by Maisey Yates
“Chopping wood.”
“Clearly. But, why are you out here now doing it?”
“I’m going to help you with your work.”
She scowled, her expression turning feral. “The hell you are.” She grabbed hold of her long dark braid and whipped it over her shoulder. “You seem to misunderstand the point of what I’m doing here. This is not leisure time for me, neither is it some kind of therapeutic thing where I put myself in the path of the one person that I can stand the least. I can’t owe you.”
“Or,” he said, taking a step toward her, “you just want to be pissed.”
“Yes,” she said, her tone dry, “I live to be angry. And I certainly enjoy investing all of my thought and energy into you.”
“Then why won’t you just take it? I could get out of your life a hell of a lot faster if you would just accept my help.”
“I’m not going to,” she said, breezing past him and heading toward the stable.
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“Yes,” she said without turning around.
“Why is that?”
“It may surprise you to learn that I have dealt with a little bit of adversity in my life.”
“I’d like to ease that.”
She stopped, whipping around. “Not your privilege.”
“Does standing on principle ever get uncomfortable?”
“Standing in general is uncomfortable, asshole. Why is that?” She turned away again, her words hitting their target even as she continued on toward hers.
She disappeared into the stable, and by the time he entered behind her she was already holding a pitchfork.
“Are you going to stab me with that or are you going to start cleaning stalls?”
“It’s up for debate.”
He grabbed a hold of his own pitchfork, heading to a stall at the opposite end. “I’m still going to help. You have to get to work, and so do I. This is my property, and if you’re going to work for me, then you’re going to help me in a way that makes sense to me.”
She nodded once, her expression fierce. She seemed much more able to take orders than she was able to take charity. Even though, in his estimation, it would never be charity.
How could it be?
“Does Ace know?”
The sound of her voice on the other side of the stall surprised him. He pushed the pitchfork down into the shavings. “Does he know what?”
“Does he know that you caused my accident?”
“Nobody does.” The words fell flat in the mostly quiet room. The only sound was the horses swishing and flicking their tails and nickering softly.
That response made him feel…well, more ashamed than he had imagined it could. Everyone knew what she’d been through, more or less. She wore the evidence of that time all those years ago on her skin. He didn’t. And sure, he had left town, had left his family, but if he didn’t want anyone to know, then they wouldn’t know.
Rebecca didn’t have that luxury.
Her response surprised him more than his own did. “Good.”
“What you mean?”
“I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t really want anyone knowing my business. At first, I didn’t talk about it because of the hush money your dad paid. But, at this point, I’m just more comfortable with people not knowing the particulars.”
“Why is that?” He was genuinely curious. Curious as to what she got out of hiding the details. She could point at him, scream at him and have him strung up in the town square if she wanted to. And yet, she seemed to have no interest in it.
Well, she seemed to have an interest in screaming at him, but mostly in private.
“Maybe I don’t have a choice about whether or not people know I was in an accident. It’s pretty obvious. But I don’t need people to know everything about me. I don’t need them all up in that.”
“Distance,” he said. “I get that.”
“It’s hard to get privacy in this damn town.”
“Why are you here then?” He looked up, his eyes connecting with the wall that separated them.
“Because it’s my home. Why should I leave just because people are difficult? Or because you made things hard for me?”
She really was stubborn. And angry. He couldn’t blame her for either. “I suppose you shouldn’t have to.”
“I love it here,” she said, stubborn. “And I’m proud of everything I’ve accomplished. People like me… We’re not supposed to be able to end up owning businesses.”
“People like you?”
“Poor people.” Her answer was simple and to the point.
“Who says that?”
“Everyone. Though, sometimes especially other poor people. It seems like people don’t want you to get too far ahead of yourself sometimes. Don’t want you to be too ambitious. They say it’s because you’ll only be disappointed, but sometimes I think it’s just because they’re afraid of being left behind.”
She was more comfortable with this. A discussion that wasn’t focused specifically on her.
“But you did it anyway.”
She laughed. “Well, I’m not exactly rich. But my business supports itself, and I have a house. I don’t know what else you really need.”
“A fancier house? Fancy car, vacations to tropical islands.”
“I live alone, I own a truck and can you imagine me on a tropical island? It’s not like I’m going to wander around in a bikini.” There was that bitter edge to her voice again.
“So you’re content. That’s pretty unusual.”
There was a long silence. “Yeah,” she said finally, “I guess I am. More content than a lot of people.”
“But also sort of angry.”
“I’ve earned that.”
He finished up with the stall and walked out into the main part of the stable at the same time Rebecca did.
“All right,” he said, “why don’t I help you get the first one saddled up?”
She glared at him. “I don’t need help with tack, thank you.”
“Well, since you don’t have a lot of time, what if I go ahead and get Deuce ready and we’ll go on a ride together.”
