Prairie Passion (Cowboys of The Flint Hills #2)

by Tessa Layne

  “Then be there for her. And for God’s sake, learn to read so nothing like this happens again.”

  Brodie nodded, stealing a glance at his brother. Blake’s face looked bleak. He took a deep breath and blew it out. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for all the times I was a dick. I saw you going down the wrong path and I didn’t stop to ask why that might be. I should have noticed you couldn’t read.”

  The hard knot that had been sitting in Brodie’s stomach slowly unraveled. He shrugged. “I hid it. I didn’t know how to ask for help.”

  Blake gave him a wry smile. “We Sinclaires have that problem. Kills us to ask for help. Even when we should.” He grew serious. “I should have noticed you couldn’t read. I’m sorry I didn’t. Maybe I… maybe things would be different if I had.” Blake drained the contents of his glass. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll see myself out.” He stepped out the door, letting the screen slam behind him before Brodie could answer. The sound echoed in the silence.

  Brodie remained seated, contemplating his whiskey. Swirling it, then adding more when it got low. So Jake couldn’t read either. What a shock. How long he sat lost in whiskey contemplation, he didn’t know.

  The door burst open again, jarring him back to the present. “What?” He growled. “What now?”

  “Heheheh, on the wrong end of a verbal dress down?” Warren Hansen strolled in carrying half a pie.

  What in the actual fuck?

  “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  Warren’s brilliant blue eyes glittered. They were so like Maddie’s it was freaky. “No way to treat a guest. How’s about you invite me in to sit a spell?”

  Brodie grunted and motioned to another stool tucked under the island. “You come to tan my hide?”

  Warren didn’t sit down. He wandered the kitchen opening drawers and cupboards, obviously searching for plates and silver. The day was rapidly moving out of clusterfuck territory and into whatthefuck land.

  “Whiskey?” Brodie held up the Redbreast.

  “Coffee?”

  He heaved a sigh. “I can make some.” He pushed up and set about making a pot of coffee.

  Warren kept rummaging through drawers, examining utensils.

  “Make yourself at home, Warren.” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

  Warren continued to putter until he’d plated up two enormous slices of the pie. “From Dottie. She says to remember pie fixes everything.”

  “Does it now?”

  Too bad pie wouldn’t fix Jamey’s eyes.

  Or help him read.

  He poured two steaming mugs of coffee, added a dollop of Redbreast to his, then slid a cup over to where Warren had perched on a stool.

  “Mighty hospitable of you, son. You’ll do just fine here.”

  “So nice to have your vote of confidence.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, but Warren remained unfazed.

  Warren tucked into the pie and gave him a sly look. “Maddie Jane don’t take kindly to meddling, so I’m only gonna give you a little advice. Man to man.”

  “What can you possibly tell me that will make this right, old man?” He stabbed his pie and shoved in a bite. It was good. Damned good. But he liked Jamey’s crust better. Not that he’d ever admit it to Dottie. Dottie’d tan his hide and ban him from the diner forever if he ever told her that. But he’d tell Jamey.

  If she ever let him speak to her again.

  The thought of the lodge without her cut through him, settling in his breastbone.

  Warren eyed him between bites, as if weighing his next words carefully. The silence settled between them. “I can tell you that yer ma was proud as punch about all of you.”

  Brodie scowled, his heart starting to thump erratically. “How do you know?”

  “She told me. She also said she was worried about you. That you’d had a tougher time of it than yer brothers.”

  Why was Warren bringing up his mother? He had enough demons to wrestle with tonight. “Hmph.”

  “Harrumph if you want, but yer ma knew you was sharp as a tack.”

  “Why you bringing this up now?”

  Warren raised his hand. “Jus’ listen. You young folks don’t listen enough. Always yappin’ and talkin’. Now I was sayin’…” He took another bite of pie. “Yer ma helped you in school.”

  “She used to read out loud to me.”

  “Why do you think she did that son?”

  Brodie shrugged. “Never said.”

