Engaging Brooke

by Dara Girard

  “We don’t have much time. Where’s the equipment to lift him?” Brooke asked, rolling up her sleeves.

  “Over there,” the stable hand said.

  “Set it up while I get more hands.” Brooke knew horses but not well enough to know all that needed to be considered. She needed the advice of experts.

  She pulled out her cell phone and telephoned the main house, relieved when Gwendolyn answered. “I could really use your help and Laney’s, too.”

  The two women were at Brooke’s side within minutes and looked at the horse in horror. “Where did it come from?” Laney asked.

  “Jameson found it wandering,” Brooke said.

  “But he’s not wild,” Laney said.

  “That doesn’t matter right now,” Gwendolyn said, taking charge. “We need to get him up.” They strapped the horse into the electric harness, then lifted it.

  For the rest of that day and all night the women alternated every three hours walking Royal Thunder around the stable and giving him fluids. If he survived the night, they had a fighting chance. When dawn came, the horse was still walking. “The vet will be here later,” Gwendolyn said as she hung up her cell phone. “I think the biggest crisis is over. But I suggest we watch him for one more night. I have a dinner party with important guests tonight, but I’ll give you some instructions on what to do before the vet arrives.”

  * * *

  Cecelia was reading one of her favorite novels when she heard a car horn honking nonstop. It was rare to hear that, but she thought that perhaps kids were joyriding somewhere. She soon smelled something burning. She checked the kitchen but couldn’t find anything that could be the cause. She went back to reading, but the smell wouldn’t go away and neither did the honking horn. It sounded really close. She walked to the kitchen, then went out into the garage and a cloud of smoke enveloped her. When it dissipated she saw that her Jeep was on fire. She grabbed a bucket, ran back into the house and filled it with water from the kitchen sink.

  Brooke came into the kitchen. “What’s that smell?”

  “My Jeep. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of it.” She hurried outside.

  Brooke raced after her, then halted when she saw the sight. “Wait, don’t!” she said, but her warning came too late. Cecelia threw the water on the fire and it reacted like gasoline, becoming like a bomb explosion. Cecelia fell to the ground with the back of her arms scorched.

  “Get inside,” Brooke ordered. She looked around and saw some old wool blankets. She grabbed them and doused the flames. In seconds the crisis was over. She raced back inside to look at Cecelia. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

  “What just happened?” Cecelia asked in a daze.

  “You threw water on an electrical fire. It’s dangerous to do that because electricity acts like a conductor.”

  “I’m so stupid. But I don’t want to trouble you.” She winced as she began to feel the pain from her burns.

  “It’s no trouble.”

  Brooke drove Cecelia to the hospital, where she got her wounds cleaned and bound. Brooke’s swift action had prevented her from suffering anything worse than first-degree burns. She wouldn’t be able to use her left hand for several weeks, though. “But I have work to do,” Cecelia argued on the ride home. “I have a house to run.”

  “Let me call Jameson.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t. He’s got enough on his mind. My job is to make his life easy and I want to keep it that way. I just have so much to do. I have a plumber coming tomorrow and—”

  Brooke knew that Cecelia wouldn’t be able to do everything on her own. She’d planned to leave for her show the next day, but she knew she would have to cancel. “Just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll help.”

  * * *

  Brooke held the phone away from her ear while her broker, Matthew Rainey, shouted at her for canceling her appearance at the Sugarloaf Craft Festival in Helena. He handled all of her sales transactions and worked with the various galleries she had contracts with. Brooke sold her work under another name. She had been a protégé in high school and began making and selling her work at county fairs from age sixteen. Creating and selling her pottery meant a lot to her, but right now Royal Thunder and Cecelia meant more, and she knew she couldn’t leave at such a crucial time. Once Matthew took a breath she said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t make it. There’s been an emergency here at the ranch.”

  “I don’t care if the damn place is falling down. You can’t cancel. You have a lot riding on this show.”

  “There will be other shows.”

  “You’re going to lose a lot of money. Also, I won’t get my commission and there are buyers anxiously waiting to see and purchase your work.”

  “I can’t make it.”

  “Let me talk to your husband.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “He’s left you already?”

  “He’s away on business.”

  “Are you really that naive?”

  Matthew usually had his head in the gutter, but he was good at his job. “Don’t be a jerk. He’s not cheating on me.”

  “He’d be stupid if he did, but they’re not too bright out there, are they? They wear big hats to make up for little brains.”

  “You’re pissing me off on purpose.”

  “It’s what I do, honey. I want you to really think about what you’re doing and why.”

  “I know why.”

  He swore. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you get married.”

  Brooke’s voice rose in surprise. “Let me?”

  “When you sent me that note about getting married, I almost wept. You’re only twenty-five. You could have waited another two years. By then, your career would have been more established. But things are already falling apart. You’ve been married less than two weeks and he’s started ruining your career.”

  “He’s not ruining anything. This is my decision. I pay you to take care of my business. That’s all I’m asking you to do.”

