Alex

by Monica Robinson

  "To top it all off, I dislocated the knee of the one person who can help me most and now he thinks I'm a stuck-up bitch. To tell you the truth, I think he might be right."

  "What guy? Why are you cooking and cleaning for some other man? You don't even do that for me."

  Alex let her hand holding the receiver fall to her side and rubbed the corners of her eyes with her thumb and index fingers. He was completely missing the point. She'd wanted him to tell her it would be okay and that things would be better once she was home. Instead, he was jealous.

  "Now, I know why!” she exclaimed. “Do you have any idea how stupid I felt when five ranch hands came to me with pink boxer shorts? They're not happy. In fact, I would venture to say they're pretty pissed off. So, I call my fiancé for just a little sympathy and he's too busy getting wasted with God knows who."

  She didn't even want to think of that. Greg wasn't the type to go out alone. He needed people around him in order to have fun.

  "Morgan."

  Her twin sister? Oh now this was rich. As if her day hadn't gone poorly enough, fate had decided to take the knife in her back and twist it a little further.

  "You know what, forget it. I think it's time I traded my security blanket in for a newer, more reliable model,” she spat. “The one I have now seems to have outlived its purpose."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm saying you can expect your ring back in the mail. Good-bye, Greg."

  "Alexandra, don't you dare hang up on me!” She could almost envision the fury on his face as he shouted his threat. “If you hang up on me, I swear to God I'm coming out there."

  Without saying another word, she placed the receiver on the hook. She should feel good about what she had done, right? She'd broken up with a man she didn't love and stood up for herself at the same time. So why then, did she feel so horrible?

  Leaning her body against the doorframe, she slid down until she was sitting on the floor. She yanked the one-carat diamond ring off her finger and threw it as hard as she could. The ring hit the sink and tinkled around the porcelain before falling silent. Greg could get his ring back if he pulled it out of the damn drain himself.

  "What have I done?"

  The dam holding back her sob broke, releasing the tears she'd kept bottled up for the last several years. She drew her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees before leaning her forehead on her arms.

  "By the sound of it, I'd say you did the right thing."

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  Chapter Seven

  Brett had known Alex was on the phone, but he hadn't paid her call any mind until he heard her crying. Then it seemed her voice had magnified to the point where he could make out each word. Her comments about him and the others being angry with her weren't true. Irritated perhaps, but not angry. Seeing four pairs of pale pink boxers folded on his bunk certainly hadn't made his day any better, but he understood it had been an accident.

  She dropped her head back to look at him, not even bothering to hide the fact she was crying.

  "I'm sorry, Brett. I didn't mean to wake you. I'll go upstairs so you can get some sleep,” she murmured while using the wall to push herself to her feet. She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips and started to pass him, when he gently caught her elbow. She looked first at his hand and then into his eyes.

  "Look, we've both had a bad day. I'd even go so far as to say yours was worse than mine,” he said in an attempt to make her smile. “Why don't you vent to me about it?"

  Her eyebrows rose and she gingerly slipped her arm out of his hold. “You don't need to hear my petty complaints. You have enough to deal with without me adding to it,” she said. “Thanks for the offer though."

  Brett maneuvered his way around her, blocking her path with his body. “I don't know about in Maine, but around here if someone's having a hard time, we try to see them through. Even if we have our own troubles."

  She leaned her weight to one foot and absently nibbled her lower lip. Despite her tear-streaked cheeks, she was still beautiful. What kind of loser put his own desires ahead of the needs of a woman he supposedly loved? He may not have much experience in the realm of love, but even he knew that.

  Snap out of it. You're only attracted to her because she's the first woman you've spent time with in the last six years. Yeah, that had to be it. It was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with.

  "I don't know how to explain the way I feel without sounding like I'm throwing a pity party,” she mumbled.

  "Try me. I haven't been to a party in years."

  A faint smile stretched her lips and she gestured to the table with a sweep of her hand. “Since I woke you, I might as well make some coffee to compensate."

  Brett eased himself onto the chair closest to him and contemplated her for a moment. He watched her move from the sink to the coffeemaker in graceful strides and when she flipped her hair over her shoulder, he grinned.

  "Where did you learn to make coffee?” He shook his head when she glanced at him with a wince. “I ask because it takes practice to make a good pot of coffee and the one you made this morning was excellent."

  After setting out two mugs and returning to the table, she sat across from him and leaned forward in a confidential manner.

  "I never told anyone this, but I used to work in a coffeehouse. It was a little place on campus and in order to keep my father from knowing about my outrageous cell phone bill, I worked there a few days a week.” She looked at her fingers and shrugged. “One of my tasks was to make coffee. I can't even begin to tell you how badly I screwed that up when I first started."

  Try as he might, Brett couldn't envision her doing manual labor. Until this moment, he'd fully believed she'd never worked a day in her life. However, her last comment made him pause. If she hadn't done well when she first started at the coffeehouse, what made her think being here would be any different?

  "It took longer than a day to learn it all, didn't it?"

  She nodded.

  "Then why are you trying to learn everything there is to learn about keeping house in a single day?"

