Free Ropin' Hearts: The Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 4 by Em Petrova Page A

changed his view of me.”
    “It’s hard to break out of a mold once people see us in a certain light.” The tone of his voice suggested he didn’t see her in that same light. What did he see in her?
    They sat for a while, not speaking. Finally he lay back and his hat tumbled off. She skimmed a finger over the brim, burning with something she didn’t know how to voice.
    He yanked a lock of her hair and she squealed. Laughing, he pulled her down to lie next to him. He felt good, strong and solid. And he smelled divine.
    “See that cloud? It looks like a turtle.” He pointed and she followed his long arm to his tanned finger. She nodded, her cheek brushing the warm, soft cotton of his shirt. He kept talking. “My younger brother got a turtle once on vacation at the beach. Brought it home in a cardboard box and put it in his room.”
    “What was its name?”
    His eyes crinkled more, and she devoured each delicious line with her gaze. “Picasso.”
    “What kind of name is that for a turtle?”
    “My brother loved Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles . They were all named after artists, so he found another artist to name his turtle after. He was always in to art, even as a little kid. He’s at Texas A&M right now, finishing a degree in art history.”
    “He must be smart to get in there.”
    “It’s my alma mater.” He gave her another crinkle-eyed look that seared her panties.
    “What about your other brother? There were three of you in the photo in the bunkhouse.”
    “Tommy just graduated from high school and has his sights set on becoming a Boot Knocker.”
    She shifted closer, lured by his voice and the comfort of just lying here talking. “Would that be weird, having him on the ranch too?”
    “Nah. We’d have to be careful to stay away from each other, though. Absolutely no sharing.”
    She longed for him to flip onto his side, lean over and kiss her. But how to urge him to do that? She stared at the clouds, unable to see any shapes within the cottony puffs.
    “What happened to Picasso?”
    “Well…” his drawl slammed her with desire, “…the turtle came up missing one day.”
    “Oh no.”
    “We found him, don’t worry. It was in an unexpected place, though.”
    “Where was that?” She couldn’t resist pushing onto an elbow and leaning over him. Staring into his face was much better than cloud gazing.
    “The turtle ate lettuce and my brother got distracted while feeding him. He left the bag in the turtle’s tank. When he remembered to put the bag back, he didn’t look closely. He tried to put the bag into the fridge and Mom said to leave it on the counter—she needed a little lettuce for sandwiches.”
    When he released a low laugh, Bree’s nerve endings sat up and took notice—but her heart did a slow somersault she felt to the tips of her toes.
    “Mom reached into the bag and found Picasso.”
    Bree giggled.
    “My brother got grounded for a week. If he’d put Picasso in the fridge…”
    She gave a shiver of mock horror.
    “My brother tried to fight off the sentence, pleading his case. It only dug him in deeper. Mom was a tough one to argue with.”
    Bree rested onto her back again, her mind deep in her own childhood arguments. Especially one. It still niggled at her.
    “The last fight I had with my mom was over the phone.”
    He grew still. This time his silence was a gift. When had someone truly listened to her?
    “I was at college. Some friends were going to San Diego for a weekend and I wanted to go.” She swallowed down the burning guilt at how she’d spoken to her mother that day.
    “Your parents weren’t in agreement?”
    “No, they weren’t. I yelled at my mom and said…she wasn’t taking care of me anymore. The least she could do was put money in my account for a long weekend getaway.”
    Ty was hovering over her suddenly, eyes soft. Her chest did an emotional stutter thing, coming against his, but he didn’t move or tell her not to be upset that she’d fought with