by Liza Kendall
“My dad’s older sister.” Jules looked at him sideways, probably trying to gauge whether he remembered anything about her. She grabbed a rubber band off the desk and started messing with it, doing a cat’s cradle–type of thing with the elastic stretched over her fingers. She seemed to be struggling internally with something.
“So your aunt works at the saddlery?” Rhett nudged her.
“Yeah.”
“Full-time or part-time?”
“Sue works when it suits her. But her cell phone number is always on the door, inviting people to call her if they need something and the shop is closed.”
“Works when it suits her . . .” Rhett digested this.
“Dad’s always been a little, you know, afraid of her.”
He lifted an eyebrow while Jules rushed on.
“She’ll go after hours to sell an item as small as a tin of saddle soap. So it adds up to over forty hours, I’m sure. Everyone knows she’s happy to go in.”
“What’s your top-dollar item there, Jules?”
“Saddles. Boots.”
“And how many saddles has Aunt Sue sold in the last six months?”
She swallowed. “Um. One?”
Rhett closed the laptop and looked at her while the silence between them stretched on. “And pairs of boots?” he asked, at last.
“Two?” she ventured. “But she does repairs. Makes small leather goods, like holsters and canteens.”
He folded his arms on top of the computer and continued to gaze steadily at her. Waiting for her to reach the right conclusion: that Holt Saddlery, Aunt Sue or not, had to go.
“Heh,” she said. She started messing with the rubber band again. Stretched it to breaking point. It snapped and flew to the floor between them.
Rhett picked up the tiny rubber snake and handed it back to her, along with his unwelcome logic.
“Look,” she said with a note of desperation in her voice. “I know how it looks on paper. But maybe you should see the place . . . talk to Aunt Sue, you know . . . before you—uh, we?—decide. We could go this afternoon after I finish up with my to-do list and you . . . do . . . whatever it is you do when you’re not looking over my shoulder.” She gave him a sugary smile.
Rhett snorted. “Sure,” he said. “There’s something I’ve been putting off.” He could swing out to Silverlake Ranch and pay homage to his older brother for a few minutes, to ease his own worry about Declan, as well as to get Lila off his back. Then he could meet Jules at the saddlery after lunch. Not that he anticipated changing his mind. It was just that his earlier thought was sticking with him—I’m not in Dallas anymore. He figured he ought to give Jules every opportunity to state her case, though numbers, unlike people, didn’t lie. A business was not a charity. Aunt Sue, who worked when it suits her, could find another job.
Because if Rhett was in the business of letting himself and the people who worked for him do whatever they felt like, he’d have Julianna Holt up against a wall with his mouth pressed to hers.
Chapter 8
Clods of dirt and small pebbles dinged against Scarlett’s rims as Rhett eased down the winding road to a place he’d once loved more than anything. He wondered if he’d recognize what he’d find. Or maybe too much time had passed, and especially with the Old Barn destroyed, he’d remember none of it.
He rolled down the window and let the cool March air sweep through the car as he drove. By late April the Texas heat would start to slither in; by late May the humidity would coil and rise. And by summer? Even the water in garden hoses would be steaming hot.
The blurry outpost in the distance began to take shape as he neared. And when he finally stopped the car at the entrance and looked his fill, Silverlake Ranch took Rhett’s breath away.
There were the familiar black iron gates with their bucking bronco silhouette, its rider a testament to everything stubborn. The bronc was a metaphor for life. Sometimes a man stuck in the saddle like a son of a gun. And sometimes he got bucked off and lay in the dirt with the wind knocked out of him. Maybe got up with some broken bones.
Beyond the gates, the pale gold and green vista of the Braddock family land stretched for miles until it greeted the sky. The place was a patchwork of different pastures and crops.
