Nothing Sweeter (Sweet on a Cowboy) (11 page)

If you’re going through hell, keep going.

She turned to face Wyatt and what came next.

He gave her a shrug and a slow smile. Something twitched in her mind. “You knew.” She snatched the random thought before it was gone. “The first meeting of Total Bull, when you stood up for me. You knew then, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why…?”

“I know it
all
, Bree. I know that the judgment was dropped when your boss got caught.”

And she’d thought she was ready for anything. Anything but kindness.

“You’re no threat to the Heather. In fact, as a controller and businessperson, we’re lucky to have you.”

The wind started in the oats again and another crow flew in, to join the group on the barbed-wire fence, setting off a cawing gossip chain. Bree took what felt like her first breath since she’d parked.

“But you’re still a threat.”

Seeing Wyatt’s tight lips, her stomach clenched for the next blow.

“To Max. He cares for you. I haven’t been around in years, but I know my brother, and I’ve never seen him look at a woman before the way he looks at you.”

She squirmed in the seat. This was getting complicated.

Wyatt leaned forward, intent. “I’m not going to tell him, Bree, but you have to.”

“I know, Wyatt. I will.”
Somehow.
“Soon.” She started the car and executed the three-point turn that would take them back to the main road. “Oh and, Wyatt? Thanks.”

They rode in silence, the secrets on both their minds swirling in the cab of the Jeep. Bree lowered the window to let the wind blow them away. She couldn’t wait to get back to the cocoon of High Heather and settle back into her simple life.

Wait
. Her life wasn’t so simple anymore, was it? She pictured Fire Ant standing in the corral. She owned livestock for cripes’ sake!

Her gorge rose.
Total Bull
. What had she done? She’d stopped here, looking for a haven of anonymous mediocrity. Somehow she’d jumped right back into another high-profile business. Hadn’t she learned from her last experience? Hadn’t she learned the hard way not to trust her own judgment?

“Hey, isn’t that Max?” Wyatt pointed to a solitary horseman trailing a few head of cattle in the pasture fronting the road.

When the cowboy lifted his hat, a silly thrill burst inside her, remembering Wyatt’s earlier words. Max kicked the horse and cantered up to the fence, matching the speed of the Jeep as she slowed. She pulled over and let the engine idle.

“Hey, guys, where’ve you been?” He shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun.

In spite of her worries, his broad grin was contagious. “Walmart.”

“Well, you know what they say. If they don’t have it, you don’t need it.” He snuck a glance at the cattle, which had stopped to graze. “Hurry up and get back to the house. Tia’s making chili rellenos for supper!” He smiled a carefree boy’s smile, wheeled his mount, and slapped his hat to its rump. The horse bounded away, scattering the cattle.

Wyatt watched him go. “That’s our Max, the sophisticated businessman.” He turned to Bree, a fond smile still in place. “I have to admit, even if he is my brother, he’s kinda cute, isn’t he?”

“Too cute for his own good.” Glancing in the rearview mirror, she pulled back onto the road.
And mine.

How could she possibly worry that a venture with the Jamesons could end up like one with Vic Christakos?

Remembering Max’s guileless smile, Bree shook her head. She might not be able to trust herself, but she knew she could trust him.

“Wow, Wyatt, I’m impressed.” Max leaned over the desk in Wyatt’s bedroom, peering at the corporate website Wyatt was creating for Total Bull.

“Back up, Max. I can’t see what I’m doing.” Wyatt’s fingers flew, and a new page opened. “We’ll have a page for our bulls, showing lineage, stats, photos, and semen prices.”

A photo popped up. It was of Fire Ant, chewing grass in the field. He looked as scary as a milk cow.

Max snorted. “I hope we’re not leading with this one. Maybe we can get some action photos of him when we have the Heather bull-riding event. If he doesn’t look better when he’s bucking, we’re dead anyhow.” He leaned in again. “You’re a guru at this, Wyatt. Where did you learn to do this?”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “What do you think I do for a living?”

“I thought it had something to do with writing software, not designing websites.”

“That’s the advantage of having an IT geek on the team. A software engineer can do lots of stuff. That’s what’s so fun about the career. Aside from the fact that it makes me a sex magnet. Damn, Max. Will you quit hovering?”

Max got an elbow to the gut, and he sat back. “Not my fault—your typeface is so small, I can’t read it!”

Wyatt frowned at him. “Next time you’re in town, you need to buy some stronger reading glasses at Walmart, old man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. I’m telling you, the type is tiny.”

