Alex

by Monica Robinson

  Another twinge of guilt. How many times was she going to have to apologize for this?

  "Brett, I'm really, really sorry. What is it going to take for you to believe me?"

  Brett eyed her for a moment before relenting into a small smile. “I do believe you.” He gathered the trash he'd accumulated. “Hasn't anyone ever given you a hard time?"

  The rat was teasing her! At least he wasn't mad anymore. She pursed her lips to the side and grabbed her own rubbish. She threw a balled up napkin at him before grabbing his pizza box as well.

  "Not like you."

  His smile broadened and he bounced the napkin off her arm. “You might as well get used to it. I don't intend to give you a moment's peace."

  "Is that a threat?"

  He shook his head. “Nope, just fair warning. For what it's worth, you shouldn't feel bad about Jason."

  How could she not? Her own father had done this. What concerned her more was how obvious her thoughts had been.

  "Why shouldn't I? My father let this happen. If he won't feel guilty about it, then I will."

  Brett situated himself on the couch and propped a faded throw pillow behind his head. “You don't know that. However, you shouldn't let the story get to you, because in the end the experience made him a better man. He's doing something worthwhile for people who wouldn't have had a chance otherwise.” He glanced at Daniel. “If Jason hadn't gone to prison, we'd be worse off than we already are."

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  Chapter Four

  Now that Brett's knee had a chance to rest, the pain was starting to dissipate. Sure, he'd be sore for a few days, but it was almost worth it to see Alex taking over his duties.

  He had to admit, he'd been surprised when she apologized after Round Robin. He'd heard her apology prior to Dr. Kennedy's visit, but this was different. She'd meant for him to hear her this time.

  "What time do I have to get up in the morning?"

  Brought out of his thoughts, he glanced at the book clutched to Alex's chest before lifting his eyes to her face. Maybe his first impression of her had been wrong. The haughty look she'd worn all day was gone and in its stead was something softer, almost pleasant.

  "Four o'clock.” He chuckled upon seeing the horrified expression on her face. “Well, it would have been five, but someone dislocated my knee."

  He couldn't resist. She fed into his taunts every time and his glee only escalated when she narrowed her eyes.

  "Are you going to tease me like this the entire time I'm here?” she demanded. “I don't like being made fun of for my mistakes, you know."

  The hint of sincerity in her voice made him sigh. “Lighten up, princess. I should have known better than to scare you this afternoon, so in all honesty, this is just as much my fault as it is yours.” He gestured to the book in her hands. “What's that?"

  "It's nothing for you to worry about.” She held the book closer to her. “I just want to look up a few things."

  He didn't buy it. A woman like Alex Kincaid didn't cook. She had servants to fix meals for her. “Something tells me that's not a dictionary,” he quipped. “It's a cookbook, isn't it?"

  She stiffened. “And if it is?"

  "You don't know how to cook, do you?"

  He knew his persistent badgering was asking for another argument, but he wanted her to admit he was right. Perhaps this wasn't very gentlemanly of him, but then no one ever accused him of being a gentleman before.

  "No,” she snapped. “The spoiled little rich girl doesn't know how to cook. Are you happy now?"

  Actually, he wasn't happy. His knee hurt and he was back to arguing with the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He held out his hand for the book.

  "Can I see it for a moment?"

  She held the book closer still. “Why?"

  "Because, I want to show you the section that explains the different measurements.” He wiggled his fingers for the book. “I'm still responsible for helping you, even if I can't be in the kitchen."

  Reluctantly, she pulled the book away from her bosom and handed it to him. He opened the cover and gestured for her to come closer. When she stood next to the arm of the couch, he pointed to a page full of abbreviations and their meanings.

  "Bookmark this page before you choose a recipe.” He glanced up to see her bent over his shoulder, her long hair brushing his cheek and the faint scent of flowers lingering in his nose.

