Ryan wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be on Brooke’s team or not. On the one hand, he had to get used to her and over the initial attraction. He didn’t want to deal with the awkward feelings every time he saw her. On the other, what if being around her just increased the attraction? That was a complication he didn’t need in his otherwise simple life.
He shook his head, telling himself just to focus on getting through family night. He could do that—he certainly had enough practice.
They ended up on the same team, and in the shifting of positions he found himself sitting next to Brooke on the couch.
She smelled like roses.
He took a slow, deep breath so no one would notice. Of all the flowers, she had to smell like roses. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the day when he’d been sleeping on the side of the road outside Baghdad. The air had been choked with dust, heat and sweat, not fit for man or any other living creature to breathe. Out of nowhere, he’d wanted nothing more than to smell roses. It hadn’t made sense. The Hill Country was filled with wildflowers, and his family didn’t grow roses. But the desire to smell them had taken over and dogged him for days. He’d begun to think the heat had finally used his skull for an oven and baked his brain.
When he’d been shipped back to San Antonio to mend, he’d asked one of the nurses at Brooke Army Medical Center to get him a vase of roses. She hadn’t even blinked at his request, making him wonder what other types of odd things broken soldiers asked for after they’d been to hell and back. The scent of those roses had helped him more than the therapy sessions during those early days, convincing him each day that he was truly back home in Texas.
“Yoo-hoo, Earth to Ryan,” Simon said.
Ryan opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented.
“It’s your turn to draw tiles,” Brooke said beside him. Her voice sounded as soft as those yellow rose petals.
He plunged himself fully into the present, drawing letter tiles from the bag and refusing to catch his mother’s gaze. He suspected she would be wearing that too-familiar expression of worry for him. She thought she hid it well, but she was wrong.
When he revealed the three tiles to his teammates, Nathan groaned at the Q. But Brooke took it and the other tiles and immediately started rearranging letters. He did his best to hide the wide grin that wanted to spread across his face at the word her quick fingers produced. If the other team made the right play, his was going to be off to a great start. Suddenly, a game of family Scrabble didn’t seem like such a hardship.
BROOKE KEPT HER expression neutral, but she almost lost it when she glanced at Ryan and saw the edges of his mouth twitching. If she knew him better, she’d be tempted to nudge him in the ribs to keep him from giving away that she had a high-scoring play in the making.
“They’ve got something good,” Grace said as she nodded toward him.
Simon looked up from examining his team’s tiles. “What? No one’s even made a play yet.”
Brooke kept her competitive spirit tamped down until the other team placed their opening word, stare, on the board for a total of ten points. Only when she put her team’s last tile into its spot did she meet the eyes of her opponents and smile.
The forty points of oblique stared up at everyone.
Merline slapped her palms against her knees and laughed. “We’ve got ourselves a serious player.” Her pale blue eyes sparkled, and Brooke recognized the look of excitement at the upcoming challenge.
As play after play was made, Brooke wondered if there had ever been a more raucous game of Scrabble. She found herself laughing along with everyone else, and it felt good, like a massage to her bruised emotions. It’d been a long time since she’d had anything to laugh about. It was nice to be appreciated again, too, and that’s exactly how she felt when the various members of the Teague family went back for seconds—or in a couple of cases, thirds—of her desserts.
“I’m going to be fat in a week with your cooking, Brooke,” Simon said as he polished off another slice of orange-juice cake.
“You’ll just have to find more crooks to chase,” Ryan said.
Crooks? She met Ryan’s gaze, and he must have seen her unspoken question.
“Simon is our local sheriff. Ranching isn’t enough for him. He has to chase bad guys, too.” Ryan said it as though it was an old joke, but the revelation caused Brooke’s mood to shift. She thought of the last time she’d spoken with police officers and the horrible aftermath. Would Simon be able to tell she was hiding something?
Fatigue settled on her like a heavy, suffocating second skin. As soon as her team pulled out a win, she decided to make her exit. Luckily, it appeared as if everyone else was calling it an evening, too, so she didn’t stand out.
“Sorry if it felt like you got a bit of trial by fire tonight,” Merline said as she accompanied Brooke into the kitchen.
“It was actually fun. Can’t tell you the last time I played a board game.”
“Good. Now do you need some time off tomorrow to get settled?”
“No, I can be here whenever you need me.” She tried not to think about how early life got started on a ranch and how tired she was.
They nailed down the details of the work schedule for the next few days, and it felt good to have a solid plan instead of the uncertainty that had been her constant companion lately.
“Where are you staying?” Merline asked.
Heat crept up Brooke’s neck. “The Rochester.” The lofty name did not fit the run-down little motel a few miles outside Blue Falls, but the place had two things going for it. One, the low rental rate. Two, never in a million years would Chris think to look for her there.
“Oh, honey. You can’t stay there,” Merline said. “It’s awful.”
“It’s okay. I’ll look for a more permanent place on my day off.”