  “Use that noggin of yours. I’m not gonna say nothin’ else but this. Yer ma would be tossin’ in her grave to see you give up. She didn’t raise cowards.”

  He glared at Warren. The fuck. But Warren had saved his family’s ranch. What else did he know but wasn’t saying?

  “You don’t understand,” Brodie muttered, jabbing at his pie.

  Warren glared back. “Damn straight I don’t understand. You jus’ lie on the ground when you get bucked off a bull? That’s a surefire way to get trampled. You’re a Sinclaire, son. Time to start actin’ like it.” He stood to refill his coffee.

  “You think I’m a coward?”

  Warren slid him an assessing glance. “I think yer ma raised you to face things head on, and in the years she’s been gone, you might have forgotten that.”

  “You hear I can’t read?” Buzzing filled his ears. Did the whole town know and he’d been deluding himself all these years?

  Warren eyed him solemnly. “People talk. You can do somethin’ about that, son.”

  He nodded his agreement. He’d call the number Jamey had given him first thing. Not like it was a big secret anymore.

  “So you love that redheaded whip of a thing that Maddie runs ’roun with?”

  Redheaded whip of a thing. That summed her up perfectly. His lips tilted up slightly as he nodded. “Jamey? Yeah. I love her.”

  A sly look crossed his features. “You gonna marry her?”

  He gave a dry laugh. “It’s… complicated.”

  “God hates a coward, son. God hates a coward.” Warren put down his fork and rubbed his belly. “Thanks for the company, son. Never thought I’d see the day where I enjoyed the company of a Sinclaire.” He smiled wide and clapped him on the back, then pushed back the stool.

  When Warren reached the door, he paused, hand on the screen. His eyes filled with longing and grief. “If you love her, go after her. Don’t take the coward’s way. I did, and I’ve regretted it most days.” He sighed heavily, then pushed through the door into the dark.

  CHAPTER 39

  Jamey tossed on the bed in a darkened room at the Big House. Only two days in, and the enforced rest was nearly killing her. Boredom pressed in on her from all sides, leaving her jumpy and restless. How in St. Patrick’s bunghole was she going to survive seven to ten days of this? Let alone staying out of the kitchen for a month?

  Anything that strained her eyes was off-limits. No TV, no computer, no reading. No bright lights. And definitely no cooking.

  Not that it mattered. She was done with cooking. The celiac cat had been completely let out of the bag the day before, when Dottie brought over a huge meal for everyone, and she’d had to explain why she couldn’t eat it.

  Once word got out, her professional goose would be cooked. It wouldn’t matter how good her food was, people would fixate on the gluten-free, make assumptions, and walk away.

  Maddie had been upset. Hurt that Jamey hadn’t divulged her big secret. Dottie had been a surprise. She hadn’t gloated or given away that Jamey had been using her biscuits. She’d just wrapped her in a hug and told her everything would be okay.

  Simon brought a joke book and had read her jokes the night before. She’d taught him a few new colorful words, and then… nothing. She’d tried to listen to a baseball game, but her beloved Boston was out of the pennant race, and she had zero interest in the local team, the Kansas City Kings.

  Night was the worst.

  She hadn’t realized how much she loved sleeping next to Brodie
until his warm hard body was no longer there. The best part was his scent. That sexy mix of cedar, hay, and musk that was uniquely him. He smelled like sunshine. And she missed him desperately.

  She fought off a wave of despair. “Once again in my hour of need.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Jamey?”

  She turned her head toward Maddie’s voice. “Just that.”

  She’d spent the better part of the previous night examining in great detail all of her life’s disastrous milestones, and came to the conclusion she wasn’t fit for love or cheffing. Sure, she’d been able to prove to herself she could still be a top chef in spite of having celiac disease. But this… felt more final.

  “Don’t you think you’re going a bit overboard with the wallowing?”

  Jamey’s mouth pulled into a frown. “I’m not wallowing.”

