“No big deal. At this point, what’s one more four-legged creature on a ranch?” He shrugged and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “At least this one isn’t about to make more animals.” He nudged Scooter, who had crawled under the island in hope of catching crumbs, playfully with his foot. “I’ve got an expecting mare and several cows due in the next few weeks—out of season. It wasn’t the first time Spitfire’s gotten out of his pen.”
“Hopefully the last, though.” Caley shuddered at the memories of that day. Most were pretty scary—though maybe the one of her lying in Brady’s arms in her truck was the most terrifying of all. Did he think about it as much as she did?
She risked a glance at his face, but his expression remained stoic as he continued rattling off facts about his herd. She listened closely, not because the topic was particularly interesting, but because of the intensity with which he spoke. Ranching really was his passion. Why couldn’t he see Ava shared that same dream? Why couldn’t he respect it if he felt the same?
“Enough about that.” Brady finally leaned back with a sigh, hooking his booted feet under the island. “I can ramble on about ranch stuff all day. It’s nice talking to someone besides Max about these things. Hard to stop, I guess.”
“What, Nugget doesn’t give you good advice on baling hay and mending fences?” Caley grinned. “Shocking.”
“Sometimes I wonder if he’d give better advice than Max.” Brady snorted. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that. We’re best friends, but sometimes...” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “We go way back. Maybe too far.”
Caley began to put their condiments back in the refrigerator. “No offense taken. I understand.” Though, really, she didn’t. She never stayed anywhere long enough to have a permanent best friend. Someone reliable, someone always there. Someone to vent to or even vent about when she was having a bad day, and know it was still all right. What would that feel like?
Brady and Max were a prime example. They obviously argued and drove each other crazy, but worked so well together they took care of entire ranch between the two of them. And Ava clearly adored her “uncle.” That spoke a lot for his character, even if his personality rubbed Caley the wrong way.
She peeked at Brady from under her lashes as she returned the mayo jar to the refrigerator door. Talk about opposites. Brady’s dark hair and blue eyes were a contrast to Max’s lighter brown hair and dark eyes—just like Brady’s stoic, steady and resolute manner contrasted with Max’s fun-loving, teasing and lighthearted ways.
She’d guess the two of them had been unstoppable in high school.
“So how’s Nonie?” Brady capped the lid on the jar of pickles and came around the island to hand them to her.
She slid the jar back on the shelf and wiped the condensation on her jeans. “She’s good in so many ways. Mentally, it’s as if we’re back chatting on her floral-print sofa at her house, like nothing changed. But physically...” She shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the inevitable. “It’s a downhill road. She’s really weak. More so than I thought at first—apparently she puts on a good front for Ava.” After their last visit, she’d watched the strength drain from Nonie as they waved goodbye. Her grandmother had been asleep before they shut the door behind them.
Brady crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the sink. “Ava enjoys visiting with her. I’m glad you don’t mind letting her tag along.”
“Of course. Ava’s a good kid. She makes Nonie happy.” More than Caley did, but she had to stop thinking like that. Nonie didn’t think badly of her, so why should she? Still, the past was hard to let go of. If she opened her heart and set it free, she might break completely. It seemed easier to keep paying for her mistakes. Keep the wall up.
Protect them both from more heartache.
“Speaking of good kids.” Caley cleared her throat and nudged the refrigerator door shut with her hip. “You know your daughter is just like you, right?”
Brady’s shoulders straightened and he eased slightly upward. “What do you mean?”
“Your love for the ranch. The land. The animals.” She turned to face him, wishing she could drill the obvious into his head. “I know it’s not really my business, but I can’t help but notice how much she longs to be like you. To do what you do.”
His lips flattened. “She’s a little young.”
“She’s on the verge of becoming a young woman.” Tension knotted in her shoulders, and she crossed her arms, mimicking his defensive posture. “Don’t tell me you think women can’t run a ranch or take care of livestock. Because I seem to recall saving you from a bull more ornery than y—”
In a flash, Brady stood directly before her, one finger gently covering her lips. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
The contact of his knuckle, warm against her mouth, sent a spark down her spine. She pressed her lips together, almost distracted from her point.
Almost.
She narrowed her eyes and he dropped his hand to his side but didn’t step away. She tried to ignore his proximity and the way her breath hitched in her throat. “Why not?”
“Because you don’t mean it. And you’ll regret it.”
“Regret saying you’re ornery? I don’t think so.” She meant the words to come out firmly, but they sounded more like flirty banter instead. She licked her lips and stepped back, away from his presence, which did crazy things to her heart—and apparently her capability of speech.
He gave her a dry grin, easing back to the counter where he’d come from and this time hopping up to a seated position on top. His booted feet hung almost to the floor. “I’m not a sexist, Caley. No matter how hard you try to make me that way, it’s just not true.”
“Maybe not, but you think women don’t have any business doing ranch work?” She wanted to plant her hands on her hips but knew how immature the motion would make her look—defeating her point. She clenched her fists at her side in an effort to control the impulse. “Or firefighting?”