There were picturesque fenced paddocks with horses grazing peacefully in them. There were neat rows of crops marching in orderly lines like obedient soldiers. There was a gully that fed a stock pond, to water the animals and cool off kids on a hot summer’s day. And in the orchard, there were rows of apple trees, soon to be bursting with fruit. The edge of the lake was visible, too, along with the silhouette of the fishing shack that Pop had built out there, his version of a man cave.
Rhett had been away for a long, long time. Long enough to think he’d hardened his heart to any sentiment that a little waving grain and some well-placed wood beams could stir up. Early bluebonnets greeted him, waving hello to the long-lost stranger. By late April, they’d be everywhere, fields of glorious, heartbreaking, true blue. He remembered how they could almost count time by when they pushed through the soil in the beds on both sides of the front steps. He used to pluck handfuls of them and run them back to Mama just to make her smile.
I should’ve sent bluebonnets to Jules . . .
Before that thought could take further shape, Rhett quickly stepped out of the car and pushed the door shut. Then he leaned against Scarlett and stared up at his childhood home. It wasn’t so different; it also wasn’t the same. Declan had done some fine work on the house. Modern work, with a lot of glass, but he’d managed to blend old with new. The glass brought the live oaks almost inside of the house; gave the sensation that interior and exterior were one and the same. Truly, it was beautiful.
“Can I help y—”
Rhett turned to find his brother coming round the side of the main house, walking in the direction of the paddocks.
Declan’s face remained neutral, but he nearly dropped the pails he was carrying before he set them down. A smattering of oats spilled over the sides and scattered in the dirt. “Everett.”
Rhett’s heart caught in this throat. Video wasn’t the same, and seeing his older brother after that fire last fall didn’t compare with reality. It wasn’t just that Declan looked every inch the Silverlake rancher he was—every inch the Silverlake rancher Rhett once imagined himself.
It was that Deck looked like a shell of his former self. A stoic, hardened, muscular shell. His face wasn’t just neutral—it was blank. There was no joy, no drive, no energy present beneath his rugged Braddock good looks. It wasn’t how Rhett remembered his brother at all, and it suddenly occurred to him that Declan must have had dreams just for himself, just as Rhett had once. Maybe his older brother had also stopped hoping they were going to come true.
The loss of the Old Barn had clearly hit Declan harder than any of them. And if he and Declan still had anything in common, what was bothering his brother wasn’t just the smoldering eyesore in the ground that Rhett had seen on video. It wasn’t only the loss of income, though that weighed on him heavily, too. It was the loss of the memories . . . all the boys in the barn, working on old cars with Pop. The sense of brotherhood, of family, of love and normality. All gone up in smoke because of an idiot girl who couldn’t follow basic rules of safety. And hadn’t even bothered to send so much as a letter of apology.
Rhett himself had so many personal memories he’d blocked out. Declan had been his closest friend, his most beloved sibling. Mama used to say they were two peas in a pod, except that Rhett had too much in his mind and Declan had too much in his heart. Somehow in all of the jealousy and the anger of being sent on a life path Rhett hadn’t wanted, he’d forgotten so much of the good.
For a moment Rhett was a teenager again, the smell of fresh-turned cemetery earth still on his jacket, standing on the curb at the Austin airport. A battered suitcase lay at his feet
. Declan was standing by the idling truck with a determined look on his face . . .
Rhett didn’t know what to do to say goodbye, so he just raised a palm in an awkward wave and then picked up his bag and walked away.
“Wait!” Declan called.
Rhett turned slowly, because he’d already started crying and he didn’t want Declan to know.
“Gimme a hug,” Declan said gruffly.
Tears tracked down Rhett’s face as he shuffled back, immediately sinking into the utter comfort of being wrapped in his big brother’s arms.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Declan whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.”
Well, he was right. And he was wrong. When Rhett called from boarding school a week later with a blackened eye and begged to come home, Declan said no. When Rhett called a month later with water from the dorm toilet bowl stinging in his nose and begged to come home, Declan said no. And when Rhett called six months later with a cut lip and blood in his mouth, Declan still said no.
