He’d always been such a good kisser. His hard, muscled body next to hers … She pulled the pillow over her head. Oh God, and she’d told him they would be a mistake. Ugh. He was strong, he was sexy, he was hot—and so wrong. Not for the first time, she mourned the death of her dear friend Stephanie Forrester—Thorne’s strong-minded, regal mother.
That woman would definitely have an opinion about the recent goings-on in Brooke’s life. But most of all, the dignified, graceful woman could have advised her on what to do next. Brooke sat up and drew her knees in to hug them under the covers. It had taken several years, but she and Stephanie had finally reached a point in their relationship—after years of bitter fights, recrimination and pain—where they could confide in each other, support each other. Brooke blinked back tears. She desperately wanted Stephanie’s support at the moment, but feared she would have disappointed the great woman; Stephanie definitely wouldn’t have approved of Brooke’s liaison with Bill Spencer. Brooke stared morosely at the bed linen.
She’d loved Bill. Before Katie had disappeared, she’d done her best to throw Brooke and Bill together, in an effort to create the home for her son, Will, that she believed she was inadequate to provide. The whole reason Katie had left in the first place was because she thought her family was better off without her. Sure, it had been the post-partum depression that drove those dark, twisted emotions, but then she’d found out that Bill and Brooke wanted to be together.
Brooke drew in a shuddering breath. At the time, she believed she understood Katie’s pain, could relate to her anger and hurt, and had sought forgiveness, uttered platitudes, had even grown frustrated as Katie had resisted moving on. She believed she understood the sense of betrayal Katie must have felt, the sense of rejection.
She was so wrong.
When Ridge left her on their honeymoon, she’d been shattered, but she’d put her game face on and gone home to her family, to L.A. But when Ridge came home, the look on his face when she’d told him about her affair with Bill Spencer, the disappointment that was like a constant jackhammer to the heart. They’d come so close to patching things up, but then he’d rejected her again, and chosen Katie.
Brooke squeezed her eyes shut. Oh, that had hurt! Now she knew what her sister had felt. Now she knew that dull, humiliating, heart-numbing ache of not being good enough, not measuring up, of disappointing someone you cared deeply for—she knew shame. Now she understood the scorching, agonizing pain of betrayal, of knowing people you loved had deceived you. She had made her sister feel this, she had laid waste to her sister’s hopes, her happiness, her contentment.
This was hell. But it was deserved—this was exactly how she’d made her sister feel. Her kid sister who’d always looked up to her, who’d admired her, loved her. How did one get past the burning shame? That’s what she wanted to ask Stephanie. How could she fix this? How could she make it better?
As Stephanie lay dying, she’d smiled and said, “It all adds up to now.” She’d meant the peace, camaraderie, respect and love they shared.
But it went both ways. Brooke’s past actions, the injuries she’d caused to others, people who loved her and deserved better from her, all added up to the torment she now suffered.
She eyed the iPad. That was why Glamazon was so important. By doing something different, she hoped she would get a different outcome.
And doing something different meant not giving in to her passion, not like she’d normally do. What happened last night with Thorne—it couldn’t happen again. She’d meant what she’d said to him: she was poison. Every relationship she touched turned toxic. She didn’t want to poison their relationship, and that’s what would happen if she let anything more develop between them.
The excited whinny of horses and male shouts drifted up from the stable yards. Brooke rose from her bed and crossed to the window. Her eyes widened. A horse transporter had reversed up to the stable complex, and Thorne was there, shouting orders as the rear door of the truck was opened.
She turned and quickly threw on some clothes, wincing at the pull of muscles in her shoulders and thighs. Yesterday’s activity contributed to today’s aches—but they were good aches, the kind you felt when you’d worked your body hard. And it distracted her from her little self-pity party.
She hurried downstairs and was crossing the front foyer when footsteps down the hall made her turn.
A plump, older woman with steel gray hair bound up in a bun approached her, wiping her hands on the skirt of her apron, a cheery smile blazing across her face.
