The Baddest Virgin in Texas Page 4

  "And she left it for a reason," Jessi went on. "She wanted me to set up my veterinary clinic there, and I've decided to do it. I'm going into Quinn today to meet with her attorney and sign the necessary papers."

  Wes got out of his chair fast. "Oh, for crying out loud, Jessi, you don't know the first thing about—"

  "Weston Brand, you sit down and shut up, because I'm not finished yet."

  Lash did manage to look away from her, briefly. Just long enough to see Wes's eyes widen, and his face pale just a bit. He didn't speak.

  "I'm a grown woman, with a degree in veterinary medicine. I own my own house and have my own money, soon to be supplemented by the income from my clinic. Now I'm going to say this once, and once only. That house is plenty big enough to support a clinic and a home."

  This time Garrett was the one who rose, shaking his head slowly. "Honey … you aren't saying you're … you're moving out?"

  "Not yet," she said. Lash noticed that she bit her lower lip, and he suspected that leaving this houseful of Brands would be as traumatic for her as for the rest of them. "But I will if any of you start riding me about this. Marisella believed in me. And so does Chelsea. And I'm not ashamed to tell you that it hurts like hell to know that my own brothers don't. But I'm not going to let it hold me back. Not anymore."

  And as the Brand men all started blurting denials at once, Jessi sauntered past them, heels clicking across the floor tiles, and headed right out the front door.

  Garrett and Wes both lunged, as if to go after her.

  "Don't you even think about it," Chelsea said, and her voice was so loud and so firm that both of them stopped in their tracks. "Just you sit right back down. Jessi might be finished with you, but I haven't even started." Then she came forward and tapped Lash's shoulder. He'd been fixated on watching that little hellcat climb into the pickup, her long legs revealed in their full glory.

  "Lash, get your rear end out there. I believe the foreman here gave you a job to do."

  "I didn't mean—" Wes began, but a glare from Chelsea stopped him.

  "The grain, Lash. Wes told you to take the pickup into town and collect that load of grain."

  "My car—" he blurted.

  "Isn't big enough, and you know it. Ride with Jess. Go on. Move."

  "Then Jess can take my car," Lash said, rushing on.

  "Waste of gas." Chelsea put her hands on her hips and nodded her head toward the door. "Git."

  She didn't leave much room for argument, and Lash suspected he was being sent away for far different reasons. Chelsea was good and riled about the state these fellows had put their sister in, and she was going to let them have it with both barrels. He ought to be glad to be out of the line of fire. But instead he was sweating bullets.

  He nodded once to Chelsea, saw a smile hiding in her eyes, and then headed out the door to jump into the passenger side of the pickup truck before it could get away without him. And as he did he vowed to himself that he wouldn't even look at those long legs of Jessi Brand's.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  "What are you doing in here?" Jessi asked him.

  Lash told himself not to look at her. He looked at her anyway. Ah, damn, there were tears brimming in her eyes again. He hated seeing tears in those pretty eyes.

  "I … uh … Chelsea … I mean, Wes wants me to pick up a load of feed."

  "Oh." She slid the shift easily into gear and eased up on the clutch. Lash's gaze fixed itself on her legs, which were parted slightly, of necessity, to reach both the accelerator and the clutch. Her skirt was riding high, showing to fullest advantage a pair of thighs so creamy and smooth he wanted to taste them.

  No, he didn't. Damn, if the preacher could see him now, he'd tell him to memorize ten thousand Bible verses. At least! Old Ezekiel Stanton had always promised Lash they'd come in handy someday.

  Exodus 20:17, Lash thought desperately. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's. Including his sister. Lash recited the verse in his mind, closing his eyes and adding the final sentence, since he was sure it must have been included on the original stone tablet. God wouldn't skip over something this important. "Lash?"

  Swallowing hard, he opened his eyes and faced her. And, dammit, he still coveted.

  "Did Garrett ask you to stay on?" she asked, her eyes on the road, instead of on him. Her hands on the wheel, instead of on him.

