by Dara Girard
“Now, Brooke, I need you to slowly, very slowly slide down to me.”
“I can’t,” Brooke said, frozen in terror. She couldn’t think straight. Fear prevented her from moving.
“Brooke, I need you to trust me.”
Brooke watched as Jameson carefully opened the door, extending his hand up to her. “Just look at me. I’m here. It’ll be all right.” Brooke looked down at him, her heart pounding, and slowly slid out of the car seat and onto the branches below.
“Stay close to me. Don’t make any sudden moves.” Jameson helped Brooke inch by inch move closer and closer toward safety. Suddenly Frank reached out, grabbed her and pulled her to solid ground. Jameson came up close behind her.
Jameson reached out and held her close for a long time, but neither of them said a word, although they both had so much they wanted to say. The thought of losing her had scared him.
They could not do anything about retrieving her car. Five minutes after they reached safety, it broke loose and tumbled down into the ravine. Everyone stood still as the full realization that both Brooke and Cecelia could have still been in the car became crystal clear, and the two women realized how close they had come to death.
“If you’d wanted a new car, you could have just told me,” Jameson said.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know.” He lightly kissed her on the forehead, although he wanted to shake her for scaring him. “Let’s go home.”
Things changed between them after that day. They didn’t talk about the incident, but it created a fissure between them like the sting of a paper cut. Neither could confess how shaken they’d been. Jameson couldn’t admit how the stark fear of losing her haunted him. Brooke couldn’t admit that she felt like a coward. She’d stared death in the face but still couldn’t tell Jameson how she really felt about him. She couldn’t let him know how much she wanted to repay him for all that he’d given her. Instead, the fear of disappointing him, of feeling like an obligation, weighed heavy on her and held her words back.
They made love that night, but for both it felt hollow, and neither would tell the other. So they let the lie they’d told the community—that they’d married for love—separate them, while they both tucked away their true feelings, never realizing how much damage their silence would cause.
Chapter 16
Two days later, as Brooke walked to her studio she saw Ben. He was tied to a post and stood still like a statue as his soulful brown gaze followed her. He wasn’t usually tied so she guessed he’d done something wrong.
“You can look at me all you want, I’m not going to pet you,” Brooke said. He was a handsome dog, and she was tempted to run her hand through his silky brown fur. She’d seen Cecelia take him on his daily walks and Jameson had used him with the cattle, so he’d gotten plenty of attention. He didn’t need more. But for some odd reason, he called to her. “Okay, I’ll give you a quick pat,” she said, walking over to him. Ben’s tail started to wag as if he understood her. She knelt down and stroked him and he licked her face. He had the exuberant energy of a young dog and reminded her of when her mother had bought Radar home. He’d licked her face exactly the same on the first day. Suddenly she remembered the scent of her mother’s hair and the sound of her father’s heavy boots in the mudroom as he took them off after a long day working on the ranch. Now they were both gone—the two people who’d loved her the most. And here she was with a man she loved but who didn’t love her. For the first time in a long while she felt the weight of her loneliness.
Brooke tasted her tears before she felt them streaming down her face. She sensed his presence before she saw him. She wiped her cheeks and turned away, but Jameson knelt in front of her and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“Never be ashamed of feeling sad,” he said in a quiet voice. “If the dog really bothers you, I’ll tell Cecelia to keep him inside.”
“No, it’s not that,” she sniffed. “It’s just memories.”
“I know losing your father must still hurt.”
“I’m just feeling sorry for myself because I’m also a little angry at him. I have so many unanswered questions. I’m still angry that he put that stipulation in his will and forced me to get married just so I could keep what rightfully belongs to me.”
Jameson pulled her into his arms and held her. And just as his show of kindness had increased her sorrow in the past, it did the same now. She didn’t want him to just comfort her; she didn’t want understanding words and compassion. She wanted his heart. She wanted him to ask her to be more than his lover. She cried even harder because Meredith had had him first and had been his first love, and he probably still loved her. She wanted to tear down the wall Jameson had built around his heart and force him to trust her. She wanted to tell him that she’d never break his heart and she would love him until the day she died.
But she knew that would not happen so, as she had done so many times before, she pushed down her sadness and settled for recognizing futility. If she was going to survive this year with him, she had to be realistic. She had to realize that no matter what she did, he wouldn’t see her as anything more than Meredith’s little sister. Not as a woman in her own right. She drew away from him. “I’m much better now,” she said, putting on a smile even though she felt hollow inside.
“Are you sure?”
She stood. “Positive.”
