Sunset Love: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Shannon Curtis

  Her expression held not so much surprise as shock. Her eyes were wide as she looked him over from the top of his head to the tips of his boots. “Uh …”

  “When did you get here? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. Although, if I’d known you were coming, I would have made an effort.” He wasn’t complaining, though; he was delighted by her visit.

  Brooke blinked. She cleared her throat. “No, that’s fine. I’ve only been here a little while, anyway.”

  Major jumped up at her legs, and she laughed before reaching down to pat him.

  “Who’s this guy?”

  “That’s Major. He likes to think he’s in charge.” The puppy finally settled down to an excited patter around their feet, and Thorne’s gaze locked with hers for a moment. It was good to see her.

  “Well, come in, come in.” He clasped her hand and opened the front door, pulling her inside. He couldn’t stop looking at her, touching her. He had to force himself to let go once they were inside the house.

  She glanced back at the door. “You leave it unlocked?”

  Thorne grinned. “Well, this isn’t L.A. Things are really different here.”

  “So I see,” Brooke said. “You look … so different.” She gestured at him, although he got the impression that wasn’t what she’d been about to say.

  He stretched his arms out. “I feel different, Brooke.” He beckoned her as he turned and crossed the foyer. “Come in, let me show you around—you’re staying, aren’t you?” He glanced over his shoulder. He had no idea what brought her to the Lonesome Oak Ranch, but he wanted her to stay for longer than a cup of coffee.

  “Uh, yes, I was hoping I might stay for a couple of days,” she said, her expression hopeful. “If that’s all right?”

  He turned and faced her fully, surprised by the uncertainty in her voice. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Of course. You’re always welcome here, Brooke, any time.” He squeezed her arm gently. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  She smiled in relief, and for a moment he was taken aback by how relaxed that one movement made her. He hadn’t noticed, but she seemed strained, tense. He frowned. “Is everything okay?”

  Her eyebrows rose, and she nodded quickly. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

  She really couldn’t lie—at least, not successfully, not to him. He nodded. “Fine.” She was here, in his home, in Texas. Of course something was wrong. She wasn’t ready to tell him, though. Not yet. At least she’d come to him—for what, he’d find out later. You couldn’t prod Brooke into doing something she didn’t want to do, and at the moment, she didn’t want to talk. But she would, in her own time. He could be patient.

  He led her into his living room. “Take a seat, relax. Do you have bags in the car?” At her nod, he held out his hand. “Give me the keys and I’ll go grab them.”

  She dug the car keys out of her pocket and gave them to him, and he returned a few moments later with her suitcase, iPad and handbag. He jerked his chin toward the stairs.

  “I’ll show you your room.”

  He led her up the stairs, fighting the urge to look back over his shoulder to gauge her reaction to his home. He was surprised by his almost childish need for her approval. After the purchase of the ranch, he’d hired a team to conduct some renovations on the house while he continued to work in the Paris office of Forrester International. It had been a challenge, deciding on materials and colors half a world away, but he was more than happy with the result. This was really his first home—didn’t that sound pathetic? But he’d lived in the Forrester mansion for some time, and any other place he’d lived in, he’d generally shared with a woman—and women could be very particular about décor. They called it “nesting”; he called it being expensively fussy. Either way, this was the first opportunity he’d had to truly put his personality into the home he lived in—and having Brooke see it was a little confronting.

  He led her down the hall. “There are four bedrooms. I have the master, but you’re welcome to have your pick of the other three.” He nodded in the direction of one a little further down the corridor. “I planned that one for Aly, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you staying in there if you wanted to.” His daughter hadn’t made it out to the ranch yet, she was still enjoying her work in Paris too much.

  Brooke shook her head. “No, that’s fine, I won’t intrude. Either one of the others will do.” She pushed open one of the doors he’d indicated, and this time he gave into the urge to watch her reaction.

  Her eyes widened as she gazed around the room. “Oh my goodness, Thorne, it’s beautiful.”

