Cowboy Love on Hold [Love: The Cowboy Way 1] (4 page)

He opened the door and staggered backwards as a wall of noise hit him. Kimber laughed and reached for the radio, turning it off. “Sorry.”

Wade climbed into the truck. “You okay? You usually only do that kind of thing when you’re freaked out about something.”

“No, I’m fine. I am confused, though. Why were you so sure Brandon never got married?”

Wade turned away. “He’s not the type. Trust me on that.”

“Well, you’re wrong. He was married.”

Wade grinned, giving her the look he always got when he thought he was being funny. “To a woman?”

“Yes…to a woman. What the hell do you mean by that?” His smile faded, and his dark brows bunched together over his steely gray eyes. If Kimber didn’t know better, she could swear he was pissed off at the news. “Wade. I asked you what you were getting at.”

“Nothing…I didn’t mean anything.”

Kimber let it go—for now. But once they got home, Wade was going to damn well tell her what he’d meant.

Chapter 4

Brandon closed the door on the last of the guests and leaned against it, exhausted. Yesterday’s funeral had gone to plan, and he’d given his mother a fitting send off. He smiled, mocking himself for wishing that she’d been there to see the turnout and know how much she was loved and respected. The last few remaining members of his extended family had finally left him to his misery. He’d appreciated them offering to stay over another night, but one was enough. Being forced to spend time with people he barely knew just because he was distantly related to them felt like hard work, even when his mother was still around to smooth things over.

He wandered through to the lounge, ignoring the mess waiting to be cleared up, grateful for some time alone. The last couple of days had been stressful, and made worse by the weird vibes he’d gotten from Wade and Kimber. They’d been respectful and kind, but cold towards him, even during the wake when he’d made a point of searching them out and thanking them for coming. Something was up. Kimber had barely spoken to him.

He flopped on the sofa, too exhausted to even take off his jacket. He groaned as he put his feet up to rest them on the arm and smiled when he remembered his mother would pitch a fit if she could see him. Brandon took his shoes off.

Thoughts of her brought his mind back to the funeral and the guy he’d noticed lurking at the back of the crowd. Brandon had caught a glimpse of someone wearing a hat pulled down low over his eyes with dark sunglasses and the upturned collar on his dark coat covering most of his face. The guy shifted from one foot to the other, as if he was conscious of Brandon staring at him, and edged out of view behind some of the mourners, but not before Brandon had recognized him. Jack Travers had served with him a while back, and as far as Brandon knew, he was still on active duty. Brandon had no time for Travers and serving with him had been a constant test of his self- control. Travers didn’t like him much either, and they’d almost come to blows a few times. If Travers was in Chelwood, he sure as hell hadn’t come on a social visit to see Brandon, so that meant something was wrong. When the burial service finished, Brandon looked for him again, but he’d disappeared.

Brandon might be due for retirement, but the list of people who wanted him dead hadn’t suddenly gotten shorter. The terrorists he’d spent much of his career hunting down had a lot of connections in the US, including illegal slave traders, drug barons, and arms dealers. And there were a few who would gladly spend the rest of their lives in prison without the chance of parole in exchange for the satisfaction of killing him—especially Manuel “Manny” Costanza. Brandon had been part of the unit that shut down Manny’s gunrunning operation by cutting off an important source of funding for the Miami-based kingpin. But that wasn’t the only reason Manny wanted him dead. His adult son had been caught in Brandon’s crossfire when the unit stormed the Costanza mansion. Manny had been captured alive and dragged away in handcuffs, vowing to hunt Brandon down and make him pay.

Without access to the sensitive information he used to take for granted, Brandon had no idea why Travers was in town. He called the base a few hours after the funeral, asking if there’d been any underground chatter regarding his whereabouts. Every agent knew that the unit operated on a “need to know” basis, so he didn’t expect to get much information. The chief assured him that if anything came up, Brandon would be the first to know, but he wouldn’t be drawn on where his field operatives were. When the call ended, Brandon still didn’t know for sure why Travers had turned up at his mother’s funeral. But he’d been sent on many strange missions himself in the past, without always knowing why. Maybe somebody higher up the food chain just wanted to be sure that Brandon was where he was supposed to be—who the hell knew? Closing his eyes, he resolved to contact the base again first thing Monday. It wouldn’t hurt to check that old Manny was still in prison.

The phone rang a short while later, jarring him awake. Brandon groaned and put a cushion over his head to block out the noise. Whoever it was seemed determined to get an answer, letting it ring for more than a minute. He couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed at the receiver, barking a greeting down the phone. The silence at the other end just irritated him more.

“Who is this?”

“Hi…it’s me. We need to talk.”

Kimber? “Okay, sure.” He took a deep breath. “What’s up?”

“I need to see you. Can you meet me?”

Brandon yanked at the knot of his tie, already getting out the suit he’d been forced to wear while he still had visitors in the house. “Tell me when and where.”

Thirty minutes later, he parked his beloved motorbike—a classic Norton Commando—beside Kimber’s vehicle at the bottom of Cedar Bluff and scanned the hillside for her. He climbed for a few minutes and found her where he knew she’d be—sitting on the fallen tree at the edge of the bluff, looking out over Cedar Lake.

“Hey,” he called, not wanting to scare her when she was so close to the edge. It amazed him to think how many times they’d come up here in the dead of night when they were younger. Didn’t they know how dangerous it was back then? Maybe they didn’t care or, like most kids, they thought they were invincible. “I’m too old to risk my neck. Come up here and talk to me.”

