Alex

by Monica Robinson

  He peered into the living room to see if anyone was within earshot. Once satisfied no one was paying attention, he placed a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth.

  "You make it awfully difficult for me to keep my hands off you,” he murmured before straightening. “Then again, I think that's your plan. Come on, princess. We should get in there and say hello."

  Sinclair was just as Alex remembered her. Tall and graceful with shoulder-length, sun-bleached hair that seemed to fall naturally over her dainty shoulders. She was a walking, talking Barbie doll—and Alex hated her.

  Sinclair turned and a glimmer of recognition lit her sapphire-colored eyes. “Alexandra Kincaid.” She strode over and clasped Alex's hand in hers. “It's wonderful to see you again, darlin'."

  Like hell it is. Alex returned the sweet smile and nodded. “How long has it been now, Sinclair? Four years?"

  While her uncle and the other new worker seemed oblivious to the open hostility, neither Sinclair nor Brett could mistake the contempt in her voice.

  Jason glanced from Alex to Sinclair in surprise. “You two already know each other?"

  "Yes, sir. Alexandra and I were in the Miss Teen USA pageant together.” The pleasant expression returned. “She was Miss Maine Teen and I was Miss Texas Teen. It was an exciting time for us. That was ages ago though. Funny how small the world is, isn't it?"

  Hilarious. Alex stepped back and turned her attention to the handsome newcomer standing next to her uncle. Close to Brett's height and easily as broad, the dark haired young man offered her a warm smile while extending his large hand for her to shake.

  "Hudson Nichols.” His hand enveloped hers in a firm grasp. “Pleasure to meet you."

  Alex nodded politely. “Nice to meet you as well."

  Jason gestured to Brett. “Sinclair, Hudson, this is Brett Hartman. Among other things, Brett is our cook and has been helping Alex with the kitchen duties."

  "I love to cook,” Sinclair gushed. “When I was living on my aunt's farm, she showed me how to cook and it's something I've had a passion for ever since."

  The enthusiasm in her voice was enough to make Alex sick. She couldn't picture Sinclair ever having visited a farm, let alone lived on one.

  She's starting already. It was a horrible thought and she knew it. For all she knew, Sinclair could have changed in the last few years.

  Jason brightened. “Wonderful. With Alex's remodeling project at hand, it will give her one less chore to contend with,” he said, ignoring the instant frown that came to Alex's face.

  Cooking was her responsibility and one she actually looked forward to since it gave her an opportunity to spend a few stolen moments alone with Brett. Just as well. I'm not any good at it anyway. At least the other men wouldn't be subject to her pitiful attempts anymore. Lost in thought, she hadn't realized anyone had spoken until she glanced up to see all eyes were on her.

  "What?"

  Sinclair smirked while Jason chuckled.

  "I asked if you minded letting Sinclair take over the kitchen duties,” he said. “It'll give you the chance to finish your facelift on this place."

  This was true and perhaps if she concentrated on painting the other rooms, she wouldn't notice Sinclair's presence as much.

  "Sure.” She forced a weak smile. “I think the others would be grateful to have someone cook who actually knew what they were doing."

  Sinclair clasped her fingers together with glee. “Perfect. As soon as I unpack, I'll see about dinner,” she declared and glanced at her luggage near the door. “Where shall I put my things?"

  Antarctica sounded good, but voicing this opinion wasn't productive and Alex knew it. Instead, she started for the stairs and gestured for Sinclair to follow.

  "I made you up a room last night,” she said and then with an effort that sounded strained even to her, “Do you want any help taking them up?"

  Either Sinclair hadn't noticed the reluctance in Alex's voice or she'd been counting on it as she nodded. “That would be great, darlin'. Any help I can get would be appreciated."

  Alex gripped the handle of the suitcase closest to her and threw the subtlest of glances in Brett's direction. She recalled the way she'd forced him to lug her heavy bags up the stairs and the nasty comments they'd exchanged when they reached her room. A lopsided grin surfaced and she pulled the bag with her up the first stair.

