her roughing it alone in the mountains—expensive equipment or not—suggested otherwise. Evidence that didn’t add up bugged him. Made him want to dig deeper because usually the evidence was the only thing he trusted.

  He led Nobel a short distance away and tied him up, making sure he had enough room to graze before the snow started piling up. He didn’t like the idea of him being out in the elements all night, but couldn’t do much about it other than give the gelding a double helping of grain.

  In the gloom of dusk, he saw Brittany also settling her horses for the night.

  “That’s some stallion you have there,” he commented. “How old is he?”

  “Four.”

  “Impressive training.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Who’d you take him to?”

  “No one you’d know.”

  Whoever it was must’ve cost a fortune—like the horse itself. The Arabian’s pure bloodlines were evident in his exceptional conformation; small ears, delicate dip in the nose, beautiful arch to his neck, and fine-boned legs.

  “I’ve done a bit of training myself,” Joel told her as they made their way back to the campfire. “But I’ve never seen a horse respond to a command in a situation like he did earlier.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess I could’ve done better there. I’ll have to work on adding an attack command.”

  Joel gave her a quick glance. “You trained him?”

  She scooped up one of her bags and thumped it down closer to the fire. “What’s so hard to believe about that? You don’t even know me. What I do, where I come from—nothing. There’s that saying about making assumptions, except you’re the only one making an ass of yourself.”

  Joel saw fire in her eyes, and it definitely wasn’t a reflection of the one crackling in front of her. She was right, he didn’t know a damn thing about her. It was time he found out.

  He sat down on the single large log she’d positioned as a seat. “Then, tell me, Ms. Lucas, what do you do? Where do you come from?”

  “None of your business.”

  He couldn’t stop a chuckle. “It’s going to be a long night if you can’t answer a few questions.”

  “Not for me, I brought a book. I hadn’t planned on company.”

  “You sure about that?” he baited, casting a pointed glance at her camping gear. “Animals bring a good price on the black market, and you’re certainly not hurting for cash.”

  Her gaze swept over her stuff as if seeing it through his eyes and comprehension dawned in her expression. “Oh, wow. If you’re suggesting my expensive gear incriminates me as a poacher, then I can tell you why you haven’t caught them yet.”

  “Please, enlighten me.”

  She reached into her backpack, then tossed him a square, palm-sized item that he caught with one hand. “You haven’t been looking in the right place.”

  Chapter 3

  Britt watched Ranger Morgan open her compact and take a look in the mirror. She’d noticed his saddle, the brand on his sleeping bag, and the excellent conformation of his quarter horse gelding. He had absolutely no room to judge with his ass-umptions.

  His deep chuckle surprised her. “Touché.”

  When those gold-flecked eyes rose to hers and his smile flashed, her pulse skipped, then kept tripping along at a pace that annoyed the hell out of her. Cripes, since realizing he wasn’t some dangerous lunatic, every time she let her gaze rest on his face, he was better looking than before. Especially with the dark stubble shadowing his jaw line.

  Except he was also a bossy, arrogant jerk. He could’ve asked her to share the tent instead of just declaring my turf, my rules. Recalling his comment about keeping her hands to herself, she added conceited to her list of descriptive adjectives. His tall, dark and irritatingly good looks shouldn’t have any effect on her—especially after only one smile.

  He made a motion with his hand, and she raised hers to catch the mirror as he lobbed it back across the fire. Then he reached over to grab his own pack. “So, are we dining dutch, or do you want to pool our resources?”

  Much as he annoyed her, she didn’t relish the thought of verbally sparring with him all night, so she gave a careless shrug. “Whatever.”

  “What do you got?”

  They settled on the thirteen-inch brook trout she’d caught earlier—for which she did possess a license—and he contributed a packet of wild grain rice. She declined his offer to clean the fish, then felt the weight of his accessing gaze while she scraped off the scales and filleted the meat off the bones. Tension tighten
ed her shoulders, making her slip more than once with the sharp knife.

  A few snowflakes had begun to drift down, so she seized on any excuse to distract him. “If you really want to help, Ranger Morgan, you could cover the firewood so we have dry fuel in the morning.”

  “My name is Joel,” he stated.

