The Rancher Next Door

by Betsy St. Amant

  Great. Talk about rumors getting started about her and Brady. They’d also feed the hope she saw blooming in Ava’s heart that there was something between Caley and her dad.

  She briefly closed her eyes and drew a deep breath to steady herself, trying to shake off the negative thoughts. Just being in this building made her tense, made her overreact. Made the years of regrets leap from the beige wallpaper and stick to her dress like a name tag. Labeling. Pointing out her flaws. Her guilt.

  Making her wonder if she hadn’t been right about God all this time after all.

  “The service is this way.” Brady’s warm voice broke through her reverie, and he gestured to the sanctuary, probably assuming she’d never been there before. When he admitted to knowing Nonie back when they first met, she’d never let on that she grew up here and had attended the same church he spoke of. Probably better to play down her history before he picked up any details of her past. For some reason, the thought of Brady thinking badly of her rankled.

  She hesitantly followed him inside, the organ’s music blending with the congregation’s hearty welcome of friends and neighbors. She wasn’t either to anyone in this room. Not anymore. She’d seen enough of the furtive glances at her dad’s funeral years ago to ensure that any reputation she’d earned here had been covered by a fine black film. A permanent film.

  Resisting the urge to wipe her sweaty palms on her sheath dress, Caley slid into a pew near the back beside Brady, thankful he wasn’t a front-row kind of guy. She made sure to sit a respectful distance away in a futile effort to curb rumors. It wouldn’t matter. The attractive, single rancher sitting in church with the town’s most-gossiped-about runaway? Tongues would be wagging, and not in prayer.

  Caley squelched the groan rising up her throat and flipped open the hymnal, as if her life depended on finding the right page before the first song began. She carefully kept her eyes averted from the giant wooden cross on the front wall.

  “Sorry I got stuck back there,” Brady leaned slightly toward her to whisper. “I didn’t mean to leave you in the hallway alone. I know it’s rough to be in a new place.”

  She looked up just as he grinned and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  His breath smelled like peppermints. “Sometimes life is still too much like junior high.”

  No kidding. She forced a smile she didn’t feel, finally finding the correct page number in the book and running her finger down the gold-trimmed pages. “It’s not a problem. Ava showed me the ropes.” And then bailed.

  He shifted in the pew, tugging the leg of his stiff jeans over the top of his dress boot. “I’ve come here for years, but I still feel new at times myself.” His thumb tapped an uneasy rhythm on his knee as he scanned the room like a cornered tiger. “We haven’t been coming back for long—since my wife’s death.”

  The word wife on his lips sent a quiver straight through her stomach and up her spine. She wasn’t jealous—was she? That was ridiculous. He and Ava were obviously still handling their grief over the loss, and her place in the middle of that was complicated enough.

  “I don’t blame you for staying away.” The truth slipped out before she could censor it. She rested the hymnal in her lap and quickly fanned herself with her program, wishing the organist would stop the introduction already and start the service.

  Brady shot her an inquisitive stare, and she felt the need to clarify despite the fear of shoving her black flats farther into her mouth.

  “I just mean it’s hard going back to places where people know everything about you. And want to talk about it when you don’t.” She shrugged, looking away from his steady gaze lest he figure out they weren’t talking about his own past anymore. Her cheeks burned, and she fanned harder.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but the service began and the congregation began a rousing chorus she didn’t recognize. Probably for the best.

  Because despite how everything in the room remained the same, nothing about it felt familiar.

  * * *

  Brady could barely focus on the words of the sermon, so aware was he of Caley next to him. She sat so far away he could have stacked at least two hymnals side by side between them, but still, even that proximity sent a warm sensation prickling down his arms. Her voice rising during the chorus of “Amazing Grace” a few minutes ago, clear as a cowbell ringing over an open pasture, gave him more peace than he’d felt in church in years.

  And an uncanny sense of home.

  How did she put into words so perfectly what he’d felt all this time? It’s hard going back to places where people know everything about you. She clearly spoke from experience. Maybe whatever it was that put that thought in her heart was the reason that kept her moving all over the country.

  He didn’t pray anymore, but if he did, he’d sure give serious thought to petitioning God about His logic. The first woman Brady had felt something for since Jessica, and she was as untouchable as burrs matted on Wranglers. Max might have thought Caley’s career ambitions were amusing, but they changed everything. He refused to let anyone into his and Ava’s life that would just leave—be it by choice or accident. Someone who would take unnecessary risks and put themselves repeatedly in harm’s way. He couldn’t live with himself if he lost anyone else he was responsible for.

  He had a hard enough time living now.

  Yet despite those truths—he couldn’t quite convince his heart to follow his mind’s lead.

  “...consuming fire.”

  Brady’s head snapped up at Pastor Dave’s words. What fire? His chest burned at the realization he’d been completely zoned out, and shot a quick look at Caley. If she’d noticed, she didn’t let on. Yet the doodles on her program indicated she might be guilty of the same.

  “The book of Hebrews—not to mention the entire Bible—teaches us that God’s kingdom can’t be shaken.” Dave paced the pulpit, the stage lights reflecting off his reading glasses. “It teaches us to be grateful for this fact. For this security.” He paused, gazing out at the congregation. “For our God is a consuming fire.”

