Flynn ignored the twinkle in Maverick’s blue eyes and hefted another bale out of the bed of their truck. They’d backed into the barn, tailgate open, the feed stall already half-full.
“Yup.”
His brother waited until he’d grabbed another bale, stacking it atop the one Flynn had just set down before answering.
“Well, you know this whole wedding thing isn’t my deal. You’d have to talk to Charlotte.”
They worked in tandem—pull a bale out, stack it, repeat. This time Flynn took his time to answer. When they’d done another five, he tipped his hat back, thrusting his hay hooks into the top row of bales. He loved the nutmeg-like smell of alfalfa that filled the air thanks to the fresh-cut hay.
“But you’re not against it, right?”
“Well, hell.” Maverick did the same, thrusting his hooks in the sweet-smelling hay. “I don’t have a problem helping someone out, as long as Dad’s okay with it.”
“He told me since I made the agreement, the whole thing is now my problem.”
Maverick smiled. “Sounds like Dad.” His blue eyes scanned the skyline beyond the barn’s opening. Flynn’s gaze followed his brother’s. Looked like rain. Smelled like it, too.
“So you’ll talk to Charlotte?”
“Sure.”
He didn’t think they’d bite, and that was just as well. He didn’t want to make Amy work for his family. She had enough on her plate. Eventually she’d get paid by the woman who owed her money. Until then she could just rest or something.
But, much to his surprise, Maverick sent a text later saying they’d like to see a proposal, and that Charlotte was actually excited by the idea. Flynn wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It meant having to deal with Amy again, and for some reason he really wished he didn’t have to.
He ended up taking the coward’s way out, sending her a text message by using the number on her brochure. She replied almost instantly.
Be over in a jiff.
A jiff. He hadn’t heard that expression in years. It made him smile, but his grin quickly faded. Be over for what? He had a busy day ahead. Big cutting horse show in a couple weeks. His dad was counting on him to have Yellow Fever ready to ride in the futurity. Then there was that stallion owner he wanted to talk to. Convincing the man to let him stand his horse at stud would be the first step toward his dream of starting a stallion station at the ranch. The last thing he needed was another responsibility, but he supposed he only had himself to blame.
She was as good as her word, the old beat-up Nissan she drove rattling down the road and sounding like her bumper might be ready to fall off. He’d noticed it the other day. She’d been rear-ended at some point and had used duct tape to fix it.
“I’m so glad I spotted you in here. In my rush to get over to the ranch I realized I didn’t even ask where to find you.”
She’d parked in front of their barn, a Spanish-style stable made to look like it belonged in a different era. It was the centerpiece of the ranch, nestled as it was amid rows of vineyards. His dad’s place and his aunt and uncle’s place stood on a hill above the stables, and on this cool and cloudy day he would imagine they had a good view of the storm rolling into the valley and Amy driving up.
“Here.” She thrust a sheaf of papers at him, the horses peering at her curiously. He had to admit she looked better today than she did yesterday, less teary eyed and more in control of herself and her emotions. And yet when she stood in front of him, long brown hair pulled back off her face, there was still a hint of sadness in her eyes that made him want to... He didn’t know what it made him want to do.
“What’s this?”
“It’s just some information on my business. Goes over my scope of work, references, that kind of thing. I wanted to see the place before I work up a formal proposal with some solid ideas on what I think might work as far as themes and whatnot. I’ve never been out here before.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “Your dad met me at your rental property, and I mailed in my check.”
“It’s not mine.”
He didn’t know why he said the words or even what he meant by them, but he saw her brows lift.
“What’s not yours?”
“The ranch. The rental property.” He shrugged. “I’m employed by my dad to train his horses for competition. I don’t even own my own place. I live in a cabin down the road a bit, one I used to share with my brothers, and it’s owned by my dad and uncle.”
She didn’t say anything, just peered up at him, and he could tell she was trying to figure out where he was going with this.
“So you work for your dad?”
But it wasn’t said in a negative way. She actually looked amused. She probably thought he was trying to warn her off or something, and maybe he was. Hell, she wouldn’t be the first person to want to bag a Gillian brother.
“My dad’s my biggest client. But I train horses for other people, too. A few of them are here.”
“A few of what are here?”
Man, he wasn’t making any sense. “The horses I ride.”
“So you’re a horse trainer?”
He nodded, wondering if he should tell her about his plans for a stallion station. “When I’m not collecting rent for my dad.”
Her smile faded a bit, his words clearly a reminder of the trouble she was in. She squared her shoulders.
“I was thinking I could save your brother a ton of money if they get married here. That’s why I thought I should see the place.”
She put a brave smile on things. He’d give her that.
“I think that’s kind of what they want to do. But I don’t know. I really wish they were here. They should be talking to you, not me.”
“When are they getting married?”
“Maverick mentioned a spring wedding.”
“Well, good. That gives us some time. Mind if I walk around a bit?”
