"It's all easy enough. You can feed the pigs, brush the horses, rake the hen pen..."

"Yeah." He looked decidedly unenthusiastic. "I guess."

"You look like you'd rather leap into a burning building."

"Yeah. Just not off of one." With another sigh, he straightened, and then stood so that water sluiced off him.

He had one of those chests that could make a woman drool. Solid. Ripped without being overly muscular, and just enough chest hair to be incredibly masculine. Then her gaze caught on his shoulders, specifically his right, and not just because water was running off it so nicely, but because of the scar running from the top of it, slashing downward, vanishing into his armpit. It was a quarter of an inch wide, and still pink and shiny. New.

Before she could ask about it, the sliding door opened behind them, and out stepped Tucker Mooney.

"I thought you were in town," Callie said, surprised.

"Just got back." Tall and lean, bodywise he was a younger carbon copy of Jake. But Tucker was blond, not dark like Jake. Apparently Tucker had gotten their mother's coloring, along with his father's, whoever he'd been.

At age twenty, he had an attitude to match his age-unless he was working with the horses, that is, in which case Callie had found him to be a beautiful, patient old soul. No horses here, however, and at the sight of his older half brother standing with one foot in and one foot out of the hot tub, his jaw tightened.

Callie knew why she had a problem with Jake. He held the strings of her future in his big hand, and God knew how she hated that. Truth was, she'd have distrusted and disliked anyone who had that power over her. It was nothing personal-well, mostly not.

But for Tucker, his dislike of Jake was definitely personal, and that had never made much sense to her. Twelve years Jake's junior, Tucker needed a place to go at age seventeen when their mother had been looking to take off for an extended Greek vacation with her latest husband. She'd been relieved when Jake had stepped in and coaxed Tucker into working at the ranch. It hadn't been an easy coax, either. Tucker had been in trouble with the law at the time, and had a serious authority issue. Chances are Jake had saved Tucker's life by dragging him here, and yet Tucker acted like Jake had never done a thing for him.

"Vacation time?" Tucker asked Jake edgily.

"Sort of." Jake stepped all the way out of the tub and looked around him. "Forgot a towel."

He hadn't forgotten a swimsuit, Callie noticed. The wet material of his dark blue trunks were slung low on his lean hips, hanging nearly to his knees, nicely showcasing a body she wanted covered. Immediately. She grabbed a towel out of the bin at the foot of the deck and tossed it to him.

Offering her a smile of thanks, he tried to wrap it around his waist using only his left hand. Callie realized he hadn't used his right arm for anything, not his phone, not to wave, nothing. She looked at his scar and found herself wanting to help him.

Which was as smart as trying to hand-feed a leopard.

"So how's it going, Tuck?" Jake asked, still awkwardly fighting with his towel.

Tucker let out a sound that was either a muttered "fine" or a different f-word entirely, and completely ignored Jake's obvious injury.

Jake's towel slipped. He swore, then began all over again.

What had he done to himself? Callie felt another tug in her chest, and realized it was sympathy.

Tucker, however, didn't look sympathetic at all. "You bring another chick with you?"

"What is it with the two of you?" Jake divided a disgusted look between them. "A guy can't just show up on his own?"

"You never have before."

Jake paused at that. "No, I guess I haven't," he finally said.

No excuses, no explanations, no apologies. That was such a guy thing, Callie barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but she let it go. She figured Tucker had his hackles up because he was young and full of stupid pride. He loved this job, and hated that his brother had given it to him.

And yet Jake must have fond feelings for Tucker, or at least responsible feelings, to have done so. She knew they hadn't seen each other in a long time. Why didn't they just do what brothers do and hug and move on?

"I talked to Mom a while back," Tucker said. "She said she's been trying to call you. You don't know how to return a phone call?"

"Oh, I know how to return a phone call. When I get one." Lazy as can be, Jake sprawled his long body out in one of the lounge chairs. Only Callie seemed to see how carefully he really moved, clearly not using his right arm or shoulder.

Tucker stepped closer, his hands fisted. "You saying she lied?"

"I'm saying she's doing what she does best. Stretching the truth."

Callie stepped between them, mostly because she recognized that look dawning in Tucker's eyes. Trouble. She didn't want it here. "Let's stick to the bigger issue, boys. We're booked in the big house," she said to Tucker. "We need a place for Jake to stay."