“Hola! You must be Ms. Logan,” the woman said, her voice husky with a hint of a Mexican accent.
Brooke nodded, smiling. “You must be Rosa.”
Rosa beamed. “Yes. Now, come into the kitchen. I will cook for you some breakfast.”
Brooke tried to protest as the tiny woman urged her along. “No, I’m fine.”
Major yipped and jumped up at her, and Brooke acquiesced to his demands with a pat. “I’m surprised to see you here, and not with your master,” she said as she ruffled the fur around his neck.
“Mr. Forrester doesn’t think a puppy should be running around when a new horse is arriving,” Rosa said, then clasped her hands together. “Now, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. What would you like? Flapjacks? Bacon and eggs? I can rustle you up a frittata … huevos rancheros?”
Brooke laughed and waved her hand. “No, that’s fine, you don’t need to cook for me. I’m happy with yogurt and fruit, if we have any.”
Rosa looked at her sideways as they entered the kitchen. “Yogurt.” The older woman chuckled. She pinched Brooke’s arm. “Look at you, you’re skin and bone. We need to put curves on you.”
Brooke finally managed to convince the housekeeper that a small bowl of yogurt and some seasonal fruit was more than sufficient, and ate a quick, light breakfast.
Rosa busied herself in the kitchen while Brooke ate, chatting casually about the weather, her husband, her children and grandchildren, the upcoming Memorial Day celebrations. Brooke found the bustle and noise comforting. She lived alone in a big old mansion, and it was nice to say something and get a response.
“You want to go see the new horse?” Rosa asked as Brooke brought her dishes over to the sink.
Brooke nodded. “I’d love to.”
Rosa nodded. “Mr. Forrester said you’re a fine horsewoman.” She turned to the bench and picked up a flask and a covered basket as Brooke relished the unexpected compliment. “As you’re going that way, can you please take these out to Mr. Forrester and Silas for their break? Tell them I said it’s time.”
Brooke nodded, a little embarrassed that she’d only just finished breakfast when the men must have already been up for hours. She gathered her sunglasses, the thermos and covered basket and strode out of the door to where all the action was.
*
Thorne clutched the guide rope with a firm yet gentle grasp as he urged the filly out of her stall.
“That’s it, nice and gentle,” he murmured as he led her down the ramp. The filly neighed, tossing her head. “Shh, honey, it’s okay. Come on.”
She balked, tossing her head again. He pulled gently on the guide rope, and she reared.
“Whoa, darlin’, whoa.” He took the moment to draw in the rope, keeping out of reach of those hooves. She was a feisty one, so independent and full of sass. The previous owner had hinted at her spook factor. Thorne believed she just needed a different hand.
“Shoulders, Thorne, remember your shoulders,” Silas called from behind the fence.
Thorne nodded and turned to his side, minimizing his size so he didn’t threaten her so much. He pulled the rope taut, leading her one way, and then the other. “You’re okay, darlin’,” he murmured. He was trying to show her she wasn’t trapped. He started to lead her toward the gate to the outdoor pen, and every time she flinched or tried to rear, he repeated the process, pulling the rope tight, moving his shoulders, releasing the pressure, stopping. Her
reaction was a natural fear response, and he had to show her there was nothing to be frightened of, and teach her to adjust the behavior.
It took a little while, but he finally managed to lead her into the arena. Once Silas closed the gate, Thorne smiled. Step one accomplished. He approached the filly, left arm out as he stepped up to her side, then gave her a rub on the nose. “Good girl,” he murmured, rewarding her with calming strokes, careful not to startle her. He reached up and slipped the halter off her head, then stepped back, giving her space to run. He walked slowly back to the gate, keeping an eye on the horse.
He was almost within reach of the fence when the filly started to follow him at a trot. He stopped, heart pounding, and raised his arms and stepped forward, and at the last moment she dodged to the side to canter along the fence, kicking dirt up over his boots. He casually climbed the fence, then over and dropped to the ground.
