Stepbrother Master

by Jackson, Ava

  Stepping inside the cool barn, my fist clenched reflexively, the urge to put it through the wall thrummed through me. If TJ said another word, I’d lose it, and everything that Emma was so desperate to pretend had never happened would be blown wide open.

  Fuck.

  My salvation came from an unlikely source. “TJ, Mac’s going to practice cutting some calves from the herd. You’re up. I’m too old to be teaching anyone that shit anymore,” Griff said, shuffling into the barn. The old man made his way to the straw bales the hands used for a break area and eased his bony frame onto one. Pulling a tin of chew from his pocket, he snapped his wrist several times, packing it against one side of the tin. Once he was satisfied, he flipped off the lid, thumbed out a dip, and settled it behind his lip.

  By the time he finished the familiar ritual, TJ had ducked out of the barn, and Griff’s eyes cut to me. “You about ready to get your head out of your ass, boy?”

  The old man didn’t say much, but when he did, he didn’t waste words. Straight to the point.

  I attempted deflection. “You ever gonna retire, old man?”

  “We ain’t talking ‘bout me. You and that girl got something going on, and if you don’t get your shit straight in a hurry, you’re gonna lose her.”

  I was stunned into silence for a few beats, and my stomach dropped. How the fuck could he know? Apparently we hadn’t been as careful last week as we’d thought. Shit.

  “I don’t what you’re talking about.” The words tasted like ash on my tongue. Even trying to deny it felt so damn wrong.

  “You can lie to me all you want, but lying to yourself is a waste of fucking time.”

  I jammed my fingers through my hair, crossed the half dozen feet to the straw bales, and took a seat across from Griff. “She’s the one who called it off.”

  Griff pulled out a spit bottle from his pocket and lifted it to his mouth for a second before he replied, “And that’s it? You’ve been walking around here like a bear after honey who got stung by a whole fuck ton of bees because you’re okay with her calling it off?”

  “I didn’t say I was okay with it.”

  “Then what the fuck are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t … exactly take it well. Said some shit I shouldn’t have.”

  Griff huffed out a laugh. “Then apologize. Flowers. Romance. An old man shouldn’t have to explain how that shit works to a slick young guy like you.”

  “I know. I just haven’t figured out how. I need to fix it. Need to man up and make her understand that I’m not letting her walk away, even if that would make both our lives easier.”

  Griff nodded. “That’s better. Because you wouldn’t be the punk kid who came here fresh out of college thinking he knew how to run this ranch better than any other goddamn cowboy if that weren’t your attitude.” His faded blue eyes meet mine. “And just so you know, Ford, you’ve done a hell of a job. Proud of you, boy. Now get outta here and go get the girl.”

  My chest tightened with pride at finally receiving Griff’s approval—something I’d worked for since the day I’d showed up, as he’d put it, a punk kid fresh out of college. “Thank you. You don’t know what that means to me.”

  “It needed to be said. Now git.”

  I headed for the barn door, my trademark confidence back in my stride. Griff was right; I needed to get my head out of my ass and get the girl. Because fuck it—she was mine. And I wasn’t letting her go.

  Except as soon as I crossed the threshold, all hell seemed to have broken loose. TJ was running toward the house yelling, “Need to get Mac to the hospital! His fucking leg bone is sticking out!”

  Shit.

  Chapter 17

  Emma

  Two mornings later, Ford was still avoiding the house as much as possible—and I was just fucking fine with that. My anger over what he'd said about Mom had barely cooled. If he wanted to go off and sulk like a little boy who'd gotten his hand slapped, I'd just find my own way to fit into ranch life.

  I decided to saddle up Delilah, one of the slower, less excitable ponies, and take her out for some gentle exercise. But I apparently hadn't absorbed as much horsemanship from Ford as I thought. Every time I thought I'd figured out how one piece of tack connected with another, I realized that I had no idea how to attach the third piece. Luckily, TJ had been passing by and lent me a hand. He even played hooky for a couple hours to show me one of the ranch's riding trails.

