by Tessa Layne
“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I knowingly let a lady walk into town. Hop in.”
She opened the passenger door and slipped in. “I won’t turn you down. Not when I’ve got mouths to feed later this morning.”
“How’s it going out there?”
“The lodge? Pretty good, actually. We’re making progress.”
Travis’s made a noise in the back of his throat.
“What? Did I say something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No, no… It’s nothing.”
Realization dawned on her. “Wait. You’re pissed at Brodie.”
“I just don’t like to see a lady like you treated poorly.”
“And you think he’s a fuck-up.” She found herself getting defensive on Brodie’s behalf. Yes, he’d fucked up… big time. But he wasn’t a fuck-up. Not by a long shot.
Travis shrugged. “He has a track record.”
“You know how to beat around the bush.”
Travis’s face looked grim in the dashboard light. “Life’s too short for innuendo.” He pulled into the Trading Post parking lot and stopped behind Brodie’s truck. He jammed his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He looked her in the eye as he placed them in her hand. “Have dinner with me.”
She held his frank gaze for a moment. “Why?”
“You look like you need a friend.”
She didn’t get the tingles when Travis touched her. Not even an extra thump from her heart. Certainly no pulse racing or mental distraction. Travis was good looking. And nice.
Was there something wrong with her?
Was she truly out of her mind when it came to Brodie? Did she have feelings for him, or did she just have crazy?
She slid out of the car. Her hand trembled a bit as she pulled open the door and hopped into the cab of the truck. She liked Travis. But if she was honest with herself, whatever dance she and Brodie were embroiled in, she wanted to see where it led.
Longing for her brother, Jarrod, shot through her. Not that she’d ever take his dating advice. She just wished she could… talk with him. Maddie was too close to the drama. She jammed the truck into reverse and spun out of the lot, following Travis the six blocks to the station.
Travis stood waiting outside the squad car when she pulled up. He opened her door and helped her out of the cab. Placing an arm at her elbow, he led her into the station, all business. “He’s in rough shape, just so you know. And headed for one helluva hangover.”
All the anger toward Brodie that had simmered down since the night before, resurrected in mammoth proportions.
Damn Brodie.
Damn him for standing her up. For leading her on. For not coming home and worrying the heck out of her, then waking her up at an indecent hour. For confusing the ever living fuck out of her.
She stopped, pulling Travis to a stop with her. “About dinner. Yes. Tonight.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Now let me see him.” She steeled herself, letting her anger burn white-hot.
Travis unlocked the door and pushed it open, letting her through first. It was a modest holding area. Not like the big one she’d visited in Boston where her brother was an officer. It still smelled the same, though.
Then he unlocked the holding cell door and pushed it open. “Your ride’s here.”
Brodie shuffled out, a crooked smile not quite reaching his bloodshot eyes. He nodded at Travis and coughed. “Appreciate it, man.”
Travis caught him by the arm, glaring. “You got a pass this time. You won’t get one again.”
Brodie nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.” He shifted his attention to her, smiling tentatively. “Jamey, sweet–”
Fury spotted her vision. The hurt he’d inflicted, the worry, the confusion – all of it. If she softened now and let him off the hook with an, ‘aw shucks, it’s okay,’ this would happen again.
That much she’d learned in life.
If she and Brodie were going to make sense of whatever was between them, this could never happen again. And she knew herself well enough to know it would take at least a day of solid toil in the kitchen before her anger dissipated. Maybe then, she could bring herself to listen objectively.
She held up her hand, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare sweetheart me.”
She shot a glance over to Travis. “You need to walk us out?”
“Nah. I’ve got paperwork I need to process. See you tonight at seven?”
Brodie stood up a little taller, looking back and forth between the two of them, understanding dawning on his face. “Wait.” He glowered at her. “You’re going on a date with him?”
She glared right back at him. “Oh no you don’t, sewer breath. Not a word.”
She looked back to Travis. “Eight-thirty is better. Gives me time to clean up after dinner.”
Brodie harrumphed and she glared at him again. “Not a word or you walk home.”
She spun on her heel and pushed through the doors that separated the holding cell from the rest of the tiny station, struggling to keep her emotions in check.
CHAPTER 26
The tires squealed as Jamie gunned the truck into reverse and spun it back around toward the ranch.
Shit.
Shit.Shit.Shit.
Brodie knew he was beyond being in hot water. He was in burning lava land. Although he was still pretty woozy, he was certain he’d seen real sparks coming from her hair. All the panic he’d managed to push away after hearing her voice on the phone, came rushing back.
How was he going to make this up to her? He had to start damage control fast, or she’d kick him off the property before Blake did. A tiny voice inside him raised its head. No. Way. This is your property, man.
Yeah.
It was his property.
Sort-of…
Mostly…
Hell, if she went to Blake and demanded it, Blake would kick him off. What if she’d already done that? Not likely. It was four-thirty in the morning. So she hadn’t gone to Blake. Yet. And that meant he needed to start damage control right away. Question was, how in the heck would he do that? He didn’t know the first thing about damage control.
