A Bride for the Bronc Rider (Brush Creek Brides Book 3)

by Liz Isaacson

  “I’m sorry,” April said, the words barely leaving her lips. Ted didn’t turn, and she reasoned it was because he hadn’t heard her. He dismounted and fished a set of keys from a pouch hanging from the saddlebags. He unlocked the gate and led Yellowstone into the pasture.

  “What’s her name?” April asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your mom.”

  “Oh. Emma.” He looked uncomfortable for half a second before the emotion fled.

  “How big is this thing?” April’s eyes followed the fence for as far as she could see, the line finally blurring into the horizon.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Ted sighed as he unsaddled his horse. “Are you gonna get down?”

  She peered down at him. “I was hoping you’d help me.” Embarrassment flowed through her, but she figured it was better than falling flat on her back and getting the wind knocked out of her. Then she’d be embarrassed and hurt.

  He grinned with the glee of a small child on their birthday as he extended his bear paw of a hand up toward her. She put her fingers in his but stalled. “Now what?”

  “You put your weight into the stirrup here.” He indicated right where he stood. “Stand up, and swing your other leg over. I’ll help keep you balanced with my hand here, and you’ll be down.”

  The horse shifted, and April nearly slid off his back right then.

  “Steady, Sugar,” Ted said in his cooing voice, and the horse stilled. He focused on April again, and the heat burning through her blood didn’t all come from the sun. “You ready, sugar?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ha ha.”

  His booming laugh made her heart thump to a rhythm it hadn’t for a while, and she slapped her hand in his. “I’m ready. Are you?”

  He leaned closer, pressing his chest into the horse’s. “Oh, I’m ready.”

  She tried to do what he’d said. Put her weight on her left leg, check. Stand up, half a check. Swing the leg, wild check.

  “Oh, okay,” Ted said, his grip on her hand tightening. “Wait, yeah, no—” He grunted as she swung her whole body and landed directly on top of him. They both tumbled to the ground while Sugar ‘N Spice stood perfectly still. At least Ted was on the bottom, meeting the hard ground with his bones first. Of course, landing on his abs was almost like landing on steel, so April wasn’t sure if falling on top of him was better or not.

  Chapter Five

  Ted chuckled as April’s face turned bright red. She’d lost her cowgirl hat in the scuffle and wisps of her hair had come loose during the three-hour ride. She struggled against his body, and every spot she placed her hand seemed like the wrong one—at least to her. She finally tucked her hands to her chest and rolled off of him.

  He stayed on his back, his muscles popping and his laughter streaming from his mouth. “Well, that didn’t work out, did it?”

  “What did I do wrong?”

  “Just about everything.” Ted sat up and clapped his hands together. “It’s okay. I needed to get a little down and dirty today.”

  “I’m sure.” She gained her feet and strode away, her boots kicking up dust as she went. Ted should probably call after her that the cabin was in the other direction, but he sensed that she needed a few minutes to herself. He’d realized on the ride out here that he did. That one of the reasons he’d been so bothered by Landon assigning him to bring April with him was that he wouldn’t have the time out here by himself.

  Which made no sense, because Ted spent a lot of time by himself. Every evening. Most weekends. There was just something magical, something cleansing, about his time out here, a solid three-hour ride from anyone else. Just him, the horses, the red rocks, and God.

  He got up and dusted off his clothes, confused about the woman still stalking away from him. She’d settled down enough to talk to him, and he appreciated that the things she’d said weren’t easy for her.

  All at once, he understood how he felt. He admired her. Surely it hadn’t been easy for her to be told by her boyfriend that he didn’t want their baby. It had probably been terribly lonely those first few weeks after her three-year relationship ended. And she’d moved across state lines, to a town where she knew one person.

  “April!” he called after her. She stopped walking but didn’t turn around. “Cabin’s this way.” He unsaddled her horse too and gave both animals a playful swat on their rumps. “Go on, you two. Run free.”

  Sugar and Yellowstone wandered off, and Ted shouldered their equipment. The gentlemanly side of him wanted to wait for April to catch up, but his pragmatic side told him to move. She’d follow.

  So he moved. He walked along the fence line to the next break. He left the pasture with only a quick glance behind him. April had closed the distance between them, and now she only lingered about a dozen paces behind him.

  “You okay?”

  She glared, which he took as April-speak for, “I’m fine. Leave me alone.” Ted turned and continued toward the stream. This late in the summer, the trees and grasses around the stream obscured it, but Ted knew every inch of this countryside. This time, he waited for April so he could point out where to step. He didn’t need her bruised, humiliated, and wet.

  “There’s water here,” he said. “Most of us cowboys like to come out here and fish. The best spot is down yonder a bit.” He chin nodded south, closer to the homestead.

  April cocked her head and folded her arms. “Do I look like I’d enjoy fishing?”

  Ted peered at her as if he was really trying to decide. A shotgun burst of laughter exploded from his mouth. “Point taken. Did Megan mention anything about the cabin?”

  “No.” Enough panic accompanied the word for Ted to know April wouldn’t like the accommodations. “What about it?”

