Brothers of Miller Ranch Box Set

by Natalie Dean

  “Don’t be jealous just because he got the best metabolism out of all of us,” Bradley said with a laugh. “I like not having to eat every couple of hours. Remember in high school, when we had to get a doctor’s note to let him eat in class because he used to get lightheaded having to wait until he got home?”

  Bart chuckled. “Yeah, I remember. At least now he seems to have somewhat leveled out. I’d hate to think about that new girl of his having to keep up with all that appetite.”

  “Please, like she’d be that domestic. That girl has way too many ambitions to try to keep up with his dietary needs.”

  Normally, Missy would take a comment like that as a red flag, but Bradley said it with admiration, not derision. One of the many things she hated about her small town was that often women were expected to only have certain roles. And while she fully supported every woman who wanted to be a domestic goddess, Missy didn’t like that it was treated as a matter of course. Just like men, some women flourished in a caretaking role, and sometimes they needed something different.

  Like her.

  She needed something more, but she didn’t know what. Sometimes, she just wanted to abandon the town that she didn’t fit into, pack up and never look back.

  But she didn’t have the resources to go anywhere else, and the thought of leaving her father and mother alone, their bones never visited, their graves left without flowers, made her stomach twist. They were all she had, and even if they were dead, she still didn’t want to leave them.

  “Speaking of ambitions,” Mrs. Miller said. “Are you looking at getting back into the veterinary field, or have you fallen in love with ranch life?”

  Missy quickly chewed the mouthful she had bitten off. She had been hoping that they might let her slip by without much conversation, but it seemed that was not her luck.

  “I just got here, really,” she said with what she hoped was a polite smile. “Think I’ll stick around for a while and learn what I can before I start looking for new work.”

  “We look forward to having you here,” Bradley said with a warm smile.

  Geez, the Miller boys really were a pretty crew, weren’t they? It didn’t seem quite fair. But the nice feeling she had from his easy welcome faded when her eyes flicked to Mrs. Miller, and she saw… something there that she couldn’t place. Dropping her eyes down to her plate, she resolved to eat as quickly as she could before escaping and getting back home. Goodness knew her pets were probably missing her.

  Missy was stuffed. So pleasantly full that if she was home, she would have popped the button of her jeans and let her soft stomach expand how it wanted too. But she definitely wasn’t home, and she was also wearing overalls, so she contented herself with sitting back in her chair and waiting for a pause where she could exit.

  The conversation during the rest of the meal had been fairly innocuous, with Bart sending her grateful or exasperated looks over the table at appropriate times. She was glad that she was there for him; her presence seemed to make him more comfortable for some reason. Maybe it was because he didn’t have to pretend with her. She’d seen him at his absolute worst, and it hadn’t scared her off.

  He would have to do something purposely bad to her to do that. Once, when she was seventeen, she had come across a desert owl caught up in some discarded tangle of plastic, most likely something left over from the temporary barriers set up for the town’s yearly marathon. She’d only had her car keys on her, but she had dutifully worked to free the guy.

  He wasn’t happy, and she couldn’t really blame him. He was in a compromising position, and she was a big ol’ predator. He had tried to attack her repeatedly, his claws cutting so deep into her arm that she ended up needing stitches. She still had the scars to this day, silvery little lines to remember him by.

  So yeah, if he thought he was the first terrified creature fighting for his life that she’d dealt with, he was wrong.

  “Thank you so much for the meal,” Missy said finally, pushing herself back from the table. “But my little ones are probably wondering where I am.”

  Mrs. Miller’s head rotated to look at her. “Oh, you have children?”

  Missy couldn’t help it, she snorted at the absurdity of that idea. She was pretty sure that she was missing one of the vital steps in childbearing. Or basically all of them. “Goodness no. I mean my rescue animals.”

  Mrs. Miller’s smile was a bit embarrassed. “Oh, I see. Apologies for assuming.”

