Country Love (A Billionaire BWWM Romance) (5 page)

BOOK: Country Love (A Billionaire BWWM Romance)
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Chapter Eight

 

Tanner

 
 
 

I slept so badly
I might as well not have bothered. Waking up to the bright sunshine sent a
stabbing pain right in between my eyeballs. Great, a hangover. And I didn't
even have a fun evening to regret.

 

I blamed Miss
Thang, of course. She had me so hot and bothered after leaving that I was up
into the wee hours in a frenzy of needed repairs. I got the blown-down shutter
replaced by lantern light and used the big, fat, full moon to guide my way to
the old well that needed to be covered.

 

By the time I did
fall into bed, a half drunk bottle of bourbon on the nightstand, I was too
exhausted and too drunk to rub one out. My dreams were full of frustrated horniness.
That wasn't helping my headache.

 

Then I heard a car's
wheels crunching down my drive and sank even further into the pissed off
depths. I looked out my kitchen window and grimaced.

 

Monique's storm
cloud of a face matched my mood as she slammed the car door shut, trounced up
to the driver's side window and rapped smartly with her knuckles. I couldn't
hear what she was saying. But her stabbing fingers made me feel sorry for the
guy behind the wheel. I hoped he had the good sense to do exactly what she
said.

 

I was surprised
to feel myself grinning. I wiped my breakfast plate dry and put it back in the
cupboard, then turned queasily back to watch her drag her heavy equipment bag
up the walk. She walked straight and tall, her chin lifted in defiance already.
Miss Thang was apparently one of those people who woke up ready to take on the
world.

 

Frankly, that
turned me on.

 

So did that white
blouse she had tucked into jeans that cupped and lifted her round ass. She took
my advice and wore boots, and although it was clear they hadn't ever seen a
speck of mud or dirt or cowpie, she wore them well.
 
Very well. Too well, in fact. They zipped
up her thighs, clinging like they were painted on. From here they looked the
same shade of shiny ebony black as her skin and I had a quick flash of them
being the
only
things she wore as she
stood before me, naked...

 

Oh dammit all to hell.

 

I willed my head
to keep on throbbing. Keep my mind off the other throbbing going on as she
strode to my front door. The big car’s tires squealed as the driver pulled an
impressive K-turn to peel the hell out of there. I didn't blame him a bit.
Monique looked ready to eat the world for lunch.

 

"Mr.
Brock!" She stood on my wide front porch, bellowing like a farm hand
rather than knocking. It had the weird effect of making me, the one who was
actually inside the house, feel like the intruder. I was impressed as well as
irritated.

 

"Miss Williams,
I didn't hear you arrive," I said drolly, opening the door and leaning
against the frame. "You were as quiet as a church mouse."

 

Her eyes rolled
so hard I wondered if they would fall out. "Are you ready to start?"
She eyed my undershirt and pajama pants combo with an expression I couldn't
quite read.

 

"Just
waitin' for orders, ma'am," I told her smartly, touching my brow.

 

She huffed and
blew past me into the front hallway where she stopped short and dropped her
bags to the floor.

 

"Holy shit,
Tanner, this place is...." She trailed off as she looked around, mouth
agape.

 

 
I looked around smiling at the place I
called home. "Been in the family for three generations," I told her
proudly. "This main portion here was built by my father's
grandfather," I counted on my fingers, "so wait, that's four
generations, right?"

 

She cocked an eyebrow
at me like she couldn't figure out if I was joking or not. I actually wasn't, that
part always tripped me up.
 
My
great-granddaddy built the main house, but died after getting thrown from his
horse before it was completely finished. This was when my granddad was a
teenager, so technically he was the first Brock to call this place home.

 

But that kind of
stuff doesn't impress people who visit Brock ranch. They don't know how many
stories have seeped into the rough hewn logs that soar above us like the
buttresses of the cathedrals of Europe. All they see is the size, the
rough-hewn glamor, the tasteful furnishings my mother had to order from
catalogs, the additions, each a slightly different architectural style, built
to keep the expanding clan of Brocks together and safe against the world.

