Desire at Roosevelt Ranch

by Faber, Elise

  That was where the infuriating portion of his personality came in . . . or perhaps, disappointing.

  Or maybe the best description yet, failure.

  And Justin saving his ass, yet again.

  Taking care of Kelly, stepping in, falling for the only person Rex had ever felt anything for. But he hadn’t felt enough. He knew that now. After he’d returned, thinking he might be able to win her back, he’d seen Justin with Kelly, seen how perfect they were for each other, how they hadn’t been trying to take and take and take from each other. As opposed to him trying squeeze every bit of satisfaction out of his partners and then never finding it to be enough.

  Because he was lacking something inside.

  Broken. Missing. Empty.

  Jax, Justin’s little boy and Jesse’s twin, hurtled a toy car off the edge of the table. It clattered to the floor, making Rex wince and focus back on the subject at hand: trading empty, missing, and broken for mischief.

  “I just don’t see why we can’t have ice cream for breakfast,” he said, attempting to keep his lips from curving. “We all know that it will be much less messy than Justin making pancakes.”

  Kelly’s eyes twinkled. “True,” she said, stooping to pick up the car. “But now you’re threatening my stash of mint chocolate chip, and them’s fighting words.”

  Rex lifted his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Even I wouldn’t dare to do that. I know how much you love your mint chocolate chip.”

  She dropped a handful of cereal in front of Jesse and Jax then a bowl of yogurt in front of Abigail in that easy, efficient way she had. It was the same with the horses, whether it was a handful of them or the several dozen they now housed on the ranch. Kelly could always handle multitasking without missing a beat. This horse needed his medication. Another’s favorite snack was apples. Still one more never failed to miss an opportunity to nip. She’d been able to rattle that off to him with her arms full of tack while saddling one horse and passing treats to another.

  And she was an even better mother.

  Abigail looked exactly like her with the exception of having the Roosevelt eyes. The same eyes Justin had but Rex didn’t. Lucky, that. No trace of him. And while they might share that DNA, Rex didn’t feel anything fatherly toward her. Maybe once upon a time, he’d thought that perhaps . . .

  But he’d let that go.

  She belonged to Justin.

  Abby scooped up a spoonful of yogurt and shoved it into her mouth. “You’re silly, Uncle Rex.” Some of the white viscous liquid dribbled down her chin.

  He wrinkled his nose and picked up a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table, grabbing the square of paper, then belatedly realizing he’d recognized the painted clay monstrosity from his childhood.

  “Where’d you find that?” he asked lightly, wiping Abigail’s chin. “I thought Dad had burned it.”

  Justin’s eyes held a note of emotion that Rex didn’t like. He held Rex’s gaze for a long moment then returned to mixing pancake batter and generally making a giant mess of the kitchen. “Turns out that there was a lot of stuff in storage. Dad sent it over after Abby was born.”

  “Ah.”

  Kelly set a bowl of berries, granola, and yogurt in front of Rex, and his heart clenched in regret when he realized she’d remembered his preferred breakfast. “Because it will take Justin an hour to make enough pancakes for all of us.”

  “Hey! I—” Justin said, but Kelly cut him off with a kiss.

  Regret, Rex thought. Not want.

  He didn’t want Kelly any longer, but he sure did regret hurting her.

  Four

  Tilly

  Her alarm came way too early.

  She hated working the morning shift, but she hated it all the more when she’d stayed late to cover the evening shift the night before.

  “Ugh,” she groaned, blearily reaching for her cell and attempting to press the “Done” button. Not “Snooze” because fuck if she wanted to deal with the incessant ringing in nine minutes.

  Nine. Not ten. Not five.

  Nine.

  Her cell slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor with a sickening crack.

  Hardwood floor meeting glass-covered cell phone was never a good thing, but it was even less of a good thing when said cell phone was out of its protective case because the fucking wireless charger didn’t charge with the bulky plastic surrounding it. And since Tilly was about as good with technology as a bull in the proverbial china shop . . .

  That crack meant her brand-new cell phone that she’d splurged for now had a lovely fissure right down the middle of the screen.

  Not on the back. On the front. In the middle.

  “Fuck my life.”

  She should have put that money into fixing her car. Instead, she’d splurged and . . . le sigh. Because as things had often done in her life, they’d gone wrong.

  Since her cell was still incessantly blaring, Tilly shoved her bangs out of her face and slipped out of bed. Two jabs at the screen and she managed to silence the ringing before shoving it back into the indestructible case. Then it was time for her to stop grousing and move.

  She was one of those people who didn’t like to build extra time into her morning routine. She wanted to sleep as late as humanly possible, then hurtle herself out of bed and into the shower. No washing her hair, because her mane of blond locks took way too much effort to dry for zero-dark thirty in the morning. Rather, she simply waited impatiently for the shower to heat, hopped in, and washed up as quickly as possible, then with slightly more awake hands, fumbled her way into her uniform.

  Bypassing her kitchen—it was too early to be hungry for breakfast and Henry would cook something for her that was way better than anything she could cobble together once the morning rush passed anyway—Tilly ran out onto her front porch.

