Ride Rough - Tessa Layne Page 0,16

his chest go tight like this, or made him feel like his balance was off-kilter. She practically curled into him, fisting the material at his shoulder. From out of nowhere, the urge to shelter her rushed through him, to protect her from whatever had brought this obviously strong woman to the breaking point. What in the hell was he supposed to do with that? The only person he knew how to protect was himself, and if he was honest, he did a piss-poor job of it. Again, Weston's words echoed in his head. Steer. Clear.

He settled her in the seat, then braced his hands on either side of her hips, scanning down over shapely legs to her silver sandals, now decidedly worse for wear. Just to make sure she wasn't hurt anywhere, he justified to himself. Trace's mistake was in scanning back up, over the navy hem that rode up her thighs, and the pull of fabric at her hips, up each pearly button on her blouse and the clasp of her pearl necklace that had slipped rakishly to her collarbone, to meet her eyes. This time when they locked eyes, a flicker of heat arced between them. His fingers curled into his palms as he held her gaze. "There," he murmured. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Up close, her eyes took his breath away. It wasn't the swelling and red from crying; he couldn't care less about that. And it wasn't their deep dark color that upon closer inspection wasn't plain dark brown, but a tapestry of warm amber and dark brown ringed in smoky coal. It was the way she stared back at him, with no pretense. Utterly defeated and making no attempt to hide it. Something deep inside of him melted. In his thirty-four years, no one had ever looked at him that way - unguarded. Vulnerable. A tremor shook him and this newly discovered protective instinct urged him on. More than anything he wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her, be her soft landing place. She let out a ragged breath and dropped her eyes.

"Hey, hey," he said softly, crooking a finger under her chin and gently pulling her gaze back to him. "What happened, sweetheart?"

She stiffened, the bravado briefly returning. "I'm not..." She sagged, the fight leaving her again as she dropped her eyes and twisted her hands. "I lost my job yesterday," she whispered, a single fat tear rolling down her cheek.

Fucking hell.

The pieces slid into place. She must have driven straight here from Chicago. "I'm sorry about your car," he blurted. He didn't know what else to say. He wasn't the kind of man people turned to for comfort, but he wanted to say something. Yet letting on he knew a thing or two about losing everything felt a little too dangerous. Her eyes jerked to his, the raw vulnerability once again hidden behind a mask of suspicion. It left him feeling... disappointed. He guessed she didn't show that very often, and he liked that for a moment at least, he'd been privy to something about her he bet no one else saw. "Where can I take you?" It made no sense, but he'd take her anywhere she asked, whenever she asked it.

Her jaw set and she swiveled her hips so she was facing forward. "My family lives about a mile down the road on the other side of the high school."

Except for CiCi's terse directions, the short ride remained awkwardly silent. Trace pulled up to a drive lined with sunflower stalks and a brightly decorated mailbox with the name Sanchez written in script, and turned in, pulling to a stop in the roundabout in front of a large white porch in need of a paint job. To the left and behind stood a white barn with a quilt square mosaic below the hayloft. The meadows were lush green, and at one time probably held horses, maybe even cattle. "Thank you," she said curtly, unbuckling the seatbelt.

"Ah, so your armor's back in place is it?" he teased, understanding that all too well. So be it. He'd help her out, then leave. As it was, he faced a dressing down from Sterling and probably Travis, too, when he finally showed up at the ranch. But she looked so lonely and vulnerable when she thought he wasn't looking, he stalled. Trace cut the engine and hopped out, pulling out her suitcase when he'd rounded the rear, then depositing it on the porch