by Drake, Laura
“There could be a lot of money in this, Max. The industry is taking off, and there’s a demand for good bucking stock.” She took his silence for attention, glad she didn’t have to say this face-to-face.
“We wouldn’t even need to sell all your stock. The breed of bull doesn’t matter, only that he bucks. We’d just inseminate your bucking cows with semen from retired PBR Champion bulls.”
“Bucking cows?”
“Well, yeah. We’d have better odds of producing good buckers if both parents like to buck, see?”
He shook his head. “I don’t—”
“Of course, I’d expect you to do due diligence. If you stop by my room sometime, I’ll show you my research. I’ve played with some spreadsheets and pro forma budgets.”
“Going in partners with you is out of the question.” His hands dropped from her waist.
“Why?”
“I don’t know a thing about you, Bree. You can’t expect me to trust my family legacy—”
“Oh really? You didn’t seem worried about where I came from, back there.” She jerked her head, indicating the trail back to the stream. “Look, Max, I’m only asking that you check it out before you reject the idea. Discuss it with Wyatt. This could be a good thing for all of us.”
She nudged the horse into a trot. Smooth gait or not, riding tandem was a precarious proposition, one that discouraged conversation.
CHAPTER
10
After spending an hour chasing down his stubborn, flea-bitten excuse for a mount, Max was tired, hot, and hungry. He strode across the yard to the house, ignoring the sniggers of the men who lounged on the mess hall porch, waiting to be called to dinner. The cowboys had been riding in when he and Bree had returned and they’d stared like they’d never seen a cowboy left afoot.
Max wiped his boots on the back porch mat and opened the screen door. A quick, hot shower and one of Tia Nita’s good suppers would go a long way to improving his attitude.
“You look grumpy for someone who just returned from a cozy ride.” Wyatt sat tipped back in a chair, laptop computer in his lap, grinning like a fool.
“Y’all are only jealous.” Max stomped to the kitchen to grab a beer.
“There’s some truth to that, brother.”
Max tipped the longneck back and drank deep, the bite making inroads in his dusty throat. He ran the sweating bottle across his hot forehead. “You’re not going to believe the hair-ball idea that crazy redhead came up with today.” He walked to the kitchen table, set his beer down, and leaned his palms on the edge. “She wants to go in partners with us. No. Scratch that. She wants to incorporate.”
Wyatt shifted his attention from the screen, one eyebrow raised. “Incorporate what?”
“A bucking-bull operation. She watched one night of the PBR, got online, and went loco.” He picked up his beer and took another swig. “She thinks we could make enough money to put this place in the black.”
“Well, how do you know we can’t? I would have never thought of that.”
“I’ll check it out. Raising bucking bulls may make some sense. But you and I going into business with her?” He snorted. “Not in my lifetime. This is a family business, and I intend to keep it that way.”
Wyatt threw his head back and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, now I understand.” Wyatt smiled into the distance.
“Are you going to fill me in, or keep braying like an ass?” People around here were starting to get on his nerves.
“Bree came to me a few days ago, asking how much we’d charge her to put a bull in our pasture.”
“What did you tell her?”
Wyatt looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “What’s a little summer grass? I told her it was no charge. But I wondered what she was up to.” He grinned. “She must’ve guessed what your reaction would be and decided to jump in. With or without us.”
“Why, that scheming little—”
“Just a minute, Max.” His boots thumped to the floor. “You turn down her proposal, and then she’s at fault for doing it on her own? What kind of pretzel logic is that?” He ran his hand over his chin and squinted. “I know you, Max. You’re not upset with the idea. You’re upset because it’s hers.”
That fried it. Max glared at his brother, spun on his heel, and stomped off to the shower.
Bree concentrated on cleaning the large hoof wedged between her knees. A featherlight touch roamed across the waist of her jeans. “Sorry, Peanut. I don’t have anything for you. Your mom will be here in a few minutes. She’ll bring you something.” Bree brushed a few cedar shavings from the polished hoof, dropped it and straightened. The silver-gray coat shone, not a hair out of place. The horse’s nicker told Bree that they weren’t alone before the sound of footsteps behind her did.
