by Drake, Laura
Feeling lighter, she pulled the silky black dress over her head and stepped into the tall heels. The mirror reflected the Bree she used to know, sophisticated, competent, self-assured. They say looks can deceive. They sure convinced me. She gave herself a mental shake. She wasn’t going there. Not tonight. Something told her it was going to be special. Joy fizzed in her chest and potential whispered in the swish of her silk dress.
Except for the freckles, her shoulders were pretty in the backless halter dress, and the full skirt made her legs look even longer. And those shoes. She pointed a toe, admiring. They were worth the chunk of OCT paycheck she’d spent on them. It seemed so many years ago.
A knock interrupted as she’d snapped the cap back on her lipstick. Picking up her black clutch and diaphanous gold wrap from the desk, she opened the door to her escorts.
Wyatt’s slicked-back blond hair set off his angelic looks, and the black suit showed off his newly acquired tan. Bree put a hand to her chest. “Wyatt, you take my breath away.” She stepped out of the room and the door closed behind her.
Saving the best for last, she turned to Max. She’d pictured him looking awkward in a suit. He didn’t. From the crown of the black Resistol hat to the tips of his shiny black boots, he was the epitome of gentleman rancher. If possible, the double-peak yoke of his black Western jacket made his shoulders even wider. He’d opted for a simple onyx stone bolo tie set in silver, a matching onyx buckle at his trim waist. “And you take everything else.”
His teeth flashed white against his bronze skin, and the heat in those dark eyes made her aware of her nakedness under the silk dress. Somehow the trappings of society made him appear more savage by comparison. She curled her fingers to keep from reaching for him. Dampness touched the scrap of silk between her legs as her body remembered his strength and the thrilling wildness this afternoon.
When his searing gaze followed her every move, she knew they were sharing the same memory. His gaze strayed to her neck, and her hand flew to the scar. Self-conscious heat filled her face. She spun to the door, fumbling for her key in the tiny clutch. “I forgot my scarf.”
Max’s hand caught her elbow. His other slid lightly across her back. She shivered when he leaned to whisper in her ear, “You look in the mirror and you don’t like what you see? Don’t believe it. Look into my eyes; I’m the only mirror you’ll ever need.”
She did. Something in them filled a part of her she hadn’t known was empty. He didn’t have to speak the words. Bree drank in the love that radiated from his look. His touch.
Wyatt cleared his throat and checked his watch. “Pardon me, but we do have reservations.”
Laughing as she stepped onto the sidewalk, Bree inhaled the freshness of the oncoming dusk and the sweet scent of the roses planted next to her door. She felt like this was the prom night she’d never had.
They walked the few steps to the truck, and Wyatt slid into the backseat. She eyed the long step up, but suddenly, Max’s arms were there, lifting her onto the seat as if she weighed nothing. Watching him as he jogged around the front of the truck, she shivered with anticipation. This could be a night I remember for the rest of my life—a night to tell my daughter about someday.
CHAPTER
26
Max felt the slight pause in the room when they walked in. He noted the wolf-hungry looks on the men’s faces they passed. It wasn’t that Bree was the most beautiful woman in the room full of surgery-enhanced, pampered female skin, even though she was. He glanced to her freckles and red hair, tamed for once with combs and hair spray. What drew every male eye tonight was her vitality, the sheer femininity that sparked from her like a low-level electric current.
His chest swelled. Eat your hearts out. She’s mine.
The waiter escorted them to the best table in the place. He had to remember to thank Wyatt later. The panoramic picture window displayed the perfect rolling emerald lawn of the golf course. Not that he’d given it more than a cursory glance. He could hardly look away from the woman beside him and the radiance of soft light the sunset left on her skin.
“Can you believe Fire Ant had the highest score of the round today?” Bree laid a pristine linen napkin in her lap. “He bucked fair, too. No cheap moves. If he keeps this up, the riders will want him when he gets to be a final round.” She turned to Wyatt. “I forgot to tell you, I got Juan’s check in the mail before we left. Will you thank him for me?”
Wyatt said, “You can thank him yourself. He’s flying in for Thanksgiving.”
