by Helen Lacey
His brother shook his head. “You can be cryptic if you have to, but the truth is you’ve always had blinders on when it came to Lucy Monero. She was the girl next door, remember? The girl who used to look at you with puppy-dog eyes and who you never noticed because you were too busy trying to score with Trudy What’s-Her-Name. Now you’ve come to come to your senses and finally noticed her and it turns out she still has a thing for you.” Grady’s eyes gleamed. “Sounds like love to me.”
Brant shook his head. “You can make fun all you like, but I have my reasons for feeling responsible for hurting her. You’re right, she waited for me,” he said, flinching inwardly, wondering what Grady would think if he knew the true meaning of the words. “She chose me and I have no idea why. All week I’ve been trying to work out ways to end it. But then she looks at me, or touches me, and I’m done for. I feel as though I’m in a corner and there’s no way out. And the thing is,” he admitted wearily, “part of me doesn’t want a way out.”
Grady smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Well, I guess there’s only one thing you can do.”
“What’s that?”
“You should do the smart thing and marry her.”
* * *
When Lucy didn’t hear from Brant again on Saturday, or on Sunday morning, she began imagining a dozen different scenarios. Maybe his coffee date had turned into something else. Something more. But by midday she’d worked herself up and was so mad with him she knew if she stayed home she’d stew all day and ruin what was left of her weekend.
She drove to Kayla’s in the afternoon and ended up staying for dinner. Kayla was all commiseration and support and by the time they’d consumed three cups of coffee and a packet of Oreos, Lucy had convinced herself that Brant was seeing someone else and his silence meant he was breaking things off between them. She left at eight o’clock and drove down the street, pulling over beneath a streetlight. She grabbed her cell and sent him a text.
I need to see you.
A couple of minutes later she got a reply.
I’m kinda busy right now. But I’ll call you later.
Later? Right. Her rage turned to hurt and then her hurt morphed back into rage. Well, if he was seeing someone else she certainly wanted to know about it. She might be foolishly naive...but she wasn’t going to be a naive fool!
I’ll be there in five minutes.
She didn’t wait for a response and drove back into town. Six minutes later she pulled up outside the tavern. Lucy didn’t bother with her coat, instead she grabbed her tote, got out of the car, marched up to the door and banged so hard her knuckles hurt. The big door swung back and he stood in the doorway, dressed in old jeans that rode low on his hips, a long-sleeved, pale gray Henley T-shirt and sneakers.
He was also covered in paint from head to toe.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Painting myself,” he said, grabbing her arm and hauling her across the threshold. “More the point, what are you doing out this late and without a coat? Are you trying to catch pneumonia?”
She shivered as the cold from the air outside seeped through her thin clothing. “My coat is in the car.”
“There’s a fire going in the back room,” he said. “Warm yourself up while I grab you a sweater.”
Lucy walked to the rear of the tavern and stood by the big fireplace. She noticed a couple of ladders with a timber plank between them and a tin of paint on its side and a pool of paint on the floor. He returned a couple of minutes later with a blue zip-up sweater. She took it and placed her arms through the sleeves.
“Um, it looks like you had a little accident?” She pointed to the paint spill.
“Someone texted me,” he replied pointedly. “I was on the ladder with a bucket of paint in one hand and brush in another. I went for my phone, it slipped out of my hand and almost landed in the paint. I figured a tin of spilled paint was the lesser of two evils.”
Lucy bit back a grin. He still had some explaining to do. “Are you seeing someone else?”
“What?” he shot back as he grabbed a towel from the bench top and wiped at some of the paint on his face and neck.
Lucy stepped forward and took the towel from him. “Someone else,” she said again as she removed a smear of paint from his jaw. “As in, the woman you had coffee with yesterday.”
He sighed, clearly exasperated. “Faith O’Halloran has just moved to Cedar River from Montana with her young son,” he explained. “She’s the new chef. The coffee date was an interview.”
Lucy fought the sudden embarrassment clinging to her skin. Damn Kayla and her overly suspicious mind. “Oh... I see.”
He took the towel back. “So, is the interrogation over?”
She shrugged lightly. “Mostly. You’ve got paint in your hair.” She grabbed the towel again and started on the paint smear on his throat. “And everywhere else, by the look of things. Why are you working so late anyhow?”
“I’ve got some of the interior fit-out next week,” he said, standing perfectly still. “I told you I was working this weekend.”
She avoided his gaze and kept wiping his throat. “You said you were busy.”
“Yes, busy...working.” He shook his head. “The kitchen went in this weekend, remember?” He took the towel and tossed it aside. “I’m going to clean up this mess, take a shower and then we’re going to talk. Or—” He grabbed her around the waist, careful not to get paint on her clothes, and looked down into her upturned face. “You could take a shower with me and we could skip the talking for an hour or two.”
Lucy liked the sound of that idea.
An hour later they were lying side by side on his bed, spent and breathing hard.