“Who gave you permission to braid his mane and tail?” The imperious voice announced the arrival of Peanut’s mistress.
Bree straightened her shoulders. This was a game she played—a challenge, to wring a grudging compliment from the barn’s toughest boarder. “Good morning, Janet. You’re right on time.”
Looking like she’d stepped off the cover of Town and Country, Janet ran a gloved hand over Peanut’s shiny flank. She eyed the fancy running plait Bree had spent a half hour braiding. She sniffed. As the big gray’s head came around to nuzzle her, Janet’s stern face melted to a child’s delight. Pulling a carrot from the waistband of her jodhpurs, she addressed the horse. “Yes, I know, honey. It’s a bitch to be all dressed up with nowhere to go, isn’t it?” Janet rubbed the velvet nose, then turned to Bree, haughty expression back in place. She reached in her pocket, pulled out a sheaf of cash, and thumbed through it.
Bree shook her head. “Oh no, ma’am. Thank you just the same. It’s all part of the service here at High Heather.” She unsnapped the short tether at the bridle’s bit and handed the reins to Janet. “Have a nice ride.”
Fifteen minutes later, Bree stood before the battered armoire that had been delivered from the big house the week before. Leave it to Wyatt to notice that she’d been living out of boxes under her bunk. Bree wondered again at the glaring disparity between the brothers’ personalities. She hadn’t seen much of Max the past few days, but when she did, he was frowning.
Reaching past the work shirts, Bree retrieved a satin hanger. She held the blouse up, surveying herself in the mirror inside the wardrobe door. The off-shoulder peasant blouse in pink cotton, finished below the breasts with smocking, left her waist bare.
Completely inappropriate. But I want to feel like a girl for a whi—
Her glance fell to her neck. The graceful blouse showcased the scar, making it more obscene. A bubble in her chest burst, sheeting her gut in shame. Her hand strayed to her stomach, to warm it. Wearing the blouse would be a travesty. A frilly felon.
The cold receded, leaving a tarry oil slick that clung to her insides. Bree swallowed the bitter residue in her throat, turned to the closet, and buried the blouse in the very back.
She chose a collared black fitted blouse with cap sleeves and denim short shorts instead, a watered silk scarf for her neck. She took a swig from the prescription antacid bottle, then gathered a fresh pair of fancy underwear and the flat, jeweled sandals she hadn’t been able to pass up the last time she’d been in town. She tugged a canvas bag full of dirty laundry from the bottom of the wardrobe. Might as well kill two birds.
It was one o’clock by the time she walked to the main house. Catching movement from the corner of her eye, she glanced up and stopped in her tracks. Max and Tia Nita were working the garden. Well, Max was, anyway.
Tia lounged in a webbed lawn chair, shaded by an umbrella anchored to the arm. Max was shirtless, hoeing in the hot sun. His jeans, farmer’s tan, and cowboy hat should have looked silly. Instead, he looked like Mr. July in a beefcake calendar, sweat glistening on his chest and biceps. Even his torso, usually hidden from the sun, was a warm bronze, reminding her of his Nativ
e heritage.
Tia pointed to something between the rows and Max set his hoe to it. Then, as if sensing her gaze, he looked up. He straightened, and leaning on the hoe, thumbed his hat back. Bree’s skin heated as a stab of lust shot through her. Wow, that sun is hot.
Except the sun didn’t touch the part of her that burned. She felt like a rabbit in a snare, unable to look away. Tia followed the line of Max’s interest, saw Bree, and waved. With effort, she returned the wave before she hurried to the house and a cold shower.
Later, she lingered in the bathroom, hair in a towel, checking her face in the mirror. Thanks to the baseball cap, she hadn’t collected many more freckles. As she slathered on moisturizer, she wished for at least a cover stick for the dark circles, but her makeup had been gathering dust in the bottom of her suitcase since she’d arrived. She smoothed vitamin E cream over the scar. Damaged goods. She shook her head to dislodge the thought. Only the guiltless get to whine. The past was gone; all she could do was make better decisions for the future. She tied the scarf over the abomination and stuffed her discarded clothes into the laundry bag.
