by Maisey Yates
“Right, but SpaghettiOs are fine dining.” He shook his head. “Okay. You don’t like beer. What else don’t you like?”
“The list of what I like is shorter and takes less time,” she said.
“Okay. What do you like? Because if I’m going to bring you food sometimes, it would be nice if you didn’t have to tiptoe through your dinner like it was full of land mines.”
She sniffed. “Nobody said you had to bring me food. But if you must know, I like pasta as long as there are no onions. Or excess greens.”
“Hamburgers?”
She nodded. “Without lettuce.”
“What are your thoughts on kale?”
She frowned. “What are your thoughts on evil?”
“Chard?”
“Satan’s preferred salad fixing.”
“Do you like any kind of lettuce?”
She scowled. Then she realized that she was doing a very good impression of a cranky child. But, oh well, she didn’t like feeling she had to give an account of the things she enjoyed eating. No one had cared if she ate her vegetables for a long damn time.
“A salad with iceberg lettuce is fine,” she explained. “As long as it has cheese. And a lot of dressing. Good dressing, though. And not blue cheese.”
“I think I’m getting the picture. Pretty sure I can work with these instructions.”
“Pizza is good,” she said.
“Obviously. But pizza without beer?” She stared back at him blankly and he sighed heavily. “I’m going to have to stock my own, aren’t I?”
“Alternately, you could let me handle feeding myself, which I have done pretty successfully for the past ten years.”
“I think you and I might have different definitions of the word successful.”
She rolled her eyes and took an ostentatious sip of her Coke. “I didn’t ask for your definition of anything.”
“I’m going to get you eating less canned pasta.”
She squinted at him. “You’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hands.”
A smile shifted his handsome features, the expression as affecting as it was infuriating. “Lasagna?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Acceptable.”
“As long as there are no onions.”
“Obviously.”
“Save your canned food for an emergency. I’ll bring dinner tomorrow too.”
She rolled her eyes but continued eating in silence, putting her focus on making sure she didn’t get an undesirable bite again.
“What time do you get off tomorrow?” he asked.
The question jarred her focus away from her stew. “I’m off tomorrow. I’ll be here all day.”
“Okay. Then I’ll come in the morning, and maybe you can show me around the ranch. Show me the bee suit.”
She sighed grumpily. “I have a feeling the bee suit is only going to underwhelm you at this point.”
He lifted a shoulder, pushing himself into a standing position and bringing his Coke can to his lips. He knocked it back, finishing off the drink. “I think I can deal with it. See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Okay. Tomorrow.”
She stayed sitting at the table while Alex walked out the door. And she tried to ignore the inexplicable feeling of pressure in her chest.
It was nice to have somebody take care of her like this. But it wasn’t something she intended to get used to.
If there was one thing that life had taught her at this point, it was that people didn’t stay forever. And the increased attention you got after you lost someone didn’t last.
Heck, there was a stipulation in the will that made it clear it wouldn’t last.
She swallowed around the prickly feeling in her throat, then picked up her bowl of stew. She wrinkled her nose and dumped the remaining contents back into the Crock-Pot. Then she took a can of SpaghettiOs out of one of the cabinets and set about fixing herself some dinner.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN ALEX PULLED UP to Clara’s farmhouse—his farmhouse, technically—the next morning, he did not expect to see Clara standing on the front porch.
But there she was, blond hair fashioned into a long braid that was slung over her shoulder, a blue speckled mug in her hand. She was wearing a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans that he thought might be too tight for doing effective outdoor work in. But they did a damn fine job of showing off her long, shapely legs.
Who knew that Clara Campbell had the kind of thighs a man wanted to lick? Get his face between. Get his body between.
You can stop that right now. She’s Jason’s sister, not some woman you want to pick up at a bar.
That thought shamed him, because the real issue was he was too used to thinking of women as a collection of beautiful body parts he might want to touch. Not that he didn’t care about the woman herself, he did. It was just that he didn’t have relationships.
Which meant that the shape of a woman’s thighs and the size of her breasts became essentially the sum total of his requirements. It made it too easy to look at a body first, and think about who she was second.
Which was why he had thought of Clara’s thighs that way. Not because he was attracted to her specifically. Because he was attracted to women.
He had seen Clara a handful of times when she’d been a kid, but not much since. And that meant it was difficult to reconcile the woman he was dealing with in the present with the child he remembered from the past.
The woman she was now...
He found her way too attractive, and that was just wrong.
He gritted his teeth and put the truck in Park, killing the engine and getting out. He might have slammed the door shut with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. It rattled the whole truck, and he hoped it would rattle some damn sense into his brain.
“Good morning,” he said, finding that smile of his easily.
Never let them see you sweat. Not when they were pointing a gun at your face. Not when they were saying you should’ve never been born. Never.
It was something Liam had always told him. In fact, it was the last thing his older brother had told him before he’d left home at eighteen.
