saluted with a wry smile.
"Stop by the station after ten tomorrow, and I'll have a new license and papers for you. Anything else you need to change? Credit cards? Checks?"
Shit. Those, too. "Holy smokes, you're connected."
"It used to be my job," Weston replied stiffly.
"Your secret's safe with me, Chief."
"It's Weston. And I'll let Sterling know you're on your way. See you Sunday for dinner at the ranch?"
Travis nodded as they reached the station. "I'll be there." Weston stopped and turned to him, hands on his hips. Even though his eyes were shielded by aviators, Trace could tell the man was staring hard at him. "Uh... everything okay?"
"Anything else you want to tell me?"
Trace tensed. So Weston had witnessed his almost- kiss with CiCi. He flashed his signature grin. "Nope, all good."
Weston's mouth thinned. "See that it stays that way."
Message received.
Chapter Eight
Seven minutes later, Weston's warnings still ringing in his ears, Trace pulled his truck out of the diner parking lot and made his way toward the high school, taking the short-cut to the ranch like the guys had taught him. "Aww, shit." Up ahead on the left, hobbling unevenly and dragging her suitcase behind her, was CiCi. Trace brushed a hand over his beard. He should drive on. Sterling had tried to hide it, but the foreman was more than a little irritated with his tardiness. Unable to help himself, he slowed to below the speed limit. Why was she limping like that? Blisters maybe? No. Trace let out a low chuckle. The woman had broken a heel. He lifted his foot from the gas, ready to brake, then thought better of it and sped up, passing by.
Weston's words echoed in his mind. Steer clear. Trace had to agree - an investigative journalist was a hard pass. Still... Stay away from the local color. He glanced at her in the rearview. Double shit. Had she been crying? "Hell and damnation." He hit the brakes and made a U-turn. If he'd learned anything from the cowboys he'd worked with in the last two months, it was to never leave a lady in distress. And CiCi probably knew every single one of the guys he worked and practiced with. Better to help her than risk their wrath.
He punched the window button and slowed to a stop, pushing open the passenger door. "Get in," he said gruffly.
She gave a dramatic sniff. "No."
She had been crying, dammit. Was that because of him? His chest pulled tight. He hadn't meant to push her to the point of tears. "C'mon... I swear I won't bite."
"I'm fine."
Shit. Damn. Fuck. They were vaccinating cows this morning and Sterling was going to tan his hide. But there was no way was he letting her walk the rest of the way to wherever she was going. He wasn't that big of a jerk. Trace jammed the truck into park, hopped out and made his way around the back. "Oh hell, no. You're not walking," he snapped, more pissed at himself than her. He reached for her suitcase, half-expecting her to put up a fight when he took the handle. A spark shot up his arm as he came in contact with her fingers, but it was so fleeting he pushed the shock of awareness aside, more surprised she didn't resist. Without a word she let him place her suitcase in the truck bed. "Well? Hop in. I've gotta get to the ranch."
She shot him a withering glare.
"Sulky much?"
She let out a little growl. The corner of his mouth twitched. Damn, that sound appealed to him. It stirred right down to his groin. "I. Can't. Reach. The. Running. Board," she answered through gritted teeth.
He shouldn't laugh. It would only irritate her more. But he couldn't help the deep rumble that erupted from his belly. There was no way she could hop up in her tight little skirt. "You wouldn't want my help would you?" he asked with a shameless grin. There was a certain kind of satisfaction that came with besting her.
Her eyes shot sparks.
Still chuckling and before she could protest, he scooped her up and lifted her into his truck. Her body was soft and pliant beneath his hands, and he caught a whiff of expensive perfume. Notes of sandalwood and jasmine hit his nose, arrowing through his body and making his pulse trip. His stomach flopped, like he'd just been flipped by a rogue wave. He'd held plenty of women, on set and off, but none had ever made