by Stacey Lynn
I groaned, scrubbing my hands down my face and throwing my head back, staring at the sky. It’d been years since I’d been in a place where the stars were so vivid. Millions and millions of bright flashing lights filled the sky.
Continuing to glance at the sky as I walked, I surveyed the well-lit path with small solar lights pushed into the ground around the paved walkway that would take me either toward the front of Rebecca's house or the barn. I chose to head toward the barn, around the back of the house, but a strange noise grabbed my attention and my footsteps slowed.
The scent of a campfire burning followed and I took in the small plume of smoke drifting into the air. There was a crackle of fire but above it all another sound.
Crying.
No, it wasn’t crying, it was the sound of a woman fighting back sobs. The constant sniffle, the choking-coughing sound echoed as I neared the house.
For a moment, I debated heading back to the guesthouse and minding my own business. It had to be Rebecca since I hadn’t seen anyone else on the farm, and she’d made it clear that while I was welcome to stay there, I was not welcome.
Something shattered, followed quickly by her shouting, “Shit!”
I hurried to the back patio.
I reached the edge of the raised area and stilled at the beauty of the sight in front of me. There was an enormous paved patio area, a brick retaining wall and landscaped area bobbing and weaving around it. It was lit up from a large fire, and had a variety of chairs and tables and two couches surrounding it.
A pergola covered some of the area, draped with white Christmas lights that put out an elegant glow.
Potted plants and flowers were sprinkled around the edges.
And Rebecca. Crouched down, wearing nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and cut off tight shorts. No shoes or socks to cover her feet, and she was gently picking up what I assumed was the glass I’d heard breaking. She was still sniffling, pausing in her work of cleaning up to sniff and wipe beneath her nose.
If she wasn’t careful, she would end up with shards of glass swiped across her face.
I cleared my throat and hit the first cement step, talking as I moved closer. “I don’t mean to scare you, but I heard something break and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Okay.” She shook her head and went back to her task. “I’m okay. I’m fine. Perfect.”
She sniffed again. That dark chestnut hair almost sparkled from the light of the fire and, damn it.
My hands curled into fists.
Max’s niece. Married.
Me, too fucked up to give a woman anything good right now. I did not need to feel any attraction to her, but I couldn’t help the fact I was a man in the presence of a beautiful woman.
I fought that back and kept moving toward her, bending down when I got closer, but not too close.
“Where’s your broom? Let me clean this before you cut yourself.”
She held up her hand and a dark trail of what looked like blood dribbled down two of her fingers. “Too late.” Tears streamed down her cheeks in thick, wet lines as she finally looked at me, for perhaps the first time today.
“Damn.” I reached for her hand, but she yanked hers back quicker, shoving it behind her back.
“It’s fine. Just a small cut.”
Screw this. She could barely see with her tears still falling and her entire body trembling.
I kept my hand out, palm up. “Rebecca. Give me your hand.”
She looked up at me. Dark brown eyes, long black lashes wet with tears, eyes red and swollen shot a flash of fire straight through my chest. Slowly, she gave me her hand.
I pressed my fingers against it, using the sleeve of my sweater, and as soon as more blood appeared, I tugged her to her feet. “Let’s get you inside so I can see this in the light.”
“It’s not—”
I was done listening. I kept pressure on her cut and pulled her toward the door of the house, moving carefully around the glass still shattered at our feet.
I pulled open the screen door, holding it with my free hand until she was inside. Guiding her toward the large country farm table in the eating area, I pulled out a chair, glaring at her until she took a seat in it.
“First aid kit?”
“Under the kitchen sink.”
I turned and found what I needed, popped open the kit to ensure it was stocked and moved back to the table, pulling out a chair next to her. “Hand.”
Her face was now clear of tears, but her eyes were still red and puffy.
Reluctantly, she slid her hand toward me and I took it, gathering gauze, antibiotic cream, and bandages.
“It’s not that bad,” Rebecca said.
I glanced up at her. “You’re lucky you don’t need stitches.”
“It’s not the worst cut I’ve had, and it certainly won’t be the last.”
Her stubbornness made me want to grin, but I hid it, and focused on her cut while I tried to stop the bleeding. “Raise them tough in Kansas, huh?”
“Tougher than folks from Hollywood.”
Sassy woman. I liked it. It was better than the vacancy in her eyes and the tears. A crying woman was a man’s kryptonite. We had no idea how to handle it other than give them whatever they asked for to make it stop.
I pressed the gauze to her finger so hard she flinched in my hand, and I couldn’t resist ribbing her. “Good thing I’m not from Hollywood then, huh?”
A silent moment passed, and I almost wondered if she was going to ask where I was from. But, why would she? Like most people in America, she probably knew everything about me, and sometimes, that part of being well-known and adored by fans sucked. Was nothing private anymore? Based on the paparazzi stalking me the last several months, I ventured not.
The sparkle of the modest diamond on her ring finger caught my attention as I moved to reach for a Band-Aid. My curiosity was definitely piqued.
Perhaps he left her. Perhaps he drank the day away at a local bar.
