“Oh, um, thanks.”
She took the mug and lifted it to her lips. It was strong and hot, just the way she liked it, though she hadn’t wanted the drink so much as she’d wanted him not hovering while she tended to the injured horse.
“I was wondering about something you said earlier,” he commented now.
“I said a lot of things—and held a lot more back,” she admitted.
He smiled, and damn if that smile didn’t do funny things to her insides.
Older and wiser, she reminded herself.
And with so much more to lose.
“You said that you were more interested in Ranger than the man paying the bill,” he said, as if to prod her memory.
“You’re still going to get a bill,” she promised.
“I would expect so,” he said. “But are you at least a little bit interested?”
She frowned as she took another sip of coffee. “What?”
“Being ‘more interested’ in Ranger suggests you’re still interested in me. Doesn’t it?” he asked hopefully.
“I’m definitely interested in being paid,” she told him. “But Larissa—the clinic manager—will send you the bill.”
“You’re sidestepping my question,” he noted.
“Actually, I’m waiting for you to stop talking so I can give you instructions for Ranger’s follow-up care.”
He inclined his head, a silent invitation to her to continue.
“His dressing will need to be changed daily until the wound is healed,” she told him. “Do you have any ichthammol ointment?”
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“I’ll leave some and add it to the bill,” she decided.
“What about changing the dressing? Will you come back to do that?” he asked.
She shook her head. “That shouldn’t be necessary.”
“Let me rephrase,” he said. “Can you please come back to do that?”
She was surprised by the request. “Do you have any idea what it will cost to have me come back out here to change a bandage?”
“I don’t care what it costs,” he told her.
Of course he didn’t.
And because he didn’t, she shrugged. “In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” His quick smile conveyed relief and gratitude. “And how about tonight?”
“He’ll be fine tonight,” she assured him.
“I wasn’t asking for Ranger,” he said. “I was asking if I could see you tonight.”
“No.”
“Just for a drink,” he cajoled.
Then he smiled again—this time a deliberately slow and sensual curve of his lips that had undoubtedly melted the resistance of many other women. Thankfully, experience had immunized Brooke against such obvious ploys.
She hoped.
“Or dinner, if you prefer,” he said, when she didn’t immediately respond.
“No and no,” she replied, wondering how it was possible that he didn’t already have a date lined up. Because it wasn’t only a Friday—it was Valentine’s Day.
Not that the occasion was a big deal to Brooke. It didn’t matter to her that she wouldn’t get chocolates or flowers, because she would be spending the night with the most important guy in her life.
“Tomorrow, then?” he suggested as an alternative.
She was flattered. And flustered.
But definitely not interested.
She shook her head. “No.”
Still, he wasn’t dissuaded. “Are you seeing someone?”
“How is that any of your business?”
“I’m curious about my competition,” he said.
“There’s no competition,” she told him. “I’m not dating anyone right now and I’m not interested in dating anyone, especially not a pretend cowboy who doesn’t have the sense to latch a paddock gate.”
“Ouch,” he said, feigning hurt.
Or maybe his pride really was wounded.
She didn’t imagine a man as handsome and wealthy as Patrick Stafford heard the word no very often.
And perhaps her response had been a little harsh, not to mention unprofessional.
Yes, it frustrated her that an innocent animal had paid the price for his mistake, and it annoyed her that even now he didn’t seem to realize there could be lasting repercussions for Ranger as a result of the injury. But she knew as well as anyone that busy people sometimes missed little details.
An unlatched gate.
A loose stirrup.
An expired condom.
Each one had repercussions.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for and possibly unfair.”
“If you were really sorry, you’d offer to buy me a drink,” he said, adding a wink for good measure.
She was grateful he’d accepted her apology—and irritated by his inability to take a hint.
“I’m not going to do that,” she said. “But I will give you the ichthammol ointment at cost.”
“Of course, I have no idea what ‘cost’ is,” he acknowledged.
“About thirty percent less than you’d pay at the feed store,” she told him, as she returned her equipment to her pack and zipped it up.
“A bargain,” he decided. “Maybe I could put those savings toward a meal at The Home Station with you.”
“You really don’t understand the word no, do you?”
“I understand the word,” he assured her. “I just thought, since it’s getting close to dinnertime and we both have to eat, we might as well eat together.”
She glanced at her watch. “Actually, it is almost dinnertime, which means that I just might make it home in time to eat with Brendan for a change.”
He frowned at that. “Who’s Brendan?”
“My seven-year-old son.”
Chapter Two
Well, that was an unexpected revelation.
Patrick took a mental step back. He didn’t realize he’d taken an actual physical step, too, until she called attention to his instinctive reaction.
“Yeah, that’s the usual response from guys like you,” she said.
“What response? And what do you mean—guys like me?”