Rhett never asked again.
And now here they were nearly toe to toe and yet a gulf a mile wide between them. Part of Rhett wanted to punch his brother’s lights out, but most of him wanted that feeling of being hugged in his big brother’s arms.
Neither of them did a thing until Declan wiped the sleeve of his work shirt across his sweaty brow. “Well,” he said. His gaze slid to where Scarlett was parked and back again to Rhett’s face.
“Hey,” Rhett said, not really sure how all this should go. Declan didn’t look pleased so much as uncertain. “So, you probably heard I’m in town. Wanted to see for myself that you didn’t get smoked like a ham when the Old Barn burned down.”
“You saw me on video.”
“Yeah, well . . . maybe I want to see your ass in person for the first time in more than a decade. Would that be so wrong?”
“Just a little shocking, is all.”
Silence reigned for a long moment.
Fine. His brother didn’t want him here? He’d leave again.
“Look, Deck. Cut the crap,” Rhett said, stepping backward toward his car. “You don’t want to see me, that’s fine—”
“I didn’t say that.” Declan looked down and swore. Then he raised his chin again, the chin so like Rhett’s own. He whipped off his work gloves and held out his right hand, the intensity in his eyes catching Rhett by surprise. “It’s good to see you. In person. I’m glad you’re here.”
The words were right and the grip was firm, but old wounds cut deep.
Rhett studied Declan’s face like a cop trying to catch someone lying, and went back to what he knew, what was comfortable—sticking it to his brother: “I also came back to make sure Frost was okay,” he said, knowing how this conversation was going to go.
Declan’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’d put any horse in a bad situation? You know how much I love horses, and you have to know how hard it was to decide to stop keeping extras on the ranch.”
“This isn’t any extra horse. This is my horse,” Rhett said, the challenge in his voice coming through loud and clear.
“What the hell are you saying?” Declan asked, so quietly it was unnerving. Rhett felt off-balance. His brother’s energy was intense. This wasn’t like arguing about a business matter over the phone.
“You never thought to ask me how I might feel about giving Frost away?” Rhett asked.
“No. Seeing as how you haven’t been home in forever and riding horses never came up once when we talked on the phone, Rhett, I did not.” His older brother’s voice was cool, dry, and detached.
Rhett stared at him.
Declan stared back. “How was I supposed to know you cared?” he finally asked, a slight crack in his tone this time.
For a moment Rhett wasn’t sure they were talking about a horse. But he didn’t want to talk at all, if it wasn’t about his horse. Of course this is about a horse. Rhett knew he was being a jerk when he made a show of straightening the gold knots on his French cuffs. Lila had nabbed the monogrammed set, but he still had these. In a bored tone he added, “Well, I guess we both know it doesn’t matter now. Solved that problem when I bought the entire Holt operation, so Frost is mine again.”
His brother reared back in surprise, amusement warring with disgust. “So you really did buy an entire business just to take title on a geriatric horse. I’d managed to convince myself there was a really good reason to drop that kind of cash.”
“Geriatric?” Rhett snapped.
But Declan kept going, the corner of his mouth now curled in . . . yeah, he’d settled on disgust. “You could have bought Frost from Jules. She probably would’ve given him back for free. But you had to go and buy the Holt operation? For what?”
“Grady called me. Told me his dad had a thyroid tumor. And that the stables and property were mortgaged to the hilt. He was going to go under.”
Deck grunted. “I guess that makes you a hero.”
“I didn’t say that. But I did want to help. And unlike some people, Billy took my help.”
“You can’t just throw money at certain problems, Ever-Rhett.”
“I never ‘threw’ money at you!”
“Didn’t you? Then what the hell was that monster check in the mail?”
“The one you tore up? That was to help rebuild the Old Barn, and you know it.”
“We all know there were strings attached; you’d want to do it your own way and control it all.”