Kimber looked over her shoulder, squinting at Brandon through the glare of the late afternoon sun behind him. “Don’t tell me you’re chicken?”

He didn’t take the bait. “No, just a little more cautious than I used to be.”

“So I hear.” Kimber turned away and got to her feet, so he couldn’t read her face to check if she meant to sound so angry.

She walked up beside him, head down, hat obscuring her features. He’d never seen her in a Stetson before. When he left town all those years ago, Kimber had been a very feminine young woman, more at home in a parlor than on a ranch. She’d changed, and it suited her. The faded jeans and thin cotton T-shirt she had on couldn’t have been plainer—and she couldn’t have looked any better than she did right now. But she hadn’t called so he could stand around gawking at her like a love struck teenager.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to drag you out here so soon after the funeral, but I just had to speak to you…”

Brandon reached for her, trying to ignore the burn of rejection as she leaned away from his touch. “Tell me what you need. If I’ve got it, it’s yours.” She fell silent, but finally lifted her head to stare at him; her eyes turned a darker shade of blue by unshed tears.

“You’re gay.”

Brandon took a step back, confused by the accusation in her tone. “No, I’m not.”

“Why are you lying? Wade told me about that night…how you tried to kiss him, how he pushed you away.” Kimber’s voice was shaking, and the tears that had been threatening splashed over onto her cheeks. “He said that’s why you left town, because you realized you were gay that night and didn’t know how to tell me.”

The pulse throbbing in Brandon’s throat intensified. He looked down into Kimber’s eyes and knew he should say something—anything—but what the hell could he say? He shook his head, trying to answer her in the only way he could, but it just made her angrier.

“What do you mean? Are you telling me you’re not gay…or that Wade is lying?” Kimber shoved at his chest, and he caught her wrists in his hands, stopping her from hitting him again. “Or maybe you’re telling me that I was wrong to trust you, and that I wasted my love on a guy who lied about who he was.”

“Kimber, how could you think I never loved you? I always have…”

“Stop lying!” she screamed, struggling to get free. Brandon let go of her, prepared to take whatever she dished out. But she didn’t hit him again. She simply stood there in front of him, head bowed and shoulders shaking as she cried.

“I’m not lying to you, I swear. But why does it matter now? You and Wade are happy—”

“It matters because I grieved for you when you left—blamed myself for not being enough for you.” She scrubbed at the tears on her cheek, leaving a dirty smear where her hand had picked up some dust from the hillside. “I tortured myself, wondering what it was about me that made you leave.”

The cold dread settling in the pit of his gut made him feel sick. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about what his leaving would do to her. He’d been so deeply wrapped up in his own feelings that he hadn’t stopped to think that she might blame herself, but he couldn’t know that Wade would never tell her what had happened. For many years, Brandon suspected that Kimber knew about it and probably hated him for it.

“Wade should have told you back then.”

Kimber jabbed a finger in his chest. “
You
should have told me. Wade loves you like a brother and would never betray you. Don’t you dare blame him!”

“I’m not blaming anybody but myself.” He grabbed her shoulders, stopping her from turning away and rejecting his words. “I just thought you knew. I thought for sure he would have told you.”

“He was trying to protect us—both of us. He was trying to protect your reputation and save me from knowing that you never really loved me.”

Brandon reached for her face, cupping her cheeks in his hands and forcing her to look at him. “Kimber, I did love you…I still do.”

She stared back at him, her eyes so full of the doubt and pain his actions had inflicted on her that he couldn’t help but try and chase those feelings away. When the gold flecks in her blue eyes seemed to sparkle, the way they had when she was younger and turned on by his inept attempts at seducing her, Brandon couldn’t hold back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his face inching closer to hers, giving her time to pull away or stop him. But she didn’t.

Kimber’s lashes lowered over her beautiful eyes, and she stared at his mouth as it got nearer, parting her lips slightly and blowing her soft, warm breath over his face while she waited for him to touch her. When his mouth met hers, he groaned in satisfaction and teased her lips further apart with his, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. She sighed, and her arms went up around his neck. Her breasts crushed against his chest, and the sensation of her erect nipples pressing into his skin drove him half crazy with need for her. Brandon’s cock hardened against her abdomen as she leaned into him, and he knocked her hat off by burying his hands in her hair, to stop himself from stripping her right there on the hillside.

At the very moment, just when the thought crossed his mind that he shouldn’t take her there, right out in the open, the thought that he shouldn’t take her at all lodged in his brain and wouldn’t budge. Kimber wasn’t thinking straight, and besides, she didn’t really want him. She’d chosen Wade. And there was more, much more, that she didn’t yet know.

Brandon pulled away, gently untangling her arms from around his neck and taking a step back so he could think without her body driving him to distraction. It broke his heart to see confusion, then rejection, pass over her face. Kimber pushed him from her and crammed a fist against her mouth to stifle a sob.

“Kimber, please try to understand—”

She scooted away from his outstretched arms, almost falling in her haste to get away from him. “No! Don’t touch me!” She turned her back on him, searching the ground for her hat and snatching it up. When she spun to face him, the pain radiating from her in waves made him want to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness. But rather than cry some more, she smiled sadly and let out a self-incriminating groan. “I guess I should have taken the hint the first time you rejected me.”