by Drake, Laura
“Bree. She’ll see us at the finals.” He leaned over and stripped the covers off Max. “Come on. We’ve got time for breakfast if we hurry. We didn’t eat dinner last night, and I’m starving.”
Max threw his arm over his eyes. “Do you have to yell?” Damn, he’d just fallen into his first dreamless sleep of the night.
Wyatt’s face loomed over him. “You look like shit, Max.” He straightened as he shrugged into a wrinkled T-shirt. “And you deserve every bit of it.”
Max sat up and put his pulsing head in his hands. “Don’t I know it.” How could booze taste so good going down yet leave such a vile aftertaste the next morning? “You’ll be glad to hear that I pulled my head out of my butt last night.”
A smug grin spread across Wyatt’s face. “I heard a loud pop, but I assumed it was someone next door, opening a bottle of champagne.”
“Shut up. I’m trying to apologize. Look, I know that I can come across as opinionated—” He lifted his head. “Please don’t go back to Boston, Wyatt.”
“Save your apology, Maxie. I forgive you. But only because you’re my brother. You’d better save the really good stuff for Bree.” He walked to the end of the bed, but stopped and frowned over his shoulder. “You do mean to mend fences there, don’t you?”
Max scratched his chest. “Of course I do. I may be a Cro-Magnon, but I’m not a fool. And I hope you’ve got my back. Otherwise, it’ll be a long, quiet drive home.”
Wyatt sauntered into the bathroom, his voice echoing off the tile walls. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about a long, quiet future.”
Max threw his legs over the side of the bed and hung on to the edge as the room spun. “I am, brother. I am.”
A half hour later, they stood outside a crazy-busy IHOP, waiting to be called to a table. Max bounced his foot and ran a hand through his hair. “Wyatt, we’re going to be late.”
“Relax, Max. I just checked. We’re next.” Wyatt leaned against the building, legs crossed at the ankle, hands in his pockets.
“How can you think of your stomach at a time like this?”
Wyatt took off his sunglasses and rubbed them on his alligator shirt. “Hey, my love isn’t pissed at me.” He held the lenses up and squinted, checking for smears. “Of course, he’s currently two thousand miles away, but—”
“And I’m sorry for that, too, Wyatt.” The surprise on his brother’s face hit Max in his already churning gut. “I should have told you from the beginning to bring him with you. I was so wrapped up in my own drama, I never spent a second thinking about how hard this has been on you.”
“Well, thanks for that, Maxie. It means a lot.”
Max looked down at his feet, but realization forced his gaze up to his brother’s. “Wyatt, why don’t you and Juan move out here?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Wyatt scoffed. “It’s one thing for the locals to listen to my techie advice. It’s a whole ’nother thing for me to bring my lover here to live. And you know it.”
A speaker overhead blared “Jameson. Please come to the desk to be seated.”
Max slapped hands over his ears, but it was too late—the sound jackhammered into his already throbbing skull. “Screw that. I took care of them once. I can do it again.”
Wyatt pushed away from the wall, his eyes sad. “We’re not kids anymore, remember. You can’t fix prejudice with your fists.” He held up a hand when Max would have protested. “We love Boston, Max. We have a life there. A good life.”
Max stood, and they followed a waitress to a tiny table. “Well then, maybe we could visit each other. You guys could come out for a couple of months in the summer.” He sat and rested his hat on the back of the booth. “And you know how miserable February is here. Maybe I could—”
“We’ve got a spare bedroom and a bed big enough for two, you know.” Wyatt picked up a menu and perused it.
“Well, it’s just gonna be me, if we don’t get to the damned arena on time.”
But the restaurant was packed, the service slow, and the taxi even slower.
Max scrambled out of the taxi before it stopped in the back lot of the coliseum. At a muffled roar from the crowd inside, his muscles jerked taut to run. He threw some bills at the driver. “Jesus, Wyatt. I told you we didn’t have time to eat. That danged restaurant took forever, and now we’re late, for chrissake.”
“Oh, this is not good, Max.”
