Engaging Brooke

by Dara Girard

  “Four thousand it is,” the auctioneer said. “Going once, going twice and sold to the lovely lady, number seventy-four.”

  Steven turned and left as the next item to be auctioned became available. Jameson followed him outside. “What just happened?”

  “You asked me to bid, so I did.”

  “I asked you to bid once.”

  “I wanted to make it look good,” Steven said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “Don’t lie to me. I know what this is about.”

  Steven looked at him. “Do you?”

  “You think I don’t feel it, too? We know most of those people in there, and to have an outsider come in and wave their money about is much like what’s happening to our town. But this is just an auction, and the money will go to good use.”

  “That’s not the point.” Steven tapped his chest. “It felt personal this time.”

  “You’re playing with pocket change,” Jameson said, knowing they could easily have paid ten thousand without blinking. “What made it feel so personal?”

  “It’s not about the money. It’s about keeping what’s ours. I don’t know what came over me. I should have just let her have it, but I keep thinking about her owning the land Wes sold to her and—”

  “I know,” Jameson said, patting his father on the back. “But we can’t be suspicious of every action she makes. Maybe she’s into art or always had a fondness for horses...”

  “Right, and I’m the king of Mozambique.”

  “I saw her press conference and I think things are going to be okay, Dad.”

  Steven sighed, not wanting to argue with him and hoping that the sinking feeling of unease about Samara would go away. “You’re right. I made too big a deal of it.”

  “Come on, let’s go back in. There are plenty of other items you can spend your money on.”

  * * *

  Once the auction was over, Gwendolyn walked over to Jameson. “You’ve been keeping secrets.”

  He froze and glanced around, hoping no one could overhear them. Linda had spirited Brooke off to talk to some of the people who’d bid on her work. “What do you mean?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral so he wouldn’t give anything away.

  “Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”

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

  “Why didn’t you let us know that Brooke was this good?”

  Jameson felt himself relax, glad that his other secret was safe. “She didn’t feel comfortable yet and I didn’t want to push her.”

  Gwendolyn shook her head. “Why do I have the feeling that that’s not the whole story?”

  “Because you have a suspicious mind? You and Dad are well matched.”

  “I know. Your father and I were worried about you, but we’re not anymore.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “But something else has me worried.”

  “What?”

  “Your sister. Have you had a chance to talk to her?”

  “About what?” Jameson asked, knowing he couldn’t tell his mother that his sister’s request for a private investigator had worried him, too.

  “Find out what’s on her mind.”

  “I will, when I get a chance,” he said, but he knew that wouldn’t make much of a difference because he didn’t know how to make his sister open up to him.

  “Or you could ask Brooke to,” Gwendolyn said, seeming to sense his hesitation. “Sometimes there are things a woman feels more comfortable sharing with someone around her own age.”

  “I’m sure Laney is fine. She’s probably still adjusting to coming back home.”

  “I have told myself that, too.”

  “What else has you worried?” Jameson asked, eager to change the subject.

  “Your father. I don’t know what got into him today.”

  “I spoke to him. He’s fine now. He just got caught up in the frenzy.”

  “I hope you’re right about that.”

  Jameson gave his mother’s arm a light squeeze and flashed a teasing grin. “Hey, I’m the one who’s supposed to be serious, not you. You’re here to enjoy yourself.”

  She smiled. “I remember when I used to have to tell you that.”

  “You don’t anymore.”

  Gwendolyn gave him a brief hug. “I’m glad.”

  * * *

  Brooke was still in shock that Samara had bought her work. Samara Lionne, the Hollywood actress, had bought her work. Bid on it. For four thousand dollars! She felt as if it was a dream. She watched Samara go up to the podium to retrieve the piece of pottery. She had to admit, the woman had taste. That particular piece was one of Brooke’s prized possessions. It had won several awards in various art shows, but she hadn’t been willing to part with it before. Putting it in the auction had been a difficult choice at first, but knowing that she was helping a charity, and Jameson, made the decision easier.

  “This is going to put you on the map,” Linda said, as if reading her thoughts.

  Brooke laughed, thinking of her ex-broker. “Matthew, my former broker, would have wept if he were here. He would never have allowed me to put it in an auction. He wouldn’t be able to get his commission! I wonder why she only bid on that one piece? I doubt Western-style pottery will fit her decor.”

  “Who cares? Money is green and you can now advertise your work as something that women of fashion, like Samara Lionne, can have. Thank you so much for doing this.”

  For the first time, Brooke felt like a real artist. She was. Her work wasn’t about her having a pretty face; it stood on its own merit. Although she suspected that Jameson had probably persuaded his father to place a high bid, it was the other offers that had caught her attention. Her work was good and now she knew the direction she wanted to go.