After starting the first load, Bree wandered to the great room, intending to find a book to read from the shelves flanking the massive fieldstone fireplace. It was a handsome room. Sunlight streamed in the tall windows and French doors, highlighting the huge chocolate leather couches and bright Navajo rugs on the polished oak floor.
She paused at the sight of Tia Nita sitting in an overstuffed chair, knitting.
“Ah, Miss Bree, come sit.” She patted the arm of the chair next to hers. Bree crossed the room and sat. “Today you look like a chica—very pretty.” Tia touched Bree’s cheek, frowning. “Why you don’t sleep?”
Bree’s conscience squirmed. “I sleep.” She glanced to the pile of yarn in Tia’s lap. “What are you making?”
“I make scarves for the cowboys, for winter.” She picked up the needles, and her fingers flew.
“The colors are beautiful.” Bree touched the soft strip of alternating copper and turquoise blue. “But why do you bother? The men can buy warm clothes in town.”
“I do it for me. When I knit, my troubles go.” Tia glanced up from her needles. “I can teach you.”
“Oh, don’t bother. I’m a klutz with that kind of thing.”
Tia reached into the cloth bag at her feet and brought out another pair of needles and a ball of blue yarn. “It will give you something to do when you don’t sleep.”
Tia had a point. She sure could use something to occupy her mind at night, when memories lie in the dark, waiting to pounce. She’d finished cleaning every piece of dirty leather in the barn and needed something else to do with the smallest hours of night.
Bree picked up the needles. “Okay, but I hope this yarn isn’t expensive. It’s going to end up in a hopeless knot.”
An hour later, Bree took a break and stretched cramped fingers. Following Tia’s careful directions, she’d produced a small swatch of uneven stitches. As long as she didn’t put it next to Tia’s, she was pretty pleased. “I was surprised to see Max gardening with you this morning, Tia. Can’t one of the hands help you?”
As Tia looked up, her needles stilled. “My Maxie. He started gardening with me when he was little. I think he missed his mama, and it reminds him of her. When he was in school, it was something we did together. Now? I think he does it so I don’t work so hard.” A proud, maternal smile crossed her face. “He’s a good boy.”
Not knowing what to say, Bree laid the needles beside her and stood. “I’ll get us some iced tea.”
Rounding the corner of the kitchen, she saw the man himself, standing in front of the open refrigerator. He must’ve just come from the shower. His hair was slicked back, his feet bare. Pushing away the picture of Max as a little boy, missing his mom, she walked to the cupboard. “Hey, Max.” She reached on tiptoe to get two glasses.
A low whistle came from behind. She whirled around, nearly dropping one of the glasses.
“Damn, you clean up nice.” His eyes roamed her body from head to freshly painted toe. “Please tell me you’re not wearing that to dinner. We’ll have a riot on our hands.” He gave her a big-bad-wolf smile that made it plain that he could eat her up.
“Thanks. I think.” He looked good enough to eat himself—and lately she found herself hungry for more than just Tia’s meals. She kept from touching him as she reached around him to put the glass under the ice dispenser in the door. “As long as you’re standing there, would you mind getting the tea out for me?” She took a deep breath. The ice in the glasses clinked in her shaking hands. She took the two steps to the counter, set them down, and wiped her hands on the back of her shorts. “Have you thought at all about my proposal?”
He carried the jug to the counter. “I have. I have only one question.”
She relaxed. Business questions she could handle.
“Why did you go behind my back and ask Wyatt about putting a bull in our pasture?”
Her stomach clenched. She’d known he’d hear about that. “Maybe because I knew how you’d react.” She raised her chin and tried the imperious look that worked so well for Janet. “I was right.”
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “You don’t think you were a bit… underhanded?”
Her skin heated. She’d only been covering her bases. And buying a bull was a sound business decision. Damn him. “Look, bucko. I don’t need yours or anyone else’s permission to buy cattle. Or to go where I please. Or to do what makes me happy. Ever again.” She was flat done with being judged, formally or otherwise. “Max Jameson, you are an insufferable curmudgeon.” Stepping up, she poked a finger in his chest. “You’re a bully, and everyone kowtows to your foul moods. Well, I’ve got news. It takes a lot more than the likes of you to scare me.”