  Missy waved it away with her hand. “Don’t worry about it, I can see how my wording was confusing. I guess sometimes it feels like they are my children, hah.”

  “Nothing wrong with having compassion for God’s loving creations.” Bart’s mother stood, wiping off her apron. The thing was quite pretty, and Missy couldn’t help but wonder if the woman had made it herself.

  “Bartie, Bradley, would you mind clearing the table? I’ll walk our guest to her car.”

  Bart looked startled at that. “Uh, I can do that Ma. I invited her, after all.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Miller said breezily. “It’s not often that I get to spend time with another lady.” She sniffed her nose dramatically. “It’s a wonder I don’t go insane from all the testosterone around here, I tell ya.”

  “See,” Bradley hissed conspiratorially to his brother but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I told you she always wanted Bryant to be a girl.”

  “Please,” their father retorted, probably the first time he had spoken the whole meal. “Not with the way he cats around town. The last thing we’d need is our only daughter having that kind of reputation.”

  Missy stiffened at that, fighting to keep her expression neutral. So they were somewhat at peace with their youngest being a player? But couldn’t stand the idea of a daughter doing the same? It was a hypocrisy Missy had run into plenty of times in her life, but she didn’t expect to find it here.

  Oh well. It wasn’t like she’d be seeing these people very often. From now on, she had to keep her head low and work, work, work.

  “Let me pack you up a meal to go,” Mrs. Miller said chipperly before disappearing to the kitchen before Missy could protest.

  Not that she would really mean her protests. The food was really good.

  But even with that extra step, it wasn’t long before Mrs. Miller was linking her arm through Missy’s and they were both walking to her truck.

  It seemed like an entirely different day since she’d come into work, her body and mind were exhausted from being out so late the day previous. Now that she knew she would be back to her bed soon, her weariness was starting to come back with a vengeance.

  “You can keep the basket and Tupperware, dear,” Mrs. Miller said on the way to their destination, still as sweet as pie. “I have so many of them, sometimes I don’t know what to do with it all! I try not to hoard things, but with five sons, I never seem to be able to find the balance of what is just enough leftover containers and what’s just short.”

  Missy laughed, having finally reached her car. She disentangled herself from the matriarch and gave her what she hoped was a very grateful smile. “Thank you so much for the lovely meal. Really. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Of course, dear, my door is always open to anyone who’s hungry.”

  “That’s real charitable of you ma’am.”

  The whole thing ended a lot nicer than Missy had ever expected, and she pulled her keys from her pocket, sliding them into the keyhole. But before she could open her door, Mrs. Miller was talking again.

  She should have known better.

  “Before you go, may I ask about the bruises around your neck?”

  Missy flushed with embarrassment. Slowly, Missy turned away from the car and gave the woman a patient smile. She didn’t want to lie to Mrs. Miller, but at the same time she had promised Bart she wouldn’t tell.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Missy said, hoping Mrs. Miller would drop the subject.

  Mrs. Miller reached out her hand and touched M
issy’s arm. “I think it is something. And I want to help. You can tell me. It’ll be okay.”

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Miller. I can’t tell you. I promised.”

  “I invited you to work here because I saw that you were really trying to provide for yourself, and I felt sorry that no one was willing to give you a chance. The bruises on your neck tell me that something dangerous might be going on.”

  “Oh, it’s not like that at all,” Missy said, her eyes wide at the insinuation.

  “Whatever it is, I’m concerned how it might affect Bart. You are aware, I’m sure, that he is having a tough go of it right now. He isn’t the most… social of my sons, so it certainly was quite a surprise for him to invite you to dinner.”

  Missy’s eyes narrowed as she thought she heard suspicion hidden within the polite overtones. “Yeah, it surprised me too,” Missy said flatly. “Your son is the one who invited me to dinner, ma’am. I didn’t ask.”

  Mrs. Miller was still staring at her expectantly. “I don’t want Bart to get hurt. And I’m not sure he understands what’s real and what isn’t.”

