The Rancher Next Door

by Betsy St. Amant

  “Caley?”

  She whirled around, not expecting him to be directly behind her, and bumped into his hard chest, a solid mound of muscle. Their cozy, unexpected moment together in the truck flashed through her mind and she quickly started to back away, unwilling to tease herself with the memory another second. But he grabbed her arms and held her in place. “Will you be still? I need to tell you something.”

  Oh, she was sure he had plenty more lectures up his sleeve about danger and safety and obeying the rules to the detriment of others. But she wasn’t paid to listen to them.

  She tugged free, and he let her go, despite the pleading in his eyes. “I don’t think you do.” She began clearing Ava’s homework from the table, wishing she could just toss the casserole on the table and bail. But she wouldn’t leave without giving Ava a hug goodbye, and the girl still hadn’t returned from the bathroom. She met Brady’s eyes briefly as she crossed the kitchen to get the casserole. “You’ve said plenty already, trust me.” And in other ways, not nearly enough.

  She grabbed the hot pan just as she realized she hadn’t put the oven mitt back on. Heat scorched her fingers, and she dropped the dish by reflex. The glass shattered to the floor, sending a tidal wave of overcooked chicken and rice across the tiles—and around her bare feet.

  “Don’t move!” Brady jumped to her side, glass crunching under his boots, and scooped her up in his arms. The aroma of horse and hay and lemon soap wafted through her shock, drawing her in. She clutched the front of his work shirt in her uninjured hand, not caring about the dust and tiny white horsehairs that covered the material, and held on tight as he carried her to the kitchen table.

  He deposited her on top of it, not appearing to care as a tower of her carefully folded towels toppled off and landed on the floor. He rushed to the freezer and returned with a bag of frozen peas. If she looked at the undoing of her hard work on the floor—either in fabric form or rice form—she’d cry. So she just looked helplessly into his eyes. They appeared compassionate. Concerned.

  Big mistake.

  Tears formed anyway, and she clutched the bag of peas to her chest, the cold seeping through her shirt and distracting her from the pain in her fingers. She wished Brady would just go back to ignoring her. Arguing and having a stubborn match was a whole lot easier to deal with than this nice guy before her. This hero.

  Who apparently didn’t think enough of her to trust her opinions or advice. And why should he? She couldn’t even bake cookies or get supper on the table without catastrophe.

  Pity parties weren’t normally her style, but this one was settling in and getting comfortable.

  She fought the urge to break down completely, closing her eyes as Brady wiped a lingering tear from her cheek. “Does it hurt that bad?”

  Yes, but in more ways than he realized. Still, at least he thought her pain was from the burn and not the totally uncharacteristic flurry of emotions fluttering through her heart. When was the last time she’d even been on a date? Had it been so long that her heart was desperately reaching out for company? Any company?

  No. It was Brady. She’d been drawn to him from the moment he first crossed their dividing property line and shook her hand with his work-worn one.

  The one that still lingered by her cheek.

  She leaned away from his touch and removed the bag of peas to study her red fingers. “I’ll be all right. It’s just a first-degree burn.”

  Brady gingerly took her hand, as if to determine her diagnosis himself. “I think you’re right.”

  Of course she was. She was a firefighter and a certified EMT. Why couldn’t she be attracted to a man who had more in common with her? One who wasn’t grounded to this particular piece of earth like a thirty-year-old oak? One who didn’t raise his own child the way her father had raised her? Stifled. Cared for, but ignored in the ways that mattered most to a girl.

  One who actually took her opinions and advice seriously and treated her as an equal.

  On closer inspection, she really had no reason to feel the way she did about Brady and all of the above reasons not to.

  But try telling that to the can-can dancers kicking across her stomach.

  “I was trying to tell you a minute ago that I was sorry. You were right about Spitfire, and I was being stubborn. I just didn’t want you or Ava to get hurt.” Brady tucked the bag of peas back over her burn, glancing up to make eye contact.