She lifted the full glasses. “Maybe people wouldn’t feel the need to do things behind your back if you were just a bit human, instead of two-thirds grizzly and the rest—” She sputtered, unable to think of anything bad enough. “Snidely Whiplash!”
With a head toss that flipped her hair over her shoulder, she stalked from the room.
Max cocked his head. “Snidely Whiplash?”
“Here, give me that. You never could dig postholes for crap.” Max took the double-bladed implement from his brother’s hands. “I’ll bet you have blisters inside those gloves, don’t you?” He rammed the digger into the rock-hard soil. God they needed rain.
“Well, excuse me. There aren’t many barbed-wire fences in Boston to keep the calluses up.”
Wyatt stepped to his horse and pulled the canteen strap off the saddle horn. He took off his hat and took a long drink, then handed it over. “It’s almost worth the blisters to be out here, though. I’d forgotten how beautiful the mountains are.”
“Hey, that was your choice. The mountains haven’t moved.” Max sipped metallic-tasting water and eyed his brother. “And grab the sunscreen out of your saddlebag. You’re getting burned.”
Wyatt put his hand on his hip, like a girl would. Max turned away and rammed the blades into the ground.
“Yeah. My choice. A pretty easy choice it was too, given the circumstances.”
“Oh, you know Dad—“
“Dad was only part of the problem, as you very well know.”
“I’m not saying I’m blaming you for leaving, Wyatt. But you understand what it’s like here. You were raised in the country.” He pushed on the handles and lifted out dirt, then rammed them into the ground again. Sweat rolled down his bare back and into his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about this.
“I understand better than you, Max, how the homophobes in town feel about my lifestyle. What I want to know is what you think.”
Max looked up. “You best to put on that sunscreen, I’m telling you.” He looked down the row of new fence posts—nowhere near enough to quit for the day. Shit. “Look, you know I love you. We grew up together. You’re my brother.” Another clump of dirt hi
t the ground, and he stopped to wipe his brow.
“Yeah, I know you love me. I don’t know what you think of me, though.”
Max threw down the post-hole digger. “What, Wyatt? You want to know what I think of your lifestyle?”
Wyatt nodded.
“I hate it. Okay? Is that what you want from me? I hate that you’re different. I hate that because of who you love, you don’t fit in.” He stomped to where the horses stood, snatching mouthfuls of prairie grass. He reached into the saddlebag and pulled out the sunscreen. “And I hate that it hurts you so much.”
He tossed the plastic bottle to Wyatt, walked back to the hole, and picked up the digger. Blood pounded in the veins of his neck, and his head throbbed in the same beat. “Now, can we just get this done so we can get back to the house and get a shower?”
“Okay, Max, we can let it go for now. But you’re going to have to find a way to deal with this, if we’re to have a relationship going forward.” He popped the top on the sunscreen and dabbed it on his palm. “Because I can’t change who I am, even if I wanted to.” He spread lotion on his face. “So that leaves only one of us to do the changing.”
CHAPTER
11
Saturday night, Max sat stewing at the empty dinner table in the mess hall. Wyatt had excused himself after dinner, saying he planned to work for a few hours. Max scowled at the men—and one stubborn woman—huddled around the television, watching bull riding. He remembered how shy the cowboys had been when Bree first arrived. What a difference a few weeks made. Now, aside from polite deference, the men showed no sign they noticed she was female. Bree had changed too. She’d been so skittish at first. Now she sat, hip-to-hip on the crowded couch with four men, cheering for the bulls.
She’s doing this just to get me to change my mind about the business. But if that were true, why was she ignoring him? Bree asked Armando a question, one Max couldn’t quite hear.
Armando laughed. “The flank strap doesn’t hurt them. It doesn’t even make them buck. That’s in their blood. All it does is get them to kick out their back feet, see?” He pointed to the screen, and Bree leaned in, intent.