“Max, there’s no shame in needing glasses. This happens to men around your age. It’s perfectly understandable.” Wyatt’s lips quirked. “While you’re down there, you may want to pick up some Viagra, because I’ve heard that about the same time the eyes go, the—”

Whap!
Max smacked his brother on the back of the head. “Bro, when I have problems in that department, you can have me put to sleep.”

“Well, I can get a rifle out of the gun case and take care of that anytime. You just let me know.”

Max chuckled. “You worry about your own little trouser snake, and I’ll worry about the mighty Sparky.”

Wyatt shook his head. “We’re both talking big for two guys not getting any.”

“Yeah, how pathetic is that?” He grabbed the mouse and minimized the website. “Hey, Wyatt, do you have that game on here that we used to play in high school?”

“Are you talking about Pong?”

Max nodded, searching the dozens of icons on the desktop.

“You’re kidding, right? That was DOS-based Stone-Age stuff!”

“So? I liked it. I was pretty good at kicking your butt on it, too, if I remember right.”

“Max, I don’t even have a system that would play that crappo game anymore. But I’ll tell you what I do have…” He reached into a duffel beside the desk and pulled out two wireless joy sticks. “
Call of Duty
,” he said in a reverent tone as he handed one of the sticks to Max.

“What’s that?” Max played with the stick. “Hey, where’d you get this? This is cool.”

“It’s only the best Black Ops game out there.” Wyatt clicked on an icon, then sat back, stick clutched in his hand. “Prepare to be blown away. Pong, my ass.”

The screen exploded with light and sound.

Max straightened in his chair. “Duuuude.”

Three hours later, they took a break. Max walked out the back door and flinched when Slim Tanton’s pickup tires crunched on the Heather’s gravel drive. It was as if the nightmare of his future had just rolled into the present. Boxes full of Slim’s life filled the bed to overflowing. Ropes crisscrossed a green tarp, edges flapping in the wind.

Max walked slowly to the truck. “Looks like you’re ready to go, Slim.”

“I am. Promised I’d stop on my way out of town, so…”

“Well, come on in and sit a spell. I’ve got coffee on, and Tia made churros.”

The old man stayed put. “I’ve got to get on the road
before it gets much later, Max, but I’m obliged.” His face wrinkled as he squinted up, looking foreign without his ever-present Stetson. The skin of his forehead shone white and vulnerable above his tan line and a few wispy strands of hair that crisscrossed his liver-spotted pate. It seemed only a few years ago his dad and this man were the superheroes of Max’s childhood.

“I stopped by the Grange, and they told me what’s going on. I have to tell you, I don’t envy any of you who are going to try to ranch around here. Just as well that I’m getting out.”

Max’s stomach did a roller coaster dive—without the thrill. “I’ve been shorthanded around here and missed the last Grange meeting, Slim. What’s going on?”

The old man threw him a pitying look, his jaw working a wad of chaw. “Word is there’s big money pushing congress to get the BLM land on the lower slopes closed to open grazing. Someone is throwing serious money around, and legislators are swarming.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice out the window. “Greedy bastards. We voted them in to see to our interests, and now they’re seeing to their own.”

Colburn. This has his greasy fingerprints all over it.
Without free summer grazing in the meadows, it would be impossible to turn a profit ranching in Steamboat.
Scritch!
When Max recognized the sound of his molars grinding, he made himself stop. “Surely we’re lobbying too?”

Slim snorted. “Yeah, and the money ya’ll got is a fart in a windstorm compared to theirs.”

Maybe Slim was taking the right way out.
But he has somewhere to go to. You don’t.
He managed to say goodbye to his dad’s friend without getting maudlin, but when
the pickup hit the road, Max turned away, his spirits lower than a snake’s belly.

His feet led him to the barn without his say-so. Bree stood tippy-toed in the aisle, sweet-talking a chestnut gelding through the bars of a stall, kissing his muzzle and whispering to him. He smiled. “Is there a line I can use to get me a little of that?” She turned on him with a frown, but seeing his face, hers went all soft and worried. “What is it, Max?” She walked over to stand before him.

He took his hat off and swiped a sleeve over his forehead. “I just said goodbye to an old friend. Guess it made me kinda melancholy.”

“Aw, poor fella,” She reached up, pulled his head down, and gave him a kiss on his forehead. “I’m sorry you had a bad day, Max.”

Up close, he saw the shadow of pain in her eyes. “Looks like I’m not the only one who had a rough day.”

“Nah, I’m fine.” She trailed her fingers down his face.