  Before she could see that he was staring, he cleared his throat and returned his attention to the book. “You're going to want to pull your hair back before you begin cooking. Not only does it get hot in the kitchen, but people generally don't like finding hair in their food."

  She twisted her head to look at him and giggled when her long hair swatted his face. “Sorry.” She pulled the tresses over the opposite shoulder. “I agree about finding hair in your food. I went with my dad to Portland and as I was getting ready to eat my soup, I found a black hair in my clam chowder. It was the grossest thing I'd ever seen. I couldn't eat the entire night. Every entrée they brought me, I swore I saw another one."

  "Were there any more?"

  She shook her head. “No. I was imagining the whole thing, but while everyone else was eating lobster and crab cakes, I wound up drinking ice water.” She laughed when she noticed his grin. “What? You're looking at me like I'm insane."

  "You just might be, but that's not why I'm laughing,” he said. “I'm imagining the look on your face when you found the hair."

  She blushed, but managed a smile nevertheless. It was probably the sexiest expression he'd ever seen and he had to shift in order to hide his body's unexpected reaction.

  "You would have been disgusted by it as well."

  An electric charge ran from the tips of his fingers all the way to his buzzing brain when her fingers brushed his to take the book. Where had that come from? He looked for her reaction, but if by some chance she'd felt it too, she didn't let it show. Instead, she straightened and kept her finger on the page with the measurements.

  "Four o'clock?"

  He nodded.

  "Well, I better get to studying.” She started for the stairs, but paused with her free hand on the banister. A sincere smile curled the corners of her lips. “I think you'll be granted your parole."

  "Why do you think that?"

  She shrugged. “I just do. Good-night.” With that, she disappeared up the stairs.

  He lolled his head on the pillow to stare at the blank television. I wish I was as certain as she is.

  * * * *

  CRASH!

  The sound of breaking glass jolted Brett from his dreams, but Alex's cry of pain had him bolting upright. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he reached for the crutches next to the couch and struggled to his feet.

  Making his way to the kitchen doorway, he shook his head at the disaster before him. Shards of glass sat in a large pool of what looked like pancake batter in the center of the floor. More of the off-white liquid splattered the counters and walls. In the midst of the chaos, Alex was crouched on all fours, trying to wipe up the mess.

  "That's just great,” she growled. “Ruin the first batch and now I break the damn bowl. How stupid can I get?” She swiped at her eyes with her forearm and it was then Brett noticed the streaks of blood on her hands.

  "Are you always this hard on yourself?” He gestured to the thin drizzle of red running down her wrists. “Or do you wait until you hurt yourself first?"

  Alex flinched at the blood and rose before stepping over the mess and turning on the water faucet. “Don't make jokes,” she sniffled. “I'm not in the mood this morning."

  Was that what she thought? Letting out a long breath, he maneuvered around the mess until he was standing next to her.

  "I wasn't.” He took her wrist. “Here, let me see how deep the cut is."

  She hitched a breath as he placed her hand beneath the running water. “Ow. That hurts."

  With the blood rinsed away, he could ma
ke out a small shard embedded just beneath the skin. He needed to extract the glass, but given what he knew of Alex thus far, he wasn't sure how to do it without having her smack him.

  "I bet it does.” He gripped the heel of her hand. “Hold still. This is going to hurt a little."

  Alex started to reply when he squeezed the sides of the cut until the glass emerged far enough for him to grasp with his fingers.

  "Ow!” She slapped his shoulder with her free hand. “Stop that right now!"

  He ignored her command and removed the half-inch size piece of glass. Once finished, he dropped her hand and held up the shard for her to see.

  "Would you rather I'd left it in?” He dropped the glass into the nearby trashcan before glancing around at the spilt batter and broken glass.

  Looks like we're all going to get a late start. He moved to a closet on the left side of the room and braced himself on a single crutch before reaching for the metal dustpan and corn straw broom.

  "I hate pancakes,” Alex rumbled while taking the broom from him. “You might as well go sit down. If Uncle Jason sees you in here, he'll be upset that you're not doing what you're supposed to."