  “There’s no air conditioning,” he said. “Two rooms, with a bathroom. A loft.” He sighed and let his happiness infuse his words. “And a spectacular view.” He glanced at April, but she wasn’t impressed.

  “No air conditioning?”

  “No, sirree.”

  “Any Internet service?”

  Ted tipped his face skyward and laughed again. “Did you even bring your phone?”

  “Of course I did. What if I break my ankle out here? How would I get help?”

  Ted looked at her to see if she was being serious. She seemed to be. “Well, April-May, you’d have to somehow get yourself back to the homestead.”

  April-May. Where the nickname had come from, Ted didn’t know. She didn’t seem to mind, but the way her jaw worked, he thought maybe he should run all future endearments past her. If there were to be any future endearments.

  “Which.” He cleared his throat. “Is where the horses come in. We always ride one out, so we always have a way back.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and then over his. “We just walked probably a half a mile from that pasture. And I still don’t see a cabin.”

  “You’re terrible with distance,” he said. “That was maybe a quarter of a mile, and the cabin is just behind those trees.” He turned away before her lasered eyes could slice him right open. “C’mon. We’re almost there.” And he was suddenly tired.

  Hours later, once darkness had started to fall, Ted returned from the stream where he’d been sitting, contemplating the incoming storm. The sky had darkened with clouds by early evening, and the breeze coming in the open windows actually felt cooler than Ted liked.

  “Definitely going to rain tonight,” he said when he located April curled up into the end of the couch.

  She didn’t even glance up from her phone. “Great.”

  To punctuate her sarcasm, the first crack of thunder ripped through the atmosphere. Ted worried about his dogs until he remembered that they’d already been taken over to Megan’s. His next thought concerned Yellowstone and Sugar, but the horses had trees where they could find shelter.

  A better scenario was that the storm would blow this rickety cabin into sticks, and he and April would be drenched once the rain came.

&
nbsp; The first drops of rain started only a few minutes later, and April looked at the ceiling. “I patched up the roof last spring,” Ted said, casting his eyes upward too. “She should hold.”

  “Why do men do that? Refer to everything with a female pronoun.”

  Ted settled his gaze on her. “I don’t know.” He stepped over to the refrigerator, which held bottled water and the groceries he’d brought out three days ago. He took out a bottle of water and let his eyes linger on the chocolate he’d bought. He finally swiped it off the top shelf and faced April.

  “Do you like milk chocolate or dark?”

  That got her attention, and she lowered the phone. “You have chocolate?”

  “I brought the food out a few days ago.” He crossed the room and extended her two choices to her. “Dark chocolate with sea salt or milk chocolate hazelnut.”

  She reached for the milk chocolate but drew her fingers back. “I can’t take your chocolate.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “You certainly didn’t bring enough food for me.” A look of fear danced across her face. “We’re going to starve out here, aren’t we?”

  Ted handed her the milk chocolate bar. “Keep calm and eat your chocolate.” He nodded toward her phone. “Put that on your meme maker.”

  She swiped her phone from the couch cushion, where the app she’d been using waited for her with a picture of the red rock butte he hadn’t noticed her taking. “Seriously, Ted. We’re going to be out here for two days. How could you have known that I’d be coming with you? I wasn’t even in Brush Creek a few days ago.”

  “I always bring tons of extra stuff,” he said. “Seriously, don’t worry.” He settled onto the couch and took off his hat with a sigh. He rubbed his hands through his hair and down his beard before ripping open his chocolate bar. He enjoyed the treat in silence, exactly how he’d envisioned when he’d bought the candy.

  “Well, I’m heading to bed.”

  “Good-night,” April said, both syllables distracted as she kept her attention on her phone. Ted shut himself into the back room, as per their agreement. She’d sleep on one of the cots in the large main front room, and he’d sleep on one in the smaller back bunk room. He’d piled several blankets and pillows onto two cots when they’d first arrived, and he pulled a few more out of the supply closet in the bunk room.

  He fell asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, and he woke sometime later to a brilliant flash of lightning and a terrific crash of thunder. He sat up as the rain pounded on the roof, and he padded over to the open window and slid it shut. It hadn’t been raining too bad when he’d gone to bed, so he’d left it open, but now a substantial amount of water had come in, making the floor wet with puddles.

  Ted crossed to the next window and closed that one too, and then darted toward the door separating him and April. He knocked and pulled open the door. “April? I’m just gonna close the windows, okay?”

  She didn’t answer, so he moved on bare feet and got the cabin secured. His fingers were cold, and his first thought was to build a fire. But all the wood sat in the shed, and it was ten yards through heavy rain to get to it. So he ducked back into the bedroom and climbed back under his blankets.

  The rest of the night passed with Ted tossing from side to side on the narrow cot. Finally, dawn arrived and Ted could give up the ruse of sleeping. He slipped into the bathroom and showered, emerging from the back bedroom ready for a day of hiking, relaxing, and maybe some fishing—if he needed a break from April. She’d probably need a break from him, in all honesty. He typically saw the silver lining in every situation, but April seemed to be the complete opposite of him.

