Chapter Six
Apparently there was something in Broken Bend’s water that made smart people oblivious to truth.
Caley slung her purse on the counter, fighting the urge to look out the window that glimpsed Brady’s back pasture and make sure he was all right. If he wanted to try to do something foolish, like round up a bull—that’d already spooked his horse once—by himself, then so be it. The risk of someone getting hurt was greater with him out there alone than with someone’s help, even hers. But the men of Broken Bend apparently drank a little more of that bayou stubbornness than others.
Her dad had certainly gulped his share.
“Is he going to be okay?” Ava’s drawn voice sounded from the living room, where she’d peeled back the thin curtains and stared into the field. Scooter pressed against her side in sympathy, whining. He’d always been able to tell when someone was worried.
Caley’s frustration at being held back faded at the worry in Ava’s tone. “Of course, sweetie. Your dad knows what he’s doing.” She believed that, but it still stung that he didn’t think enough of her to believe her own ability. But why did it matter so much?
She swallowed against the answer beating in her heart.
Because she wanted the man on the roof—the one who’d sat with her despite his obvious dislike of heights, the one who’d ask her about her grandmother and didn’t push when she’d verbally shut down, the one who’d shared the moonlight—to like her.
Respect her.
And not just as a nanny.
Caley ran the edges of the curtain through her fingers, the flimsy fabric cool against her palm. Maybe she’d taken in some of that bayou water herself. Because no matter how attractive Brady was or how good-hearted he appeared to be, she wasn’t the Broken Bend woman he needed. Even if she could fix the cracks in his family, he made it clear last night that he didn’t want her to. Ava is fine. We both are.
She could tell that wasn’t true.
But she’d pretty much written the book on denial, so how much of a hypocrite would she be if she pressed him about it?
“There he goes.” Ava’s voice broke through Caley’s thoughts, freeing her from the relentless possibilities of what could be and what wouldn’t ever be. “Dad’s trying to go in behind him.”
Caley edged closer to Ava as she peered through the glass over her head, Scooter’s tail thumping a steady rhythm against her leg. Was that a lasso? Was Brady really going to try to rope the bull? Seemed crazy, but on second thought, she’d heard from firemen who took side jobs as rodeo clowns that oftentimes when an animal got a wild hair, all they needed was a firm hand and direction to bring them back around. Maybe that was Brady’s plan.
Not a bad one, but it’d be a whole lot better if he’d wait for Max.
She exhaled with relief, not even realizing until that moment she’d been holding her breath. “Spitfire doesn’t see him yet.”
“Nope. Is that good or bad?” Ava glanced up at her.
“Could be either.” She licked her suddenly dry lips as Spitfire’s head rose from the grass just as Brady began to wind his rope. Then, without warning, the bull whipped around and pawed the earth. “Never mind. Not good.”
It was too much for Nugget. The horse reared, and even from this distance, Caley could tell Brady wasn’t ready. His arms windmilled with the lasso as he fought for balance, but his horse was too fast. He barreled off the back of Nugget and landed hard on the packed ground as the horse bolted away.
Ava shrieked, clasping both hands to her mouth, and Caley’s heart leaped in her throat with the force of a jackhammer. “Wait here.”
She burst through the front door, slamming it behind her to show Ava she meant business about staying put, and ran as fast as she could toward the fence separating her from Brady. She prayed for the first time in too long, the words whipping through her head as fast as the grass whipping past her boots. God, Ava needs her daddy. Don’t take him, too. She didn’t think she was in a position to ask for any favors, but if there was ever any grace to be found, surely it would land on a sweetheart like Ava.
Thankfully, Spitfire had taken off after Nugget again, leaving Brady time to gather himself. But he wasn’t leaping immediately to his feet. She hoped he hadn’t hit his head.
“Brady!” She cupped her hands and hollered as loud as she could. He staggered to his knees, blood dripping from a cut on his brow, answering her question. She caught her breath, hope filling her heart at the sight of him moving, albeit slowly. “Are you okay?” Her legs trembled beneath her, willing his reply.
