by Dara Girard
Steven frowned. “That doesn’t look like Wes.”
“That’s because it’s Jameson.”
“Jameson?”
Frank laughed even harder at the shocked expression on Steven’s face. “Yes, your eldest. The one we all thought had forgotten how to smile.”
Steven stared at Jameson again, barely recognizing him. Even though he was a few yards away, Steven could see his profile and it didn’t have the hard edge that he’d grown used to. His son looked so young and carefree again, reminding him of when he was five and could hardly be kept in the house. He was always rushing through his breakfast and then racing outside to play with the farm animals. Gwendolyn always despaired of keeping him clean. She once joked that she should just let him run around naked like a wild animal. He dashed from one part of the ranch to the other without losing enthusiasm. And he was always full of questions. “And what’s this, Dad?” Or performing some feat and demanding attention. “Watch me, Dad.” And then he’d do something that would make Gwendolyn want to scream and Steven laugh. Finally, he saw the man that young boy had grown into before heartbreak had shut him down. “I don’t believe it,” he said in a choked voice, blinking back tears.
“Me neither,” Frank said, sobering, sensing the other man’s amazement. “But it’s real. Brooke has really brought out a good side to him.”
Steven didn’t feel anything but pride as he watched his son, the tightening in his chest easing a bit. He’d come over to Jameson’s house to discuss more rumors about the private investor, but that didn’t matter now. In the past he’d wanted his son to focus on the ranch and nothing else. He’d encouraged it, despite his wife’s protests saying that work always helped a man get his life in order. But he’d helped his son make the ranch his life and now he’d help him separate the two. He wouldn’t have Jameson worry as he did.
* * *
If Jameson had known his father was watching, he would have stopped running instantly. But because he didn’t he ran nearly five more minutes until the crowd was in a frenzy. Jameson eventually stopped and turned around with his hands in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry.”
Brooke didn’t stop. She ran up to him and tackled him to the ground before she tried to saddle him. He rolled away, out of her grasp.
“I said I was sorry,” he said, but his eyes danced with humor.
“But you don’t mean it?”
“I do.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Jameson’s lip twitched.
Brooke narrowed her eyes. “You really think this is funny?”
He bit his lip. “You should have seen the look on your face.” He burst into laughter.
* * *
Brooke watched him amazed. She’d never seen him laugh before. His laughter made him look years younger and more carefree and she liked the sound of it. It was free, fun, sexy and contagious. Before she knew it, Brooke was laughing, too.
“I’m going to get you,” Brooke said, wiping tears from her eyes.
Jameson stumbled to his feet, sobering, then held his hand out to her. “I’ll watch myself,” he said as he effortlessly lifted her up. “Do you forgive me?”
She playfully punched him in the chest. “Only if you’ll send them back.”
“Are you sure? Can I keep just one?”
“No.”
“Please?”
She folded her arms. “It’s your house, so you can do whatever you want.”
“True, but I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
Brooke let her hands fall. “Fine, keep one. Keep them both if you want to.”
Jameson drew her into his arms and kissed her.
Brooke tried to shove him away before he completely made her forget how angry she’d been with him. “What are you doing?”
He locked his arms around her waist and flashed a lazy smile. “You know what I’m doing.” He placed a kiss on her neck.
“Stop it.”
“What? Kissing you or holding you?”
“Both.”
Jameson released her, his dark gaze searching her face. “You’re really that angry?”
Not anymore. “Yes.”
“How can I make it up to you?” he asked. And at that moment, to Brooke, Jameson looked young and vulnerable and wonderful. Like a man who cared about pleasing his wife.
Brooke had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling. “I’ll think of something.”
Later that night Steven told his wife what he’d seen and she couldn’t believe it either. Three times she asked, “Are you sure it was Jameson?” And she’d shake her head in disbelief, until tears of joy streamed down her cheeks when he confirmed it. And he’d held her and they’d both cried with joy that their son was back. They were both happy that the wedding had been real and that Brooke was the perfect woman for him.
Steven also thought of his father, Charles, and silently thanked him for stopping him from saying anything to Jameson at the wedding. He was glad he’d kept his suspicions about Jameson’s true motivation to himself. He felt ashamed that he’d judged him so harshly.
* * *
Jameson named the dogs Ben and Trevor. Ben eagerly accepted any new job he was given, whereas Trevor gravitated to Royal Thunder, and the horse appeared to feel the same. Trevor would sit in front of the horse, and Royal Thunder would nibble on its fur, as if grooming it. Jameson didn’t want to give him back. The dog reminded him a little of Brooke. It was smart and caring. He’d really thought she’d be happy about the dog. A good cow dog was always helpful on a ranch. But maybe she had different plans for her ranch that she hadn’t told him about. No, he didn’t think she’d be that devious. As she said, she didn’t want anything more from him. Just his last name for a while and a roll in the sack when the mood was right. He’d have to be satisfied with that.