He watched her eyes darken. “Yes, ma’am, you surely are.” He lowered his head to brush her lips in a soft, tender kiss. Letting up before he lost control, he backed away. “I’ve got work to get at before dinner.” He put his hat on, turned on his heel, and walked away.

15

A
few days later, Max glanced out the window of the mess hall as the men filed out to saddle their mounts for the day. The barn’s silhouette was only a darker shadow against the murky charcoal predawn sky. He sat with Wyatt and Bree, making plans and drinking a last cup of coffee.

Armando walked up, hat in hand. “Boss?”

“Yeah, Armando?”

“I was thinking.” He turned the hat in his hands. “I would like to learn to train the bulls. I’m good with the horses, and I’ve worked cattle my whole life.”

Max looked to Wyatt, who just shrugged. Then to Bree. “I gather from her squirming that our partner has an opinion.”

Straightening, Bree pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’ve been talking with several trainers online, doing research. I asked a couple of them to come out and train our bulls, but they’ve got obligations elsewhere.” Something niggled at the back of Max’s brain. He knew someone
who trained bulls… A picture flashed in his mind of a sale ring. “JB Denny! I met this guy at a Kobe beef auction once. He trained bucking bulls for a living.”

Bree shook her head. “He’s one of the top trainers in the PBR. I e-mailed him. He’s too busy with his own operation to fly out.”

Max rose from his seat. “Maybe he will if I ask him. I’ve got his business card back at the house somewhere.”

“I’ve got another idea.” She put her elbows on the table, cradling the coffee mug between them. “What if we sent an apprentice to him? Denny might agree, if he could do it without leaving home. It would be cheaper for us that way too. We’d have the expense of Armando’s travel and room and board, but the training fees would have to be less.”

Max could almost see numbers racing through that pretty head like a ticker on Wall Street. They really had been lucky that day she’d showed up in his filthy barn. He studied her features in the hard fluorescent lights. Under the excitement, she looked beat. The circles under her eyes were darker today, and her face showed strain.

What kind of roads had you been traveling before you hit the Heather, Bree? Will you ever trust me enough to tell me?

She held Max’s gaze, chin outthrust, high color in her cheeks. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” He cleared his throat and looked at his head wrangler. “Would you be willing to do that, Armando?”

“I don’t know. I have my job here.”

Wyatt broke in. “Max and I could handle the day-to-day supervision. Couldn’t we, bro?”

“Sure we could.”

When Armando nodded his assent, Max shook his hand. “Thanks, Armando. I can’t think of anyone on the Heather who’d be better for the job.” The man flushed, settled his hat on his head, and walked out, screen door slapping behind him.

“We’ll need to talk about something else.” Max sank onto the bench, worry gnats swarming his brain. “The calves brought a good price at market, but training fees will take a bite out of it. There’s no money coming in until we’ve got buckers on the road to events. And it’s going to be a long, cold winter.”

Wyatt spoke up. “I’ve got a little money to throw in, but it’s not going get us far.”

Bree put her mug down with a decisive thump. “Fire Ant will bring in cash. We’ll need to train the other two-year-olds I bought—” She broke off as she noticed her partners’ hidden smiles. “You’ll be sorry you maligned my bull. He’ll be a hit on the circuit. You just wait and see.”

She’s cute when she gets all huffy.
Max studied the indignant set to her shoulders as she flipped her hair with an irritated snap of her head. How he’d love to lean over and kiss the pout off those lips. Her delicate lemon scent drifted to him, and he recalled that proud head thrown back, eyes blurred with want. He watched color rise from her collar and realized he was staring.

“Well, by all means, I didn’t mean to
malign
your bull.” He held up a hand and really tried not to smile. She looked like a little cat, spitting and fluffing her tail. “I think we’d better work out a plan B, just in case.”

Wyatt kept his face carefully neutral. “You have to admit, Bree, it’s the fiscally responsible thing to do.”

Max enjoyed the view of that heart-shaped butt in snug jeans as she stomped to the door.

She turned. “I think a closed mouth gathers no boots.” Lifting her chin, she sniffed and flounced out.

Max swore she twitched her tail.

A half hour later, he sat at his desk at the main house, digging through the flotsam in the lap drawer. “Aha!” He pulled lint from a dog-eared card announcing, “Denny Bucking Bulls,” and dialed the number.

“Denny Bucking Bulls, Charla Rae speaking.” The chirpy woman’s voice was a surprise.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Max Jameson, from the High Heather Ranch, in Colorado. Could I speak with JB, please?”

