18. Brodie

brODIE

H e gave his horse a hard nudge, and she knew what it meant. His sweet little chestnut Morgan loved to run as much as he did. He'd named her Baroness when he bought her, and only Brodie would call her little. She was over sixteen hands, with a compact build and strong-as-hell hindquarters.

When he took her over the hills and out to the pasture near the front gates of the ranch, he glanced up and saw the little black BMW fly by and the long blonde hair of the woman driving it.

The car had to be going seventy, at least. It could handle the curves of the road at those speeds without any problem, but he still didn't like Peyton driving that fast. He had half a mind to return Baroness to the barn, hop in his car, and follow her. No doubt she was headed to the sanctuary of her parents' ranch.

Instead, he slowed his horse. Last night had been the best sex of his life, and that was saying something. It was more, though. When he'd told Peyton she was his, he'd meant it.

Something had spooked her. Regardless of what it was, he wouldn't allow her to keep her distance for very long. The connection between them was real. It was powerful and undeniable.

"Wish you'd come to me, older brother," Brodie said to the sky. "I've never needed your advice more than I do right now. As much as you may think she needs me, I need her more."