  We ambled over the green hills, our mares pausing here and there to nibble on the long grass already going to seed. My mood lightened as we talked. TJ seemed genuinely interested in my Stanford classes and the job that was waiting for me at summer's end. But the easygoing atmosphere didn't last. I kept getting distracted, wondering what Ford was doing right now or mentally replaying one of his passionate kisses—then seething all over again at the memory of his words.

  I wish I could just hook up with TJ. A handsome, considerate gentleman who isn't my goddamn stepbrother. Why did I have to get obsessed with the most inappropriate guy in the entire county? Why can't I choose who to be attracted to?

  When we got back, I looked for real work to do and settled for weeding the flowerbeds in front of the house. But even that couldn't drive Ford's bullshit completely out of my head. Especially because I could feel him watching me all the way from the horse barn. I hope you get an eyeful, buddy, because that's all you're gonna get from now on.

  I stabbed my trowel into the mulch like I was trying to kill the earth itself. Just where the hell did Ford get off, anyway? How could he even think that stuff, let alone say it? He didn't know the first goddamn thing about my family. He had no idea what Dad's death had put us through. How it had almost destroyed Mom, in more ways than one.

  Their relationship had been like something out of Leave It To Beaver: high-school sweethearts, married young, working dad and stay-at-home mom. One day, I'd come home from middle school to find her crying her eyes out on the couch, the phone still in her hand. Dad had just … dropped dead. Right in front of his desk at work, they said. Some kind of brain aneurysm. In a single call, we’d lost the only man Mom had ever loved and our only source of income.

  Her whole life had revolved around us. She had never had a job, never even went to college. But what little money my parents had saved wasn’t nearly enough, so Mom sucked it up as best she could and looked for work. Without any skills or experience, though, she didn't have much success—and when she did get a job, she got fired because she was too emotionally destroyed to concentrate.

  Her longest job was as a receptionist for a private law firm. The senior partner was a widower, so he sympathized with what she was going through and didn't get too upset over her minor mistakes. He was a sweet man, a little old and a lot lonely, and when he proposed … Mom was realistic about her options. She didn't know how else to provide for me, so she accepted. Unsurprisingly, their marriage lasted only a few years since they had both married for the wrong reasons. Mom went through another husband after that—not because she needed the money, since the first divorce had left her with enough for a modest life, but because she just couldn't stand being alone. But living in a man's house wasn't the same as being in love with him. She couldn't recapture what she'd had with Dad.

  Not until she met Russ, anyway. And I came so close to rotting their relationship from the inside.

  Slowly I emptied the flowerbed of everything except what belonged there: red yucca, blue larkspur, butter-yellow columbines, pale pink waxflowers, and the violet-blooming bushes of hyssop and English lavender. Next to me lay a large, fluffy mound of torn weeds, their leaves limp and their roots heavy with dry dirt. My legs ached from kneeling too long, my hands felt raw, and my shoulders were sunburned. And my mood was even worse than when I'd started; brooding about my family's history had been the exact wrong thing to do. I wish I could clean out my mind as easily as this garden.

  Maybe a lunch break would help. Judging by the sun, I had been work
ing for hours. A little food would raise my blood sugar and distract me while I decided how to spend the rest of my day. Without any better ideas, I headed inside to the kitchen.

  The house's air conditioning raised goose bumps on my arms. I hadn't noticed just how overheated I was until my sweat started to cool. I opened the fridge, letting the greater chill wash over me as I pondered what to eat. Some whole-grain bread, sliced ham, watermelon salad, leftovers from last night's chicken dinner … nothing really spoke to me. I hadn't had much of an appetite for the past two days. But I knew my stomach wasn't going to get any less touchy if I let it stay empty.

  “You hungry for something?”

  I almost cracked my head on the ceiling of the fridge. I backed up, shutting the door, to see Celeste leaning with one hand on the kitchen island. Why does she always have to appear out of nowhere like that? I sighed in frustration. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She pulled out a barstool and sat. “You know, it's good that we ran into each other. I've been meaning to talk to you.”

