The Rancher's Second Chance (Martin's Crossing Book 3)

by Brenda Minton

  She was strong, but it wouldn’t be easy.

  “Climb in. We’ll head that way,” Duke said as he headed for the front of the truck.

  Brody didn’t remember agreeing to go, but he climbed in anyway, grabbing the handle on the side of the door frame to pull himself into the cab of the truck. Duke shook his head, but didn’t comment.

  As the truck headed down the drive, in the direction of Jake’s place, Duke cleared his throat. “Heard any more from Lincoln?”

  “Nope. But I think she needs a restraining order against him.”

  “Probably,” Duke agreed. He shot Brody a quick look, his gaze landing on Brody’s hands. “What did the doctor say?”

  “Not much.”

  Duke let it go. He pulled the truck up to the barn near Jake’s place. “There’s an extra pair of gloves in the toolbox if you want to help unload.”

  It felt like a test, and Brody never liked to fail a test. He grabbed the gloves when Duke opened the metal box in the truck bed. Duke grabbed his own pair and slipped them on, pretending not to watch Brody pull the gloves on his swollen hands. Two could play the game of pretending not to notice.

  “What is Breezy going to do with llamas?” Brody asked as he reached for the first bale of hay, careful to school his features as he wrapped his fingers around the wire that held the bale together.

  “Nothing.” Jake’s voice came from behind him. “Absolutely nothing. But she’s always wanted one, and how could I say no?”

  Brody lifted the bale of hay out of the truck and carried it to the barn. “You’ve never had a problem with the word in the past.”

  “Yeah, well, things change. Women do that to us.”

  Brody changed the subject. “How are Rosie and Violet? Do they know they’re going to have a little brother or sister?”

  Rosie and Violet were the twin nieces that Jake and Breezy were raising as their own since Jake’s twin sister, Elizabeth, and Breezy’s brother, Lawton, died in a plane crash. The twins had brought the couple together.

  “They’re good, and we haven’t told them yet. They’re only three. I doubt they’re going to understand too much. If you’re coming to church tomorrow, you’ll see them then. Why don’t you come over for lunch after?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.” He grabbed another bale of hay, wiggling his fingers around the baling wire, taking a deep breath and lifting. “Heard from Sam lately?”

  That was his trick: steer the conversation to something other than himself. It was good to ask about their little sister. She always had something going on that they could discuss. He glanced at Jake before heading to the barn with the hay.

  “Yeah, she’s planning on graduating next summer. She’s excited about working close to home.”

  “Good for her. I’ve missed her.”

  Brody said nothing else, because he didn’t need to repeat that he thought his brothers had made a mistake when they’d sent Sam away to boarding school and then college. All to keep her away from a guy they thought would get their little sister in trouble. “We’ve all missed her. Holidays are never really enough,” Jake said as he grabbed the bale of hay Brody reached for.

  Brody pushed him away. “I can unload hay.”

  “Of course you can. Why all the small talk, brother?”

  “It’s just talk, Jake. We humans do that. We communicate to learn information.”

  “Right. Of course we do.” Jake backed off and let him take the bale. “But you’re especially chatty this morning.”

  “Just being a good brother.” Brody stepped past Duke and tossed the last bale on the pile.

  Jake followed him into the barn. “Do you want to move into Lawton and Elizabeth’s place? Breezy mentioned it the other day. It’s sitting there empty, and she’s worried it’ll get vandalized.”

  “I have a place.”

  “I know you do. But it isn’t big and it isn’t...”

  “It’s fine.” He pulled off the gloves. “I’ll see you at church tomorrow. I’ve got work to get done at my place.”

  “Not so quick,” Jake said as he put a hand out to stop him from walking away.

  Brody shook his head. He should have stayed in bed. “What?”

  Duke walked into the barn holding a manila envelope in his hand. He wasn’t smiling. “We have something to discuss.”

  “Great.” Brody sat down on a bale of hay. “I really don’t want to talk. The two of you are going to have to realize I’m not a kid. Worry about your women, your children and your businesses, and let me worry about my life, my health and my future.”

  Jake sat down next to him. The sun was streaming in through the open barn door and a momma cat joined them, stretching out in a sunny spot on the floor to watch birds in the rafters. Brody pulled off his gloves and waited.

  “We’re family, Brody,” Jake started with what Brody thought was the obvious. “We raised each other. We survived together. That isn’t something we can undo just to make you more comfortable with your need for privacy.”

  “Right, I get that. But for now give me space.”

  Duke tossed the manila envelope at him. Brody caught it.

  “Open it,” Duke ordered.

  Brody hesitated, then lifted the flap and pulled out the papers. He read over the information. Looked at the pictures attached. And then he shoved it all back inside the envelope.

  “Well, I guess that’s good to know,” he said, smiling at both brothers.

  Duke leaned against the wall. “You wanted to know, and I thought it was time.”

  “Right, okay. Thanks. I think I’ll walk back to my place. I’m going to work on that fence today so it’ll hold horses come spring.”