“No,” Rhett said, working to keep his voice even. “I just want it rebuilt exactly the way it was.”
“Not possible. Lila and I . . .” Deck broke off, clenching his jaw. “Pop—his essence was in there. It’ll never be the same again. Ever.”
“I disagree.”
They faced off against each other, neither budging an inch.
Then Deck had to go there. “The Holt property . . .” he muttered, shaking his head. “Silverlake wasn’t enough for you to bother coming home?”
“Silverlake—as you’ve made clear to me—isn’t home,” Rhett said.
The cold silence felt like a door slamming shut in his face.
Declan looked out over the range. “Nah, I guess not. Listen, I’ve got a lot of things on my list, and apparently, you have your own place to run.” He gave Rhett a long look. “Lemme know if you need any advice on that.”
And he picked up the feed buckets and stalked off, close enough to cause a shower of sweet feed and oats to drop all over Rhett’s wingtips.
Chapter 9
Jules was outside rinsing out pails when that curvy, red sex symbol on wheels came into view. She’d had enough trouble not thinking about things she shouldn’t have been thinking about, and, oh, look. Here came that smooth operator Rhett Braddock now—with his ridiculous car. She could see him literally a mile away from where she stood on the property and had plenty of time to run a hand over her hair and lick her dry lips for absolutely no good reason at all.
Her own car keys were in her pocket, and when he finally pulled up and leaned out the window, saying, “Y’all ready to go?” she was even more compelled to just walk on by. They were not going to pull up to see Aunt Sue in that thing. She pulled her keys from her pocket and jingled them in the air.
“You don’t want to take a ride in Scarlett?” Rhett asked.
“Scarlett.” She groaned. “Really?”
He grinned. “Really.”
To avoid Trouble, to specifically look Trouble in the eye and then ignore it, Jules marched right past Rhett’s Porsche and headed toward her own ride. “Let’s take my truck.” It was a 1994 blue Chevy Tahoe, perfect in every way. Her doors creaked, her seats squeaked, and she rattled with gusto in various places that Jules didn’t care to identify.
She crunched over the gravel toward it, without waiting for an answer from Rhett.
They sat in their
respective cars for a moment in what, to Jules’s mind, had to be the world’s least exciting game of chicken, when, finally, Rhett got out of his fancy car, shaking his head, and headed over.
He opened the passenger side door, creeaaaak, and got in without comment. Shifted a Whataburger wrapper and a crumpled napkin with the toe of his driving shoe. Tried to stretch the seat belt across his chest, but it stuck.
“It’s broken,” she said without apology.
“You might want to get it fixed—just for the sake of anyone who rides with you.”
“That never happens—most people are afraid of what’s in this truck.” She laughed.
“Should I be?” Rhett plucked a wadded-up Taco Bell bag off the dashboard and tossed it onto the floor with the other garbage.
“Probably. I’ve hauled everything from hay and feed and dirty tack to dogs to miniature goats to a baby donkey in this thing.”
“That would explain the smell.” Rhett rolled down his window. “And the fact that it’s impossible to see out the back windows, through all the smears of slobber.”
“I like the smell,” Jules said.
Rhett grinned and shook his head. “Of course you do. So can I ask why you had goats in the back?”
“They are annoying and destructive. So I gave them to your sister when she was setting up the petting zoo out at Silverlake. Deck wasn’t too happy.” She laughed. “I gave her a feral chicken, too.”
“I didn’t know chickens came in that flavor.”
She cast him a glance to see if he was joking. “It’s not a—”
“I know. Where did you get a feral chicken?”
“Bastrop. There’s a whole gaggle of feral chickens ruling the roost on Farm Street there. I was trying to make a sale when one of them walked right up to my truck and sort of hissed at me. I had some sweet feed in the back, so I gave him some. Next thing I know, he’s flapped up inside and refuses to come out. So I took him home with me, and that’s when things started getting funny.”
