by Tawna Fenske
Amber rolls her eyes. “You’re not a girl and he’s not a quarterback. For God’s sake, Jade, you’re a grown-ass woman and he’s a grown-ass man. I would hope you’ve both moved past whoever the hell you were as kids.”
I stroke the brush through her hair again and wonder if she has a point. I’m certainly different than the person I was at sixteen. Maybe I’m not giving Brandon enough credit for moving beyond his teenage self.
“Speaking of high school,” Amber says, and there’s an odd note in her voice that snaps my attention back to her face. I watch her in the mirror, aware that she’s choosing her words carefully. “Zak’s mom gave me a box of photos last night.”
“Of what?”
“Stuff he took in high school. Did you know he was on the yearbook staff?”
“Maybe,” I say. “He was a couple grades below me, so we didn’t really know each other.”
“Yeah, but I guess the middle school yearbook kids got to shoot a lot of high school stuff. Candid things around the school and at sports events and stuff.”
Something’s different in her expression, and I force myself to hold her gaze in the mirror. I wonder what’s making her look at me with this odd mix of sadness and curiosity. “Was there something that caught your eye?” I ask.
She nods, and I could swear her eyes glitter just a bit. “Yeah. A couple shots of you hunched over on a bench in the lunchroom, sitting all alone.” She hesitates. “You looked miserable. I didn’t realize—I guess I never—”
She stops, and I’m not positive what she’s trying to say. But I have an idea.
“You were a lot younger than me,” I murmur. “I was glad things were better for you by the time you got to high school. The sports stuff helped.”
“But you—didn’t have a good experience?”
I shrug and glance away, focusing my attention on a snarl at the nape of her neck. “It wasn’t great.”
“So it’s true then,” she says softly. “Were you bullied?”
I hold my breath, considering how much to tell her. How much I want her to know. “It wasn’t that bad.”
She must hear something in my voice. I’m never a very good liar. “Yes, it was,” she says. “It was exactly that bad.”
“Yeah,” I admit, forcing the word out through a throat that’s getting tighter by the second. “It was.”
I clear my throat, wondering if I should stop talking. If I should spare her false memories of me as the cheerful, well-adjusted big sister. The one with plump cheeks and a dimpled smile for family instead of the one cowering in corners of the lunchroom.
There’s no reason she needs to know the whole story, right?
I meet her eyes in the mirror and realize she does want to know. She deserves to.
I take a shaky breath and begin.
“I remember in art class, freshman year, I made this clay pig,” I say. “Mom and dad had just bought all those Red Wattles, and I thought they were so cool.”
Amber’s eyes hold mine in the mirror, and she nods once, urging me on. I draw the brush down slowly, still keeping up the pretense of the task. “Anyway, a bunch of sophomore jocks cornered me in the hall after class,” I say. “They started calling me Miss Piggy, making oinking noises, that sort of thing.”
“Jesus.”
“I wasn’t a skinny kid,” I say. “So the teasing stung. Anyway, one of them grabbed the pig from me. Matthew Lerten or Brian Grimes or one of those guys. They started tossing it around, playing keep away. I was running back and forth, crying and begging them to give it back.”
“Oh, Jade.”
My throat gets tight again, and it takes a few more breaths before I can force the rest of the words out. “Brandon came walking down the hall then. He didn’t know who I was, but a couple of the guys had made varsity that year, so I guess he knew them from football.”
“Did he say something to you?”
My hands stop moving and the brush stills in her hair. “No,” I say. “Not to me. He didn’t say a word to me.”
“Oh.” She waits in breathless silence, knowing there’s more.
“But he did say something to the guys,” I continue. “He grabbed the pig out of the air and handed it to me without looking.” I swallow hard, determined to force out the rest of the words. Determined not to cry. “Then he told the guys to knock it the fuck off. Walked away without another word.”