  As she made her way up, she could hear Hudson mutter quietly, “Something tells me their reunion isn't a pleasant surprise."

  Pleasant was the last thing Alex would classify the meeting to be, but as with four years before, she had a consolation. Sinclair was a prisoner. She had done something to be at the Bar K and she couldn't wait to hear what that something was.

  "So tell me, Alex,” Sinclair declared when they reached the landing. “Are you really that bitter about the pageant still?"

  I won't stoop, she thought. Uncle Jason expects more from me. Instead, she settled for setting the bag down and opening the door. She made a grand gesture to the sunlit room.

  "Not especially. That would mean I've thought about you in the last four years. Now why would I do that?"

  Sinclair brushed past her and wheeled her suitcase into the bedroom. She drew to an abrupt halt, scanning the room with disdain. “This won't do. I can't possibly live in a hovel like this.” She whirled to face Alex and narrowed her eyes into suspicious slits. “Where will I put all of my clothes?"

  Alex recalled the annoyance she'd seen in Brett's eyes when she'd made a similar comment and she resisted the urge to cringe. God, I really was a bitch. She had to give Brett credit. He was by far more compassionate than she could ever hope to be. He'd put aside his negative feelings and made the effort to help her regardless.

  She leaned her hip against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “You'll make room. I did and I have twice as many belongings.” She nudged one of the suitcases with her foot. “As someone pointed out to me when I got here, this isn't the Ritz Carlton. It's a prison and you, my dear, are a detainee. Make do or suffer for the next six months until a larger room becomes available."

  Fury ignited in Sinclair's eyes and she took a step closer, shoving a finger in Alex's face. “Let's get something straight. I am not a prisoner. I'm here on fraudulent charges and my lawyers are working on an appeal as we speak. I came here so the media wouldn't get wind of this."

  Alex lifted an eyebrow. “You overestimate your notoriety. No one here gives a rat's ass if you're the Queen of England. As long as you do your work, that's all that matters.” She examined Sinclair's brightly painted nails and continued with a smug smile, “You may want to trim your nails. This place is hell on manicures.” With that, she spun on her heel and returned to the stairs, leaving Sinclair to stare after her in angered awe.

  * * * *

  Alex entered the stable that afternoon in a sour mood. She should have known better than to let Sinclair rile her like that, but just the mere thought of the woman sent waves of irritation coursing through her.

  She managed to dodge the peculiar looks Brett and Charlie had given her as she stalked to the stable, but it wouldn't surprise her if at some point one or both of them cornered her to find out what the animosity was about.

  "Hi, Bella."

  The mare sniffed Alex's outstretched hand and gently licked the sugar cube from her fingers with a soft, warm tongue. Alex grinned and rubbed Bella's nose before unlatching the stall door and slipping inside. The horse backed up a few steps, allowing Alex to enter the tight confines.

  "And who is this?"

  She gingerly took a few steps closer to the foal standing in the back of the stall. Bella didn't move, but kept a watchful eye as Alex crouched to look at the honey-colored foal. She peered up at Bella and patted the mare's flank.

  "It's okay, girl. I'm not going to hurt your baby,” she said in a soothing tone. “I just wanted see how you're doing. Last time I saw you, you weren't feeling too good."

  She knew it was silly—not to menti
on a bit crazy—to talk to the animal in this manner, but it succeeded in calming her strained nerves and Bella didn't seem to mind the company.

  The horse swung her tail at Alex's comment and she laughed. “I know. That's putting it mildly, huh?” She returned her attention to the foal. “She sure is pretty, though. You're a lucky mama."

  Reaching for the coarse bristled brush lying next to her, she rose and gently ran the brush over Bella's coat. She watched with amusement as Bella stopped fidgeting.

  "She's a prima donna."

  Alex started at the sound of Charlie's voice and looked over to see him entering the stall.

  "If you brush her, she'll love you forever,” he added.

  She peered up at Bella with a fond smile and continued to brush the brown hair before stealing a glance at Charlie from the corner of her eye.

