by Liz Isaacson
She sifted through her vocabulary, trying to give a name to this bliss.
Peace.
Yes, this was peace. She smiled at the idea of pursuing something with Brennan, only a tremor of fear disrupting Cora’s comfort.
Cora worked all day the next day, doing the paperwork her Captain-ship required, as well as putting in the time for the chores she’d assigned herself. She worked out for a couple of hours and wasted the rest of the time on her shift on her phone. By the time she made it over to Brennan’s, she’d also spent a good portion of that time texting him.
And when she found him on his front porch, sitting with Sybil panting at his side, a squeal burst from her mouth and she couldn’t get her helmet off fast enough. She giggled as she skipped up the walk toward him, glad when he stood to receive her.
“So someone’s happy today,” he said, sweeping her into his arms. “Good day?”
“It is now.”
He looked at her with an edge of wariness in his eye. “Something’s different.” He backed up. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” But Cora’s voice strayed into the too-high range. She sat next to the basset hound and scratched behind her ears. “All right, fine. I did what your pastor said to do.”
Brennan sat next to her. “And what was that?”
She looked at him, sure he was kidding. “Didn’t you hear him yesterday?”
“I was, uh, distracted.” He reached for her hand and slipped his fingers between hers. “You sort of smell real nice, and I guess I couldn’t use so many senses at once.”
Cora blinked, little blips of joy beating through her like a pulse. A laugh flowed from her mouth, and pure happiness filled it, especially when Brennan joined his voice to hers.
“So,” she said as she sobered. “He said to believe that we could make good decisions. And if we didn’t believe that, to ask God.”
“Ah, okay. So you asked God? Or you made your own decision.”
“Some of both.”
“And what did you decide?”
Cora pulled in a breath, prepared to tell him something real—maybe the first real thing—about herself. “So I haven’t dated in a few years. I mean, I’ll go out with men, but nothing serious. I don’t want serious.”
Brennan’s arm flinched, like he was trying to pull it away and keep it in place at the same time. “All right.” He sounded wary, guarded, and she didn’t really blame him.
“I didn’t want serious,” she said. “I’ve been focused on my firefighting. I even came here just to get more rural experience for my application for the hotshot crews.”
“Mm hm. You’ve mentioned that.”
She had. Her stomach squirmed, and she wondered if he’d made dinner tonight. “Our relationship was simply going to be one week. The party. Done.” And yet, here she sat on this man’s front porch, holding his hand. “But I kinda like you, and I asked God if dating you would be okay.” She smiled, remembering that delicious feeling of peace. “And I felt good about it.”
Brennan’s grin was quick and wide. “Wow. That’s a lot to live up to.”
And she hadn’t even told him everything yet. “So yeah. If you’re up to it, I think you could be my first boyfriend in four years. My first serious relationship.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she coughed a couple of times.
“Boyfriend. Wow.”
“You’ve already kissed me.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and pushed her pigtail off her arm. “If you’re not up to it—”
“Oh, I’m up to it.”
She smiled at the basset hound, giddiness prancing through her like ponies in a parade.
“Do you want to go to dinner?” he asked. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded. “I am hungry, but I have one more thing to tell you.” She lifted her eyes to his, hoping she had the courage to say the necessary words. Hoping against all hope that he wouldn’t judge her too harshly.
“The reason I haven’t dated seriously—or wanted to date seriously—in four years was because of my divorce.”
His eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “You’ve been married?”
“Yes.” The emotion from that event still lingered so close to the surface, and Cora didn’t even know it. She swallowed. “His name was Brandt Cowell. We were married for two years. He was a firefighter too.”
“What happened?”
Cora wasn’t exactly sure, but she couldn’t say that. It sounded stupid inside her own head. “He fell out of love with me,” she finally said. “I’m not sure when, or why. But he packed everything he owned one day while I was at the station, and when I got home, I found an empty house and a folder of divorce papers on the kitchen counter.”
A phantom of that day drifted through her mind’s eye, and she lost herself in that depressive darkness where she’d lived for a while after Brandt’s departure. “My mother and sister didn’t understand it either. That’s when I became the black sheep of my family. They all loved Brandt and couldn’t understand what I’d done wrong to drive him away.”
Brennan remained quiet for several long moments. Then he finally said, “It takes two to tango, right?”
Relief flooded her. “Right.”
He inhaled and started to stand. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course.” She joined him and waited while he ushered Sybil back inside the air conditioned house.
“So dinner?”
“One more thing….” She stretched up onto her toes and ran her fingers along the base of his neck, right where his hair ended. He sighed, the breath stuttering out of his body, which drove Cora’s desire sky high.
She touched her lips to his at the same time his hands landed on her waist. He kneaded her closer, working his magic on her as he kissed her back. Cora took her time, held on, so she could memorize the taste of him, experience the careful way he seemed to savor her, and let herself have something she hadn’t had in a very long time.
Joy.
Peace.
Love?
Chapter Eight
Brennan went about his business, mowing massive soccer fields and maintaining school grounds during the day, and visiting his grandparents on the weekend. The addition of Cora to his life made him smile every time he woke up, and the evenings and weekends where he could kiss her good-night left him breathless.