“Why don’t I give you a tour instead?”
And why’d he go and do that? He should let her walk around on her own. What was it about her that always made him say and do the unexpected?
“Sure,” she said.
“Let’s take Old Greenie.”
“Old Greenie?”
“Our ranch truck. Well, it’s an ATV that looks like a truck. A miniature truck.”
Her face had lit up at the mention of a tour, and the relief in her eyes—that did something else to him, something he couldn’t immediately identify. He found himself staring at his toes again.
“That sounds great.”
He couldn’t look at her as he pointed to the back of the barn, and the arena out past the barn’s double doors. “It’s over there.”
“Let me grab my notepad first.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Like it or not, her troubles were now his. Lucky him.
* * *
Her hands shook.
Amy recognized the signs of impending sickness by now. After two weeks she’d developed a close, personal relationship with her toilet. Only there was no toilet in sight.
You can do this.
She focused on her surroundings—on the gorgeous stucco barn with the red tile roof and the fancy stalls inside. Wrought iron bars kept horse heads in, brown eyes peering at her curiously as they walked by.
Her stomach rolled.
And the vineyards. Those would make a spectacular backdrop for a wedding. So would the hills in the distance and the grass-covered pastures she’d passed on her way into the ranch.
Not now. You are not allowed to be sick.
He was right where he’d said he would be, waiting for her in some kind of vehicle. She smiled and waved. That turned out to be a big mistake because the motion of her arm set off something in her head. The world began to spin. Or maybe it was walking. She
didn’t know, didn’t care, just dived to her left, pushed past some patio furniture and some chairs, hurling the meager contents of her stomach onto the rose bushes that grew along the back of the barn.
“Are you okay?” she heard him ask.
She lifted a finger, hoping he’d get the message to just leave her alone for a sec. She knew it would pass. She’d thrown up enough times that she knew the drill. She’d feel better after—weak, but better.
“Here,” he said when she straightened. He held out a water bottle.
She tried to say thank-you, couldn’t get her throat to work properly and ended up taking the bottle from him. Her hands shook so badly she could barely open the thing.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She sat, rinsing her mouth out a few times, her first swallow of water a cold splash to her insides. And now that her nausea had passed, her cheeks began to sting in embarrassment. Or maybe that was just the blood rushing to her head. She still felt a little woozy.
“When was the last time you ate?”
She took another swallow before saying, “I had some broth this morning.”
“Broth? You need to eat more than broth.”
“Yeah. I know,” she said, brushing stray wisps of hair away from her face, so mortified it was all she could do not to dash back to her car. “But easy for you to say. You’re not the one tossing your cookies every hour.”
When she met his gaze she wanted to cry, and it had to be another side effect of her pregnancy. She’d never been such a watering pot. Never. And yet for the second time in as many days she felt tears begin to build in her eyes. She was such a colossal boob. Not only did she have terrible taste in men, but she had terrible timing, too. Who threw up in front of a perfect stranger?
“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand.
“I don’t think I’m ready for a tour just yet.”
“We’re not doing the tour. I’m going to take you to my place, cook you some breakfast, get some color back in your cheeks and then we can go on the tour. You look about ready to pass out.”
Actually, she just wanted a nap. In a sunny spot someplace, preferably with some blankets, definitely with her favorite pillow.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”
She’d already been a big enough burden, and the man had been more than kind to her. Actually, he was a saint.
“I know I don’t have to, but you’re coming with me just the same.” He wiggled his fingers, his meaning obvious. She stared at his hand for a minute, at the breadth of it, at the thickness of his fingers, at the dusting of hair across the top of it. A masculine hand.
She took it.
He grabbed her notepad from her, helped pull her up, but it wasn’t enough to keep her steady. She found herself falling toward him. His arms surrounded her before she could blink and she stood there in them, a sense of comfort overcoming her and making her lean into him and close her eyes.
She could have stayed there forever. He was so warm. And helpful. And tall.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
“It’s okay.”
His words were a rumble beneath her ear, his arms a haven that soothed her troubled soul. A part of her realized that she had no business leaning on him like this, that she’d only just met him, that she was taking advantage of his kind heart.
And he was kind. And thoughtful. Where had he gotten that water from? What would she have done if she’d been off all on her own touring the ranch? They probably would have found her asleep beneath some grapevines later on.
She didn’t even realize she was quietly crying until he began to pat her back, muttering, “There, there.”
It was like aliens had abducted her emotions. She knew she needed to pull herself together but couldn’t seem to stop from crying all over his fancy Western shirt. When she pulled back a long while later, the dark denim was stained nearly black.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
He stared down at her and the weirdest thing happened. Her heart began to do something strange. It was like bird wings were tickling her insides. And the longer she stared at him, the worse it got. Eventually a whole pack of woodpeckers hacked at her rib cage.