“Oh my God.” A tear slips down Amber’s cheek, and it kills me to see her so broken up over something that happened such a long time ago. Something I’m positive Brandon doesn’t remember.
“I’m sure it wasn’t even a blip on his radar,” I tell her. “But it meant a lot to me.” I give a hollow little laugh. “I guess it must have been November then, because Christmas cards were out on the shelf at Freddies. I bought one and stuck it in his locker.”
“What did it say?”
I shrug, not positive I remember exactly. “Something about him being a nice guy,” I say. “I didn’t sign my name or anything. He wouldn’t have known it anyway.”
“Wow,” she says. “So is that why you didn’t want me to hire him?”
“It wasn’t that, exactly,” I say. “I just didn’t think I wanted that reminder in my life. Something I’ve worked hard to put behind me.”
She nods and swipes the back of her hand under her eye. “You could have told me, you know.”
I shake my head and run the brush through her hair again. There are no tangles left, but it feels nice to glide the bristles through those glossy strands. “I didn’t want to relive all that.”
“Still,” she says. She must sense I want to change the subject. That I’m ready to move on. “So how are things now?” she asks. “With Brandon, I mean.”
I can’t help it. My face breaks into a stupid grin, and I find myself blushing. “Good,” I admit. “Really good.”
“I’m glad,” she says. “You deserve it.” She stands up and turns to face me, and for a second, I think we’re going to hug.
Instead, she grabs the brush from my hand. “You know what else you deserve?”
“What?”
“Someone brushing your hair for a change.”
“I don’t need—”
“Sit!” she commands, and I do.
I ease into the chair, sighing with pleasure as Amber pulls the brush along my scalp. It feels heavenly, soft and soothing, like scratching an itch I didn’t know was there.
“See?” she says. “It feels good to have someone take care of you sometimes.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror and nod. “Yeah,” I murmur. “It kinda does.”
“There you go,” I say, handing a pair of photos to a young mother in a startlingly low-cut Christmas sweater. “Here’s the one of the boys next to Blitzen, and the other one of all three of you with Santa.”
“Mmm, this one’s yummy, don’t you think?”
I’m honestly not sure if she means Santa, Zak’s photography skills, or the candy cane she just nabbed from the bowl beside the Christmas tree, but I nod anyway and pretend not to notice the hungry look she shoots at Brandon’s backside as he stands up from the Santa throne and bends down to collect his things.
“You’ll be here for two more weeks?” she asks. “All the way up to Christmas day?”
“Not Mondays,” I tell her. “But every day besides that. And after that, we shift into wedding season. There’s information about it on our website if you know anyone who’s getting married.”
“Mmm,” she says again, still eyeing Brandon. “Maybe if I find the right guy. It gets so lonely being a single mom, you know?”
She says these last words to Brandon, who has stepped up beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. The mom frowns and turns on her heel, seeming to remember that she has offspring she should locate.
“They’re washing up in the bathroom,” Amber says as she walks up and joins us. “We were over there at the craft table painting pictures of the reindeer.”
�
�Of course,” says Single Mom Barbie, smiling once more at Brandon before turning to collect her kids. “I’ll see you around,” she says. “I’m coming back next week with eight women from my Mommy-and-Me yoga class.”
“I look forward to visiting with the kids,” says Brandon politely as she sashays out the front door. Amber hurries to lock it behind them.
Brandon turns to me and offers a sexy smile. “Hey there.”
“Hey yourself.”
He grins and leans against the Santa throne. “We haven’t had two seconds to say hello all day. How are you doing?”
“I’m good,” I say, fighting hard to keep a goofy smile from creeping over my face. “Thanks for the note.”
“Thanks for last night,” he murmurs, leaning close. “I was thinking maybe later we could—”
“Hey, Bran!”
I jump back from Brandon and turn to see Stacey Fleming standing in the doorway at the opposite end of the barn, gripping the hand of a reluctant-looking toddler.