His eyes darkened, casting a serious hue back on their conversation. Although that was probably her fault, too. “You don’t understand.”
“Then enlighten me.” They were too far into this to back down now. Besides, Caley had faced bigger giants before and come out victorious. She’d fight for Ava—and herself. Because they deserved it.
And maybe because being angry at Brady was a whole lot easier than trying not to fall for him.
They locked eyes, each daring the other to speak truth first. Caley held his gaze, refusing to blink or look away or admit defeat. She wanted—no, needed—to know his heart on this issue.
Just was too afraid to admit to herself why it mattered so much.
A plethora of emotions flickered through Brady’s blue eyes as he clearly debated what to say. Doubt. Hope. Distrust.
Longing.
He was going to cave. She knew it. She could feel it pulsing through the air between them, about to ignite. This was it—the moment she helped him and Ava have a breakthrough. The moment Caley’s time on the ranch came to fruition.
The moment she could forget all the reasons why it couldn’t work between them and concentrate only on the lingering brand of his finger on her lips.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Her pager. Caley’s heart fell somewhere near the tiled kitchen floor, and she could almost tangibly see the gate between her and Brady slam shut and lock. “Brady, I—”
He just shook his head as she reached across the counter for the black box. How could one little piece of technology have such repeated bad timing? She glimpsed the text scrolling across the tiny screen. Brush fire. Highway 90. All units respond.
She had to go.
He slipped off the counter and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow.” He wrenched it open.
She grabbed her purse and k
eys from the end table and followed him, shoving the pager inside her bag. “Brady, wait.” She couldn’t stay, couldn’t hash it out now. But she couldn’t leave with his frustration weighing so heavily on her heart. They’d been close. So close.
He turned abruptly in the open doorway, stopping her short. “Just be careful.” His eyes bored into hers, and she couldn’t breathe. Could only nod.
He held her gaze a moment longer, then disappeared into the night. She clutched the door frame to regain her balance, inhaling a sharp breath before quickly climbing into her truck and turning over the engine.
She should have taken the frustration as the gift it was. Because the only thing weighing on her now was not the anger she’d expected to see in his eyes.
It was the sadness.
Chapter Thirteen
She’d made it home safely last night—he knew because he stayed up watching until her truck headlights beamed down her driveway at 11:32 p.m.
Brady yawned, almost covering his mouth with his gloved hand before remembering what he’d been doing for the past twenty minutes—mucking out stalls. He’d spent the first half of the night worrying about her, and the second half reliving their argument in her kitchen. He’d been about half a second from telling her the truth about Jessica, from opening up and sharing details he hadn’t shared with anyone other than Max, until that pager chimed. Those simple, high-pitched tones managed to serve as a timely reminder that he had no business sharing anything with Caley. Not when she was bound to leave eventually. Not when her career choice might as well stand as an impenetrable wall between them. Not when he needed the exact opposite in a future wife and stepmother for his daughter.
He stabbed the pile of hay harder with his pitchfork. The phrase life wasn’t fair was perhaps the understatement of the century. What were the odds of him falling for a woman as complicated as Caley Foster after all these years? If only she could have been what she’d seemed when she first moved into the rental house. Sweet. Responsible. Mature.
To be honest, she was all of those things.
She was just also so much more.
“For someone who’s so attracted to his nanny, you sure don’t spend much time inside the house.” Max’s head popped over the top of the stall next door, where he’d been repairing a loose board.
Brady stopped shoveling and narrowed his eyes. “For someone who’s paid to work, you sure don’t seem to remember who cuts your check.”
“Ouch. Touch a nerve, much?” Max hung his arms over the top of the stall. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he swiped at it with one sleeve, grinning.
“You know how I feel about Caley—and her career. Subject closed.” Too bad he couldn’t convince himself of the same. But it had to be this way. He wouldn’t put himself into a relationship with that level of risk to his—or Ava’s—heart again. Nor could he start a relationship where he wanted to change the other person from the get-go. He and Jessica were proof enough of how that method never worked. Opposites might attract initially, but they didn’t make for an easy marriage. He wouldn’t go that route again.
No, if he ever remarried—and that was a Texas-sized if—it’d be to someone who would understand his desires to raise Ava a certain way and not push him to change his opinions. Someone who wouldn’t try to force him to explain him choices, but rather step back and respect them.
Now if he could just get Caley’s energy, zest and bright-eyed smile out of his head...
Max held up both hands in exaggerated surrender, the hammer tucked between his thumb and forefinger. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
He went back to whistling under his breath, and Brady had half a mind to switch chores with him. See how feisty his friend felt with pitchfork in hand instead of hammer. But he dutifully continued shoveling. It wasn’t Max’s fault he’d fought with Caley—again—and been reminded of her choices again. It was his own fault for staying up late and worrying about her as if she was his responsibility. She was hired help. He didn’t worry about Max in his off hours, and they were best friends. So what did that say about his feelings toward Caley?
Trouble, was what it spelled. In big, capital letters.
He finally tuned in to what Max was whistling—the old schoolyard song about kissing in a tree. “Cut it out, man.”