  While the cathedral ceiling with exposed beams gave the impression of space, a large, timber-framed, four-poster bed dominated the room with its ornately carved headboard and cream, fawn and cranberry-colored quilt set. Rosa, his housekeeper, insisted on keeping the beds made, just in case of company. He’d told her not to hold her breath, but today he was glad his housekeeper could be so stubborn. The teak wardrobe matched the bed and side tables, and large bay windows with window seats allowed plenty of light into the room—although he noticed it was getting a little dark outside.

  He set her suitcase on her bed. “I’ll let you freshen up, and I’ll do the same. Why don’t I meet you downstairs in the living room in about twenty minutes? We can have a drink before dinner.”

  She smiled at him, and again he was struck by the ease and lightness it added to her face, and the tension it replaced.

  She nodded. “That sounds great.”

  He winked. “Great. It’s a date.” He backed out of the room. His bedroom was directly across from hers, and he quietly stepped into it, closing the door behind to lean against it.

  Brooke was here. What the hell was she doing here? Not just in his home, but in Texas? He didn’t fool himself: she wasn’t here for a casual visit. While they were friendly, they weren’t the kind of just-in-the-neighbourhood-thought-I’d-drop-in kind of friendly. He and Brooke had once shared so much—hell, they’d been married for a brief time, but that was before he realized that a part of Brooke’s heart would always lie with his brother; there wasn’t enough room in the marriage bed for three. That experience had totally wrecked him, for a long while. He’d been so sure, so happy—and so devastated when he realized that not only did he play second fiddle to his brother at the family company, but in his own marriage.

  He straightened and crossed to his ensuite, tugging off his shirt as he went. Although it was only spring, the day had been warm, and he’d worked up a sweat in rounding up a small number of cows to head down to a lower pasture for feeding.

  He turned on the taps and shucked off his dusty clothes and boots. He’d meant what he’d said: Brooke would always be welcome in his home. Why would she doubt her welcome? She was normally so confident, so self-assured. He thought of her, standing on the porch, the setting sun gilding her hair. He’d had a moment, ever so briefly, where he’d thought he was dreaming, and one of his fantasies had come to life. There was no denying his ex-wife was beautiful, and in another time, another place, that scene would have been perfect, him coming home to a beautiful woman waiting for him on the front porch.

  He stepped into the cool blast of water. But one of the reasons he’d moved to Texas in the first place was because he was a realist. Brooke was here for a reason, and once that reason was satisfied, she’d be gone again.

  Back to L.A., back to Forrester Creations—and back to a man who didn’t deserve her.

  Chapter Three

  “Are you sure I can’t do something to help?” Brooke asked as Thorne opened the oven door. Major lay near the door to the porch, asleep.

  “No, it’s fine. Like I said, Rosa comes in three times a week and leaves me precooked meals in the freezer. All I have to do is heat these babies up, and we’re good.”

  He set the steaming pasta bake on a board on the table and tossed the oven mitts onto the bench top, then pulled one of the kitchen chairs out for her.

  “Your seat, my l
ady,” he said with a flourish.

  Brooke sat down, feeling the warmth of him briefly against her back before he stepped away. He smelled so clean, and the sandalwood of his aftershave teased her, distracting her momentarily. He poured two glasses of red wine from the bottle he’d uncorked earlier and sat opposite her at the kitchen table.

  He smiled. “You were right, this is much cosier than in the dining room.”

  Brooke nodded. Thorne had a beautiful home, and the dining room was formal yet welcoming—and perhaps a little solemn for just the two of them. Yes, this definitely was cosy. She found herself staring at him as they ate. He was tan and relaxed, with an easygoing air that almost set her at ease. He looked so different. So—good.

