Brant's Return

by Mia Sheridan

  Oh. I gave my head a slight shake, not knowing what to feel about that information. “I didn’t know.” We were both quiet for a second. “I can’t say whether you and your father can make peace, Brant. But I hope you know that my intention was only to allow you both that opportunity. I have no personal stake in this, other than, well, I care about your father. He’s been good to me, and he helped me at a time when I needed it very much.”

  He tilted his head, his eyes boring into me, and some crazy part of me felt as if his gaze could peel back my layers if I wasn’t very careful. This man who I’d thought was so full of artifice . . . so adept at playing games. And maybe he was. No, he definitely was. I had the feeling it was all part of his world. But . . . there was more there too. Or there had been once upon a time. Maybe he was only beginning to remember. He gave a small shake of his head as if his own thoughts had been moving in the same direction and instead of continuing on, he had chosen to step off that particular path. “Do you really have no interest in Graystone Hill?”

  “Of course I have an interest in Graystone Hill. I love it there. I love everything about it. But do I have designs on owning it—?”

  “Hey, that’s not what I meant. I don’t think you have designs on it. I was wrong about that, and I was sincere about my apology on that front. But what if my father actually wants to leave it to you? I saw you with the horses today, Belle. Are you telling me you wouldn’t want to do that full-time?”

  “Your father’s offered to let me work at the stables full-time.”

  He tilted his head. “Then why don’t you?”

  I shrugged, blowing out a breath. “Horse training can be . . . emotional work. For me at least. I love it for that reason.” I needed it for that reason. “But the paperwork at the house, crunching numbers, organizing schedules, it’s a good balance. It works well for me.” I hoped to God I wouldn’t have to find another job after Harry died, but if I did, I now had more employable skills. And there was no lack of horse farms in Kentucky. I held on to that small comfort like a life preserver in the turbulent sea of Harry’s diagnosis and my own uncertain future.

  “You could work as little or as much as you wanted if you owned Graystone Hill.”

  The truth was, I liked to stay busy, needed to stay busy. A life of leisure would not benefit me in any regard nor was it something I aspired to. I shook my head. “I would never allow your father to leave me Graystone Hill. It should be yours, or belong to someone who has the first clue how to run a business. I wouldn’t accept it. It would feel wrong. But this is all a moot point anyway, Brant. Your father is not leaving Graystone Hill to me. If he mentioned that as a possibility, it was only to raise your hackles. Your father likes to do that, and I’m sure you know it as well as I do.”

  He was quiet for a moment, something in his expression that I couldn’t quite discern. “Maybe.” He put his arm on the back of the pew, his long legs obviously cramped in the small space in front of us. “You have horses growing up?”

  I smiled, picturing the barn of my childhood, the places I used to hide, the secret corners I’d made my own. The smell had brought such peace to my heart. The same way the scents of the Graystone Hill stable did for me now. “Yes. All kinds. Plowing horses, carriage horses. I learned to ride at Graystone Hill though, because where I come from, people don’t ride much.” I shook my head. “It’s just not done. It’s too much like a sport, and that’s not acceptable. But . . . you can’t grow up Amish without knowing a thing or two about horses.”

  Brant grinned and my heart gave a small jolt. That smile. Good Lord, what couldn’t a man get with a smile like that? Nothing. There’s nothing he couldn’t get, and you’d be wise to remember that. You were led astray by a pretty smile once before . . . I pictured that smile now, twisting my hands in my lap as that old familiar pain buzzed through me.

  “I’d say you know more than a thing or two, Belle.”

  Belle. The first time he’d called me Belle, he’d said it mockingly. Now respect laced his tone. I liked the nickname as it rolled off his tongue. And I knew I shouldn’t.