“Sure thing; hold tight.” The phone rustled. “Hon? There’s a Max Jameson from Colorado on the line.”

A click. “Well, if it isn’t the beef masseuse—how you doing, Max?”

Max laughed. He’d been looking over a lot of Kobe beef at auction when he’d met the East Texan. “I told you back then, anything gets massaged on this ranch, it’s gonna be me.”

“And how’s that going for you, Max?”

A still photo of Bree’s strong, capable hands drifted in his mind. “Well, let’s just say I’m working on it. How about you? That wasn’t your ex who answered the phone now, was it?”

“Sure wasn’t. Charla Rae and I remarried six months ago.”

“Well, JB, I’m damned tickled to hear that.”

“How about you, Max? Beef prices getting any better up your way?”

“Hell no. Things are getting more dismal by the day. Which is why I thought to call you. I was hoping you
wouldn’t mind helping out a brand-new bucking-bull operation.”

JB laughed. “You? A stock contractor?”

“Well, me, my brother, and a certain lady…”

“Lady? Oh, let me sit down. This I’ve got to hear.”

Bree watched as Tia surveyed her sitting area that evening, her face glowing with a quiet pride. High wingback chairs faced the fieldstone fireplace, soft-toned Navajo rugs underfoot.

Tia occupied the largest bedroom of the sprawling main house. The only one on the ground floor, it had belonged to the elder Jameson until his death, when Max insisted Tia move from the small cubby off the kitchen. She’d protested, saying being close to the kitchen made it easier for her, but her boys wouldn’t hear of it.

Bree glanced beyond the sitting area to the cast-iron bed with the old-fashioned white chenille spread. Framed photos of the boys growing up covered the walls. Crossing the room, she was drawn to a large photo that dominated the mantel.

A beautiful, dark-skinned woman sat bareback, astride a flashy paint horse, her long black hair caught lifting in the wind. Fierce pride shone in her eyes, and Bree had the unnerving feeling the woman was staring at her. A solemn child sat before her on the horse.

“That is Ameo’e.” Tia’s softly accented voice broke into Bree’s thoughts. “It means Sacred Road Woman in Cheyenne.” She bent to her knitting once more. “Angus called her his Amy.”

Bree studied the photo. The toddler was Max, so small and serious. Amy’s hands held the reins, her son’s pudgy
hands grasping her forearms. The raw power of the portrait sucked her in. Max couldn’t have been more than three; his chubby legs dangled. A sadness in his solemn eyes pulled at her chest.

Tearing her focus away, she turned. “How did you come to High Heather, Tia?”

“My father, he came north to work as
jefe del caballo
. He broke horses for Señor Angus. I was nine. My mother helped in the kitchen.” Tia’s needles clicked as she stared into the fire. “I was eighteen when my father was killed by a horse.”

Bree walked the few steps to Tia’s chair and knelt to rest a hand on her arm. “Oh, Tia, I’m so sorry.”

She gave a shake of her head. “It was many, many years ago. My mother went back to live with her people in Mexico. She wanted me with her, but this was the only home I knew. So I said no.” There was a twinkle in her eye. “Girls didn’t do that then. My mother was angry, but I set my feet like a burro. Besides”—her smile flashed in the firelight—“there was a boy.”

“Ooh, this is going to be a good story. Spill it, Ms. Nita.”

“Later, maybe.” Sharp sparrow eyes bored into Bree. “You tell me about you and my Maxie.”

Bree sputtered, a flush of heat spreading up her neck. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“I know what I see.” Tia gave a sage nod. “My Max, he’s happy. Different than I’ve ever seen him.”

Bree jerked back, settling on her heels. It was as if the woman had reached into her head and pulled out a secret that Bree had only begun to flirt with. “Tia, you don’t understand.”

“I understand. You are falling in love with Max. And him you.” The older woman’s smile slipped as her brows came together. “But I know also that you have much sadness.” She reached up to touch Bree’s cheek. “And much pain. I am sorry for that.” Tia let her hand fall. “I hope you do not let your ghosts come to haunt him too. He carries so much already.”

Bree stood and crossed to her chair to retrieve her knitting as silence fell. She’d been wandering through her days, not considering where they led. Glancing to Ameo’e’s fierce gaze, she couldn’t ignore the ramifications any longer. Was she ready for a relationship? Especially one with a complicated, conflicted cowboy?

Tia, like any mother, had made her alliances clear. And Bree didn’t blame her one bit.