by Drake, Laura
Whap! Max smacked his brother on the back of the head. “Bro, when I have problems in that department, you can have me put to sleep.”
“Well, I can get a rifle out of the gun case and take care of that anytime. You just let me know.”
Max chuckled. “You worry about your own little trouser snake, and I’ll worry about the mighty Sparky.”
Wyatt shook his head. “We’re both talking big for two guys not getting any.”
“Yeah, how pathetic is that?” He grabbed the mouse and minimized the website. “Hey, Wyatt, do you have that game on here that we used to play in high school?”
“Are you talking about Pong?”
Max nodded, searching the dozens of icons on the desktop.
“You’re kidding, right? That was DOS-based Stone-Age stuff!”
“So? I liked it. I was pretty good at kicking your butt on it, too, if I remember right.”
“Max, I don’t even have a system that would play that crappo game anymore. But I’ll tell you what I do have…” He reached into a duffel beside the desk and pulled out two wireless joy sticks. “Call of Duty,” he said in a reverent tone as he handed one of the sticks to Max.
“What’s that?” Max played with the stick. “Hey, where’d you get this? This is cool.”
“It’s only the best Black Ops game out there.” Wyatt clicked on an icon, then sat back, stick clutched in his hand. “Prepare to be blown away. Pong, my ass.”
The screen exploded with light and sound.
Max straightened in his chair. “Duuuude.”
Three hours later, they took a break. Max walked out the back door and flinched when Slim Tanton’s pickup tires crunched on the Heather’s gravel drive. It was as if the nightmare of his future had just rolled into the present. Boxes full of Slim’s life filled the bed to overflowing. Ropes crisscrossed a green tarp, edges flapping in the wind.
Max walked slowly to the truck. “Looks like you’re ready to go, Slim.”
“I am. Promised I’d stop on my way out of town, so…”
“Well, come on in and sit a spell. I’ve got coffee on, and Tia made churros.”
The old man stayed put. “I’ve got to get on the road before it gets much later, Max, but I’m obliged.” His face wrinkled as he squinted up, looking foreign without his ever-present Stetson. The skin of his forehead shone white and vulnerable above his tan line and a few wispy strands of hair that crisscrossed his liver-spotted pate. It seemed only a few years ago his dad and this man were the superheroes of Max’s childhood.
“I stopped by the Grange, and they told me what’s going on. I have to tell you, I don’t envy any of you who are going to try to ranch around here. Just as well that I’m getting out.”
Max’s stomach did a roller coaster dive—without the thrill. “I’ve been shorthanded around here and missed the last Grange meeting, Slim. What’s going on?”
The old man threw him a pitying look, his jaw working a wad of chaw. “Word is there’s big money pushing congress to get the BLM land on the lower slopes closed to open grazing. Someone is throwing serious money around, and legislators are swarming.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice out the window. “Greedy bastards. We voted them in to see to our interests, and now they’re seeing to their own.”
Colburn. This has his greasy fingerprints all over it. Without free summer grazing in the meadows, it would be impossible to turn a profit ranching in Steamboat. Scritch! When Max recognized the sound of his molars grinding, he made himself stop. “Surely we’re lobbying too?”
Slim snorted. “Yeah, and the money ya’ll got is a fart in a windstorm compared to theirs.”
Maybe Slim was taking the right way out. But he has somewhere to go to. You don’t. He managed to say goodbye to his dad’s friend without getting maudlin, but when the pickup hit the road, Max turned away, his spirits lower than a snake’s belly.
His feet led him to the barn without his say-so. Bree stood tippy-toed in the aisle, sweet-talking a chestnut gelding through the bars of a stall, kissing his muzzle and whispering to him. He smiled. “Is there a line I can use to get me a little of that?” She turned on him with a frown, but seeing his face, hers went all soft and worried. “What is it, Max?” She walked over to stand before him.
He took his hat off and swiped a sleeve over his forehead. “I just said goodbye to an old friend. Guess it made me kinda melancholy.”
“Aw, poor fella,” She reached up, pulled his head down, and gave him a kiss on his forehead. “I’m sorry you had a bad day, Max.”