  The doctors and ophthalmologists were optimistic she’d keep her vision. They’d warned her to be patient. But she wasn’t good at that. The successes she’d enjoyed came from drive and action. Not patience and sitting around on her ass.

  Alone.

  And whose fault was that? Hers. Because she’d lost her temper and let her mouth get the best of her.

  Maddie’s cool hand brushed her forearm, skittering around the bandages and offering a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe you and Brodie need to talk. Calmly. With the crisis bottle between you.”

  Jamey cracked a small smile at the memory of the crisis bottle intervention she’d orchestrated between Maddie and Blake.

  She’d behaved like a baby the other day. A petulant, thumb-sucking, whiny baby. Blowing up everything they shared over four percent was… ridiculous. But she didn’t care. It was over. “He ruined the roast when he didn’t show up at the hospital.”

  “He told me you’d quit.”

  Huh. So they’d talked.

  “He’s right.” Her voice caught. “I did.”

  “Did you mean to?”

  “Yes… no… hell, I don’t know… He pushed my buttons.”

  Maddie’s dry laugh filled the room. “I’ve never seen anyone push your buttons the way he does.”

  Heat blossomed in her chest. She swallowed it down. “He hated my proposal.”

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

  “Are you putting me on trial? Speak plainly, Mads.” She might have the more colorful comebacks, but when push came to shove, Maddie could always out reason her. She simultaneously loved it and hated it.

  “Fine. I will.” A tinge of impatience crept into Maddie’s voice. “You asked me to give him the benefit of the doubt. To give him a chance. But you turn around and issue an intractable ultimatum then burn down the house when it doesn’t go your way?”

  Jamey didn’t have to be able to see Maddie to know her eyes would be flashing.

  “And then you wonder why he didn’t come to the hospital?”

  The question hung between them and she could swear she heard Maddie roll her eyes. Would she have gone had the roles been reversed? If he’d pushed her away the way she’d pushed him? She let out a bitter sigh. Probably not. She was too prideful to beg.

  “Do you love him, Jamey?”

  The question pierced her, taking her breath away.

  She did.

  She loved him.

  Where the hell did she go from here?

  A knock sounded at the door. “Can I come in?” Brodie’s rich gravelly voice slid over her, pricking hot tears behind her injured eyes. She winced at the sudden ache in her eyeballs.

  Great.

  Add staying emotionally calm to her list of do’s and don’ts while recovering.

  “Did you bring the medicine?” Maddie asked.

  “Yep. All the drops plus the oral meds.”

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  “I’ve got it.” His voice was gruff.

  Maddie squeezed her unbandaged hand. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

  Maddie’s footsteps receded, leaving only silence and the sounds of their breathing. His, low and steady. Hers, shallow and shaky.

  The mattress bent under her back as Brodie sat beside her on the bed. His fingers brushed the hair at her temple, leaving a wake of electricity zinging down the side of her face. Lips brushed her forehead in a tender kiss. “Hi.”

  The ache behind her eyeballs intensified, nearly stealing her breath. Why was he being so Goddamned tender?

  She reached out, flailing until she hit the rock hard muscle of his thigh. He raised her fingertips to his lips, kissing each digit with the same tenderness and care, before lowering her hand onto his lap. “Maddie says it’s time for your meds. Pills or drops first?”

  “Pills.” Her voice cracked. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to swallow anything after Brodie removed the loose bandages covering her eyes.

  The pill bottles rattled as he removed one lid, then the another. “The pills are in my hand.” His voice took on a rough edge. Was he as emotionally wrung out as she was?

  He directed her hand to his palm, and she grasped the pills with her bandaged hand, accepting a glass of water with the other. She placed the pills on her tongue, focusing on the bitter, slightly metallic aftertaste, and made herself take a big gulp. She took two more before relinquishing the glass. His fingers covered hers for a long moment before the glass thunked on the bedside table.

  She swallowed again, intensely aware of the tension between them. “Brodie… I–”

  “Shhh. Let’s take care of your eyes.”

