Chapter One

Montana…

      “Man, it’s hard to believe our Maggie is getting married, and to a doctor no less.”

      Gray Dalton glanced aside at his neighbor, Rancher, Audra Huff, who had elbowed him.

      “Yep, hard to believe,” he echoed with a slight smile. It was even more so for him, because Maggie was his baby sister. About a week before meeting Doctor Lincoln Fitzpatrick, she had called and during their talk, mentioned how at twenty-eight she didn’t think the perfect man was coming along, and was fine with that.

      Apparently, Lincoln blew all of her perfect man theories to hell. Opposites do attract, she said. They must, because what woman who grew up a tomboy, ranch bred and ended up loving the construction business, stumbled across a tall, handsome, wonderfully grounded doctor, who proposed on the second date and she accepted.

      Maggie had many male friends, always had gotten along with men, but she’d given up looking for that fireworks and sparks kind of chemistry—funny how those thing just happen, she’d said, and Lincoln carried plenty of powder for the keg.

      Ah, hell, he was happy for Mag, really Gray was. He liked thirty five year old Lincoln, auburn haired, green eyed, tall, intelligent, and a sense of humor that made everyone feel comfortable. The times Maggie had brought him to the ranch, he’d found the man interesting. Half-afraid he would be some anal, self absorbed, Ivy League yank he’d grind his teeth trying to tolerate for Maggie’s sake. He found out that Lincoln worked his way through college, med school, born of blue-collar parents, came up in a tough Philly neighborhood. The man was really decent, and they even liked the same sports teams...

      Looking at Maggie, who was the guest of honor at one of the many gatherings that would be in thrown for her, this one at the local VFW— the petite, sable haired, brown-eyed woman didn’t look like a construction worker either. However, Maggie had always done what interested her, always been a tough, self-determining, with friends of all sorts.

      She had gone to college too, with some idea she might want to pursue medicine, paying her loans working for Mr. Darnell at the D and A construction office. Already knowing how to use tools, drive just about anything, thanks to Gray, it was like Maggie to pitch in and do whatever, including driving the rigs that hauled earth movers from job site to job site—and somehow Maggie discovered she enjoyed what she was doing, more than her studies, and the rest was history. Now Darnell couldn’t do without her.

      Everyone loved Maggie. Gray was just damned glad that the man Maggie gave her heart to was crazy about her, too. He was her big brother, they had grown up tight, and as he had taken over the ranch, Mag had found her wings and flown...

      That time in their lives was on Gray’s mind too, lately.

      Gray and Audra talked ranching awhile. Then a man swept the single, fifty-year old onto the dance floor. He was twenty years her junior. It wasn’t hard to figure why, being an independent woman, someone built nice, and more handsome than women half her age, Audra could have had any man she wanted. However, that independence, the toughness mixed with humor and brains, gave Audra the right to be particular. She didn’t waste time. Few Ranchers were good at that.

      Men, in the blond, brown eyed rancher’s life, she’d once muttered to some catty female in town, filled two categories—the male friends she choose because she liked them as just that, friends, and the sexy ones who gave her orgasms and didn’t expect her love them in the morning.

      That was so, Audra. Gray mentally laughed. She spoke the blunt truth most of the time.

      Gray pulled away from the wall he’d been holding up, ambling across the high beamed room, thankful this was one of the local things, neighbors and all that. He wasn’t looking forward to some the (events) his sister was rattling about, leading to the biggest wedding this side of the Rockies.

      For Mag, he would get through it.

      Though not backward, Gray tended to lead a life centered on ranching, stock, and the familiar. It suited him. However, he wasn’t anything like his effervescent sister. Mag was a firecracker, a real people person. Gray figured he liked what and whom he liked, but he didn’t find everything and everyone, as exciting and challenging as Mag. Ranching fulfilled that for him. His best friend Mark called him a throw back, a too laid back, rancher.

      His gaze skimmed around, nothing all the business owners and people Mag dealt with on her job, every neighbor for 50 miles. The twang of Texas swing started up from the other side of the room. It was formal for a ranching community, black cowboy hats, fancy shirts, pressed Levis, and your best boots. The older crowd in their bolos and Native American jewelry. These were his long time acquaintances too. so he was fine with attending, more than glad to show his sister he wasn’t the grumbling stick in the mud she sometimes teasingly called him.

      “Hey, Gray!”

      He had been setting down his beer and his head turned, spotting a handsome man his age, Mark Parish, a person he’d been close with most of their growing up. When Gray did his stint in the Air Force, Mark had chosen the Marines. They were both six-foot-two. Mark was always a lady’s man, a real charmer.

      Mark had blue eyes and brown hair he still kept neatly cut. After a bad marriage somewhere in there, Mark took off for California, doing some kind of environmental work. His people, what relatives were left after his parent’s deaths, were spread out too. The Parish’s having been one of those small ranching families that had gone under after a hundred years in it.