She hesitated, absorbing surprise. “Oh, Wyatt, I’m so pleased.” She shot a glance at Max. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Man has a right to see his investment.” Max cleared his throat. “Besides, he might as well see the family he’s gotten himself into.” He ducked his head.
“I talked to Armando before we left. He says we’ll have four or five promising youngsters next year to take to Challenger Tour events. If we’re hauling a full trailer, we’ll start making some real money.”
Wyatt sipped from a crystal glass of ice water. “And next spring, we’ll have calves on the ground from the semen we bought this year. In a couple of years, we’ll see Bree’s dream come to fruition.”
Max took his elbows off the table. “We’re maybe getting a bit ahead of ourselves here.”
“Don’t be a killjoy, Maxie. Dreaming is free.”
“And dreaming is about all we can afford right now.” Bree eyed the magnum of champagne the waiter proffered for Wyatt’s approval. At his nod, the waiter popped the cork, poured, and set the bottle in a free standing ice bucket beside the table.
Wyatt raised his glass. “I’ve taken a page from Max’s book of quotes for the occasion.” He paused, waiting for the partners to lift their glasses. “Success usually comes to those who are too busy to be looking for it.” He took a sip. “Thoreau.” He raised an eyebrow at Max.
“Ah, a challenge. Let me think…” Max raised his glass. “Success is getting what you want. Happiness is wanting what you get.” They all sipped. “Dale Carnegie.”
“No fair. I didn’t get the memo.” Bree chewed her lower lip. “I know!” Smiling, she raised her glass. “We came, we saw, we kicked its ass! Bill Murray.” She laughed, and the crystal rang as they touched glasses.
Bree wanted to stop time. She tuned out of the men’s conversation and absorbed the luxurious details around her, wanting to burn them into her memory: The stiff linen tablecloth, subdued light glinting on the silver, and the delicious sliding of cool air on her bare skin. With a jolt, she realized that for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like a dressed-up imposter in plush surroundings. As if she’d somehow slipped into her own skin, she suddenly belonged. The lights came on outside, bright circles of green on the grass. She sighed, wallowing in the comforting sense of having finally arrived. She glanced at Max. How did I get so lucky?
Max halted midsentence, feeling a looming presence at his elbow. A young man in a slouched jacket with spiky bleached hair and two diamond studs in one ear stood at the edge of their table. The jailbait draped on his arm wasn’t much better. The shiny pink baby-doll dress hit her upper thigh, and the clunky heels made her feet look like canapés on the ends of toothpicks—tattooed toothpicks.
The man stared across at Bree and said in a California-hip voice, “Well. Aubrey Madison.”
Bree’s jaw dropped open as if someone had cut the muscles.
“Babe, you’re the last person I expected to see. You’re in town for Fashion Week, right? Who are you working for now, and when did you get out of prison?”
What the hell? Max saw the life drain from Bree’s face. Her eyes went dead. He didn’t know what was going on, but nobody was talking to her like that. He balled his napkin, threw it on the table, and shot to his feet.
The man addressed the canapé girl. “Aubrey was the controller when I worked at Other Coast Trends until they hauled her away in handcuffs.” He looked down his nose at Bree. “Not that
she ever fit in there, anyway. Vic must have felt sorry for her. I mean, look at her. Where did you get that hideous scar?”
Max didn’t think—he grabbed a fistful of jacket and jerked the twerp up on his toes. “How about you and me have a discussion?” Nose to nose, he saw fear in the bastard’s eye. “Outside.”
The waiter pulled at his sleeve. “Sir! This is not a saloon! Please!”
Max let the dude go, to stumble backward. “Listen up, asshole. You need to learn how to behave around a lady.” He snorted. “And you shouldn’t go poking at something meaner’n you.” He shot his cuffs as the waiter hustled the couple away.
Max looked across the table at Bree.
He expected angry denials, sputtering outrage, righteous indignation. Bree just sat there. Anyone else would see a beautiful, composed young woman. Until they looked closer, at her eyes; it looked as though her soul had left her body.