  Jake stood when Brody stood. “I can give you a ride.”

  “I can walk. I learned how about twenty-six years ago. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want explanations. I’ll see you at church tomorrow.”

  They let him walk away.

  The problem was that he didn’t really want to. He wanted to ask questions. He wanted to know how they felt about the information in that manila envelope. Since he’d taken the first step, though, he kept going.

  He went home and built the fence. And he considered how it would feel to give riding lessons to foster children in the area. He’d learned at an early age that horses could keep a kid grounded, keep them focused on something other than pain and anger. He wanted to do that for children who might not have the opportunity otherwise.

  The last thing he wanted to think about was that manila envelope on the counter in his trailer. He kept working, stretching barbed wire from post to post, one strand at a time. The work kept him focused. The pain in his hands took his mind off all the questions he’d like to ask but might never get answers to.

  By late afternoon he was worn out. He barely made it up the front steps of the trailer, ready for a glass of tea and a sandwich. As he headed for the fridge, he ignored the envelope. He wouldn’t look at it again. He wouldn’t think about that day when Sylvia Martin had headed down the drive in her old Buick. His brothers had held him as he’d cried and fought them, wanting to go after her.

  Their dad had been at a livestock auction somewhere and hadn’t known until he’d returned home late that night. By then she’d been long gone.

  Brody took out the bread and tossed two slices on a plate. The only thing in his fridge that didn’t smell sour was a package of bologna. He had some not-too-stale chips to go with it and a few pickles.

  The phone he’d tossed on the counter buzzed and vibrated across the avocado-green Formica. He took a sip of sweet tea and glanced at the contact name. Grace. He tried to continue making his sandwich, but he couldn’t ignore the call. What if Lincoln had found her?

  He answered.

  “Brody, I have a roast. I mean,
I know you probably don’t want to join me, but I thought...”

  He sighed, waiting for her to finish. While he waited, he fought off the urge to tell her about his day, about the envelope.

  “Brody?”

  He blinked back to awareness. “I’m here.”

  “I shouldn’t have called.”

  “I don’t mind that you called.”

  “You have a right to keep your distance. I know we can’t go back to the way things were. But I’ve been sitting here alone all day and I’m tired of talking to myself.”

  He grinned. “So you’re saying talking to me is better than talking to yourself.”

  “Something like that. I just need a friend.”

  Yeah, he could admit it, he could use a friend tonight, too. “I’ll be there as soon as I get cleaned up.”

  Thirty minutes later he parked in front of Oregon’s All Things. He thought about going back home. He could tell her he just wasn’t up to it tonight. Needing Grace brought back too many memories, some of them good, most of them he didn’t want to revisit. He definitely didn’t want to say goodbye again. And he figured that was where they were heading as soon as she figured out her next move.

  The second he reached to restart his truck, her door opened and she stepped outside. He watched as she swept a hand through her short blond hair, and then that same hand went to her belly. She saw him watching and he imagined she hesitated. Seconds later she headed for his truck, barefoot. She loved to go barefoot.

  Grace opened the passenger door of the truck and leaned in. “Were you thinking about leaving?”

  He pulled the keys out of the ignition. “It might have crossed my mind.”

  “I make a really great roast. Come in. It doesn’t have to be complicated. And I owe you. A lot more than dinner.”

  “I’m coming, Grace.”

  As easy as that, he climbed from the frying pan right into the fire.

  * * *

  Grace reached for his hand as they walked. He looked as if he needed a friend. But he’d always had that look about him. Even when he played the part of the love-’em-and-leave-’em cowboy that most people thought him to be.

  She’d learned from Aunt Jacki that he avoided serious relationships. When she’d met him she’d made it her mission to find out why. What she’d discovered was a man who knew how to be a friend. He knew how to listen. But he didn’t give easily of himself.

  The relationship that had developed between them had frightened her. She hadn’t been looking for anything serious.

  When they entered her apartment she made a beeline to the coffeepot and poured him a cup. It gave her a minute to collect herself. When she turned he was standing at the window looking out, his back straight, stiff. She set the coffee down on the tiny table and rested her hand on his back. She felt him sigh, then relax beneath her touch.

  He turned to face her and she saw that he’d pulled on a plaid shirt over a T-shirt and hadn’t bothered to button it.

  Not thinking, she reached to button it for him. He shook his head and pushed her hands away.

  “Grace, don’t.”

  “Let me help you,” she whispered, leaning in close. Her hands hovered near the top button. “We all need help sometimes. I came to you because I knew you would keep me safe. You’re here, and I don’t think it’s because you wanted roast.”

  “Probably not.”

  She took that as a yes and started with the top button, working her way down. When she finished she reached for his hands. His fingers were red and swollen. She lifted them, rubbed gently.

  “When did this happen?”

  He shrugged. “It started a few days ago but today is the worst. Building the fence probably didn’t help.”

  “No, it probably didn’t. Sit down and tell me what’s going on. And don’t tell me it’s nothing. It would do me good to hear someone else’s problems.”

