by Maisey Yates
Well. She did.
“And if I come to your house at six tonight are you going to be there? Or am I going to have to stalk you at your favorite coffee place again?”
She frowned. “Come to think of it, it’s a little bit weird that you were able to find me here.”
“Not really. I saw you here yesterday when I drove into town. I took an educated guess this morning and decided I would stop in. It’s pretty lazy stalking, all in all.”
“Lazy stalking isn’t really less disturbing than energetic stalking.”
“You can avoid all future stalking if we could just talk now,” he said, his expression suddenly turning serious.
“No,” she said, the denial coming out quickly.
She really couldn’t deal with this now. She couldn’t deal with discussing Jason in the past tense. Couldn’t deal with talking about his will in a parking lot. Couldn’t face looking at all the things her brother had left behind, his worldly possessions, which no longer belonged to him because he wasn’t part of the world anymore.
Hell, she couldn’t open a damn phone bill. She wasn’t going to do any of the rest of this.
“Then we’ll talk later. If I have to camp out in your yard, we’ll talk later.”
Then he turned and walked back toward his truck, leaving her standing there with her cappuccino.
She took another sip. “Dammit!”
She forced herself to swallow it, rather than spitting it out into the gravel, on the off chance Asher was watching.
She had to get to work now, she couldn’t worry about Alex. Whatever he had to say to her, she would take care of it then. Her life had already been rocked beyond recognition in the past couple of months. There was nothing Alex Donnelly could say that would bring it crumbling down now.
* * *
VERY FEW PEOPLE would call Alex Donnelly a coward. He had dodged gunfire, survived a rain of mortar shells—more than once—and worn full tactical gear in arid heat that could practically bake a loaf of bread, or a man’s brains for that matter.
But he had been a little bit of a coward when he’d allowed Clara Campbell to put off their conversation about her deceased brother’s will.
The fact of the matter was he had been a coward for the past couple of months that he’d been back in Copper Ridge, and had avoided having the conversation with her at all. He’d had his excuses, that was for sure.
Some of them were actually valid. Like the time he’d put into investigating the legality of what her brother had asked him to do. And then the time spent going over the letter Jason had left. The one that clarified just why he wanted things this way and made it impossible to deny him.
Still, Alex had waited to talk to Clara, even after that.
At first, it had been out of deference to her grief. And after that, because he was trying to get his feet underneath him at the Laughing Irish ranch, which he worked at with his brothers.
Frankly, after losing his best friend and his grandfather, he’d had enough to deal with without adding Clara to the mix. But it couldn’t be avoided anymore. And when he had discovered her cell phone was turned off, he’d felt guilty for avoiding it as long as he had.
Clara must be hurting for money. Enough that she had taken a job at Grassroots Winery, and was letting bills go unpaid.
He’d expected her to call if things were that bad. Hell, he’d expected her to call period. But the way she’d acted at the coffee shop, it didn’t seem like she’d spoken to anyone about the details of Jason’s will.
Now that he thought about it, if she had, she probably would have come at him hissing and spitting.
She might still. But she was late.
Alex pushed his cowboy hat back on his head and looked at the scenery around him. The ranch was small, and so was the ranch house. Rustic. From his position on the front porch—which was squeaking beneath his cowboy boots—he couldn’t see the highway.
Couldn’t see anything but the pine trees that grew thick and strong around the property, standing tall like sentries, there to protect the ranch and all who lived there.
“Well, you’re doing a pretty piss poor job,” he commented.
Because damned if the Campbells hadn’t been through enough. But he was here to make things easier. He knew—was one hundred percent certain—that Clara wouldn’t see it that way initially. But this was what Jason had wanted, and he knew that Jason had nothing but his sister’s best interests in mind when he’d made out his will.
Alex owed it to his friend to see his last wishes carried out. No question about it.
He took a deep breath, putting his hands on his narrow hips as he turned a half circle to take in more of the property. The driveway needed to be graveled. It was slick and muddy right now, even though it had been a few days since it had rained.
There was a truck and a tractor that Alex would lay odds didn’t run, parked off in the weeds, looking like metal corpses left to rust into the earth.
The place needed a lot of work. It was too much for him to do by himself, let alone one woman. One grieving woman who was having to work part-time on top of doing the general ranch work.
He figured at this point the place wasn’t really functional. But he was forming some ideas on how to get it working again. On how to make sure Clara hadn’t just been saddled with a millstone.
Or, more accurately, that he hadn’t been.
The center of the sky was dimming to a purplish blue, the edges around the trees a kind of dusty pink by the time Clara’s truck pulled up the long driveway into the house. She stopped, turning off the engine, staying in the vehicle. She was looking at him like she was shocked to see him, even though he had told her he would be there.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning against the support for the porch, not moving until Clara got out of the truck.
