by Drake, Laura
Wyatt toyed with his coffee cup. “Then it looks like we’re back to selling some of the land. I don’t want to do it either, but we have to be realistic.”
The dark clouds of foreboding he’d been turning his back on could no longer be ignored. The too much coffee he’d drunk burned in his stomach.
His brother continued. “I know Colburn has already put in an offer. Wouldn’t it be better if we sell some land and at least have cash to run the rest?” Wyatt’s look speared him. “I know it would stick in your gut to sell to him, after Jo. But if we don’t, we’re going to lose everything. Every day that goes by—”
Max exploded to his feet, his chair hitting the floor with a clatter. “Goddammit, Wyatt, don’t you think I know that?” He strode to the wooden door and yanked it open, slamming the screen door against the wall as he barreled through. Sensing movement, he turned his head to see the city girl lurking against the wall, a startled deer-in-the-headlights look to her huge brown eyes. The high color in her cheeks told him she’d been standing in the cold for some time, spying, no doubt.
“This day just keeps getting better and better.” He snorted in disgust and kept walking.
After sharing a quiet breakfast with Wyatt, Bree followed him to the barn for a rundown of her job duties.
“We don’t expect you to groom the working ponies. The cowboys do that.”
She waited in the doorway. “Oh, that’s okay. I’m awake early anyway, and we all enjoyed it.”
Wyatt walked past her, leading the way down the aisle. “I’ll explain the routine to you.” As he turned, she almost walked into him. “And don’t let me forget to show you how to cinch a Western saddle.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and Aubrey smiled back.
Wyatt introduced her to her charges and the details of their care. Various breeds occupied the twenty stalls: Arabs, Thoroughbred crosses, a Tennessee Walker, and most prevalent, the quarter horse, king of the West. By the time they’d worked their way back to the tack room, Aubrey had relaxed. Wyatt knelt at the door to her room, pulling a screwdriver and a small paper bag from his back pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m installing a dead bolt and a slide lock.”
She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Oh, thanks. That’s thoughtful of you.”
As he looked up, she was struck again by his golden handsomeness. “Don’t thank me. This is Max’s idea. It’s his concession to allow you to sleep out here. It’s more to make him feel better than out of necessity.” He must have seen her stiffen because he said, “Look, Bree, you’ll find it’s best to choose your battles with Max.”
“Is that how you’ve gotten along with him all these years?”
“No.” He bent to his task and screwed the plate in with more force than necessary. “This is my first trip home since I left when I was seventeen.”
“Can you tell me something? Does Max have a problem with mankind in general, or is it just me?”
Wyatt smiled up at her. “Both, I think.” His smile slipped. “You may want to give Max a bit of a break. He’s taken a lot of hits lately.” His gaze sharpened on her face. “One of the hits had auburn hair. Just like yours.”
“Oh.” The revelation hit her brain like a punch. She, of all people, could understand loss of a dream.
Wyatt looked back to the doorframe. “Don’t feel bad. There was no way you could know.”
She hesitated to bring up the next subject, but she didn’t want to put it off. Besides, she’d already put one foot in her mouth—God knew, it was big enough for two. “I overheard you and Max in the mess hall this morning.”
Wyatt’s neck turned red and the screwdriver slipped off the screw head.
“This must be a stressful time for you.” His head came up. She touched his shoulder. “I just wanted you to know that I’m here, if you ever want to talk.”
“Hello the barn!” A female voice drifted down the breezeway, announcing the first boarder of the day. “Anybody here?”
“Well, that’s my cue.” Aubrey glanced into the tiny mirror and slapped on a baseball cap instead of trying to tame her unruly mane.
Wyatt stood and slipped the screwdriver into his back pocket. “That’s Sue Phelps. Her horse is Winter Park, the big Appaloosa. You’ll do fine, Bree. This will all be routine in no time.”
She took a deep breath and got to work.
The days of her new life flew by, filled with simple tasks: grooming, feeding, and getting acquainted with the horses. Aubrey enjoyed their individual personalities, even Trouble, Max’s bad boy. She saw through his testosterone-fueled fractiousness. All he needed was more exercise and something to distract him.