  "Then it should be fitting that I be the one to brush her. She and I have a lot in common in that regard."

  Charlie slid past her and crouched to examine the foal. “Oh, I don't know about that. You seem to be doing quite well around here,” he replied in an off-hand tone. “You certainly aren't the same woman who came here and took Brett's knee out."

  Alex paused long enough to point the brush at him. “Watch it, Charlie. I just may decide to do the same to you.” With a light sigh, she added, “At least you guys will have a decent dinner tonight."

  Charlie stroked the foal's short mane before standing and brushing the straw from his jeans. “Brett told me the new girl is taking over the kitchen detail. He also said you don't seem happy about it."

  She handed him the brush and stepped back. “I knew Sinclair from my pageant days.” A faint smile touched her lips when he lifted a questioning eyebrow. “No, I didn't win. In fact, I was disqualified."

  Charlie's expression shifted from curious to surprised. “Why? You strike me as the kind who could have won."

  She blushed at the compliment and absently chewed her lip while stroking Bella's nose. “Ultimately, it was my own stupidity that got me kicked out.” Bitterness crept over her and she shook her head. “Sinclair smuggled vodka into my room and then turned me in for having alcohol on the premises."

  "That's pretty wrong. Why would she do that?"

  She'd asked herself this very question for months afterward, but perhaps the best explanation was the one her sister, Mindy, had given her.

  "I don't know. My little sister suggested Sinclair might have been insecure, so she resorted to cheating.” A dark grin crossed her face. “She still didn't win. Miss Florida Teen won in the end. That made what she did a little easier to bear."

  Charlie laughed while running the brush over Bella's hindquarters. “Sounds like justice if you ask me.” A more serious tone entered his voice when he said, “I'm sure you already know this, but you're going to have to at least try to get along with this woman. Jason can't afford to have any more animosity. The state comes to check on us every so often and we never know when until they arrive."

  "Does ignoring her constitute as getting along?"

  "If that's what'll keep you from saying anything to her, then yes.” He held the brush above Bella's flank before scrutinizing her. “I understand what happened was unfair, but is it really worth holding a grudge?"

  He was right of course, but as she recalled the confrontation in the upstairs hallway, she wasn't sure if it would be that easy. Sinclair was just as self-absorbed as ever. In fact, it wouldn't surprise her if in the next few days she tried to weasel her way into the center of attention.

  "Probably not,” she mused. “I suppose it couldn't hurt to let the past go. I swear to God, if she starts anything with me, you boys are going to have a hell of a time restraining me. I took it once. I'm not going to do it again."

  A playful sparkle lit his eyes. “If I could pull Matt off Greg, then I think I can stop a catfight.” He lifted a questioning eyebrow at her. “Have you thought maybe you don't want Sinclair doing the cooking because she'll be spending time with Brett?"

  Alex froze. “You think I'm jealous?"

  "I didn't say that. I simply asked if it was your reason for not wanting her to do the cooking."

  "It hadn't been,” she grumbled, “but it is now."

  Charlie groaned. “Me and my big mouth."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brett watched Alex sand the front porch from his position near the pigpen. Dust from the wooden planks fluttered in the afternoon sun and circled her head like a halo. A determined expression etched her face, making the nervous feeling in his stomach turn to dread.

  He held the hammer tightly in his hand and furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Something happened not only between her and Sinclair, but between her and Charlie as well. The only question was what?

  "Need any help?"

  Hudson's voice brought Brett out of his contemplation and he glanced to his right to find the new inmate standing next to him. He gestured to the bag of tools next to the fence post.

  "I could use a hand in fixing this slat.” He glanced at Alex once more. I wish I knew what Charlie said to her.

  All Charlie had said was that he believed he'd made things worse between the two women. Personally, Brett didn't see how that was possible.

  Hudson peered over his shoulder at Alex and arched an eyebrow. “Everything all right?” he inquired. “She looks pissed about something."

  That was putting it mildly. “She doesn't want Sinclair here. They have some sort of bad blood between them, but that's all I know.” He gestured to the cracked slat. “Hold that still while I remove the last nail."