      Damn. Gray was glad to see him and would enjoy catching up on their lives—It was his sister—Baliee—one of Maggie’s friends that cinched Gray’s gut up. After all this time, he was surprised at his own reaction from the moment he realized she would be a bridesmaid. It wasn’t like him to get uptight about someone he knew for that long.

      Mark had his white hat in his hand, and was heading toward him with open arms. They laughed, hugged, and slapped each on the back.

      “Hey, man. It’s so good to see you.” Mark’s white smile flashed, his head shaking, as he looked Gray over. “You look good, shit. I was hoping for no competition with the la-dies.”

      “They’re all yours. And you too.” Gray couldn’t suppress his own grin. “After you moved into your other house, you forgot to give me your phone number.”

      Mark’s lips parted. “So that’s why you hadn’t called. Shit. I’m sorry. Here I was thinking I was going to chew you an ass for getting so busy working you don’t keep in touch. Man, I’m sorry. I’d blame it on the new job, new house, but there’s no excuse for us to lose touch.”

      “Nope.”

      Mark glanced around and spotted Maggie, who waved. “Dammit, Gray. That sonofabitch better be good to our Mag.”

      “He’s a decent guy. A doctor.”

      “Don’t care what he does.” Mark grunted. “Mag is special. She’s our girl.”

      Gray smiled, thinking back on one of those grown up conversations he’d had with Mag, and how she’d bitched because he and his friends were over protective when they didn’t need to be. They laughed about it now. He knew that he and Mark had made a few of her high school boyfriends run the opposite direction.

      “You staying in until the wedding?”

      “You bet.” Mark nodded. “I’m going to meet this guy, look him over.”

      “He’s flying in on Sunday, I think. Back and forth thing, since he’s working at a big Hospital in Denver. Not that he and Mag ain’t on the phone eight times a day. I gotta’ hand it to him, with all her lists and showers and parities planned, he’s not only tolerant; he’s listened and looked at every detail. Can’t say I’d care what color the candles were. Lincoln seems to know it’s a big deal for Mag. It is, since she means it when she says she’s only marrying once, and if he walks, he better keep going out of firing range.”

      “Stop. You’re making me like him.” Mark grunted again on a laugh. “I’d better go hug her; she’s giving me the finger behind the bankers back.”

      Gray saw that and nodded, watching Mark stride over and ignore the others, scooping Maggie up and lifting her in his arms, going in circles with her. Gray grabbed another cold one and went out on the street to smoke. It was around nine, so things would be winding down.

      Leaning back against the building, he considered that things were really busy at the ranch, but that he, being Mag’s only family, could deal with it until all the wedding fuss was over. It was going to be difficult not being the confidant, protector and best friend in Mag’s life. Shit. He remembered the auburn haired doctor saying that.

      The day they had been out on the range, Lincoln in denims and T-shirt, boots, dirty and undoctor-like, from helping him work on the old dodge truck. “You’re close, Gray. You’re her brother, her hero, her best friend. Don’t think I want to change any of that. Mag turned me on because she’s her own woman. Hell, she basically runs that business. She is... well, she’s the kind I didn’t know I wanted—until I ran in the ditch and she pulled over and gave me a ride. I just thought, attractive woman, really funny too, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And let me tell you something, Maggie wasn’t easy. She doesn’t need me because I have a house, career, and ambition. No. Mag has all that on her own. Including you, for a friend.”

      “I’m not that possessive of her, Lincoln,” Gray had said. “I just want her to have what she wants. If I thought, a guy was screwing her over, playing her, or manipulating her. I’m not going to be silent about it. Mag is four years younger than I am, but we were close. I got the ranch young, but our parents taught us hard work. Mag could do anything. She learned to do what she loved, what she was interested in. Aside from a few jerks and ass holes in high school, she’s been savvy about who she lets get close to her. It’s not just because of me. It’s Mag’s good instincts. If she loves you, trusts and enjoys you in her life. I’m not going to be a dick about it.”

      Lincoln had laughed and said humorously, “I’m good between the sheets. That was pretty high on Mag’s list.”

      “I’d gather that without you joking about it.” Gray turned his horse muttering sardonically, “Being your baby sister’s confident; at least until she got in college, and sometimes after that, I don’t get spared much of Mag’s ‘ideal man’ lists.”

      Now, Gray smiled and drew on the cigarette, then inwardly winced, glancing at the California tags on Mark’s SUV. Mark had that baby sister too... a friend of Mag's...someone who had ran around the ranch house, hung out with Mag, and been over with Mark.

      Baliee Parish...

      Gray swallowed and cursed. He crushed out the cigarette and finished the beer. He went back in to see if Mag was ready to pack all her gifts in the truck, he wondering what the hell he was going to do when Baliee showed up, and he’d have to play it as cool for Mark and Mag. He had for years, after he had lost his mind in his sister’s cramped college apartment.