Up close, he saw the shadow of pain in her eyes. “Looks like I’m not the only one who had a rough day.”
“Nah, I’m fine.” She trailed her fingers down his face.
He watched her eyes darken. “Yes, ma’am, you surely are.” He lowered his head to brush her lips in a soft, tender kiss. Letting up before he lost control, he backed away. “I’ve got work to get at before dinner.” He put his hat on, turned on his heel, and walked away.
CHAPTER
15
A few days later, Max glanced out the window of the mess hall as the men filed out to saddle their mounts for the day. The barn’s silhouette was only a darker shadow against the murky charcoal predawn sky. He sat with Wyatt and Bree, making plans and drinking a last cup of coffee.
Armando walked up, hat in hand. “Boss?”
“Yeah, Armando?”
“I was thinking.” He turned the hat in his hands. “I would like to learn to train the bulls. I’m good with the horses, and I’ve worked cattle my whole life.”
Max looked to Wyatt, who just shrugged. Then to Bree. “I gather from her squirming that our partner has an opinion.”
Straightening, Bree pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’ve been talking with several trainers online, doing research. I asked a couple of them to come out and train our bulls, but they’ve got obligations elsewhere.” Something niggled at the back of Max’s brain. He knew someone who trained bulls… A picture flashed in his mind of a sale ring. “JB Denny! I met this guy at a Kobe beef auction once. He trained bucking bulls for a living.”
Bree shook her head. “He’s one of the top trainers in the PBR. I e-mailed him. He’s too busy with his own operation to fly out.”
Max rose from his seat. “Maybe he will if I ask him. I’ve got his business card back at the house somewhere.”
“I’ve got another idea.” She put her elbows on the table, cradling the coffee mug between them. “What if we sent an apprentice to him? Denny might agree, if he could do it without leaving home. It would be cheaper for us that way too. We’d have the expense of Armando’s travel and room and board, but the training fees would have to be less.”
Max could almost see numbers racing through that pretty head like a ticker on Wall Street. They really had been lucky that day she’d showed up in his filthy barn. He studied her features in the hard fluorescent lights. Under the excitement, she looked beat. The circles under her eyes were darker today, and her face showed strain.
What kind of roads had you been traveling before you hit the Heather, Bree? Will you ever trust me enough to tell me?
She held Max’s gaze, chin outthrust, high color in her cheeks. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” He cleared his throat and looked at his head wrangler. “Would you be willing to do that, Armando?”
“I don’t know. I have my job here.”
Wyatt broke in. “Max and I could handle the day-to-day supervision. Couldn’t we, bro?”
“Sure we could.”
When Armando nodded his assent, Max shook his hand. “Thanks, Armando. I can’t think of anyone on the Heather who’d be better for the job.” The man flushed, settled his hat on his head, and walked out, screen door slapping behind him.
“We’ll need to talk about something else.” Max sank onto the bench, worry gnats swarming his brain. “The calves brought a good price at market, but training fees will take a bite out of it
. There’s no money coming in until we’ve got buckers on the road to events. And it’s going to be a long, cold winter.”
Wyatt spoke up. “I’ve got a little money to throw in, but it’s not going get us far.”
Bree put her mug down with a decisive thump. “Fire Ant will bring in cash. We’ll need to train the other two-year-olds I bought—” She broke off as she noticed her partners’ hidden smiles. “You’ll be sorry you maligned my bull. He’ll be a hit on the circuit. You just wait and see.”
She’s cute when she gets all huffy. Max studied the indignant set to her shoulders as she flipped her hair with an irritated snap of her head. How he’d love to lean over and kiss the pout off those lips. Her delicate lemon scent drifted to him, and he recalled that proud head thrown back, eyes blurred with want. He watched color rise from her collar and realized he was staring.
“Well, by all means, I didn’t mean to malign your bull.” He held up a hand and really tried not to smile. She looked like a little cat, spitting and fluffing her tail. “I think we’d better work out a plan B, just in case.”