“I know you guys are closed,” she says, “but my niece is in town for just the day, and I promised her Santa is a good friend of mine who wouldn’t mind spending just a few minutes with us.”
I see Brandon’s jaw working as he grits his teeth, but he manages a friendly Santa smile. “Sure,” he says, adjusting his faux facial hair. “Come on over.”
Stacey struts across the room, leading the cherubic toddler by the hand.
“Our photographer went home already,” I tell her. “And my sister just took the last reindeer back to the barn.”
Stacey waves a hand like that’s irrelevant. “We’re just here for Santa.”
Brandon gives me a pained look as he settles back in his chair. Stacey clambers onto his lap and pulls the adorable niece up, too, and I have to look away from all that cute in one place.
There’s a knock at the door on the other side of the barn, so I leave this happy little scene and go to answer it. Throwing open the heavy wood panel, I’m greeted by a sweet-faced brunette with Betty Boop curls and Bettie Page curves.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“I’m Bree. From Ponderosa Luxury Ranch Resort.” She nods toward Brandon and lowers her voice. “Also Santa’s cousin, though I’d better skip greeting him so he doesn’t break character.”
I’m torn between feeling annoyed she’s here or grateful for the consideration. Either way, I can’t very well leave her standing out in the cold.
“Come on in,” I tell her. “You’re here for your meeting with Amber?”
She nods and steps in, and I can’t help admiring her pixie-like features. She’s tiny, but something about her seems fierce. “Yes, but I’m early. Sorry, I didn’t realize how close our ranches are to each other. I can wait in my car if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. Come on, you can hang out in the office where it’s warm.”
I lead her across the barn, smiling a little as she gives Brandon a covert wave before continuing through to the office. I offer her a seat, then stand there debating about whether to leave her alone or wait with her for Amber.
She saves me the trouble of making a decision. “Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you a second.”
“Me? I mostly handle the animals. Amber’s the business and marketing side of the—”
“It’s not about business,” she says, then nods at the door. “May I?”
I assume she’s asking to close it and not to exit, so I nod. “Sure.”
I wait while she pushes the door shut and reseats herself with hands on her lap. “So I understand you’ve got something going on with my cousin.”
“What?” I choke out. “Did he say that?”
“Not to me, to my brother.” She shrugs. “But I’m a nosy little sister, so—”
“Yeah, I know how that goes,” I mutter. “I have one of my own.”
Bree glances toward the door again, then lowers her voice. “Has he talked to you about his parents?”
I nod, surprised we’re going down this path mere seconds into our first meeting. “Yes.” I rest my hands on the desk, determined to be cautious with how much I reveal. “I understand why Christmas isn’t his favorite time of year.”
“It’s not just that. Brandon’s terrified of relationships. He watched his dad go from being a happy husband and father to—to—well, practically a vegetable. That’ll mess with a guy.”
“I see,” I say slowly. “It must have been hard.”
“He blames his mom for a lot of it,” she says. “Actually, that’s not true. He blames marriage. Or love, maybe. Anyway, you have to understand why Brandon swore off all of that years ago.”
I nod, not sure what she’s trying to tell me. To stay away from Brandon? I stay silent, hoping she’ll clue me in.
“Be careful.” Bree sighs. “He might look big and tough, but he’s soft and squishy on the inside. And so very, very sweet.”
“I know,” I reply, surprised to realize it’s true. I’ve seen Brandon’s soft side, probably more than she knows. “Look, if it’s any comfort to you, we’re not really that serious. I don’t think.”
“No?”
I shrug. “We hardly know each other.”
“Well, I know Brandon. And I can tell by looking at him that he’s in deep. And if you hurt him, so help me God, I’ll—”
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” My sister rushes through the door breathless and tousled. “I’m Amber,” she says, holding out her hand. “You must be Bree Bracelyn?”
Bree stands and returns the handshake. “You’re not late at all. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amber.”
I sit there staring for a moment, still trying to figure out if Bree just threatened me. What was she starting to say?