  Brooke turned to Linda. “I don’t want this partnership to end. I would like to come up with a special line of pottery and have part of the proceeds go to the River Dance rescue.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Linda hugged Brooke again, this time nearly smothering her with her long hair. “I had a professional photographer take pictures of all the items in the auction prior to the bidding. I’ll make sure to send them to you so that you can post them on your website and go from there.” Linda turned and called out to someone in the crowd. “I need to go. I’ve got to talk to that man.” She ran off.

  Gwendolyn then approached Brooke. “My dear, your work is beautiful. I had no idea you were this good. Do you take commissions?”

  “I never thought to. I usually just create what’s in my heart.”

  “Well, if you’re ever interested, let me know. Also, I know that people who visit the lodge enjoy souvenirs. We could create a side business featuring your work. Would you be interested?”

  “I’d love it.”

  Everything felt right. Unlike her wedding day, Brooke didn’t feel alone. She had come to know the Browards as a caring, loyal and loving family. When she saw Jameson she hurried over to him. “What did you say to your father? Do you want me to thank him?”

  “For what?”

  “He started the bidding so high on my work.” Brooke started to smile. “I know you asked him to.”

  “It would have started high anyway. You underestimate how good you really are. That Rainey guy never let you know how much he was making off you and didn’t want you to know how good you were. As for my dad, I just gave him a nudge in the right direction. He sort of got carried away. But this was a good distraction for him and my family. He’s got a lot on his mind.”

  “The land buying?”

  Jameson looked surprised.

  “I know you rarely talk about it, but I know it’s on your family’s mind. It’s on the mind of most of the people in Granger.
”

  “His more than most.”

  “Don’t worry so much. I’m sure things will work out.”

  “I saw you talking to my mother. Was she trying to persuade you to talk to Laney?”

  Brooke stiffened. “Why would she want me to do that?”

  “Because she’s a mother and she’s concerned. I don’t want to bother you, but if you could talk to my sister, it might help.”

  Brooke plastered on a smile. “Sure,” she said, pained that she couldn’t tell either Jameson or Gwendolyn what Laney’s troubles really were. They would both find out soon enough.

  * * *

  That evening, Brooke thought about the auction and Laney’s confession as she sat in the Shank of the Evening saloon. She didn’t know how the Browards would take the news. Laney had sounded so alone and scared. Brooke knew the feeling. She wished she could confess her love for Jameson, and she knew how painful and lonely it had been to be his fake wife when she desperately wanted it to be real. When the year was through, she’d be all alone again. She was lost in thought when a large cowboy hat dropped onto the table. She glanced up and saw Mitch. “You still offering to cook my hat?”

  “Any way you like it.”

  He took a seat. “You really pulled it off. You’ve got everyone fooled, even the Browards. Everything happened just the way your father wanted.”

  Brooke frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Mitch swore. “I knew I had one beer too many. Forget it. I’ve said too much already.”

  “And you’re going to say a lot more. I know you’re not drunk, so don’t lie to me.”

  Mitch glanced around. “Let’s not talk about it here.”

  “Explain what you mean,” Brooke said in a tight voice.

  Mitch released a heavy sigh. “The will. Your father didn’t just want you to get married. He wanted to make sure you got married to Jameson.”

  Chapter 17

  Jameson was polishing his horse saddle when he caught a glimpse of his father coming up the driveway. He inwardly groaned, wondering if it was going to be a casual chat or another subtle dig at his marriage. He set the saddle aside and went to meet him.

  “Hi,” he said. “You have some news?”

  “No,” Steven said, stepping out of his car. “I just want to talk.”

  That did not sound like a good sign. “Okay, let’s go inside.”

  “I’d rather walk, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fine.” They walked several yards in silence, and when it appeared his father wasn’t going to introduce a topic, Jameson did. “I saw Samara Lionne’s press conference. She handles herself well. Perhaps we don’t have to worry too much about her.”

  “I want to believe that, too.”

  “But you don’t?”

  “No. I’ve lived long enough to always question people’s true motives.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” Jameson asked, ready to take on another round of his father’s suspicions.”

  “Yes, I owe you an apology,” Steven said.

  Jameson stopped walking. “For what?”

  Steven continued walking and didn’t look back. “For ever doubting you about Brooke.”

  Jameson stared at his father’s back, trying to comprehend his unexpected confession. He hurried to catch up with him. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m admitting that I was wrong. I haven’t seen you this happy in years.”

  “But I haven’t done anything different.”

  “Not according to Frank.”

  “What? Is he spying on me?”

  “No, he’s happy for you. He said the mood around the ranch has improved because of you. That you’ve gotten a new cow dog to help with the work. That you’re like your old self when you took ranching as a calling instead of a sentence.” Steven patted Jameson on the shoulder. “It’s nice to have the man I remember. Your mother was right—married life suits you.”

  * * *

  Brooke sat in Mitch’s truck, staring sightlessly ahead, trying to understand all he’d told her. She’d had a wild desire to cover his mouth to stop him from talking. To pretend that they’d never spoken so she could stay ignorant of the truth. It would have been easier that way. It would have saved her pride. But now her pride was in tatters. “He did it for a dream?” Brooke repeated.