Silas grinned and slapped him on the back. “Good work, Thorne. Most people run when a horse is charging them.”
“I would have thought that was common sense,” a voice said from behind him, and Thorne turned.
Brooke approached them clutching a flask and a basket covered with a cheery, red-checked tea towel, her hips swaying with casual grace. He locked gazes with her, interested to see how she would be after last night’s kiss. She smiled, her expression friendly, innocent, but he still saw the flicker of awareness in her gaze. Okay, so she wanted to ignore it. He’d let her—for now.
“Well, hello there,” Silas said, a smile splintering his lined face as he touched the brim of his Stetson. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Brooke, this is Silas Cooper, my ranch manager. Silas, this is Brooke Logan, my—” What was she to him? She wasn’t his sister-in-law anymore, and ex-wife sounded awkward when she was so much more. Her eyebrow arched at his hesitation, and he grinned. “My special friend.”
A blush crept over her cheeks at his description, and Silas’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Logan,” he responded with the most manners Thorne had ever seen him use. He removed the leather work glove from his hand and reached out to her.
Brooke smiled. “Please, call me Brooke,” she said as she shook his hand.
“So, what brings you here to the Lonesome Oak?” Silas asked, turning briefly to wink at Thorne.
“I’m here on a bit of a working vacation.”
Silas looked her up and down. “Thorne’s going to put you to work on the new horse, is he?”
Thorne shook his head. “Brooke works for the family company, Silas. She’s here for some help on a project.”
“Oh, okay then.” Silas nodded, but it was clear he was confused.
Brooke’s smile broadened. “I’m doing some research for a new product line, and Thorne’s letting me pick his brain.”
“Well, don’t pick at it too much, the man doesn’t have that much to begin with,” Silas said, then laughed. “You heard he bought this place, right? Some folks around here think he’s loco.”
“Well, after watching that performance, they might be right,” Brooke said, before meeting Thorne’s gaze with a slight frown.
He held up a hand. “It was fine, Brooke. She’s an unbroken filly adjusting to a new home and I have to assert my dominance. I could have bolted, which means she probably would have chased harder, or I could have stood my ground. If I’d run, it would have been a little harder for her to respect me next time I go see her in the ring.”
Brooke pursed her lips. He could tell that while she didn’t like what he’d done, she now understood. He grinned and leaned close. “Careful, I might think you care.”
Her gaze flickered. “Of course I care,” she mumbled, then offered the flask and basket. “Rosa says it’s time.”
Thorne accepted the items, then walked over to the hay bales by the side of the fence. He sat and gestured for Brooke to join him.
She sat on the other end of the bale and he felt the slight shift in balance. That was Brooke, she unbalanced him. Today, she looked tired. Had she been tossing and turning like he had last night? Memories of their scorching kiss had prevented him from finding peace in normal slumber. He’d been plagued by hot, sexy dreams—her legs around his waist, chest pressed to his, this time without clothes separating them.
Thorne frowned. He was getting aroused at the mere memory and Brooke sat on the end of the bale, politely declining the coffee he offered with a cool, calm smile and a little shake of her head.
He turned his attention to his bandy-legged ranch manager. If anything was sure to cool his ardor, it was Silas. They sat companionably for a little while, drinking the coffee and eating the muffins Rosa had baked as Silas carried the conversation. Every now and then, Thorne would catch Brooke glancing back to the round pen. At one point, she met Thorne’s gaze.
“She’s beautiful,” she murmured, a small smile on her face, but there was still the line of worry above her eyes.
Thorne nodded, glancing back at the painted filly. “Yeah, she is. Her previous owner had problems though, and wanted to get rid of her. I think she’s a good horse, and so does Silas—don’t you, Silas?”
Silas nodded. “Uh huh,” he said around a mouthful of muffin. “A firm hand, some discipline, some trust … she’ll be a beauty.”