The look on his face began to change. She saw it happen, too. His eyes went from soft and sympathetic to sharp and nearly hard, and it did something to her to see him stare down at her like that, something that shouldn’t be happening given she was pregnant and prone to tossing her cookies on an hourly basis.
“Let’s get you fed,” he said, turning her toward the ATV.
Yes. Food. Maybe that would restore her sensibilities because the way she felt right now she couldn’t possibly be in her right mind.
Chapter 3
What was he doing?
He should be working, not carting around a pregnant woman. But the look in her eyes...
He shook his head, helping her into the ATV, closing the tiny door and sealing her inside. His palms were sweaty, and if he didn’t miss his guess, her hands shook. She was in no condition to tour the ranch, much less be left on her own. Her skin was the same color as his brother Carson’s had been back when he’d fallen off Rooster and broken his elbow.
“You really don’t have to do this.”
Her tearstained face was all he needed to confirm that, yes, he did. She needed food. Maybe a warm blanket. Something to drink. Orange juice or something to help get her blood sugar up.
“I’m only a couple minutes down that way.” He waved out past the arena, to the south end of their property. “Honestly. It’s no trouble.”
“You could take me to my place, too. It’s not that far away.”
“We’d have to drive all the way around to the main road, then back out again. Closer to go to my place.”
She slumped against the seat of the ATV, clearly miserable. And yes, he did need to work. He had horses to ride. People to call. Things to do. Taking care of her would put him behind by at least an hour, but he didn’t think he had a choice.
She didn’t say a word as they drove toward the single-story home he’d taken over from Carson. It used to be a bunkhouse back in the day, and so she’d be sorely surprised if she expected a big, grand place like Maverick had just built for himself down the road. But she didn’t appear to notice. In fact, if he didn’t know better, he would swear she’d nodded off, her head lolling back against the seat.
“Amy?”
She started awake. She had been asleep.
No way.
“Wow, that was fast,” she murmured, wiping at her eyes.
“Did you fall asleep?”
“What?” She sat up straighter. “No. Of course not.”
But was that a hint of guilt he spotted in her green eyes? The realization that she had indeed fallen asleep raised his level of concern. There had to be something more wrong with her than mere pregnancy. Nobody could go to sleep so quickly. But she’d just been examined by a doctor. Maybe he should talk to his sister, Jayden. She was six months along right now. Surely she could tell him if Amy’s behavior was normal.
“Do you need help?” he asked, slipping out of the vehicle. He’d text Jayden when he got inside.
She shook her head, then clearly wished she hadn’t, clutching the dash of the ATV.
To heck with it.
He went around to her side of the vehicle, opening the door. She stared up at him miserably. He reached for her without thinking.
“What are you doing?” she yelped when his hands slid behind her back.
“Carrying you inside.”
“You don’t have to—” She covered her mouth, eyes suddenly going wide.
“Close your eyes.”
For once, she did exactly as told. She weighed next to nothing. Surely a woman carrying a child should have body fat or something. He tried to think about J
ayden, his sister, and what she’d looked like when she’d been a couple months along. As far as he recalled, she’d had more meat on her bones than Amy. His brother Shane’s wife, Kait, had mentioned something about always wanting to sleep when she’d been pregnant with the twins. Jayden had mentioned that, too. So, maybe this was normal.
He somehow managed to open his front door with her in his arms, using his rear end to nudge it open. His cabin still smelled like bacon from this morning’s breakfast. He headed straight for the couch to the right of the door, nudging back the coffee table his brother Carson had made, which weighed a ton, so that he could have more room to set Amy down.
“What a cute place,” she said with a sunny smile meant to hide her embarrassment, or so he presumed. That and humiliation.
“Used to be a bunkhouse,” he offered, going into the kitchen to his right. He opened an early-1900s-style refrigerator, or so it appeared from the outside. The whole place had been decorated by his sister-in-law’s mom in a Southwestern, Art Deco–type style. Wasn’t his cup of tea, but until he could afford to build his own place, he was grateful for the roof over his head.
“What sounds good? Eggs? Pancakes? Waffles?”
“You don’t have to cook for me.”
“You’re not having broth,” he said, pulling out a small basket of strawberries and a carton of orange juice. “You can snack on this while I make breakfast.”
“Really, it’s okay.”
He poured her a glass of juice and dumped the strawberries in an aqua-colored bowl that matched the rest of the decor in the kitchen, including the tiles on the backsplash. When he set the bowl down on the coffee table, she appeared even more uncomfortable than before.
“I’m feeling better.”
She lied. There was no way she could be that pale and feel any different than before.
“Eggs it is,” he said, turning back to the kitchen. “And some bacon. You need fat.” And before she could protest, he turned back, holding up a hand. “Not another word.”
She listened, settling down on his couch. He told himself he was only keeping the best interest of the ranch at heart. That was why he was helping her. God forbid she pass out and conk her head on something while on their property.
Home on the Ranch--The Cowboy's Dilemma Page 2