      The lights were up inside, the band gathering things, people cleaning up dishes. Mark and Mag were heading toward him, arms full, and he heard Mark saying, “...a hotel room.”

      And Mag returning, “Oh. No. You’ll never get one now, there’s that automotive convention going on. I told Baliee when she called, she’d mentioned trying to book one for you both because as she knows you too well.” Here she elbowed him and laughed. “She figured you’d wait until you got here and try to get something. There’s no sense in that. Baliee, Monica, and the rest have fittings for the bridesmaid’s gowns. They are throwing my bridal shower, Val said. Therefore, since there’s all this running, that also you and Gray have to do, because my baby is working and not here, you both can stay at the ranch. Gray will insist on it anyway. You always stay there...”

      Though he would have offered Mark a place, always had insisted he stay at the ranch, Gray did an inward groan when his baby sister added, and “We girls are going to drive Gray crazy if there’s no one there to keep him sane. Hell, I don’t want to lose my go-for now. And while we’re at it, Mark my spark, you are absolutely the best person I can think of to help Gray with Lincoln’s party—all my honey’s friends are scattered and...”

      “Yeah, all right Mag, twist my arm, It’s not like you gotta beg me, brat.”

      “Good, oh...” She had spotted Gray and he found himself presented the boxes. “Thanks, brother. You two get everything out for me, will you? I’ll just run back to the kitchens and get Mama’s punch set. I’ll be right out.”

      Gray carried the things to the truck, he and Mark filling the back seat, then more in the bed. He found himself saying on their last trip out, “You know the way.”

      “Yeah thanks, I know you gotta' house full...”

      “Not much different than when the girls were teens,” Gray said dryly, and then realized that could be an opening for Mark to mention Baliee, so he added, “Go on out. Key is in the usual place. Get yourself a shower and rest, whatever. I expect Mag will have to be dragged out of here. She’s running on adrenaline...”

      Mark laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, saying as he headed for the SUV, “Your daddy should have built a smaller house, that way you wouldn’t have rooms to offer.”

      Gray leaned against the truck, waving as his friends headlights passed.

      Small spaces fit a lot of people. Mag and her girlfriends Monica Jeffers, Valerie Kay, Laine Hollis, and yes, Baliee, had shared that apartment back then. Gray only had a 24-hour leave, so he hadn’t thought much about taking her up on a place to crash. He knew some of the girls were going to school; some were just working and had moved away from home to get out from under the eyes of small town, and their parents. Most of those girls he had seen underfoot at the ranch, picked up from ballgames, dances, taken to practice—whatever Mag needed a ride for until they got cars or drivers licensees.

      He’d gone out with them that evening, not his speed or style really, the dance club and hard-core bar. However, they’d been amusing, very flirty, and Mag wanted to (show him off) in uniform. Gray had mostly watched them get smashed, dace dirty, and had to use every ounce of humor not to get annoyed at their touching and sitting on his lap, being wild. Mag had not been drunk but she always had a good time. She’d mostly laughed at them, taken none of it seriously, and told him not to. However, he’d not seen Baliee before or at the club, remembering something Mag said about her having to work.

      The last time before college, he’d seen Mark’s sister at the ranch; he’d been working with one of the mares, leaning on the corral fence when he noticed the filly hub up and stare at something over his shoulder.

      Sixteen-year-old Baliee had stood there, short blue hair, nose ring, biker shorts and combat boots. Hell, Gray hadn’t known who she was. She had left for some kind of summer camp, Mark had said. Something for teens who had lost parents and were going through a tough time. He’d been aware that Baliee was going though it, Mark was ready to kick her ass over school and peer problems. Gray stared at her thinking, whatever she’d done over the summer hadn’t soothed the rebellion any.

      That day, he had called out something teasing, his humor had been deadpan, his remarks not unkind, because he and Mag lost their own folks to cancer and a car wreck. Mark’s parents had gone more tragic, their loss of the ranch, working in things they hated, Mark said, they fought, drank, hardly lived together.

       A woman he had been having a sordid affair with had shot Mark’s father. The mother took an overdose. Gray was aware that was tough on both Mark and Baliee. She had been pretty cool for a teenager. She’d cracked some joke back...calling him something similar to Mag’s impression of him, as a too laid back, too quiet, cowboy. Only in teen speak, he mused, it was something like, hey, Gray. Still horse whispering? You can come into town with us; we’ll find you some people over 50 you relate to.

      He had said something like, hey kid, cover that hair, you’re scaring my animals.

      Gray had not seen her much after he joined up though. Audra and the neighbors were seeing to the ranch. He was doing the stint because his Dad had wanted him to. All the men and a few of the women in his family served. He’d wanted to. And when his parents died before their time, the people around were aware of that. For four years, they had taken care of the ranch, written him hundreds of letters, sent him home movies, and on leave, he’d come back and pick up the life he was born to.