  “I’m scared.” She didn’t recognize the high, thin sound that voiced the confession.

  Or the voice, thick with remorse, that answered. “Me, too.”

  He lifted the tape at her temples. His sharp intake of breath jabbed at her, sending a stab of pain to her throat and eyeballs. “Oh God, Jamey.” His voice pitched low and tight. “I’m so sorry.”

  The pain in his voice echoed her own, and she held back an answering sob, knowing if she started, she couldn’t stop.

  The medicine made his face blurry. But not so blurry she couldn’t see the grimace of pain he tried to hide.

  “I’m fine,” she ground out, clenching her jaw. “I’m going to be fine.” She didn’t believe it. Not yet, at least. But she had to keep telling herself, telling everyone else. She would not be the object of pity. Especially not Brodie’s.

  “Lean your head back. Maddie showed me how to give you the drops.”

  She leaned back on the pillow, bracing for the pain of having his fingers on her eyes. “Did you wash your hands?”

  “Of course.”

  “You didn’t pick your nose, did you?”

  That earned her a gruff laugh. “And I didn’t cough or sneeze.”

  “Just checking. My eyes are vulnerable, you know.”

  His voice grew husky. “I know. Ready?”

  She swallowed and nodded, holding her breath. His arm curled around the top of her head and a shock of pain darted through her as he touched her lower eyelid. She squeezed the sheet beneath her, gathering it into her palm.

  “You okay? Did I hurt you?” Concern laced every word.

  “Just do it,” she answered tightly.

  One drop, two drops. First a sting, then modest relief. He repeated the same motions on the other eye. She blinked rapidly, distributing the medicine.

  “Can the bandages stay off while we talk?”

  She sighed heavily. “Brodie… I… I-I’m not sure where to start.”

  His breath caught, and she could tell by the slight droop of his shoulders that she’d hurt him.

  “I… okay.” He blew out a breath. “I can accept that. Will you listen?”

  She owed him that much. Her answer fell out in a whisper. “Yeah.”

  He took her hand and leaned over her, bracing his other hand across her body next to her hip. “All of this is my fault.”

  She tightened her lips and started to shake her head.

  “No. It is. It’s m
y fault because I dragged my feet about finding a tutor. It’s my fault because I didn’t want Simon to know I can barely read. I hope…” He took a shuddering breath, and squeezed her fingers. “I hope that someday you can forgive me, and I want you to know that I would never intentionally hurt you. Ever.”

  Her throat grew tight, and pain ricocheted from her chest to behind her eyes. The worst part of this whole experience was that wanting to cry made her eyes hurt worse. Like a thousand needles poking her eye sockets.

  “Brodie, I–”

  He rushed ahead, cutting her off. “I called for a tutor. I start tomorrow. I don’t want to jeopardize anyone I love ever again.”

  A whimper escaped from the back of her throat, and she ducked her head.

  “Look at me, Jamey.”

  Even with the blurriness, there was no denying the set of his jaw. “Just tell me if I’m barking up the wrong tree.”

  The hope in his voice melted her. She squeezed his hand and released a shaky breath, offering a tiny smile. “I love you, Brodie.” The breathy note in her voice gave away the thousand butterflies that suddenly decided to launch in her stomach.

  “I shouldn’t have quit. I didn’t mean to. I let my temper get the best of me.” She took a big gulp of air. “I was an ass.”

  His eyes crinkled as a smile lit his face. He reached out, drawing his thumb down her jaw, sending little tendrils of warmth down her spine. “So beautiful.”

  She snorted. “You’re nuts.”

  “For you I am.”

  “Look at me. I’m a–”

  His fingers on her lips silenced her. “You’ll always be beautiful to me. Zombie eyes or not.”

  A breathy giggle escaped. “We still have to talk. We’re not–”

  “I know. When you’re better. Right now, we focus on healing.”

  “And reading.”

  He nodded. “And reading.” He leaned in, the tilt of his shoulders conveying uncertainty.