  I rummaged around in the cupboard for peanut butter and jelly. If she wanted to be cryptic at me, she could do it while I ate. “About what?”

  “You and Ford.”

  My guts froze. I forced myself to go on making my sandwich—open the silverware drawer, take down a plate, one step after another—as if Celeste hadn't just dropped a potentially life-ruining bomb. “T-that doesn't really answer my question. Could you be more specific?” I inquired, keeping my voice as calm as possible.

  “Oh, come on, Emma. You know exactly what I'm talking about.” Her lip curled like I was a dead rat she had to clean up. “With those big gooey eyes you give him, I'm surprised your parents haven't already noticed. How could you do that to them? Messing around with your own brother … just the thought's enough to make me puke.”

  Okay. I was panicking a little. But so far, she hadn't said anything that I hadn't already beaten myself up over a hundred times. And when the guilt-trip came from her lips, instead of my deepest, most shameful fears, it just plain pissed me off. I’d been worried the entire time that Mom or Russ would find out, but it never occurred to me that Celeste would be snooping around. I didn’t like being blindsided, especially not by someone like her.

  Suddenly, I ran out of shits to give. I had used them all up being angry at Ford. If I lied about screwing him, she'd just go on believing whatever she wanted to believe and keep hounding me. My patience was in shreds; I didn't even have enough energy left to be tactful, especially not to the woman who'd been a total bitch to me since the moment I got here. I put down the jelly jar and met her icy glare with one of my own. “Quick question, Celeste: What makes you think my life is any of your fucking business?”

  Her face went slack for an instant. “Jesus Christ. You're not even denying it?”

  “I'm honestly curious. Why do you have to shove your nose into everything? Is there a medical name for whatever the hell is wrong with you?” Relishing her look of outrage, I resumed spreading peanut butter on my bread. I knew I was being childish, but that didn't make it feel any less satisfying. “Just stay out of this.”

  “I'm not going to let some … some snotty college whore steal him out from under me! You knew Ford was mine, but you just waltzed in here and—”

  “No, I knew you wanted him.” She'd conveyed that with all the subtlety of a dog whizzing on its favorite tree. “And I didn't care. Because whether or not he fucks you is his decision, not mine.” I considered mentioning that Ford knew exactly what she was scheming and would never fall for it, then decided to save it. I wouldn't be the one to make this conversation even pettier than it already was. “You can't call dibs on another human being.”

  “Maybe not. But I can make it a lot harder for him to get distracted by you.” Her suddenly light, syrupy tone made me turn around again. She wore the fake smile I'd seen on her so many times. “How does this sound? I don't tell your parents what sick little games you've been playing with Ford. In return, you don't touch him for the rest of the summer, and you don't contact him after you leave.”

  I held back a hollow laugh. I've pretty much torpedoed our relationship already—no blackmail necessary. But what should I say now? Even though things were over between us, I still wanted to protect Mom from the knowledge of what we'd done. If I took the deal, would Celeste be true to her word?

  The front door crashed open, followed by loud, rapid footsteps. I whirled around just as TJ came barreling into the kitchen. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he said, “but Ford's on his way to St. Peter's.”

  My heart jumped into my throat. A hospital? Was he hurt? Was “fuck off” going to be the last thing I ever said to him? Shit. What had I done?

  Celeste looked almost as shocked as I felt. “W-what happened?” she asked.

  “Mac broke his damn leg,” TJ replied. “Looked bad, from where I was standing. Ford put him in the truck and drove flat out.”

  Fear drained out of me, leaving me weak with relief. It was almost immediately followed by guilt. Mac was still a human being in pain—that was nothing to feel relieved about.

  But the thought of Ford getting hurt scared me to death. And it was then I realized how truly screwed I was. Whether I liked it or not … I still had feelings for him. Serious feelings.

  “Should we go after them?” I asked.

  TJ shook his head. “Wouldn't make any difference. It'll take as long as it takes, no matter how many of us are hangin' around.” He sighed and took off his hat to wipe his brow.

  “Oh. Well … thanks for telling us,” I said.