  It was clear that the woman had already made up her mind about Missy, assuming the same things everyone else assumed. Missy had thought that the ranch was different, that this would be a place to get away from all that.

  But she’d been wrong. Like she usually was.

  Missy opened her mouth to defend herself, because she had never asked the woman to take pity on her, but Mrs. Miller kept right on going.

  “Do you think you are equipped to handle him with extreme care and patience? This might not be the best time for him to get attached to someone. And definitely not a good time for a fling. Most of all, I don’t want to see his heart broken.”

  Missy heard the innuendo behind the words Mrs. Miller was saying. Just because her parents died and her dad had been a drunk, didn’t mean she wasn’t a caring person. Just because she was stacked didn’t mean she went around seducing people for a good time. Missy felt her temper rise, but it was nothing compared to the sinking feeling in her soul.

  She had thought this place was safe. That it would be good for her.

  Was any place ever going to be right for her? Or was this just her life forever?

  Missy looked up at Mrs. Miller, feeling defeated. When Missy spoke, there was no bite to her voice, just weariness. Ugh. She hated sounding weak! It let people know that they got to her. That she let their words color her perception of herself.

  “Do I really seem like the kind of person to just have a fling?” she whispered. “To go around throwing myself at men and using them?” She couldn’t help it. She wanted to know. She figured Mrs. Miller was old enough and wise enough to be an excellent judge of character, so what did it mean if she looked Missy over and only saw trash?

  Mrs. Miller hesitated for a moment. “I would like to think the best of everyone and say no. I’m just trying to protect my son.”

  What a polite way to say yes.

  The world was swirling around Missy, cold and harsh and unwelcoming. Carefully, she took a long breath before speaking again. “I think, if you are so uncertain of my character, then perhaps this isn’t the right place for me after all.”

  Mrs. Miller opened her mouth to speak again, but Missy was done with it. She knew how these things always turned out, and it was with her being the bad guy, the succubus, while everyone else around her were pious saints who managed to withstand her corruption.

  Without another word, her hand went to truck’s door and she clambered in. Quick as she could, she started her engine and pulled out.

  The farther she got, the more her anger grew, pushing past the self-loathing and shame. All of this just because she tried to help a guy who was in pain. Who needed someone outside of his family to tell him that there was hope.

  She liked to think that she finally learned her lesson; she needed to stop sticking her neck out for people who were all too happy to put her on the guillotine. But as the anger faded, leaving her empty and hollow, she knew that wasn’t very likely. She didn’t think she could ever sit idly by and watch someone struggle when she might be able to make their burden a little lighter.

  Even if it hurt her every time.

  16

  Bart

  When Bart opened his eyes again, he was surprised to feel the same pleasantness as the day before. No fatigue, no dread for the coming day. Just a sense of being well-rested and willing to accomplish things.

  Huh.

  He yawned and gave his body one of those satisfying, all over stretches that was both relaxing and invigorating at the same time. Memories from yesterday drifted back to him as he settled into the mattress again, and he couldn’t help but get a smile on his face when he thought about Missy.

  Dinner last night had been amazing.

  Actually, the whole second half of the day had been amazing. Talking to Missy had been like releasing some sort of catalyst in him, one that made the constant noise in the back of his head seem more bearable.

  He couldn’t put his finger on the why or how of it considering none of it made sense. After all, he had his brothers and parents and therapist to talk to. He loved them all dearly and trusted them more than anything. He wouldn’t even be alive now if it weren’t for them.

  And yet, it was the strange woman who liked to stare up at the stars that finally eased the maelstrom.

  He didn’t know if perhaps it was how she looked at him, like he was human instead of some ticking time bomb ready to go off. Because even he viewed himself that way. He didn’t know if it was the way her head tilted back when she gave a good laugh, her full lips parting into a smile that made it seem like nothing could go wrong. He didn’t know if it was the effervescence she exuded, or the sarcasm and wit that was always catching him off guard, or even her glib sort of randomness when she would go from discussing the light spectrum to her favorite acronyms, or the fact that koalas spent most of their lives drunk on eucalyptus leaves.