“The retreat,” she said, answering only his first question.
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You literally took a step back, as if the responsibilities of parenting might be contagious.”
“I did not,” he denied. Except he realized that he was standing a little farther away from her now. “Or if I did, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively. “At least now we both know where the other one stands.”
“And where is it that you think I stand?”
“As far away from any potential complications as you can possibly get.”
He wished he could deny it—or at least point out that she didn’t know him or anything about him. But while he often used flattery and charm to convey his interest in a woman, he tried to always be honest, too. Although he’d dated a lot of different women in his thirty-two years, the one thing those women all had in common was that they were no more interested in a long-term relationship than he was. And even if he did meet someone who might make him reconsider, the ranch was his priority now and for the foreseeable future.
He didn’t have the time or—to be perfectly honest—any interest in a committed relationship. And he sure as hell wasn’t looking to be a stand-in father to someone else’s kid, because that was a scenario that screamed “complication” to him.
And while Brooke Langley might be the sexiest female to cross his path in months, she wasn’t what he wanted. Even if the pressure behind his zipper suggested otherwise.
“I was just...surprised
,” he finally responded. “And now I’m curious... Is your son’s father from around here?” he asked, wondering if the man might be someone he knew.
“Brendan doesn’t have a father.”
His brows lifted at that.
“The man who contributed to his DNA has no interest in being a dad,” she explained. “He made that perfectly clear when I told him I was pregnant.”
“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.
“There’s no reason to be,” she told him. “He got his freedom and I got Brendan. And since my work is finished here, I really do want to get home to him now.”
“But you’ll be back tomorrow?” he said, not really a question so much as a reminder.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she confirmed.
He nodded, already looking forward to seeing her again.
* * *
As much as she loved her job, Brooke always looked forward to the end of the day because she loved coming home to her little boy even more. From the very first moment he was placed in her arms, her heart had filled with so much love, she’d been certain it would burst right out of her chest.
It wasn’t always easy being a single mom, but she never regretted her decision to keep her baby. Of course, she was fortunate to have the unwavering support of her parents—and the luxury of living with Brendan in the apartment above their detached garage. The space was a little on the small side, but plenty big enough for the two of them, with two bedrooms, a four-piece bath, a decent-size family room and a modest kitchen with a breakfast bar.
The kitchen was the focus of her thoughts now, as she tried to remember what ingredients she had to put together for a meal. She was pretty sure there was ground beef in the freezer, and tacos weren’t only quick and easy, they were one of Brendan’s favorites.
She thought wistfully, for just a moment, about Patrick’s invitation to dinner. It would be nice to go out to a restaurant where someone else prepared the food and cleaned up afterward. Of course, if that was really what she wanted, she could take Brendan out to eat at Diggers’ tonight. The occasional treat at the popular bar and grill was within her budget even if a meal at The Home Station was not.
She pulled into the driveway beside her parents’ house and parked in her usual spot in front of the garage. But she headed to the main house rather than her own apartment, knowing her son would be there. His school bus stopped in front of the house and, when he got off it at the end of the day, he knew to go see Gramma if his mom’s truck wasn’t in the driveway.
Brooke entered her childhood home through the side door and sat on the bench in the mudroom to remove her boots and hang her coat before stepping into the kitchen, where her mother was at the stove, stirring something in a pan. Though Sandra Langley had recently celebrated her sixtieth birthday, she still looked like the bride she’d been in the photos taken on her wedding day. There were some discernible changes, of course, the most obvious being that she wore her hair much shorter now, in a chin-length bob. But the shiny auburn tresses were the same color they’d been back then (thanks to a little assistance from Wendy at the Clip ’N’ Curl), and her dark brown eyes still sparkled with humor.
“Mmm,” Brooke said, sniffing the air as she crossed the room to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Something smells good.”
“It doesn’t smell like much of anything yet,” Sandra remarked. “I’m only browning ground beef.”
“Well, it smells good to me,” she insisted.
“You worked through lunch again, didn’t you?”
“The clinic was packed,” she said.
“You need to eat,” her mom admonished. “How can you take care of the animals if you don’t take care of yourself?”
“I do eat,” she said. “In fact, I’ll eat whatever you’re cooking, if we’re invited to stay for dinner.”
“Tacos,” Sandra said. “And of course you’re welcome to stay.”
She grinned. “Were the tacos Brendan’s suggestion?”
“He did mention that he hadn’t had them in for-ev-er.” Her mother stretched out the word to emphasize it the way Brooke was sure her son had done.
“Which is why I’d planned to make them for him when we got home,” she said.
“Now you don’t have to,” Sandra told her.
“You spoil us,” Brooke said.
