Engaging Brooke

by Dara Girard

  “Or I could fix up one of the extra empty bedrooms.”

  “Don’t worry yourself. This won’t happen again.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I’m saying it again because I don’t want you to worry.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  Just then Cecelia came into the room holding a shotgun. “Are you two all right?”

  “Put that thing away,” Jameson said.

  “But I heard a scream. Was it a burglar? Did you chase him away?”

  “It’s okay now,” he said.

  “I’m sorry we woke you,” Brooke said.

  Cecelia looked at them, then began to grin. “Oh, I forgot that you’re newlyweds. I’m glad you’re okay.” She left.

  Jameson sighed. “She probably thinks we’re playing some sex game. Maybe I should tell her—”

  “Oh, no, please don’t. I don’t want her to feel sorry for me.”

  “Why would she feel sorry for you?”

  Because she thinks you love me, Brooke wanted to say but didn’t. “Let it just be between us.”

  “She’s going to have that silly grin on her face tomorrow.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He shrugged. “Fine, as long as it doesn’t bother you.”

  “It doesn’t. Does it bother you?”

  “Ah...there it is.” Jameson grabbed his shirt from under the side table and pulled it on. “How it got there I don’t know.”

  “Jameson?”

  “Yes?”

  “Does it bother you what she thinks about us?”

  “Why would it bother me?” He opened the door. “Good night.”

  “’Night.”

  * * *

  Brooke watched him leave. She wished she hadn’t screamed, but he really had scared her when he’d fallen on top of her. If he’d asked, she would have invited him to stay. He really did look exhausted and she wanted to be there for him. She wanted to talk to him, to flirt with him, to sleep with him. But he’d made it very clear he wanted nothing to do with her.

  * * *

  When Jameson saw Cecelia early the next day before he headed out the door, he held up a bill between his middle and forefinger. “I’ll pay you fifty dollars to forget about last night and an extra five if you’ll wipe that expression off your face.”

  “I’m happy for you.” She snatched the bill and tucked it in her back pocket. “But you can keep the five. I can’t stop smiling. I knew it was real.”

  “What?”

  “You know I don’t listen to gossip, but some people still think your marriage wasn’t a love match. Now I know different. Is she still reeling after the death of her father?”

  “Yes, and that’s why she needs space and to be left alone.”

  “Poor thing must struggle with feeling guilty about being happy after suffering such a personal loss.”

  “I’m glad you understand.”

  “You’ll never hear me say a word.” She turned. “I only told a couple of people.”

  He jumped in front of her. “What?”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” she said, looking sheepish. She started to giggle. “If you could have seen your face.”

  Jameson didn’t smile. He folded his arms and waited.

  Cecelia stopped giggling and sighed. “I didn’t say too much.”

  “Who did you talk to?”

  “I may have mentioned it to the chef and Frank.”

  Jameson held out his hand. “Give me the fifty back.”

  She reluctantly placed it in his palm. “It was funny, though.”

  “Not to me.”

  Unfortunately, his ranch hands thought it was hilarious and teased him throughout the day as they worked on checking and cleaning some of the machinery.

  “Hey, heard you had a wild night,” Frank said.

  “Obviously you weren’t as tired as the rest of us,” another said.

  “Hey, if I had a woman like that, I wouldn’t be tired either.”

  “So, what made her scream?” Frank asked.

  “Maybe it was her first time and she’d never seen a man before?”

  They laughed.

  “All right, all right, that’s enough,” Jameson said.

  “No, really. What did you do to make her scream?” Frank asked.

  “None of your business,” he said in a tone that let them know the topic was closed.

  * * *

  Brooke was mortified with what Cecelia would think. “I’m truly sorry about last night,” she said.

  Cecelia waved her hand, dismissing her apology. “You don’t have to say a thing. It’s your house, and you can do what you want. I really want you to feel comfortable here. I know moving takes a lot of adjustments. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we’re not here to judge you. We’re here to help you.”

  “Thank you.” But in truth Brooke didn’t feel like she belonged there. Jameson didn’t need her to run the house or the ranch. Everywhere she looked she could see how much he didn’t need a wife. There would be no dinner parties to host or children to raise. He was fine on his own. She felt like an extra appendage.

  So she decided she should look after herself. She was now ready to focus on her art again and her upcoming show. At least in her studio she wouldn’t feel useless. She had hoped to convince Jameson to take the day off and go with her, but she hadn’t been able to find him. It was going to be the first time visiting her new studio and she was excited.

  Brooke drove over to the shed where he’d made her studio. She opened the door, and what she saw left her speechless. He had told her he’d cleared a shed for her to use, but she hadn’t expected an architectural marvel. Jameson had installed several different kilns, an up-to-date pottery kick wheel, a small style clay maker, several porcelain ball mill jars for storing her different glazes, a portable spray booth and a large working table with an assortment of pottery tools.

