by Tessa Layne
“I don’t even know what that is.” He risked a glance in her direction.
The look in her eyes made his heart thump harder in his chest. No judgment. No derision. No laughter. Only compassion.
“One of my brothers is dyslexic. It’s where your brain processes language differently, so it’s harder to read and write. It’s not that big of a deal if you get help.”
He didn’t know whether to argue with her or kiss her. “Of course it’s a big deal. I can’t read.”
Her eyes grew fierce. “No. What’s a big deal is that no one caught it and no one helped you.”
“My mom tried. But it’s… complicated.” His mom had read to him until his father had told her only babies got read to. That had been in sixth grade. After that, he’d had to rely on his smarts and clowning around to get through school.
“She didn’t try hard enough then.”
Pain seared through him as memories flashed before his eyes. “I hid it,” he muttered, his voice thick with shame. He pushed on. “Eventually, it got too hard. I didn’t finish.”
Her eyes widened. “Finish what?”
He cleared his throat. “High School. I got close, but with the demands of the ranch, and… Jake on regular benders, there were more important things to do. No one asked, and I didn’t tell.”
She uttered a quiet curse as she stepped forward, reaching to cup his cheek. “Brodie.” Her voice soothed him. Like cool water over a burn.
He brought his hand to hers pressing it into his cheek. “I get the hands mixed up on clocks. Or the numbers turn upside down and I read them backwards. Like I did last night when I was late to our date. I know it’s no excuse. I never meant to hurt you.” God, he wanted to gather her in his arms and lose himself in her. Bury his face in her neck and just breathe her in.
She made a clucking noise in her throat. “You know there are tutors. You can get help. Get your GED.”
His head snapped back. “People would know.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling her hand from his. “Don’t you think they already know? At least to some degree? Why not do something about it?”
He blew out a breath in frustration. “You don’t get it. There’s something wrong with me.”
“Puh-leeze. Wallowing is unbecoming in a cowboy. Jason, my brother with dyslexia, told me one in five people is dyslexic. He should know. Count up all the people in this town. You’re not the only person struggling. You might be the only person dumb enough to hide it though.”
“Hey.”
“I’m sure someone at the high school can put you in touch with a tutor.”
“Oh hell no,” he growled. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”
She crossed her arms, iron returning to her eyes. “How’s that worked for you so far?”
She might have a little point, but no way. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “I’m not hiring some teenager to teach me to read.”
“So lemme get this straight. You’d rather suck your thumb than change your life?” Her lips thinned as she shook her head. “I expected more from you.”
That got his hackles up. He straightened up, keeping his eyes on her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that. I expected more from you.”
Goddamn she frustrated him. “Just what do you expect from me?”
She spun and grabbed the second onion, peeling it and chopping it with lightning speed. “I want a partner. Someone who’s thoughtful.”
“I am thoughtful.”
She shook her head and kept chopping, finishing his uncut half next. “That’s not the point. I want someone I can trust. Someone I can rely on. I’ve been with unreliable business partners, I’ve–”
“Wait. Are you saying what’s between us is only business?”
His heart and his stomach traded places. Had he completely misread her?
She stopped chopping and braced her arms at the edge of the island, shooting him a glare. “I don’t know what we are, Brodie. I’d like to know. Maybe I could sleep better. You want to know what I want, what I expect? Someone I can count on. Someone I can trust. Someone I can rely on to always be there. To be solid.”
She couldn’t sleep at night?
Because of him?
Maybe there was hope for him after all.
She swept the onion pieces into a bowl. The tension from gripping the cutting board rippled up her arm. “I don’t want fly-by-night. I’m not interested in business colleagues with benefits.”
She leveled a gaze at him, her face twisted with emotion. “And you know what scares me? You don’t know how to run this place, and you refuse my expertise. Now you’re telling me you don’t care enough about your future to learn to read. How can I rely on you?”
Her voice grew thick.
Shit.
His insides churned like he’d been sucker punched.
She grabbed the cutting boards and knives and stepped past him to the sink, rinsing them and placing them in the dishwasher. The silence expanded between them as she scrubbed the sink, then turned on the hot water, reaching underneath to grab an orange box of powder. She measured some out and dumped it into the drain, reducing the water to a trickle.
He ran his hand through his hair. “I do care about my future.”
“Then do something about it, Brodie. Don’t just go along to get along.”
Panic fluttered again at the edge of his conscious. She was pulling away, and it was all his fault. “Please. Give me a chance. Give us a chance? Don’t go on that date tonight.” The last plea came out in a whisper.
She spun around, her eyes tortured. “I won’t break my commitment.”
His heart sank to his knees.
Jealousy surged, lighting a fire in his belly. “He’s not enough man for you, Jamey.”
Her eyes sparked, then shuttered. “I don’t think you even know what that means.”
“Yeah? Why don’t you stick around and find out.” The fire roared to an inferno of dragon-like proportions.
