Trail of Lust by Em Petrova

anything, it was what Wabash was capable of. He'd made a lot of enemies during the war. Suddenly, every ghost from his soldiering life rose up to haunt him. Paranoia aside, it was entirely possible more men would return with vengeance on their minds.
    No, he wasn't going to take any chances.
    As Graham rode into the yard, the front door opened, and his brothers spilled onto the porch. Nolan, the taller of the two, stretched his arms overhead, resting his fingertips on the beam of the front porch.
    A smile cut across Clay's face. The youngest of the three boys, Clay was a spitting image of Graham ten years ago.
    Before the war and hardships had cut out Graham's spirit.
    For better or worse, he'd gained a portion of it back, if he could only deal with the repercussions.
    "Look what Old Gray's dragged back with him, Nolan. A dirty sack of clothes. Looks like you've been sleeping rough, man.” Clay stepped off the porch into the dirt yard as Graham drew his mustang to a halt and dismounted.
    He leveled his stare at his youngest brother, daring him to make a guess at where he'd been all night and why he hadn't returned home. Clay was forever running his mouth, getting himself in trouble. He took after their cousin Peter in that respect. Except Peter spent a little too much time at the saloon and stumbling home foxed. Sometimes with lipstick on his face, sometimes sporting a black eye after brawling with a drunk over a saloon girl.
    Graham grabbed Old Gray's bridle and led him to the stable. It was no shock that his brothers’ footsteps sounded behind him.
    "Where were you?” Clay asked.
    "Took a ride.” He tucked up Old Gray in his stall and worked quickly to remove the tack and rub him down. Then he tipped a bucketful of bran in for him as a treat.
    "A midnight ride?"
    Graham swung toward his younger brother, surprised he'd add to the barrage of questioning. Nolan was the quietest among them.
    "The war isn't eatin’ at you again, is it, Graham?” Clay, as usual, dug his words directly into the most wounded part of Graham's soul.
    A teeth-jolting growl burst from him. “You two need more work. You obviously have too much time, sitting around thinking about my life. Maybe you need to go get one of your own."
    He strode outside. Of all the mornings to bring up the war, this was the worst. Did they sense Graham's heavy thoughts? While he was jubilant about the prospect of joining himself to the bold little woman from the neighboring farm, he was stricken with fear. Had his urges placed him in a bad predicament again? Perhaps he should have never kissed her, never let her wriggle under his skin and into his psyche. It was just lust, after all.
    Even as he thought this, he rejected it. Despite his hardened exterior, he'd always had a romantic streak. His brothers, cousins, and entire family knew it. Hell, the fact that he planned to secretly wed Kathleen wouldn't surprise the Hollises one bit. They'd expect nothing less from him.
    "Fuck.” His utterance burst from him, and his brothers pounced on it.
    They circled him. If he wasn't as roped with muscle as he was, he'd be damn intimidated by these men—broad and thick, with the light every Hollis man carried in his eye shining in theirs. The one that said, Don't fuck with me. Get out of my way.
    "Talk to us, bro.” Clay sent a playful punch into his shoulder.
    "We'll find out sooner or later,” Nolan added.
    Graham tugged his hat lower over his eyes. “That you will. When I'm damn good and ready to share.” With that, he employed his long legs, striding to the house before his brothers could wrench his confidences from him. He wasn't ready to share. He had to get his head in order.
    Because saying aloud that he was about to marry a stunning creature who had in minutes buried her hooks in his soul was too frightening. And it might call down all the gods of bad luck who loved to personally fuck with him.
    On silent feet, Kathleen stole from the house. She closed the door as