She had to work the weekend of Wren’s wedding, so he attended that alone. He was actually grateful he didn’t have to bring Cora around to meet the entire family. She’d have been overwhelmed in less than a minute. Brennan was, and it was his family.
Gramps and Grams knew about their relationship, and the next time he got together with his brothers, Milt asked, “Hey, whatever happened with you and that firefighter?” He glanced up from the menu, though Brennan was sure his oldest brother already knew what he wanted.
They’d been coming to Ruby’s Roost, the ancient café right beside the red brick church, since they were boys. Milt wasn’t one to venture past what he already knew he liked—the chicken fried steak—so Brennan suspected his studious attention to the menu was fake.
“We’re dating,” Brennan said, keeping his eyes on his own menu though he already knew he wanted the fireman’s breakfast—and not because of Cora. Ruby’s made these fried potatoes that had his mouth watering already.
Pat choked and hastily set down his water glass. “You’ve got to give me warning,” he said. “You’re dating her? Like, you go out and hold hands and stuff?” He exchanged a glance with their other unmarried brother, Kyler.
Brennan followed their look, refusing to be embarrassed. So he liked Cora Wesley. So what? “Yes, like we go out and hold hands and…stuff.”
Milt leaned back in the booth, the menu forgotten. He wore a big smile and said, “That’s great, Brennan.”
It was great, and Brennan nodded, glad when Payton came over to take their order. Once the waitress left, Pat leaned forward. “So why didn’t you bring her to Wren’s wedding?”
“She was on-call and had to be at the station.”
“She sleeps there sometimes, right?” Kyler asked. He swept his long hair off his forehead, and Brennan had the sudden urge to drag him down the street to the barber.
“Right.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay with that?” Brennan narrowed his eyes at Kyler, trying to discern if he knew something Brennan didn’t.
“She’s the only woman.”
“So?”
“So she’s sleeping in the same room with all those men.”
Brennan hadn’t actually given it any thought. He frowned as emotions romped through him. In the end, he said, “I don’t think it matters much, Kyler. Honestly.”
“All right,” he said, lifting one hand in surrender. “If you’re not worried about it.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay.”
Milt cleared his throat and reached for the sugar dispenser. While he poured the sweetener into his coffee, he asked, “What about you, Kyler? Are you seeing anyone?”
He laughed, tossing that ridiculous head of hair again. “No, and I’m not looking,” he added hastily to the end. “So no karaoke bar. No concerts in the park. I’m doin’ just fine on my own.”
It was Milt’s turn to say, “All right,” in a fake, slightly high voice, as if there was no way what Kyler had just said was true.
“You’ll have to start looking again at some point,” Pat said, his voice at half the volume it had been previously.
“I know, Pat.” Kyler glared at him. “I don’t need a lecture. I’m doin’ just fine.”
Brennan kept out of the conversation. Just two years older than Brennan’s twenty-nine, Kyler had been his best friend growing up. They were still close, and Brennan knew that Kyler’s last girlfriend had been so serious he’d gone to Vernal to look for diamond rings.
When she ghosted him, he cracked. Grew his hair out. Moved to a new house in a somewhat run-down neighborhood. He changed. It had been two years, but Kyler hadn’t so much as glanced at a woman in those twenty-four months. And he still had no idea where Katie had gone, where she was now, or why she’d left. All he’d gotten was a note taped to his front door that said, I’m sorry.
He met Kyler’s eye, the agony there still just as fresh as it had been two years ago. “So Cora wants to be a hotshot,” he said, steering the conversation right back to him. “There’s a really short window to apply right after Christmas.”
Milt went with him, casting one more look in Kyler’s direction. “What’s a hotshot?”
“Backcountry firefighter,” Brennan said. “Sort of. They work for the US Forest Service mostly. Some other organizations, but she wants to get on a crew through the Forest Service. They have crews right here in Utah. They do fire prevention, fight fires obviously, and other stuff to maintain the land.”
The conversation continued, and Pat asked Brennan what he’d do if she got selected for a crew somewhere else.
“I don’t know,” Brennan said, that seed of going to college sprouting in his mind. “Can I tell you guys a secret?” He leaned forward, though he had to immediately lean back as Payton arrived with their food. The conversation stalled as pancakes were passed out, and bottles of ketchup placed on the table.
Once she’d left, Brennan slathered his crispy fried potatoes in ketchup and salt. “You have to promise not to say anything to anyone else. Not Mom and Dad. Not Grams and Gramps. Not any of the girls.”
“Like we spend every weekend with Gramps and Grams like you do,” Pat said.
“Not your wives either,” Brennan said. “They talk to the girls.”
“Wow, this must be serious.” Milt tucked into his chicken fried steak, obviously not as concerned as he’d sounded.
“I’m thinking about quitting the family business and going back to college.”
A loud clanging filled the booth. Brennan’s attention shot to Pat, who’d dropped his knife and fork. He blinked at Brennan in pure shock.