  “Well, honey, it’s your choices that stink. If you weren’t so beautiful, I’d have walked away. After your father died, I thought you’d finally move out of that hick town.”

  “This is my home. I’m my most creative here. Georgia O’Keefe had New Mexico, and I have Montana. Besides, I’m talented as well as beautiful.”

  “Yeah,” he said as an aside. “That, too. Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Matthew. You know I’ll make it up to you,” Brooke said, then hung up. Her mood quickly dimmed. She hated when Matthew only mentioned her looks, as if that—and not her talent—was her biggest selling point. Sometimes she wondered if he really thought she had any. In town her art was treated like a hobby; it was only outside of Granger where she’d started seeing true success. Matthew had been the first to talk about her art as a career, so she was grateful for that. But even then, she’d still gotten more comments about her looks than her work from both him and interested buyers. That’s why Jameson’s response to her art had touched her. He was sincere. He didn’t flatter her. He treated her like an equal and respected her passion, which made it easy for her to respect him.

  Now her only hope was that Royal Thunder would make it so that he would see his new master again, and that Cecelia would be okay. And she couldn’t wait to see him, too.

  Chapter 8

  As a child, Jameson had rarely gotten into trouble, leaving most juvenile antics to his younger siblings, Wes and Laney. But when he did do something wrong, he was always ready for the consequences. This time he wasn’t prepared for the sight of his mother coming at him like an angry mare as he parked his truck.

  “Where did you get that horse?”

  He froze. “What horse?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me.”

  “I hon
estly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She pointed to his stables. “I’m talking about that poor horse that Brooke had to spend two full days and nights nursing back to health. Oh, don’t worry, he’s fine now, but I haven’t seen a horse look that bad in years. Now, where did you get him?”

  “It’s a long story. You’re sure he’s all right?” He waved his hands when his mother bristled with outrage. “I’m sorry I asked. I trust your judgment.”

  “Then I demand you tell me what’s going on. Why do you have a horse like that?”

  “I found him.”

  “Where?”

  “Like I said, it’s a long story.”

  She sighed. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  He only smiled.

  “Stubborn as a mule and as tough as a horseshoe.” She wagged her finger at him. “You’re lucky Brooke was here. Especially with poor Cecelia.”

  He paused. “What about Cecelia?”

  “Oh, I guess they didn’t want to worry you about that.”

  “Worry me about what?”

  “I’m sure Brooke will explain everything. She’s been managing the place well.”

  “I was just gone two days. What could have happened?”

  “Talk to Brooke. I hope you thank her properly.”

  Jameson folded his arms. “Properly, huh? Are you offering up any ideas?”

  “Roses. Hand-delivered by you.”

  Jameson shook his head and turned to his house. “Sorry, that’s not my style, but I’ll think of something.”

  “Try to be romantic. I don’t want you to lose...” Her words fell away.

  He slowly turned. “Go on. You don’t want me to lose what? Another woman? Do you think I drove Meredith away?”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Gwendolyn said, looking chagrined.

  “Has Brooke talked about leaving?” Jameson asked, suddenly angry. “If she wants to leave, that’s her choice. I’m not holding her prisoner.”

  “Brooke didn’t mention anything about leaving. I just...a woman needs to know she matters. That she’s valuable to you. I just think you should show it somehow. You’ve lived on your own for so long, I don’t know if you realize what sharing a life with someone else means.”

  Jameson sighed, letting his anger die away. He knew his mother was only trying to help. She didn’t know how raw his wounds still were. “I’ll send her flowers.”

  “Give them to her.”

  “You think that will make a difference?”

  She started to smile. “Do it and you’ll see.”

  * * *

  Jameson went to see Cecelia first. She sat in the living room with her arms bandaged. He sat down in front of her. “What happened?”

  “I’ve got scars to match my hair now,” she said with a bright grin.

  He didn’t return the expression. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine now, thanks to Brooke.”

  “What happened?” he repeated, this time with more force.

  “I tried to put out an electrical fire in my Jeep with water, and I got burned. Afterward I noticed a letter on my desk that I had not gotten around to opening. It seems that model has been recalled for that reason. Don’t worry—we got it towed away.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Brooke’s been helping me manage the house. And she’s been taking good care of Royal Thunder.”

  He swore. “I bet she hasn’t been pleased with that.”

  “She hasn’t complained. She took over and let me rest. She’s been acting just the way a wife should. She makes me want to heal up fast or I’ll be out of a job.”

  “Never,” Jameson said with feeling. “You’ll always have a place here.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  He stood. “Just let me know if you need anything.

  “I will. By the way, when you thank her make sure the roses are red.”

  Jameson rolled his eyes. “Have you been talking to my mother?”

  “No, but flowers are always nice.”

  “I gave a woman flowers once. She preferred jewelry. She said it lasted longer.”

  “And I bet you that girl’s heart was as cold as those jewels.”