      Baliee Parish was taking agriculture and journalism, Gray understood. From Mark’s conversations, he knew she, like all the girls, had grown out of her angst and into another phase after that summer. He knew from Maggie that they had drifted apart, and then returned to friendship, as had apparently all the girls.

      None of that really went through his head then. He’d come to see Mag, and part of that was seeing what his sister’s life was like on her own.

      The apartment had been a little uncomfortable for a guy who liked guy things. Mag being a tomboy, hadn’t really been girly as her friends—that ran from Monica, the extreme one, to more modest Val, who while feminine wasn’t the screaming, giggling teen that Laine Hollis had been. At that point, in young adulthood, curly haired Laine was wild, skimpy skirts, lots of tequila body shots. Val, red headed, blue eyed, was ambitious—and a bit of a snot. Monica, the black haired green-eyed beauty, was making for Gray that night, and she’d been the flirt when all the girls hung out at the ranch, the tease even when in her young teens, he had to avoid.

      Sometime during the early morning, they returned to the apartment, Gray-carrying most of them inside, as they were drunk. He had waded through bras, tampons and fashion magazines, his nose itching from perfume and hair spray. His amazement that that many girls could live together in a two room flat doubled, it would drive him ape shit. He’d put them in beds, at some point and helped Mag clean up. Then, let the couch out, which she slept in, but wanted to offer him.

      “I’ve a sleeping bag in truck.” He’d looked at his watch. “I got to leave early. I’ll put it in the kitchen.”

      Though she argued, Gray had won. He’d put her to bed, laughed with her over her friend’s behavior, but Mag had finals and too much beer. And, after sitting beside her, shaking his head in amusement at his baby sis, he’d gone out and got his sleeping bag, went to the tiny kitchen—and spread it behind the small bar. The apartment complex was noisy, dogs barking, someone’s stereo up full blast on the upper floors. Twice Monica had gotten up to puke and cuss, stumble her way back to bed.

      When things calmed somewhat, Gray closed his eyes, hands behind his head and lying atop the too warm bag in his black thigh briefs. He had been thinking about his friends, two close ones, Mark, a guy named Harley Burr—real crazy dude, who’d rode the toughest broncos and chased everything in skirts. When they got together, it was to watch sports, drink beer, and talk about old times.

      Harley liked the strip clubs and was always good for a wild story, probably true, since he was good looking and sex fixated. Mark was on the verge of that bad marriage then, and though he never said it, Gray often thought it was a reflex to losing his parents, and wanting something stable. Mark had himself together. He was smart, hard working, but underneath the smooth talk and charm, he was just a person who had the same shit everyone else did to deal with. Personally Gray thought mark was rushing it, lonely maybe after just finishing boot camp...But he let the guy make his own mistakes.

       For himself, he had a discreet thing that lasted from his senior year until his joining up. A woman who wanted nothing more than someone she could meet on the weekends in a hotel. It was nice, undemanding, sex. She worked as a waitress, had two kids, divorced, and was tired. He had normal sexual fantasies, but little interest in real dates, and knew his life plan, the service, the ranch, and wasn’t too stupid to know that getting laid, being with a nice woman who wasn’t looking for love or promises, a future, was a good thing. They had parted just as smoothly, a last lay, a hug, a good luck, and that was months ago.

      Gray was thinking of the ranch, his time away from it, and how he was going to enjoy living his life there. He was thinking of steaks, beer, and music that didn’t make him wince. How damn muggy it was in the little apartment—making a mental note to buy Mag a window AC before he left town.

      The sound of keys came before the apartment door opened. A clunking sound of someone dropping something on the wood floor. Gray heard a muffled, shit, and then someone was padding toward the kitchen. He considered getting up, but the fridge was opened across in the corner, so he guessed it was probably the missing Baliee, getting herself something to drink.

      He figured she’d leave, since Monica’s room had a day bed she apparently claimed for herself. Gray figured all that... thinking of a blue haired girl of sixteen. However, she’d come around the counter, in the dark that was only relived by a small nightlight. He reflexively caught hold of a stocking clad ankle, as she hadn’t seen him, and her foot nearly landed on his head.

      That wasn’t all he caught, looking up. Because she was wearing a skirt and thigh high stockings with lace tops under it, and no panties...

      “Oh, God. Sorry.” Gray heard her breathless laugh, as she was trying to whisper apparently. “I didn’t see you down there.”

      “No problem.” He rose to an elbow as she turned to face his side, squeezing herself against the back counter.

      “Gray?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Oh, that’s right. You were supposed to come in, tonight.” Baliee sighed. “I thought you were another of Monica’s pick ups. Must say, I’m glad to spare her morning after, Ohmygod! Who is he?” She laughed.

      He ran his hands through his hair, his gaze going up her legs, trying to stop thinking about Baliee, his kid sister’s friend, his best friends kid sister, standing there in flesh tone thigh highs, no panties, what looked like a black skirt and white silk blouse. It must have been her heels he had heard drop with her purse earlier.