Tucker stared at her.

She stared back.

"Fine. Damn it." Muttering to himself, he headed back inside.

"Tuck, wait," Callie said. "I forgot to ask you. Who fed the pigs this morning?"

"Me."

"You left the latch open."

"No, I didn't."

"Well, someone did. They were running loose and enjoying themselves when I got outside. Took me an hour to catch them all."

He turned to look at her. He eyed her hair, which she knew probably still held some mud, readily visible in the long, strawberry red strands, but at least he was wise enough not to mention it. "Couldn't be," he said. "I always wait for the latch to click because they like to push at the gate as I walk away. I'm going to go have a look." With one last annoyed glance shot in Jake's direction, he stalked off.

The slider shut hard.

In the silence, Jake lay on the lounge, suddenly beyond exhausted. "Well, that was a touching family reunion."

"Yeah." Callie stepped to his side. She was frowning, a little pucker appearing between her wide green eyes. She had a spec of mud there, too, which had made Jake want to laugh earlier.

Now he didn't have enough energy to laugh. Flying into Tucson, then driving eighty-five miles into this godforsaken middle of nowhere had taxed him. It used to be he could run five miles a day and wear sixty-five pounds of gear for hours upon hours in relentless, dangerous conditions, but ever since the roof incident and subsequent surgery, he'd been a worthless piece of shit. His physical therapy had been brutal but he was on his own now, with a list of exercises he had to do every day to work his shoulder. He'd been doing that for a month and could still hardly do a damn thing on his own.

God, how he hated to admit that.

And now to be here, on his father's land...Jake tried not to think about Richard often. The man had been just one of a slew of short-lived marriages in his mother's life, and the only one Mary Ann Mooney hadn't managed to con. Because Jake had lived with his mother, a woman who hated the Arizona desert more than she hated being single-and that was saying something-she'd moved with Jake to LA after his birth. Richard had called Jake once a year on his birthday until his twelfth, when Jake had told his father he didn't want to be a cowboy, but a firefighter. After that, the annual calls stopped, as if Richard had decided he hadn't had a kid after all.

And yet he'd left his entire legacy to Jake. The idea of it only added to his exhaustion.

Idly he wondered if he could just sleep right there in the lounge so he wouldn't have to muster the energy to get up. Callie, of average height and average weight-and perfectly sized curves, he had reason to know-probably had more strength in her little pinkie than he had in his entire body, and if that didn't rankle...

She still looked hot in the whole cowgirl setup, he couldn't help but notice. Long fiery red hair braided down her back, brilliant green eyes that flashed her every emotion, heart out on her sleeve for the world to see.

They'd once spent an unforgettable evening with a bottle of whiskey in her cabin, sharing confidences and shots, talking about much more than either of them would have if they'd been sober. He'd had some timing that night, when it came to talking about his father. He still regretted not waiting until after they'd done the deed to tell her he thought Richard Rawlins had been a selfish, thoughtless asshole and an even worse father. But no. Callie had addled his brain with her big, expressive eyes, her warmth and compassion, the sexy little sounds she made when he touched and kissed her- But then they'd stopped for another shot, and had started talking. Big mistake, talking to a woman while naked. She'd kicked him out of bed and her life in one fell swoop.

Now she might look at him, she might even want to touch, but she was far too stubborn to ever admit she'd acted hastily. He figured some of that stubbornness came naturally to her. With all that red hair, she probably couldn't help it.

"What happened to you, Jake?" She gestured to his shoulder.

"A tumble through a roof."

She gaped and moved closer. "You fell through a roof?"

Three stories. Into flames. "No big deal."

She pointed to his scar, her finger nearly touching him. In her eyes and voice was a new softness that made him wonder if they shared another bottle of whiskey now, if she'd- "It looks like a big deal."

Uncomfortable with what he was afraid was pity, he shrugged, a movement that caused not a little shaft of pain. "Worried? 'Cause we could get comfy and...talk about it."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Hell, no, he didn't want to talk about it. "I'd rather you kiss it better."

"Don't be a jerk." A little hesitant, she kneeled at his side. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Sure."

"Really?" She lifted her gaze from his scar to his face. Studied him. "Because it looks bad."

Apparently he was far more tired than he'd thought, because he would have sworn she was actually concerned. That touched him, when he hadn't planned on being touched at all. Not knowing what to do with that, he laughed. "You want to play nurse, Callie? Because I'm game."