Fuck.
Only one thing to do. Man up.
He needed to take the bull by the horns and man the fuck up. Fear and shame mingled in his gut, tightening into an angry black knot and threatening again to empty what little was left in his belly.
He snuck a glance at her.
She clutched the wheel so tightly, the whites of her knuckles glowed in the dim light. Her whole body vibrated in anger.
Might as well test the waters.
He cleared his throat.
“Not a word.” She kept her eyes straight ahead.
He trained his eyes out the window, shutting them when the movement became too much for his stomach.
If there was a hell, this was surely it.
She slowed the truck to make the turn into the ranch, then gunned it again, taking the bumps like a bat out of hell.
“Slow down, woman. You trying to get us killed?”
She eased up slightly on the pedal, but not enough to quell the contents of his stomach. The truck skidded to a jerky halt, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to not be sick. The last thing he needed was to get sick in front of Jamey. Letting out a shaky breath, he opened the door and stumbled out, grabbing the frame for balance while the world slowly spun into place.
She tromped around the front of the truck, tossing a glare over her shoulder as she yanked open the back door to the lodge. “We’ll talk after you’ve cleaned up and I’ve fed our guests. I’m already running late.”
He shut the truck door quietly and took the long way around to the front door. Best let her cool off a bit more. Surely this couldn’t go on forever? The bite in the early morning air helped clear his head, and he stood out front, hands on hips, taking in big gulps of air.
Would confessing to Jamey be worse than this? Righ
t here, right now?
He let out a slow breath. Probably not.
Would it be worse than the day he’d learned about Simon?
Definitely not.
For someone who’d spent the better part of his life avoiding pain and discomfort, he sure had more than his share of both. Hell, he’d been the cause of most of it. Was he man enough to own the consequences of his actions? The question loomed large in his mind as he opened the door and quietly entered.
Thirty minutes, four Advil, and a hot shower later, he was ready to find out. He paused in the doorway to the kitchen.
Jamey’s back was to him. She chopped furiously at something, then lifted the cutting board and scraped the contents into the pan on the stove. She responded to the sizzle with a little smile of satisfaction, then moved back to the counter. He watched another pass before clearing his throat and entering her domain.
Without waiting for her to speak, he moved around the island, grabbed a clean dishtowel from the drawer, and stepped up next to her as he tied it at his back.
She side-eyed him, and returned to her chopping. After a long moment, she spoke. “First, take the coffee carafes and set up the coffee. Next, bring out the half ’n half from the fridge and put it next to the sugars. While you’re waiting for the eggs, you can set out the glasses, then the silverware. The plates are in the dining room, inside the sideboard.”
Damn.
He’d never remember it all.
He’d always sucked with lists.
He exhaled slowly. Man up. Man up. “Uh, Jamey?”
She glanced at him, arching her brow. Her face remained inscrutable.
“I’m sorry. I don’t do well with lists… hard to keep straight. Can I get those one at a time when I’m done with each?”
Her eyes registered surprise, but she nodded curtly and returned to chopping.
He grabbed a coffee carafe in each hand, then headed for the dining room. He knew she ran through several pots a morning, so before interrupting her, he refilled the pots and set them going again. Half ’n half was next, so he brought that out to the sideboard and placed it next to the sugars. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what was next.
She was at the stove now, stirring. The lines on her face seemed less severe.
“Jamey?” The word ‘Sweetheart’ almost rolled off his tongue. He sucked in a breath. The last thing he wanted was to set her off.
“Set the table. You’ll find what you need under the sideboard.”
By the time he’d finished setting the table, the eggs were in a chafing dish on the island, and she was bent over the oven, bringing out a tray of scones.
“No Dottie biscuits this morning?” He grinned.
She glared.
He lifted his hands, stepping back. “No offense meant. Your scones are fantastic.”
Her face softened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I like them better than the biscuits.” Hell, he’d eat a whole tray, making the appropriate lusty noises if it helped win her back.
“Take the eggs. I’ll have the scones ready when you return.”
She laid the final scone in the basket as he reentered the kitchen. “Take these, then bring out the juice from the fridge.” She held out the basket, and his hands covered her fingers as he took it. A slow tingle stirred in his chest as he held the basket between them. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a tiny breath.
“Don’t go out with him. With Travis.” Great. Now he’d done it. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “Not now.” She slipped her hands from his and ducked away, putting dishes in the sink.
There was nothing left to do but take the scones out and try not to wallow in embarrassment. At least she hadn’t shut him down.
A small victory, but he’d take it.
He finished adding the scones to the sideboard just as Mason walked into the great room. Mason stopped short, eyeing him warily. He stood stiffly, meeting Mason’s gaze. Aw, fuck. He’d made a mess of everything last night. “Morning.”
