“But that’s exactly what I want to try to do,” she said softly. That’s what she was all about now: mending, healing, improving.
Thorne’s brow furrowed at her words, as though he suspected she wasn’t just talking about keeping cows in a paddock.
“Let me help,” she said. “Two sets of hands have to be better than one.”
He eyed her intently for a moment, before finally dipping his head. “Fine. I think you’re crazy, but if you want to help me repair a fence, I won’t say no. I’ll meet you in the kitchen at four thirty for breakfast.”
She blinked. “Four thirty?” That was only a few short hours way.
He winked. “Bright and early, sunshine,” he said, tweaking her hair before he started climbing the stairs, whistling.
Brooke followed him, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. Four thirty. The sooner she got Thorne back to L.A., the better.
*
Thorne thrust the post hole digger into the ground, compressed the levers and pulled up the cylinder of dirt then dumped it off to the side. Satisfied with the depth, he laid the digger on the ground and walked back to his pickup to pull out the replacement post. He grinned as Brooke swore softly behind him.
“Watch that barbed wire,” he called out without turning.
There was some indistinct grumbling, and Thorne’s grin broadened. Brooke was usually a morning person—at least, that’s what he remembered from the ancient past of their marriage. But as she’d pointed out, four thirty was the middle of the night, nowhere near a reasonable time—even the sun hadn’t woken up—and why on earth would he prefer this up-with-the-birds, laborious lifestyle to the one he’d left in L.A.? And that had basically set the tone for the morning. He wiped the perspiration off his brow. It was so warm. What would summer be like? He’d taken his shirt off a little earlier, and now sweat slicked his skin.
He hoisted the replacement pole on to his shoulder and sauntered back to the hole. “How are you going with the shovel?”
“Fine,” Brooke muttered.
He lowered the pole into the hole and turned to her. “Would you mind holding this, and I’ll shovel the dirt back in?”
She dropped the shovel, not bothering to protest, and did as he asked. He packed in some dirt at the bottom of the pole, before shoveling some more in and packing that, too. By the time he’d filled the hole with dirt right up to the top, the pole was solidly set in its place.
“Great. Now for the barbed wire.”
They worked quietly as a team for a while; he did the pulling, she did the stapling. This was the last pole in the ruined section, and by now they’d gotten into a rhythm with the repairs. After a time, Thorne stepped back to survey their work. He nodded, satisfied with the results.
“That should hold.” He shot her a quick grin. “It’s just as well you were here, it was definitely a two-man job.” Not that Brooke would ever be mistaken for a man. She wore faded jeans that outlined the length of her long legs and a green-checked shirt that complemented her blond hair and warm hazel-green eyes. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and the strands framing her face were beginning to curl with the heat.
She was gorgeous. Always had been, always would be. He’d known her for so long, but the woman had an ageless beauty that transcended time. He turned away to grab his shirt from where it hung over the tailgate. He had no business admiring how gorgeous she was. He turned as he shrugged the cotton shirt on. Brooke was staring at him. Well, at his chest, actually. There was a softening of her expression, something dark and slumberous in her gaze, before she blinked and schooled her features into something more neutral. It was so quick he almost missed it. Was it—desire?
She smiled at him, friendly, casual, and he was again struck by the easing of tension in her expression.
“What’s going on, Brooke?” he asked gently. A blind man could see she wasn’t happy.
Her smile faltered. “Nothing …” She gestured to the fence. “I just helped fix a fence. I’m feeling pretty good.”
He started to pack the tools into the back of his pickup.
“Uh huh.” He didn’t bother to mask his disbelief. He whistled, and Major came barreling across the field and jumped into the tray. He and Brooke climbed into the cab, and he started the long drive back to the house. “Why are you really here? And don’t tell me it was because you were in the neighbourhood visiting your father.”
She leaned her elbow on the open window. “Okay, there is another reason for my visit.” She wagged a finger at him. “But I want you to know that I really would have visited you, anyway.”
He nodded as he checked his mirror to make sure Major was still in the back of the truck, and not bolting after a rabbit. Despite their failed marriage, they’d always stayed friends, and he knew she would have come, at some point. If their positions were reversed, he would do the same. But he wasn’t going to give into that tremulous, insane hope that it was because she wanted him. That way led to dark madness.
“And?”
“I want you to come home, Thorne.” Her words were simple, genuine, and he glanced at her, surprised.
“What exactly do you mean?” he asked.
“Things aren’t the same, Thorne. You’re needed at Forrester Creations. You make it a better place.”
For a moment, warmth bloomed inside him. How long had he wanted to hear those words; from his father, from Ridge, from Rick—and hearing them from Brooke was like a cooling touch on a burn. Still, part of him wished it was his family uttering those words, not Brooke.
“I appreciate that, Brooke, and that you came all this way to tell me to my face. So to what else do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
She smiled. “You always saw right through me, didn’t you, Thorne?” She spoke softly, without disdain. “I’m working on a project, and I need your help.”
