Nothing Sweeter (Sweet on a Cowboy) (16 page)

She dropped his hand, smiling. “Hey, tell Tia that. I’m not getting busted, sneaking into your bed.” She nudged Smooth and he broke into a trot, leaving Max grumbling to himself.

21

I
t’s called the Little Blue Dummy,” Total Bull’s new trainer said, placing a rectangular metal box on the mess hall table. Metal wings jutted from either side, attached to a wide leather strap. Armando had returned that afternoon and spent dinner regaling them with tales from his trip.

“JB says it helps train a young bull. You strap it on a two- or three-year-old, and it’s enough weight that he tries to buck it off.” He pointed to a red button on a small remote. “When he’s had enough”—he pushed it and the dummy popped off the strap—“the little guy thinks he bucked it off and feels like he’s won.”

Sitting next to Miguel, Bree eyed the contraption. “I guarantee you, a woman invented that.”

Wyatt frowned from across the table. “Why do you say that?”

Bee shrugged. “Women have been pumping up men’s egos for centuries.” She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes at him. “Works like a charm.”

Max clapped Armando on the shoulder. “Well, let’s
hope that thing works. We’ll bring the young bulls in from the pasture tomorrow and give you a chance to test it.”

He glanced to the end of the table at Miguel and Jesus. “How’d you two like to handle our rolling stock?”

“What’s rolling stock?” Miguel asked.

“Well, we’ve entered Fire Ant in six Challenger Tour events over the next two months. Local venues: Boulder, Fort Collins, Rifle. He’s going to need a ride.” He gave them a stern look. “Are you two responsible enough to handle this?”

The young men looked at each other, then at Max. “Hell, yeah, boss,” Jesus said.

“Beats stringing bob-wire any day.” Miguel high-fived his roping buddy.

Bree had mixed feelings about sending the hands. She’d wanted the job, but Wyatt and Max both overrode her vote. The cowboys could bed down in the cattle trailer, where she’d have to pay for a hotel room for safety’s sake. Still, the brothers’ overprotective attitude rankled.

On the other hand, she was glad not to go on the road. Not right now at least. The image of Max walking out of the river popped into her mind. The water sparkling in his hair, his thigh muscles bunching… She let her mind’s eye roam up and fanned herself with her hat.

Later, as they left the mess hall, the men followed Armando to the bunkhouse to hear more stories of his trip. Bree let the screen door slap behind her and paused on the porch. Their lack of an invitation and sidelong glances told Bree they were stories she didn’t want to hear, probably starring loose women and lots of beer.

The sun hunkered on the horizon, a huge orange ball. She donned her straw hat, and seeing Trouble in the pasture,
strolled to the fence. A less flashy horse would have blended with the landscape.

Max’s deep voice came from behind her. “I’d trim his hooves before I go to bed, if I could catch the devil.”

“You’d better get your nippers, then.” Bree put two fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Trouble threw his head up. When she whistled again, he cantered toward the fence. She turned to Max and smiled. “Close your mouth; you’re gonna catch a bug.”

Trouble slowed at the fence, then stopped and stretched his head over. As Bree reached up to scratch under his forelock, he lipped her collar.

Max pushed his hat back. “How did you do that? I’ve known this nag since he was a colt, and he’s
never
done that for me.”

She chuckled. “I wish I could tell you that I’m some kind of horse whisperer, but I’d be lying. I have a secret weapon.” Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a plastic Baggie and opened it. Trouble nudged her elbow as she pulled out long white wedges.

“What are you feeding my horse?”

“Jicama.” She laid the spears on the flat of her hand and the horse took them, smearing drool on her palm.

“What is that, some kind of apple?”

She dried her hands on the seat of her jeans. “Nope, a vegetable. It’s a root, like a yam.”

Max grabbed Trouble’s halter before he got the idea to take off. “What is wrong with you? Guys do
not
come running for vegetables.”

Bree caressed the soft black-and-white braided rope bridle in the Elk River Farm and Feed.
How great would
that look on a paint?
She flipped the dangling price tag and gulped. This gift was beyond her deflated finances.

“Pretty as a pup, isn’t it?”

She turned to find Trey Colburn standing behind her. Too close. She nodded, dropped the price tag, and stepped away.

“Hello again.” He took off his hat. “Bree, right? I may forget a name now and again, but I’d never forget a face that pretty.” Colburn’s little boy smile was deadly. Turning his hat in his hands, he inhaled. “Don’t you love the smell of a tack store? Makes you want to take out your wallet, doesn’t it?”