* * *
Jameson brooded as he walked the estate that evening. Brooke didn’t want to be there. She could pretend that she was just missing her father, but he sensed more than that. He knew she was missing her home, her old life. She didn’t want to be a rancher’s wife. Damn Ray Palmer for forcing her into a marriage she clearly didn’t want. He hated seeing Brooke unhappy, but he didn’t know what to do to fix whatever was the matter. He could buy her anything, but she’d made it clear that she didn’t want anything from him.
As he was beginning to have more feelings for her, he believed that she was just feeling more trapped. He’d wanted to comfort her more, but he’d felt her need to withdraw from him. He remembered walking the estate eleven years earlier after Meredith had left him. What was wrong with him? Why did he keep falling for women who wanted a different life than he did? At least he didn’t love Brooke, and that was his saving grace. He liked her a lot, but he hadn’t made himself as vulnerable as he had when he was twenty-two. He wouldn’t, couldn’t plan and think about a future with Brooke because he knew there wouldn’t be one.
* * *
Early one afternoon, Brooke went into the stables to check on Royal Thunder. Jameson had been more quiet the past few days and being with the horse reminded her of when things between she and Jameson had been more carefree. She stopped when she saw Laney on the other side of the horse stroking him. She took a step back, ready to leave, when Laney turned then lifted her hand and waved. Brooke found the gesture surprising; Laney had appeared cold over the past several weeks.
“I’m just checking in on the patient,” Laney said, once Brooke was close.
“He’s doing well.”
“He’s not the only one you’ve healed.” Laney tilted her head. “I’ve never seen Jameson so happy. I’m really glad you married him.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “You sound surprised.”
I am. “It’s just...I thought you didn’t like me. I understand, especially after what my sister did.”
Laney’s smile faded and a tint of sadness entered her gaze. “I’m sorry I gave you that impression. I’ve just had a lot on my mind. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Your mother said you’re melancholy because you’re feeling the letdown from being out of the Olympic spotlight.”
Laney laughed bitterly. “As if.”
“If it’s not that, then what is it?”
La
ney shook her head.
“We’re sisters now, remember?” Brooke said, sensing Laney had something she wanted to share. “You helped me, so let me help you.”
“You can’t help me.”
“Why not?”
Laney bit her lip. “I’m pregnant.” She let her voice drop. “Almost four months.”
“Four months?” Brooke stared down at Laney’s slim figure. “But you look great. I mean...” She didn’t really know what to say.
Laney lightly patted her stomach. “I’m not showing yet, but that won’t last long.”
“You can’t keep this to yourself. Your family—”
“I’m going to tell them soon but in my own time. Please don’t say anything,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I just needed someone to share this with instead of feeling so alone.”
Brooke moved closer and hugged her. “I’m glad it was me. You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll be there for you.”
* * *
“You want us to do what?” Gwendolyn asked.
Jameson had gathered the family in the Main Room. All of the Browards were there except Brooke because she was the topic of conversation. He’d finally gotten over the scare of the car incident, convincing himself that he’d been more angry than afraid, and now that they were on safer ground he wanted to do something extra special for her. Although Brooke had enough pieces for the upcoming auction, she was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to get any of the shale. What she had managed to get out of the cave had been lost when the car had plunged into the ravine. And she had envisioned creating several unique pieces of pottery using the shale. Yesterday Jameson had found her searching frantically in her studio.
“What’s wrong?” He had come up behind her and held her.
“I don’t have anything to work with.”
He looked around the studio, confused. She had plenty of material. “Yes, you do.”
She threw up her hands. “I have ordinary clay, but I had wanted to create something special. Something spectacular.”
“You don’t need anything special. What you already have will do. You’re the artist. What you make is already spectacular.”
“But...”
“I showed Linda pictures of your work. She was ecstatic that you’re willing to donate some of your pottery for the auction. Besides, there will be other items up for sale by other local artists. You’ll be the ‘big name’ artist and blow them all way.” Brooke had smiled at him but he could see she hadn’t been fully convinced so he wanted to do something to help her gain confidence.
“I want you all to bid on her work,” Jameson repeated to his family. “There’s a charity auction for River Dance, the horse rescue organization and—”
“Yes, I’ve seen their advertising everywhere,” Grandpa Charles said. “They have our name splashed all over the event. Something about Brooke’s pottery.”
“Yes, the event planner and president of the organization, Linda Bearclaw, and I agreed that the Broward name would help gain more interest.”
“I’d have thought the word auction would have had you running for the hills,” Wes teased, reminding his brother of the annual bachelor auction that Jameson hated.
“This is different,” Jameson said. “Brooke’s pottery is going to be displayed and I get to stay in the background.”
“And you want us to bid on them?” Steven asked slowly, wanting to clarify his son’s request. “Is her work so bad that you don’t think anyone else will?”