Max’s laughter rang between hammer blows. “Oh, come on, it’s a little funny.”
Brady hefted his pitchfork into another pile. “Keep your day job.” He thought about adding a threat about how Max might not have a chance if he kept it up for long, but he knew it’d fall flat. He’d never fire his best friend, and Max knew it. Max had been there for him through the rough months after Jessica’s death, and deep down, he knew his friend just wanted him to find happiness again. Couldn’t fault a man for caring.
He might tattoo the word decorum across his forehead, though.
Footsteps pounded down the barn aisle. Brady looked up from the stall just as Ava appeared before him, breathless and red-cheeked. Scooter followed at her heels, tongue dripping on the barn floor. He must have followed her from the bus stop near Caley’s house. She dropped her denim backpack at her feet, raising a small cloud of hay and dust. “Hey, Dad. Need some help?”
In the barn, with restless horses roaming the pasture right outside, waiting for their stalls to be cleaned and eager for their supper? Not a chance. “I’ve got it handled, honey.”
The hope faded from her eyes, and she stretched on tiptoe to peer over the stall door, Scooter pushing against her legs. “Is that your last one?”
“Two left.” Brady checked to make sure none of the horses had wandered back into the barn before resuming his mucking. “How was school?”
Ava ignored him. “Uncle Max, do you need help?” Renewed enthusiasm filled her voice, and Brady fought back a wave of jealousy. She’d always had a bond with his friend. First Max and now Caley. Even Nonie. Would Ava always prefer other adults to him?
Max set down his hammer with a bang and exited the barn door, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Need help? You know what, I think I just might—”
Brady loudly cleared his throat, and Max shot him a look before turning back to Ava. “I mean, I don’t right now, darling. Sorry. We’re about done here.” He looked up and down the barn aisle, his voice rising with interest. “Where’s Caley?”
“Miss Caley,” Brady corrected. He finished filling the wheelbarrow and backed it out into the aisle. Ava gave him a wide berth with a wrinkled nose. See—young girls didn’t need to be doing farm chores, anyway. She should be in the house with Caley, cooking. Well, that was probably asking a lot on Caley’s watch, but certainly doing art projects or playing in her room. Girl stuff. Safe stuff.
Ava shrugged. “She’s in the house, I guess. I just got home from school.”
“You didn’t go straight inside?” Brady’s grip tightened on the wheelbarrow handles. “Ava, you know the rules. You get off the bus and head into the house first thing. Miss Caley might be worried about you. She knows you get home at a certain time.”
Her lip pouted slightly. “I just wanted to see you.”
The admission tore at his heart, but rules were rules. And his were meant to keep her not only on a routine, but alive. She didn’t belong in the barn, not when he was too busy to keep a close eye on her and protect her. It only took a second for his life to unravel. He’d watched it play out before, and he wasn’t about to start plucking at loose threads now. “I’m glad you wanted to see me, but—”
“No, you’re not.” Ava grabbed her backpack from the floor and hitched it on her shoulder, voice warbling with either unshed tears or anger—he couldn’t tell which. “You could care less as long as your precious work gets done.”
He opened his mouth to counter, but a shout from Caley interrupted. “Ava! Are you outside?” Her tone, muffled from the bac
k door, carried a slight note of worry. “Ava!”
Scooter barked and darted out of the barn. Ava darted a glance at Brady, her wary eyes likely expecting an I told you so. “Don’t worry, I’m going. I’ll get out of your way.”
Then she ran down the barn aisle toward the house before Brady could say a word.
* * *
“I know it hurts your feelings, Ava, but he’s your dad.” Caley stacked two cookies—store-bought—into a mini tower in front of Ava and slid a glass of milk across the kitchen table toward her. Outside, Scooter whined and pawed at the door. She eyed him, debating breaking Brady’s rule about pets in the house and letting him in anyway. He wouldn’t go home, almost as though he was worried about Ava after seeing her cry. But that wouldn’t be the best example during her impromptu “your dad isn’t your enemy” speech.
Caley took a sip of her own milk before continuing. “He’s trying to do what’s best for you.” The words reluctantly escaped through gritted teeth. She’d heard Nonie tell her the same thing growing up over the years—and she hadn’t received them any better than Ava appeared to be.
Ava spoke around a big bite of chocolate cookie, crumbs spraying from her lips onto the table. “I don’t get it. I’m not going to get trampled because I’m just standing in the barn.” She rolled her eyes in true preteen fashion. “I’m the only kid in Broken Bend who has to beg their dad to muck out a horse stall. And still gets told no.”
If Ava’s situation wasn’t so painfully similar to her own childhood, it’d be humorous. She’d never had to beg her dad to let her do chores, but she could relate to Ava’s desire for connection, for quality time—and being denied. Her father had chosen fishing and hunting and any other male-dominated hobby over time with her every chance he got—and refused to take her along. If he thought it was dangerous to take her hunting, then why didn’t he stay behind and do something else with her instead?
The Rancher Next Door Page 11