  He found her standing in the kitchen, a pot of coffee already full. She stood at the sink, looking out the window and looking absolutely glorious in the morning light. It played off her dyed streaks and when she turned toward him and smiled, he thought her positively angelic.

  That’s the pregnant glow, he told himself as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I see you’ve found all the important things.”

  “I left the eggs and bacon for you.”

  “Good, because that’s for tomorrow. I always have bacon and eggs on Saturday morning so I’m good and ready for a day of working in the pasture.”

  “I thought you said these two days would be relaxing.”

  “I said I found them relaxing. Today will be. I hike to the top of the butte, and go fishing, and usually take a nap. Tomorrow, I have to check the pasture for fence breaks and I like to observe my horses when they’re out in the wild.” He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and glanced down at her. “What?”

  She blinked, her dark eyes soulful and scared. “Hiking to the top of the butte?”

  Annoyance sang through him. Funny how he could find her so alluring one moment, what with her hair falling softly over her shoulders, and so frustrating the next. “You don’t have to come. You can do whatever you want.” He turned away from her and snapped a banana off the bunch. “I eat toast and a banana for breakfast on day one.”

  “Do you always stick to the same routine?”

  “Yep.” He stuck a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and opened the banana. “Eat whatever you want. I dine by the river in the morning.”

  “Creature of habit.”

  “I like routines,” he said. “It’s not a crime.”

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  “Sounded like it.”

  She turned fully toward him and leaned back into the counter. “I didn’t mean it to.”

  His toast popped up and he gave his full attention to buttering it. “It’s not a problem.”

  “So I’ll shower and come find you at the river.” Her voice rose at the end, like it was a question.

  “Sure.” He took a bite of crunchy, buttery toast. “We’ll pack lunches before we go. Sometimes I just sleep in the shade.”

  “Still looks wet out there.” She gave him a small smile. “I’ve never hiked to the top of a butte before. Sounds fun.” She took a couple of steps toward him and paused when she was nearly past him. She reached up and placed her palm against his chest. Something strange crossed her face, and she jerked her hand back. “I’m—I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was.” She bent for her bag before scampering into the bathroom. The click of the lock sounded as loud as a gunshot in the quiet cabin.

  Ted stared after her, her handprint branded against his chest. He bit into his toast in slow motion, not quite sure what bubbled between him and April Nox, but very much wanting to find out.

  Chapter Six

  April stepped carefully through the prairie grass, Ted’s form down by the river her goal. She’d taken a long time in the shower, glad the cabin had hot water. It eventually ran out, and she’d been forced to look into her own face in the mirror and ask herself what she was doing.

  The answer: She had no idea.

  No idea why she’d touched Ted Caldwell.

  No idea why the idea of him sleeping under the same roof as her set her pulse pounding.

  No idea why she couldn’t just let him go hiking while she made up for the sleep she’d lost last night.

  “Hey.” She stayed on her feet because the ground looked wet.

  “Hey.” He lifted his coffee mug to his lips, but it had to be stone cold by now.

  “Sun’s out, but it sure isn’t that warm.” She glanced around at the remains of the storm—a few clouds still marred the sky.

  “It will be soon enough.” He groaned as he got to his feet. “Wow, I’m not as young as I used to be. You falling off that horse really did me in.”

  Her face heated. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  She nodded.

  “Should we go make lunches?”

  She simply went with him as he maneuvered toward the cabin. “Hey, how’s there electricity here? I haven’t seen any power lines.”

  “Gas generator,” he said. “It’s good for about seventy-two hours of energy, and
we hardly ever use it during the day. So.” He held the door open for her, and she had the strangest urge to pause in his personal bubble again, stretch up on her toes, and press her lips to his.

  Pure horror snaked through her, choked her. She was only four months pregnant, four months out of her relationship with Liam, four months since her world had ended and a new one had begun.

  How could she even be thinking about another man? Another relationship? She still felt so scarred inside, and she had outward physical evidence of her bad decisions. Her mother had offered to have April move back in with her when the baby came. But April couldn’t bear the thought of that.

  She was thirty years old, for heaven’s sake. She couldn’t move back in with her parents and allow them to take care of her. She’d moved out at eighteen, and for her, there was never the possibility of going back.

  “You know, I wanted to leave Jackson Hole,” she said as he untwisted the tie on the bread bag.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I didn’t want all my friends to know about the baby.” She bypassed the mayo—the sight and smell of it made her squeamish—and spread chunky peanut butter on both slices of her bread. “They think I left town because of the break-up with Liam.”

  Ted finished constructing his sandwich and slid it into a bag. “So what will you tell them when you go home with a child?” He tilted his chin toward her for a fraction of a second, long enough for her to feel the weight of his gaze. “Or are you planning on never goin’ to visit your folks?”

  April hadn’t thought very far ahead, only that she was starting to show and she didn’t want to explain anything to her girlfriends. Didn’t want to say why she couldn’t go out to parties with them. Didn’t want to lie about why she and Liam hadn’t been able to make things work. Her chest felt like someone had stretched a rubber band around her ribs and let it constrict. It felt so tight, so tight. So tight she couldn’t breathe.