Mason crossed his arms, his mouth flattened into a thin line, waiting.
Brodie blew out a breath. “I was out of line last night.”
Mason grunted, still eyeing him suspiciously.
“Way out of line. I didn’t handle myself or my liquor.”
“Touch me again, and I’ll kick your ass to high heaven.”
Brodie acknowledged the threat with a noise in the back of his throat, nodding. “Message received. Shake?” He extended his hand as he walked around the table toward Mason.
Mason gripped his hand. Hard. Eyes boring right through him to the point he squirmed. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what came over me last night.”
Mason leveled him with a flinty gaze. “I do. Never a good idea to mix booze and brooding. Especially when a woman’s involved.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Mason cocked his chin toward the kitchen. “You done eating crow yet?”
The comment brought a smile to his lips. “Nope. Not by a long shot.”
“Better get to it then. She’s worth it.”
She was. If only repairing this was as easy as fixing a fence. He marched back into the kitchen where Jamey stood washing dishes. He didn’t want to think of what it would be like if he couldn’t repair this.
CHAPTER 27
Brodie grabbed a towel and stepped up next to her, reaching for the wet items as she pulled them out of the industrial washer.
“You know where everything goes?” She wouldn’t look at him.
“Yep.”
Once the last of the breakfast dishes were put away, she reached for a cutting board and two knives. Finally she looked at him with stormy eyes. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts.”
She pressed her lips together, and nodded. “I do lunch prep while everyone eats breakfast, then one more round of dishes.” She pointed to one of the knives. “You know how to use one?”
He covered a smile. “That a trick question?”
Her eyes flashed. Exasperation? Humor?
Maybe he was getting somewhere. “Probably not to your standards.”
“Grab two onions.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s yes, chef.”
He saluted her, grabbed the onions, and came around the island to stand next to her.
She took the onions, still not looking at him. Her knife flashed out, and cut both spheres in half, then she rapidly peeled back the skin, and deposited it in a bowl. He watched her hands floating back and forth, mesmerized. There was such ease and confidence in her movements. She placed half an onion, cut side down in front of him. She grabbed her knife, and opened her palm.
“Let the handle rest over your fingers like this.” The blade balanced on her index finger. “Now close your hand and pinch here.” She handed him her knife. “You try.”
He’d never given so much as a spare thought as to how to hold a knife. It felt awkward, the way she presented it. Her hand encased his, helping him close around the handle. Her touch was gentle. More like a caress than brusque instruction. He shifted his weight, leaning into her touch. She glanced at him sharply, eyes widening as they held his.
She might not be ready to talk, but he’d be damned if he’d keep his feelings a secret any longer.
“Take your left hand and make a claw like this.” A quaver crept into her voice, and a little spark of hope thrilled in his chest.
“Use your fingertips to hold the onion in place, and keep your knuckles bent. Then slice.” She shifted away and demonstrated with another onion half, her knife silently flying.
“Wow. That was fast.”
The corner of her mouth pulled up, and she shrugged. “Have to be. Now you try. But go slowly. You don’t want to cut yourself.”
“You think I’d do that?”
Her eyes glinted in challenge. “I’ve seen bigger men cry like babies because they weren’t
careful with their tools.”
“I bet you kicked all their asses in culinary school.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, fancy pants. Chop your onion.”
He grabbed the onion, spreading his fingers out.
“No. No. You’ll chop your fingers off if you do it that way.” Her hand whipped over his, adjusting his fingers back. “Feel the difference?”
Definitely.
Her hands stayed on his.
His mouth dried as he caught her eye. The energy shifted between them. Her eyes were so close to his, he could see her pupils widen. He’d never appreciated tall women before, but he certainly did now. She couldn’t hide her emotions by dipping her head. In fact, if he thought to steal a kiss, she’d have no warning. Her lips were just too close.
He shifted, bracing his arms on the island, trapping her.
Electricity cracked between them.
“Will you give me a chance?” He spoke low, unable to keep the urgency from his voice. “Give us a chance?”
She pressed a hand over his heart. “Brodie.”
Everything inside him went still.
Her eyes were green pools of emotion. Desire, suspicion, tenderness. All swirling in her depths like clips of a movie. But she held back, her body taut in his loose embrace. If it was anyone but her, he’d give up right now.
But he couldn’t.
Not yet, at least.
He stepped back to rest his hips on the counter behind him. “Can I tell you something?”
Eyes still wide, she nodded.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. It was now or never.
“I can’t read.”
There.
It was out.
Someone knew.
The words hung between them like little bombs, then exploded as she gasped quietly.
“Not very well, at least.” He kept his eyes focused on the delicate hollow at her throat. “Barely, really.”
He took a ragged breath and braced himself for what he’d see in her eyes. This was the reason he was such a fuck-up. Why the whole town thought he was stupid and worthless. “I tried to learn. I still try, but the letters get squirrelly.”
“Are you dyslexic?”