Bree swings her gaze back to mine and holds for just a moment. There’s a warning there, a clear one. She blinks and it’s gone, replaced by a friendly, businesslike smile. “Jade and I were just getting to know each other,” Bree says. “I can’t believe we’ve been neighbors all this time and we’ve never met.”
“I suppose we’ve all been busy getting new businesses off the ground,” I offer. I stand up, ready to leave Amber to her meeting. “I should get out of your hair—”
“Actually, it would be great if you stayed,” Amber says, shooting me a look. “It might be easiest to have this conversation with all three of us.”
Bree glances at me, looking surprised. “I didn’t realize we were having an uneasy conversation.”
“We’re not,” I say. “Not exactly. It’s just—”
“First, we wanted to congratulate you on Ponderosa Luxury Ranch Resort,” Amber says, more masterful than I am at easing in slowly. “It seems like it’s really coming together.”
“Thanks,” Bree says, smiling. “It’s a lot of work, but we’re getting close.”
“So how did you end up with the property, anyway?” I ask. I’m trying to keep my voice casual, but I can tell from the flicker in her eye that my note of judgement came through loud and clear.
“My dad bought the place before I was born,” she says. “Had these grand fantasies of being a rancher, but he rarely found time to fly out here.”
“You’re from the East Coast?” Amber asks.
She nods. “Connecticut. My brothers and I only made it out here occasionally. After our dad died last year—”
“I’m so sorry,” Amber says, her brow creasing in a frown. “We’d heard the owner died, but I didn’t realize he had children.”
“Yes, well, we weren’t—close,” Bree says carefully. “Anyway, we came out here sometimes when we got breaks at boarding school. My brothers visited more than I did—I think maybe you met Sean?”
“Maybe,” Amber says, looking unsure.
“It would have been years ago,” Bree says, waving a hand. “Anyway, we inherited the place after our father passed.”
“That sounds overwhelming,” Amber says.
“In a lot of ways.” Bree presses her lips together. “It
was a complicated relationship.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, we wanted to do something special with the land. Something that honors his memory but also honors the region. We’ve done a lot of research on the history of the area and some of the Native American influences. Did you know there’s a rock outcropping on the east side of the property that used to be a sacred place for the people of the Warm Springs tribe?”
“I didn’t,” I tell her, a little surprised there’s something I don’t know about the history of my own backyard. “Are you incorporating that into the theme of the resort?”
“In tasteful ways, where it’s appropriate,” she says.
“Can you tell us a little more about the resort?” Amber asks. “Most of what we know is hearsay at this point.”
“Certainly.” Bree folds her hands in her lap. “We’re aiming for very high-end clientele. Extremely wealthy, and willing to pay a lot for pampering.”
“That sounds—” I stop myself, searching for a word that isn’t horrifying.
Bree just laughs. “I realize it sounds so snobby when I put it that way, but we basically want to give rich assholes—pardon my language—an opportunity to see the real West.” She smiles. “In between massage appointments and golf, of course.”
“Of course,” Amber says, looking thoughtful. She glances at me, then folds her hands on her lap. “It all sounds really ambitious.”
“It is,” Bree says. “You should come out for a tour when we’re a little closer to finished.”
I dig my fingernails into my knees, not sure how much longer I can beat around the bush. “Look, there’s something we wanted to talk to you about,” I say. “A concern we have.”
“Oh?” Bree’s expression is neutral, her voice cool.
Amber gives me a smile that says can it. “Not a concern, so much as a—”
“When did you decide to have country-style weddings out there?” I interrupt. “Because we applied for our event permit six months ago, and the very next week I got word that you guys did the same thing with a remarkably similar-sounding concept.”
“Oh. Oh.” Bree’s brow crinkles. “And you think I stole your idea?”
“No,” Amber insists, shooting me a warning look. “But we are trying to figure out whether it’s feasible for two properties so close together to execute similar plans.”