by Maisey Yates
The man was a brilliant agent. He had brokered some great endorsement deals for Dane. And had married Dane’s sister.
That had all been great for a little while. Until he realized what an asshole he was.
He cut ties with him after that. Of course he had.
No matter how lucrative the partnership was, he wasn’t going to stay chummy with the man who had cheated on his sister.
Of course, he probably didn’t have any endorsement deals on the horizon now. Nobody wanted a busted-up cowboy advertising anything.
It made him feel like he was floating through black space, with nothing to anchor him.
He focused on the restaurants again. On the fact that none of them were off-limits to him now.
He could shop anywhere he pleased in Gold Valley and beyond.
He supposed he should be happy with that achievement. With the fact that he’d accomplished something. Changed his situation.
But he hadn’t been done.
He wasn’t done.
They breezed through the main part of town, around the corner and out toward Big R, where he knew he would be able to get everything they needed.
He parked in the lot, and the two of them got out, walking with a good chunk of space between them into the store.
Bea went straight for the box with the heat lamp over it in the front, casting what looked to him to be a wistful glance at the baby chicks inside.
“You’re about to get chickens,” he reminded her.
“But baby chicks are so cute.”
“And likely to be eaten by Evan.”
She shot him a very mean look. “He would not.”
“He’s a raccoon, Bea. They aren’t vegetarians.”
She looked angry. “Well, I know that, Dane. I feed him.” Her face suddenly got a very worried look. “I hope he doesn’t harass the chickens.”
“I’ll make sure to build the coop with extra reinforcements,” he said, his tone placating.
“Good,” she said. “I don’t want to rescue the chickens only to have them devoured.”
“Nobody wants that,” he said gravely.
“It would be an extremely poor rescue.”
“No argument from me.”
She wandered away from the chicks, following him over to where the lumber was. He picked up a flat cart along the way, something to put the two-by-fours on.
“Thank you for helping,” she said.
“Thank you for giving me something to do.”
“I just don’t want to give you too much to do.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he said slowly. “You told me about the vet tech program, even though you hadn’t told anyone else. I would rather saw through my own wrist than talk to Wyatt or Lindy about any of my pain. But I will tell you if I need to quit for the day. I promise. I have to find a balance with how much I can take sitting around.”
She nodded. “I understand that. I really do. I know you’re not just being difficult.”
“No. Not just.”
“You’re a little difficult,” she pressed.
“I don’t like sitting around.”
He braced himself on the cart, and dragged a plank off the shelf, depositing it onto the platform with a clatter. He was not going to waste any energy picking those boards up. He was already doing mental gymnastics, trying to figure out how he was going to handle it when they were back at the coop. He looked at Bea, and saw that her eyes were full of concern.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “As long as you let me figure out some work-arounds without freaking out.”
“I won’t freak out,” she said.
“I don’t remember what it’s like to not have a goal,” he said. “I’ve had one since I was eighteen. And I followed it ruthlessly. It’s frustrating. My goal is to be better. And I can’t make that happen. I just... I don’t have any damned experience with not being able to make something do what I want.”
“I do. It’s called literally my entire childhood.”
There was a slight edge to her voice, and he wasn’t used to hearing that from Bea. Ever. She was saccharine if she was anything.
“What was it like? Growing up in that house?”
He finished with the wood, then went down to procure a roll of chicken wire. He looked over at Bea, who was chewing her lip. Like she was considering what to say.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I used to play hide-and-seek with myself a lot. It was big. The house. That was good. But, it was hard to move as slowly as my father expected me to. I just wanted to be outside. I didn’t want to learn to play the piano. I didn’t want to study. I didn’t want to... I didn’t want to be the daughter they wanted me to be. For a long time, Sabrina was perfect. Obviously that didn’t last. And they had that falling-out. But at first... They compared me all the time. And you know Sabrina. She’s beautiful. Blonde, and with hair that doesn’t do...” Bea plucked at a curl. “This. And she seemed to find behaving herself so easy. She did exactly what they wanted. Until she didn’t. And then it was an explosion. I just never... I never even tried. I couldn’t. But I also never melted down at a party. So I was always treated like I was this...innocuous disappointment. Not really a help or a hindrance. There’s something very particular about that. It’s suffocating.”
“I can’t imagine,” he said.
“I think you had it harder.”
“I only can’t imagine because my mother just didn’t care,” he said. “And there was no expectation at all about how I might behave. She didn’t even have any expectations for herself.”
“Your dad left,” she said, softly.
“Dads leave,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.
See you on TV...
If he had, he’d never told Dane. And Dane had the echo stuck in his head all these years. He’d tell himself he didn’t picture his dad sitting in a bar watching the championships.
Didn’t wonder if he told people that was his son.
He gritted his teeth.