Jameson shook his head. “No, it’s not bad at all. I just want you all to help us start the bidding at the right price.”
“What do you know about this charity?” Gwendolyn asked. “It’s not like you to lend your name to any group with their hand out asking for money. Heaven knows, we get many requests to support this-and-that and others, but—”
“I’ve worked as a volunteer with this rescue for years,” Jameson said, finally ready to be honest about where he’d spent his extra time. “And it’s important to me.”
“Ah, that explains why you ended up with that sick horse,” she said. “What’s his name?”
“Royal Thunder.”
“Yes. That’s right. Brooke told me some silly story about you getting him from a circus, but this makes more sense.”
Jameson looked around the room with expectancy. “So, can I count on you?”
“Won’t it look a little self-serving?” Laney asked. “I mean, Brooke is family now.”
“True, but people follow our lead. If you show interest then others will, too. I just want to get it rolling.”
“Okay, we’re in,” Steven said, speaking for the group. “I’ll be the first to bid.”
* * *
The day of the fund-raiser was overcast, but that didn’t stop the crowds from coming. It ended up being one of the largest showings in the organization’s history. The event was held in a large converted barn just outside of Granger. The items up for sale were all on display and a small brochure was distributed that included a picture of each item, the name of the artist and a brief background on what the item was made of. There was a vast array of high-end crafts including hand-woven baskets, Native American jewelry, handcrafted wall hangings and rugs, and Brooke’s pottery.
“I can’t believe it,” Linda said. “The amount of people here is incredible.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jameson said.
Linda grinned and nudged him with her elbow. “Of course. You Browards are used to drawing a crowd.”
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Much more.” Linda glanced around, then frowned. “Where’s the star attraction?”
“Giving more instructions to the auctioneer, no doubt.”
“I don’t know what she’s so nervous about. She’s very good.”
“Hopefully she’ll find that out today. And I hope soon.”
Linda folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You’re up to something.”
“No, I’m not.” He turned, saw Brooke ahead and waved.
Brooke waved back and joined them. “Everything is wonderful,” she said, looking every part the successful artist in a two-piece white cotton outfit. She wore her hair down, allowing soft curls to frame her face.
“Thank you so much for being a part of this event,” Linda said, giving Brooke a big hug.
“You’re welcome.”
“Everything all set?” Jameson asked her.
“I think so,” Brooke said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “I just had to make sure the pieces traveled well. I had this nightmare that I opened the box and all the pieces were smashed. But they all look good. Then I had this horrible thought of someone carrying one of them to the stage and then tripping and dropping it and—”
“None of that is going to happen,” Jameson said, resting a reassuring arm around her shoulders.
“You’re going to be a hit,” Linda said.
Brooke was about to reply when people started to turn to something in the doorway. Samara Lionne entered the barn.
“What is she doing here?” Brooke asked.
Jameson frowned. “I have no idea.”
“Maybe she wants to grab some of the attention,” Linda said.
“That doesn’t make sense. This is a small-fry event for her,” Jameson said.
“It’s an event connected with the Browards, so it’s not small,” Linda said. “We wouldn’t even have a reporter cover this event if you hadn’t shown up. We have been holding this event for the past three years, and it’s the first time we are getting so much coverage.”
“True,” he said. Although Jameson had been a volunteer with the group, he had never considered being involved with the auction before. “What possible reason could sh
e have to be here?”
“Connections.” Linda grinned and rested her hands on her hips. “Well, this day is going to be one to remember.”
* * *
The bidding started with a frenzy. And when one of Brooke’s pottery came up, Steven did his duty and started the bid with a generous offer. Soon others joined in.
“Two thousand,” Samara said in a clear, loud voice.
For a moment the room went silent.
“What is she up to?” Jameson said in a harsh whisper.
“Who cares?” Linda said. “At least she’s making both Brooke and the charity look good.”
But Steven had the same apprehension Jameson did and lifted his card. “Twenty-two hundred.”
“Twenty-five hundred.”
“Twenty-eight hundred,” he countered.
“What’s your father doing?” Brooke asked in an anxious whisper.
“I don’t know,” Jameson said, but part of him did. His father saw Samara as a threat, and it wasn’t just her buying Wes’s land that bothered him. But Jameson didn’t want his father’s distrust or distaste for her to show so publicly. He raced over to his father, and by the time he did, the price of the piece had reached three thousand. “Dad, that’s enough.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Let her have it.”
Steven ignored him and said, “Thirty-five hundred.”
“Four thousand,” Samara said.
Steven shot her a look, then glanced at Jameson and Gwen, who’d given him a look that meant it was time to step down. He could outbid any number the actress threw at him, but he knew that wasn’t the point of the auction. He held his card in his lap, admitting defeat.