  Sorry. He was apologizing? Maybe there were more reasons to feel for Brady than she’d thought. When was the last time a man had ever apologized to her? In her field, it didn’t happen often. The firemen she’d worked with over the years were mostly good men, but certainly gave new definition to the term macho. The most she’d ever gotten was a grunt of acknowledgment for being right.

  But Brady was saying the words. And, from the look in his eyes, meaning them.

  “But then you decided to throw my supper on the floor, so I guess we’re even.” He winked, and her heart dipped into her toes.

  “Thank you.” She licked her dry lips, wishing she had the words to express how much his apology really meant to her. But opening her heart to that degree wouldn’t be helpful for either of them. Best to keep it light. “And, well, I’m sorry about your dinner.”

  Together they stared at the heap of overly crisped food and glass on the floor, and Brady began to laugh. “Would it make things better or worse if I told you I’m a little relieved?”

  Caley removed the peas long enough to smack his bicep with the dripping, defrosting bag. “Worse.” She grinned, then shrieked as he swiped the bottom of the bag and wiped the condensation across her cheek. “Cut it out!” Laughing, she reached for revenge, then stopped at the sight of Ava in the doorway.

  “What in the world?” Ava braced against the frame, her eyes roving across the casserole, the glass and the pile of towels. They darted between Brady and Caley twice before coming to rest on the melting bag of peas.

  Brady took a quick step back from the table, and Caley took her first deep breath since being in his proximity. She offered Ava a sheepish smile. “There was a little mishap with the casserole.”

  Ava narrowed her eyes with suspicion—and hope. “Does this mean we’re ordering a pizza?”

  “Why not?” Brady took the bag of peas from Caley and tossed it in the sink. “Grab the phone. I’ll get a large with everything.”

  Ava scrambled for the phone as Brady grabbed a broom from the pantry and began to sweep the glass.

  This was all her fault, and yet she was sitting helpless on the table. Some nanny she was. “Let me get my shoes on and I’ll help.” Caley hopped down from the table, wincing as her thawing finger began to throb with the sudden motion.

  “Oh, no. I think you’ve done enough.” Brady tossed her a rogue grin over his shoulder as he swept.

  And Caley realized she was in very real danger of getting burned a second time.

  * * *

  Brady opened the refrigerator door, light puddling on the ground at his bare feet and illuminating a shard of glass he’d missed during cleanup earlier that evening. He plucked it from the floor and tossed it in the trash can, then returned to the box of leftover pizza.

  Caley hadn’t stayed for supper, claiming she needed to get home and tend to her fingers. He’d offered to help her do first aid with the burn cream in his bathroom cabinet, but she’d tossed him a funny look and assured him she had everything she needed at home. He knew she’d said before that she was a certified EMT, but that didn’t necessarily mean she kept a bunch of supplies at her house. Oh, well. Of all the things puzzling about Caley, that was the probably the least so.

  He picked the remaining slice from the box and bit into it cold, wishing she had stayed for supper. Mary hadn’t ever stayed, but this situation was obviously different.

  And that’s why Brady
was standing in front of the open fridge at midnight, once again unable to sleep. If he didn’t figure out how he felt about Caley soon, he’d be useless on the ranch. He definitely couldn’t afford to let that happen, yet every time he tried to sleep, her face filled his eyes, her laughter teasing the silence in the recesses of his mind. He knew better than to go for a stroll tonight to clear his head, in case he ran into her again on her roof. Another close encounter under the stars and he’d be toast.

  Would it be terrible if he asked her out?

  The question had taunted him for days, escalating to a pitch he couldn’t ignore after rescuing her this afternoon. Normally he’d forbid himself, since she was an employee of his, but as Max had uncouthly pointed out, that was only temporary.

  But Caley seemed to have a feisty side that didn’t match with his lifestyle—and more importantly, the lifestyle he was trying so hard to create for Ava.