  This was the moment she typically ran across the darkened front yard—hello, scary murderers and freezing cold Utah mornings—to her car.

  Just not this morning.

  She stopped dead—no pun intended—on the second step.

  “What the fuck?”

  Her car was gone.

  Walking in the dark, mind full of scary thoughts and images, did not do a girl well.

  She’d called Henry to tell him she would be late but would be in as soon as possible. As usual, he’d been understanding when she’d told him that she had car trouble—ha, a missing car still counted as trouble, right? He had offered to give her the morning off to deal with her car, but she needed the money from her shift . . . especially if she might need to buy a new one.

  Sighing and mentally adding a brand new vehicle to her already stretched budget, Tilly picked up her pace. She lived on the outskirts of Darlington, but luckily her hometown wasn’t what one would call big. It would take all of twenty minutes to get to Main Street, where Henry’s Diner was located.

  By then, the restaurant would be slammed, every booth crammed with Darlington natives, plates piled high with fluffy pancakes and delicious omelets, perfect triangles of freshly baked bread, courtesy of the lovely Isabella.

  Henry’s better half was beautiful, inside and out, and an amazing baker, to boot. It would be enough to make Tilly hate her, if not for the whole beautiful on the inside thing.

  Because Bella was amazing, and nice, and talented . . . and perfect for Henry.

  So no hating. Only love and . . . the slightest bit of jealousy.

  Because once upon a time she’d believed in happily ever afters. Then reality had struck and she was back home, in debt up to her eyeballs—though she was slowly making progress in paying it off—and, perhaps most depressing of all, she was alone. All alone.

  Wrinkling her nose, Tilly wrapped her jacket more securely around her and quickened her pace.

  Winter was coming.

  A snort, though it was the truth.

  The leaves had turned, the nights had come earlier, the days had grown cooler and shorter. Halloween was in a few weeks a
nd then a fresh hell would begin.

  The Holiday Season.

  Such a fucking pain in the ass when a girl was alone and single.

  “Pity, pity party,” she muttered, rounding the corner where her car had been an asshole the night before. The sun was still hidden behind the hills in the distance, but it was beginning to rise, making their tops look like someone had run an orange highlighter across their rounded domes.

  It was beautiful and also a good reminder for her to keep moving.

  The minutes were flying by, and she’d never get them back.

  “Don’t I know that?” she muttered and trudged on.

  Five

  Rex

  He felt his phone buzz and pulled it out to check if it was the message he’d been waiting for.

  Then felt his cheeks crease when it was.

  There was one benefit of throwing money around. People jumped and often jumped high.

  Rex still didn’t know what had persuaded him to make the call late the night before, the one that had offered an obscene amount of money to the local mechanic to tow the angel’s car to his shop to fix it.

  But he had and, in fact, had paid more than the actual rust bucket was worth to replace the starter, the ignition, several important belts, one engine rod, and a broken spring in the front seat. Expensive, but Dale, the mechanic, had come through. And if Rex were being completely honest, fixing the car was the lesser of two evils . . . especially when his first instinct had been to buy the woman a brand-new car.

  Didn’t even know her name and yet was willing to spend thirty grand on a new vehicle.

  Brilliant thought, Roosevelt.

  Rex sighed then typed out a thanks, asking the mechanic to drive the car back to the woman’s house. She’d been working very late the evening before and so hopefully would still be sleeping or at the very least, had seen the note he’d instructed Dale to leave behind.

  Last thing he needed was the woman reporting her car being stolen.

  Despite his role in Bella’s return to Henry and Darlington, the sheriff’s office still wasn’t his biggest fan. The head detective was Kelly’s brother-in-law and not quick to forgive Rex.

  Not that he could blame him.

  Rex’s phone buzzed again.

  Already dropped off. Note still there and not a peep from the house. The total with parts will be—

  To which, Dale added a monetary amount that was obscene, but marginally less than the price of a new car. He typed a reply, promising to drop the payment by in a couple of hours, and then pocketed his phone and forced himself to focus on the task at hand—namely, cleaning up the kitchen mess that was the result of Justin’s pancakes.

  The happy family of five had taken off for the barn, coaxed out by Rex, three sets of sticky faces and hands trailing their parents. Knowing Kelly, a morning check and feed of the horses had already been completed, but she’d spend several hours assisting the ranch hands with feeding, exercising, and keeping a close watch on their highly valued horses.

  She’d turned this operation into something very special.

  No thanks to him.

  Rex shook his head, shoved the circling emotions down—because he really needed to stop being a pathetic pussy—then got to work on the dishes. It was almost worth it, having to wash the ridiculous amount of dishes, just to have witnessed Justin’s face when he had offered.

  Pure, unadulterated shock.

  Punctuated by pancake batter above his right eyebrow.

  Of course, there was karmic intervention for his amusement . . . in the form of a griddle caked with bacon grease that he spent the better part of thirty minutes scrubbing clean, so by the time he managed to escape it was nearly lunchtime.

  Kelly and company were making their way up to the front door as Rex emerged from the house. While she offered to make him a matching heart-shaped PB&J sandwich to go along with Abigail’s lunch—and really, how the little girl could be hungry after the huge amount of pancakes she’d consumed less than two hours before was beyond him—he turned down Kel’s offer and headed to his car.