If only his owner were so simple. The brothers seemed busy as well, appearing at mealtime to bolt food, then disappear back into the house. Their overheard conversations were all business, but she sensed a fragile truce between them.
Bree finished picking out the hooves of a mixed-breed bay belonging to an executive in town before picking up his empty water bucket.
“Where is everyone?” A shrill voice shattered the late-morning quiet.
Bree stepped out of the box stall and slid the door closed. A raven-haired woman in tight jodhpurs strode the aisle, a riding crop slapping lustrous knee-high riding boots with every step. Her white blouse exposed a generous swell of creamy cleavage. A man in a business suit trailed in her wake, fingers tapping an iPhone, one eye downcast, wary of the shine on his Toschi loafers.
“Why isn’t my horse saddled?” The woman stopped and looked down her imperious nose at Bree. “And who are you?”
Well, la-di-da. “I’m Bree, the new groom. Can I help you?”
“Jesus, this place changes grooms like I change lipstick.” She looked Bree over from top to bottom. “And now I’ve got to break in another one.”
Bree recognized the aggressive glint in her eye from her shark swim at Other Coast Trends. “This is Tuesday.” The woman lifted her arm, glancing at a glinting Rolex on her slim wrist. “It is ten thirty. In the future, I expect my horse groomed, saddled, and waiting. This day, this time, every week. Understand?”
The businessman raised his head, as if sensing chum in the water.
Aubrey pasted a helpful smile on her face. “Yes, ma’am, perfectly clear. Might I inquire as to your horse’s name?”
“Jolie Danse, the registered Thoroughbred in the end stall.” She turned to the man, Bree dismissed. “He’d better not be the mess he was last week, or I swear I’m finding another barn. I don’t care if the Jamesons do need the money.”
What a bitch. Bree turned on her heel, not sure if she was angry for herself or the brothers. And what kind of man would put up with that for more than two minutes?
She slung the stall door open and caught the halter of the rangy gray gelding who high-stepped in anticipation. After cross tying him in the aisle, she tacked him with the expensive bridle and English saddle that hung outside the stall. The woman sashayed over, and Bree caught the assessing look out of the corner of her eye as she worked.
“Well, at least this groom shows some promise.” The grudging compliment seemed directed to the barn in general, since the businessman had remained by the tack room, and she wasn’t lowering herself to speak with Bree.
The gelding whickered and dipped its head to nuzzle its owner. Alfalfa-stained drool smeared her immaculate blouse, but the woman ignored it, running a hand down his silky, dappled flank.
“Yes, I know, Peanut.” Her tone was gooey syrup. “You’ve been neglected of late. We’re going to keep an eye on that. I promise.” The gray’s head moved lower, snuffling. “Did you miss Mommy?” The ice queen’s face thawed as a look of delight crossed it. “You big baby, you just want a treat.” She hugged the horse’s neck and pulled a carrot from the back waistband of her jodhpurs. “Yes, Peanutiest, I brought you something. I swear you are the most spoiled baby on the planet.”
She turned to catch Bree’s openmouthed stare and
looked down a nose too perfect not to have had work done. “Surely, even you have heard of using a barn name for blooded horses. His registered name is too much a mouthful for everyday use.” She sniffed and gave the gray a kiss on his delicate nose.
Hard to hate a woman who makes a fool of herself over a horse. Aubrey pulled the last stirrup down with a snap, careful to hide a smile. “Is there anything else I could help you with, ma’am? Do you need a leg up?”
Her haughty look was back in place. “No. That will be all.”
Bree unsnapped the crossties and handed over the reins. The woman led the horse to the businessman, who pocketed his phone and listened to her babble with an indulgent smile.
Even an ice queen like that had a love. Bree’s hand jumped to her hollowed-out chest. Max’s strong profile drifted through her mind before she could shut it out. She snorted to banish the silly imagining. You’re here to heal, chickie, not go all soft. You saw where being soft got you, back in LA.
Keep things light and simple and everything will be okay.