He could tell that she had no interest in that whatsoever, but that she also couldn’t figure out a position from which to argue. She didn’t have that much time, and she wanted both of the horses ridden, so she might as well accept his help. He could see all of that in the slight contortions of her facial muscles, her dark brows snapping together, the corners of her lips tugging down in a frown. That frown pulled at the scar tissue on one side of her face and he felt an answering pull inside of himself.
“It’s settled then,” he said, knowing that in Rebecca’s estimation it was far from settled, but that she wasn’t going to argue.
They got the horses ready to go and he watched as she got herself into the saddle effortlessly. She had been sore yesterday, but she seemed much better today, which was a relief to him. Watching her limp, knowing that he was the cause of it… Well, it really was no more than he deserved. And in this instance, he was the cause of it in more than one way. But she was also refusing to do this a different way.
“Where did you ride yesterday?” he asked, bringing his horse alongside hers as they headed up on the trail that went behind his house.
“I just went up this way,” she said, gesturing ahead. “I like the view. And… I like to ride. I don’t have a horse right now so…so this is nice.”
He could tell those words nearly choked her, so he didn’t acknowledge them. “How long have you lived up here?”
“I bought my house about a year ago. Before that, I lived with my brother, Jonathan.”
“What about your mom?” He wondered about her, because she had been the other person in the accident. Though, he knew she hadn’t been injured. At least, not to the degree that Rebecca had been.
“She’s not around,” Rebecca said, the words short and clipped, and clearly not an invitation for investigation.
“I’m not.” He could tell that she was. But hey, he knew all about complicated relationships with family.
The trail wound upward, going through a grove of evergreen trees, narrowing slightly and getting rockier. He hadn’t ridden out this way before, since he’d only just moved here. He missed being outdoors. It was the only therapy he’d ever gotten, and it had been more effective than talking to some doctor ever could have been.
When he’d first left Copper Ridge he’d had half a mind to work himself to death. And then, he’d more or less tried to ride himself to death in amateur rodeo events. Getting on the backs of bulls he had no business getting near, participating in a down and dirty, unregulated version of the sport.
It had never been about the money. It had just been about daring fate. It was what he’d been doing ever since he’d left. But he hadn’t found an answer there, and he sure as hell hadn’t found peace. So here he was in plan B. And he wasn’t really finding this all that much better.
Right now was okay.
“You like to ride,” he said, not a question, because it was clear from her ease on the horse and from the mildly more serene set of her shoulders that she was enjoying herself.
“People are terrible. They judge you based on how you look, they leave you, broken and bloody in some cases. Horses don’t. Horses are forever.”
“Oh, come on now, Rebecca. The horse would happily leave you broken and bloody in the right circumstances.”
“Maybe they’d leave you. Horses are excellent judges of character.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ve gotten a lot more scars from people than I’ve gotten from horses.”
He let that go. Let the barb hit. He had no call to be defensive, or to protest. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the trail ahead. He moved easily with the horse’s gait as he picked up the pace to get up the side of a rocky hill that spilled them out of the trees and into a clearing.
The view in front of them was endless, a patchwork of mountains that wove together, creating an endless tapestry of green. Clouds hung low around them, the mist the only thing that blunted some of the deep color. And beyond that was the gray, endless sea.
It made him feel small. Made him conscious of all the history that was contained in this land, more than just his own. He dismounted, leaving the horse standing as he walked toward the edge of the mountainside, letting the thick silence close in around him.
He heard the sound of feet hitting the ground behind him, and turned to see Rebecca moving toward him. “Going to shove me off?” he asked.
“No. That would be stupid. Then who would end up owning my business? Better the devil you are already dancing with, right?”
“Better to not be dancing with the devil at all, I expect.”
She shrugged. “Sure. But that’s the kind of option I’ve never been afforded.”
“What are your options, then?”
“Deal with the devil, figure it will cost you your soul. But maybe you’ll get something in return. Otherwise, just keep living in hell without getting anything in return. There’s really no decision to be made if you think about it.”
“There’s another option.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t care about anything. Doesn’t matter if you’re in hell then, or if you get anything in return.”
“You don’t care about anything?”
There was no good answer to that. Not one he liked. He wished he didn’t give a damn. The problem was he gave too many.
He looked out at the expanse of scenery, avoiding looking at her. At her face that bore the marks of his actions. It was a complicated question. If he didn’t care at all, he supposed all the things he’d left behind wouldn’t feel so heavy.
“I don’t have very many connections,” he said, because that much was true.
Just a bunch of people he used to know, people who had been in his life and weren’t anymore. He had never maintained a connection. When he moved on, he moved on. Whether it was from old coworkers, friendships or women.