  I’d always been reckless though, hadn’t I? At least that’s what Mamm would say. At the thought of my mother, my lungs ached. Lord, but I missed her, even now, almost eight years since I’d last seen her. I’d been eighteen years old, a newly married woman, but I’d still needed her even as I’d watched her grow smaller and smaller through the back window of my husband’s car. “We should go,” I said, standing. “I have some things to do at the house and I’m sure you do too.” I stood and Brant followed suit, looking a tad confused by my abrupt need to leave. There were suddenly too many emotions swirling in this small space, too many memories that had been set free from the vault where I usually stored them. How funny that I’d done so with this man—the man who wasn’t even close to being a friend—when I didn’t revisit my past with anyone who didn’t already know about it. Maybe that was the reason I’d gone there at all. Maybe Brant was safe in some regards. But in any case, I needed to take a step back now. “Did you decide how long you’re staying?”

  He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, leaving it slightly mussed. He’d taken off his long-sleeved shirt and was now wearing only the white T-shirt he must have had on beneath. It had a smear of dust on it and he looked nothing like the buttoned-up blowhard he’d been the night before. At the thought, I almost smiled, but held it back.

  “I was going to leave today actually. But . . .” He looked off behind me as if he was just now considering the question I’d asked. “Another day or two wouldn’t hurt.” The corners of his eyes tightened and he looked sort of taken aback, as if he’d surprised himself and didn’t exactly know how or why. He looked at me again. “Yeah. I’ll be staying.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Brant

  So Isabelle had been married. Was that the loss she was still trying to get over? The reason she’d been reading the book on the topic? It had to be. Why in the world did the knowledge that she’d been married make my stomach tense? I didn’t know much about her and it wasn’t as if anything would happen between us. I was attracted to her. I’d admitted that. Hell, attraction seemed like too mild a word for how I reacted to her. But nothing could come of it for a hundred reasons, so in the end, what did it really matter?

  An Amish girl and the bourbon king of New York City. There were so many jokes in there I couldn’t begin to sort through them all. Not that I was the bourbon king of New York City. Yet. And maybe I never would be, but even the thought of an Amish girl and a man who profited from drinking, partying, and sin in any multitude of varieties, was pretty damn funny.

  Right?

  Why was I thinking about this anyway? A total waste of time. Funnily enough, the thought of Isabelle owning Graystone Hill didn’t really bother me anymore. She said she wouldn’t allow my father to leave it to her, but really, how could she stop him if he was bent on doing so? And if my father was going to leave it to anyone, she wouldn’t be the worst choice, and she certainly wouldn’t be interested in a bourbon formula of all things. She’d be willing to sell it to me—why wouldn’t she?

  My father would be discharged later today. May had said he was grumbling and complaining, which I took to mean he was back to his old self. I should spend some time working on my laptop, catching up on business in New York, but instead, when I found the house empty, I walked to the stable in search of . . . in search of what? Isabelle. Just be honest with yourself. You’re looking for Isabelle.

  “Hey city slicker,” Gus greeted, clapping me on the back.

  I grinned. “Gus. I’m gonna convince you I’ve still got a little Kentucky boy in me yet.”

  Gus chuckled, winking. “I don’t doubt it. You here to ride?”

  “Yeah, ah, is Isabelle around?”

  Gus gave me a quick glance, a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah, she’s out in the yard. Here, I’ll saddle Sugar Cube for you.”

  “Jesus, Gus, you’re going to unman me here pairi
ng me with all these princess-named horses. Isn’t there a Blade or a Goliath somewhere in this huge stable?”

  Gus laughed. “Hey, you earn who you ride. I see you get some real horse riding skill back and a few worn spots in your fancy jeans and I’ll set you up with Pharaoh over there.” I glanced to my left where a beautiful Arabian horse stood being brushed by one of the groomers.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Gus nodded, looking pleased. “Okay then.”

  A few minutes later, Sugar Cube was saddled and I was riding into the yard where I spotted Isabelle taking a horse through one of the training courses. I fell in behind her, Sugar Cube trotting easily as she followed the turns and curves of the setup. I was itching to fly over the hurdles like I used to do, but I didn’t, taking Sugar Cube around the jumps, not willing to risk injuring her given I was so rusty.

