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this kind of social experimentation.
    The sound of a car horn behind her jolted her from her thoughts . Her reflexes had her stepping on the gas, propelling her through the intersection and down the long, winding road to Falcon Ridge. So much for going back home.
    The wind had picked up throughout the da y. When she parked next to the silver pick-up truck in front of the century’s old, charming, two-story, farmhouse and opened her door, a strong gust pulled it from her grip and sent it crashing against the side of the big truck. “Crap.” She jumped out of the car and pulled the door closed, wincing when she noticed the foot long crease in the metal. Could this day get any worse? She knew she should have stayed home. For a moment she thought about sliding back into her car and sneaking back down the drive before they knew she was there. Of course then she’d have to call and tell them what happened. She was being a coward, but she didn’t care. She was reaching for the door handle when she heard a door slam behind her.
    “Leavin’ the scene of an accident is a crime, ya know.”
    Clair a flinched at the sound of Matt’s voice and took a step back from the truck. “I…I’m sorry. The wind…it just…”
    Matt saw the panic in her eyes and he could have kicked himself into Sunday for being so stupid. He had her in his arms before he knew it. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’s just a dent.” He held her head to his chest and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her silky hair. God, she smelled good, like vanilla and spring, and woman. Our woman . He felt her tense and forced himself to release her.
    Claira stepped back and looked up into Matt’s eyes. The raw desire she saw there reached out and caressed her soul, sending a warm flood of her own desire straight to her core. It was too much. She broke the connection and looked down at the damage she had done, running a trembling finger over the crease. “I’ll pay for it. What…whatever it costs.”
    “Claira.” Matt stepped up and gently pulled her hand away from the damage, lacing their fingers together. He couldn’t not touch her. He wanted to touch every inch of her. “It’s not the only dent that old truck has, and it won’t be the last. Hell, the first thing I did when I bought the thing was take a hammer to the bumper.” He pulled her to the front of the truck and pointed out a small dent in the shiny chrome. “See. I did that right after I bought it. That way I don’t have to worry about when that first dent is gonna’ happen and it lets the truck know it belongs to me. Sort of like a brand.”
    Claira looked at him and she couldn’t help but laugh. She’d never heard anything more ridiculous. “Do you do that with everything you own?”
    Matt looked at her with a smirk. “What? Hit it with a hammer?” Claira giggled again and the melodic sound shot straight through his heart. If she kept that up he’d hike up that little skirt of hers and take her right there against the grille of his truck. God, it was going to be torture but he had to take it slow. Mason was right. She was as skittish as a new born colt, but man was he ever going to enjoy seeing her fall for them. She would, he knew. He just had to be patient.
    “No,” she croaked on another giggle. “Do you brand everything?”
    A haughty smile played on his lips at the thought of leaving his mark on her. “Oh, yeah.” He took in a deep breath, inhaling her scent as the wind whipped around them. ‘ Slow’ had just become his most despised, four letter word in the English language. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”
    She glanced back at the truck, then down to their joined hands as he pulled her toward the front steps. She knew she should release his hand, but as they approached the front door his grip had tightened just a little and she liked the fluttery feeling it brought to her stomach. She liked him. He was funny and that simple connection had helped her forget herself