He didn’t look back. He never had. He never went back to a place he’d been before either. The country was vast, and if you were willing to work with your hands you could do just about anything. And then, there was the financial stuff on top of it. He supposed he had the longest term relationships with his accountant and his lawyer.
“What have you been doing all these years?” The question was asked with more hostility than curiosity, and he had a feeling she was more annoyed with herself than with him in that moment. That she wanted to know anything about him at all.
“Everything. Construction work. Ranch work. Rodeo stuff.”
She nodded once, then turned away from him sharply, taking a step back toward her horse. Then, she pitched forwards, losing her balance and stumbling. He reached out, grabbing hold of her arm and spinning her as he tugged her back, bringing her up against his chest.
Soft breasts pressed against the hard wall of his muscles and when he looked down at her face he didn’t see her scars. Instead he saw luminous, dark eyes and full, tempting lips.
And as quickly as that heat overtook him, shame rushed behind it in an icy chill, cooling the instant, inappropriate attraction.
He moved her back slowly, making sure she was steady. “I imagine we better get back,” he said.
She nodded, her expression blank. “Yes,” she said.
They both got back on their horses, and on the way back, they didn’t make conversation. Instead, Gage spent the entire ride trying to convince himself that the burning sensation in his palm was all in his head. It certainly wasn’t from touching her.
If he needed to get laid, he could hit up any woman here. Except for this one. She was the last woman he should ever touch. He was here to sever ties, not make new ones. Here to clean up messes, not make things worse.
The biggest problem with that was, he didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to fixing things.
In fact, all he’d ever done in his life was leave things broken.
But he’d be damned if he broke Rebecca Bear any further.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE HAD STOPPED shaking by the time she got to her store, but only just. He had touched her again. That was the second time in the space of twenty-four hours. And it wouldn’t be so bad, except that she could still feel it. Not just the touch from earlier today, but the one from last night.
Her skin burned. Her entire body burned. It wasn’t… It wasn’t normal. And it was about ten kinds of messed up.
Talking to him today had probably been a mistake. But she had really needed to know how much of the story his family knew. The fact that he was the only one… It was strange. They shared a secret, in spite of the fact that they had never had a conversation until last week.
But then, that about summed up her entire relationship with Gage West. He had loomed large over her entire existence in spite of the fact that they had never come face-to-face.
It was strange and comforting to realize she had also been in his.
The front door to her store opened, the little bell above the door signaling the entry of a patron. She looked up, and was immediately flooded with guilty heat.
“Jonathan,” she said, as her half brother made his way into the building.
He looked… Well, about as pleasant as he ever did. Which wasn’t very. His dark hair was tied back in a low ponytail, his dark eyes, very similar to her own, glittered with irritation.
“Good to see you. I haven’t heard from you in a few days.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Why have you been busy? Because I’m tempted to think that you’ve been avoiding me.”
She loved her brother. She loved him more than anyone else in her life. That didn’t mean her relationship with him wasn’t difficult. Jonathan had stepped up and taken care of her after their mother had left when she’d been eleven.
She was well aware that not very many twenty-one-year-old boys would want to take care of their half sister. But he had. He had worked two and three jobs to make sure she was well taken care of and that child services wouldn’t take her away.
But, the problem with Jonathan was that he had yet to realize that she had grown up, and that she didn’t need him to direct everything anymore.
“I’m not avoiding you, you paranoid weirdo.” Except that she was. And now that she had phrased it that way, he was probably absolutely certain of that fact.
“That’s so weird, because you haven’t been answering my phone calls.”
“Not on purpose. I’ve just been busy. Store. I’m a homeowner now, so that’s some responsibility. Which you should know something about.” Jonathan’s construction business had been particularly successful over the past couple of years. He did most of his business outside of Copper Ridge, seeing as his chosen profession put him in direct competition with one of the town’s favorite sons, Colton West. It was always Wests.
“I’m never too busy to talk to you,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “You need a girlfriend.”
“I don’t have girlfriends.”
She put her hands up. “I don’t judge.”
“You know that isn’t what I meant. I meant I don’t do long-term relationships.”
She frowned. “That, I judge a little bit.”
“Well, we both know you don’t date at all. So maybe reserve judgment.”
She scowled. And, this was why she hadn’t wanted to talk to her brother. He always got under her skin. And when that skin was still burning from the touch of the last man on earth she should have ever let put a hand on her, it was extra obnoxious.
“I don’t think I asked for your commentary,” she retorted.
“I know I didn’t ask for yours.”
“But you walked into my store. Had I gone to your work site, then I would’ve had to put up with you. But, you’re the one who came into my house.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And, don’t think I don’t notice that you’re limping.”
Her scowl deepened. “I’m fine. Jonathan, you have to stop treating me like I’m a kid. And you have to stop treating me like I’m an invalid.”