  “Who is Rosa?” she asked casually, spearing her fork into the penne. She hated to admit it, but whoever the woman was, she could cook. That was pretty much the extent of Brooke’s curiosity, though. Whatever Thorne did in his spare time, and whoever he did it with, was none of her business, and had ceased being her business when they’d divorced years ago. She was going to ignore that tiny spark of something dark inside. It wouldn’t be jealousy. No, that would be the old Brooke, not the Brooke 2.0 she was trying to become.

  “Rosa is my housekeeper. She comes in during the week. I have a ranch manager, Silas, but his daughter has just had a baby, so he’s visiting her in Austin for a couple of days.”

  “Housekeeper, huh?” She could just imagine some young, attractive woman “keeping house” for Thorne. Well, good luck to him. He was a healthy man, with a healthy appetite. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing tan forearms finely corded with muscle. His sandy-gold hair shone under the kitchen light. Yes, he was definitely healthy. She remembered him riding that stallion across the meadow, his chest rippling with a strength that was arresting. He’d always been a fit man, had always kept his body well toned, but he was even more cut than she remembered—for a moment, she couldn’t remember why they split up.

  Oh, right. Ridge.

  Thorne looked at her, and a small smile played around those sexy lips. When had everything about this man become so carnal? “Yeah, Rosa comes in, does any necessary cleaning, prepares a few meals, then goes back home to her husband in Cryptic River, where she does it all again for her four children and six grandchildren.”

  “Oh.” She liked the woman already. “How often does Aly get here?” she asked, changing the topic to something far more benign than an unwelcome attack of the green-eyed monster she shouldn’t be experiencing, not for Thorne.

  “She’s enjoying Forrester International too much to move back here—besides, she still considers L.A. home. She’s young—needs to spread her wings and enjoy herself.”

  Brooke arched an eyebrow as they both rose from the table. “You’re still young, Thorne.” Heck, he had the body of a man half his age. “You still need to enjoy yourself.”

  He chuckled as they cleared the table and stacked the dishwasher. “I am enjoying myself, Brooke.”

  She shot him a disbelieving look, and he laughed harder. “Come on, let’s go sit on the deck.”

  He grabbed the bottle of wine and their glasses, and she followed him out the kitchen door onto the dark porch, telling herself to stop staring at his gorgeous butt. Light from inside spilled onto the deck, highlighting rectangles in stark contrast to the dark patches. The sun had long since set, and she was disconcerted by the absolute darkness beyond the house and the garden lights. No streetlights, no lights from other homes or buildings—just an utter blackness that was disorienting once you stepped out of the circle of light.

  He led her to a part of the deck that was a little wider than the rest. There was an outdoor dining setting and two rocking chairs. Her eyebrows rose. She must have stepped into some alternative reality, because Thorne sitting in a rocking chair and gazing out across the range was not what she’d ever envisaged.

  She slid into the chair next to his, and it rocked under her weight. She quickly settled herself, and accepted the glass of red wine Thorne held out to her.

  “To friends,” he said, raising his own glass. “The true measure of a life well lived.”

  “To friends,” she murmured as their glasses clinked. Friends. She had to stop looking at him as though he was a costumed stripper at a bachelorette party. She took a sip of her wine, then rested her head against the back of the chair. “So tell me, Thorne, when are you coming back?”

  He chuckled, the sound low and husky in the early evening light. The temperature was mild, although the soft breeze that brushed her arms promised a chill for later in the evening.

  “I’m not, Brooke. This is my home now.”

  She looked at him sideways. “A ranch? This is not like you, Thorne. You’re a smart man. You need a challenge. You’ll get bored playing the cowboy.”

  His grin widened for a moment, and he quickly pulled his features into a more serious expression, as though he was trying to stop himself from laughing out loud at her remark. “I tell you, Brooke, ranching is a challenge.” He pointed into the darkness, and she tried to see out across his property. “When I bought this place, we had some skinny cattle and a handful of deer and antelope in an almost defunct game preserve. I plan to turn it around.”

  She couldn’t help the frown. “I don’t get it. You didn’t feel challenged at Forrester Creations?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve worked there all my life, pretty much. I need something new, something different. Something that challenges me mentally, physically—emotionally.”