  Mitch nodded, looking miserable. “He had long envisioned the Palmer and Broward families being bonded and creating a larger empire. You know, similar to what Steven Broward had done with his marriage to Gwendolyn Webb. Meredith ruined his plans by leaving Jameson and running off to New York. So I agreed to help make his wish come true by suggesting you marry Jameson. I had a hunch you were sweet on him anyway, and it didn’t take much nudging for you to take up the idea on your own.”

  “But in the bar you said you thought our marriage was fake and—”

  “It was all an act.”

  “Why would you do such a thing? If I hadn’t married, you would have gotten the ranch outright.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Ray was my best friend and more of a father to me than my own father ever was. Ray made his request on his deathbed. I made a promise that went beyond personal gain.”

  “A promise? You allowed my father to treat us like chess pieces because of a promise? You allowed him to manipulate and connive us?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Well, you should feel great,” Brooke said in a bitter tone. “You’ve done your duty and succeeded, so you don’t have to feel guilty. You’re now released from that promise. And I’m going to free all of us from my father’s greed. I’m going to ask Jameson for a divorce and then you can have the ranch fair and square.” For the first time in weeks, Brooke began to doubt herself. Did she really know her own mind, or was she acting like a puppet based on something that had been fabricated by her father and Mitch just to get her to marry Jameson?

  She remembered how in his later years her father kept talking about how Jameson Broward would have made a great son-in-law if Meredith had played her cards right. She hadn’t taken any notice of what he was saying but had found it odd that he would phone and ask Jameson for advice whenever he could. But Brooke hadn’t thought that there was a motive behind what he was doing. Besides, she always liked seeing Jameson, even if it was usually from a distance.

  But now she felt totally confused. Her father had manipulated her and her childhood crush and for selfish reasons. He’d used her emotions as a weapon against her. Did she really love Jameson, or had that been planted in her mind, too?

  “No, Brooke. Don’t think about a divorce. You don’t want to do that.”

  “Are you still trying to tell me my own mind?”

  “I know it’s a shock, but—”

  “Shut up. I’m getting a divorce and you’re not stopping me.” She jumped out of the truck and slammed the door.

  He’d used her. Her own father had used her. All the time she had been at home, playing the dutiful daughter, he had been crafting a plan to force her to marry Jameson. She remembered the last time they had been together. Her father had asked her if she had any friends. She had found that odd; she had a decent social life. Then he’d told her not to stay away from the Browards because of the mistake Meredith made. She had found that request strange, but once again, she hadn’t thought much about it. But now she questioned every action he’d made. Had any of it been genuine? She’d thought he’d wanted her to get married so she wouldn’t be lonely, but he hadn’t cared about that. Had he ever cared about her happiness? About anyone’s happiness except his own?

  It didn’t matter now. She was free of him. She wouldn’t let him toy with her life anymore. She would tell Jameson goodbye. She steeled herself for the task she had to do. She would make it quick and painless. Besides, he�
�d feel relieved.

  Brooke found him in the stables tending to one of the horses. He held a hoof between his thighs. As he heard her enter, he turned to her and smiled. It melted her heart. “Come here,” he said.

  Wordlessly, she moved toward him.

  Jameson took off his hat and put it on her head. “You’ve earned it.”

  Brooke blinked back tears as he led the horse back to its stall. She didn’t want to say goodbye. Not yet.

  “Did you want to tell me something?” Jameson asked.

  Brooke threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Take me. Right here. Right now,” she whispered against his lips. “And don’t ask me if I’m sure.”

  “There are some young horses here.”

  “We won’t be doing anything they haven’t seen before. Besides, they won’t spot us in the hayloft.” She slid her hand down his chest. “And you’re already half-dressed.” She scrambled up the ladder then looked down at him. “Don’t be shy.”

  “I told you I’m not shy.”

  “Then what’s taking you so long?” she asked, taking off her shoes.

  Jameson climbed up and stared at her. “I’m just not used to seeing you like this.”

  Brooke unbuttoned her blouse. “You’ve forgotten how I look naked?”

  “No, but—”

  “Stop talking,” Brooke said, tossing her blouse to the side. She unlatched her bra. “We can do that later.”

  But no matter how much she taunted him, Jameson didn’t move toward her. His dark gaze was heated but unreadable. She didn’t want him to suspect anything, so she flashed a naughty grin then rested her foot against the hard bulge in his jeans. “Oh, good, you are ready. I was starting to get worried.”

  He grabbed her foot. “You never have to worry about me being ready for you.” He knelt beside her and helped her out of her jeans. “I could never get enough of this,” he said, his hand sliding down her stomach to the swell of her hips.

  She undid his jeans. “Me either.”

  Soon his body was on top of hers and she reveled in the warmth of his soft flesh. She arched into him, welcoming him deeper inside her.