  Jameson shrugged. He was in no mood to talk about it. Cecelia hadn’t known Meredith but had likely heard the story about his breakup. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Brooke isn’t like that other woman. Trust me.”

  * * *

  Brooke lay on her bed thinking about her phone call with Matthew and the canceled pottery show. Sometimes he reminded her too much of Meredith. She and her sister weren’t close and Meredith only found reasons to criticize her. Over the past ten years they’d rarely spoken, and the last time she’d seen her sister was at their father’s funeral. But she was never shy to voice her opinion, and Brooke could just imagine her berating her now for not going to the craft show. Her sister wouldn’t understand the choice she’d made. She remembered an old phone call with her years ago.

  “There’s nothing in Granger for you except Dad,” she’d said. “No museums, live theater, fine dining, posh hotels. The closest I ever want to be to a ranch again is the Broadway production of Oklahoma! That’s why I couldn’t marry Jameson. I had to leave. The ranch will take up your life. It took up Dad’s life, and Jameson’s no different. If you won’t listen to me about anything else, listen to this. Don’t marry a cowboy. You’ll waste away from neglect. A ranch is a selfish mistress.”

  Those words still echoed in Brooke’s mind that evening. She knew she couldn’t fight the seductive nature of the Montana prairie. And Jameson would be home soon, but they’d just keep passing each other, as strangers. She didn’t know how she’d be able to hold up the charade for another eleven months. Brooke turned her head toward the door at the sound of a knock. It was probably Cecelia. She always provided a bright spot in her day. Brooke rested her arms behind her head. “Come in.”

  “Were you sleeping?” a deep voice said.

  Brooke sat up and stared at Jameson. “You’re back?” She scrambled off the bed and stood, pressing her hair down. Why did he have to choose now to talk to her? She must look a mess. Her gaze fell to the dozen red roses in his hand. “What are you doing?”

  He held out the roses. “These are for you. My mother told me what you did and how you saved Royal Thunder’s life, and Cecelia can’t stop singing your praises.”

  “Oh.”

  “What you did really means a lot to me.”

  She nodded. “I see.”

  When she made no move to take the bouquet, he frowned. “You don’t like roses?”

  “No, it’s just that you didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

  “What would you have preferred?” he said in a tense voice. “Let me guess, a diamond bracelet or maybe something to wear.”

  “No. A simple hug would have been nice.”

  He blinked. “A hug?”

  “Yes, as you would a friend. Our marriage may be false, but I still like to consider you as a friend.”

  “I don’t have many friends.”

  Brooke bit her lower lip, knowing the risk she was taking, but she was determined not to back down. He may not see her as a wife, but she wanted, at least, some kind of a relationship with him that didn’t make them strangers. “You have me.”

  Jameson set the flowers aside then pulled Brooke into his embrace. “Is this what you had in mind?” he whispered into her ear.

  Brooke briefly shut her eyes, pressed her cheek against his chest and held him close. “Yes.” She drew away and looked up at him. She opened her mouth to say more, but he smothered her words with a kiss.

  Unlike the kiss at the ceremony,
she knew this one was meant only for her, and that made it sweeter than she could have imagined. For a moment it made her thoughts spin, and she imagined him wanting her as much as she wanted him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. Jameson moaned with satisfaction. His hand dipped to her blouse. “Are you wearing anything from your trousseau underneath this?”

  “No, but I can—”

  “We’ll save them for another time,” he said, removing her blouse.

  Jameson carried her over to the bed. Brooke reached for his shirt but couldn’t undo the buttons. “Nervous?” he asked.

  “A little,” she admitted, annoyed that her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

  “Relax. We’re friends, remember?”

  Brooke forced a smile. He saw her as a friend, but he was the love of her life and she had more to lose if the night was a disaster. She’d been flirting with him for weeks and she had to deliver.

  “This is going to be good,” Jameson said, as if reading her thoughts, his dark eyes filled with a sensuous promise. Brooke felt all her fears immediately melt away as he removed her clothes with exquisite care. “I wanted to do this the first night.”

  Brooke slid her hand under his shirt. “I wish you had.”

  Jameson kissed her between her breasts. “I’ll make up for lost time.”

  She tugged on the front of his shirt.

  He glanced down at her, confused. “What are you doing?”

  “I still can’t get your damn buttons undone. What do you use, Super Glue?”

  Jameson laughed and quickly undid them himself, then tossed the shirt on the ground.

  Brooke splayed her hands over his chest. “From now on I want you to only wear T-shirts.”

  “We’ll discuss that another time. Right now, let’s focus on the birds and the bees.”

  Her hand slid to the center of him. “Or bulls and—”

  His mouth covered hers. She melted into his hot flesh, which was more intoxicating than any wine she’d ever tasted. Her hands moved over his as if he were a new batch of clay. But she didn’t need to mold him into anything—he was a study in perfection. She’d given her heart to him many times, but that night she wanted his, so she surrendered her body to him.