  The words felt lackluster, but TJ gave me a comforting smile. “Sure thing, Miss Emma.” He inclined his head at Celeste, who still stood behind me. “I wouldn't neither of you wait up. He won't be back until after dinner. Or maybe even later, depending on how busy the ER is.”

  As TJ went to tell Russ the bad news, Celeste shot a dark look at me, then followed him. Clearly, my days were still numbered. But she wasn't stupid. If she tattled on me now, Mac's broken leg would just steal her thunder. And I hadn't had time to get really freaked out over her threat, anyway. Celeste would wait until this all blew over, and I'd stewed over my options: either promise her what she wanted or dare her to do her worst.

  Five minutes ago, I thought I knew the smartest move. But now … I wasn't so sure I could bring myself to take her deal anymore.

  Chapter 18

  Ford

  The house was dark when I finally pulled into the garage. Mac was settled up in Griff’s spare bedroom, and the old man fussed over him like a mother hen, if I’d ever seen one. Maybe I’d just found a way to get Griff to retire a little more quickly—by putting him in charge of Mac’s recovery.

  I eased the door shut and slipped into the kitchen. It was after midnight already, and the house was silent. Glancing down at my dirt-and grass-stained jeans, I knew I needed to head straight to my own damn room to strip and shower and call it a night, but my feet still carried me right to Emma’s door. Despite Mac’s condition, I’d been thinking about her nonstop since I saw her gardening. What I had to say couldn’t wait, even if I had to wake her up for it. Sitting in that waiting room for hours on end, I remembered something my dad had told me years ago: there were some things you just didn’t wait to tell someone. I love you and I’m sorry were two of those things. Because if you waited too long, there were no guarantees that you’d ever have another chance. Emma could pack her bag and walk out of here tomorrow, and I might never see her again. If that happened, I’d be left with nothing but memories and regret. It wasn’t a chance I wanted to take.

  I rapped on her door softly and waited a few moments—hating that I felt the need to knock at all and couldn’t just walk in—before lifting my hand to knock again, but the door swung open before my knuckles could connect with the wood. Emma stood there, wearing the same damn Daisy Duke shorts and shirt she wore earlier.

  “Couldn’t sleep?�
�� I asked.

  She shrugged. “How’s Mac? His leg?”

  “Clean break, even though it looked messy as fuck. Luckily, they were able to set it and he didn’t need surgery, otherwise I would’ve been there all night.”

  Releasing a long breath, she leaned against the doorjamb. “Thank goodness. I’ve been so worried. He might be cocky as hell, but he’s so dang endearing that you can’t help but like him.”

  Jealousy flared within me, which was ridiculous. She was talking about Mac, who’d just broken his leg. I was still getting my reaction under control when she added quietly, “I couldn’t sleep thinking about it. Too damn worried something horrible had happened. It’s crazy how something even as simple as a broken leg makes me think of how fast we lost my dad. I remember seeing him on a Wednesday morning, giving him a hug, not realizing it would be the last time I ever saw him.” Her eyes misted with tears for a second, but she blinked them back just as quickly. “I never know what’s going to bring that memory to the forefront. Makes you step back and realize what’s important.” She took a deep breath, and I could read how distraught she really was. It was just another thing to love about her. “Anyway, is that all you wanted to tell me?” She pushed away from the door and crossed her arms.

  I stepped forward, crowding her space. She dropped her arms, backing up a step, but I continued forward until we were both inside the room and I could shut the door behind us. “I owe you an apology. I said some shit that I shouldn’t have said. I had no business running my mouth about your mom. I … I’m really, truly sorry, Emma.”

  “Ford—”

  “Let me get this out, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “The week our folks were gone? That meant something to me. I didn’t expect it to happen. Didn’t expect to fall for you. But I did. You’re the whole package. Sexy as fuck in the bedroom and amazing as hell out of it. To get a taste of that and have it all snatched away just as soon as I got it—that ripped me up. I didn’t know how to deal with it except to lash out. Swiping at you was a reflex, and a shitty one, at that.”