A frantic animal fear climbed out of his belly, digging cold-tipped claws into his heart. He wanted to stop time. To roll it back to when he didn’t know what his mind was about to comprehend. Bree’s secret. Revealed.
The last sign of life was in her eyes, where a spark burned hot. His brain scrambled for a misunderstanding. A mistake. An excuse.
When the spark flickered out, his hope died.
“I was going to tell you,” she almost whispered. “I was going to tell you on the way home.”
Alarm ran through Max, quick as a shiver. He narrowed his eyes. “There’s nothing to what that SOB said.”
Her hand reached up to cover the scar, and like a penitent, she bent her head.
His legs went out from under him. He plopped into his seat.
Wyatt leaned over to touch her forearm. “Oh, Bree.” His words trailed off, as if he’d run out of breath. Wyatt sounded sorry.
“You were in prison?”
Wyatt glanced around. “Shhh, Max.”
When she looked up, her eyes begged him to wait—to listen. But he also saw the truth that swam with tears in her reddened eyes.
“I tried to tell you,” she almost whispered. “The night of the board meeting.”
“Bullshit!” Nearby heads swiveled, and he lowered his voice. “You said you loved me.” He jumped to his feet, shoving his chair back. “And now I find out I don’t even know your real name?” His gut threatened to rebel against the champagne, but he waited, desperate to hear some viable explanation.
The frozen horror on her tear-streaked face was his answer. Reaching for his wallet, he addressed Wyatt. “I’ll take care of the bill. I’ll see you at the motel.” He glanced at Bree, almost hoping she’d stop him.
She didn’t.
“Oh and, Wyatt? Don’t wait up.”
He spun on his heel and got the hell out.
Bree watched Max’s broad back until it disappeared through the doorway. She couldn’t think past the panic as thoughts swirled like a blizzard in her brain. As she’d grab for one, it would melt like a snowflake, leaving nothing of substance behind. She knew she had to do something. But what?
Wyatt sighed and folded his napkin on the table. “Come on, Bree. We’ll pick him up on the way home.”
She jolted upright. “No!”
The tired lines in Wyatt’s face creased as he raised an eyebrow.
“You go to him, Wyatt. He needs you.” She reached for her purse.
“I’m not leaving you here alone.”
Irritation flared at his solicitous tone. And it felt good. Anything felt better than the Novocain numbness of shame.
“Wyatt Jameson. I lived in LA for five years. Alone.” She took the tissue he offered and tried to get a grip. “I survived prison. I think I can manage a taxi on my own.” She glanced to the empty doorway, then into his eyes. “Please?”
“I don’t like it.” He searched her face. “But if that’s what you want.” As Wyatt stood, the pity in his voice cut more than the accusing look. “You were supposed to tell him a long time ago. What were you thinking, Bree?”
Max had walked only a quarter mile with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder when he heard the truck engine slowing behind him. As Wyatt pulled alongside, he kept walking.
His thoughts whirred in his head so fast that he caught only pieces: Bree, jumping Smooth over the creek; her sitting in Tia’s sitting room, knitting; her face in the crack of the tack room door before she opened it to him. Opened herself to him.
Those soft thoughts washed away before a flood of new visions—Bree in LA, a flashy businesswoman. Bree in handcuffs. Bree behind bars.
How could both visions be real? He thought he knew what betrayal felt like after Jo left. He realized now that he hadn’t had a clue until tonight, when the truth in Bree’s eyes opened the earth under his feet.
Wyatt lowered the window. “Max, get in the truck.”
“Go back to the motel, Wyatt.” He kept walking.
Wyatt kept pace with him, keeping a wary eye on the rearview mirror. “Quit being a baby. Get in the truck.”
Max stopped, and his head snapped up. “Watch yourself, little brother. I don’t need your shit right now.” Wyatt should be grateful there was a door between them.
Wyatt leaned across the seat and opened the door. “Get in. I’ll drop you at the bar.” Max swung into the cab. “Although I should have more sense.”
They rode in silence until Max pointed to a national chain hotel about a mile from their motel. “Pull in here. These places always have a bar.”