 

It was a huge,
grand house, and it was too big for just me. I was alone here and no matter how
hard I worked, I could never recapture the happiness that once too root under
this roof. My father had a family - a wife and children to make this place a
home - but I was just one man.

 

"Are you
okay?"

 

I snapped back to
Monique, who was now staring at me instead of the wood-beamed hallway.

 

"Yeah I'm
fine," I shrugged. "Why?"

 

She tilted her
head to the side. "You sighed," she said, her voice softer somehow.
"And then your eyes got all sad."

 

I turned and
strode into the kitchen and opened the fridge, feeling uneasy. "I was just
thinkin' that I forgot my manners. Can I offer you something to drink, Miss Williams?"

 

"Sparkling
water?" she called from the hallway.

 

I turned, ready
to mock her, but she caught my eye and winked, those lips of hers twisting up
into a sarcastic grin. Hot damn, did this firecracker actually have a sense of
humor?

 

Suddenly I was
grinning like an idiot and all the traces of my headache were gone. "Water
round here comes from a well, Miss Williams," I teased, rising to her
bait. "If it starts sparkling, I need to call the gas company and tell
them there's a leak in the pipeline."

 

She cocked her
head to the side and raised her eyebrows, then nodded slightly. She was
conceding that I won that round and it made me as giddy as a Little Leaguer
winning his first trophy.
 
Then she
walked over to the wide doorway and leaned against it, her long body more
enticing in work clothes than that fancy-pants outfit she showed up in
yesterday. I liked this version of Monique Williams a lot better.

 

 
I was ready to say so when she clapped
her hands together like a schoolteacher. "Well, shall we get started?"
She pointed, stabbing the air. "Why don't we get some shots here in the kitchen?
Women'll love that... 'Tanner Brock at Home.' Can you face the window
there?"

 

The sudden switch
to all-business gave me whiplash. "I'm still in my PJs, Miss Williams,"
I pointed out, "Or hadn't you noticed?"

 

"Oh, I
noticed," she said archly, kneeling down and fitting a lens on her
gigantic camera. "Were you hoping I would?"

 

Just like that,
she took my trophy away. I clearly lost that round. "Wasn't hopin'
anything," I grumbled. "
Someone
just showed up on my vacation askin' me to work at an unreasonable hour."

 

"Call
yourself a rancher?" she snapped, taking a few test shots and checking her
light. "You should be up and milking cows before the sun's even up."

 

"Brock Ranch
isn't a dairy farm," I reminded her. "We raise cattle."

 

"I don't see
any cattle," she said dismissively.

 

I could feel my
irritation starting to rise. This woman was better than coffee at raising my
blood pressure. "No ma'am, that's good looking out," I snapped
sarcastically.

 

She darted a look
up from her camera. "Did I touch a nerve, cowboy?"

 

I didn't like
feeling this out of control. If she kept up with this bossy, sarcastic routine,
I might have no choice but to take her over my knee and get myself slapped with
a harassment lawsuit to boot. She snapped another photo, and I felt like she’d
taken a little piece of me.

 

“Now that’s going
to be a perfect shot. The sad and contemplative cowboy in the kitchen,” she
said, firing off another burst of photos.

 

I needed to get
back to where I felt comfortable. "Look, Miss Williams," I seethed,
"Your readers want to see the 'real Tanner Brock?' Then let's stop mucking
around in the kitchen and get outside." I paused, waiting to see what she
would do.

 

"Fair
enough," she sighed. "Are you gonna make me fix fenceposts with you
now?"

 

"Worse,"
I grinned. "I'm gonna make you ride a horse."

 
 
 

Chapter Nine

 

Monique

 
 
 

I was starting to
wonder if Tanner Brock was allergic to shirts.

 

For the second
time in as many days, the man had the nerve to greet me wearing nothing but
nothing but pants. This time it was even worse, because the thin fabric of his
low-slung pajamas left very little to the imagination. He was barefoot to boot,
and seeing his toes made me blush harder than if he were stark raving naked in
front of me. It seemed obscene.