  The layout of the studio allowed easy movement from one part of the studio to the other. The open design had drop panels from the ceiling to concentrate the kiln’s fumes and heat, which could be exhausted from the studio. The area where she would throw, model and decorate her finished pieces was spacious and well lit. Ware racks were everywhere, displaying both items she had finished and those she was working on. She also saw an enclosed glass case, where she could store some of her finished pieces for viewing.

  Overwhelmed with emotion, Brooke backed out and closed the door.

  Chapter 7

  Jameson was returning from the stables when he saw Brooke outside the shed. She was sitting on the ground with her knees drawn up to her chest and her head down. He raced over to her, the sound of her crying growing louder the closer he got. He became alert and looked around to see what could be the cause of her distress.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked once he reached her. “What happened?”

  Brooke glanced up at him. Her eyes and nose red. She opened her mouth then started to cry again.

  Jameson stood above her, feeling helpless. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you get bad news?”

  She shook her head again.

  He sighed, then kneeled down in front of her. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

  “It’s the shed. I didn’t even think you were listening when I asked for a place to work.”

  “Of course I was listening.” He bit his lip. Maybe he hadn’t been listening enough. He’d had his mother organize the wedding, but he’d taken charge of renovating the shed. Perhaps he’d gotten something wrong. “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said in a choked voice. “Nobody in Granger has ever respected me as an artist
like you have.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  Brooke looked at him with a shocked expression. “You didn’t do anything?” She jumped to her feet then darted inside and pointed to the shelves. “You have my work displayed like they are museum pieces.” She pointed to the kiln. “You installed a kiln that’s top of the line. You paid attention to every detail.”

  As Jameson followed her in he felt his face redden, embarrassed by her praise. “Well, I just know how important it is to have the right tools,” he said. He remembered first being annoyed by the prospect of moving all her work to the shed. He’d gone to her house to see what she had in her makeshift workshop so that he could tell the workers what needed to be done, and when he had seen some of her work he had immediately been impressed. He remembered the pictures she used to draw as a child, but what he’d seen was the work of an accomplished artist. She created pottery with Western designs on them that celebrated ranch life. He’d heard about her work but had never seen them in person. Her pieces showed love for the ranch life that he felt but could never express.

  “Thank you so much,” she said.

  Jameson shoved his hands in his pockets, both embarrassed and pleased by her gratitude. “It’s nothing. I’m just surprised you’re not better known.”

  Brooke smiled. “I’m not too known in Granger, but I’ve had shows all over the state. Actually, I have a show coming up in a week that I’m preparing for.”

  “I’m glad. You’re really good. I could never do something like this.”

  “Would you like to try?”

  He paused. “Try what?”

  She pointed to a pottery wheel. “This. Let me show you.” When she saw him glance toward the door, she grabbed an apron and said, “It won’t take long.” She draped the apron over his head then tied it in the back.

  “I told you, I’m not creative.”

  “And I plan to prove you wrong.”

  Brooke showed Jameson how to throw the clay and then helped him form the ball into a bowl shape. He had the perfect hands for it—solid and capable—and the clay seemed to respond to his touch. Usually new potters had no control and let the clay become misshapen, but somehow he was a natural and able to keep all the sides even and smooth.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”

  “I can see why you like this. It’s relaxing,” Jameson said, enjoying the feel of the wet clay beneath his hands. He imagined the clay being her body. As he molded, pushed and formed the shapeless piece of clay he could feel his manhood become hard.... “I’m done now,” he said abruptly.

  “Okay, let me show you how to take it off the wheel and put it in the kiln.”

  Jameson went over to the sink and washed his hands. “You can do it for me.”

  “But—”

  He quickly dried his hands and took off the apron. “I won’t bother you anymore. I’m glad you like the space.” He had to get a hold of himself. Jameson walked out the door and marched away from Brooke’s studio as fast as his legs could take him without running.

  * * *

  Brooke watched him go. He was even more wonderful than the man she’d thought him to be. She remembered when she’d first fallen for him. She’d been crying then, too, but for a different reason. Her beloved dog Radar had died. Neither her father nor sister could understand her sorrow. Radar had lived a long life and he had been a working dog, not a pet. And the death of an animal was normal for a rancher, but Radar’s death had struck her hard. They’d had a bond no one else could understand. She sat on the back patio with Radar’s collar, unable to stop the stream of tears.

  “Still crying over that silly dog?” Meredith had said, coming to the patio with a pitcher of lemonade. “Sometimes you act like you’re five instead of fifteen. Don’t you think so, Jameson?”

  Brooke quickly wiped her tears, horrified that he would see her blubbering like a baby. She didn’t want him to make fun of her, too.

  But he hadn’t. Instead he had handed her a tissue and sat down beside her. “There’s nothing wrong with crying when you’re sad.” He glanced down at the collar she held. “Radar was a good friend of yours?”