He trotted to where his brother stood, staring at the door to their truck. “Wyatt, come on. We’re gonna miss Fire Ant’s go.” He glanced at their logo under the truck window. The pink ribbon on the trailing end had been torn off. He jogged to the passenger door to see that logo missing there, as well. They looked at each other across the hood of the truck, then bolted for the door of the arena.
Fire Ant trotted into the bucking chute. Bree kept her eyes down to keep from scanning the packed stands one more time. Shutting out the bustle around her, she bent over the top bar of the chute to work the flank rope.
She’d been floored when the PBR’s stock contractor told her Fire Ant had been chosen as the ‘Ride with the Best’ bull in today’s contest. The winning cowboy from yesterday’s round would be pitted against her bull. If he rode, he’d win ten thousand dollars. If he got bucked off, the money went to the bull owner. This was a real coup for a debut bull, and if Fire Ant won, the money would pay her way to Wyoming.
Bree was so proud of the little guy. She was proud of herself, too, for buying him, even though everyone who saw the cock-horned little bull told her she was nuts. She’d miss him.
It looked like her idea for Total Bull was a good one, too. She’d leave, knowing that it had at least a chance of being a success. Maybe it would help wipe out her karma from LA.
The announcer’s voice boomed overhead. “Next up is the little bull with a fashion statement who’s earned some respect here this weekend. Now let’s see if he can earn some money for his owner.”
As the rider lowered himself onto her bull’s back and got settled, Bree tightened her slip knot, kissed her fingers, and patted Fire Ant’s mottled back. “You kick butt, baby.”
This time, no one sniggered.
The rider was all business as he wrapped his hand in the rigging. His buddies worked as spotters to keep him from being hurt in case Fire Ant got fractious in the chute. Gripping the top pole of the fence, Bree threw a quick prayer skyward.
The cowboy shoved his hat down, and the muscles of his forearm bulged when he pulled himself tight against the rigging. He nodded his head.
The gate opened. Fire Ant launched. With a violent leap, he kicked his heels over his head, standing almost vertically on his front hooves. Bree didn’t even have time to cheer him on; the ride was over before he’d cleared the chute. The rider, a surprised look on his face, landed on his pockets in the dirt just outside the gate.
Grinning like a fool, she watched Fire Ant strut from the arena.
“Here, ma’am, let me help you down.” The fallen rider had dusted the rear of his jeans and offered his hand.
The cowboy next to her saw her confused look and said, “You have to go into the arena to collect your check.”
“Oh.” Holy smokes, there are cameras out there! She wished for her neckerchief, but then remembered her vow. Shaking in her boots, she took the rider’s hand and hopped off the fence.
The rodeo clown stood before the bucking chutes, a two-by-three-foot placard check in his hands, waving her over. Gritting her teeth in what she hoped resembled a smile, she stood for photos, then fled to the gate.
Several stock contractors stopped her on her way back to the pens with congratulations. Where the heck are the guys? If they were still mad at her, that was fine, but this was business.
Fire Ant had arrived by the time Bree got back to the enclosure. She stood by the gate and blew him a kiss. “You’re my hero, little man.”
Smiling sadly, she unwound the huge pink ribbon from the pole fence. She was leaving them Fire Ant, b
ut she was keeping that bow.
The bull threw his head up, and she turned at the sound of running boots. The Jameson brothers skidded to a stop in front of her. Wyatt put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.
Max’s gaze searched her face. “Did we miss it? Tell me we didn’t miss it.”
Wow, he looked bad. A day’s stubble darkened his gaunt cheeks, his eyes so red-rimmed and bloodshot it hurt to look at them. “You missed it.”
“Damn, I knew it. How’d he do?”
She straightened and pulled the real paper check from her back pocket. “He won.” She managed a wobbly smile. She looked down at the check. It was made out to Total Bull. Which meant it wasn’t hers.
Wyatt beamed. “Not bad for a little pissant bull, huh?”
She handed the check to Wyatt. I can stop somewhere and do an odd job or two if I run low on money.
Max barked a cough into his hand. “Looks like you were right about him all along, Bree. Good job.” He watched her, his face giving no hint to what went on behind it. “Let’s get packed up. I want to get on the road.”