He frowned. “What do you mean? What kind of project?” He pulled up in front of the barn and cut the engine, then sat and listened as she outlined her proposal. Amazing. The woman was amazing. Her idea—though challenging—was fantastic. He could immediately see some of the risks, but with careful planning and a little research, it was definitely workable. She was so emotionally invested—the catch in her voice as she described her experience with her mother’s illness was compelling—how could anyone resist that heartfelt need to assuage another’s pain in some small way?
“Ridge and Rick believe it would be too costly, but are prepared to entertain the idea if we can work out some of the research and production costs, and set up a feasibility study.”
Thorne’s mouth quirked. Of course his brothers were cautious. Ridge had a creative personality—give the man a piece of charcoal and a sketchpad, and he could produce something phenomenal—but getting him involved in the process planning for operations would be a hard sell. And Rick—well, Rick was all about the numbers. But this was something that could set Forrester Creations apart from the crowd, and he could see it meant so much to Brooke.
“You want my help with the feasibility study?” He frowned. They had a whole team for that sort of work.
She shook her head. “No, I want your help with setting up and managing the production.”
So, not him, per se, but his expertise. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or disappointed. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Brooke, but I’m not going back.” He gestured to the view beyond the truck, beyond the barn and house, the sweeping vista surrounding them. “I’ve sunk every penny I’ve got into this place. I can’t leave it.”
He turned to her, his arm stretching out along the back of the seat. “Your idea is great. I can see a lot of potential, and from what I already know of the market, while Ridge and Rick might call it a niche market, Forrester Creations could make this a very successful line. There are a lot of women out there who could benefit from your Glamazon line—but you don’t need me.” Oh, that hurt to say. “Thomas is already looking after the Paris operations. When Forrester Creations replace me in L.A., that
new hire will be able to do the same thing you want me to do for you.”
Brooke leaned forward. “But that’s where you’re mistaken, Thorne. Just any person won’t do, because they’re not you. You’re irreplaceable.”
*
Irreplaceable. She’d actually said it out aloud. That was her sales pitch? Well, it hadn’t worked. And she’d managed to sound so desperate. The thought still stung, although that had all been hours ago. Thorne had been surprised for a moment, and she’d seen a brief look of sadness flit across his face before he’d changed the subject and they’d left the pickup.
“Here we are,” Thorne said, twisting in his saddle to look back at her. She pulled her horse to a stop and gazed down at the valley below. Mid-way down the rise an area had been levelled and there were obvious signs of construction.
“What’s happening over there?” she asked, squinting against the sun’s rays. It was early afternoon, and she was surprised by the heat.
“Hunting lodges,” Thorne said. He pointed to the wooded valley. “That’s the game enclosure. I have to boost some of the stock in there, but I already have plenty of turkey and quail. I’m working on the deer population. By the time those lodges are finished, I’m hoping there will be enough stock there to entice some recreational hunters.” He pointed down to the river. “There’s plenty of fish in there, too.”
She shook her head in amazement. When Thorne had suggested a tour, she’d thought she’d see some cows, some horses, some trees … but the size of his ranch was impressive. The stables and horse compound he was repairing would be the envy of her father’s, she knew that immediately.
“This is wonderful, Thorne,” she said softly. “I thought you were running just a few head of cattle, a couple of horses.” She should have known; Thorne’s talent was to upscale. His plans were to make this a financially viable operation, and he was slowly transforming a tired ranch into a growing commercial concern. “You’re doing recreational hunting, like vacations, tourists?”
Thorne grinned. “Sort of. I went on a vacation a few years back with some buddies from college. We stayed at a hunting lodge, and we had such a great time. I spoke with the owner of the property we stayed at, and he got me thinking. I can market this as a high-quality hunting experience. There are people out there ready to spend a small fortune on this kind of retreat. It’s a way of bringing in some funds other than what I’d get for the beef, and it’s seasonal, so Silas and I can work on a replenishment program to ensure not only the stock is refreshed, but also the flora and food stores.”
Brooke stared at him. “When did you start looking into ranching, Thorne?” Breeding programs, stock replenishment, food stores; this wasn’t just a hobby for him, not with this kind of investment.
He looked down at the reins, held loosely in his hands. “A few years ago.”
“So long? And you never mentioned it?”
He exhaled on a chuckle, dry and full of disdain. “A few years ago I wasn’t ready. Now, I’ve realized that time is important. I put off so many things in my life, but we’re not here forever. I didn’t want not doing this to be one of my regrets.”
Brooke glanced down at the wooded valley. “I guess I can relate to that,” she said. He feared regretting something he might not do; she regretted things she’d done, and the burden of those regrets weighed heavily on her heart and her conscience.
They sat there for a moment, drinking in the view. Brooke sighed. “It really is beautiful here, Thorne.”
He nodded. “My own slice of heaven.”
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” She glanced down at her gloved hands. She’d broken three nails this morning. She really didn’t see the appeal. Apart from the flagstone path and the house, they were surrounded by dirt. Okay, so there were rock outcroppings, grassy groundcover and trees and shrubs, but that all sat on dirt. She could feel it under her nails, on her neck, in her hair. “That’s a lot of hard, grueling work.” And dirt.