 

I was barely in
his front door and he already had me knocked off kilter. It was even worse when
I stepped into the palace he called a house and got knocked flat on my ass.

 

I knew the man
had money. Before I left the city, I had looked up his estimated net worth in a
fit of masochism I instantly regretted. Walking into that house with its huge,
high beamed ceilings, with rooms that rambled on and on for acres, it made the
numbers real.

 

Tanner was
independently wealthy, of course. His music career was worth millions… But that
didn’t hold a candle to his inheritance. At one time, his family was one of the
biggest landholders in Texas. That’s before they realized it was sitting on one
of the richest oilfields in North America. My research showed that Tanner’s
great grandfather had partnered up with Standard Oil, and these days the total
investments and land holdings ran into the billions.

 

I felt even more
off kilter.

 

So I did what
always centered me and reached for my camera.

 

Looking at the
world through a viewfinder helps me sort everything out. That distance creates
a wall between my subject and me. The power is all mine once that camera is in
my hands. I can shape the world the way I wish it to be, all by making a few
minute adjustments. Behind the lens, I am a goddess, instantly creating
something out of nothing. An image that captures a moment.

 

I was just
starting to regain that power when Tanner demanded we go riding.

 

"Horses?"
I hedged. He was looking at me, highly amused by the idea. He didn't know that
yes, I've ridden. Just one more patch in the crazy quilt of my accomplishments.
My father always liked that I was a quick study.

 

I quickly put
that thought away.

 

"Horses are
what we usually ride, yeah," Tanner drawled. "I have a donkey too if
you're more inclined. She's a stubborn jenny; you two have that in common.
"

 

"Ass,"
I said and he roared with laughter.

 

"Come on,
Miss Williams, I want to show you the ranch." He looked down at his pajama
pants. "But first, lemme go get changed."

 

I almost
protested, but caught myself at the last minute. Instead I wandered in the
direction he had run, taking in the roughhewn logs that framed each doorway.
The care and precision it had taken to fit the logs together so snugly was
evident even to my unpracticed eyes. I brushed my hands against the white painted
walls. For as old as this place was, it was clean and bright and the smell of
sap seemed to hang in the air. Like the house was still a living thing.

 

If I lived here,
I might never leave.

 

That thought
jolted me from my reverie and I looked up to see Tanner, sadly shirted,
watching me. His mouth twisted into an amused grin. "My grandfather cut
those logs," he said, reading my mind. "He never got much into the
investment side of things. Left all the big business to the bankers. He just
wanted to work with his hands, even if he didn’t have to... In addition to
cattle raising, breeding, acting as a vet for the whole county and being a damn
notary, he also found time to teach himself woodworking. Turned the logs
himself." Tanner shook his head. "So when people call me the hardest
working man in country music, I can't help but compare myself to him."
That sadness came across his face again, drifting past like a dark cloud across
the sun, and I felt slightly colder. "Well, let's head out then," he
snapped, as if we were wasting time.

 

Reluctantly, I
hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and walked beside him. He slowed his
long-legged gait instantly, matching my stride, and I was surprised to find
myself oddly touched by the gesture. "So you like to ride, then?" I
asked, stupidly. He was a fucking cowboy, of course he liked riding.

 

But he didn't
dwell on my dumb question. He just smiled that happy, wide open smile. There
was something so honest about it that it made my heart hurt. "Sure
do," he grinned. "Helps clear my head."

 

I just couldn't
handle this much honest wholesomeness. "Clear your head, why? You trying
to forget how much money you have?"

 

He laughed loudly
and after a moment I giggled too. Fucking giggled like a schoolgirl, what was
wrong with me?

 

We crested a rise
and the horse barn sat on the other side, snug below a windbreak and painted quintessential
barn-red. It was, of course, gorgeous, just like the house, a great, open
space, scrupulously, almost suspiciously clean. It was only after a few moments
that I understood why.
 

 

Of the seeming
miles of stalls, only four were in use.

 

Tanner saw my
confusion and that sadness came back onto his face. "I'm trying to
rebuild," he explained in a way that slammed the door shut on that
particular line of questioning.