      “You work late hours.” Gray got himself pushed up and sitting, leaning against the lower cabinets, giving her space, which she took to collect the glass she was obviously coming for, to pour her soda in.

      “Yes, I host at a restaurant. We stay open later on weekends.” She’d stretched up for the glass then he watched her sit down in the floor facing him, modestly crossing her legs. Now he could see her face, her natural dark blond hair with honey streaks, cut in some kind of long and short strands that was nice and sexy--too sexy, too grown up. Her eyes were not blue like Marks, but a light Gray. She had them subtly made up. The white blouse was silk and he could see the outline of a tulip cup white bra.

      She was around five foot two or three, average figure for someone he still thought, until this moment, was a kid.

      He must have been starring or doing something odd because she’d said, “I’m keeping you up, aren’t I. I’ll bet the girls have driven you nuts today....”

      “No. no on the keeping me up.” He’d grinned, still discomforted. “As to the girls...”

      She’d laughed. “We were always a pain in your ass, huh. But blame Mag. She used to put us up to finding excuses to get you off the ranch or taking us out somewhere. Aside from the fact she just liked to annoy you for the hell of it, she also couldn’t believe you weren’t out chasing girls like mark. She thought you’ took yourself too seriously. We all lived to see just how much of our laughing, giggling, and screaming over boys you could put up with. “

      Gray murmured off subject, “You’ve changed some.”

      “Eh. The hair.” Baliee touched her hair. “Yeah. Thank God, the punk grunge thing went out like a wave. I scare myself looking back at the photos...”

      He’d been glad to hear that and laughed. His gaze went to her legs when she flexed her feet, a normal thing if one had been on them for hours. Baliee, the kid was Baliee, a woman with really incredible legs.

      Then, just like that, Gray looked up, trying to think of something else to say. Baliee was drawing her eyes from his bare chest—well, how far down or up, he hadn’t caught, but they caught each other looking. It was a moment when, as Mag’s older brother, as the person who knew these girls during their annoying stages, Gray should have said something dry and amusing or anything that reminded her of the stick in the mud- laid-back rancher they all knew he’d be.

      He hadn’t. His mind had been musing how nice her hair looked, how she really had sexy eyes, and where once he thought her face too strong, the softer hair, the pink lips, everything made it attractive. Not stunning like Monica and her vividness... Just really dewy kind of sexy—that also reminded him... this sexy woman didn’t have panties on.

      Gray murmured semi causal, “So, life’s working out. You’re working, going to school?”

      “Yeah.” Her thumb was playing with the glass of soda but her gaze locked with his. “I had to grow up. Guess we all do. It’s not so bad.”

      Baliee wet her lips and took a sip. He’d looked around and raised enough to find his cigarettes and lighter, a bowl that Mag gave him for an ashtray. Lighting it, he’d offered it to her; she took it, using a soda can for ashes while he lit his own.

      “So you’re leaving the states, getting shipped out?”

      “Yeah.” He had tossed the lighter, regarded her, feeling the heat the buzz of earlier beers, the discomfort of attraction to someone he shouldn’t feel that with. “The time will fly by. Then I’ll be doing what I want to. Running the ranch.”

      “Um. That’s really you, more than this service thing. However, I understand doing it because your family served. My aunt served twenty years in the force.” She dropped her gaze to his mouth and back up. “Mark probably told you that.”

      “Yeah,” Gray said, then, “You think he’ll marry Shelly?”

      “Yes. Probably. You can’t stop him if he wants to do something. I don’t think it’s love, but women like Mark...”

      “Yeah.” He’d intoned, “And you, you going to be like Mag, get your school and career over before—”

      “I haven’t planned anything.” Baliee grinned, a flash of pretty white teeth. “People like yourself and Mag being the exception, most people screw up by planning.” She’d stood and ran the cigarette under the faucet. Tossed the can and rinsed the glass. Then she’d turned and leaning her hands on the counter said, “You look good, Gray. You always have.”

      Her tone was quiet and her eyes likewise as they went over him. “The girls, we used to sneak around at the ranch, try, and catch you like that. See if you looked as good out of Levis as in them.” Baliee’s joke came next, “You’re the real thing. Why do you think we sat on the corral fence watching you train the horses with no shirt on?” Her brow rose. “We didn’t need pin ups, you saved us a lot on magazines.”

      Gray felt himself blushing, just a hint, because while he did know they flirted, he hadn’t put Baliee in that category, and while he was used to Monica and Laine, he really hadn’t seen this one as anything but angst ridden and rebellious.

      So he laughed and uttered, “What should I say to that? You were all Mag’s friends, and while I bitched and complained, I’m glad you’re all still friends. I’m glad she’s going to be okay while I’m gone, and that she has a good time with all of you.”

