Nothing Sweeter (Sweet on a Cowboy) (14 page)

His arms enveloped her, and the warmth lulled her into a dreamless sleep.

Bree was alone when she opened her eyes to morning sun streaming through the high window above her bed.
Sun?
She glanced at the travel alarm on the desk. Six o’clock.
The boss probably won’t fire me for being late this morning.
She felt more refreshed than she had in—forever.

She turned off the desk lamp that had burned all night before flopping onto the tousled bed that smelled of Max. Her and Max. She stretched like a house cat in the sun. Muscles she’d held taut for a year and a half now hung slack off her bones. She wallowed in liquid laze, replete.

Max’s lovemaking opened a door so long closed that she’d forgotten what lay beyond it. They’d spent the entire night discovering, using all their senses to enjoy each other. After their initial rush, they’d caught a rhythm. Max was strong and patient, reveling in her satisfaction as much as his own. Her last waking memory was of lying on top of him, his arms around her, his heart strong and steady under her ear. “Who knew? All I needed for a good night’s sleep was a new pillow.”

She smiled, climbed out of bed, and reached for her clothes, then extras, for after her shower. She dressed quickly and as she grabbed the knob, noticed a white slip of paper tucked into the doorjamb.

Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. See you at breakfast. Max.

She hummed a happy tune as she opened her door to a new day.

An hour later, showered and refreshed, Bree walked into the mess hall as the cowboys were finishing breakfast.

“Buenos tardes, chica,”
Miguel hailed her. “Did we sleep late?”

Surveying the group, she spotted Max sitting at the far end of the table, hands wrapped around a coffee mug. His private, knowing gaze reminded her that he knew what she looked like with her clothes off.

Trying not to blush, she lightly cuffed the back of Miguel’s head on her way to the coffee. She batted her eyelashes. “Watching all you big, strong men yesterday flat wore me out.” After pouring a cup, she hesitated, unsure of where to sit. Everything seemed different today.

Max was deep in conversation with Wyatt, who was sitting across from him. Without looking up, he patted the bench beside him.

A thrill went through her.
God, Madison, you’re acting like a smitten seventh grader.

Maybe. But this morning hope sang in her blood, and all seemed right with the world. Her body felt clean and light, like the first hot day of summer, when the chill of winter finally leeches out of your bones. She strolled to the table, taking a seat next to her cowboy.

Max turned to her, “We’re going over our plans for the Fourth of July.” His eyes were full of promises that his businesslike tone belied.

As Wyatt’s gaze bounced back and forth between her and Max, a lopsided grin spread across his face. Bree’s face heated. His tone was all innocence as he asked, “Do you think Fire Ant is ready for his debut?”

She raised her voice to address the table in general. “That bull was born ready, as yesterday proved. Maybe he’ll get a little more respect around here from now on.”

She sniffed at the men’s chuckles and turned to Wyatt. “So what goes on around here for the Fourth?”

“Only the best celebration in the state. There’s a Pro Rodeo all weekend, but Saturday’s the big day.” He picked up the
Steamboat Pilot
folded at his elbow and shuffled pages until he found what he wanted. “We begin with the Lions Club pancake breakfast down at the Little Toots Park.” He said in his best drawl, “That’s followed by a five-K run down Lincoln Avenue. Then there’s an art festival, barbeque, and of course, fireworks.” He looked up. “And that’s only the stuff we’d be interested in.”

She swiveled her head to Max’s deep voice. “Then on Sunday morning, we drive a hundred and ten pair of cattle down Lincoln Avenue, right through town.”

“You’re kidding me. More than two hundred cattle herded down Main Street?”

Max said, “One pair for every year the town’s been in existence, as a reminder of the town’s heritage. One that certain people need—especially this year.”

Wyatt broke in. “Now, Max, don’t get on a rant. The girl wants to know about the Fourth.”

Max frowned across the table, then glanced at Bree. “We drive them to the rodeo grounds to be used in the pro events.”

Bree perked up. “Pro Rodeo?” At the brothers’ nods, she continued. “Why not take Fire Ant and let him decimate the ranks of local bull riders?”

Max said, “I already took the liberty of signing him up. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Mind? Think of the publicity!” She cocked her head. “I don’t suppose they’d allow us to enter some of our cows?” She laughed at Max’s horrified expression. “I’m just kidding.” She patted his hand. “Your secret is safe with us, big guy.”