Wyatt kept his face carefully neutral. “You have to admit, Bree, it’s the fiscally responsible thing to do.”
Max enjoyed the view of that heart-shaped butt in snug jeans as she stomped to the door.
She turned. “I think a closed mouth gathers no boots.” Lifting her chin, she sniffed and flounced out.
Max swore she twitched her tail.
A half hour later, he sat at his desk at the main house, digging through the flotsam in the lap drawer. “Aha!” He pulled lint from a dog-eared card announcing, “Denny Bucking Bulls,” and dialed the number.
“Denny Bucking Bulls, Charla Rae speaking.” The chirpy woman’s voice was a surprise.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Max Jameson, from the High Heather Ranch, in Colorado. Could I speak with JB, please?”
“Sure thing; hold tight.” The phone rustled. “Hon? There’s a Max Jameson from Colorado on the line.”
A click. “Well, if it isn’t the beef masseuse—how you doing, Max?”
Max laughed. He’d been looking over a lot of Kobe beef at auction when he’d met the East Texan. “I told you back then, anything gets massaged on this ranch, it’s gonna be me.”
“And how’s that going for you, Max?”
A still photo of Bree’s strong, capable hands drifted in his mind. “Well, let’s just say I’m working on it. How about you? That wasn’t your ex who answered the phone now, was it?”
“Sure wasn’t. Charla Rae and I remarried six months ago.”
“Well, JB, I’m damned tickled to hear that.”
“How about you, Max? Beef prices getting any better up your way?”
“Hell no. Things are getting more dismal by the day. Which is why I thought to call you. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind helping out a brand-new bucking-bull operation.”
JB laughed. “You? A stock contractor?”
“Well, me, my brother, and a certain lady…”
“Lady? Oh, let me sit down. This I’ve got to hear.”
Bree watched as Tia surveyed her sitting area that evening, her face glowing with a quiet pride. High wingback chairs faced the fieldstone fireplace, soft-toned Navajo rugs underfoot.
Tia occupied the largest bedroom of the sprawling main house. The only one on the ground floor, it had belonged to the elder Jameson until his death, when Max insisted Tia move from the small cubby off the kitchen. She’d protested, saying being close to the kitchen made it easier for her, but her boys wouldn’t hear of it.
Bree glanced beyond the sitting area to the cast-iron bed with the old-fashioned white chenille spread. Framed photos of the boys growing up covered the walls. Crossing the room, she was drawn to a large photo that dominated the mantel.
A beautiful, dark-skinned woman sat bareback, astride a flashy paint horse, her long black hair caught lifting in the wind. Fierce pride shone in her eyes, and Bree had the unnerving feeling the woman was staring at her. A solemn child sat before her on the horse.
“That is Ameo’e.” Tia’s softly accented voice broke into Bree’s thoughts. “It means Sacred Road Woman in Cheyenne.” She bent to her knitting once more. “Angus called her his Amy.”
Bree studied the photo. The toddler was Max, so small and serious. Amy’s hands held the reins, her son’s pudgy hands grasping her forearms. The raw power of the portrait sucked her in. Max couldn’t have been more than three; his chubby legs dangled. A sadness in his solemn eyes pulled at her chest.
Tearing her focus away, she turned. “How did you come to High Heather, Tia?”
“My father, he came north to work as jefe del caballo. He broke horses for Señor Angus. I was nine. My mother helped in the kitchen.” Tia’s needles clicked as she stared into the fire. “I was eighteen when my father was killed by a horse.”
Bree walked the few steps to Tia’s chair and knelt to rest a hand on her arm. “Oh, Tia, I’m so sorry.”
She gave a shake of her head. “It was many, many years ago. My mother went back to live with her people in Mexico. She wanted me with her, but this was the only home I knew. So I said no.” There was a twinkle in her eye. “Girls didn’t do that then. My mother was angry, but I set my feet like a burro. Besides”—her smile flashed in the firelight—“there was a boy.”
“Ooh, this is going to be a good story. Spill it, Ms. Nita.”
“Later, maybe.” Sharp sparrow eyes bored into Bree. “You tell me about you and my Maxie.”