“I always wished I didn’t care,” Bea said. “But I just...went off by myself and tried to do things quietly. On my own terms, but small. Rescuing birds in shoeboxes and hiding them in my room. Climbing out the window and running around in the forest behind the winery instead of actually doing my schoolwork. I always admired the fact that you didn’t seem to care.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just remember the first time I met you. And you said a swear word. In front of my parents. And in front of me. And when my mother looked at you disapprovingly, and my father looked shocked... You didn’t care. I kind of wished that I could bottle that and put it inside me somehow.”
He looked down at Bea, and he was stunned into silence by the admiration in her eyes. He didn’t feel like he had done a damn thing to earn it. He didn’t do anything that Bea valued. At least, he hadn’t thought so. She was kind. Considerate to people and animals. And somehow, she admired him. He was... He was selfish by comparison. That was the nicest word for it.
“Bea,” he said, “you care about people. And maybe that comes with caring what they think. I don’t really know how that works. But you shouldn’t trade that for any kind of confidence you think I might have. Ever.”
Bea tilted her head to the side, her golden-brown eyes appraising him. “You care about people.”
“Which people?” he asked.
He continued on collecting materials. And if the edge of the damn chicken wire cut into his hand, he went ahead and ignored it. Anyway, his thigh hurt worse.
“You care about Lindy. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here all the time. And you know what, you wouldn’t feel so terrible about her micromanaging you. Because you would just tell her to...” She hesitated for a moment. “Well, jump in a lake.”
The corner of his mouth hitched
upward. “I probably wouldn’t phrase it that way. But I take your point.”
“No, I know exactly how you would phrase it,” she said, her cheeks turning slightly pink.
Come to think of it, he had never heard Bea swear in a very serious way. The realization amused him.
“There are plenty of people like me. Who are cynical and selfish. The world needs more people like you.”
“Women in their early twenties with trust funds who live in forests?”
“I wasn’t thinking that specifically. But, if that’s how you want to look at it.”
“You’re not as selfish as you think you are,” she said.
“I think I might not be as nice as you think I am though.”
Bea made an exasperated sound and walked ahead of him, and Dane continued to lean heavily on the cart as they wandered through the aisles.
By the time they got up to the front of the store his thigh was throbbing like a son of a bitch, but when they got back to Bea’s place he would take some Tylenol. Something that wouldn’t knock him out, but might take the edge off.
That better be enough, or he was going to break his leg off and chuck it over a mountain.
Okay, maybe not. But he wanted to sometimes.
Karen, the owner of the store, was working the register, all flannel and practicality, smile tight and reserved mostly for animals. He heard a thumping sound coming from behind the counter, and that was when he noticed there was a dog lying on a blanket there.
Bea noticed as soon as she approached, and immediately sprang to action, crouched down and stroked the rather pathetic-looking animal.
It was shaggy, and all gray in the face. Some kind of Australian shepherd mix, probably, though he was no expert on dogs. Still, it was a common enough dog to see running around on ranches.
He’d never had pets. Not as a kid, not as an adult.
“He’s so sweet,” Bea said. “What’s his name?”
“This is Joe,” Karen said, that tight-lipped smile stretched as far as it could go. “His owner was an older man, a customer of mine. He died a couple of days ago, and he doesn’t have any family that can take Joe. They were going to take him to the pound, but I figured I would bring him here. My papillons have been harassing him though and he is an old man. It’s all a little bit too much for him.”
Bea’s whole face went soft, her eyes liquid. “Poor guy,” she said, stroking the old man behind the ears. “So he needs a place to stay?”
“Well, I can’t keep him in the store indefinitely, even if I wanted to.” Karen’s voice gentled for a moment. “Anyway, he wouldn’t be very happy.”
“No,” Bea said, looking around. “He was used to having a companion all the time. And he lost him. Now he’s here...”
Her voice was practically trembling. Dane could only marvel at the amount of compassion she carried around in that petite frame. The sheer amount of caring. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about anything that much. Every single thing in the vicinity of Bea seemed to get a full dose of that heart, of that compassion.
“I can take him,” Bea said softly. “I have so much property. And...well, Dane’s home most of the time.”
Dane shot Bea a look, then looked back at Karen, who was studying him. “I’m living in my sister’s house at the winery,” Dane said, feeling the need to explain that he was not bunking down with Bea.
The judgment in the older woman’s face faded slowly. Hell, he couldn’t blame her for being instantly judgmental. He would judge himself.
“I am working at Wyatt’s place now.”
“Joe could go,” Bea said, insistent now. “And lie on a blanket and watch you work. I bet he would feel much happier than being here all day. There are always so many people at Get Out of Dodge.”
“Bea,” he said. “I’ve never actually had a dog.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Bea said.
“Then you’ll feed it, and walk it?” he asked, his tone dry.