The cell phone in Bree’s shirt pocket vibrated, and she jumped. It was early for her mother’s daily call. She pulled the phone out. The number on the display wasn’t familiar. Flipping it open, she stuck her finger in her other ear. “Hello?”

“This is Estella Estavez, with the IRS. Is this Aubrey Tanner?”

Break over, her muscles snapped to attention. The familiar buzz of adrenaline shot beneath her skin as her heart stuttered and then steadied into a gallop.

“It is.” It came out squeaky as a stepped-on mouse.

“I have your application for a Corporate Federal Employer ID number here, but there seems to be an irregularity. We’ve run a routine criminal history, and I’m picking up a Federal charge under the other name you listed—Madison—but no further information.”

Bree cut her eyes to the table, relieved to find Max and Wyatt still engrossed in conversation. “Could you hold just a moment? I can hardly hear you.” She stood on shaky legs and strode quickly to the door. Thankfully, the porch was deserted. “I can explain everything.”

18

T
he pool balls clacked and scattered as Max broke. He rubbed chalk on the tip of his cue and waited for the balls to stop rolling. Wyatt stood across from him, leaning on his stick. After dinner, they’d pulled the dust sheet off the pool table in the corner of the great room.

Wyatt’s golden hair gleamed at the edge of the pool of light. “I’ll bet this table hasn’t been touched since you and I last played.”

Max lined up his first shot. “Not much, that’s for sure.” He snapped it off, wide of his intended target. “Evidenced by my ability, or lack thereof.”

He straightened, watching as Wyatt circled the table, moving like a cat stalking a sparrow. The bar-style light above spotlighted emerald felt and cast the rest of the room in shadow.

How many hours had they spent around this table as kids? Years melted away, as he compared the man in front of him to the boy he remembered. Same gold hair and soft
features, but somehow so different. Max took a pull from the longneck on the edge of the table.

Wyatt’s shot was better. The red three-ball snicked into the pocket, and he ambled to the other end of the table. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, Max.” He sighted down the cue to his next target, the five ball. “Since it looks like I’m going to be here awhile,” His elbow jerked and the five was history.

“Yeah?”

Wyatt surveyed the table, eyes darting from one angle to the next, bouncing the cue in his hands. “I’m thinking about inviting Juan out for a week.”

Shit.
The beers Max had drunk soured in his gut. He and Wyatt had fallen into the habits of the past over the last couple of weeks, rediscovering the closeness they’d shared as kids.
I should have seen this coming.
In all fairness, half the ranch belonged to Wyatt. His home, if he wanted it to be.

Max glanced at the pool table, avoiding Wyatt’s eye.
Wyatt and his boyfriend under this roof? In the same bedroom?
He scrubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin.
Damn it, why can’t he just leave that crap in Boston?

Even as he thought it, Max knew he wasn’t being fair. But fair wasn’t the way the world worked. “Can’t we just let those dogs lie, Wyatt?”

His brother speared him with a hard look. “Yeah, we could, Max, but you and I can’t go on like this forever, going about our business, acting like we’re still kids. Like you don’t know I’m gay.” He snatched his beer and took a long swig.

Max winced. “Believe me, Wyatt, that is a reality I’m not likely to forget.”

The cue clattered as Wyatt tossed it in the middle of the table, scattering balls. “Well, good for you, Maxie.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Wyatt paced in the edge of the pool of light. “I’m not that kid anymore. I have my own life. My own love.” He strode to the table, leaning on his hands at the edge. “You don’t get to be in charge of everything in this sheltered little world, Max. This is who I am.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Just try to put yourself in my shoes for a minute.”

“I wouldn’t have any idea of how to do that.”

“I know you don’t.” He put his palms on the edge of the table and leaned in. “Imagine that you and Bree are a couple. You go places together, but people can’t know you’re more than friends. Everyone would see your relationship as shameful.”

Wyatt started pacing again, his words speeding up. “No, it’s worse than that. Everyone thinks you’re twisted because you love Bree. Like you’re a freak of nature. You try to ignore them, to tell yourself they can’t dictate your life, but it’s so insidious—that judgment. Like water in a flooded basement, it seeps into everything and ruins it.”

Max squirmed. Half of him wanted to tell Wyatt to man up and deal with it. After all, he’d been gay his whole life. But the other half wanted to hunt down those people who hurt his little brother and pound them to dust.