* * *
Two days later Brooke had the perfect idea of how she could get back at Jameson for getting the two dogs. She walked into Jameson’s study carrying a small clay bowl. “Here.”
Jameson frowned at it. “What is this?”
“Your bowl. You made it, remember? I thought you should paint it, too.” She folded her arms. “I couldn’t think of another way to get back at you for the dog incident, but I’m trying to be nice.”
Jameson shook his head. “No, I’ll stick to what I do well. Besides, I don’t want to bother you. Come up with something else. I’m willing to wash your car.”
“No, I want you to do this. Besides, you don’t bother me. I like having you around. I know you enjoyed making this.”
Jameson stared at the bowl for a long moment then shook his head again. “Please, do whatever you want with it. You can throw it away if you want to.”
Brooke couldn’t do that. It would be like throwing away a wonderful memory. His dismissive words hurt. Would he be able to “throw away” what they had together so easily?
“I’ve been talking to another broker about your work,” he continued. “And the lawyers have looked over the contract. You’ll be set up well when our year is up.”
Does our year have to end? “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re the one with the talent. You don’t need me.”
“Yes, I do.”
Jameson turned to her with a look of surprise. “What?”
“A person always needs a good friend.” She held up the bowl. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“I told you, I’m not very creative.”
Brooke rested a hand on her hip. “Over the past several weeks you’ve been very creative.” Jameson knew what she was referring to, and it wasn’t about working with clay.
“I mean I’m not artistic.”
She grinned. “That, too.” She looked around the study. “Of course, if y
ou want to move back in here that’s fine.”
Jameson stiffened, quickly understanding her threat. “That’s blackmail.”
Brooke rested the bowl on the desk and lowered her voice. “It’s revenge.”
“You’ve got a nasty streak.”
“I can be just as surly as you if I want to.”
Jameson believed her, but he also remembered the wayward thoughts he’d had when he’d made the bowl. He was already more attracted to her than he wanted to be. He didn’t want to spend more time with her than he had to. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself. He held out his hand. “I can wax your car, too.”
“You’ll probably just hire someone to do it for you.”
“No, I’ll do it myself.”
“With your shirt off?”
“If you want,” he said, eager to get her to agree.
Brooke shook her head then pointed to the bowl. “Sorry, but I’d prefer to see you finish this.”
Jameson sighed then stood. Together they drove over to the studio.
While Jameson painted, Brooke tried to focus on her own work, but she couldn’t help stealing glances at him.
Jameson gave a low growl. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Staring at me.”
“I can’t help it. I like what I see.”
“Hmm...me completely out of my element. You want to start laughing now?”
“You’re doing fine.”
Jameson set his brush down. “I’m done.”
Brooke looked at the bowl, which he had painted brown, green and blue. She smiled. “A Montana horizon?”
He returned her expression. “Yes.”
Brooke lifted her gaze to his face. “Your only true love, right?”
His eyes met hers, and he stared at her with an intensity she’d never seen before. It made her breath catch and her heart beat faster.
“Listen, Brooke, I can’t—” His cell phone rang. He glanced down. “Sorry, I have to take this.” He answered then listened and swore. “I’ll be right there.” He disconnected.
“What’s wrong?”
“Some cows got loose through a broken fence in the eastern quarter. And two hands are out with the flu so we’re shorthanded.” He rushed out the door of the studio.
Brooke gripped her hands into fists. Damn cows have ruined a perfect moment. What was Jameson about to say? He couldn’t what? Love her? Feel anything more for her than lust? Brooke glanced down at the bowl, saw the colors of the Montana horizon and knew she could never compete with such a mistress.
* * *
He was getting too attached to her, Jameson thought as he worked on repairing the fencing. They’d managed to get the cattle back and the crisis was over, but he still felt on edge. He was exhausted, but he didn’t want to go home yet. He already knew he’d miss her when she left. He needed to prepare himself for it. He’d stay out of her studio. Maybe spend more time in the study than in the master suite. They were starting to feel more and more like a real married couple and he didn’t like that. That wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out. It was dangerous and foolish to believe his own lie. He wiped sweat from his brow then glanced up and saw a slender figure a few yards away working on another part of the fence. Brooke.
Jameson finished what he was doing then walked over to her.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping. You said you were shorthanded. I know what needs to be done.” She pressed a finger against his lip. “Don’t argue. Let’s just finish this.”
Jameson started to smile but frowned instead. Damn, he was really going to miss her when she left, but he’d never ask her to stay.
Chapter 14
Brooke would never have described herself as a jealous woman until she saw the dark-haired, Native American beauty flirting with Jameson that afternoon. The two stood in the driveway, and Brooke watched through the living room window as the woman playfully slapped Jameson on the arm, making him smile. Brooke flexed her fingers. She wanted to be the only woman who could make him smile. Who could make him relax, to make him want more. Who was that woman? And why was she so comfortable with him when everyone knew that Jameson hardly looked at women? She would find out, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t want to just walk up to them and come up with a phony reason to join the conversation or give Jameson a chore he’d either already completed or would hold off for later. Maybe she was making too much of it.