Her mom smiled. “It’s a mother’s prerogative to spoil her kids—and grandkids. And since your father isn’t home yet, having the two of you here for dinner means I won’t have to eat alone.”
“Is Dad still at Whispering Pines?”
Sandra shook her head. “He was on his way home when he got a call from Frieda Zimmerman asking him to stop by and take a look at Cupcake.”
Brooke huffed out a breath. “She came into the clinic with Cupcake today. I gave the cat a thorough exam and assured Mrs. Zimmerman there was nothing wrong with her pet aside from the fact that she’s fourteen years old.”
“And for all of the fourteen years that Frieda’s had the cat, she’s been taking her to your dad for care,” her mom pointed out.
“Sometimes I wonder if inviting me to help out in his practice has been any help to Dad at all.”
“Of course it has,” Sandra assured her. “And your dad is so proud and excited to work with you.”
“Unfortunately, his clients are a little less enthusiastic when I show up instead.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about someone other than Frieda Zimmerman?”
“I’ll fill you in on all the details after I hear about Brendan’s Valentine’s Day party at school. Where is he?”
“In your dad’s office, doing his homework.”
“He loves sitting in Grandpa’s big chair,” Brooke acknowledged.
“I think he loves spinning in Grandpa’s big chair,” her mother said, smiling. “Just like you used to do when you were a kid.”
Brooke leaned in and gave her mom a hug, then went to find her son.
As she made her way down the hall, she found herself reflecting again on her good fortune. She knew there was no way she could do what she did without the support of her family—especially her mother. Sandra had been there not only to offer support and advice throughout Brooke’s pregnancy, but she’d given up her part-time job as a vet tech after Brendan was born so that she could take care of her grandson while Brooke finished college.
Though Brendan was in school full-time now, Brooke found that she relied on her mother just as much now for support and advice. She had friends in town, of course, but motherhood, school and then work had caused their paths to diverge long ago. As a result, her mom was probably her closest friend and confidante.
Pausing outside the door of her dad’s office, she peeked in to confirm that Brendan was in the big leather chair, spinning, his hands catching and releasing the edge of the desktop as leverage to keep the chair turning.
She stepped into the open doorway and fisted her hands on her hips.
It took three more complete circles before Brendan noticed her, but when he did, he immediately grabbed hold of the desk with both hands to stop his momentum. He cast his eyes down, his cheeks flushed with guilt—or maybe it was excitement that was responsible for the color.
“What does Gramma say to you about spinning in Grandpa’s chair?” she asked him.
“Not to let Grandpa catch me doing it,” he said.
“Oh, really?” Brooke had to press her lips together to hold back her smile.
When she was a kid, she’d been told—firmly and repeatedly—not to do it, but apparently there were different rules for grandchildren.
“Or you could not spin in the chair. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught,” she pointed out to him.
“But it’s fun to spin,” he said and tipped his head back to smile at her, showing off the gap between hi
s teeth where he’d recently lost both his central incisors.
He’d been sad when the first one started to loosen, until he learned that he could leave his tooth under his pillow and the tooth fairy would exchange it for money. Since then, there had been a few times that she’d caught him trying to wiggle teeth that weren’t loose. Just checking was always his ready excuse.
“How come you’re late today?” he asked her now.
She lifted a hand to ruffle his shaggy mop of hair. “I had to stop by Mr. Sterling’s ranch to check on an injured horse.”
“Did you make him better?” Brendan asked.
With both a mother and grandfather in the business of caring for animals, it probably wasn’t surprising that he was so instinctively kindhearted and empathetic. Or that he’d announced, shortly after his seventh birthday, his intention to be the next Dr. B. Langley.
Brooke knew it was likely he’d change his mind a dozen times before he went to college, but it pleased her to know that, at least right now, her little boy looked up to her and wanted to follow in her footsteps.
“I gave him some medicine and bandaged his wound, but it’s going to take a little time before he’s all better,” she said, mentally crossing her fingers that the stallion would make a full and complete recovery. “How was your party?”
“It was great,” he said. “I got a valentine from everyone in my class—and two from Livia and Ruby. Do you want to see them?”
“Of course I want to see them.”
He reached into his backpack and pulled out a brown paper bag labeled with his name in carefully printed letters and decorated all over with glittery pink and red hearts. He turned the bag upside down over the desk to dump out the contents.
“That’s a lot of valentines,” Brooke said, biting her lip to keep from smiling.
“I know,” he gleefully agreed and proceeded to go through the pile, one by one, reading the traditional catchphrases or silly jokes printed on each of the cards and then telling her who it was from. Thankfully there were only eighteen kids in his second-grade class.
When he was done and the valentines were all stuffed back in the bag, she noticed the page of math problems on the desk. “Miss Karen gave you homework today?”
A Chance for the Rancher Page 2