  Hudson gripped the broken board with both hands and shook his head. “I gathered that much when Jason introduced us. I wouldn't recommend getting involved, if I were you."

  He yanked out the rusty nail and eyed Hudson. What did he know about Alex? Granted, Brett didn't know much more, but simply standing back wasn't an option.

  "Why do you say that?” He removed the board from the fence. “Hand me the board next to you."

  Hudson reached down to retrieve the board and held it in place. “Well, Alex is used to being the only female here, right?"

  Brett nodded.

  "So it's only natural she feels her position as mother hen is being threatened."

  This was quite possibly the stupidest explanation Brett had ever heard. Prior to coming to the Bar K, Alex had never needed to possess any sort of domestic traits, so whatever animosity she held toward Sinclair had nothing to do with her position on the ranch.

  "Alex isn't the domestic type.” He stole a glance in her direction. “She was thrown into it when her father sent her here."

  "Even still, would you want to be caught in the middle of any disagreement these two have? I sure wouldn't. There's a storm brewing between them and you'd be wise to stay out of it."

  "Why are you telling me this?” When Hudson merely shrugged Brett continued, “They're grown women. I'm certain whatever animosity they have toward each other will be resolved before the week's out."

  No sooner were the words out of Brett's mouth, the screen door flew open and Sinclair emerged with a vibrant smile. Both men flinched when the door came within inches of Alex's face. Sinclair tossed a nonchalant glance over her shoulder as she traipsed across the boards Alex was sanding.

  "Sorry, darlin'."

  Hudson lolled his head to look at him. “You were saying?"

  Brett shot him a silencing look before returning his attention to Sinclair. He scrutinized her appearance. Her face was certainly attractive, but her beauty was more like that of a porcelain doll, a delicate figure that easily broke should anyone touch her. In fact, it wouldn't surprise him if Sinclair were the type who didn't eat more than a few bites at any one time.

  "I'm sorry to bother you boys,” she purred, “but I was wondering if I could trouble you for just a moment. I wanted to make a pasta sauce for tonight, but I can't seem to find the mushrooms."

  The scratching
of sandpaper came to a halt and the trio glanced over to see Alex poised with her hand a few inches above the flooring.

  Brett tore his eyes away from the porch and cleared his throat. Even from this distance, he could feel the tension radiating from Alex and he resisted the urge to roll his shoulders to make the feeling go away.

  "That's because there aren't any. Charlie's allergic to them."

  Sinclair pursed her full lips to the side in a mock pout while snapping her fingers. “Well, that certainly explains why I didn't find any.” She clapped her hands together, her expression brightening. “I hope y'all like chicken parmigiana. I'm also making spaghetti and fresh garlic bread."

  He couldn't remember the last time he'd a real Italian dinner and though he would never admit it to Alex, the idea made his stomach rumble in anticipation.

  "Sounds good."

  He began to hammer the next nail into the fence, expecting Sinclair to return to the house. When she didn't move, he peered over his shoulder to see her standing with her slender hands on her waist.

  "I don't suppose I could get you to give me a hand, could I? I don't know where Jason keeps any of his utensils."

  He caught the smug I-told-you-so grin on Hudson's face and glowered.

  "I'll help you, Sinclair,” Alex called sweetly. “The sanding can wait until tomorrow.” She rose and brushed off her knees before bounding down the steps.

  Sinclair arched a sculpted eyebrow before twisting around to watch Alex approach. Brett watched as well and tried to ignore the flash of discontent in her hazel eyes. I hate to admit it, he mused, but there may be something to Hudson's warning after all.

  Something was brewing between the women all right, and he had to ask himself if getting involved was worth it.

  * * * *

  That evening the dinner table was alive with chatter and boasts of how good Sinclair's meal tasted. With each compliment, Alex's expression grew darker and more secluded. More than once Brett tried to catch her eye, but to no avail. Not even Steven could get her to smile—a rarity considering he was the comedian of the group.

  "I give it a week."