  “That would help you out, huh?” He grinned and the light filtered back into his blue eyes. She loved that sparkle of humor.

  “Yeah,” she teased. “It would.”

  He sat down on the sofa, and she sat across from him on the chair.

  “Where should I start? My hands? Or maybe with the fact that Duke found our mother.”

  Grace sat in stunned silence, unable to say anything. She knew what this meant to him, what his mother’s disappearance had done to his life.

  As she tried to come up with the right words, she saw his hand settle on his knee, rubbing absently. She got up, needing some way to help him. She’d noticed a heating pad in the cabinet. She found it and took it back to his chair, plugging it in and setting the temperature before settling it on his leg.

  “What’s that for?”

  “It will help. And you also need to use ice to help fight the swelling and inflammation.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned back. “I thought it was just from bull riding.”

  “What did the doctor tell you?”

  “Rheumatoid arthritis. And my knees are paying the price because of bull riding. I guess when it started I just thought it was from the rough treatment over the years and the surgery not going well.”

  “No, I’m sure you didn’t consider it. Did the doctor give you a prescription?”

  “Yeah, and a couple of shots. But could we not talk about the RA? It is what it is and I’ll live with it.”

  “Okay, so about your mom?” She sat down next to him, but not close enough to touch.

  “You’re not giving me a break today, are you?” He opened his eyes and grinned at her. She got a little lost in the blue of his eyes.

  “Not a chance.”

  “She’s in Dallas in a nursing home. She has dementia.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not sure if I am. I mean, I don’t really know her. She left years ago. She walked out on us and now what? I’m supposed to feel bad for her?”

  “I know you, Brody. You might growl a lot, but you have a big heart.”

  “I feel a lot of things when I think of her, but nothing that makes sense,” he admitted, his voice going soft.

  “Maybe if you go see her it’ll help?” she suggested.

  “Yeah, I’ve said for years that I want to find her. Now I’m not so sure I want to face her, though.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes, then she stood. “Let’s eat. Maybe after a somewhat decent meal you’ll be able to think clearly.”

  “Can I help you do anything?”

  She kissed his cheek. “I can do it. You rest.”

  She left him alone on the couch. Taking the roast out of the slow cooker, she placed it on a plate with potatoes and carrots that were soft from cooking in the juices of the meat. She’d bought rolls, and she heated them in the oven as she made gravy.

  “It’s ready,” she announced as she carried a platter to the table.

  She stilled, setting the plates on the table as quietly as possible. Brody was asleep on her couch, his legs stretched out and his arm under his head. She reached for the blanket on the arm of the nearby chair and covered him. He didn’t move.

  She sat down in the chair and watched him sleep. Of course he would need rest. That was a symptom of RA. She was sure he knew that. He studied everything. Back when he rode bulls he used to study videos of rides that went wrong and the ones that went right. He would watch them over and over, analyzing what caused a fall and what moves meant staying on. He’d take notes, then he would talk about it until she cried uncle.

  Suddenly, her cell phone rang. She glanced at it and her heart hesitated just a beat when she saw her mom’s number pop up. They hadn’t talked in a couple of weeks. Unfortunately, now seemed like the worst time to have a conversation with her parents.r />
  “Mom...” Before she could say anything else, she started to cry.

  “Grace, honey, are you okay?” Hearing her mom’s concerned voice on the other end, thousands of miles away, only made it worse. The tears streamed down her cheeks and the hand she swiped across her eyes did nothing to stem the salty wetness that trickled free.

  “Mom...” She started again and then sobbed. “Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry for messing everything up. I should have stayed in school.”

  “Grace, is everything okay?” her mom asked. “Of course everything isn’t okay. What’s wrong?”

  Grace left the living room and walked out the door to stand in the yard, surrounded by the quiet of Saturday evening in Martin’s Crossing. In the distance she heard cattle.

  “Mom, I’m pregnant.”

  “Grace, oh, sweetheart.”

  “I’m pregnant and—” she had to say it “—Mom, Lincoln has been abusing me.”

  There was a sharp pause. “Where are you now? Is Jacki there?”

  “No, she’s in Florida. I’m in Martin’s Crossing. I just didn’t know where else to go.” Grace moved across the small grassy area at the back of the building.

  “You can go home. You know that. Your grandparents are scheduled to fly out in a couple of weeks. They were going to make a few side trips, but they’ll come home sooner for you.”

  “I don’t want to do that to them. I just need a little time to get myself together.”

  “In Martin’s Crossing?”

  “I’m staying in an apartment on Main Street. There are people here to help me.”

  “We can come home. We can leave this week,” her mom said in a rush.

  “No, don’t do that. Dad has dreamed of this trip for years. I don’t want to be the reason he calls it off.”

  “You’re more important than this mission.”

  Grace closed her eyes. “I know you feel that way, but I’m okay, and I don’t want you to have to come home because of me. I’m a grown woman and I can do this.”

  A hand settled on her shoulder. She turned around and saw Brody. He winked, and she believed what she’d told her mom. She could do this. She wasn’t alone.