  "Yeah," he croaked. "How did you know?"

  "Chelsea filled me in … on the rustling and all." He nodded and said nothing. She glanced his way, and he noticed a tiny smudge of makeup under her eye, right in a spot he bet would be very sensitive, should he press his lips to it. "So? Are you going to?"

  "Going to what?"

  "Stay on," she said.

  "Oh. Yeah, I told him I would."

  Her eyes on the road again, she smiled. "I'm glad."

  Wonderful. He didn't want her to be glad.

  "So what do you think?"

  What did he think? He thought he'd better get out of this pickup soon, because she was lifting her beautiful thigh, and then extending it to depress the clutch again, and he was getting turned on.

  "About what?"

  "My announcement back there," she said. "My clinic."

  He smiled at the memory, frankly glad to have something to distract him from thinking about the way she looked. Must be the dress. The stockings. The makeup. He'd only seen her in jeans and work clothes before, and usually with dirt streaked across her face. He'd never looked at her as … well, as a woman. And it was hitting him hard and fast and all at once. It was downright flabbergasting.

  "To tell the truth," he said slowly, "I didn't know you had it in you."

  "To start a clinic?"

  "To stand up to your brothers." Lord knew she'd put Olive Stanton right to shame with that little speech she'd just made. "I was beginning to think you enjoyed having them at your beck and call. Little princess, with her own army of knights protecting her from every threat."

  She swung her head around, brown eyes flashing. "That's what you think of me?" Her face flushed with angry color.

  "Well … see, I knew a woman like that once, and you were showing all the signs, so I—"

  "I oughtta stop this truck and make you walk into town and carry the damned feed home on your back, Lash Monroe!"

  She did have a temper. Made her cheeks hot and pink, and her eyes gleam. Made her look like pure fire.

  "I didn't say I was right, okay?"

  "You didn't say you were wrong, either."

  He shrugged. "Maybe I'm reserving judgment."

  She glared at him. "So you think you were right. You think I'm just some spoiled kid who likes having her brothers treating her like a fragile china doll."

  He tilted his head. "Well, you put up with it for this long. Who knows, you go getting all independent now and you might just find you miss having all those men catering to your every need."

  "You got a lot to learn about me, Lash. A lot to learn." She shook her head slowly as she said it, and focused on her driving again.

  He felt mean. Truth to tell, he was beginning to think he'd been way off base about Jessi Brand. She wasn't turning out to be as much like his foster mother, the helpless and dependent Olive Stanton, as he'd thought she was. But hell, he couldn't very well tell her so, could he? He didn't want her reading anything into it.

  "For what it's worth, Jessi, I think you're one hell of a vet."

  "For a kid, you mean?"

  He didn't answer that loaded question. She turned the truck expertly into the parking lot of the small clapboard law office and killed the motor.

  "Look at me, Lash."

  Hell, was she nuts? He'd been doing nothing but look at her for the whole damned trip. Still, he complied, largely because he couldn't do otherwise.

  "My mama was married, with two babies, by the time she was my age. D
id you know that?"

  He shook his head mutely.

  "Do I look like a kid to you?" she asked him point-blank. Right between the eyes. She'd been right awhile back when she'd claimed to be the best shot in the family.

  "No, you don't."

  Her eyes dipped to focus very briefly on his mouth, and he felt that gaze like a red-hot branding iron. "Well," she said softly. "That's a start."

  A start? A start to what?

  She opened her door, leaving the keys dangling from the switch as she climbed out. "You can go ahead and take the pickup to collect that feed, Lash. By the time you get back here, I should be ready to go."

  Lash nodded, sliding across the seat to the driver's side. But he didn't leave right away. Instead, he sat there and watched as she walked away from the truck. Watched her hips moving back and forth, those long legs eating up the distance. Lord, but she was something. And he knew that he was in trouble.

  But I say unto you that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. The preacher's voice echoed in his mind. He could even hear the sound of that fist pounding down on the Bible.

  Stop thinking about her, that was the key. Just put Jessi Brand right out of his mind. He could do that, couldn't he?