“That bad of an idea, huh?” Brennan calmly speared a couple of potatoes, but he couldn’t quite put them in his mouth.
“Quitting the family business?” Pat repeated. “Yeah, that’s a huge idea.”
“Pat,” Milt said in his warning, older brother voice.
“No one’s quit the family business.” Pat managed to pick up his silverware, and he licked the egg yolk from the handle of his knife. “Wow. I just—I had no idea—wow.”
“You don’t like landscaping?” Kyler asked. He hadn’t looked away from Brennan since he’d practically declared he wanted to defect from the Fuller family business. A shimmer of hope glinted in his eyes.
“I like it fine,” Brennan said.
“Then why quit?”
“It’s not what I want to do.”
“What do you want to do?” Milt asked.
“It’s stupid.” Brennan focused on his food, wishing he’d never brought it up. But if he couldn’t talk about it with his brothers, how could he ever approach his parents and have the required conversation?
“I’m sure it’s not,” Kyler said.
“It’s still landscaping,” Brennan said, taking courage from the encouragement he found in Kyler’s gaze. “But it requires me to go to college. It’s called landscape architecture, and you basically work with cities, businesses, universities, places like that, to design campuses, parks, or spaces that are environmentally friendly. It’s like landscaping, but on a much bigger scale.”
“Not mowing lawns.” Kyler looked as interested as Brennan felt about landscape architecture.
“Not mowing lawns,” Brennan said. “It’s more like deciding where those lawns will be. Preserving green space in big cities. Designing parks for communities. There’s all kinds of possibilities in the job market.”
“Not in Brush Creek,” Pat said, the voice of dissent and doubt. Or maybe he was the sole voice of reason. Brennan wasn’t sure.
“Not in Brush Creek, no,” Brennan agreed.
“No one has ever even moved from Brush Creek,” he pointed out.
“I know.” Brennan sighed. “Doesn’t that bother you guys? Did you just feel like, I don’t know. You’re okay with your jobs? Your lives here?”
“I am,” Milt said. “But I don’t fault you for wanting something different.”
“I’m surprised Dawn hasn’t left yet,” Kyler said.
Brennan was too. Dawn was the second youngest, and their mother had labeled her the “wild child” of the Fuller family. Silence descended as the brothers ate, and Brennan couldn’t help letting the idea of becoming a landscape architect grow, expand, and bloom.
When he got home, he opened his laptop and started researching how to become one, which colleges around the country offered the best programs. He made a list of how much it would cost, how long it would take, and where the best jobs were.
No matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t keep his job with A Jack of All Trades and go to school. “Maybe for a year,” he said, looking at the list of required classes he’d printed from the Utah State University website. He might be able to do some general education classes online for a couple of semesters.
After that, though, he’d need to be at the university. Physically in classes. And that meant he’d have to quit his job and leave town, something no one in his family had done in three generations.
“How many chin ups do you have to do?” Brennan panted, having only done one. He stared at Cora in her tight workout pants and skimpy tank top. Her muscles strained, but her body lifted as if levitated by a magician.
“Six,” she grunted.
“How many is that?”
She lowered herself, her arms shaking. Sheer determination coated her face, and she lifted herself once more. “Five.”
Brennan admired her for a lot of reasons. She’d come to Brush Creek by herself, number one. She dealt with a toxic family with grace and kindness. She was the hardest worker he’d ever m
et. Since joining her for her workouts, he’d become very aware of how out of shape he was, despite working ten hours a day on his feet.
Because Cora could run two miles in thirteen minutes. She had to. The hotshots had rigorous physical requirements, and she’d been working for eight months to make sure she could meet them. She’d passed last year, but she hadn’t been given a job. While her application remained on file, she had to do the physical tests every year, during the tiny window in the winter.
“Six.” She practically flopped to the mat and wiped the sweat from her forehead. When she looked at him, pure satisfaction beamed from her face.
“I did one,” Brennan said, returning her grin. “I think I’m gonna call that good.”
She giggled, the pure feminine sound of it lighting Brennan’s blood on fire. He turned to survey the rest of her home gym. “What do you do next?” He’d learned that she had a workout routine for every day of the week.
“I’m lifting today,” she said, moving to a rack of free weights.
“Oh, well, I’m going to be lifting later, so I’ll just watch.” He took a seat in the single folding chair in the room.
“Lifting later?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “What are you going to be lifting later?”
“You know, bags of topsoil. Something like that.”
She laughed at him, and Brennan couldn’t help himself. He stood and approached her, sweeping one hand around her waist to pull her in for a kiss. He liked the curve of her mouth as he did, liked that she kissed him back, even if it was only for a few seconds.
“Stop distracting me,” she said, a flirtatious undercurrent to her voice that meant she wasn’t really upset with him. “My test is in four months. I can’t be all soft because of you.” She pushed on his chest, but he didn’t move.
“I like the soft parts of you,” he said, holding her close, a prayer in his heart that he wouldn’t have to let her go.
She relaxed against him, and Brennan closed his eyes as she settled her cheek against his pulse. He felt dangerously out of control in that moment. Like he could blurt out, “I love you,” and she might say it back.