“Max didn’t tell me you’re married.”
I said the words quietly, focusing on her cut while tearing open a Band-Aid but based on the way the room chilled, she heard me perfectly clear.
She said nothing, and as soon as I wrapped the Band-Aids around her fingers, she ripped her hand out of my grip.
“Uncle Max always used to only give the information he felt like giving and nothing more. Nice to know that hasn’t changed.”
“What do you mean?”
Her head was turned, giving me her profile, but the vacancy in her expression was still obvious, as was the way she bit her lip to stop her chin from trembling. The gentle curve of her nose, the small crinkle at the edges of her eye, the slope of her lips as she released it from her teeth, and then her tanned, slender neck and shoulders.
Shit.
I looked away before she caught me staring at her. I shouldn’t be staring at her. But there was that unease in her expression that felt so familiar I couldn’t seem to help myself.
“Joseph died last fall. November. A week before Thanksgiving.”
She shoved off the chair and moved to the kitchen. The chair wobbled on its legs before her words stopped rattling in my brain. The hell? Max hadn’t said a thing.
She was a widow? Why wouldn’t Max prepare me for that? I might not have remembered everything he said to me, but I was damn sure I wouldn’t forget that.
There was nothing I could say except ‘I’m sorry,’ but I was so tired of hearing those words directed at me, the pity and the pathetic look in people’s eyes, I refused to give that to her. She didn’t need it and with the way she was standing at the kitchen counter, arms quaking from emotion, head bowed, hair falling down almost to the countertop, those words would unravel the strength she was trying to maintain.
I rose out of my own chair and cleaned up the bandages and trash before I closed everything up, tossed the garbage into the wastebasket at the end of the island and met her at the counter. I found her broom se
ttled in a pantry closet. Giving her space to deal with whatever she was currently feeling, I headed out to the patio and cleaned up the broken glass. I tossed everything away in her kitchen when I returned to see her still at the counter, hands braced on the edge, head twisted and staring out the window over her sink.
She reached for her bottle of wine on the counter, her hands trembling as she tried to remove the cork. I set the broom against the wall and moved quickly toward her. The last thing we needed was another glass on the floor, but at least now I understood her anger earlier about the horse.
I had encroached on her space, her husband’s space.
“Let me handle that.” I kept my gaze on her until she lifted her head.
She blinked back tears and pointed over my shoulder. “Glasses are behind you, cupboard above the bread box.”
I turned and found the glasses, grabbing one for myself. A drink was a good idea. Pouring both of us a hefty serving, I searched for something appropriate to say. I came up totally empty. “I didn’t know and if I had, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”
“I suppose you know all about talking when you don’t want to.” She brought the glass to her lips. When she pulled it away, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
“And yet you obviously know why I’m here.”
“Max told me.”
“Then you know I don’t want to cause any trouble, don’t want to make it for you, but I have to be honest, I’m better when I’m busy. Even if I don’t have the first clue what in the hell goes on here. Give me something to do even if it’s just hauling horse shit. I won’t overstep like I obviously did today in the barn.”
“You didn’t. It’s stupid why I got mad about it, it was just—”
“The horse was your husband’s and you didn’t like seeing another man’s hand on it. I understand.”
More than she probably knew. Nothing brought rage quicker than someone touching something that belonged to someone you loved…like your wife’s ass or hips or mouth.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
I took a drink. “I can go if you’d like. But if you want company, even silent company, I’d like to enjoy the fire for awhile.”
Five
Rebecca
My fingers throbbed and my head hurt from the crying and the embarrassment and the pain—emotional and physical.
Cooper didn’t tell me he was sorry like everyone else, he didn’t offer worthless platitudes. He just stood there, his green eyes darting back and forth between mine, waiting for my answer, and I knew, whichever one I gave him, he would respect without argument.
God. I needed to get over having him around unless I kicked him out and told Max this wasn’t going to work. But, I did need the help and he looked able to handle anything I threw at him.
Freaking Max for putting me in this position, for asking for my help in the first place, knowing how difficult it was for me to say no to him.
“You can stay.” I twisted and headed for the door without looking back. My invitation wasn’t friendly or encouraging, but it was all I had left in me.
Cooper joined me right after, the door slamming shut as I settled back in my chair. I threw a blanket over my lap despite it being May and the summer heat well on its way. But, once the sun went down, it could still get chilly. Plus, it could be ninety and I could still be cold.
Something clunked on the cement stones and I looked down to see the wine bottle on the patio and Cooper lowering himself into the chair next to me.
“Good thinking,” I muttered and turned back to the fire and the sky above. It was cloudless, and millions of stars sparkled in the sky, winking at me like they held a secret just for me.
Jordan used to tease me all the time growing up about how I lived with my head in the clouds, thinking life could be nothing but roses and smiles, but it was the life I’d grown up with. Parents who loved each other and didn’t hesitate to show it, a mother who could be judgmental toward others in our small town and rarely tried to hide that as well, but despite her faults, she loved us fervently. Passionately. Almost as much as she loved her husband.