  Isabelle glanced behind her, spotting me. She tossed a smile over her shoulder before she sped up, increasing the distance between us. I clicked my heels against Sugar Cube’s belly, attempting to catch her. She looked back again and laughed, her braid streaming behind her, the pieces that had come loose falling wildly around her face. My heart slammed against my chest, the feeling made even more intense by the notion that I was pursuing her. The wild thrill of it surprised me, the primal response causing my blood to heat. I laughed, nudging Sugar Cube faster.

  After a couple of runs around the course, Isabelle’s horse slowed and she came to a stop at the corner of the pen, smiling as I joined her. “Not bad,” she said. “For a buttoned-up blowhard.”

  I laughed. “Not bad yourself.” For a moment we just smiled at each other, our horses shifting beneath us, the air growing heavy. Thick.

  Isabelle finally broke eye contact. “I should get back. I’ve got some work to do before it’s time to pick up your father.”

  “Okay.” I tilted my head, looking out to the pasture. “Can I show you something, first? It’s only about fifteen minutes away.”

  Isabelle glanced in the direction I’d been looking. “I’ve been all over this land. What can you possibly have to show me?”

  I squinted toward the place I had in mind again and then back at her. “No one knows the nooks and crannies of a place like an adventurous little boy. I’ve still got a few secrets I bet you don’t know about, Isabelle Farris.”

  She paused for a heartbeat but then laughed. “All right. Show me what you’ve got.”

  An excited sort of pride ran through me, and I gave her a lift of my chin, turning Sugar Cube and heading for the gate. I heard the hoofbeats of her horse as she followed me out of the pen and into the wide open pasture, and then we both picked up speed as we rode over slopes, down into valleys, the smells of grass and clover and the cleanest air I’d ever smelled filling my lungs.

  When I caught sight of a copse of trees up ahead, I slowed down, coming to a standstill next to a tall cypress.

  Isabelle stopped next to me, her hair more windblown, her cheeks flushed pink with exertion, her eyes bright with something that looked like happiness, though I wasn’t sure I knew her well enough to know. For a moment I forgot why we were there, completely captivated by her natural, untamed beauty. Longing rose inside me that I was completely unprepared for. I wanted to know her. Wanted to know the nuances of her expressions, the particular gestures that were hers and hers alone.

  The sunlight filtered through the trees, moving shadows highlighting her pretty features one by one. God, she was stunning. She raised a brow, breaking whatever momentary spell I’d been under. “I’ve actually seen these trees before. They’re . . . sort of hard to miss.”

  I laughed, dismounting and tying Sugar Cube’s reins loosely around a nearby tree. Isabelle did the same, joining me. “You think this is all I’ve got? Come on.” I grabbed her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. Her skin was warm and smooth, lightly calloused along her palms where she regularly gripped reins, those small, gentle hands bringing mighty creatures to bay. God, when was the last time I’d held a girl’s hand like this? I pulled her with me and we ran as she laughed and again I felt that crazy, thrilling sense of déjà vu.

  I know you, Isabelle. Don’t I?

  When we stopped, she glanced at me, her lips parted, eyes full of surprise, and I had the sudden crazy need to kiss her, to taste that sweet-looking mouth, to press her against a tree and enter her body—even if only my tongue. But I wanted more. Much more. I didn’t want to do it slowly. No practiced moves, or the skilled choreography sex had become for me. I wanted it quick and mindless, just to follow the dictates of my lust-filled body, because there was really no other choice. As wild and free—natural—as this land I’d once called home. It would be that way with her, wouldn’t it? Somehow I knew it would be, and something about that both fascinated me and brought forth a numbing terror. I let go of her hand, moving ahead. “This way.”

  I walked beyond the outer trees where a smaller grouping of trees grew inside, a congregation of age-old sentinels guarding what had once been my sanctuary, my hideout and my own secret place in the big, wide world. An unchanging refuge formed by some ancient magic that would cause it to disappear if I showed it to the wrong person. I’d believed that once. Maybe a part of me still did. So why was I showing it to Isabelle? Why had I chosen to bring her here?

  The trees and brush were close together so to find an opening, I had to push the branches aside, holding it as Isabelle followed me cautiously inside. When I let go of the branches, she sucked in a small, audible breath, her eyes wide as she looked around.