“She is a looker, isn’t she?” Cecelia said behind her.
“Yes,” Brooke reluctantly admitted. But it wasn’t just her looks that struck her; it was the way the woman carried herself. She appeared to be a confident woman, around Jameson’s age, with an affinity to Jameson that made Brooke wonder about her more. Did they have a past together?
“At one point I thought that something would happen between them,” Cecelia said. “They have so much in common. But I didn’t know about you, of course,” she quickly added. “I’m sure you two will get on well.”
“Who is she?”
Cecelia looked at her in surprise. “You mean he hasn’t told you? She’s the owner of the horse rescue organization.”
“Oh,” Brooke said, remembering Jameson talk about the rescue service he’d first approached with Royal Thunder. “How long have they worked together?”
“Years, but you have nothing to worry about. Jameson is a trustworthy man.”
Brooke plastered on a smile, ashamed that Cecelia could sense her unease. “I’m not worried about that. I was just curious.”
Cecelia sent her a long look. “It’s none of my business, but I know when there’s tension.”
Brooke’s smile fell as heat burned her cheeks. She’d sensed a shift in her relationship with Jameson but hadn’t thought anyone else would notice it. After their time in the studio, their interaction had been cordial but stilted. She’d tried to guard her heart as she watched Jameson with the dogs and he’d kept them far from her as he’d promised, but the companionable relationship she’d hoped to have with him had become strained. She had many more months to go, though, so she had to keep up appearances. “No, we’re fine now.”
“The first married fight is always the hardest, but it gets better from there. He shouldn’t have gotten those dogs without telling you, but I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“I’m past that.”
“Good, grudges are like weeds. They can strangle a garden. So can feelings of jealousy.”
“But I’m not...” She stopped when Cecelia sent her a knowing look. “Okay, maybe a little. I mean, look at her.”
“I have, but remember that he married you.”
Only because I forced him to. “I know.”
“Instead of standing there burning with curiosity, why don’t you go over and introduce yourself?”
“I would feel like I’m intruding.”
“That doesn’t sound like the woman who helped me douse a car fire or care for a sick horse.” Cecelia went to the door and opened it. “Go and say hello. I’ll make sure refreshments are ready.”
Brooke sighed, knowing that Cecelia was determined and wouldn’t buy any excuse Brooke tried to come up with.
She walked outside and half hoped that the woman would be getting into her car by the time she reached them, but neither Jameson nor the woman seemed ready to part company. Brooke took a deep breath then approached them. “Hello, I’m Brooke. I couldn’t help seeing you out here. Would you like to come in for some refreshments?”
With hazel eyes and flawless skin, the woman was even more stunning up close. Brooke half expected her to flatly refuse when she sent a look to Jameson. “I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time,” she said.
Jameson shrugged. “Come on. You know you’re
always welcome.”
Minutes later the three of them were sitting in the living room eating crackers and cheese.
“I still don’t know your name,” Brooke said.
“Linda Bearclaw,” she said with no elaboration.
The silence stretched, but Jameson seemed in no hurry to fill it. Brooke saw the uncertain look Linda again sent to Jameson. Something was going on between them. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what, but she would face the truth.
“Okay, why are you here?” Brooke asked. She regretted how tactless her question sounded, but she had to know
“You tell her,” Jameson said.
Linda shook her head. “I told you that it’s not my place. Besides, it’s your idea.”
“It will sound better coming from you. Brooke doesn’t always like my surprises,” Jameson said with a sheepish grin.
Brooke was confused. “What’s going on?”
“Jameson has a great idea that I think will really help us—” Linda started.
“But I said it was just an idea and I haven’t convinced her yet,” Jameson interrupted.
“So convince her now.”
“Convince me of what?” Brooke demanded, tired of their secrecy.
When Jameson didn’t respond, Linda leaned forward and said in an eager voice, “To help the horse rescue.”
Brooke blinked. She’d imagined a number of things that Linda could say, but that wasn’t one of them. “Me help the rescue agency? How?”
“We’re holding a fund-raiser for the rescue and we need items to auction. Jameson thought you could donate maybe two of your pottery pieces so that people could bid on them, and whatever they agree to pay, he’d match it. Jameson figured that way you could get exposure for your work and help raise money plus add a level of class to the auction. Everyone knows that pottery is big in this state, and to get your name attached to a worthy cause would add sophistication to the event.”
“Oh, you mean using the Broward name?”
Linda frowned. “No, not just that. Of course having a Broward involved would be helpful, but Jameson has told me that your work is known throughout the state and that you’ll soon have a gallery online for buyers.”