After a last lingering look at her bull, she said, “Now that you two are here, I’ll be going. I’m catching a ride back with Janet.” She forced her feet in the opposite direction and kept moving.
“Wait, Bree.” At Max’s deep voice, she felt something tear in her chest.
And still, she kept going.
CHAPTER
29
Getting out of the coliseum took a lot longer than getting in. First, they had to check out and handle wads of paperwork. Then they waited in a long line of cattle haulers until Fire Ant was finally ushered down the loading ramp and into the trailer. Max jerked a fresh toothpick from his stash in the ashtray and chewed furiously as he waited for Wyatt to lock the tailgate.
“Scoot over. I’m driving.” Wyatt opened the driver’s side door and grabbed the steering wheel. “You’ve got a massive hangover. Besides, you look like you just got your guts stomped out.” He gave Max a shove. “Get your ass over.”
It wasn’t worth arguing. He slid to the passenger’s side. Wyatt put the truck in gear, checked the mirrors, and pulled out. Max grabbed a gimme cap hanging on the rifle rack, pulled it over his eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned back, planning on catching up on a few Z’s. But all he saw on the back of his eyelids was Janet’s Mercedes, Bree riding shotgun, getting farther down the road.
He mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, “Is this as fast as you can go?”
“She’s leaving.” Wyatt spoke his thoughts. “You know she’s leaving, don’t you?”
Max ignored him, settling into a more comfortable slouch.
“I’m amazed how she’s able to resist your guileless country charm.”
He gave up pretending to sleep and tugged the cap brim up. “Shut up, Wyatt. I’m trying to come up with a strategy here.”
Wyatt shot him a look and snorted. “That’s like putting Pee-wee Herman in charge of a battle plan.”
“Goddammit, Romeo, stop poking at me and start throwing out some ideas.”
“Well, actually doing something might be a good start. Why did you let her walk away? You should have gone after her and made her listen. You should have thrown her over your shoulder if you had to.”
“Oh, look who’s the caveman now.” Max watched the scenery roll by his window, glad to see the buildings spread out as they quit the city. Denver had lost all its glitter after last night. His world had somehow tilted wrong on its axis the past couple of days. He must be in some alternate universe—sitting here getting lovelorn advice from a guy who’d never been with a woman in his life. Max shook his head.
But Wyatt had steered him right before. That date behind the barn led to his first night with Bree. He remembered her, her head thrown back and eyes closed, a look of taut anticipation on her face, like she trusted him to take her where they both wanted to go.
Shit. What am I doing, sitting here licking wounds while she gets away?
He sat bolt upright and scrabbled for his phone. He hit speed dial. “Tia? It’s Max. I need your help. Bree is on her way there with Janet.” He listened. “Well, she’s a bit upset with me, and—” He winced, pulling the phone from his ear. “I’ll explain it all later, and you can yell at me then, Mamacita. In the meantime, I need you to keep her from leaving until we get home. Can you do that for me?”
Janet kept one hand on the wheel as she rummaged in her purse. “You look like a dirt road after a monsoon, Tanner. What the hell is going on?” She handed Bree a crumpled tissue smelling faintly of Chanel. She winced as Bree honked into it.
“I’m okay. At least, I will be. Slow down, will you? You’re going to get a ticket.”
“Harrison will handle it if I do.” Janet hit a button on the burled wood dash and the sunroof rolled back. “And don’t give me that ‘me against the world’ crap. Spill your guts, woman. You know you want to, and I don’t have all day.”
Janet was right. She did want to.
It came out in a rush, the whole sordid story: her former life in LA, OCT, prison, her falling for Max. Eight tissues and an hour later, after describing the debacle at dinner last night, Bree finally ran out of words.
Janet whistled through painted lips. “That’s some story, sister. What are you going to do now?”
“When I get back to the ranch, I’ll pack my stuff and hit the road before they get back.” The confession had wrung the last ounce of tension from her, and she fell back into the contoured leather seat, liquid and boneless. “I’m going to start over. Again. And this time, I’m going to do it right.”