Keep your smile, Alex. Even if it’s just to say screw ’em. Keep your smile.
She made a huffing sound. “Is it?”
He looked around, looked up at the unseasonably clear sky, the brilliant green of the pine trees that closed in around them, then he took a deep breath. “The sun is shining and we’re still standing. Constitutes a good morning as far as I’m concerned.”
“Well, seeing as it’s my day off, my requirements for a good morning centered around a cozy blanket and a soft mattress.”
He was suddenly overtaken by the strangest, strongest desire. To see her sleep. Her face neutral, peaceful even. That pale blond hair spread over her face, her dark lashes fanned out over her cheeks.
He strode toward her, reached out and took the travel mug out of her hand. “For me?”
Before she could answer, he took a long sip of the hot beverage. Then he grimaced. “What the hell is that?” he asked as the sickly sweet, borderline syrupy concoction slid down his throat.
It was her turn to grin. “Hot chocolate.”
“That’s not hot chocolate. That’s a cup of hot sugar.”
“It’s four packets and a handful of marshmallows.”
He handed the mug back to her. “That’s disgusting, Clara.”
She sniffed and treated him to a very haughty look. “I assume you were hoping for coffee? Because I think that’s disgusting.”
He snapped his fingers. “I knew it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
“You like hipster boy. You don’t like coffee.”
Without deigning to
answer, she stomped down the steps, heading toward the path to the barn. “Are we going to stand around talking about boys or are we going to go work? I’ve already braided my hair, Alex, so I don’t need your help there.”
He chuckled and followed her, forcing himself to find amusement in the determined set of her shoulders, and to keep his eyes off her ass.
He collected all of his tools, then opened the barn up. While Clara waited, he went back and got his truck, bringing it in so he could load it up with fencing supplies.
The whole time Clara watched, mute.
“You want to help me with this fencing?”
He knew she wouldn’t say anything about being a lady and not doing heavy lifting. Because if there was one thing he had figured out about Clara in the short time he’d been here, it was that she had that same stubborn streak her brother had.
Though, there weren’t really any other similarities between them. Jason had been bold, brash. Quick with a joke, and quick to run toward danger if he thought someone was in need of help. Alex had liked the guy on sight.
Jason had had it rough, there was no doubt about that. By the time Alex had met him, his mother had been sick for most of his life. They’d both enlisted in the military at eighteen. And when they were twenty-two Jason’s mother had passed away.
When Jason’s father died, he’d left the military for a year, returning home to take care of his sister. But once Clara had reached age, he’d enlisted again. Ultimately, Alex and Jason had found themselves on the same base over in Afghanistan. At first, he had imagined it would be a good thing to be out there with his buddy. A guy who had his back.
Of course, now he would give a hell of a lot to make sure that Jason was never there. Or to take his place if it were possible.
Jason had more than had his back. Jason had been a friend, a brother Alex had never deserved.
On summers spent in Copper Ridge Jason had been the one to bring him into a group of friends. To treat him like he belonged. His own father hadn’t had an interest in him. A group of strangers actually wanting to spend time with him had been healing in a way he hadn’t known he needed.
And it had been because of Jason.
He stopped thinking about his friend then. About the differences between him and his sister. Jason with his dark hair and gray eyes, and Clara with her pale beauty and sparkling baby blues.
He had to focus on the present. Focus on this fence.
“I suppose I could help,” Clara said, looking stubborn.
“Better get some work gloves. You don’t want to tear up your hands.”
She rolled her eyes. “I do know how to do basic ranch work, Alex. I grew up here.” She walked to a wooden box that was up against the wall and opened it, taking out a pair of leather gloves and smacking them against the edge of the box. “I do not need to put my hand in there and grab a spider,” she muttered, smacking them a few more times.
Then she put them on, curling her fingers as if to signal her readiness.
“No spider?” he asked.
“Am I fetal and weeping on the floor and threatening to amputate my own hand?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Then no.”
“Excellent,” he said.
He walked over to one end of coiled-up fence length and picked it up. She grabbed the other. Granted, she wasn’t contributing a whole lot, but there was something he enjoyed about goading her into helping out. They lifted the fencing into the back of the truck, then repeated the process with the next roll of metal. When they finished with the fencing, they began to move the posts. They worked in silence, and there was something oddly companionable about it.
He looked up, and noticed that some pale wisps of hair had escaped the braid, falling into her face. As they worked, she would stop and shake her head sometimes, trying to flick the hair out of her eyes. But she never stopped. Never stopped working. Never asked for a break. Not even to fix her hair.
Clara was soft in a great many ways, and she was hurting. That much was obvious. But she was also tough. Determined and stubborn. A whole host of big, deep things were contained in that petite, compact frame.
“Okay, that’s enough for now,” he said, when they had the bed of the truck mostly full. “We can drive out and get the lay of the place. Start replacing some of the fencing. Should go pretty quick since we don’t have to dig new post holes.”