“No. You can stay here tonight if you don’t mind the couch. The bedrooms are full of stuff or torn apart for remodeling. And all the cabins are occupied.”
“Really, I’ll be fine.”
“What about the bunkhouse?” Ryan piped up.
Brooke looked across the kitchen island to where he stood on the other side. He didn’t meet her eyes as he twirled an apple that sat atop a pile in a large wooden bowl.
“That’s a good idea,” Merline said. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean and way better than the Rochester. Ryan, can you help Brooke get settled in the bunkhouse?”
He hesitated for a moment, as if he might be regretting opening his mouth, before finally nodding. “Sure.”
Brooke thought about objecting again, saying she could manage on her own if they’d just point her in the right direction. But she was exhausted, and the quicker she found a bed to collapse on the better. She could go get what little she’d left in her motel room tomorrow.
After another round of good-nights, she followed Ryan outside, smiling at him as he held the kitchen’s screen door open for her. Chris had held the door for her countless times, but looking back she realized it was all for show, to keep up his image. With Ryan, she got the impression that courtesy was as natural as breathing, that he would never not think to do it. She didn’t know how she’d deduced that about him after so short an acquaintance, but she believed in the absolute truth of it.
“The bunkhouse isn’t far,” he said as they stepped out into the night.
“Good. I think I’m even more tired than I realized.”
“You’ll sleep like a baby out here then.”
She nearly sighed out loud at the wonderful thought. The night before had been anything but restful. On top of her nervousness about her interview was the fact that guests of the Rochester obviously didn’t stay there to sleep.
When they reached her used Focus, packed like the proverbial sardine can, sh
e tried not to think how its purchase was another step she’d taken to distance herself from all that had come before. She hated it. Not that there was anything wrong with the car. Goodness knew it was better than the beater she’d driven in high school and college. But it was what it represented. Like staying at the Rochester, the compact blue car was part of a plan to be as little like her true self as possible. The only thing she hated more than the car was Chris—and her own blindness to what he truly was.
“Got any room in there for a passenger?” Ryan asked, a hint of a smile on his face.
She eyed the pile of stuff on the passenger seat. “If you don’t mind holding a box. It’s that or strap you to the hood.”
He laughed. “I’ll take the box.”
After a bit of rearranging, they got into the car. She knew Ryan was tall, but he seemed even more so wedged into her passenger seat.
“Sorry about the tight fit,” she said.
“No problem. We’re not going far.” He directed her past the barn and down a dirt road that meandered along a fence. It was so dark outside that she couldn’t see anything beyond that. She almost commented on it but didn’t want her remarks on his home to potentially invite questions about where she was from.
Ryan seemed content to sit quietly. She’d noticed he was less talkative than his brothers, particularly Simon. She hoped Simon would tire of his flirting if she didn’t respond in kind. But she had to be careful not to be seen as rude either. She’d worked with enough hotel convention-goers to be able to deal with lots of personality types, but she’d always known they’d be gone within a week. For as long as she stayed at Vista Hills, she’d have to see Simon.
“There it is.” Ryan pointed through the windshield.
Her headlights illuminated a low, rustic building surrounded by sprawling, gnarled trees. Live oaks. While all trees were technically alive, the live oaks seemed more so, as if they had unique personalities. She pulled into a clear area that bore the marks of earlier vehicles.
“Hope you’re not expecting four-star accommodations,” Ryan said as she cut the engine.
She gave him a raised-eyebrow look and allowed herself to relax a little. “You do remember I was staying at the Rochester, right?”
He smiled. “Good point.”
After Ryan got out of the car, it took Brooke a moment to recover from seeing his simple smile up close. It’d been warm, easy, not loaded with expectations.
Maybe Simon wasn’t the Teague brother she was going to have to guard against.
“What do you need tonight?” Ryan asked when she got out of the car.
“I’ll get it,” she said as she started toward the back of the car.
Ryan held up a hand to halt her. “You’re in Texas now. Chivalry isn’t quite dead here yet.”
“You could tell I’m not from Texas?”
“Not enough twang.”
This time, she was the one to smile. “I’ll have to work on that.”
“So?” Ryan nodded toward the car.
She relented and pointed at the backseat. “The suitcase on top.”
Ryan retrieved the suitcase then led her toward the bunkhouse. He unlocked the front door and turned on an overhead light to reveal a main room that was half living room, half kitchen like the main house, only on a much smaller, more rustic scale. A nondescript tan couch, two matching chairs and a scuffed coffee table filled the foreground. Beyond the couch was a simple kitchen a few decades out of date with its Formica countertops and a table suitable for a fifties sitcom.
Ryan sat the suitcase next to the couch. “Nobody’s lived here in years, not since we started focusing more on the guest ranch than raising horses. All our ranch hands now are married, so they have their own homes.”
“It’s nice of you all to let me stay here tonight. I’ll look for another place as soon as I can.”
“No hurry.”