  "Yes, but pink underwear? Come on, I should have known better than to put a red t-shirt in with everything else."

  "Maybe. Have you ever done laundry before?"

  She shook her head with a laugh. He liked her laugh. It reminded him of a child's giggle, innocent and playful.

  "No, and I don't think anyone's going to let me do it again."

  "Matt may not, but I would. I hate doing laundry.” His smile faded when he saw her absently stroking her bare ring finger. “I'm sorry your conversation with your fiancé didn't go well."

  She lifted her head and laid her hands flat on the table. “Me too, but you're probably right. Letting him go was probably the best thing I could do for myself. I told him that I didn't want to go back to my old ways and he didn't believe me."

  Her eyebrows dipped with irritation. “That made me mad,” she added. “You would think he would support my decision, but no. He laughed. As we speak, he's out at a dance club getting drunk with my sister."

  Brett grunted, memories of the letter his ex-girlfriend sent him entering his mind. He'd been at the Bar K only a few months when Sharon gave him his Dear John letter, stating she couldn't wait for him.

  "I don't blame you.” Bitterness edged his voice, “My ex-girlfriend did the same thing. Difference being, she started seeing my best friend. At least your fiancé told you. I found out through a letter."

  Alex rose and moved to the counter. “Ex-fiancé,” she corrected and poured the coffee. “I don't think Greg's actually dating my sister, but after tonight it wouldn't surprise me if he starts."

  She returned with the two cups and set one in front of him. “You know what really gets me? He's the reason why I have two of my three OUIs. If he hadn't insisted on leaving the parties, I wouldn't have felt the need to drive."

  Brett lifted an eyebrow and took a sip. “Why d
idn't you let him leave alone?"

  "Because he was wasted and I was afraid he would end up getting himself or someone else killed.” She looked at the ceiling and shook her head. “Looking back, I was lucky I didn't cause an accident. I never took it seriously until I heard Danny's story. All I can think is how stupid I'd been and how selfish Greg is."

  Brett nodded. “That's the idea behind Round Robin. Not necessarily to make you feel foolish, but to get you to understand there are repercussions for what we do."

  "Cause and effect.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Just how much of my conversation did you hear?"

  He'd heard most of it, but he didn't want to admit that he'd been eavesdropping. “Not much."

  She lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

  "All right, I admit it. As soon as I heard you crying, I listened in. I'm probably the nosiest son-of-a-bitch you'll ever meet."

  Alex laughed at his declaration and removed the ponytail holder from her hair. She finger combed the smooth tresses before leaning forward in her seat. “Truth be told, so am I. My little sister, Mindy, makes fun of me all of the time for it. She says I should be a private detective instead of an architect."

  Now this was amazing. Never in his wildest imagination would he have guessed she was studying to be an engineer.

  "You're studying to be an architect?"

  She shot him a look of disbelief mixed with amusement. “You don't believe me, do you?"

  He shook his head.

  "Well, I am. Correction, I was. I'll be pretty far behind by the time I go home. It'll suck too, because I'm only a few credits shy of getting my bachelor's degree."

  "Don't give up on it,” he said. “It's quite an accomplishment to get your degree. I wish I'd stayed in school instead of going down the road I did."

  "If you don't mind my asking, why did you?"

  Brett hesitated.

  "I'm sorry, that was rather personal."

  Actually, it wasn't all that personal. He'd told his story so many times over the years he'd grown desensitized to personal questions. The problem lay in that he never knew how to describe why he'd made the mistakes he did. The answers didn't make sense anymore—even to him.

  "No, it's all right,” he said with a shrug. “I really don't know anymore. I can remember the first time I shot up and the feeling that came with it, but as to why I really couldn't say."

  He caught her stealing glances at his arms and he turned his forearms over. “Go ahead and look. The brown lines inside the dragon are the track marks."

  She set her coffee mug down and leaned over his arm to get a better look. She narrowed her eyes and he pointed to the most visible of the scars. The muscles in his forearm twitched when she brushed her fingertip over the marking. The electric charge he'd experienced the night before returned and he swallowed.

  "It looks painful.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you, um, share things?"

  He knew what she was asking. Had he contracted anything? It was a very real concern and he was grateful nothing of the sort had occurred.

  "Did I ever share needles?"

  She nodded.

  "Never. One of my foster mothers was a nurse, so I didn't have a problem getting fresh needles. I never let anyone get near my kit, either. It was probably the only smart thing I did during that time."

  "Good. It would be a shame for you to get sick now that you have the chance to start over.” Alex sat straight and cleared her throat. “I'm sorry you didn't make parole. I was sure you would."

  What no one other than Steven knew was that he had made parole. However, the stipulation was that he had to return to Dallas for four years. He couldn't go back, even if it meant prolonging his freedom.

  "It's all right. I only have seven more months and then I'm free to do what I want, when I want.” He winked. “Well, within reason anyway."

  Alex drew in a long, slow breath before peeking up at him through her lashes. “You turned it down, didn't you?"

  How could she have possibly known? He knew Steven hadn't told her and she'd been scrubbing the floor when he'd made the decision.