CHAPTER
5
You have no idea how good it is to see you, Juan.” Wyatt made sure the door to his bedroom was closed before he Skyped home.
Juan’s smile was wide and warm. “You look careworn. What’s going on there? Is your Neanderthal brother giving you a hard time?”
“Not on purpose. Max is a good guy, but it’s a simple, black-and-white lifestyle out here, and my presence brings up issues he’d rather not deal with.”
“Then let him deal with himself—and the details. Why don’t you just come home? After all, the will was clear. He’s executor, and you get half of everything. Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”
“I know, but—”
“Besides, I miss you like crazy.” Wyatt watched as Juan’s fingers touched his computer screen, as if to bridge the two thousand miles between them.
Homesickness opened a hole in Wyatt’s chest, and he fell in. He’d looked at the local weather report this morning; Boston would be covered in a perfect crystalline blanket of snow by now. “Did you go to La Vie for a chocolate croissant this morning?”
“Is it Sunday?” Juan smiled into the camera. “Of course I did. Celeste asked where you were. When can you get out of there?”
Wyatt rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “It’s not that simple. The ranch is in trouble. Even if I gave Max my half, he’d lose it in a year.”
“So? Why is this your problem?” Juan leaned a bit closer to the screen. “You’ve heard from him what, five times in the past twenty years? He doesn’t care about you, Wyatt. Why are you wasting your time?”
“He does care about me, Juan. He loves me. He just doesn’t know how to reconcile loving me with his upbringing. But it’s more than that.” He glanced out the window that overlooked the front yard, the road, and the vast acreage beyond it. “I’ve avoided this place forever. Too long. Dad’s gone—it’s too late to reconcile with him. I don’t know if it’s possible to get closer to Max, but I’m not staying here for him only.
“I need to reconcile with this place, Juan. I blew out of here and never looked back. Coming here reminds me that I left things undone. The kind of things that eat at the back of your mind—your self-esteem. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Sure I can.” Juan’s sad smile pulled at him. “But don’t forget, while you’re wandering in the wilds, finding yourself, that you have a full, rich life here and a guy that’s sure missing you.”
If he hadn’t been breathing the past in with the cold Colorado air, he would have hopped on the next plane home. “I’m not likely to forget, Juan, because I sure am missing you too.”
On Friday evening, Aubrey sprinted to the mess hall, attempting to dodge fat raindrops. Once under the shelter of the porch, she walked to the end to look up at the sky. Purple, flat-bottomed clouds scudded from west to east, their white thunderhead tops broiling upward. She’d seldom noticed the sky in California; why bother? It was always blue, except for the transition to a smutty layer of smog at the horizon.
The sky out here had personality. The dawn was optimistic; days like today, moody and angry. Sunsets seemed weary from a long day’s labor, a misty pink edged in gold. But the nights… The nights were velvet. Aubrey wrapped herself in them to ward off the chilly air and the memories that dogged her steps when the sun went down and she was alone.
Her boots made a hollow thumping on the silver-gray boards of the porch. Voices trailed off when she opened the screen door. A few of the men mumbled a greeting as she passed. Brushing their cow ponies before dawn each day seemed to have broken the ice with the shy cowboys. She would never fit in, but she was getting used to their old-world manners and appreciated the deference they afforded her. They reminded her that, in spite of her job and her clothes, she was a woman.
She looked forward to a chat with Tia Nita. Being surrounded by men all day had its advantages, but sometimes she yearned for the simple company of a woman. She pushed through the door of the kitchen to see the older woman struggling to lift a huge pot from the stove. “Tia!” She grabbed oven mitts from the counter and rushed across the room. “Let me help you.” She shooed the woman’s hands away and pulled the pot of beans from the stove, moving it to trivets on the counter. “You shouldn’t be lifting that, especially with nine able-bodied males within earshot.”
“Bah. If I wait for them, we’ll be here until breakfast. Men do not belong in the kitchen.”
Bree smiled at the dark-skinned woman. Salt-and-pepper hair frizzed from her kerchief, and her face glowed with moisture from the steam.