He lifted one hand as if to tell her to wait, his other fist pounding his chest. He’d probably gotten the wind knocked out of him, and Caley knew from ladder-training mishaps that took a minute to recover from. Not to mention it hurt like crazy.
Across the field, Spitfire—apparently tired of chasing Nugget, who appeared to be heading back toward the barn—focused his attention toward Brady, still at half-mast in the field. He saw the danger the same time she did, and he began hurrying toward the fence.
But he wasn’t fast enough.
Caley might not be able to control the future, but she sure wasn’t going to stand by and let Ava become an orphan today. Without hesitation, she hauled herself over the fence and slipped two fingers in her mouth, whistling loud enough to perk the ears of every horse in the neighboring counties.
Just as she’d hoped, Spitfire changed direction and barreled toward her, wide nostrils flaring to twice their size. Brady darted toward the fence, ninety degrees from Spitfire, steering clear of the bull’s peripheral vision. Caley hooked one foot on the fence and swung her leg over toward safety, heart pounding in her ears. Spitfire hadn’t jumped it the first time. Hopefully he wouldn’t be further motivated now.
She cleared the fence, noting Brady had done the same, and landed hard, dropping to one knee in the grass. Brady, still running, pointed to her truck. “Bed.” The word rasped out barely louder than her heartbeat in her ears.
Sudden hooves pounded behind her, and Caley decided she didn’t want to trust Spitfire’s previous decisions after all. She propped one foot on the fender of her pickup and Brady grabbed her arms, hauling her over the tailgate. He pulled her down into the bed of the truck just as Spitfire crashed through the fence, sending a shower of wood splinters raining around them.
Caley covered her head, and Brady’s breath fanned her cheek, his arms wrapped with firm pressure around her shoulders. “Stay down.”
Angry snorts sounded from near the wheel well, and Caley willingly obeyed, moving only the elbow that she knew dug into Brady’s ribs.
“When they lose visual, they calm down.” His voice whispered in her ear, husky and warm, and his heart pounded a matching rhythm against her palm, still resting on his chest.
Caley quickly moved her hand, face flaming. She wasn’t entirely sure which was more terrifying—the close call they’d just had, or the feelings being in such close proximity to Brady stirred in her heart. “Is it safe?” It felt anything but, for myriad reasons.
Brady gently shifted her off him and propped up on one elbow, just enough to peer over the rim of the bed. The blood on his forehead had dried to rust, smearing the corner of his temple. “He’s back in the pasture now, seems calm.” He pushed up on his knees and stood, then reached down to help propel Caley to her feet.
She brushed off the back of her jeans, and Brady plucked a piece of wood shaving from her hair. Their eyes locked and held, and Brady’s finger grazed her cheek before he dropped his hand to his side. “That was dangerous.”
No kidding. She still couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t because of Spitfire. She tried to look away from his arresting gaze, but failed. “I know. You almost got yourself killed.”
Brady broke eye contact then, folding his arms over his wrinkled and torn shi
rt. “I meant you. I told you and Ava to stay inside.”
“Why, so we could watch through the window as you got yourself gored?” All traces of the chemistry that had previously pulsed between them vanished as indignation took its place. Caley reached up and tapped Brady’s head, beside his cut. “Exhibit A.”
“I would have been fine.” His lips thinned and frustration sparked in his blue eyes, so similar to Ava’s. “Just got the breath knocked out of me.”
“Which wouldn’t have been a big deal—if there hadn’t been a bull charging you at the same time.” Caley pushed past Brady, checked to make sure Spitfire was a safe distance away and hiked her leg over the tailgate. She slid to the ground as frustration welled inside. She’d worked with some pretty macho guys over the course of her career, but this one took the cake. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
Brady landed on the ground beside her. “Me being stubborn?” He jabbed his chest, his eyebrows hiking up his forehead and wrinkling the fresh cut. The sudden motion had to hurt, but to his credit, he didn’t even flinch. “You’re the one being stubborn. Your job is to protect my daughter.”