 

I was relieved
that my horse knowledge hadn't abandoned me, and I managed to get astride the
gentle mare without making an ass of myself. In fact, Tanner looked impressed.
"I guess you are a country girl, after all," he mused.

 

"Reformed
country girl," I shot back and kicked the mare into a brisk trot.

 

Tanner caught up
quickly, and I pulled up so that both horses fell into an easy walk. I fired
off a few shots of him, making sure to catch the soft set of his mouth. He
obliged me as I asked him to turn and find his light. "You're a pro,"
I murmured as I checked my shots.

 

"Been at
this a bit," he sighed tiredly. The softness around his mouth disappeared
at once.

 

"You've got
how much longer?" I asked.

 

"Two weeks
and five days," he exhaled, sounding more like a man counting down to a
prison stay than a famous singer heading out on tour.

 

 
I realized something. "You really
love it here, don't you?"

 

He turned at me,
looking quizzical. "Why do you sound so mystified by that?" he
challenged.

 

I held up my free
hand, taking in the rolling hills, the lone tree framing the barn like a
picture, the rambling white house with its deep, inviting porch that wrapped
around it as snug as a scarf around your neck. "It's beautiful here,"
I sighed, "I get it. Peaceful too." We listened to the silence for a
moment, the only noise the breathing of the horses and the soft sigh of the
wind through the grass. "Almost too quiet."

 

"About that
we agree," Tanner nodded. "When I get this place up and running
again, you'll be able to hear more than just the wind."

 

"That's
good," I nodded.

 

"How about
you, you like living where it's noisy?"

 

"How do you
know it's noisy where I live?" I asked suspiciously.

 

He regarded me
like I had sprouted a second head. "Cities are noisy. I've been to most of
them and they have that in common."

 

I felt my
shoulders go down and I had to laugh at myself. "Sorry, I'm not very good
at talking about myself," I explained.

 

"What are
you good at, Miss Williams?" he drawled. There was something delicious in
the way he said my name.

 

"Taking
pictures," I shot back, shooing him away from me. "How about you
stand by that tree over there?"

 

"And do
what?"

 

"I don't
know, look like a superhero or something."

 

He struck a pose
with his arms outstretched. "Am I doing it right?"

 

I laughed and
snapped a few shots. "Perfect, now how about we try something else?"

 

"Ooh, can be
an animal? How about a bear?" He lifted his arms, curling his hands into
claws and snarled at me. I was laughing like an idiot as he ran through the
whole zoo, until I finally stopped him breathlessly. "My editor's going to
kill me when he sees these... I need serious now."

 

"You want
pensive, rugged cowboy?" he sighed.

 

Yes...

 

"Not
me," I snapped, too quickly.

 

He feigned
insult. "That hurt, Miss Williams. You hurt my feelings."

 

I was enjoying.
"Oh poor, pensive, rugged cowboy, how can I make it up to you?"

 

"Kiss it all
better," he pouted.

 

It was a flippant
remark, but it hung in the air, reverberating like he had struck a gong. The
silence of the hills swelled up around us. My pulse was all over the place. I
kept inhaling, ready to say something, then gasping in mute frustration when
the words wouldn't come. I was going to start hyperventilating in a moment,
maybe faint dead away and fall off of my horse. The thought of Tanner Brock having
to give me mouth to mouth did nothing to slow my pulse.

 

The way he licked
his lips, like the idea appealed to him sent another rush through me and
suddenly I was angry again. "Strictly business," I seethed icily,
throwing his words from yesterday back at him, lobbing them like a fastball.

 

They hit him
square and true. His face dissolved from hopeful desire to hurt, with a
smattering of pissed-offedness in there to boot. I wished he'd toss it back to
me and we could keep our little back and forth going on, but his silence
stretched on for miles. Finally, desperate, I asked another stupid question.
"So, er, where is your favorite spot, here?"

 

He heaved a sigh.
"This is going to make me sound crazy."

 
BOOK: Country Love (A Billionaire BWWM Romance)
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