  She frowned at the irritation in his voice. “No need to get all testy about it. You’re the one who introduced yourself as Ranger Morgan.”

  “You were under suspicion, I had to sound official.”

  “Well, you officially sound like a jerk, so maybe you could relax a bit.”

  He stood, jaw clenched tight again. When she met his gaze with a challenging tilt of her chin, he surprised her with a brusque nod. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  As he moved off into the darkness beyond the firelight, she forced her attention away from his broad shoulders. Cleanup seemed a good distraction. The frigid stream rinsed her fish-slimy tools and she returned to find the wood covered, and Ranger Morgan—Joel—arranging a second log near the fire so they’d both have a place to sit.

  She pan-fried the fish while he boiled the rice, and other than his compliment on the trout, they ate in silence. She kept thinking she should say something, but despite his apology, his expression didn’t appear any more welcoming than before and she held her tongue.

  Snow had begun to fall at a steady clip, covering the ground in a thin layer of white by the time they finished. After dinner, cleanup went fast, too fast, because before she knew it, it was time to retire to the tent.

  Together. All night, just the two of them, in that tiny, little, confined space.

  With the storm moving in, what if they were stuck up here for another whole day? Her pulse increased despite silent admonishments and a reminder that she didn’t even like the guy. She quickly removed her boots and slid into her sleeping bag while he tended the fire. Instead of spreading out the larger chunks of charred wood, he arranged them together in the center.

  Flames bloomed skyward as she asked, “Why not just put it out?”

  He squatted down and reached inside the tent to unroll his sleeping bag. “Wind’s not bad yet, so I figured I’d let it burn as much as possible before heading back out to finish it off.”

  She flipped onto her stomach, resting her chin on her hand to gaze through the open tent flap. The snowflakes floated down, bright dots of white against the backdrop of the fire and dark mountains. Beautiful. Plus, watching the snowfall was safer than watching him.

  He finished arranging his bag, then spun around to sit facing outward as well. His presence dwarfed the already small tent, and again, the silence grated on her nerves. Ironic really, when she’d specifically come up here for the peace and quiet. Except she’d planned to be alone, not dealing with a complete stranger who kept her on edge.

  Up here was her heaven on earth, and she felt a tiny spurt of resentment that he’d ruined her solitude tonight.

  “This is nice.”

  His low voice startled her. From the corner of her eye, it appeared he was also staring outside.

  More silence, then an even softer, “Like heaven on earth.”

  Now she jerked her head toward him; her breath caught in her throat from hearing her thoughts in his voice. He stiffened, flicked his gaze to her, then gave a shrug and maneuvered to stretch out on his sleeping bag. “It may sound stupid to you, but up in the mountains, it seems like the closest thing to heaven.”

  She didn’t want to connect with him over something so elemental, yet couldn’t help admitting, “I know exactly what you mean. Hard to find this in Chicago.”

  “Ah, you’re a city girl.”

  The slight disdain in his words put her back on the defensive. “Not in my heart. Where are you from?”

  “Montana.”

  “I’ve never been there.”

  “It’s just as beautiful.”

  The combination of flakes and flames were mesmerizing, and even with the distraction of Joel Morgan beside her, exhaustion crept up. She’d only had a few hours sleep after the long drive from Illinois before hitting the trail early that morning. Add in the fresh mountain air and high altitude, and she didn’t think she’d be able to keep her eyes open much…

  The snap of the tent flap against the nylon side jerked her awake in time to see Joel sit up. The wind had picked up, swirling the snowflakes and blowing them inside.

  “Stay here,” he instructed on his way out. “I’ll check the horses and take care of the fire.”

  Tempting as the offer was, she crawled from the warmth of her sleeping bag, pulled on her boots, and joined him outside. Zipping her jacket on to ward off the cold wind, she marched past him through the layer of snow already coating the ground. “My horses, my responsibility.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  After checking Paelo and the pack mare were both okay as they stood tail to the wind with the ranger’s gelding, she made a quick bathroom run, then returned to the tent. Joel took care of the fire while she lit a lantern. Once he was back inside and they’d zipped up tight, she gave voice to her growing concern over the storm. She also wanted to let him know she wasn’t an idiot who went camping in the spring in the mountains without checking the weather.