      Baliee smiled rather bland. “You never bitched, well not much. However, you never talked much either, not that I blamed you. What do you say to a bunch of young girls who have a lot of growing up to do? And, we love Mag. She’s like a lightening rod, and she’s stronger than all of us put together. More fun in all the ways that matter. Mag would be okay even if the rest of us fell apart. Not that she would let us without doing some bitching herself. But she’ll be in good hands, and it’s not as if you won’t be in touch often.”

      “True.”

      “I guess I should let you get some sleep.” She’d murmured, their gazes locked again for too long.

      “You dating...anyone?” That had come from nowhere in his brain.

      Baliee looked him over really slow and murmured, “I’d like to, but he’s always been unattainable, uninterested, or unavailable.”

      “Baliee, I—”

      She had pulled away and walked up to him, so that his legs were between hers, and he’d automatically lifted his hands and touched her calves. Baliee stared down at him, in the middle of his forming what he assumed would be some cute answer, and whispered, “You’ve got nice hands, Gray. I always noticed how strong and masculine your hands were. I like the way they feel.”

      Gray gazed up at her, hearing a husk, an inflection, that made him forget for a moment she was too young and too off limits personally. He hardly recalled sliding his hands higher until she covered them, held them at her thighs, just under the skirt edge, just before the lace band at the top of her stockings.

      “You’re leaving in a couple of hours. When you come back for good, who knows where I’ll be, it likely won’t be where I grew up. I’m not making those sorts of plans.” Her hands moved his a little higher and she’d eased one of his inward, more between her legs.

      Gray felt her heat, eventually felt Baliee was wet, and to this day he didn’t know what pushed the edge, because Monica had groped him, he’d been tit flashed by Val, and offered a blowjob by Laine, all the while having his hands and ass and sex rubbed at the crowded club. None of that was as erotic or tempting as sitting in the floor of that tiny humid kitchen, between two counters—with Baliee Parish’s waxed thin strip of soft pubic curls at his fingertips, her candy scented perfume mingled with want and musky arousal.

      He played there, in a serious way, meaning he had rubbed and fingered her until she was on her knees and slowly, sensually riding it. Somewhere in there, her shirt and bra were undone. Gray had a mouth full of breast, and got bit on his neck when Baliee climaxed.

      The next part, the supple kisses, and getting to where his sex was in her, was a blur of hot, and slick and wild. However, Gray heard her soft cry, felt her flinch, and heard his own mumbled, “Oh shit. Oh shit.” before he’d tried to ease her off him.

      “It’s okay. It’s fine,” Baliee insisted.

      “Goddamn it, Baliee. You’re a virgin.” He’d grit his teeth, by then trembling, because up in there she was squeezing him hot and silky. He was seconds from coming. All Gray could say when she wouldn’t get up was, “You on the pill?”

      “Yes. Please, don’t panic.”

      He’d come. The panic came afterwards, when he half carried; half drug her with him to the minute cluttered bathroom. She’d gotten in the tub, Gray washed himself at the sink, then set on the toilet lid, not looking at her, smoking, smoking, and running his hand though his hair, cursing in his mind.

      “Will you stop that?” She’d chuckled, stepping out and digging through some communal basket apparently, and slipping on a T-shirt, and silk shorts. “Gray, go back and get some sleep. And thank you.” Baliee had walked up to him, kissed his cheek. “I enjoyed it. Everything, the orgasm mostly.”

      Baliee sighed. “Never had one before, but...”

      “Baliee,” Gray had grit in his anxiety and regret. “I’m... hell, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I wished you’d have...”

      “You’re freaking over nothing, cowboy,” She had insisted. “I’m not going to tell anyone. You’re not going to either. No point in it. Not Mark and not Mag. And it was a long time coming for me. I’ve wanted you a long time. I have no regrets. Someday if we see each other again, it won’t be more than a pleasant youthful, secret.”

      Though Gray didn’t agree, he had left it at that. Let her go in and go to bed, because he’d wanted to absolve himself—wanted to forget he’d lost his damn mind for a half hour in that kitchen. That morning he would packed the truck, gone and gotten Mag an AC, and took her out for coffee. They’d hugged, she’d cried, and they’d laughed some more, before he pulled out.

      However, Gray was always thinking of Baliee Parish, and he was kicking his ass for the next year nearly, every time he thought of her, heard of her, wishing that he’d not gotten intimate with a girlhood friend of Mag's.

      “You’re on cloud nine.” Mag’s voice cut in his musings.

      “That’s you, darlin. Not me. Me, I’m tired.” He put an arm around her, led her round the vehicle, and when she got in, closed the truck door.

      They talked on the way to the ranch, mostly Mag talked and he listened. When they turned up the long drive, the ranch house appearing nestled against the beautiful, familiar, landscape, Gray felt better, even laughed at himself after all these years.

      “Looks like Mark is asleep. That was a long drive, for him. God, we’ve got really good friends, don’t we, Gray? I didn’t realize it until I started planning the wedding, asking everyone to jump through hoops because I’m a freaking happy woman, and they do it and laugh off my guilt. I’m promising everyone; I’m only doing this once. Hell, I don’t even like planning parties, but that’s where my girlfriends are so special for doing all this...the details.”