She let out what could only be called a growl and surged to her feet. "For your father, I would have."

A strange feeling filled his chest, and he was afraid it was jealousy. His father had treasured her as an employee, while pretending he didn't have a son because that son had dared to have different hopes and dreams than his.

"I'd also play nurse for any of your animals," she said. "Anytime."

But not for him. Yeah, he got that loud and clear. He just didn't know why he'd hoped for something else. Or why, for that matter, he'd never been able to forget her. Jesus, he was crazy to be here, on his father's land, near his brother, with the daily reminder that no one, no one who shared his blood gave a shit about him.

"Do you really intend to stay for three or four months?"

"Maybe." What he didn't intend to do was tell that he had nowhere else to go and no one else who cared. That he needed help with even opening a damn can of soup, never mind reaching up into a cabinet for a bowl to dump it into.

Or that he could really get behind selling this place for the money to pay down his mortgage, get the best attorney he could to fight this whole Billy thing, and maybe even take that cruise Troy had suggested.

"I don't get it." She sounded bewildered and unsettled. "Why would you want to stay so long?"

He stretched out his legs even further in preparation for the nice nap he intended to take.

"Don't you have to get back to work?"

He wished.

She was close again, her knees brushing the lounge. Her gaze ran over his body. If he hadn't been so dead...

"Jake? No work?"

"Not for a while." When he was on the job, he willingly risked life and limb. And when he wasn't on the job, he still risked life and limb, just not his heart. Never his heart. So it really needed to stop thudding uncomfortably at the way she was looking at him. Had he thought her annoyed? Maybe mildly curious on top of that? And then, finally, concerned?

Where, then, had that heat in her gaze suddenly come from?

"Why would you stay," she repeated softly, once again hunkering down so they were eye to eye, "when you don't like being here? Is it because you can't work?"

He wasn't ready to admit that, but she was searching for the answer in his words, his face, and he didn't know what exactly she thought she'd find in either. She knew this place wasn't his thing. They were out in the boondocks, with no nightlife, no city sophistication, nothing to do except ride horses and feed the pigs, and possibly try to enjoy the long, endless nights, which is why he'd brought a woman with him on his last two visits.

But he doubted his body could handle that kind of enjoyment now, humiliating as that was to admit. Not that she was offering. "I told you, it's time to work on this place, give it some value."

"It has value."

"Not resale it doesn't."

"So you are selling."

He closed his eyes because he didn't have the energy to do anything else. He understood she had to be concerned about her own livelihood, and that of her crew, but he wasn't a heartless bastard. At least not entirely. He needed to get out from beneath the ranch and the financial obligation, but he also would do his best to make sure the people here were cared for. "I'll make sure you and Tucker get to keep your jobs. Don't worry, that will be an important contingency about selling. You won't be affected, other than getting someone new to report to, someone better suited than me, I'm sure."

She didn't say anything, and he no longer could even think about opening his eyes. His shoulder was aching again, reminding him he hadn't taken a painkiller that day. Knowing he'd be driving, and also that he'd need a clear mind, he'd kicked the pain pills cold turkey.

Now he wished he'd at least brought them.

"Does it hurt?"

With his eyes closed, Callie's voice sounded sweet, warm...caring...

She ran a finger over his scar, from the shoulder tip down to the sensitive skin of his armpit.

Jake's flesh flinched.

She jerked her hand back. "I'm sorry."

"No." He wanted to grab her hand back and place it over the healing incisions. "It's okay, the area just isn't used to touch." He rubbed his own hand over it, and grimaced. "The nerve endings keep misfiring or something as they regenerate, shooting random points of fire. It's driving me crazy."

Lightly, she took over, running her finger down the scar. "You need to reintroduce it to stimulation," she whispered. She hesitated, as if daring him to make a sexual innuendo, but he didn't want her to move away so he didn't say a word.

And with that same light, almost unbearable touch, she glided her finger from the top of his shoulder, downward, to the crux of his arm. "Like this..."

Then back again.

"Callie."

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. "Or like this..." She leaned in for a kiss- And he jerked awake, sitting straight up so fast he winced and grabbed his shoulder.

He was alone in the chair by the hot tub, and given the new slant of the sun, had been for quite a while. Someone had covered him in a light blanket.

Callie.