  Justin was chasing the twins around the front lawn, but Rex didn’t miss his brother’s shoulders relaxing when he announced his impending exit.

  “Bye, Roosevelt clan,” he called lightly, really good at pretending that he hadn’t secretly wanted to stay.

  He liked being around Justin and his family, enjoyed the noise and chaos, interspersed with laughter, tears, and the occasional meltdown. It reminded him of when his mom had still been alive.

  But as much as he wanted to soak up every moment, Rex knew he was nothing more than a complication—fine, an annoyance—to them.

  Things would never be the same.

  He’d ensured that.

  “I’ll be heading back out of town soon,” he announced to no one specifically. “Let you all get back to your life.”

  “Rex—” Kelly began, but her words were cut off when Abigail launched herself from the front porch. She sprinted toward him, little legs pumping faster than he would have thought possible.

  “Don’t go, Uncle Rex!” she said, and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

  His heart clenched. “I—”

  He didn’t do kids, didn’t know how to respond . . . to someone wanting him to stay. Or at least, not because they wanted him to stay and not his money or his father’s business connections.

  She sniffed and threw her arms around his waist.

  “I—” he started again and stopped. “You’re probably hungry,” he eventually settled on. “You should go eat that sandwich your mom is going to make you.”

  Green eyes, so like his brother’s, narrowed in his direction. “Mommy says you like to run away.” Her gaze was penetrating. “Don’t.”

  And now this was getting really freaking weird.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he found himself saying. “Except into town for a bit.”

  A nod.

  “Good.” She turned to the house. Stopped. “Because you and Daddy need to make up.” With that proclamation, she flounced into the house.

  Rex turned to Justin. “How old is she now?”

  “Four.” A beat. “Going on forty.”

  His lips twitched. “She reminds me of Mom.”

  Justin nodded. “Yes, she does.”

  When the silence stretched for a few beats, Rex nodded, propelled his ass into motion, and hightailed it for his car. This time there wasn’t a tiny green-eyed cherub to stop him from buckling in and taking off down the driveway.

  But that didn’t mean there wasn’t an angel to stop him in his tracks just around the corner.

  Six

  Tilly

  Her feet ached, and her hair smelled like eggs.

  Scrambled. With a touch of cheddar, sour cream, and bacon.

  The perfect combination for an omelet in her opinion, but definitely not her preferred shampoo scent. She shook out her long blond locks as she walked, another crumb of bacon falling to the road. Her house was ten minutes out, her pace much slower than that morning.

  Panic and fear had fueled her steps, and she’d made it into town in record time.

  Thank her overactive imagination for that small miracle.

  Now, she’d worked the morning rush . . . or maybe it had worked her. Because besides the omelet hair she now sported, courtesy of a toddler who’d launched her mother’s breakfast in Tilly’s direction with unerring accuracy in the middle of a major temper tantrum, her shirt was grease-stained, her cell phone had given its final goodbye thanks to an overturned glass of orange juice, and—

  She was tired.

  So damned tired of everything.

  She hadn’t even gotten a chance to call the police department about her car, and seeing as how she didn’t have a house phone any longer, she wondered how in the heck she was going to do that without a cell.

  Could she Skype them? Facebook message Kelly’s sister, Melissa, since her husband was the lead detective in town?


  Did detectives even track down stolen cars?

  Weren’t they supposed to go undercover and arrest people? Or at least, that was what Rob had done several years before—taken down a huge drug ring and corrupt government agents.

  Finding her dumpy little car with two hundred thousand miles on it couldn’t be much of a priority.

  She wasn’t much of a priority.

  “Enough,” she muttered, kicking a rock and watching it roll down the road. “Enough moping and whining and being tired all the time.” She kicked another. “Enough being defeated. Enough of this fucking town and its history and enough of—”

  Here, two things happened.

  First, a tear escaped her eye.

  Tilly had been fighting the salty little fuckers, blinking back against the stinging, trying to drum up some mad instead of the sad that had dominated her life for the last years.

  Because she was damn tired of sad.

  She succeeded in drumming up the mad and it came on rapidly, raging through her with all the fury of a forest fire. With a snarl—or perhaps a full-bellied, furious scream—she kicked another rock.

  And then the second thing happened.

  The rock sailed through the air, flying up in a perfect arc until . . . it crashed right into the windshield of a sleek black sedan coming around the corner.

  Crack.

  The car swerved, brakes screeching as it came to a halt on the shoulder.

  Tilly had frozen, her hands over her mouth, for one horrible moment before starting to run. To her credit, she ran toward the car, rather than away from it. “Oh God,” she muttered. “I could have killed somebody. Shit. Shit.”

  The windshield had a giant divot in it, several cracks already spiraling out from the center, but thankfully the rock hadn’t actually made it through the glass. Sun in her eyes, but concern growing as no one emerged from the car, she reached for the driver’s door and yanked furiously on the handle.

  It didn’t open for several long moments, the only noise the car’s engine and her labored breathing. She tugged on the handle again—