Bree picked up a knife to chop cilantro. Nita hadn’t allowed her access to the kitchen until convinced that Bree was serious about wanting to learn to cook. She’d first suggested it to ease Tia’s burden, but was surprised to find she enjoyed it. In her old life, cooking had consisted of reheating restaurant hors d’oeuvres. Wouldn’t her friends laugh if they could see her? Huh, friends. All those “friends” disappeared around the time that cell door slammed shut.
“Tia? Tell me about Max and Wyatt. What were they like growing up?”
“I tell you, but cut poquito—small.” Tia cut a stalk of cilantro to demonstrate, then handed the knife back. “See?”
Bree concentrated, trying to match Tia’s example.
Tia picked up a shredder and a block of cheese. “Max, he came first. His mama was Cheyenne. Back then, it was not good to be Indian.” She sighed. “His papa didn’t care though. He loved that woman. Maybe too much, I think.”
Bree finished chopping cilantro and moved on to the mound of tomatoes that were an integral part of every meal. “What happened to her?”
“Fever. At the end she didn’t even know Angus. She had bad pain here.” She touched her right side. “How you say?”
“Appendicitis?”
“Sí. When she died, that was the start of the bad times. Angus, he locked himself away to drink. Angry all the time.” Nita’s plump arms wobbled as her hands flew. A pristine industrial shredder stood on the back counter, but she insisted that cheese tasted better shredded by hand. “Max, he was a little boy. He didn’t understand. Angus was too busy hurting to take care of him. I do my best, but…” She shook her head. “It was a bad time.”
“What about Wyatt?”
Tia looked over with sad eyes. “That was the beginning of a worse time. But first Angus, he started to get better and take care of the ranch again. He looked around and saw Max running wild, old enough to learn.” Her hands stilled as she smiled into the distance, remembering.
“Maxie looked like his mama, and Angus, he loved that boy. They were always together then.” Tia chose a block of jack cheese, and creamy slivers fell on the shredded mound of gold cheddar. Her tone hardened. “Then Angus goes to Denver to buy a bull. But he came home with new cow, too. That was Wyatt’s mama.” Tia’s dark eyes flashed. “That Christina, she was trouble. Angus didn’t see until it was too late. She’s one o
f those…” Tia lifted her hands to twirl them around her head. “Fancy ladies. She didn’t like life on the ranch. Not a bit.” She picked up the shredder once more and bent to her task. “All she wants is Angus’s money. In Denver, she thought he was rich.” Her eyes wrinkled with glee. “Ha! She got a surprise.” Her face sobered. “Christina stayed long enough to have that baby; then she’s gone. Angus went to bring cattle from hills, and she lit out like her tail was on fire!”
“She left without her son?” Bree imagined a golden-haired baby lying in a crib, wailing for a mother who would never return. “What kind of woman could do that?”
“Pah!” Tia spat out. “A dog is a better mother than that one. It’s good she left.” Setting the bowl aside, she moved to open the oven door. As she opened it, the delicious smell made Bree’s mouth water. “Then it was just Angus and the boys. Much better then.” She pulled a cookie sheet of golden-brown puffed pastries out of the oven.
“Oh my God, Tia, what are those? Besides heavenly fat pills, that is.”
“Beef empanadas.” She placed one oven-mitted hand on her hip and turned to look Bree over. “You eat two. How you expect to get a man if you have a body like one?”
“You’re assuming I want a man.” Bree lifted a huge casserole dish of pinto beans as an excuse to escape before Tia got on a roll. Her life was complicated enough without adding love to the mix. She ignored the argument made by her libido and pushed the swinging kitchen door open with her butt. “Besides, if I keep eating your food, you’re going to have to widen the doors around here so I can get through them. Saddlebags should only be on horses.”
A half hour later, Bree addressed Wyatt, who sat beside her at the dinner table. “I’d like to take my half day off tomorrow and run into town, if that’s okay.” The cowboys had carried their dishes to the kitchen before gravitating to the television, as they did most nights. Only she and the two brothers remained, drinking coffee.
