the condom, and headed out of the bathroom to dress for the day and give her a chance to get ready.
Jessie leaned against the bathroom sink, limp and sated. She loved sex with Bran. He was every woman’s fantasy. Handsome, strong, intelligent, protective. Great in bed.
She thought of her brother’s warning. He’s a real heartbreaker, sis. Bran Garrett’s my best friend, but he’s the last guy you ever want to get involved with.
Danny assumed she and Brandon would meet sooner or later, which they would have if Danny hadn’t gotten killed. Her brother didn’t want her getting hurt, and now that she and Bran were spending so much time together, she understood what he meant.
She needed to put things in perspective, keep tabs on her emotions. She told herself it was just sex. It didn’t really mean anything to either one of them. They’d become friends, and Bran was just trying to help her get over the hang-ups she’d told him about. She wasn’t the kind of person to have meaningless sex, but there was a first time for everything.
Or at least that’s what she was determined to believe.
One thing was certain. She didn’t want to fall in love with him.
Jessie prayed it wasn’t already too late.
* * *
They left for Evergreen that afternoon, driving instead of flying. Making the hour and a half trip by car was easier than moving the plane, then having to rent another vehicle.
Ty had given Bran directions up the winding road to his home in the hills overlooking Mount Evans. The weather was cloudy and cold, the temperature down in the thirties with a storm moving in, but the drive through the forested mountains was beautiful, a sea of pine trees that stretched as far as the eye could see.
When they arrived at the property, a uniformed guard in the gatehouse opened the tall wrought iron gates to let them pass, and they continued up the winding drive.
“Look at that,” Jessie said as the huge house came into view, modeled after a French château, with balconies and turrets and a circular drive out front. An ornate fountain sat in the middle of the drive, though the water had been turned off for the winter.
“The guesthouse is out back,” Bran said, following the road deeper onto the property. He glanced around. “Ty sure didn’t oversell the place.”
The guesthouse looked like a smaller version of the main house, two stories, with a turret on one side and an arched, ornately carved front door.
Ty, who was about six feet tall, with light brown hair and a lean, solid build, walked out as Bran drove up. He was pushing a wheelchair and flanked by a little girl with pale blond hair. The little boy in the chair had features similar enough to hint at a relationship, and the same sandy brown hair as Ty’s.
Jessie noticed one of the two garage door bays stood open. Ty motioned for them to drive inside, and Bran parked next to a silver Subaru Forester.
“Good to see you, buddy,” Ty said as Bran climbed out of the SUV.
“You, too.” Bran leaned in to bump shoulders. “Appreciate the help.”
“No problem. Let’s get you two inside where it’s warm, and I’ll introduce you to my kids.”
Knowing the story of the car accident that had killed the children’s parents, Jessie’s gaze ran over the two smiling faces and she felt a pinch in her heart.
She and Bran grabbed their bags and their jackets and went into the house through the garage. The kitchen, a chef’s fantasy, had the latest stainless appliances, white cabinets, black-and-white granite countertops, black-and-white marble floors. A white kitchen table and six ladder-back chairs sat in a turret that looked out big glass windows into the forest.
Aside from a few plush animals and a stack of games on one end of the counter, the kitchen was immaculate. Jessie figured someone probably cooked and cleaned for the family.
“Ty, this is Jessie Kegan,” Bran said. “Jessie, meet Ty Folsom, former Green Beret and one of the craziest wind dummies in the army.”
Ty grinned. “Nothing better than the rush of air in your face and the bloom of a canopy overhead. Pleased to meet you, Jessie.”
She grinned back. “You, too, Ty.”
He turned to the little dark-haired boy in the wheelchair. “This is Christian. He’s seven. Say hello to Bran and Jessie, Chris.”
“Hello,” the boy said shyly.
“And this is Sarah.” She had softly curling blond hair and blue eyes. “How old are you, sweetheart?”