“Incidentally,” Brant said as he entwined their fingers. “I’m trying not to take offense at the fact you thought I was seeing someone else. I’m many things, Lucia, but unfaithful is not one of them.”
Lucy grimaced. “I’m sorry. Put it down to inexperience. I’m not very knowledgeable when it comes to this kind of...” She waggled the fingers on her other hand. “Thing.”
“You’re not alone,” he said quietly. “I haven’t exactly embraced commitment for the past decade.”
She grinned. “Your virgin heart. My virgin body. That’s quite a combination.”
He laughed softly and his grip tightened. “Lucy... I’d like to know something.”
“Sure. What?”
“I don’t quite know how to put this without sounding incredibly egotistical...but why did you really wait so long to have a physical relationship with someone? Did it have anything to do with me? Or to some old infatuation you may have had from when we were kids?”
Lucy shrugged lightly. “Not consciously. I mean, sure... I did have a little crush on you in high school. But I was so quiet and ridiculously self-conscious in high school. And once I got to college, sex seemed like some kind of tradable commodity. The bed hopping wasn’t something I wanted for myself. And then when my roommate was attacked...it just seemed like one complication I didn’t need.”
“But once you were working and out of college, surely there were men interested in you?”
“Not so much,” she admitted. “I think that when a person puts a wall up for long enough, people stop trying to find a way over the top. And I had a wall that was ten feet high.”
“What about Kieran O’Sullivan?” he asked.
“A friend,” she replied. “No blip, remember?”
“So...there was no one else you were interested in being with? Ever?”
Heat crawled over her skin. How did she respond without sounding like an immature, love-struck fool? “I guess I didn’t want to kiss a whole lot of frogs before I discovered princes didn’t really exist.”
Silence enveloped the dimly lit room for a moment. Lucy could hear
him breathing and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. After a moment he spoke again.
“Are you saying you hadn’t...” His tone took on a kind of wary disbelief. “That you hadn’t—”
“That I hadn’t really kissed anyone before you?” she finished for him. “I guess I hadn’t.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt the tension seep through his body. “Lucy...why me?”
Heat caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. “You know why.”
He sighed heavily. “You could have any man you wanted...someone who can give you what you’re looking for...marriage...family...”
When his words trailed off, Lucy’s heart twisted. “And that’s not you, is that what you’re saying?”
He sighed again, wearily, as though he had a great burden pressing down on his chest. “A week ago you said I’d been courting you and didn’t even know it...and you were right. That was unfair of me. I don’t—”
“Am I being dumped?” she asked hotly, jackknifing up.
He straightened. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?” she demanded. “Your hot-and-cold routine is tiring, Brant.” Lucy shook her head and sighed. “How about we get some sleep and talk about this tomorrow?”
Brant stood, unselfconsciously naked and so gorgeous she almost crawled across the bed and pressed herself against him. But his next words turned her inside out.
“You can’t stay here.”
She watched as he grabbed a pair of fresh jeans from the wardrobe and slipped them on.
Lucy scrambled her legs together. “Now you’re kicking me out?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I just think it would be best if you went home.”
Lucy got to her feet and stood toe-to-toe with him. His gaze raked over her, hot and filled with an almost reluctant desire. Even when they were in the middle of a crisis, the attraction they had for one another was undeniable.
Lucy stood her ground. “No.”
His gaze narrowed. “No?”
“I’m staying.”
He inhaled sharply and grabbed her dress from the chair in the corner. “Get dressed.”
“Forget it, soldier,” she said, hands on hips. “Because if I go, I go for good.”
“Then go,” he said coldly and walked toward the door.
“What is it, Brant?” she demanded as she quickly got into her dress and smoothed the fabric over her hips. “What is it you’re so afraid of?”
He stopped instantly and turned. “Afraid?” he echoed, his blue eyes glittering. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“I don’t believe you,” she snapped, going for his emotional jugular because if she didn’t she knew she would lose him forever. “So, what is it? Are you scared that if I spend the night, if I sleep in your bed, that at some point I’m going to witness the real you? The you who paces the floorboards at night? The you who breaks out in a cold sweat at two o’clock in the morning? The you who has bad dreams and cries in his sleep?”
He paled instantly. “How...how do you know that?” he asked raggedly.
Her heart ached for him and she pressed a hand to his chest. “Because I know you. In here. I’m connected to you in a way I’ve never been connected to anyone in my life. Don’t you get it, Brant? I love you.”
It was out.
There was nothing for either of them to hide behind.
Just her heart on the line.
Lucy stared at him, absorbing every feature, every conflicting emotion, evident in his expression. But he didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He simply looked at her. Into her. Through her. Time seemed to stretch like brittle elastic until, finally, he spoke.
“It’s late. Get some sleep.”
He turned and left the room and Lucy didn’t take a breath until she couldn’t hear his footsteps on the stairs. She sat on the bed and sucked in an agonizing breath. Did the man have ice water in his veins? Had she given herself and her love to someone who was impervious to deep feeling?
No...