  “I swear, the weatherman said possibility of light snow.”

  “We’ll be fine, it’s not like we’re lost.”

  “I know.” She stifled a yawn. “I guess I’m going to get some sleep in case we’re able to head out in the morning.”

  She shifted to her side with her back to him, then lay there listening to him move around after he’d shut off the lantern. She closed her eyes. Opened them again to stare into the darkness when he sighed softly. Listened to his breathing, and then he shifted again.

  Strange that while she’d never been more uncomfortably aware of someone in her life, she didn’t fear his close proximity. After only a couple hours with him, her instincts completely trusted him to be an honorable man.

  “You still awake?” he asked above the sounds of the storm outside.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “You said you brought a book?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mind if I read for a little bit?”

  “It’s a romance.”

  Another sigh. “Forget it.”

  She smiled into the darkness and went to sleep.

  * * *

  Britt became aware of two things as she woke: her nose was cold, and something heavy spanned her waist, making movement inside the confines of her sleeping bag impossible. She remembered Ranger Morgan insisting she share her tent and stiffened with the realization she was snugged up tight against his six-foot frame.

  Her heart pounded, and she wondered if she’d made a mistake trusting him so completely based solely on the fact he was a ranger. A slow, deep breath allowed her to take stock of both sleeping bags still between them and negated her anxiety.

  She cast a cautious look in his direction to find his head rested not far from hers, dark eyelashes fanned against strong cheekbones, lips slightly parted. His even breathing told her he remained asleep, and she lifted her head to see his arm curved over her waist, holding her close.

  Now what? She set her head back down on her small pillow. Her arms were trapped under the weight of his muscled forearm. She could try to shove him off, but would’ve preferred slipping from the tent instead of waking him.

  Against her better judgment, she rolled her head sideways once more. He was something to look at. His lashes and eyes were beautiful, but when added to his dark, prominent eyebrows and combined with that stubble-covered jaw, ruggedly handsome was the more apt description. Her gaze drifted down to his mouth, that full bottom lip softened while he slept.

  What would it be like to kiss him?

  She closed her eyes to halt the path her traitorous mind started down, but then imagined his hands pressing her close as his mouth covered hers. Then he’d feather kisses across her cheek, down her neck, between her…
>
  He muttered in his sleep, and his arm tightened. Appalled at the speed her impromptu fantasy had progressed, she was embarrassed to discover her breathing had quickened. After the past couple weeks, the absolute last thing she should be doing was fantasizing about a man. Even a sinfully sexy man such as Ranger Joel Morgan.

  She took a slow, deep breath to calm her racing pulse and decided it was time to quit being a chicken and get moving.

  “Ranger Morgan.” It came out low and husky, her voice still rough from sleep. He didn’t move, so she raised her voice. “Joel.”

  Those thick lashes lifted, revealing his golden-brown eyes. In that heart-stopping moment, his body tensed and awareness gathered in his warm gaze. The weight on her waist lifted. With their gazes locked, she hesitated, and then it was too late. His hand brushed her hair from her cheek, cupped the back of her head, and urged her forward.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. She should stop him. Common sense demanded it. Still…hadn’t she just imagined this?

  His mouth met hers in a kiss that was an odd combination of confidence and caution. After a moment, his tongue slid along her bottom lip as he rolled her onto her back. Half-lying over her, he braced his weight on his forearm while deepening the kiss.

  Nothing prepared her for the hot wave of desire that swept through her as his tongue coaxed her response. She lifted a hand to his shoulder, but instead of pushing him away, she fisted her fingers in the material of his shirt and hung on. The sexy rasp of his unshaven jaw contrasted with the smooth warmth of his mouth, and she wanted more. Like the daydream from a few moments earlier.

  The thought jolted her back to reality.

  She had to stop him. Stop herself.

  As if sensing her withdrawal, he dragged his mouth off hers to bury his face in her hair. While they both struggled to regain control of their breathing, she was aware of a conflicting mixture of relief and disappointment.

  She felt his smile against her cheek as he said, “And you gave your word you’d keep your hands to yourself.”

  Chapter 4