  Brady swallowed, averting his eyes to smooth the crease of his jeans. Of all the times to tune back in. Security? Hardly. There was nothing secure about faith. Faith was blind trust. Risky. Dangerous.

  No, thanks.

  “It teaches us to therefore offer to God acceptable worship—with reverence.” Pastor Dave stopped his midstage stroll and lingered at the pulpit, resting his forearms against the wooden structure. “For our God is a consuming fire.”

  Brady wished he would stop saying that word. What happened to the images of God from Ava’s pink Bible—light shining through clouds, a slightly blurred but happy-faced figure on a throne? That was the God he wanted Ava to know right now. A consuming fire—well, he’d nearly been in one before, and there wasn’t anything holy about it. It was pure evil.

  “Reverence means not only respect, but awe.” Pastor Dave’s expression gentled as he picked up his Bible from the pulpit. “When was the last time you were in awe of our Lord?”

  Brady licked his dry lips, while next to him, Caley started a new drawing of wildflowers. In awe of God? It’d been a while. Maybe forever. He and Jessica started out on the right foot in their marriage. Then their church attendance became hit or miss. She got pregnant right away, and the ranch took up more and more time. Then, when their marriage got rocky, neither of them wanted to fake it at church anymore.

  And after her death, well—not much to praise God for after that. Oh, sure, everyone told Brady he was blessed to still have Ava. They were blessed to have their health and the opportunity to start over. But what did that matter when a little girl had lost her mom? When a grown man became buried under the rubble of regret and guilt? When a marriage that had barely even had a chance crumpled entirely?

  Where was God in that?

  He couldn’t do thi
s today. Not with the memories assaulting his soul. Not with Caley’s cinnamon scent wafting up his nose and threatening his resolve. Not with the past and the hopelessness of the future tying a double-layered noose around his neck.

  In one quick movement, he stood and brushed out of the pew past Caley and through the double doors. He didn’t look back. He didn’t apologize.

  And he didn’t stop until he felt wind on his face.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next several days with Ava flew by, and before Caley knew it, Wednesday afternoon arrived with a blast of muggy heat, more worthy of a midsummer day than autumn. She had the afternoon off since Ava was staying at a friend’s house after school, so she decided to stay in and cook Chinese food for herself. Brady had told her not to worry about cooking for just him, that he could heat up a hot dog or make a sandwich easily enough for one.

  Thank goodness, because after their awkward conversation in church, she couldn’t imagine spending an evening alone with him in his kitchen. Not with the reminder of the broken casserole dish lingering in the corner of her eye every time she stepped foot in the room. Not with their tentative truce filling the unspoken spaces between them.

  Not when she was dying to find out why he’d left the sanctuary Sunday morning and waited for her and Ava in the parking lot.

  Caley set her pager on the kitchen counter in her rental house, where she could easily hear the beep while she cooked supper. So far this week she’d made one volunteer run—a wreck involving a flipped car, an out-of-towner and a particularly unforgiving tree. Thankfully the woman had been all right, but the rush of adrenaline, the urgency to perform well and to save a life, left Caley on a high for days.

  She sort of hoped the pager would buzz tonight. Not only did she still need to prove herself to Chief Talbot and get hired, she needed to feel important. Needed to feel needed.

  Needed to know her choices all these years had actually been worth it.

  She found her trusty wok and began preparing the stir-fry, her mind straying back to Brady and his issues from Sunday. The more she got to know him, the more she realized he was a man of many layers.

  And something within him just begged for her to unwrap them all.

  She tossed some salt into the skillet and turned up the fire, blinking away her train of thought. Brady was her boss. Ava’s dad. Not a romantic interest, no matter how good he’d smelled during church or how her stomach reacted when he’d accidentally brushed his hand across her arm when sliding a hymnal into the book rack. Just because Ava was eager to see them get together didn’t make it a good idea. Caley didn’t do long-term relationships—mainly because that involved commitment to one spot.

  And she wasn’t ready to stand still.

  Besides, most of the men she’d encountered were too intimidated by her to support her dreams. And she refused to be like her mother and commit to one man, only to leave him high and dry for the next, better offer. If that tendency ran in her genes, well, she had to be extracareful before settling down.

  If she ever could.

  She brushed at the sizzling vegetables with a spatula, wishing she could get inside Brady’s head long enough to know what part of the sermon had prompted him to exit. He’d played it off outside when she and Ava joined him, and she wasn’t about to ask in front of his daughter. Not when she’d been none the wiser inside children’s church and came out sharing an animated story of Noah’s ark.

  But it wasn’t a sick stomach that had driven Brady from the pew. If Caley had one guess, it’d probably been the same realization that had tempted her to run out, as well.

  That God wasn’t who they thought He was.

  She stabbed at the stir-fry. Admitting the thought should feel like progress—at least, that’s what her old counselor would have told her—but somehow it just felt even more disrespectful. Like another strike on her spotty record. There was nothing progressive or productive about realizing the faith of your childhood was stabilized on sand instead of rock. Her shaky structure had toppled the day her father died, with so much left unsaid between them, and it could never be rebuilt. God was like her dad: hard to please. Impossible to understand.