      Chuckling at her rattling, murmuring back, Gray said, “I’ll get everything, you go on in. Get your beauty sleep. Call your doctor.” Getting a thanks and kiss on the cheek. He carried everything to the den off the great room.

      The ranch house was three stories, two wrap around porches and lots of rooms because his parents had wanted a dozen kids.

      It had been plainer years ago, before he’d added cedar siding, French doors and a pool out to the right and toward the back. The lawns spilled out on three sides, the left leading to stables and corral, which led to the pastures and stock. There were sheds for trailers, vehicles, the usual equipment, storage for grain and hay and the like.

      The porches still had the rockers, the iron gliders, and furniture his grandparents contributed.

      Gray liked the mix of old fashioned in the rooms and particularly the kitchen, which he’d torn out a wall to open the dining room. He liked the homey bedrooms, the antique bathrooms, three of them, and he liked the mellow wood in the floors, door facings and on shelves.

       It looked lived in, aged in a good way, and comforting, relaxing. Okay, so he was probably an old-fashioned guy. He did work on a computer, he had cell phones and gadgets, but he didn’t like industrial, modern, or sterile settings. He liked earthy, leather, suede, stone, wood, and antiques that were worn and nicked. He liked beer, whiskey, horses and trucks, and people who weren’t in your face. Did that make him a bore? According to Mark, yeah.

      After getting everything to the room Mag used, top floor, end room, her favorite growing up, when they used to make a joke of sleeping in different rooms every night. Gray went down while she was still in the upper bath, looking in on Mark, smiling at that sprawled facedown figure. Mark had not unpacked. He’d shucked his clothing and from the looks of it, fell necked on the bed in fatigue. He was snoring, and there were two cell phones, some hand held thing and a laptop piled in the corner.

      Gray closed the door and went down to his own rooms, in back of the house, around the stairs and having a long line of windows and French doors. It opened to the view of the stables and pasture, where the other side, a family slash TV room, opened to the patio and pool.

      The low porch lured him out after he stripped down to jeans. Gray sat out there a long time, mulling and musing, thinking about Mag saying once—in one of those chats she had with him—that crushes were always on the wrong guys for wrong reasons when one was young.

      The conversation had been amusing, light, just foolishness. She had been talking about her being twenty-eight and not falling for a guy, thanking God she hadn’t gotten what she thought she wanted when she was sixteen or eighteen, all those jerks, and egomaniacs. Worse yet, the real rednecks who thought women who worked were either whores or gay, those who couldn’t handle a strong and confident woman without tearing them down, undermining them. Her friend Monica had married one like that.

      Monica’s ambitions got her to the top of some cosmetics company, and she had fallen for a guy, nearly let him destroy her, according to Mag. She’d lost everything, her money, her confidence. Before getting rid of him and starting over. Yeah sure, Mag had done her share of being giggly over guys. He was glad she’d been picky and perceptive.

      However, the comment about crushes, it reminded him now that nearly ten years had gone by since he’d seen Baliee Parish. She probably thought the same thing when or even if, she ever thought of that mistake. And it had been. He really should let it go and stop thinking about it. He had for years, long years; it was only because she was coming in, going to be Mag’s bridesmaid that he was thinking about it now.

      He was what they claimed he was years ago, a rancher, and a guy who loved what he lived.

      Gray went inside to get his cigarettes. he ended up walking in the moonlight, smelling fall nearing on the breeze, though it was warm enough for the unbuttoned plaid shirt he pulled on. He stopped at the corral, eyeing the silhouettes of the stock and hearing the call of coyote. When he propped his boot on the rail, hopped up to sit, he spotted Mag out of the corner of his eye.

      “You have to be tired,” he commented as she joined him, hair damp, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, sneakers.

      “I am, in some ways, but I’m all wound up, too.” She crossed her arms and smiled softly. “I miss Lincoln. I know the wedding is a big deal, I want it to be, and I wouldn’t shortchange my friends, whom I promised when we were kids, they’d be in it. But once the distractions of details and all the excitement is over, I want my lover in my bed.”

      Gray eyed the muse on her face, her small dreamy smile, and wondered anew at this side of Maggie. “How are you two ever going to live apart until he finds work nearby?”

      “The same way we date. It’s not an issue.” She laughed. “We have lots of phone sex. But seriously, neither of us would have thought to ask the other to give up their lives. Because his family is in Philly, he doesn’t really mind moving, finding work closer, but until that happens, we’ll do the flights and long drives and make the most the most of our two, three days a week.”

      “What did your friends think of him, or rather what did Lincoln think of them, when all you girls drove up last month?”

      “He likes them. They’re nuts for him.” She snorted. “Even Monica, who, as you know, now is on her; I’ll screw them, but screw them! Kick.”