“Well, you can walk him. I mean, let’s face it, Dane, you’re not going to move much faster than the dog. He probably has arthritis, and you have...”
“Fine,” Dane said. “I guess we’ll take the chicken coop supplies and the dog.”
“A bad leg.”
“Bea, I cut you off for a reason.”
“And I finished.” She grinned up at him. And God help him, he couldn’t find it in him to disappoint her.
He didn’t know what forest magic she possessed. It was damn sure something. There wasn’t another person on earth who could possibly railroad him into this. It was Bea, all the way.
Back in the truck, with the dog—who Dane had lifted into the vehicle, in spite of his screaming leg—who had firmly settled between himself and Bea, Dane could only wonder what the hell had become of his life.
“I know I can’t take every animal,” Bea said once they were back on the road.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you were thinking it,” Bea said. “Everyone thinks that. Even if they don’t say it.”
He sighed heavily. “Beatrix, I’m not here to tell you what to do. I don’t care how many animals you take in.”
“I mean, if I kept going I’d end up with a whole animal sanctuary.” She suddenly reached across the space, her hand locking around his coat sleeve. “Dane! I could start an animal sanctuary!”
He blinked and looked over at her quickly, then back at the road. “Like a... What would it be?”
“I’ve been to them before. Like breed rescues for specific kinds of dogs. Or there’s a place a few hours away that takes in farm animals that came from abusive situations, or who lost their homes because of fire or foreclosure. I could have one here. There are always animals in need. I should know. I seem to trip over them.”
“Well, that is true,” he said, slowly.
One thing he’d started to realize about Bea in the past few weeks was that there was a grit beneath her sunny exterior that most people didn’t seem to notice. He’d yet to see her falter when she’d set her mind to something. And that included when she locked horns with him.
“It would be really expensive,” she said.
“You have a trust fund, don’t you?”
“I do,” she said, sounding even more determined. “And I can use it on whatever I want. I don’t want a fancy house or cars or clothes. I want to do something. I want purpose. And my schooling would be so helpful for this, because I could do minor procedures and administer vaccines and any number of things!”
“That is true,” he agreed.
“It just seems crazy,” she said, sounding more enthusiastic with each word.
“Yeah, but you’re a little crazy. And I mean that with full affection.”
Bea looked over at him, around their furry companion, and scrunched her nose. “Thank you.”
“I’m a little crazy too,” he said. “A man doesn’t ride bulls for a living without being a little bit screwed in the head.”
She huffed out a laugh. “No argument from me there.”
“If you’re going to be the crazy...well, any-animal-you-happen-to-run-across lady, you might as well be all in.”
The smile that earned him filled the cab of his truck with sunshine. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a person happier than Beatrix Leighton in this moment. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone with that kind of pure passion. “I could do that,” she said. “I mean, I could really do it.”
“You could. You can have your very own wildlife refuge.”
He could practically feel her vibrating on the other side of the cab now. “A wildlife refuge. Bea’s Refuge. Where animals can heal and recover from trauma...and...and things. Some of them could live their lives out there safely and happily and maybe others could even find permanent homes.”
“So
unds good, Bea.”
“Okay,” she said. “We should do it. I’ll need a plan.”
He barked a laugh. “Something tells me you have one already.”
“Okay, I kind of do. But I’m going to need to enlist your help. On the side of the property my cabin is on there are structures that might be salvageable. We’ll need shelters and fences. I’ll need your help to oversee that.”
“Hey, I’m indisposed and at your service.”
There was so much excitement in her voice, so much passion, and it was...infectious. He hadn’t had a goal, not a real one since his accident. Sure, there was the go back in time and not have this injury goal. Which is just slightly less realistic that the heal instantaneously goal.
But this felt like something. Something real. Something he could do while he waited, while he took that time that everyone was so quick to remind him he needed to take.
Hell, he had spun his trailer park upbringing into gold by getting involved in the rodeo, he didn’t see why he couldn’t work this out too. Elbow grease, determination and charm could get a man a long way. He had all that, and he was confident he could make it work in this instance the way he’d used it earlier in life.
It was the thing that gave him purpose. The thing that made him feel alive.
Helping Bea with this might be the best damn thing for him.
“I guess I’ll have more work to do,” he said.
“Yes,” Bea said. “Yes indeed. I’m going to put you to work.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHAT IN THE hell is that?”
Dane looked down at the dog who had been his constant companion for the past two days, and asked himself a similar question. Though, he had to admit, even if it was just himself, that the utter shock on Wyatt’s face almost made the whole unexpected turn of events worth it.
Not that the dog was any trouble. He mostly wandered from his food bowl to his bed—both things that he and Bea had acquired at Big R before taking the dog home—and back again.
This was the first day he had brought Joe to Get Out of Dodge. He expected that the dog would do much the same here. Migrate between the food bowl that Dane had brought with him, and the bed, that he had also brought.