Bree had to return the smile. “Yes, that’s exactly how it makes me feel.”

“I saw you at the rodeo on the Fourth. How do you like our part of the country?”

“It feels like home already.” She glanced out the plate-glass window next to her. The store afforded a breathtaking view. “I can’t imagine being somewhere that mountains don’t ring the horizon like a necklace.”

“Very well said.” He gazed out at the vista, his face serious. “You couldn’t drag me out of Colorado for love or money.”

He seemed sincere. If she ignored Max’s opinion of the man and went only on her own impressions… An idea flashed. Max would be pissed, but what if it worked? She didn’t see a downside. “Buy you a cup of coffee?” she asked. “I’d like to discuss something with you.”

A half hour later, Bree sat across from Trey at a wrought-iron table outside the coffee shop. It hadn’t taken much to get him started. He seemed more than happy to talk about himself. Sipping her coffee, she listened for clues to the man in his small talk.

“So, we put in a pool last spring. It makes a great place to entertain. Just last week we had the Chamber of Commerce out for a mixer.”

He certainly didn’t strike her as the evil man that Max had painted. He had a bit of “little man syndrome” maybe, and from what Max told her, he’d made a few bad moral choices.

I’m hardly one to be throwing rocks when it comes to poor moral choices.

He seemed more like a man who’d never found his place. He wore his life like a cheap suit: binding under the arms, the pants too tight in the seat.

“Trey, do you mind my asking you a personal question?”

“Fire away, sugar.”

“Did you ever ask yourself what you’d do if other people’s opinions didn’t matter?” He threw her a startled glance. “I ask because my life changed when I did that.” She watched the cars whizz by a few yards from them as she gathered her thoughts.

“You see people that seem to have it all together: money, prestige, glitter. They look so happy.” She remembered the lights of Hollywood at night. “It’s
so
seductive, that dream. Like a whirlpool, it’s easy to get sucked into it, and by the time you figure out that it’s just a dream, it’s too late. You’ve got too much invested to go back.”

She shook her head. “One night at a party, I looked around and realized everyone else was chasing the same dream. They all knew it was bull, but they couldn’t admit it. There we all were, laughing and posing, trying to convince everyone we lived this perfect life, so no one would know what a huge mistake we’d made.” She frowned. “I
paid the price for my mistakes, but I feel bad for people who were pulled into that lifestyle by watching me.”

Trey’s face revealed no glimpse of his thoughts. “What are you trying to say, sugar?”

“I’m asking you to call off the dogs, Trey. Please stop lobbying Denver to close the BLM lands.” She put down her cup and leaned forward. “I know you’re not doing this for the money. The dream you’re following will do damage to a lot of good people.” She nodded her head toward the mountains. “And it will hurt this place you love so much.”

Trey’s eyes glinted dangerously before he ducked his head to put on his immaculate felt cowboy hat. “You presume quite a bit, little lady.”

Her stomach dropped.
Max is going to kill me.

He stood, reached in his pocket, and dropped a five on the table, then leaned in close. “You tell your boyfriend out at the Heather to come see me if he wants to cry uncle. I’m surprised that he’d send a woman to do a man’s job.”

Bree shot to her feet, anger pounding in the veins of her neck. “You don’t really believe he sent me. What, I sulked around the tack store until you happened by?”

Trey’s face reminded her of a boy’s from high school when she refused to put out in the front seat of his car. Pained, angry, entitled. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Two days later, Max paced in front of the great room fireplace, untouched Rolling Rock in hand. Wyatt sat on the leather couch facing him.

“Max, either spit it out or let me get to work. If you’re conducting a carpet wear test, you don’t need me.”

Max picked at the edge of the bottle’s label, feeling
like a naked man climbing a barbed-wire fence. He set the beer on the end table and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “I found this in that old trunk from the office.” He handed over the stiff ivory card, grimy and broken from being in his pocket since the night he’d found it. Wyatt opened it, and in the silence, Max heard his heart pounding in his ears.

As Wyatt read, the color drained from his face. Max put out a hand but then let it fall to his side. “I’ve been torn up over this, Wyatt. Didn’t know if I should tell you or not.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and gazed out the window, wishing he were anywhere but here. “Why the hell didn’t Dad burn that damn thing?” He turned. “Say something, Wyatt.”