      They laughed.

      “Baliee didn’t get to come. I was thinking about her today, how few times we’ve gotten together, but how close we are...”

      “That’s good.” He lit another cigarette.

      “Yep. She’s excited for me, although her own brief marriage was a couple of months.”

      “She was married once?” He tried not to choke on the smoke because that was news to him.

      “Yeah. Right after I left college. I thought I wrote you?” He shook his head so she went on. “Anyway, she got that job offer and this was before she did freelance articles like she does now—but she met some guy and they did the driving to Vegas thing. That was six years ago. I hardly had time to be shocked she’d married before she was telling me about the divorce.”

      “Shit happens,” he drawled, trying to compute that.

      “Um—she ended it and let it go. When she moved to Kansas, started freelancing, I could tell from our phone conversations, from the few times, I flew out there, that she had it together. It is funny, she struggled more than all our friends, but was the lower key about it, and while I could always depend on the others for high drama... it was Baliee who seemed to season, to keep her humor and balance. She’s such a cool lady.”

      Mag pat him on the knee and winked. “Hell, she even complains about Mark and his inability to stay organized.”

      “Mark is Mark.”

      “True. Although I still think he looks more... normal... in denims than a business suit.”

      “Don’t tell him that, it will crush his fragile ego.”

      They laughed and climbed down. Walking slowly back to the house, Mag put her arm though his and leaned against him as they walked.

      “I wish you’d find this, Gray. This absolute high. I wish someone would just knock you on your ass with love.”

      “I’ll stick to Jack on the rocks for that.” He joked, “Don’t be one of those women who find it and start pushing everyone else to look for it, darlin. I’m not looking.”

* * * *

      Maggie, soon to be Fitzpatrick, stopped at the porch and stared at her brother.

      Gray had one of those rugged, strong faces. He was the kind of man you could look in the eye and see character, eyes the color of sunlight through brandy, with those squint lines at the corner. His hair, layered to the nape, in that way that seemed natural instead of shop cuts, was a true oak. And, skin, browned from his thirty plus years of friendship with sun, rain, snow, and wind. A voice that, well, to put in simple terms, dripped smooth honey over the ears, a kind of drawl that was deep and made you want to listen to whatever he had to say.

      He was a lot like their father, steady, strong, attractive in every way. Objectively, she mused, his six-foot body rocked, and though Gray had never talked much, his humor was the quiet kind. He was a listener, one of those rare people who focused on what people said, from the elderly to the young, he paid attention to people. He was special, simply that.

      She could never understand how or why he remained single; except that Gray’s laid-backness worked against him in a world of go for it. You have to give a woman feedback, encouragement; she wanted to say to him often enough.

      Gray’s handsomeness was bone deep, although he possessed the surface things that made a head or two turn, that strong chin and nose, sensual mouth, beautiful eyes, and yes, that frame hewn from demanding ranch work. Something she had told Lincoln, and something her love had echoed after meeting Gray-- it was that depth to him, that realness, which made Gray a great brother, true and loyal friend, and all around good person.

      Maggie took his hands and shook her head, knowing that she was putting him through his paces with this wedding stuff. Guilty of having tried over the years to get him to notice Monica or Val or Laine, who were openly interested, absolutely wild about him.

      She was proud of Gray, always had been, and though he probably thought she did, Mag did not put him on a pedestal. She knew he could get caught up in work, the ranch, and that he never put much effort into relationships with women. He had told her about the one affair, about a few women he took out and enjoyed, but it was always that type, that nothing-serious kind—who never got or wanted to get below the surface.

      “Thanks for everything you’re doing.”

      “It’s no problem, Mag.”

      “Oh, I know you like your work, your solitude, and we’re going to turn the ranch house upside down. But it could be good for you.”

      He smiled crookedly. “I’m not a hermit, darlin.”

      “No. but you’re too laid back sometimes. But if it gets too much, look at it this way, once I’m married, the wedding over and all, you’ll miss me bunches and lots, because I’ll be...”

      “I’ll miss you.” He pulled her into a brotherly hug. “And you’ll call and we’ll talk, and yes I’ll come and see you more. Yes, you bring Lincoln to the ranch. You’re really getting emotional, because you’re missing that doctor, sweetheart.”

      “Yeah. Okay.” She laughed and hugged him. “I’m shutting up.” She dropped his hands, yet before going in said, “But since you’re so good to me, I’m going to pick Baillie up in the morning, along with breakfast, and by the time you finish the feeding, Monica and Val will have arrived—and see, Mark will be here to flee with you....to pick up my order from the post office.... that should get here by then....”

      Gray snorted letting her go inside, amused at how Mag put that. Mag had forgotten to pick up her order again, the one from some wedding place on line. He had grumbled the last time she’d forgotten something. He wouldn’t this time. He didn’t want Mag to think he was doing any of this reluctantly. He was just getting more distracted, more preoccupied with past memories.