She put up her hands in surrender. “Stop. Just. Stop. God knows you’re more than enough man, physically. That’s not what I’m talking about. Have you ever given serious thought about your future? Do you even know what you want?”
He opened his mouth, and promptly snapped it shut.
He’d conditioned himself to never look forward. Blake and Ben had always taken lead on the ranch. He just went along. And now, he’d hit the end of the line.
“I’ve got work to do.” He spun on his heel.
Only backbreaking labor would get rid of the ache that had settled in his chest.
CHAPTER 28
Jamey swept on a bit of lip-gloss as she gave her appearance one last check in the mirror. She should have canceled, but that would make her as fickle as Brodie. Wouldn’t it? Although she was the one going to dinner with someone else. Not that it felt like a date. Nevertheless, a twinge of guilt tugged at her.
The conversation she’d had with Brodie rattled over and over inside her throughout the day. Unsettling her. Blowing her concentration. She’d nearly burned the onion soup, a rookie mistake that in any restaurant would have cost her a job.
Brodie couldn’t read.
That explained a helluva lot.
She’d been little when her family had learned her brother, Jason, was dyslexic. As far as she could tell, it hadn’t been that big of a deal. Jason had gone to special classes for a few months, and that had been that. Periodically, they’d share a laugh when he stumbled over a word. His texts and emails sometimes had creative spelling, but there’d been no shame.
She’d have to call her brother later and ask about it. There must be some way to get Brodie the help he needed. Even at his age.
She glanced at the clock on her dresser. Travis would be here any second. She spritzed on a bit of her favorite perfume. It was a luxury she rarely indulged in. Perfume in the kitchen interfered with her sense of smell and taste. But since she was out of the kitche
n for once, why not?
She shut the door behind her and made her way to the great room. Brodie was settled in one of the wide leather chairs, feet stretched in front of him, head back, eyes closed.
Of course he’d be here.
She’d bet her favorite kitchen knife he wasn’t taking a nap either.
He had tenacity in spades. If only he’d apply that to learning to read.
She paused, perusing him.
The hard knot she’d been carrying since the previous evening began to soften. With his eyes shut, his normally chiseled features were somehow softer. Sweeter. His nose was slightly crooked, with a slight thickening toward the bridge. Likely from one too many breaks.
His frequently furrowed brows were relaxed, forming thick, full arches over a dark sweep of lashes. His mouth, typically hard, was soft, showing a plump lower lip, perfect for nipping and sucking. The thought of sucking on his lip made her pussy involuntarily clench. She squirmed, remembering the feel of his thick cock pushing between her legs.
Shit.
Why was she going to dinner with Travis again?
Oh yeah.
Because she was a hothead. Not the first time her temper had made her regret something.
Brodie had changed from his work clothes into a pressed white shirt. It stretched perfectly across his sculpted torso, displaying his muscles and drawing her eyes down to his brass buckle and soft denim that perfectly hugged his rock solid thighs. Thighs that had held her upright in the throes of passion.
She had no business thinking about fucking Brodie while she was waiting for Travis to pick her up. None whatsoever.
But she couldn’t help herself.
And when he was stretched out and vulnerable like this, she couldn’t help but think of what a future would be like with him. Of what they could do and be together.
But she couldn’t carry the load.
Not alone.
She’d never do that again.
She wanted a life partner. Wanted what her parents had, what Maddie had. But with the life she’d chosen as a chef, maybe that wasn’t for her. The divorce rate among top chefs was astronomical. Long hours, coupled with high stress and competition for celebrity status, tended to discourage normal people from getting near. And dating within the industry? Never again.
“You done staring?”
Her eyes shot back to his face. His eyes remained shut, but a smile played at the corner of his mouth.
Devil.
He opened his eyes, boring right to her heart. How was his hearing so good he knew exactly where she was?
“You don’t have to go.”
Her throat began to ache. “I do.”
“Stay.”
Her stomach jumped into her sternum. What was she doing? Was she being stupidly stubborn to prove something to him? Or to herself? If the latter, what was she trying to prove?
The door chimed.
Her heart wrenched as his beautiful blue eyes became ice. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “You can tell me all about your date.”
“Brodie, don’t–”
“Don’t what?” His mouth flattened to a hard line.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” she breathed out.
He pushed up from the chair and crossed to her in two steps, his eyes piercing straight through her. He slid the back of his finger down her cheek. “I aim to do just that.”
The rough edge of his voice sent a thrill through her, soaking her panties.
He stepped closer, so that only a whisper stood between his mouth and hers. “You know your mind, Jamey. It’s fear’s holding you back.”
His voice slid over her, setting every nerve quivering.
The door chimed again.
“I’ll not ask you again. You have to decide what future you want, too.” He stepped away. But not before he lowered his nose to her ear and inhaled. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Mmmm. Delicious.”
Her nipples stood at attention.
Cool air replaced the heat where his body had been, leaving her frustrated and wanting more. The door chimed a third time. Brodie seated himself again and stretched his hands behind his head.
His eyes raked over her a final time. “Better not keep your date waiting.”