Wyatt continued. “Eventually you end up dealing with it one of a couple of ways.” He ticked off the points on his fingers. “Either you act out, figuring if they don’t like it, you’ll shove it in their faces.” He raised another finger. “Some people can’t stand the pressure and kill themselves.” He raised a third finger. “Or you run away.
To somewhere where you can be accepted for who you are, somewhere you don’t need to hide anymore.” His brother’s sad eyes were a rebuke. “You know which one I chose. And now you know why.”

Max forced himself to hold Wyatt’s stare. “I was proud of you when you left.”

Wyatt stopped pacing. “What?”

“You put up with so much crap, from the kids at school, from Dad, but it never broke you.” Wyatt shot him a shocked glance. “Instead of fighting a battle you couldn’t win, when you’d had enough, you took yourself out of it. That takes guts, and I’ve always admired you for it.” The cue stick flexed in his white-knuckled hands.
Why is it so hard to say the truth?
“I should have told you long before now.”

“I’ve always felt like I took the coward’s way out.”

In his small voice, Max felt the huge shame his brother lived with all these years. “Look at me, Wyatt.” He waited until his brother’s head came up. He willed his fingers open and the cue clattered onto the table. “I
am
trying, even if it doesn’t look like it. This is a gut-level reaction for me. I know it hurts you. I’m struggling to figure out how to get around it.

“Look, I realize we’re not kids anymore. I guess I keep going back to that because that’s when you and I were comfortable with each other. Like if we start there, maybe we can build a bridge to now and it will all work out.” He put his hands in his pockets. “I know it must look like I’m ignoring the fact that you’re… Shit, Wyatt, I don’t even have the vocabulary to talk about this.” He reached over to mess up his brother’s perfect hair.

“Can you give me some time to figure out how to handle all this? You know people around here, and we are
trying to start a new business. I promise I’ll think about what you said. And about having Juan visit.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Maxie.” Wyatt raised his beer in an insolent salute.

Max whipped out a hand to cuff the side of his brother’s head. “And quit calling me Maxie, you little punk.”

A week later, in the kitchen of the main house, Bree shuffled through the pile of paper on the kitchen table.

“What are you looking for?” Wyatt asked from behind his laptop.

“I just had that darned schedule.” She looked up as Max stomped in.

He hung his sweat-stained hat on the rack beside the door and wiped his face on his sleeve. “Damn, but it’s hot out there.”

“I’d kick off those boots, bucko. If you track that”—she wrinkled her nose—“stuff all over Tia’s clean floor, she’s gonna tear strips off your hide.”

Max sighed and toed off his boots, then padded to the refrigerator to get a beer. Twisting it open, he gulped half of it in one swallow.

She’d barely seen him the past few days. He’d worked from before dawn until dark, shouldering Armando’s duties as well as his own. “This will all pay off when Armando’s home in a month. Thanks to your buddy JB, he’s going to be the best apprentice trainer in the business.”

“Yeah, keep telling me.” Max padded to the table to drop a quick kiss on her lips. “You’re fresh as a cool breeze.” He pulled his damp shirt away from his sweaty chest. “Thought about you all day.” He smiled down at her. “Well, you and that beer.”

“That’s my brother.” Wyatt chuckled. “He’d charm the socks off a snake.”

Max leaned over to peer at the computer screen. “Whatcha doin’?”

She closed the laptop. “Nothing we need to discuss right now.”

His look hardened. “What is it?”

She hated to put more weight on those broad shoulders. But he’d need to know eventually. “I’m signing Fire Ant up for the PBR Challenger Tour.” She picked up the schedule. “It’s expensive, though. Even if I only enter him in the events closest to the Heather, there’s travel expense, gas, and hotels. Add to that the expense of Armando’s training.” Her voice tapered off. “We’ll run through the proceeds from the calf sale by fall.”

Max dropped into the chair next to her.

She rushed on. “Now, there is an upside. Fire Ant
will
win.” She glanced at the spreadsheet on her laptop. Coward that she was, she couldn’t stand to see his face while she told him the rest. “But that won’t do much more than offset the costs. To really make money, we’ve got to be taking a full trailer of bulls to an event.” She peeked. Weary lines cut deep on his chiseled face. She lifted her hand to cover his, then let it fall back to the keyboard. He wouldn’t accept comfort now. Better to just get it all out.

“We’re going to need more working capital. I’ve run through all my savings, inseminating the cows. I have no doubt that we’re going to have a promising crop of calves next spring, but…”

“They’re not going to start working for three years. We’ve got to survive until then.”

“Yeah.”