  Whatever it was, it was working for him.

  Whistling to himself, Bart set out for another day of helping his brothers. Ben was still gone, but Benji had arrived a bit after dinner, swinging by to say “hi” before heading to his own bachelor cabin. Bradley was grateful to be back on the books side of things, but Bart was eager to use his hands for something.

  As long as it wasn’t with the same men from yesterday. Although Missy had soothed the red out of his vision, he didn’t want a relapse by being reintroduced to the crass young men who had triggered him.

  Besides, anyone who could talk so rudely about Missy, or any woman for that matter, was no friend of his.

  He hit the shower and got dressed, but this time as he passed the steamed mirror in the room, he paused to wipe it off. Nothing wrong with gussying himself up a little.

  He looked at his hair. It had certainly grown out quite a bit in the time that he’d been home. Looked like he was due for a trim. He just hadn’t thought about it. Maybe it was time to start thinking about things like that.

  But he didn’t want to take a pair of scissors to it at the moment, so he did the best he could at brushing it into a somewhat presentable style and then headed to his closet.

  He looked over the clothes that he had never paid much attention to. For being a man in his thirties, he supposed his Ma shouldn’t be buying most of his clothes. Then again, considering that most of their stuff was ordered from some sort of fancy catalog, he wondered if Bradley had set up a recurring order. Seemed like something he’d do.

  Maybe he should take a trip to the city and get something better. Something that made it look like he was trying.

  But what exactly was he trying for?

  He shoved that thought down and instead picked out a simple work shirt, a white undershirt and one of his toughest pairs of jeans that didn’t have hard-set stains in them. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had cared about how he looked. Probably before the military.

  Whatever. It didn’t matter. Th
e important thing was that he was feeling good for once and ready to tackle the day. And twice in a row? That was a gift that he wasn’t going to look at twice.

  With a strange sort of churning in his stomach, he headed out to help Benji.

  But on his way to the outer edge of things, where the middle brother would undoubtedly be working, he took a last-minute detour. Before he could really figure it out, he was standing in front of the barn, watching the barn-hands do their thing.

  Wait.

  Was he really doing this?

  This seemed like probably the last thing she would want, but then he was walking forward.

  He worked a circuit around the place, not sure where her assigned stalls for the day would be. She wasn’t in any of them, so he figured maybe she was grabbing some water or even just relieving herself. Goodness knew it was about a five-minute walk to the closest bathroom station they had.

  Back when he was younger, they just had outhouses, but Ben had insisted that, as their land grew, they install actual working bathrooms around the place. They were little bits of luxury the family could more than afford, so by the time he was a teenager, they dotted the entire property.

  Well, he was nothing if not patient. Shrugging his shoulders to himself, Bart went back to finding his brother.

  Unlike Bradley, he found Benji working his way inward like he or Ben always did.

  “Oh, hey there Bart. Didn’t expect you out this early.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying something new.” That seemed the easiest way to explain it. Because meeting a woman and almost killing said woman and then quickly becoming strangely obsessed with said woman was a bit of a mouthful.

  If he was being honest with himself, he probably knew that it might be unhealthy how quickly his mind was turning to thoughts about Missy. But it soured his mood when he tried not to think about her, and for once he wanted to enjoy the levity inside of him.

  “Huh, that’s all right then. You here to help?”

  “Yeah, you got work that needs to be done today?”

  “When isn’t there work?” he replied breezily. Typical Benji. Being the middle child, he really was the most laid back out of all of them. If Bart’s temperament was a bit more like his younger brother’s, maybe he wouldn’t be so fractured now. “Come on, I’ve still got two-thirds of the checklist left to do.”