She was such a petite little thing. And she had definitely lost weight since he’d seen her a few weeks ago. He couldn’t imagine her taking on a place like this, and suddenly he felt like the biggest ass on the planet. That he had stayed away because she was going to be angry, when she had clearly been here working her knuckles to the bone.
Jason had been clear on what he wanted. The fact that Alex had screwed it up so far seemed just about right, as far as things went.
“Big wine-tasting day?” he asked.
Clara frowned. “No. Why?”
“You’re home late.”
She raised a brow, then walked around to the back of the truck and pulled out a bag of groceries. “I had to stop and get stuff for dinner.”
“Good. You do eat.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You’re too skinny.” He felt like a dick for saying it, but it was true. She was on the sadness diet, something he was a little too familiar with. But he’d learned not to give in to that in the military. Learned to eat even when his ears were ringing from an explosion, or the heat was so intense the idea of eating something hot was next to torture. Or when you’d just seen a body, bent and twisted under rubble.
Because food wasn’t about enjoyment. It was about survival.
A lot like life in general.
Clara Campbell needed help surviving. That was clear to him.
Clara scowled even deeper as she walked toward him. “Great. Thanks, Alex. Just what every woman wants to hear.”
“Actually, in my experience, a lot of women would like to hear that.” He snagged the paper grocery bag out of her arms as she tried to walk past him. “SpaghettiOs? What the hell is this?”
“I call it dinner.”
“Sure, for a four-year-old.”
“I’m sorry they don’t live up to your five-star military rations. But I like them.”
She reached out and grabbed hold of the bag, trying to take it ou
t of his arms.
“Stop it,” he said. “You’ve been working all day. I’m going to carry your groceries.”
She bristled. “You’re insulting my groceries. I feel like you don’t deserve to carry them.”
He snorted, then turned away from her, jerking the bag easily from her hold. “Open the door for me.”
“I thought military men were good at taking orders,” she said. “All you seem to do is give them.”
“Yeah, well I’m not in the army now, baby.” He smiled, and he knew it would infuriate her. “Open the damn door.”
Her face turned a very particular shade of scarlet but she did comply, pulling out her keys and undoing the lock, then pushing the door open. He walked over the threshold, and a board squeaked beneath his feet. He made a mental note to fix that.
“The dining room is just through there, set the bag on the table.” She walked in behind him. “See? I can give orders too.”
“While eating SpaghettiOs.” He set the bag on the table she’d indicated, then took a look around the room. It was sparse—the floor, walls and ceiling all made with rustic wood paneling. There was a red rug on the floor with a geometric design that provided the only bit of color to the room, other than a big, cheery yellow cabinet that was shoved in the back of the kitchen, packed full to the brim with white plates. It seemed a little incongruous with the rest of the place. And at odds with the rickety dining table and its mismatched chairs.
He had never been to Jason’s house before. They had met when they were in high school, and consequently, had spent their time hanging out away from the watchful eyes of parents and guardians. After that, they’d wound up serving together in the military.
The place was...well, cozy was a nice word for it. Eclectic badger den possibly less nice but more accurate.
“I’m hungry,” Clara said, fishing one of the cans out of the bag. “Don’t taint my SpaghettiOs with your judgment.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He watched as she moved around the efficient little kitchen, making small economical movements, getting out a blue-and-white speckled tin bowl and a little pan, then opening the SpaghettiOs and dumping them in it. She put the pan on the front burner, turning it to high, then whirled around to face him.
“Okay. What are we talking about?”
“Do you want to wait until you’ve eaten your dinner?”
“No.” She turned around and opened the fridge, pulling out a can of Coke before popping it open and taking a long drink. She didn’t offer him one, he noticed.
“I was contacted by your family lawyer shortly after Jason’s death.”
Clara crossed her arms, her lips going tight. “Okay, why did he call you?”
“Why didn’t he call you, Clara? I expected you would have talked to him.”
She bit her lip. “Well. He did. But we didn’t talk.” Alex stared her down and her cheeks turned increasingly red as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I’ve been busy,” she added defensively.
“Well, if you hadn’t been too busy for the lawyer, he might have talked to you about the fact your brother’s will concerns me.”
“Excuse me?” This was the part he had been avoiding. The thing he had not been looking forward to. Because his friend had left him with property, had left him with his earthly possessions and a letter explaining his feelings, which ultimately were only that: the feelings of a dead man. Alex had to try to fill in blanks he wasn’t sure could be filled. He’d tried to reason it all out to decide if he could justify defying Jason’s wishes. He hadn’t been able to. So here he was.
“He left me in charge of the estate,” he continued. “The ranch, everything on it, everything in it, the house—until things are stable or until one year has passed.”
Clara didn’t move. The only indication she was reacting to his words at all was that her face had gone completely waxen.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Clara? I have a stake in this house now. And in this ranch. Your brother left me in charge.”