Wyatt pointed to the fancy writing. “Your dad.” His eyes burned, but beneath it, Max glimpsed pain. “You mean, why didn’t
your
dad burn it. Give me a minute, will you?” He reread the note, holding it by one crumpled corner as if it were coated in anthrax.

Max resumed pacing. Why did things always have to change? First, the problems with the ranch, then his father’s death, and now this. He’d been forced to accept he didn’t have control of many things, but goddammit. He wasn’t losing Wyatt.

Wyatt stared out the window. “I never tried to find my mother. I figured if she didn’t care enough to take me with her, I didn’t owe her.” His soft, shaky voice sent a bolt of worry through Max. “How screwed up is it that she may be my only living relative?” A sardonic smile lifted a corner of his mouth. “And even knowing this”—he tossed the card on the coffee table—“I don’t know or care if she’s still alive.”

Max’s gut twisted. Except for him, Wyatt would be alone in the world. He remembered the photo of the Hispanic man on Wyatt’s dresser.
Yeah, but that’s not family.
And family was everything. “You know, something just occurred to me, Wyatt. Maybe Dad’s attitude had nothing to do with you at all.” He turned to study his brother’s face. “I’ve seen photos of your mother. You look a lot like her. What if Dad’s…?” He searched for a politically correct term. “Maybe his distaste wasn’t for who you are but who he saw when he looked at you. Hell, for all we know, he had no clue that you were gay.”

Wyatt put his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet, as an old man would. “You mean you and he never talked about any of this? All those years?”

Max snorted. “Get real. You know Dad. I couldn’t ask him if he knew you were—well, batting for the other team.”

“Good point, but are you saying my name never came up? Not even in general terms?”

Max felt his face go red. “Of course your name came up.”

“Just not often.”

The pain in Wyatt’s look hit him like a punch. Max snatched up his beer and took a long pull. “Come on, Wyatt. You grew up in this house. You know what it was like. Dad talked about the weather, the price of beef, and gave orders. Period.” He rolled his eyes. “Can you see Angus Jameson talking about his feelings?” Wyatt snorted. A good sign. “Besides, I stayed in touch with you. You know I did.”

Wyatt thought a moment. “Yes, I heard from you on Christmas. And on my birthday, some years.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Wyatt shrugged. “What the hell. Go ahead.”

“Did you hate women because of your mom? The way she left you?”

Wyatt burst out laughing. Max watched, shocked, as Wyatt nearly doubled over. “You think I’m gay because of my mother?” He wheezed. “Max, you slay me. You really do.”

“Well, hell, Wyatt.”

“You think I’d condemn an entire gender for the actions of one shallow, self-centered woman?” He sobered, shaking his head. “Being gay isn’t about damage, or what happened to you when you were a kid. It’s about sexual attraction.”

Max inspected the scarred leather of his work boots.

“Sorry if this subject bothers you, but you asked.” Wyatt threw his hands up. “Dammit, Max, not everyone gets to hide from reality in their little self-imposed cocoon.”

“Hey, I’m just the one standing in front of you, bud. I’m not the one you’re mad at.”

“Maybe, but you’ll do for the moment. I’m so sick of this place, with its attitudes and ignorance. You can’t imagine what it’s like.”

“You’re right, I can’t.” He stepped in front of Wyatt and stared him in the eye. “But I’m trying, brother. I’m trying.”

Wyatt’s shoulders slumped as the anger seemed to drain out of him. Max understood. The emotions of this afternoon had scoured his insides, leaving them raw.

Wyatt glanced around the room as if he’d never seen it before. “This isn’t my home.”

“Bullshit,” Max growled. “No matter what the old man
wasn’t, you’ve gotta give him credit. He raised you like you were his son. I didn’t get anything in the will that you didn’t get half of. That’s proof that he cared, even if he couldn’t show it.”

Wyatt glanced to the top of the hill, at the fresh grave beside the older, weathered marker. “I guess we’ll never know what the old man thought. Not for sure. The only part that’s going to hurt, long-term, is that you and I aren’t brothers.”

Max’s closed his fingers on Wyatt’s arm, pulling him around. “You’d better get this straight, Wyatt. You and I
are
brothers. We’ve always
been
brothers, and no shitty ‘Dear John’ letter is going to change that.” Max blinked away something that felt like moisture and cleared his throat. He pulled his brother into an awkward embrace, Wyatt’s arms trapped at his sides. “The only way you’re getting out of this family is in a box, and you danged well better get used to it.”