Bree sputtered, a flush of heat spreading up her neck. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“I know what I see.” Tia gave a sage nod. “My Max, he’s happy. Different than I’ve ever seen him.”
Bree jerked back, settling on her heels. It was as if the woman had reached into her head and pulled out a secret that Bree had only begun to flirt with. “Tia, you don’t understand.”
“I understand. You are falling in love with Max. And him you.” The older woman’s smile slipped as her brows came together. “But I know also that you have much sadness.” She reached up to touch Bree’s cheek. “And much pain. I am sorry for that.” Tia let her hand fall. “I hope you do not let your ghosts come to haunt him too. He carries so much already.”
Bree stood and crossed to her chair to retrieve her knitting as silence fell. She’d been wandering through her days, not considering where they led. Glancing to Ameo’e’s fierce gaze, she couldn’t ignore the ramifications any longer. Was she ready for a relationship? Especially one with a complicated, conflicted cowboy?
Tia, like any mother, had made her alliances clear. And Bree didn’t blame her one bit.
CHAPTER
16
In honor of High Heather’s first rodeo event, Bree threw a Western saddle over Smooth’s broad back. English tack would probably push Max over the edge. She chalked up his black mood at breakfast to his indignation at riding a cow. The cowboys were in the bunkhouse, bragging and preparing to ride in equal measure.
A thrill of anticipation shivered up her spine. Today would be the maiden event of the partnership as well as Fire Ant’s debut. She threaded the cinch, then hesitated. Why couldn’t they use a buckle like normal people?
“Here, let me do that.” Max’s deep voice rumbled from behind her.
She jumped. “Jeez, you could give a girl some warning.” She put a hand to her stampeding heart. Tanned arms came around her to take the leather strap, and Bree leaned into the comfort of his broad chest.
“You pull it across the front.” His breath tickled her ear as he demonstrated. “Now watch. You should be able to do this in your sleep.”
She watched the strength in the rough hands that pulled the strap through the D ring before slipping it through the loop.
He snapped the leather tight. “See?”
See? How was she supposed to pay attention with him this close? She took a deep breath. The unique scent of leather and cowboy cologne did good things to her insides. Turning in his
arms, she tipped her head to look into his eyes. “God, you smell good, Jameson.”
He shifted focus, his gaze homing in on her lips. She held her breath as he leaned closer, his face filling her vision. He hovered there, his dark eyes speaking of things his lips had never said.
The banked flame in her belly flared. With a groan, she grabbed his lapels and fused her mouth to his. No gentle kiss was this. She nibbled his lips, demanding admittance. His ragged breath thrilled her, and his hat fell off as she tangled her fingers in his hair. She wasn’t a small woman, but she felt so in his arms. They tightened, flattening her breasts against his chest, sending delicious signals south.
He slowed her in his lazy way, taking his time as his tongue delved. This man did nothing in halves, and everything else faded as she basked in his sharp focus. His hand slid to the small of her back, the other tightening on her butt to press them center to center.
“Tsk. Why don’t you two get a room?”
Squeaking in surprise, Bree sprang back to see Janet’s haughty look.
“It’s a sad day when I have to saddle my own horse while the owner has a go with the hired help.” With a sniff, she and Peanut strutted by.
Bree gawped.
Max chuckled, sounding pleased with himself. “Don’t let her get your goat. She’s like that to everybody.” He bent to retrieve his hat.
Bree watched Janet stroll out of the barn. “I’m just amazed she knows how to saddle her own horse.” Janet must have been in Peanut’s stall the whole time. Of all the people to catch us making out.
Smooth stomped a hoof, reminding her of the business at hand. She turned to Max. “You’d better go do some stretching. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Think I’m too old, do you?” One side of his mouth kicked up in grin. “I’ll show you what a bit of maturity does for a man.” He pulled her into his arms again, and her mind spun away in the sweet demand of his mouth.
The pilot light he’d fired that day at the stream flared faster each time they came together. His lips were firm and knew what they wanted. She ached to give it to him.