Wyatt cut the wheel to the left and found a parking space out front.
Colorado had passed an interior smoking ban way back, but this place still carried an undertone of vintage stale smoke. Max glanced around the dim interior. The bar was one step above seedy but a step below tacky. Not that he cared, as long as they had booze. He made a beeline for the backlit bar. Several couples sat in overstuffed vinyl booths at small tables. The low light was designed to hide the dirt or disguise the patrons. Or maybe both. He’d bet his hat most of them were married—but not to their drinking companions.
Wyatt took in a delicate sniff. “Excellent choice, Max.”
Max stepped up to the bar and signaled the bartender. “Johnnie Walker. A double.” Wyatt slid onto the stool next to him.
“Now, Max—”
Max held up a hand and watched the drink being poured. When the glass touched down in front of him, he tossed it back and signaled for another. Then he sat.
Wyatt ordered a maça martini. “Max, you cannot kill enough brain cells to forget what just happened. You might as well talk about it.”
“What the hell is a maça martini?” Max’s lip curled. “Why can’t you order a beer like a normal person?”
The bartender set the yellow-orange concoction in front of Wyatt. “Picking a fight with me isn’t going to make you forget either.” He picked up the skewered orange slice and chewed it.
“Don’t start on me. Why aren’t you off comforting her?” God, he sounded whiny.
Wyatt sipped his girly drink.
“There’s no way you can put a good spin on this, Wyatt. Here I am sticking up for her in front of that asshole, and it turns out he’s telling the truth.” He threw back the Walker and looked around for the bartender. “I’ve been a fool, trotting after her all summer, my dick on a leash.”
Wyatt took a sip from the oversized martini glass. “Hey, I’m on your side. The woman lied to you all this time, keeping quiet about being an ex-con.”
Max narrowed his eyes and studied his brother’s profile. “You agree with me?”
“Of course. Who’d have guessed she’d been in prison for—how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh. So, anyway, we’ve got a convicted felon working for us. No, worse yet, she’s our partner! What were we thinking?” He rested a chin on one palm and stared at his brother. “What was she convicted of again?”
“I don’t know.” Max tossed back the drink that appeared before him. “But that’s not the po
int, and you know it.”
“Yeah, you’re right. A lie is a lie.” Wyatt swirled his drink with the red plastic toothpick. “She did straighten out that tax mess that Dad left, though.”
“Quit with the stirring. You look stupid.”
Wyatt frowned into his drink, watching the vortex as he continued to stir. “And she did come up with the idea for Total Bull.”
“Right. An idea that has made us exactly zero dollars so far. The only thing that’s made any money is the bull that she owns.” He reached out to cover Wyatt’s busy hand. “Will you stop that? You’re embarrassing me.”
Wyatt shot him a hurt look. “Sorry. Am I breaking some man law?” He set the toothpick down next to his drink. “She should have told us, Max, no doubt. Except for what happened before we met her, what has she done that is so bad?”
“Goddammit, that’s not the point.” He knew Wyatt would take her side.
Wyatt swiveled to face him. “So what is the point, Maxie? Do you really think that Bree is dangerous?” He leaned in, leering, waving his fingers. “Murdered her little old grandma perhaps?” His tone sharpened. “Or is this about your wounded male ego, an antiquated belief system, and Colorado pigheadedness?”
“Don’t push me, Wyatt. I’m not in the mood.” When the bartender poured him a refill, Max grabbed his wrist. “Save yourself the walk. Just leave the bottle.” He waved a hand at his brother. “And, you. Go away.”
“It wasn’t even her fault. But you don’t care about that.” Wyatt snorted. “You kill me, Max. You’re willing to throw away the best thing that ever happened to you without knowing all the facts.” Wyatt cocked his head. “I can’t figure out if you never loved her at all, or if you’re just the shallowest person I’ve ever met.”
Not her fault? The booze fog thinned, exposing the stark truth. Molten outrage flowed from his brain to pool in his chest, then coursed through the rest of his body, scorching everything it touched. “You knew. All this time—”
