He didn’t look like he was here on the Golden M for a social call. Feeling threatened as never before, she darted into the living room, grabbed the key above the glass-enclosed cabinet displaying her grandfather’s rifles and inserted it into the lock. One sure twist and the panel swung open. She grabbed the rifle on the rack in front of her, yanked out the drawer beneath for ammunition. In less than fifteen seconds, the rifle was loaded and she was heading back toward the front door.
“Mom!” Kellie cried fearfully.
“Go up to your room and stay there!” Josie ordered, and waited while her daughter obeyed and was safely on the second landing before she walked out onto the porch and lifted the rifle, bracing the butt firmly against her shoulder and taking aim at the man’s heart. “Stop right there, O’Connor.”
To his credit, he immediately halted, putting him ten feet away from the porch steps and too close for Josie’s comfort. His jaw clenched. He didn’t like her having the upper hand—she could see it in the narrowing of his eyes, the subtle tensing of his cowboy-honed body.
She never believed she would stand this close to him again, never believed she’d threaten him with a rifle, either But she wasn’t taking any chances where Seth O’Connor was concerned.
Their gazes met, his diamond hard and just as blue as she remembered, like the rippling, crystalline water in the north end pasture’s creek. Eyes she’d once thought of as kind. Eyes that had seduced her with the sweet promise or being desired and cherished.
It had all been a ruse.
Her finger tightened on the trigger. “Get off my property,” she said succinctly.
He lifted his hands to his hips, his stance deceptively loose. “Why, Josie darlin’, I think you’re making a mistake there.” He was all drawl and cowboy charm, but his smile held a hint of danger. “It’s my property.”
What in the world was he talking about? She looked closer, searching for signs that he’d become a drunk like his father had been. He looked totally lucid. “Your property ended miles ago. I suggest you haul your butt back to your horse and leave before I shoot you for trespassing.”
“Tsk, tsk,” he said with a cocky, challenging air tha caused a flicker of apprehension to crawl up her spine “That red hair of yours sure does match your temper.”
Hating his mockery and furious at his gall, she lifted the barrel of her rifle a foot and a half and pulled the trigger clearing the hat right off his head. He instinctively ducked but seconds after the fact, then slowly straightened, his mouth gaping in shock. She experienced a moment of satisfaction to see that he’d paled beneath that nice tan of his
His shock gave way to pure fury. It ignited in his gaze and seemed to coil within his body. With the hot July sunglinting off his dark brown hair, he looked like a dangerous outlaw. “Goddammit, woman,” he exploded. “You could have killed me!”
“Could have, but I didn’t want to kill you, just give you a final warning.” She chambered in another round and slowly lowered the barrel of the rifle to the zipper of his jeans. She smiled oh so sweetly. “Next time I won’t be so gracious.”
His blistering curses filled the air. With a low, enraged growl, he charged up the stairs, calling her bluff. Her heart leaped in her throat, and the first frisson of alarm ripped through her. She might have held the gun, but she’d never truly harm him, despite her threats. She only wanted him to leave.
He gained the porch and stopped, a feral smile curving his mouth. Then he started toward her, slow and predator-like. For every step he took forward, she went back, until her spine slammed against the side of the house and there was nowhere left to go.
He jerked the rifle from her grasp and tossed it aside. It hit the wooden floor with a loud crash and skittered to the opposite side of the porch. Refusing to cower like some helpless female, she abruptly came at him, fists flailing. Surprise registered in his eyes just as she clipped his jaw with a punch. He grunted in pain and in the next instant caught the left hook sailing his way. His fingers circled her wrist, brought her hand down and turned her around, tucking her body securely in front of his. He let go of her hand and wrapped both of his strong arms around her middle, holding her immobile.
They were both breathing hard from the fight. Josie struggled, but his muscular body and firm hold were no match for her. She felt trapped, weak and defenseless. And she hated that it was Seth O’Connor who provoked those vulnerable emotions.
He shifted his weight behind her, and she became all too aware of their intimate position...his broad chest pressing against her back and the way his pelvis tucked against her bottom.
She swallowed hard. She’d worn an old pair of cutoffs today, along with an equally old blouse she’d haphazardly knotted just beneath her unbound breasts to keep cool. Where his corded forearms were braced around her midsection, her bare skin burned. The rough material of his jeans scratched the back of her thighs and the bend of her knee.
His face moved beside hers, and she could feel his warm breath brush across her cheek and flutter the wispy auburn strands that had escaped the hair she’d pinned up earlier, could feel a light stubble graze her jaw. And for a fleeting moment, his hold seemed to loosen as if he was cradling her in his arms.
A warm, masculine scent surrounded her, like earth, leather and sun all combined into one. Her stomach fluttered and her breasts swelled and tightened. She gritted her teeth, hating herself for responding to him in any way but anger. He deserved nothing less than her contempt after the way he’d used her and deliberately broken her heart.
“Let me go,” she muttered furiously.
His mouth moved to her ear. “Not so brave without your rifle, now are you, darlin’?” he taunted.
She closed her eyes against the sudden rush of tears surging forward. “I hate you,” she whispered, voicing the words that had been locked inside her for eleven painful years.
“Yeah, well, Josie darlin’,” he said on a long, drawn-out sigh, “the feeling’s completely mutual.”
“Mom?”
The softly spoken word in a child’s quivering voice served to do what Josie’s demands could not. Seth immediately released her and straightened. Josie went to her daughter who had stopped in the doorway, her only thought to soothe her fears.
Josie smoothed Kellie’s curly auburn hair, so much like her own, away from her stricken face. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said gently, knowing the lie was necessary.
Peeking around her mother, Kellie eyed the large man standing on the porch. “Who is he?”
Josie pulled in a deep breath. “His name is Seth O’Connor.”
Kellie frowned. “Is he one of those no-good O’Connor boys I’ve heard Grandpa talking about? Did you shoot him?”
Josie grimaced at her child’s guileless questions. Although the McAllisters and O’Connors weren’t on friendly terms by any stretch of the imagination, she’d raised her daughter to be nonjudgmental—and that included the McAllisters’ nemesis.
“He’s our neighbor, remember?” She’d explained as much when Kellie had first asked her who the O‘Connors were—and that’s all she’d told her daughter because that had been the only pleasant way to explain who Jay and Seth were. At the tender age of ten, Kellie didn’t need to be privy to just how bitter their relationship was or how far back the O’Connors had hated the McAllisters. “And no, I didn’t shoot him.”
Josie looked back at Seth, giving him a direct, pointed stare as if to suggest she was beginning to regret that decision. “Mr. O’Connor was just leaving.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, looking as formidable as a Brahman bull. “I’m not going anywhere