Wyatt cleared his throat. “I can get us money.” He had their undivided attention.

“I’ve talked to Juan about our corporation, and he’s intrigued. He’d like to buy stock.”

“I don’t know about that, Wyatt.” Max’s face was as stony as any on Mount Rushmore.

Wyatt ignored him and addressed his comments to Bree. “I’m not talking about a partner. He wants to buy nonvoting stock as an investment.”

“We don’t need your boyfriend’s charity.” His voice sounded like a peach pit in a garbage disposal.

“Charity?” Wyatt ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. “Jesus, Max, will you pull your head out? He’s researched the industry. He knows what he’s getting himself into. Do you realize that bull riding is the fastest growing sport in America? There’s lots of money to be made here, and he knows it.”

Bree broke in. “I could run some numbers.”

“This is moving too fast.” Max shook his head. “The corporation has barely been formed, and already we’re looking for money.”

Bree broke in. “You saw the budgets. You knew that this was a possibility.”

“I know. But the reality of going deeper in debt to pull ourselves out—”

“It’s not debt, Max; it’s stock. That’s on the equity section of the balance sheet, not liability side. Corporations do this all the time.”

“Yeah, but Jamesons don’t.” Max ran his fingers through his hair.

Wyatt’s concerned gaze raked his brother. “Are you
sure this isn’t about offering stock, but about who wants to buy it?”

Max lifted his beer and drained it. “Of course not. I told you I was working on that, Wyatt, and I am.” He looked at Bree. “I don’t care where you put it on your pretty balance sheets. It’s money someone’s banking on getting back, and I’m not comfortable with the risk.” He slammed the empty bottle on the table and stalked out.

Bree surveyed the milling cattle churning dust in the stockyard corral, pride swelling in her chest. Half of the herd for the parade through town sported the Heather’s double H brand on their flanks.

She’d looked forward to the Fourth of July celebration for weeks. They’d gotten up well before dawn, loading the cattle and trucking them to town. After the roping and steer wrestling events at the rodeo, they’d be trucked back to the sale barn and sold.

“Let’s head ’em up and move ’em out!” The hoarse shout of the elected trail boss overrode the bedlam of bawling calves. A frisson of excitement shivered through her as Bree tugged the reins from the hitching post, put her foot in the stirrup, and mounted.

She tugged the brim of her Stetson to block the horizontal rays of the rising sun. Not a cloud in the sky. It was going to be a perfect day; she could feel it.

Catching quick movement out of the corner of her eye, she jerked her head up. Trouble exploded across the yard, bucking and squealing, leaving Max grabbing for leather.

Cowboys shouted as riders scattered.

Wyatt trotted up on a buckskin cow pony. “Quite
an entrance. I don’t know why Max brought that ill-mannered beast to town.”

Trouble calmed a bit, having made his point. The big paint pranced in place, head thrown up, fighting the rein.

“Oh, he’s full of himself; that’s all.” Bree thought the pair magnificent. She longed for a camera to capture the flashy horse and the lean cowboy in the morning light. As if sensing her gaze, Max glanced up, and smiling, tipped his hat to her.

“Looks to me like they’re both pretty full of themselves,” Wyatt said.

“Yeah, and neither you nor I would have it different.” She touched the Walker with her heel and took her place in the phalanx of riders skirting the corral. As the gate opened, they herded the cattle out of the yard, onto the asphalt of Lincoln Avenue, and turned right, toward town.

When the herd settled to a sedate walk, the riders relaxed, throwing jibes at one another.

Bree couldn’t wipe the silly grin from her face. As they neared downtown, crowds lined the road. Kids waved American flags, and the outriders had their hands full as a few cows spooked, their hooves clattering and slipping on the asphalt. Bree eyed the edge of the herd warily. Unfenced cattle and little kids made a combustible mix. All senses on alert, the cowboys tightened the herd as they broke into a trot. She urged Smooth next to a white-eyed steer, nudging him into the fold. Four blocks farther, Bree was glad to see the turnoff to the rodeo grounds and an open holding pen.

She drew a heavy sigh when the last steer cleared the fence, and the gate swung closed. Taking off her hat, she swiped her sweaty forehead.

“Every year I forget how hairy that can be.” Max ambled up on Trouble. “We’ve never had any accidents, but there have been a couple of close calls.”

“Are you guys ready for breakfast?” Wyatt reined up next to them. “I’ve been thinking about those pancakes since before sunup.”