“What’s her name?”
Thorne grinned. “Well, the owner called her all kinds of things. When he wasn’t angry or frustrated, he called her Patch, but I think I’ll change her name. I don’t think that really suits.”
Brooke glanced back at the white horse with the brown patches standing on the other side of the pen. “What are you going to call her?”
Thorne leaned back against the fence and folded his arms. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
He grinned. “Sure. What would you call her? Something that fits her disposition—she’s feisty, she’s free-spirited, frisky …”
Brooke stared at the horse for a moment. “Liberty,” she said quietly but firmly. “She wants her freedom, and is prepared to fight for it.”
Thorne eyed her for a moment, then nodded. “Perfect.”
“I’ll say!” Silas slapped his thigh. “Liberty it is.” He stood, his hands on his hips. “The vet is coming out this afternoon to look her over, make sure she made the trip okay. I can work around here, if you like.”
Thorne eyed his ranch manager in surprise. “We were going to set up her stall.” He insisted in getting involved, and this new filly would need kid-glove treatment.
Silas waved a hand. “Ah, hell, I can do that. You know, a couple of those horses could probably do with some exercise,” he said, nodding meaningfully toward Brooke.
Thorne arched an eyebrow. Was the old coot trying to fix him up? “What about the vet?”
Silas huffed. “I’ve been looking after horses since before you were a glint in your daddy’s eye, son. I can manage with the doc. Those horses, though …”
Thorne pulled his lips into a stern line, trying not to burst out laughing. “Sure, Silas. I’ll give them a run.” He twisted to look at Brooke, who was still gazing through the fence at Liberty. “How about it, Brooke? Feel like going for a ride?”
Her eyes darted to his and he realized how suggestive it sounded. He met her gaze intently. If that’s where her mind went automatically, there was hope for him yet.
“Uh, sure,” she murmured, smiling through a wince. “I think I’ll be sore tomorrow, though.”
His gaze dropped down to her slender legs, remembering them wrapped around his waist. “We’ll make sure we look after you. Come on.”
“Don’t forget the groundwork,” Silas called out.
Thorne nodded. “I won’t.” Laying the groundwork was important for a strong result. He eyed Brooke as she walked alongside him into the barn. He really wanted a strong result.
*
Brooke’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the darker interior. The smell of
straw, horse and leather assailed her. The barn was long, with stables lining almost the entire length. They stopped in the tack room to get blankets, bridles, reins and saddles, then walked along the center corridor. A soft whinny greeted them from down the end, and Brooke smiled when Milly’s head appeared over the door to her stall.
“Let’s put this stuff down here and just put a guide rope on her for now,” Thorne said. “These horses are still relatively new, so I need to go through some groundwork exercises with them before I ride them.”
“How often do you get to ride?” Brooke asked, then opened the stall door and stepped inside. Milly greeted her with another soft whinny, and lifted her head a little.
“I try for every day,” Thorne said. She could feel his eyes on her as she approached the horse, and for some reason the awareness that she had his undivided attention made her feel nervous. No, maybe not nervous—maybe just a little excited.
The horse backed up a little, snorting.
She waited for Thorne to say something, but he remained silent. She patted the horse on the forehead, then the neck, gently easing the halter over her head and settling it into place. It had been ages since Brooke had had to saddle up a horse. Yesterday Thorne had brought Milly to her already saddled and ready to go. She started to lead the mare out the door, making a soft clicking noise to encourage her to follow.
The horse shook her head, and Brooke stumbled when Milly brushed against her shoulder. She led her out into the corridor, conscious of the crowding the horse was doing.
“Let’s get you both into the training yard,” Thorne said, and gestured toward the end of the barn, where there was a small round pen with enough sand and sawdust to cushion a fall.
“Aren’t we going for a ride?”
“We’re going to do some refresher exercises,” he told her. “Practice some commands, make sure the horse gives us her attention.”
Sunset Love: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 6