“Right,” she echoed. Still wearing the leather work gloves, she opened the passenger-side door of the truck and got in. She grabbed hold of the handle just above the window, as if she were bracing herself for a bumpy ride. And right then she looked like some kind of ranching wet dream. Pretty and soft, but ready to work with those gloves and that very practical flannel top.
He nearly grabbed a wire cutter to cut his thumb—anything to redirect that line of thinking.
He got into the truck and started it, hoping she wouldn’t notice his momentary distraction. His moment of lecherousness.
She didn’t, and the fact that she didn’t was a testament to just how messed up it was that he would think of her in any way other than as Jason’s little sister.
“So...do you have some kind of rancher fantasy or something?” she asked after they’d been driving along the dirt road for a few moments.
Judging by the way he’d been reacting to her, he apparently did have some kind of rancher fantasy, but presumably not the kind she was asking about.
“No,” he responded. “But I made my life about the military. About brotherhood. That’s what Jason and I had. Brotherhood. You don’t leave a fallen brother, Clara. You don’t.” He kept his mind purposefully blank when he spoke the words, because he didn’t want to relive that moment. Didn’t want to see it in his mind. “And when he’s gone, when you can’t help him anymore, you do what you can for those he left behind. It’s the right thing to do.”
He heard her swallow, looked over and saw a tear slide down her cheek.
“I really do miss him,” she said, her voice soft.
“Me too,” Alex said. “He was the first friend I made here during the summers I spent with my grandpa. Do you remember that red Jeep of his?”
“Yes,” she said.
“We used to stand up in the back while he drove.”
“That was stupid,” she said.
“Yeah. We were stupid. We were sixteen.” Invincible. Damn. Why hadn’t Jason been invincible?
“It’s funny,” Clara said. “I would go so long without seeing him while he was on deployment. And I was kind of used to that. He joined the military so long ago, when I was so young. And when our parents... Well, he came back for a while. And that was nice, but I’m used to doing things on my own, and when he left again, I just got accustomed to it all over again. But knowing he won’t come back is different. It feels different. It’s so final. Sometimes I try to pretend he’s just on a really long deployment.” She took a deep, choking breath. “That he’s just still out there riding around in a Jeep, looking badass.”
He didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to be there for someone. But he was the only one who was here for Clara. The only one who was left. So that meant he had to step up.
He looked out the windshield, eyes fixed on the dirt road. “The good news is,” he said, speaking slowly, “that he’s doing something better than that right now, I’m sure. Because trust me, a guy like that gets ushered right into the good part of heaven.”
Clara laughed, the sound shaky. “You think so?”
He wanted to think so.
“Oh yeah,” Alex said. “God probably showed him where all the good fishing holes are. And he’s not driving around some barren desert breathing in dust and hoping today is not the day you get mortared. No. He’s not worried about that anymore.”
&nbs
p; Alex fought to keep his throat from closing up, to keep a wall of emotion from crushing him beneath its weight. “I think the only thing he’d worry about is you,” he continued, his voice rough. “But I’m aiming to make sure he doesn’t have to.”
Silence settled in the cab of the tuck. Then Clara cleared her throat. “You think he’s fishing up there, huh?”
“You know he is. And he doesn’t have to lie about how big the fish is anymore. They’re all monsters.” The ridiculous image made him smile. And he felt gratified when he looked over and saw that Clara was smiling too.
They got out of the truck at the old pasture where the cows had been once upon a time. The fence had certainly seen better days, and even if it were in great shape, it wasn’t going to be enough for bison. They needed good, strong materials, and the older one was sagging and falling over. So that meant refencing the entire pasture.
But he was happy enough with that. It gave him a goal. Gave him something to work toward. Something to give Clara. Something to give back to Jason.
He gritted his teeth. He owed the man more than he could ever repay.
And he sure as hell didn’t deserve any of it.
When they got out of the truck, he tossed Clara a pair of wire cutters. “Okay, what we’re going to do is go down the fence and basically cut. Should be quick enough. We’ll get to the posts afterward.”
Clara nodded, and they set to work silently. She was a fast worker, and she was a hard worker, and as he’d observed earlier, she didn’t seem to want to show the need to stop as long as he was still going strong.
So they worked until his shoulders ached, until he was hungry enough that he couldn’t keep going.
“Hey, Clara,” he called. She was several links down the fence, working her way in his direction. “Why don’t you open up the truck? I have a cool chest in the back. We can tailgate.”
“What do you have in there?” She wrinkled her nose as she peered toward the cool chest, looking skeptical and vaguely mouseish.
“I brought sandwich fixings. Nothing is on the sandwich as of yet. You can choose.”
“What kind of meat?”
“Well, I brought roast beef since I noticed when you ate the stew you seemed to like beef.”
