Lone Stallion's Lady Read Free Page A

ruts. Tall dry grass grew between the parallel trails of sparse gravel, brushing the undercarriage of the car. Potholes and rocks dotted the dusty laneway and Gina smiled at the pure, raw grit of this part of the country. She spied a tractor chugging in one field, and farther ahead, climbing to the sky, craggy mountains spired over rolling, pine-covered foothills.
    Gina slowed as the lane curved toward what appeared to be the heart of the spread. Clustered around the perimeter of a hard-packed parking area were the stables, undergoing some kind of renovation, a bunkhouse, and a variety of buildings including a weathered pump house and a variety of machine sheds and the like. The most commanding building of all—despite its disrepair—was a once-stately two-storied ranch house that dominated the parking area. Once beautiful, it was slowly going to seed. Shutters missing slats sagged near the windows, the once-white paint was beginning to peel, and more than one windowpane had been boarded over. A broad porch skirted the first floor and a man was standing on the steps. A tall man with broad shoulders, dark hair and…and—
    “Oh, God.”
    Gina slammed on the brakes and the Explorer shuddered to a stop.
    There, big as life—no, make that bigger than life—was Gina’s own personal nightmare.
    Trent Remmington was waiting for her.
    And, from the looks of him, he was mad as hell.

Two
    G ina slowly eased her foot from the brake and shut off the engine. How could this have happened? Trent wasn’t supposed to be here until next week.
    “Give me strength,” she whispered, her palms suddenly damp as they clenched the steering wheel. Through the open sunroof the Montana sun streamed down in what felt like harsh, merciless waves. Heat crawled up the back of her neck and images—a kaleidoscope of dark, seductive pictures—played through her brain. In her mind’s eye she saw all too vividly his tanned skin, rippling muscles, bare, broad shoulders and oh, so much more as he lay next to her on the bed in Dallas, kissing her, touching her, making her tingle inside….
    Stop it!
    Though it was only the middle of May, she was suddenly as hot as if it were late August. She couldn’t think of their night together in Dallas. Wouldn’t. Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that she was a grown woman, a private investigator, for crying out loud. She didn’t have to feel an ounce of shame or obligation or…or even kid herself that she’d been in love with him. No way. No how.
    So why was her stomach doing a slow roll of anticipation at the mere sight of him?
    Crossing her fingers, Gina blinked and silently prayed that she was seeing things.
    She wasn’t.
    Trent Remmington was here at the ranch. All six feet, two inches of him. He stood on the front porch of the rambling, two-storied ranch house, his arms folded across his chest, his lips drawn into a thin line of disapproval. His eyes squinted against the bright spring sun, his jaw was set, and the hank of dark hair she’d found so fetching fell across his forehead as he glared at her.
    Well, like it or not, she had to deal with him. Now. He would certainly demand answers she wasn’t prepared to give. Her feet scrambled into the sandals and for a fleeting second she thought she might have gotten lucky. Maybe the man on the porch wasn’t Trent, but his identical twin Blake. That would explain the uncharacteristic jeans and faded denim shirt.
    No, she was only kidding herself. She’d researched both brothers. Blake and Trent, though they looked alike, were as different in personality as night and day.
    Blake, a pediatrician now living in Southern California, was kindhearted, well-meaning, without the hard edge of his irreverent renegade of a twin. This tough-as-leather man glaring through the dusty, bug-spattered windshield at her was Trent Remmington. No two ways about it. He might have discarded his two-thousand-dollar suit and designer tie, but he still wore the same