Did he want her to stay here at the ranch? She looked away, telling herself she was being silly. Plus, it didn’t matter. Ryan Teague was simply her employer’s son, would never be more than possibly a casual friend. And it was better that way.
A wave of loneliness as heavy as her fatigue descended on Brooke. Was this the way it was going to be the rest of her life—living a lie and being alone?
“You okay?” Ryan took a few steps closer to her, and she had to fight the deep urge to seek a hug from him, this man she barely knew.
“Yeah, just tired.” She hoped he couldn’t tell how choked her voice sounded. She kept her eyes averted so he couldn’t see the tears welling in them.
When he didn’t respond, she dared a glance and saw recognition in his expression. He knew more than exhaustion was tugging at her, but he didn’t push the subject. Instead, he took a step back and gestured toward the two doors on each side of the main room.
“There are four bedrooms with small bathrooms, all pretty much alike. Make yourself at home.”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. This might be where she was starting over, but it wasn’t her home. Would any place ever feel like home again?
“I’ll go so you can get some rest before you collapse.”
Brooke started to move toward the door. “I’ll drive you back to the house.”
He smiled. “I think I can make it.”
“You’re sure?”
He caught her gaze. “Brooke, go to sleep.”
She nodded but still followed him. “Thank you, for everything.”
He gripped the edge of the door as he looked back at her, and she found herself focusing on the lean muscles in his tanned forearm. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Trust me, you did.” She wished she could tell him just how much his small kindnesses meant to her, how they’d kept her propped up when she’d been on the verge of collapse.
He seemed to accept her words. “Good night, Brooke.”
“Good night.”
Despite being more tired than she’d ever been in her life, she slipped out onto the bunkhouse’s porch and watched as Ryan made his way down the road, until the night swallowed him.
The moment she could no longer see him, the deepness of the night grew ominous. She told herself it was only the paranoia taunting her again, but she still hurried inside and locked the door behind her. At the end of her ability to think clearly, she stumbled into the first bedroom she came to. She didn’t even change before falling onto the bed.
As her eyes closed and sleep started to overtake her, her brain replayed the sight of Ryan walking down the road in the dark. Only this time, he turned just before stepping out of sight and smiled at her. Warmth wrapped her in its embrace, and her heart drifted weightless as a child’s balloon. Her lips curved in a return smile as the last light of consciousness went out.
IN THE MORNING, he’d have to find his brain, because he’d obviously lost it sometime since meeting Brooke Vincent. How many times had he told himself to steer away from her since the punch of that first unexpected meeting in the kitchen? So what did he do instead? Suggest she stay at the ranch.
But the idea of her spending another night at the Rochester made his skin crawl. That place wasn’t safe, not for a woman with big doe eyes and a vulnerable smile. His fists clenched as he reached the area outside his parents’ house.
“Man, what’s up?” Simon asked as he descended the front steps. “I go to the john for five seconds and you make off with my girl.”
“Your girl?” Ryan tried to keep his tone light, but it was damned hard.
“What, is she yours?”
Ryan stopped walking and faced his brother. “She’s not anyone’s. Geez, dude, she just got here. You letting Mom’s matchmaking get to you?”
“This has nothing to do with Mom and everything to do
with that gorgeous new cook. You did notice her being pretty, right?”
Ryan started walking again. “I’m not blind.”
Simon stopped at the back of his truck. “Are you interested in her?”
Yes, you fool.
“You know me, would rather be on my own.” Ryan met Simon’s gaze, well-practiced at not showing what he was really feeling.
And what was that? Anger? Frustration? Jealousy? How could he be jealous when he’d known Brooke less than a day? Maybe it was anger that he no longer considered himself fit for a romantic relationship, nothing more than a casual date, anyway.
Simon seemed to accept his assertion at face value. “So, think she’d go out with me?”
“Not if she’s smart.”
Simon laughed. “You’re no help at all. Man, I wish I had a sister.”
And Ryan wished his mom had hired a safe woman, one old enough to be his grandmother.
We don’t all get what we wish for, do we?
“Want a ride?” Simon asked.
“What is it with people thinking I can’t walk two feet?” Ryan muttered.
“What?”
“No, I’m good.” Before he managed to make a complete idiot of himself, he headed toward home.
But when he got there and undressed, sleep remained elusive. Despite a long day in the shop, he stared at the ceiling as awake as he’d been at noon. Might as well get some more work done. He put his clothes back on and trudged out to the shop. He consulted his list of orders but didn’t feel inspired to work on any of them.
He sank onto the wooden stool next to his large workbench. He reached for the one thing that got him through nights when sleep refused to pay a call. The block of wood revealed only the hint of an angel’s outline. He closed his eyes and mentally scanned the shelf of angels that sat in his bedroom, remembering their details, each one different. When he opened his eyes and ran his fingertips over the surface of the wood, he fixed an image in his mind and started to carve, chipping away to find the angel buried inside the wood.
Cowboy to the Rescue Page 3