  Brady shut the fridge and finished his pizza in the dark, staring out the kitchen window at his moonlit fields. Was he truly ready to date? He hadn’t done more than a casual dinner with a woman since Jessica’s death, and even that had been hard. During the entire meal, his thoughts had been consumed with Ava and the past and what he was missing at the ranch, rather than staying focused on his companion.

  But somehow he couldn’t imagine himself being so distracted if he was sitting across from Caley.

  Well, he had to do something. No doubt the spark he felt went both ways. He’d recognized it in her touch, seen it in her eyes as they’d huddled in the truck and as he carried her across the kitchen in his arms. She’d say yes.

  Hopefully.

  He tossed the end of the burned pizza crust into the trash can and wiped his hands on his pajama pants. The worst that could happen was she’d say no, and he’d deal with that if it came up. It’d make things awkward, but he’d already proven he could stay away from her outside if need be. Of course, they’d probably have to wait until Mary got back to go out, because who could he get to stay with Ava?

  Brady headed toward his room, his thoughts racing as if he’d run a marathon instead of shuffled across the rug to his bed. Maybe he should wait until Mary got back, anyway—if he did, he’d solve the babysitter problem and the no-dating-your-employee problem at the same time. Plus, that’d give him a few more weeks to get to know Caley and make sure he wasn’t leaping before he looked, or however that went.

  He slid between his cool sheets and stretched out, finally finding a measure of peace at having a plan. He’d leap, all right. Caley seemed more than worth it.

  He’d just look real hard first.

  Chapter Eight

  “How’s the mare?” Brady stopped outside Lady’s stall, where Max was brushing down the expecting mare, and reached over the short door to rub her sandy neck.

  Max dropped the brush in the grooming bucket at his feet and clapped his hands on his jeans. Dust formed a cloud around his legs. He grinned. “Dirty.”

  “She’s been scratching her back again.” Brady opened the stall door and ran a hand over the mare’s swollen belly. She nickered, and her belly shifted with the weight of the foal inside. “Won’t be long now. I’ll let the vet know.”

  “Better you than me.” Max grabbed the bucket and exited the stall. “I don’t think she’s forgiven me yet.”

  Brady’s hand stilled on the mare, and frustration welled in his throat. Hopefully his friend was kidding. “Dr. Peters?”

  “In my defense, when we went out years ago, she was still just Rachel Peters.” Max shifted the bucket to his other hand. “She apparently expected a call back from me after our last date, and, well...” His voice trailed off.

  “Max. Our vet? Really?” Brady shut the stall door and clanked the latch down with more force than necessary. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Max shrugged. “I didn’t think she cared. It was years ago. But I saw her in town the other day, and it was awkward—at best.”

  “So that’s why you always leave the ranch when she comes by to check the animals.” Brady ran one hand over his brow, adjusting his hat and wishing he could take it off and smack his friend with it. “Seriously, you can’t alienate the entire female population in town. You already have a reputation.”

  Max walked backward toward the tack room, grinning. “Hey, if you don’t connect with someone, you don’t connect. Not my fault I just keep trying.” He turned and set the grooming bucket inside the tack room. “And speaking of connecting, don’t pretend like you’ve not got something for the nanny. I saw you carrying her through the kitchen last night. You know your windows are made of glass, right?”

  A slow burn started in Brady’s chest, partially from the irritation of his friend’s nosiness, and partially from the memory of holding Caley close. “She burned herself cooking dinner, is all. I had to carry her away from the broken glass.”

  Max shut the tack room door. “Didn’t you say she burned the cookies she made, too?”

  Now it was Brady’s turn to shrug. Forget a water break. He should have just stayed outside with Nugget and gone on to check the fences in the south forty. “Who cares? She’s doing her job. Ava doesn’t need too many sweets, anyway.”

  “But maybe you do.” Max knuckled him on the shoulder. “Right, boss?”

  He knew his friend meant well and was just teasing, but it rankled. Probably because Max was right. “Look, I’m not going to lie. I’m attracted to her.”