  When she disappeared inside the lawyer's office, Lash started the truck and backed out of the lot. He headed toward the feed store two blocks away, but he was still thinking about Jessi when he got there. He backed up to the loading dock and went inside long enough to request the feed and ask that it be charged to the Texas Brand account. Then he went out back to help with the loading. Maybe a little physical labor would distract his wayward thoughts.

  The feed was stacked in hundred-pound burlap bags. Lash slung one over his shoulder, and it emitted a puff of fragrant dust he knew would remain on his shirt all day. He tossed it into the pickup bed and went back for another. Already the sun was sending heat waves down to toast his flesh, and after the third trip he was coated in sweat, as well as feed dust. Fifteen bags later, his back was starting to protest. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he was out of breath. And he was still thinking about Jessi Brand. He dreaded the ride back to the ranch, and hoped it would go quickly. Hoped he could keep his thoughts to himself until they got back. Hoped he could keep his hands to himself, as well. Ah, hell.

  He drove back to the law office. And there she was, standing outside, in the sunshine that made her hair gleam like copper. She had a manila envelope in one hand, and a black-and-white cat cradled against her chest. She kept bending to stroke her cheek over the cat's head, and there was something so damned sexy about the act that he almost stalled the truck.

  She sauntered over to the passenger side, and Lash leaned across to open the door for her. The cat came first, settling itself down on the seat beside Lash. Jessi climbed in beside the animal and slammed the door. "This is Pedro," she said.

  "I knew a Pedro once. Didn't much like him, though. He come with the house?"

  Jessi nodded and smiled, but it was a nervous smile. "Yeah. And so did Marisella's old truck." She turned toward him, grimaced, then slowly reached out a hand and brushed the dust from his hair.

  Lash didn't know whether to duck away from her touch, or close his eyes and lean into it. Damn, he liked the way her hands felt in his hair.

  "You're a mess," she said.

  "You got that right." She frowned at him, but he didn't explain his meaning. "So, back to the ranch?"

  She chewed her lower lip, then shook her head. "If you're not in a big hurry to get back, Lash, I'd like to stop by Marisella's place. Take a look around."

  "Oh." More time alone with her. Great.

  "That way I can drive her … my new pickup truck home."

  "Or I can tow it home. As I recall, that thing's at least as old as this cat appears to be."

  "Older," she said. "But it runs." She turned her attention back to the cat, stroking his head, and Lash felt a twinge of envy.

  He ignored it and steered the truck toward the edge of town, and the house Jessi had just inherited.

  Lash had never been inside Marisella's house. It was a red adobe cottage, with a matching garage beside it that was nearly as big as the house itself. A front lawn rolled gently between the two buildings and the road, and an even bigger one unfolded in the back.

  Jessi took the keys and went to the door, setting the cat gently on the ground as she unlocked it. Lash sat right where he was until she glanced over her shoulder at him, smiled that killer smile of hers, and waved a hand at him to come on. Okay. Everything was okay. He could handle this.

  Lash got out of the truck and followed her inside.

  The place looked as if Marisella had just left for the day. Pedro followed them through the front door and meowed plaintively for his owner. "Poor thing," Jessi said, speaking in hushed tones. "He doesn't understand where she's gone."

  Lash nodded and reached down to pet the cat, but Pedro shot away from him, running through the house, probably in search of Marisella. Jessi looked around the small kitchen area, with its white cupboards and spotless countertop, its small round oak table and matching chairs, its ancient-looking refrigerator.

  "I'd have to tear it apart to turn it into a clinic," she said, still speaking very softly. "I'm not sure I can bring myself to do it." She ran a hand over the countertop. "There's so much of Marisella still here. And she was one hell of a lady. I don't want to lose that sense of her."

  "Then don't," Lash said. Jessi turned to face him, brows lifted. He shrugged. "I mean … well, the garage is plenty big enough for a clinic," he went on. "Put in a few partitions, do a little wiring in there. It wouldn't be all that difficult."

  Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. Then she nodded slowly. "It's a good idea." She turned away then, walking through the kitchen and into the small living room, with its cozy furniture and its countless embroidered samplers decorating the walls. She looked around and nodded. "It really is a good idea. This place should be someone's home, not a sterile clinic, you know? There should be a family here. God, Marisella would love the idea of kids running around her house, getting into mischief, making noise." Her smile was whimsical, as if she were envisioning it all in her mind.

  "Thinking of renting it out to some family like that?"

  She shook her head. "Thinking of the future, Lash. My own family. My own kids."

  Lash felt his brows lift in surprise. "Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

  She only shrugged. "I don't believe in waiting for what I want," she said. "Maybe it's because my parents died so young and so suddenly, or maybe it's just me. But I've always figured you ought to go after your dreams just as hard and as fast as you possibly can. You never know when fate might step in and take away your chance." She stepped to the window and looked out over a wide, overgrown expanse of grass. "Besides, this backyard was made for children."

  Lash almost asked her if she had a husband in mind, but decided against it. He didn't want to know if she was already planning her marriage to some local good ol' boy. He did take a moment to pity the poor fool, whoever he was. Imagine having those overprotective brothers of hers to contend with. Hell, he wouldn't be in that slob's shoes for all the tea in China.

  She turned her back to the window, leaning against the sill, and looked at him with a gleam in her eyes that made him squirm clear to his boots.

  Lash cleared his throat. "I … er … thought you wanted to keep living out at the ranch."

  "For now," she said. "But I know better than to think of staying there forever. Especially if I ever—I mean, when I get married. Lord, Lash, can you imagine the way my brothers would feel about the poor guy? They'd probably be as hostile as … as they were with you at first."

  He shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. That's pretty easy to imagine."

  "C'mon," she said. "I'll show you the rest. There are two bedrooms, and—"

  "I think we oughtta take a look at that garage."<
br />
  If he'd blurted it too fast, it couldn't be helped. No way was he going anywhere near a bedroom with Jessi Brand. Uh-uh. What did she think he was, totally stupid?

  She sent him a sidelong glance that said she knew every thought that went through his mind, which was impossible, of course. "Okay," she said.

  She scooped up the cat and led the way outside, locking the door behind her. Pedro yowled enough to break a heart, and it looked as if it was breaking Jessi's. She rubbed his head, kissed his face. "It's gonna be all right, kitty. I promise."

  The cat settled down some after that. And Lash figured if she'd rubbed his head and kissed his face like that, he'd probably be lying on his back and purring, as well, by now.

  She deposited the animal in the pickup on the way to the garage, then headed there to unlock the overhead door. She tugged on it, too, bending over right in front of Lash and making his pulse rate skyrocket with the thoughts that action invoked. He tapped her shoulder so she'd straighten up and quit torturing him. Then he reached past her to yank the sticky door upward.

  And then she groaned audibly.

  Marisella's old pickup sat in the only place it possibly could. Around it, the garage was packed full. Piles of boxes and bags loomed higher than Lash's head. There were stacks and stacks of cases and trunks and containers of every shape imaginable.

  "Looks like Marisella was a closet pack rat," he observed.

  Jessi shook her head slowly and picked her way inside, seeking out a path between the piles. She pulled the flap of one box aside to peer at its contents. "Magazines," she said, turning to face him. "Old ones. I can't imagine why she kept…"

  He didn't hear the rest. The box she'd tugged on was in the middle of a ten-foot stack, and that stack was teetering now, tipping, right above her pretty head.

  Lash lunged forward as the stack fell. His body hit Jessi's, and they both sailed out of harm's way as the pile of boxes came crashing down right in the spot where she'd been standing.

  Only the danger hadn't passed. Not by a long shot. Because Lash was lying facedown on top of Jessi, where she'd landed, atop a heap of plastic bags. Every inch of his body was pressed intimately to every inch of hers. And his hand had come to rest, for some damned inexplicable reason, against her firm, nylon-encased thigh.