  "I didn't know you cared."

  "I don't."

  Brett grinned when she snatched the towel he was handing her. With a huff, she spun around and began to clean the mess, scattering the broken pieces with the broom and not really sweeping much of anything except the batter.

  He shook his head. At this rate, they would be lucky to get the kitchen clean by lunchtime. He leaned the crutches against the counter and winced in pain while reaching around her to grip the broom.

  She shot him a dark look. “What are you doing? Are you trying to get fresh with me?” She swatted his hands. “Go away before I kick you again."

  God, this woman was maddening. Just when he thought he'd been wrong about her, she proved his original opinion right.

  He spat out the mouthful of hair that had hit him in the face. “First of all, if you smack me in the face with your hair again, I swear to God I'll cut it off in your sleep.” Her jaw dropped in outrage and he continued, “Secondly, I don't know what ‘fresh’ means, but I seriously doubt it."

  "It means to make a pass at someone,” she replied as though the definition were obvious.

  Hit on her? He could hardly stand her. The absurdity of her statement was enough to make him laugh.

  "Don't flatter yourself, princess. I like my women to have a heart. Now, if you're over-inflated ego will permit, I'm going to show you how to sweep."

  She whirled around in his arms, her eyes blazing with fury. “My over-inflated ego? You're one to talk. Ever since I got here all you've done is be condescending toward me. You're rude, obnoxious, ungentlemanly and a complete jerk!” Her eyes narrowed. “And if you so much as think of touching my hair, I will do far worse than dislocate your knee."

  He looked her over with contempt. He'd finally reached his breaking point and he didn't know what infuriated him more, the fact he'd let his temper get the better of him or a woman had pushed him this far.

  "You want to go there, do you?” he charged. “You are a spoiled, heartless, inept leech. You're the kind of woman who sucks a man's soul dry without a second thought and when you're done, you toss him aside in search of fresher meat."

  "Are you finished?"

  He gripped the broom, his arms tightening around her. “No. You're also the kind of woman who looks down her nose at anyone who isn't in your social class. Everyone is beneath you and you think you deserve everything without lifting one precious finger to help.” He could see that his comments hurt her, but he didn't care. She'd asked for it. She'd pushed him and pushed him until he'd snapped.

  She glanced at his arms wrapped around her waist. “Would you mind releasing me?"

  He glanced down and dropped his arms from around her. “Gladly.” He grabbed the crutches and gestured to the mess. “You can figure out how to clean this up yourself.” He started for the doorway, but didn't get more than a few feet when she called to him.

  "You don't know the first thing about me!” She was crying now and though a part of him felt guilty, he remained silent. “I don't think I'm better than any of you. In fact, in many ways I'm just like you."

  Brett drew to a halt and closed his eyes. No, she wasn't. She'd never been where he had or seen the things he'd seen. Alex Kincaid would never resort to pawning her only memories of her parents in order to get high. He had. He'd sold his soul to the devil and now that he'd reclaimed his life, he had nothing to remember his family by.

  "You will never be like me,” he said in a bitter voice. “And if you're smart, you'll be thankful for that."

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  Chapter Five

  As much as it raked at him to admit it, Brett was amazed that Alex had been able to clean the kitchen and still make breakfast before any of the others had come in that morning. The meal was simple: scrambled eggs with melted cheese, biscuits, and sausage. The downfall? The eggs were salty, the biscuits weren't done in the middle, and the sausage was overcooked. The others were silent during the meal though it was obvious by their expressions they didn't like it.

  He supposed for a first attempt, Alex had done well. He could still remember the first time he'd cooked for the Bar K. He'd burnt the outside of the chicken while the middle remained raw. With time, he'd gotten better and he was certain the same would be true for her.

  At least she'll have something to take with her when she leaves, he thought while sipping his coffee. To his surprise, she had made an excellent pot of coffee.