“And I did.” Caley stalked toward the back door, pausing with her hand on the knob. She shot him a look over her shoulder. “I protected her from having to watch her father die.”
* * *
He’d known Caley Foster was going to be trouble. Hadn’t he declared it from day one?
Brady slapped the dust off his cowboy hat before planting it back on his head. The comforting aroma of hay and horse sweat filled the barn around him, accompanied by the familiar sounds of jangling harnesses and horse tails swishing at flies—but all he could hear was the echoing snort of Spitfire’s wrath. The heaviness of his hooves.
The disdain in Caley’s voice as she leveled her last barb directly at his heart.
He wasn’t stubborn. He was careful. Caley didn’t understand—he’d lost someone he loved because of his carelessness in the past. He wouldn’t let that happen to his daughter, or anyone else in his charge, ever again.
Even if that cost him his own life.
But it hadn’t. He’d had it under control. If anything, she’d scared ten years from him the way she ran out in the pasture, whistling like some kind of Annie Oakley fresh off the range. Who was this woman, anyway? What happened to the cookie-baking—well, cookie-attempting—grandmother-visiting, sweet-smiling role model he’d hired? This woman camped out on roofs, ran faster than he could, faced off with bulls and shinnied up and down ladders and fences like they weren’t even there. Not exactly role-model material for a daughter he was trying to keep safe.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the way he’d reacted to Caley’s nearness in the truck, the way he’d appreciated the warmth of her against him, the way he’d pulled fence shavings from her hair and had to stop himself from curling those silky golden strands through his fingers and leaning in to kiss the worry from her brow.
Yep, Caley Foster was out-and-out trouble.
“Guess I shouldn’t go pick up feed anymore.” Max’s voice teased from down the barn as he emerged from the tack room, thankfully distracting Brady from the details of his adventure he’d be smart to forget. “You’ll just set the ranch on fire or something.”
“Very funny. Keep your day job.” Brady rolled his eyes at his friend, but his ire didn’t run deep. Max had really helped him out. He’d driven up at the ranch just as Brady had hiked back to corral Nugget and go after Spitfire again. Max had joined him on another horse, and together, they’d put the bull back in his own pasture and quick-fixed his fence. The temporary repair would hold now that Spitfire wasn’t on the rampage, but now Brady had two fences to mend.
Caley’s angry, hurt expression flashed in his mind, and he sighed. Make that three.
Max braced his forearms on Nugget’s low stall door next to Brady. “Well, the tack is rubbed down, boss.” He paused and studied Brady. “You might want to go clean that gash on your head next.”
“It’s not that bad. Nugget just happened to dump me on a rock.” Brady reached up to touch the tender flesh, a knot forming beneath the wound and sending a headache pulsing through his temples and down his neck. It did need some soap and water, but heading inside to clean it now seemed like defeat. Like admitting Caley was right.
Like the way it hurt to take a deep breath meant she really had saved his life.
“Jokes aside, I’m glad it worked out okay. I had no idea Nugget was so skittish with Spitfire. Could have been really bad.” Max lifted his hand from the stall wall and winced. “Splinter.”
“I didn’t know, either. Wish I could have found out a little easier.” He reached up to pat Nugget’s cheek. “Speaking of splinters, we need to get Caley’s fence fixed ASAP, since Spitfire mauled it. Don’t want her landlord having a heart attack if he comes by to check on the property.” He rubbed grit from his eyes and wished he could just go inside and take a few pain pills and a nap. But the work at the ranch wouldn’t do itself. “You know how particular Tommy is.”
“Doesn’t the entire town.” Max picked at his callused palm. “Man, I hate splinters.”
So did Brady. Hated the kind that nestled unwillingly under his skin, the kind that poked and prodded tender areas best left ignored. The kind with blond hair and too much ambition for their own good.
The kind he was going to have to apologize to.