Indignation quickly snuffed out the desire still pulsing through her. Damn him. He wasn’t going to make it easy. In spite of her irritation, her respect for him upped a notch. He might piss her off, but he was no dummy. Not by a long shot.
She sniffed loftily, smoothing her jeans and strutted – yes, strutted – to the door. Let him drink in what he was missing. She opened the door to a bouquet of flowers. Her heart sank the smallest fraction. She wasn’t a flowers kind of gal. The last time she’d received flowers had been an awkward date her brothers had set up for her in Catholic school. She much preferred a bottle of Redbreast, or maybe a fancy chocolate.
“How sweet of you, Travis. Come in while I put these in water?”
Travis tipped back his Stetson and peered past her to where Brodie sat. “I think I’ll wait here.”
“Come in Kincaid,” he called. “Don’t mind me.”
She hurried to the kitchen with the flowers. As soon as she’d placed them in water, she hurried back.
Brodie remained stretched out in the chair, hands behind his head. Travis stood tense in the doorway, hands in his pockets. Ten kinds of awkward.
She grabbed the door to shut it behind her when Brodie called out. “Don’t stay out too late, kids. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She rolled her eyes and suppressed a giggle. “You ready?”
Travis placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her to his truck. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into Gino’s Trattoria. A small building just off Main, Gino’s appeared straight out of the fifties, complete with a scripted neon sign, and big white lights surrounding the picture window. He opened her door and extended his hand.
“Wow. Am I gonna see Frank Sinatra inside?”
“I don’t know about that, but it’s as fancy as Prairie gets.” He guided her inside, holding open the door, and allowing her to pass through first.
What greeted her was a crowded room that could have been any restaurant on Boston’s north side. Red checked tablecloths topped with red candleholders. Italian music playing in the background, a jukebox in the corner. Wrought iron sconces along the walls lent a golden glow to the room.
And she couldn’t eat the pasta. And she bet it was good, too.
Dammit.
A wave of panic lodged in her throat. God. What if she couldn’t eat anything on the menu? What then?
A dark haired teenaged girl walked up with two menus. “Hope you like a booth. That’s all we have open.”
Travis nodded, and the girl wove through the tables, maybe twenty in all.
Jamey slid into the booth and grinned. “So you bring all your dates here?”
“Only the special ones.”
“Aren’t they all special?”
He smiled enigmatically. “The ravioli’s fantastic.”
Her heart sank. “I’m avoiding carbs.” Lame. Lame. Lame. But she wasn’t ready to admit she had celiac. It felt too… vulnerable.
Travis stared at her, confused. “Really? I thought chefs ate everything.”
“Only if you want to end up like Tubby McFattypants.”
He leaned his head back, laughing. His laugh was warm and musical. And didn’t do a thing to her insides. Brodie’s laugh was rich and low and slid over her like melted butter. What would he be like on a date?
“Earth to Jamey. You in there?”
“I’m sorry. I drifted for a sec.”
His brows knit together. “So soon? I’m not that boring am I?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all.” She smiled wide and arched her brows. “Tell me, Travis, what’s a good looking man like you doing–”
“Playing cop in a town like Prai
rie?” he finished.
“Well I wasn’t going to put it that way exactly. But, yes.”
His eyes clouded briefly. “It’s quiet. No action.”
She scanned the menu searching for something, anything, safe to eat. “Hmm. There’s a story there, considering every other male in this town is an adrenaline junkie.”
He let out a little laugh. “I’ve had enough adrenaline to last me a lifetime.”
“Ooh, the plot thickens.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe.”
She quickly scanned the menu. Polenta. Praise the gods, they had polenta. And risotto. Except she’d already mentioned no carbs. Damn her for opening her big mouth.
The girl came around to take their order. Travis grimaced as she ordered a Caesar salad with no croutons.
“Sorry.” She offered him a guilty smile. “Gotta keep my girlish figure.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m so disappointed. You of all people should appreciate good food like this.”
Yeah. She should. Damn her pathetic life. She waved her hand, dismissing him. “I’m sure this will be the best Caesar I’ve ever had. What I want to know, Travis Kincaid, man of mystery, is how you became Prairie’s cop.”
“That’s a two bottle of wine story, and we’re only having one. I’m willing to give you the short version so long as I get to ask you any questions I want.”
“My life is an open book.” Mostly.
An older gentleman stopped by the table with a carafe of Chianti, and filled their glasses. She plopped her chin onto her hand. “Spill. I’m all ears.”
Travis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Not much to tell. I grew up here. My family has been here since the forties. After high school, I joined the military, eventually attended OCS and then got into the Special Forces.
“What branch?”
He eyed her. “Navy. I was a SEAL.”
That was a surprise. “But you’re from Kansas.”
He laughed again. “We may be landlocked, but there’s water. Besides, when I left home I wanted to do something… unpredictable. So I joined the Navy.”
“So why’d you stop?”
His face shuttered and he studied his hands before taking another sip of wine.
“Oh… wait. You can’t talk about it.”