  And even harder to see.

  Nonie had seen God when Caley was growing up. Still did, even from a nursing home bed. But Caley couldn’t reconcile that God with the one in her mind, the one who had allowed her mother to abandon her when she was young and allowed her father to disown her. The one who surely expected better of her than what she had to give. The one who wanted to stifle her instead of help her fly.

  The smell of burned onion and green pepper filled her nostrils just as the smoke alarm above her head began to chime. With a start, she turned off the fire, grabbed a pot holder, yanked the burned veggies from the stove top and set them aside. Then she climbed on a chair, stood on tiptoe and stabbed the alarm with the end of her spatula. The incessant beeping mercifully stopped, and she rubbed her ears before returning the chair to the table. So much for supper. That’s what she got for being so distracted she nearly burned down her own house. That wouldn’t look particularly stellar on her résumé for the district station.

  Caley tossed the ruined stir-fry into the trash and ran cold water over the pan before resting it in the sink. Looked like a sandwich night for her, too. Maybe she’d slap together some turkey and mayo and finally hang that picture of the fireman in her living room, try to salvage the evening. Certainly beat thinking about ranchers next door and spiritual impasses.

  A sudden knock sounded at the door, and she scrambled to open it, grateful for a distraction from her thoughts.

  But no such luck. The object of her reverie stood framed in the doorway, cowboy hat absent and his dark hair mussed as if he’d just run his fingers through it. Her breath caught in her throat, and she absently reached up to smooth her own hair.

  “Sorry to bother you on your night off.” Brady’s tone, borderline professional, sent her hand sliding back to rest aimlessly at her side. “I think this belongs to you.” He gestured to the ground, where Scooter sat on top of his boots, tongue lolling to the side.

  “Scooter!” Caley bent down and grabbed her dog’s collar. He barked happily and licked her face before wrestling free of her grip and darting inside the house. “He must have gotten out. I thought he was still asleep in my room.”

  “No problem. He showed up on my doorstep, whining and scratching at the glass. You might want to check your back door, though, since this one was locked.” Brady took half a step inside and sniffed the air twice. The corners of his lips slowly turned upward. “You were cooking.”

  His pointed look made his words a statement rather than a question—and that rakish grin made his distant facade fall away. Her stomach fluttered at the attention. Maybe keeping it professional was better after all. Though on second thought, he was making fun of her—again.

  She lifted her chin and tried to forget about the chocolate chip cookies. And the broken casserole dish. And the stir-fry carnage in her trash can. “Why, yes, I was.”

  He sniffed again, stepping far enough into the house that Caley reluctantly shut the door behind him. “And you burned it.”

  “Why, yes, I did.”

  He let out a snort, half disbelief and half amusement, and she couldn’t help but chuckle, too. “I would say I’m surprised, but...” His voice trailed off and his blue eyes lit as his gaze drew her in. Gone was the stress from church, the bags under his eyes from working long hours. Gone was the shield he threw up every time he stood in her presence. In his eyes lingered nothing but humor, appreciation—and maybe a little something more.

  She cleared her throat, determined to keep things light between them despite the electricity pulsing through the air, and offered a sheepish smile. “So, am I fired?” She edged a step toward the kitchen and he followed, as if drawn by a magnet.


  “Not yet.” His gaze fell to her lips, then quickly away.

  She drew a deep breath, then opened the refrigerator door, putting it between them as a shield. “Can I make you a sandwich?”

  He settled at a bar stool near the small island and shook his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know. Sounds dangerous.”

  “Very funny.” Caley grabbed a loaf of bread and a package of deli meat from the shelf, and then plucked a bottle of mayo and a jar of pickles from the door. “Even I can’t mess this up.”

  “Actually, I’m sure you could—”

  “Watch it, now.” She held up both hands in mock defense. “It’s not my fault. I’m usually a decent cook. It’s just something about—” This time she interrupted herself, biting down on her lip to clamp the rest of her sentence before it could release. Something about him? Not the best thing to admit, no matter how true. Not with their understanding between them. Not with her temporary status in Broken Bend, his aversion to her career choices and her aversion to his child-rearing choices all fixed between like an intermingling maze of brick walls.

  She didn’t finish her sentence, and he didn’t ask her to. Probably because he saw through the veneer covering her feelings—the feelings that practically screamed her interest in him, and went beyond that of an employee or a caring nanny.

  The feelings she better get a lid on before she left more carnage in her wake than burned vegetables.

  “I’ll take a sandwich.” Brady’s calm voice slid her train of thought solidly back on track, and she exhaled the overwhelming emotion that had been building. “No mayo.”

  She slapped together two sandwiches, putting extra mayo on hers just to make him wrinkle his nose at the sight, and slid his across the island on a napkin. “Bon appétit.”

  He took a big bite, the gleaming light in his eyes suggesting more teasing was about to commence. She spoke first to stop it. “Thanks for bringing Scooter back. I hope he didn’t bother you.”