  "I wouldn't have fed this crap to my dog,” Alex grumbled once the men had set out to start the day's chores. “The sad thing is I don't even own a dog.” She glanced back to where Brett was sitting, the rims of her eyes still red from crying.

  Jason shifted his gaze from his niece to Brett, a troubled expression creasing his forehead. “It wasn't that bad, darlin'. Tell me something and I want you to be honest. You've never cooked before, have you?"

  Alex lowered her eyes and shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “I'm sorry, Uncle Jason. I just didn't want you thinking I was inept.” Another pointed look in Brett's direction.

  Jason sighed. “All right, it's obvious you two are having a problem with each other. Would someone like to tell me what it is? I can't afford to have discord on my ranch with the parole board coming this morning."

  Brett and Alex pointed to each other and began speaking at once. Jason pinched the bridge of his nose and held up his free hand.

  "One at a time!” He gestured to Alex. “You first."

  Alex glowered at Brett. “He called me a cold, heartless, inept leech,” she whined and planted her hands on her hips. “He also said I suck the souls out of men and that I think I'm better than everyone else."

  Jason's eyebrows rose and he turned his attention to Brett. “Did you really say that?"

  Brett winced. If she put it that way, then of course it made him look bad. He gestured to Alex and sputtered. What could he say? The comments had been uncalled for and he had said them. What was more: he'd meant it. Granted he hadn't intended to make her cry, but he supposed that wasn't the point.

  "W—well, y—yeah, but only after she called me rude, obnoxious, ungentlemanly, and a jerk.” He looked at her and lowered his voice, “I never said you were cold. I said you were spoiled."

  She huffed and dropped her hands to her sides. “Oh, that makes it all better."

  "Enough,” Jason groaned. “You two are grown adults and you're acting like a couple of children."

  They lowered their gazes, each of them frowning.

  "Sorry, Jason. I let my temper get the better of me,” he murmured and then to Alex, “I apologize for my behavior."

  She licked her lips and nodded. “Me too. You were trying to help and I was rude."

  Jason eyed them for a moment before nodding with satisfaction and heading for the living room. “Now that everyone
has kissed and made up, maybe we can get back to work.” He pointed to Brett. “You should start thinking about getting ready for your meeting. This very well could be the day they let you go."

  Brett wasn't so sure. He'd been plagued with nightmares that left him tossing and turning most of the night. Instead of granting him parole, the board had decided to lengthen his sentence. Though he knew that couldn't happen, the very idea terrified him. He may not want to leave the Bar K, but he did want the freedom to choose.

  Freedom.

  He was so close and yet he didn't dare reach for it for fear it might vanish.

  "It could be.” He reached for the crutches and pushed himself to his feet. He stole a sidelong glance in Alex's direction to see her watching him. As soon as their eyes met, she turned her head and resumed washing the breakfast dishes.

  "Do you want any help?"

  He might not apologize for his comments, but his conscience wouldn't allow him to get away with hurting her feelings. His foster parents had taught him better than that.

  She glanced up with a cool expression, but relented into a weak smile. “No, thank-you. You truly shouldn't be on your knee any longer than what's necessary.” With a one-sided grin, she added, “Besides, I need to learn to do this myself in case they grant your parole."

  She had a point. None of the others knew how to cook and if she were to take over, she would need to start doing everything herself immediately.

  He nodded and turned away. “You were right about one thing,” he said. “I don't know anything about you. For whatever it may mean to you, I am sorry for making you cry."

  "Don't worry about it,” she replied. “Brett?"

  "Yes?"

  "Thanks for getting the glass out of my hand. That was a very nice thing to do for someone like me."

  He wished she hadn't taken his comments to heart quite so much. He'd been angry, damn it.

  "Look, I said I was sorry for hurting your feelings—” He caught the lopsided smile tipping the corners of her lips and paused.

  She reached for another plate and gave him a wink. “Lighten up, cowboy. I'm just picking on you."