Janet raised a plucked, perfect eyebrow and tapped a carmine nail on the wheel. “You don’t learn very fast, do you?” She speared Bree with a look. “Do you have some kind of mental defect you haven’t told me about?”
She should have known Janet would kick her when she was down. “Listen, I’m sorry I brought it up. Just drop me off, and you can go on with your important life.”
“Jesus, why do I bother?” Janet threw both hands in the air. The car veered to the right. “Poor judgment is what got you into trouble in So Cal, and it’s clear that you’ve learned nothing from the experience.
“If you walk away now, you’re going to lose more than Max, your partnership, and High Heather. You’re going to lose your self-esteem.”
“Max—”
“Oh, screw that!” At Janet’s long-suffering glare she sat up straight. “This isn’t about Max. If he’s stupid enough to let you go, what the heck would you want with him?”
“But you said I should—”
Janet’s dramatic sigh almost fogged the windshield. “You need to stand up to him for you, chickie. Not to grovel or try to convince him. It’s time you stood up for yourself. Let him know what he’s losing. That way, if he lets you go, you’ll at least walk away with some self-respect.”
Janet floored it, pulling into the oncoming traffic lane. Ignoring the car that hurtled toward them, she passed the beer truck and tucked back into the lane with at least fifteen feet to spare.
Before Bree could catch her breath, or pull her nails out of the armrest, Janet looked her in the eye. “Men come and go. The only thing a woman has that no one can take away is her opinion of herself.”
Max’s fingers tapped a frantic drum cadence against his thigh. “Can’t you push this rig faster, Wyatt?” The closer they got to the ranch, the faster the ants on his skin crawled.
It might have settled him to have a plan, but he’d racked his brain and hadn’t come up with anything close. His foot jounced on the floorboard. Wouldn’t you know, the one time I need speed, we’re hauling a loaded cattle trailer.
By the time Wyatt finally pulled into the Heather’s long drive, Max was close to jumping out of his skin. As they pulled up to the corrals, he noticed Bree’s Jeep parked alongside the mess hall, facing the road, driver’s seat empty.
Thank you, Tia. Not that he was above chasing Bree down
on the open road, if it came to that. Max had his door open before the truck braked to a stop. He shot a look over his shoulder.
“You go. I’ll handle Fire Ant.” Wyatt’s encouraging smile did nothing to quell Max’s quivering guts. He was very aware that the next few minutes would decide his future.
He jumped from the truck and jogged to the Jeep. Bree’s battered suitcase and laptop took up the space behind the seat. Neatly folded on the passenger’s seat sat the Navajo blanket from her bed, topped by a familiar huge pink bow. He glanced up to the mess hall. The windows spilled warm light and an old song by Garth, bragging about friends in low places.
Chest tight, nerves strung like a loaded crossbow, Max took the three porch steps in one bound and yanked the screen door open so hard it slammed against the wall. The music snapped off. The cowboys seated at the table glanced up and froze. Time seemed to stop. Janet sat next to Bree, and Tia stood alongside, having just set a cupcake topped by a lit candle in front of Bree.
“What is this, a going-away party?” he growled.
Bree’s lips opened—to blow out the candle—or out of shock, he didn’t know. “Not your problem, cowboy.”
The blades in her words didn’t cut. He knew they were thrown in self-defense. “You’re afraid. Afraid that Vic was right, that you have no backbone. That’s why you ran when you got out of prison.” He tipped his chin, at the Jeep through the window. “That’s why you’re running now.” She flinched. Her lightning-quick glance around the table told him he’d hit home.
“That’s why you still feel guilty.” He walked to her. “That’s why you kept your past a secret. Not because of what we’d think—but because of what you thought.”
She shifted on the seat, still holding his gaze.
Maybe there’s hope yet. The others had to hear the pile-driver hammer of his heart in the silent room.
“You’re afraid you’re going to find out something that proves Vic was right.” He didn’t know where this stuff was coming from, but at least he had her attention.
He heard Wyatt’s light step behind him and the soft shush of the screen door closing. Bree looked down at her cupcake. The flame guttered in a small pool of wax. She stood.