And all of them were taken from me. Even though Jordan was back, he was so busy with his resort we rarely saw each other and when we did, a distance had built since Joseph died. Granted, it was a line I drew after he continued to show up to help.
I didn’t want help. Or rather, I didn’t want to need it. I needed time to figure out how to run the ranch as efficiently as Joseph and I had together, as my parents had before us, and their parents and their parents before them. This ranch had been in our family for generations and hell if it was going to fall at my hands.
So yeah, I was stubborn as my friend Brooke said, because damn it, I needed the help.
Next to me, Cooper had gone silent, and it wasn’t that comfortable kind of silence where you could relax with another person without saying a word and still feel like you were communicating. There were items to discuss about the ranch, what he was comfortable doing, what I needed done, what a typical day was like and what he needed in order to keep his anonymity.
I didn’t have a lot of help on the ranch, but we did receive deliveries, and obviously, there were things we needed from town.
For the first night since I could remember, I had the sudden urge to run from my responsibilities and my unending to-do lists and simply be.
I sighed heavily and took a sip of my wine, a red from a local Kansas winery, and shook my head.
Next to me, I practically felt Cooper grin into his own wine at the hefty sound I made.
“What time do you usually start working in the morning?” he asked.
So much for having the night off.
Put him to work, Max had said.
I’m better when I’m busy, Cooper had said himself only a few minutes ago.
“I’m up and moving at five-thirty,” I said, finally caving to the help offered. “Usually with the animals at six. Have you ever ridden a horse?”
I didn’t look at him while we spoke, the lack of eye contact made it easier to put space between us.
“No,” he said, with a quiet laugh. “In fact, first time I’ve ever touched a horse or been so close to one was earlier today.”
Wonderful. I’d need to teach him to ride and settle a saddle and do all the basics with the horses.
“I’ll teach you tomorrow. We can go out and see the land and I’ll explain what we do.”
“Six o’clock?” He was moving off his chair, the scrape of metal on cement louder than our voices and the crackling flames.
I had to gather eggs and check on the goats. We had a couple who were going to have babies soon. “Six thirty. I have some other things to do first.”
“Without my help?” His tone was teasing, and yet it irked me. Those were chores I always did.
I turned to him, twisting my neck so I could see where he was now standing behind his chair. His face was lit up from the fire, but all I noticed was the twist of his brow as he looked back at me. “I need to get eggs from the coop first and check on some pregnant goats. Not much to help with.”
“Pregnant goats?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t stop my smile. Paisley and Gizmo had been presents. Joseph bought them for me for our second anniversary once we took over the ranch just because I’d always wanted goats. They were a silly expense since they’d been more like pets, but eventually, we added a buck, Gus, so we could breed them. Now we sold them to members of FHA or the 4-H Club. We had over thirty, but my first two were still my favorite.
“Gizmo and Paisley are pregnant, but Paisley hasn’t been acting quite right. I just need to check on her.”
“You name your goats? Do you name your cattle?”
I pushed past the flash of pain of how Gizmo got her name. A ridiculously silly drunken night with Joseph, celebrating my present and our anniversary. We’d laid in bed talking about favorite movies and both of us had loved Gremlins, even though I’d had nigh
tmares for weeks after Jordan had made me watch the movie with him and some of his buddies.
They still teased me about eating after midnight.
I didn’t answer his question about the goats. “We have two hundred cattle, can’t name them all, but the bulls we use for breeding are Frank, Ed, and Bill.”
He pressed his lips together like he was choking down a laugh. I couldn’t blame him. “Strong names.”
I all but rolled my eyes. “Honestly, there’s not much to help with while I do it, and I’m sure Paisley is fine. I just worry about her.”
I was worried about a goat. I doubted it was something he heard often.
His pressed lips softened along with his expression and I looked away. Compassion and understanding were hard to handle.
“Then you’ll see me at six-thirty. Goodnight, Rebecca.”
I tried to focus on the campfire as he walked away, rather than the sound of his boots on the patio, or the creak and slam of the door when he went to the kitchen and came back out. He walked behind my chair, his shadow falling over me as he passed by me without a word, and for some reason, he was at the stairs to the patio, one hand on the railing when I called his name.
He looked back at me over his shoulder. “Yes?”
I lifted my wineglass I was holding in the hand he’d bandaged. “Thank you for tonight and for your help.”
My voice sounded like I’d swallowed some of the glass shards he’d already cleaned up.
“It wasn’t a problem. Enjoy your night.”
He turned and hustled down the steps. As he passed in front of the patio, he kept his gaze on the guesthouse but lifted a hand in a waving gesture without looking at me.
I tried to ignore him. Tried not to watch him walk away and head back to his place for the summer, but every time I pulled my eyes away, I caught them drifting back to his retreating figure.
I refilled my wineglass and closed my eyes to erase that visual. Then, I did what I did best.
I made a plan. I organized. And I determined, while I had the help offered to me, I’d take as much advantage of it as I possibly could, and when Cooper left, I’d be in a better position to know how to move on.