Thorne straightened his shoulders. “I’m not afraid of hard work, Brooke. I’ll have help. Silas will return tomorrow, and we’ll get workers in, when and as we need them. I’m loving the challenge, quite frankly.”
“But what about the risks? Drought? Fire? What if something happens to your cattle, or you can’t sell them?”
He tilted his head and shot her a sideways glance, a glint in his eye that was all mischief. “Ah, but the cattle and horses are just a small part of my grand plan.” He grinned, his dimples showing in his cheeks. Looking at him, his Stetson low on his head, the cheeky smile spreading across his face, he looked like a sexier, more modern version of the Marlboro Man—without the cigarette, but with the cocky, confident attitude.
“Let me show you something.”
Oh, good golly almighty. Did he have any idea how suggestive and sexy that had sounded?
He lifted his chin, pressed his heels against the stallion’s hindquarters, and started to walk on. She followed him along the slope, but found her gaze straying to the scenery. It really was stunning. She hadn’t realized the size of Thorne’s ranch. When she’d asked, his response had been “as far as the eye can see, and beyond.” She could see quite a distance.
The trail climbed slowly up the ridge, and her jaw dropped as yet another hill was scaled, and still more landscape unfolded. Further along, though, something churned on the crest of a hill. She frowned, lifting her hand to shield her eyes. It looked like a windmill, but not quite.
“What is it?”
“It’s a wind turbine. It’s generating power and feeding it back to the grid.”
She nodded. “I’ve heard of it, but I must say, I’m surprised to see one here.”
“Well, there will be a few more. This part of Texas gets a good amount of wind. I sell the power I generate to the electricity company. They can be expensive to install, but once they start earning money, they pay for themselves.”
She shook her head in amazement. “Well, it’s a different revenue source, I guess.”
Thorne nodded. “Exactly. I think the key to my survival here is to diversify. Cattle, horses, recreational hunting and electricity. So far.”
She laughed. “What else could there be?”
He shrugged. “Horse-riding trails, ranch stays—there are always mineral rights, but they’re on the back burner at the moment. I’m focusing on the elements above ground for the time being.”
He guided his horse down the hill, and she followed carefully. Her dun mare, Milly, was young and gentle, but still a little nervy. They rode in silence for a while, and Brooke realized he was taking her down into the valley. As soon as they got to one of the grassy pastures, he glanced over his shoulder with that cheeky, dimpled grin.
“Feel like giving these horses some exercise?”
She nodded, matching his smile, and they took off, riding across the gently sloping plain. The wind cooled her heated skin and Brooke’s smile grew broader. She cantered up alongside Thorne’s horse.
“Race you!” she called.
His eyes lit up with surprise, then he nodded, and she dug her heels into Milly’s flanks.
She leaned low over her horse’s neck, the wind pulling at her ponytail. The low thunder of hooves matched the thump-thump of her heart. With each step, each yard they put behind them, it felt like she was unraveling the skeins of worry that had tightened around her heart, until she laughed, light and free.
Thorne beat her to the tree line, and he pulled up and turned the horse around to watch her catch up to him.
“Oh, that was fun,” Brooke panted as she pulled up. “So much fun.”
He gave her an assessing look. “When was the last time you had fun, Brooke?”
Her smile faltered. “What do you mean?”
Thorne guided his horse closer to her, until their thighs were brushing. “When was the last time you had fun, Brooke?” he repeated slowly, his brown gaze dark with something she couldn’t quite read.
“Uh … Oh, I always hav
e fun. I had fun getting here,” she pointed out. “I enjoyed my time with Hope before I left, when I had lunch with her.” She frowned. That sounded quite tame, even to her ears. A car trip and lunch with her daughter. She couldn’t remember the last time she really cut loose and had some fun. Maybe not since she and Ridge had left for their honeymoon, all those months ago.
Before he’d told her he’d made a mistake. The memory of that moment, when he’d walked out on their marriage days after their wedding, when she’d had no idea there were problems, still managed to lance her heart.
“You look like you need more fun,” Thorne said, and leaned over and kissed her.
Chapter Four
Her eyelids lowered as his lips, warm and soft, pressed against hers. His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb pressing against the corner of her mouth, and she opened for him. His tongue slid in, gently rubbing against hers. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she placed her hand on his thigh to lean closer. He tasted wonderful. His kiss was like summer, hot and lazy and sensual.
She could feel the muscles of his thigh bunch beneath her palm as he controlled the horse beneath him. She trembled. She was surprised, yes, but more than that, she was enchanted, mesmerized by his taste, by his interest in her. It would be so easy to give in to the temptation, to allow herself to slide into the sensuality of the moment, all sensation and no accountability.
Her eyelids flickered. But that was what she would normally do, and she would only wind up hurting people. That’s what had happened with Bill, and it had hurt her sister, terribly.
She pulled away, her gaze on his mouth, before she straightened in her saddle and Milly stepped away. Thorne’s hand slid from her face so gently it set her trembling again. How was it that he could stir this reaction in her?
“We shouldn’t.” She couldn’t give in to the moment. That was her problem: she always let her heart dictate her actions, and her heart was telling her to go for it. Well, she no longer trusted her heart.
Sunset Love: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 4