  He stiffened in his seat. “Only a fool would pass up the opportunity to gain his freedom."

  Alex flinched. “I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me to presume such a thing. Between comments everyone has made about nothing being left for them in their hometowns and your desire to stay away from anything resembling drugs, I thought maybe you were ensuring you didn't have to go back to face temptation.” She rose. “Forget I said anything."

  He didn't want to forget. She was right and a part of him wanted to tell her so. He couldn't though. She would see him as a coward. He watched her pour the remainder of her coffee into the sink and set the mug inside.

  "I don't think you're a bitch,” he said.

  She turned to look at him and he fidgeted in his seat. The comment had come out of nowhere, but when he heard Alex tell her ex-fiancé that, he'd felt guilty.

  "Excuse me?"

  He grabbed the crutches from next to him and pushed himself to his feet. His neck burned and he cleared his throat in attempt to mask his embarrassment.

  "When you told him I thought you were a stuck-up bitch. I wanted you to know that I don't think that. If you were, you never would have made up that story for Ms. Ripley. You would have let me flounder."

  Her expression softened and she patted his shoulder before slipping into the next room.

  "Thank you.” She sighed. “But if you knew the real reason why I'm here, you wouldn't be apologizing. I'll try not to wake you in the morning when I make breakfast. Goodnight. Thank you for listening to me."

  He watched her ascend the steps with her head lowered. He wasn't sure what her comment meant, but he wanted to find out. The more he spoke with Alex, the more he wanted to know about her. In addition to that—and this shocked him—he wanted her to know him.

  For as much as Alex irritated him, she intrigued him. She was everything he loved and hated about the world all wrapped up in one undeniably beautiful package. If he wasn't careful, he just might fall for her.

  And that would be a disaster.

  * * * *

  The scent of cooking bacon entered Brett's nose and he opened his blurry eyes. He scrubbed his face on his palm and sat up before gazing into the entryway of the kitchen. He expected to see the back of her long hair drawn back in a ponytail, but instead he found the locks barely touching the bottom of her neck.

  "What did you do to your head?"

  Alex twisted around and touched the ends of her hair. With the heavy tresses cut, soft curls formed at the nape of her neck, which did amazing things to him.

  "I chopped it off,” she said with satisfaction. “For one thing, it's way too hot and secondly, it had been Greg's idea for me to grow it long. So, I got rid of it.” Her smile faltered a little. “Does it look bad?"

  Actually, she looked gorgeous, but he couldn't tell her that. She would undoubtedly accuse him of getting fresh with her again—which he probably would be if the lustful thoughts running through his mind were any indication.

  "Uh, no,” he replied while entering the kitchen. “It's just a bit of shock, that's all. Do you need any help?"

  He crossed to the stove and peered inside the frying pan. She started to turn the bacon when he put his hand on her wrist and shook his head.

  "It's not ready yet. Give it another minute and then turn it."

  Alex nodded and set the spatula down before turning to face him with a wide grin. “You'll never guess what I did at four o'clock this morning."

  "Do I want to know?” He laughed when she smacked him in the stomach. “All right, all right. What did you do?"

  She pointed to a small stainless steel bowl full of brown eggs. She was right. He wouldn't have guessed she'd collected the day's eggs. However, the pride glimmering in her eyes made him smile.

  "Good job,” he said. “How did you get past Bruno?"

  The reference was to the rooster that close
ly guarded the hen house. When Brett first arrived at the ranch, the large rooster had chased him clean out of the coop.

  An evil smile played at her lips. “I booted him in the butt.” He let out a hoot of laughter and she continued, “I did! After that, he seemed pretty compliant."

  The timer on the stove buzzed and she held up a finger before reaching for a pair of mitts. He backed up when she opened the oven door and the scent of corn muffins wafted into the room. She pulled out the muffin tin and set it on the wooden cutting board.

  "I'm hoping I didn't overcook these.” She looked the tin over carefully. “Or undercook them. Pretty soon the others are going to starve to death because my cooking is so bad."

  He eyed the golden tint to the muffins and reached for a toothpick in a cup on top of the stove. He handed the wooden piece to her and gestured to the muffins.

  "Stick the toothpick in the center of a muffin. If it comes out clean, you know they're done,” he explained. “You're just going to have to trust me when I say no one is going to starve. Charlie swore I was trying to give him food poisoning when I first started. It just takes time."

  When the toothpick came out clear, Alex beamed. “Ha! I did something right.” She turned her attention to the sizzling bacon and reached for the spatula. “Now?"

  Brett tore his gaze from her face and onto the pan. The bacon was in fact ready to be turned and he nodded. He opened his mouth to warn her about the snapping grease, when a splatter sprung up from the pan and caught her in the hand. She dropped the spatula onto the stove with a yelp and gripped her hand.

  "Are you all right?” When she refused to let go of her hand he continued, “Let me see."

  A bright red splotch covered the back of her hand and she winced. If not treated right away, the burn would blister. He turned on the cold water before placing her hand beneath the stream.

  "Hold your hand under the water for a minute. I'll finish turning the bacon and grab the burn ointment.” He maneuvered around her to fetch the fallen utensil.