She knew him. He was kind and compassionate and capable of much more than he realized.
Lucy lay on the bed and closed her eyes. She was so tired, weary from tension and knowing she had to go to work the following day. She inhaled, relaxed her aching shoulders and tried to rest, hopeful that at some point Brant would join her in the big bed.
But he didn’t.
Lucy woke up around six and, after a quick bathroom stop, headed downstairs. Brant was awake and behind the main bar, sorting through paint swatches. He wore jeans and a dark sweater and looked so gorgeous her mouth turned dry.
“Hi,” she said as cheerfully as she could muster. “Did you manage to get some sleep?”
He hooked a thumb in the direction of a narrow cot in one corner. “A little. You?”
She nodded. “I could make breakfast if you—”
“No...but thank you.”
She inhaled sharply. “I guess I should go. I’ll just get my things.”
Lucy didn’t wait for a reply and swiveled on her feet. When she came back downstairs a few minutes later he was near the front of the tavern, piling cut pieces of timber into stacks. “Will I see you later?”
He looked up and straightened. “I’ll probably be tied up here all day.”
Lucy nodded and walked toward the door. She grabbed the handle, lingered and then turned back to him. “You know, Brant, I’ve pretty much been in love with you since I was fifteen years old.”
He stilled instantly, his blue-eyed gaze riveting her to the spot. The silence between them was suddenly deafening. But she kept going, too far in to back down.
“Do you remember the day you took Trudy to the prom?” she asked but didn’t wait for him to respond. “I was at your ranch with my mom. Your dad and Grady were helping my mother sell our ranch and they were all in the kitchen talking and I was sitting by the counter, my head in a book, as always. I used to hang around your ranch and watch you and your brother break and train the horses. Or your mom would give me baking lessons. But that day you came into the room dressed in your suit with a corsage for Trudy and you looked so handsome and grown-up. I knew once school was over that you would be leaving for the military and for the hundredth time I wished I was older, prettier, more popular... And I wished that the corsage was for me and you were taking me to prom.”
She sighed, remembering the ache in her young heart that day. “Then you left town and I finished high school and went to college and med school. Years passed and occasionally our paths would cross and you would usually ignore me, and I got used to that. When I returned to town permanently I knew I wanted to work at the hospital and settle down in Cedar River and hopefully find someone to share my life with.” Her voice quivered as tears filled her eyes. “Then you came back and I tried to act like I was indifferent and over my silly infatuation. But I knew I’d been fooling myself. Because,” she said, putting her hand to her chest as tears fell down her cheeks, “in here...in here I was still that insecure fifteen-year-old girl, dreaming about corsages and going to the prom with Brant Parker.”
She pulled her tote close to her body and grabbed the door handle. “I know you believe you can’t make a commitment, Brant...and I think I understand why. But, despite how much I love you and love being with you, I need to end this now... I need to stop kidding myself into thinking that what we have is enough for me. Because it’s not.”
She left the tavern and walked to her car. There was a light blanket of snow on her windshield and she flicked it off before she climbed into the car and drove home.
But the time she arrived at work an hour later, she was hurting all over.
Brant didn’t call her that day. Or the next.
However, Lucy called him late Wednesday afternoon and lef
t three messages on his cell.
Because at one o’clock on Wednesday, Joe Parker had another heart attack and was rushed into the ER by the paramedics, but tragically died forty minutes later.
Chapter Twelve
Brant ignored every message on his phone for several days. His uncle was dead and Lucy had left him. She had her reasons and it was probably the right thing. But by Friday he was so wound up he could barely stand being in his own skin.
He met Grady at the funeral home late in the afternoon and finalized the funeral arrangements for the following Monday. The service was to be held at the small cemetery on the edge of town and his uncle would be laid to rest next to their father and grandparents.
“Are you coming back to the ranch?” Grady asked once they’d left the funeral home. “The girls would love to see you.”
Brant shook his head. “I’ve got things to do.”
Grady grabbed his shoulder, looked concerned and didn’t bother to disguise it. “I don’t think you should be alone.”
“I’m fine.”
When they got to the parking lot, his brother scowled when he saw the motorbike. “Really? In this weather?”
“It was clear when I left the tavern.”
Grady held out his palm and caught a few flakes of snow that were now falling. “It’s not clear now. I’ll drive you back and you can pick the bike up tomorrow.”
They both knew he would never leave his motorbike unattended. “Stop fussing like an old woman.”
Grady made an exasperated sound. “All right, just be careful riding home in this.”
“I will,” Brant promised.
His brother nodded and then spoke. “So, have you seen Lucy?”
“No,” he replied.
Grady pulled his coat collar up around his neck. “She was there, you know, at the end, holding his hand, giving him comfort.”
Brant ignored the tightness in his chest. Yeah, she was good at holding hands. Good at comfort. And good at ending things. “I gotta run. See you tomorrow.”
He grabbed his helmet, straddled the bike and was about to say goodbye when his brother spoke again.