  Brooke sniffed and nodded, basking in the compassion in his brown eyes.

  “He was a dog!” Meredith said, clearly exasperated.

  Jameson ignored her. “Meredith doesn’t understand animals the way we do.”

  Before Meredith could argue, the phone had rung and she went inside to answer it.

  Jameson then had lightly patted Brooke on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”

  Brooke blinked back a fresh wave of tears. His tenderness had made her heart ache more. “Radar is one of the last memories I have of my mother. She’d bought him as a puppy and let me go with her to choose him. I remember her training him and—” Brooke stopped, unable to finished.

  “Now that he’s gone you feel you’ve lost your mother all over again?”

  She’d nodded, relieved that he understood and hadn’t make her feel childish.

  “But you can’t lose what you’ve never lost. Your mother is always with you. In your heart and in the memories you keep.”

  Brooke thought of his words now as she watched Jameson walk away. He was in her heart and she had memories of him, but she wondered what she could do to make more with him.

  * * *

  The next day, as evening colored the sky in purple and red hues, Brooke walked around the ranch with her sketchbook in hand. She’d been married to Jameson for two weeks, but she’d rarely seen him. He was a hard man to pin down. If he wasn’t working on the ranch, he was in his office looking over paperwork or in town on business. After numerous attempts to try to eat a meal with him, she’d given up and accepted that they were meant to live separate lives, although she still thought of the time she’d managed to get him to stay with her in her pottery studio. Fortunately, she had the land to keep her busy sketching. It offered so many magnificent views to choose from—the cabins in the distance, the mountains and trees, but she headed for the stables instead. She loved drawing horses. She stepped inside and saw Jameson with an emaciated-looking horse as a black dog lay nearby. She slowly approached them.

  “That can’t be one of your horses.”

  “He is now.”

  “Where did you get him?”

  “Found him.”

  Brooke shook her head. “You don’t just ‘find’ a horse.”

  “I did.”

  She sighed, irritated. “Please don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not. I did find him, and another one, at one of those traveling carnivals. He was tied to a post and looking miserable. Poor Royal Thunder was being ridden into the ground.”

  Brooke’s eyes widened. “So you stole him?”

  Jameson didn’t meet her gaze. “I know he looks bad now, but he’s getting the very best care. He’s already seen the vet and furrier. The dentist will come by tomorrow. He’s not eating as much as he should and that could be because his teeth hurt.”

  “Jameson, did you steal?”

  He turned to her and rested a hand on his chest. “Do I look like the kind of man who’d steal a horse?”

  “No, and that’s probably why you’d get away with it.”

  “It would be difficult to steal a horse from a carnival. Let alone two.”

  “You’re clever enough to do it.”

  He flashed a lazy smile. “Do you want to hand me over to the sheriff?”

  “You can’t do things like that. It’s dangerous.”

  “I couldn’t leave them there.” He laughed at her expression. “Don’t worry—I didn’t steal them. I left some money and then I took them because our local horse rescue didn’t have any space.”

  “W
hat do you mean you ‘left some money’?”

  “They were going to be seized anyway. I made it worth his while.”

  “What if the owner changes his mind and comes looking for them?”

  His grin turned devious. “It’s a big county. Where would he start?”

  “I’m married to a horse thief.”

  “Rescuer. Like I said, I compensated the owner, although he didn’t deserve it.” He looked at the horse and tenderly stroked it. “Don’t miss me too much.”

  “Why would I miss you?”

  “I was talking to the horse.”

  “Why would she miss you then?”

  “I’ll be gone for two days on business.”

  Why couldn’t the man stay put? If he wasn’t racing out of her studio or working, he was disappearing for days. She didn’t need to know the specifics. Plenty of things could take a man out of town. Brooke wasn’t naive—she knew that was the life of a rancher and because their marriage was a farce, she couldn’t expect better. At least she now knew what to expect. She had to lead her own life. Besides, she had a show in a couple of days and she’d be traveling out of town also. He never asked about her work, or private life, so she didn’t tell him.

  Brooke didn’t see Jameson off the next morning. Instead she spent time in her studio trying not to think about him. She was putting glaze on one of her pieces when her cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “I don’t mean to bother you,” Cecelia said. “But since Jameson’s away...”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just went into the stables and Royal Thunder...is down.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Brooke washed her hands, put her supplies away and then hurried over to the stable, afraid of what she would find. The horse looked bad.

  In addition to Cecelia, one of the stable hands, a youthful-looking young man, was standing over the horse with a grim expression. “She’s been down for a while, and we’ve got to get her up.” Brooke knew the importance of getting Royal Thunder up and walking. His internal organs would be crushed by his size if he stayed down too long.

  “I’ve called the vet, but she’s on the other side of town taking care of sick cows.”