  Max let out a whoop, startling several horses and creating a series of restless whinnies up and down the aisle. “It’s about time! So, when you going to ask her out?”

  “It’s not that easy for me, okay? I have a lot to think about here.” He headed toward the barn door, leaving Max no choice but to hush or follow. Unfortunately, he followed.

  “Like what? How pretty she is?”

  Brady strode outside into the afternoon sunlight, where he’d left Nugget’s reins looped around the fence post. “Like, I have a daughter. And I’m a widower.”

  That shut Max up. He hesitated before responding. “Look, you know I just want to see you happy, right? It’s been a long time, man.”

  “I know.” Brady untied Nugget’s rope with short, jerky movements. “And Caley’s great. She seems to be what Ava needs—stable, a good influence.”

  Max quirked an eyebrow. “What about what you need?”

  He let out a long breath as he glanced up toward the house. “That, too.” He hoped. In every way, Caley seemed the ideal match for both him and Ava. Sweet. Hard working. Safe. Well, there was the situation with the bull, but looking back, he could see Caley’s desire to protect. Besides, what were the odds a situation like that would come up again?

  Still...

  Brady looped Nugget’s rope over the fence and climbed up in the saddle. “For Ava’s sake, I just have to be sure.” More like absolutely certain—and maybe for his own sake, too. Taking risks wasn’t his thing. Max knew that, but for some reason, he kept pushing.

  He latched on to the excuse he’d given Max back on Caley’s first day instead. “It’s awkward, with Caley being my employee. There’s a lot of factors going on here, and I don’t know what she’s thinking.” To put it mildly. Had anyone ever known what went on beneath those sparkling eyes and teasing smile?

  He just knew he wanted to find out.

  Max leaned against the fence railing, hooking his thumbs in his front pockets as he grinned up at him. “Want me to talk to her for you?”

  Brady snorted. “What is this, junior high? Just grab me some water, okay? I need to go check that fence. After Spitfire’s incident, I’m not taking any more chances.” At all. Especially not with Caley. He’d move on his own time.

  But he couldn’t help smiling at the realization that it seemed as though that time was getting pretty close.

  * * *


  “Do you think Nonie will like this?” Ava held up the drawing she’d made with colored pencils, hope lighting her expression.

  Caley turned off the water at the kitchen sink, having finished hand washing the larger pots that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher, and gave Ava’s picture a thorough study. The sketch contained grassy hills shaded with forest-green and dotted with purple wildflowers, along with a bright yellow sun with orange swirls and a square red barn standing ground in the corner. A black dog that could only be Scooter stood guard near the barn door.

  “That’s really impressive. I think Nonie will love it.” She dried her hands, then carefully picked up the drawing. “Is this the view outside?” She glanced out the kitchen windows and Ava nodded.

  “I wanted to do the clouds, too, but the paper is already white.” She took the drawing back from Caley and smoothed it on the table in front of her.

  “Why don’t you color the sky blue, and just leave patches of white paper as the clouds?”

  Ava frowned as the words sank in, then her face lit as recognition dawned. “That’s perfect! Thanks, Miss Caley!” She grabbed the cornflower-blue pencil and began to shade in the sky.

  Too bad all of life’s problems weren’t as easily solved. Nonie would love the drawing when they went to visit her the next day, would probably even hang it on the bulletin board by her bed, reminding Caley of all the pictures she’d drawn for her growing up. Every time one made the refrigerator, it was as if she’d won a prize.

  Caley picked up the pink pencil and ran her fingers over the trim wood. A part of her itched to return to childhood, before things got so complicated with her father and with life in general, and draw amateur sketches for her grandmother.

  The other part of her still feared she’d never make the fridge again.

  She set the pencil down just as the back door opened. Max, Brady’s ranch hand, ambled inside, pausing to wipe his boots on the rug. His hair, lighter brown than Brady’s, was mostly covered by a cowboy hat. He stomped twice and his spurs jingled.