  “So come back and we’ll make that possible.”

  “I can’t, Brooke. I’ve made a commitment here, and I plan to stick to it. This is where I want to be,” he said simply.

  She shook her head, struggling to understand. “Why, Thorne? I thought you were happy.”

  He grimaced. “I know. And for the most part, I was.” He stared down at the glass in his hand, and she noticed the contrast of the strength in his long-fingered hands with the delicate glass he held. “I wanted more, and I wasn’t going to get it at Forrester Creations.”

  She twisted in her seat to look at him fully. “Are you talking about being president?” It was no secret that Thorne had wanted that position for years, and had competed for it against her own adult son. She knew it chafed at him, but Rick had been president for some time, and Ridge before that. His source of frustration wasn’t something new, though—so why had he decided to leave?

  Thorne shrugged. “That, and other stuff.” He took a sip of his wine and turned to her, meeting her eyes with a keen gaze of his own. “But enough about me. What about you, Brooke? What brings you to the Lonesome Oak Ranch?”

  His brown gaze pierced her with a confronting intensity. “I was in the area,” she said. “I was visiting Dad in Dallas and thought I’d drop by.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Dallas is almost two hours’ drive away, Brooke,” he commented. “That’s quite a detour.”

  She shrugged. “I was in the area, and it seemed like a good idea.”

  “How is your father?”

  She smiled, her happiness genuine. “He’s doing very well. He’s enjoying his work, and loves living in Dallas.” She missed her father, and was surprised by a little wave of melancholy. She wasn’t lying to Thorne: she had dropped in on her father for a very brief visit.

  “You miss him,” Thorne said quietly.

  “Of course,” she said, then narrowed her eyes. “Just as you must miss Eric. You’ve worked with your father for so long, seen him virtually every day for the last I don’t know how many years. Surely you must miss him.”

  Thorne nodded, his smile broadening. “Yeah, I miss my old man—but I’ve worked in the Forrester shadows for long enough. It was time to strike out on my own.”

  Brooke gestured to the limitless darkness stretching beyond the muted light of the garden lamps. “Well, this certainly is a departure from the norm. Why not stay in the fashion business, though? Start your own label, or take on an
established brand and build on it? You did it once with Spectra Fashions. Why not breathe life into some failing label and renew it?”

  He shrugged. “Like you said, I’ve done it before. I wanted something new.” He yawned, then laughed. “Oh, Brooke, I’m so sorry. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn, and I have another early start tomorrow. I need to repair some fencing before my heifers start calving.”

  She rose as he did. “It’s fine, Thorne. I don’t mean to intrude on your routine, particularly as I’ve surprised you with a visit. Besides, I’m beat,” she said, half laughing. “All that driving.”

  They walked back into the house, and Major lifted his head briefly before flopping back down on his mat to go back to sleep. Thorne started to lock the doors and switch off the lights. She was at the foot of the stairs when he called her name, and she turned.

  The stair light was on, but the rest of the ground floor was in darkness. When Thorne stepped into the circle of light, she had to remind herself again of her vow to change, to become Brooke 2.0—Thorne was off limits.

  He leaned on the polished timber balustrade. “Look, I’ll come back to the house tomorrow for lunch, and then we’ll go for a ride—you still ride, don’t you?”

  “I haven’t for a while, but I like to do it occasionally,” she said.

  “Great. Come out with me, and I’ll take you on a tour of the property.”

  She smiled. This could be a good opportunity to work on getting him back home. Then again, why wait until the afternoon?

  “Why don’t I help you with the fence?” she offered.

  He shot her a dubious look. “That’s fine, Brooke. I’ll come back as soon as I’ve finished.”

  “No, I mean it. You said your ranch manager was in Austin. Do you have someone else to help you?”

  “No, but I can handle it. I can’t really see you mending fences.” He chuckled.