Chapter Seven
Three days. Caley had only worked as Ava’s nanny for three days, and already she’d intermittently wanted to strangle and—if she was painfully honest—kiss the girl’s father.
Neither was the smartest of options.
Across the dining room table, Ava hunched over her homework, mumbling definitions under her breath and occasionally scrawling something in a notebook. Caley folded another bath towel and added it to the growing stack, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the sight of Brady through the kitchen window, strolling in and out of the barn. She had no clue how one girl and one man could go through so much laundry, but somehow she’d folded two loads of towels alone in the three days she’d been there.
Too bad she couldn’t roll one up and smack Brady with it.
He had yet to speak to her since the incident with Spitfire yesterday, staying out past dinnertime to repair the fence, and then passing through the house with his head down and offering only curt sentences to Ava before heading for the shower. She’d arrived at the house just in time for Ava to ride the bus home from school that afternoon, and had yet to see him up close. Either he was majorly busy undoing Spitfire’s damage, or he was avoiding her.
And if it was the latter, it was only because he knew she’d been right, and he couldn’t admit it.
“What’s the definition for the word aplomb?” Ava scratched her head with her pencil, messing up her ponytail. “I’ve got to match them up and I don’t have a clue.”
“Let me think. English was never my best subject. I was more of a math girl growing up.” Caley slipped behind Ava’s chair and took out the hair band, smoothing the top of her hair flat before resecuring it. “Aplomb. I think it means bravery.”
Ava read the choices on her sheet, then pointed to one in the far column. “This is it, then. Self-confidence or assurance?”
“Bingo.” Caley slapped her a high five and then returned to the towels, this time sitting down and curling her bare feet up under her. “Good job.”
“Too bad I don’t have to use it in a sentence.” Ava lowered her voice as if reading a headline. “Young girl’s nanny shows major aplomb when rounding up a wild bull.”
Caley laughed as she straightened the teetering pile of washcloths. “That’d get you an A for sure.” Too bad Brady wouldn’t think so. Of all the words he’d use to describe Caley, she felt pretty certain that aplomb wouldn’t be on the list.
Of course, s
he had a few choice words for him as well, so maybe that was fair.
But nothing was fair about him shutting her out, ignoring what they’d experienced yesterday. Right or wrong, they’d lived through an adventure, and she thought they’d connected in those charged moments in her truck. Was he going to pretend it hadn’t happened? Well, she could do that, too. Denial was her specialty.
She just needed to know what the rules were, so her stomach could quit flipping in circles every time she glimpsed him outside the big bay windows.
“Is supper almost ready?” Ava set down her pencil and pressed her hand against her stomach. “My tummy’s growling.”
The timer dinged from the other side of kitchen in response.
“I’d say that’s a yes.” She shooed Ava off to go wash her hands in the bathroom, and hurried to peer inside the oven. The casserole she’d made for their supper looked done—maybe a little too done. She grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the large dish out to check its crispness just as Brady opened the back door.
He stomped his boots on the braided rug in the entryway, but Caley refused to look at him or acknowledge he’d come inside. Two could play whatever immature game he’d been playing, and she’d play to win. He’d made it clear he wanted her serving them, not actually participating in their lives. Fine with her. She set the casserole on the stove top—it would do, well-done or not—and shut the oven door, pulling off the mitt, and grabbed a serving spoon.
“Smells good.”
His deep voice filled the kitchen and sent unwanted shivers down her spine. She ignored him and the way his boots thudded toward her as he crossed the room and began to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. She dipped the spoon into the chicken and rice, turned the burner off under the pot of green beans and started pulling plates from the cabinet by the sink, uncannily aware of every move he made.
The water shut off. “Let me help.”
Oh, now he was Mr. Nice Guy. His damp hands interrupted hers reaching for the forks in the silverware drawer, and she jerked back, refusing to answer. She grabbed the knives instead and stacked them on the plates, then tore several paper towels from the roll on the counter and carried the lot of it to the table.
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