CHAPTER TWO
“CLARA?”
Clara knew she was supposed to respond. She was supposed to say something. Yell, maybe. Or cry? Something. Alex was standing there telling her he was now linked—legally—to this place that she had poured her whole self into.
She’d grown up here. All twenty-one years of her life. Jason had joined the army when she was just eight years old, coming back intermittently when her parents hadn’t been able to care for her. But since she’d turned eighteen it had all been on her.
There had been no college. No dates. There had been this ranch. It was hers. And now he was just...taking that?
She didn’t scream, though. Instead, she just stood there, numbness spreading from her mouth to the rest of her face. She was way too familiar with this feeling. With the moment the earth fell away and the world shifted. With innocuous moments rolling over and becoming something significant.
With her life changing completely between one breath and the next.
That was the worst part about this moment. Not that it was singular in its awfulness, but that it wasn’t.
Of course there was more. Of course there would be no putting her head down and simply getting over this. Moving on to the next thing. Getting used to her new, incredibly crappy normal.
Alex had just redefined normal. Again.
Asshole.
That little internal invective seemed to wake up something inside of her and her gaze snapped to his. “He left everything to you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She was shaking now, a strange, deep trembling that started at the center of her chest and began to work its way out her limbs. “Why would he leave everything to you? I’m the one who’s been living here. I’m the one who’s been taking care of this place while he was deployed.”
“He wanted to make sure you were taken care of,” Alex said, his tone maddeningly flat.
“Then he shouldn’t have died!” The words exploded from her, and it didn’t matter if they were fair or not. It was how she felt. And Jason was dead anyway, so he couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t get a sense for how upset she was that he had died.
“But he did,” Alex said, his bluntness offensive to her wounded heart. “And he made it pretty clear to me what was supposed to happen if he did.”
“I am a grown woman, why did he think he needed to send you here? I’ve been here without him all this time.” She didn’t feel like a grown woman right now. She felt like the floor was shifting under her feet and she didn’t have the strength to stay standing.
“You’re not a grown woman to him, Clara,” Alex said, slipping up and talking about Jason as if he still thought anything. As if he might be about to walk in the door from a long fishing trip. “The way he talked about you...you were his kid sister. He worried about you constantly, and he worried especially about what would happen to you if he couldn’t come home to you.”
Clara’s eyes felt scratchy with the effort of holding back all the emotion that was swamping her.
Jason had been her hero. He’d taught her to ride a horse. He’d taught her to fish—which she’d hated, but she would go with him anyway. Every weekend he was home, he would pack a picnic with the sandwiches he knew she liked and they would drive to the river.
He’d park his truck on the side of the road and they’d hike down the sandy trail together and sit on the rocks for hours. Talking while they sat there mostly not landing any fish.
And when she’d complain, Jason had always said, “This is why they call it fishing, not catching.”
The image of her brother standing out by the river with that carefree grin on his face felt like a stab to the chest.
Alex shifted, rapping his knuckles on her table. “He wrote me a letter.�
�
“What are you talking about? He wrote you a letter that was like... Open in case of my eventual death?”
“Something like that.”
“Wow.”
She didn’t know what else to say. Somehow, the fact that there was a letter almost made it worse. Of course, Jason had known that his death was a possibility. Every soldier knew that. But Clara had never allowed herself to think about it.
Somehow, it was less disturbing to imagine he hadn’t really given it much consideration. Envisioning him sitting down and writing a letter about what Alex should do if he died... It... It enraged her. Even if it was unfair. The fact that he had thought it through that deeply, but had still been in the military, had still put himself in that kind of danger...
He had fully imagined a future in which he might be gone and she might need help. Where she would be left alone and he might have to assign somebody the responsibility of taking care of her.
He had known he could die. Known enough to prepare for it. It made her furious. Absolutely furious.
“He loved you, Clara,” Alex said, his soft, apologetic tone worse than the arrogant tone he had used when commenting on her dinner.
“If he loved me so much, he shouldn’t have reenlisted in the military after our father died,” she said, finally giving voice to the small, useless, mean thoughts she’d been having ever since she’d gotten the news of his death. “If he loved me so much, he would have stayed here. He would be here helping me with the ranch. Rather than sending a surrogate in his place. Did you all love the military so much that you couldn’t stay away? Is it better than this ranch, this town?”
“He believed in the military,” Alex said, his voice rough. “He believed in the ideal of serving something bigger than himself. No matter whether it was perfect or not, he believed in doing something. He died for that belief, and he knew that was the risk.”
He had died across the world, away from her. He had left her alone. Had truly left her without any family at all. And whatever ideals Alex spoke about, she couldn’t share them.
Somewhere beneath the grief and anger, she was proud of her brother. Of his service. Of his selflessness.