  “Cool, right?” It was just as I remembered. The trees and brush formed an almost perfect circle, enclosing the empty space, the tops of the branches not quite meeting at the top. A fragment of silvery blue sky glowed brightly from above, a shaft of light illuminating the space. It was . . . almost unreal, an enchanted shelter. Strangely, my mind hadn’t wandered here for years and years. A lifetime it seemed. My heart sped as I watched Isabelle looking around, waiting for her reaction.

  “It’s”—she turned her head, our eyes meeting, the look in hers, reverent—“magic.”

  You’re magic. My breath came out on a loud exhale. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Mm,” she hummed, moving away from me, exploring the space. “You used to come here when you were a kid?”

  I nodded but then realized she was looking away. I cleared my throat, feeling an unexpected vulnerability at sharing this space with anyone. I suddenly felt as if doing so was telling her things about me I hadn’t necessarily intended on revealing. As if I’d not only led her through a break in the trees, but I’d led her through a break in my soul. And now she was wandering around, her gaze lighting on all the particulars. Tread softly. “Yeah, this was my spot when I was a boy.”

  Isabelle’s gaze lingered on me for a second before she looked away, her fingers trailing along the rough bark of a tree trunk. “What’d you do in here, Brant?”

  I looked at the small portion of sky, my lips tipping into a smile. “I used to play pretend . . . all sorts of things.”

  “What did you pretend?”

  I blew out a breath, putting my hands in my pockets. “I don’t really remember.”

  Isabelle shot me a knowing glance. “You do so. Don’t tell me you’re finished sharing secrets, Brant Talbot. I like this side of you.”

  I chuckled, running a hand through my hair, feeling stripped somehow, as if the best thing I could do was turn and run. Why had I brought her here? Because I want her to know this side of me too. A side I’ve kept hidden for . . . Stop.

  “I’ll guess. You were a tree gnome and this was your village.”

  I laughed, my gaze following her as she moved from tree to tree, entranced by her. “A tree gnome? I don’t even have any idea what that is. But it doesn’t sound very cool.”

  She grinned over her shoulder. “A bear then. A hungry, vicious bear. You were a grizzly and this was your cave.”

  I shook my head. “An adventurer
. That up there was a portal.”

  “A portal? To where?”

  I shrugged. “Anywhere and everywhere. I went all over. To Egypt, the jungles of South America, the Roman Colosseum . . .”

  “But you always came back.” She glanced around. “Here, because those were just places to visit. This was home.” Her smile increased, her eyes full of gravity, but there was a sweetness to it, and if this place was enchanted, she belonged here. She stopped in front of me, staring into my face, and my heart slammed against my ribs. The pulse in her throat quickened, and for several heartbeats we stared at each other, the space between us so full it felt like it might burst at any second. And I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to or not. There would be no control in the aftermath. I knew it instinctively. Just wild abandon. The thrill coursed through me, as did an undercurrent of fear.

  “Yes. Always. I always came back.” My voice sounded raspy, unsure, even to my own ears.

  Our eyes lingered a beat longer before she looked away, turning and walking to a nearby bush. She brushed her fingers along its green and yellow leaves, causing a whisper-soft rustling sound as pearlescent light glinted through the shifting gaps. Beautiful. I’d surrounded myself with style, luxury, and opulence, and yet it occurred to me in that moment that I’d forgotten what beauty really was. Forgotten the simple splendor of a beautiful girl standing in a ray of muted sunlight. Isabelle tilted her head back toward the glint of blue-gray sky above.

  “My family’s barn was my portal,” she said, a wistful tone in her voice. “I used to lay in the hayloft and stare at the dusty window overhead.” She closed her eyes and pulled a deep breath into her lungs as if she were breathing in the memory, pulling it inside so she could infuse her whole body with whatever she’d experienced . . . then. As a little girl, lying in a hayloft fantasizing about things that maybe she’d been taught were forbidden to her. “I’d wonder what was beyond our small community, and if there was any place for me in that other world.” She opened her eyes, smiling over at me sort of bashfully. “Very disobedient of me—but I wasn’t very good at following the rules.”