Nothing Sweeter (Sweet on a Cowboy) (3 page)

Hoping for another serving of rice, she looked up to see that nothing remained but sauce-smeared platters. If she’d been alone, she’d have licked her plate clean. Seeing Max’s smile, she knew he’d read her thoughts.
He must think I was raised by wolves.
She smiled across the table at him. Let him think that. It would lead him further from the truth. Her past was something she’d worked hard to leave behind far west of here. She was now Bree Tanner. And Bree Tanner could be whoever she decided she’d be.

After carrying their dishes to the serving counter and picking up a slice of cake for dessert, the ranch hands gravitated to the television. The brothers remained at the table with Aubrey, chatting.

Now that her belly was full and the tension of the day gone, she felt herself fading.
Jeez, you’d think I’d never done a day’s work. I didn’t even put in eight hours today.
She stretched. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m hitting the sack. My day starts early tomorrow.” As she rose to drag herself to the door, muscles that hadn’t worked in years protested.

Save a lone floodlight on the barn, darkness reigned. She glanced up, and the huge dark sky opened to swallow
her. The Milky Way spread across the great expanse, a creamy river flowing away from her. Individual stars were cold chips of ice, the mountains only a black outline at the horizon. Dizzy, she swayed on her feet, her stomach dropping in an overwhelming wave of awareness at her own insignificance.

“By night an atheist half believes in a God.” At the deep voice, she spun to see Max’s silhouette outlined against the light spilling from the mess hall windows. Broad shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist. A silhouette she knew she’d see burned on the back of her eyelids tonight, in the dark. He stepped off the porch. “Edward Young said that.” He touched her elbow. She jerked away, hugging herself. She was unused to touch. Not gentle ones, anyway.

He hesitated, and she sensed his scrutiny in the dark. “I’ll see you get to your temporary quarters safely.”

As they walked, his scent came to her, the warm essence of leather and
man
. She breathed him in like a rare perfume. Male vibrations pulsed from him, touching her skin, raising the hair on her arms. She mentally shook herself.
It must be the dark. Senses are heightened in the absence of light.

It had been a long time—a really long time, since a man showed concern for her safety. She’d never equated chivalry with sexy, but out here, under the stars, it turned her downright sinful.

He stopped a few paces short of the door, and as she opened it, she felt his gaze like a warm touch on the back of her neck.

“Sleep well. Busy day tomorrow.” His voice rumbled softly from the dark, like the comforting sound of far-off thunder on a warm summer night.

He was still there, unmoving, when she closed the door.

A few minutes later, locked in and tucked under the covers, Aubrey tried to relax into exhaustion. Instead, her mind started the movie that ran whenever she wasn’t distracted. Different scenes, but always the same horror story: Federal agents barging into her office, cuffing her and leading her through a crowd of gaping employees.

But that, as it turned out, had been the good part.

She rolled over, groping for the bottle of Tagamet she’d stashed under the bed. After taking a swig, she plumped the pillow and flopped on her other side, the gritty taste only part of what made her lips curl from her teeth.

Life here seemed simple and quiet. It might be a good place to rest for a while. As she took a deep breath, the heady scent of warm horseflesh opened the door to happy memories and a wave of burgeoning homesickness—not for another place, but for another time.

Her mom had worked long hours. Aubrey was left to her own devices, which suited her fine. A typical horse-crazy kid, she rode her bike to a boarding stable every day after school. She wore the owners down until, at fifteen, they hired her on as a groom. She’d have worked for free just to be near horses, but jumped at the owner’s offer to exchange free riding lessons for her labor. They were days filled with sunshine, fresh air, and freedom.

Maybe at High Heather she could heal. She smiled into the dark. The Jamesons. She’d never seen two brothers so different—in looks and temperament. Wyatt reminded her of a teddy bear. Max, a grizzly. One that just woke from hibernation. Still, she couldn’t deny that his rugged, Marlboro Man looks had caught her attention. And he
had
been sweet to Tia Nita, at least.

She yawned, exhaustion lulling her tired brain at last. Who cared? She’d lose herself in physical labor and horses. They’d been the anchors that had gotten her through puberty. Maybe they’d help her sort out the mess she’d made of her life.

If not, there was always the road, and Jackson Hole.

4

A
ubrey awoke with a panicked start, holding her breath until a hoof kick on a stall door reminded her where she was. She glanced to the travel alarm on the desk—four a.m. Groaning, she flopped back on the pillow.

Dreaming of her job at Other Coast Trends had left a sheen of sweat on her skin and a greasy film of guilt in her mouth. She’d known it was her responsibility as controller to report the customs violations she’d discovered. But good jobs didn’t grow on So-Cal palm trees, and the high-profile position was a great start to launch her career. And Aubrey knew Vic. He’d have done everything in his power to ruin her if she’d ratted him out. Of course, as it turned out, she’d been ruined anyway.

To him, blind loyalty was more important than morality. How twisted is that?
Vic was also a good judge of character—or lack of it. He must have realized that she wouldn’t go very far down that crooked road, so he’d hired a CFO who would. At that point, Aubrey became
expendable. He’d taken a chance, though, that she’d retaliate and call Customs.

Yeah, but I didn’t. Apparently he knew me better than I did. How can you trust yourself after you make a decision that cataclysmically stupid?

Her stomach burned. Rather than delve any deeper into that sludge pit of remorse, she threw back the covers and put her feet on the icy concrete floor. The barn air was chill, but thanks to a space heater, bearable. She jerked on jeans, a turtleneck sweater, warm socks, and her sheepskin-lined denim jacket. The morning would be cold until the sun came up.

Minutes later, from where she stood at the lip of the barn door, Aubrey recognized the shifting shapes of the cow ponies, just darker shadows against the backdrop of night. Figuring that would be as good a place to start as any, she grabbed a box of brushes and flipped the switch on a floodlight that spotlighted the dooryard.

The ponies slept standing in the corral, their breath clouding the still air and forming frosty icicles on their whiskers. Aubrey started with a shaggy dun, brushing and warming as she leaned in to penetrate the heavy winter coat. The broomtail grunted in pleasure. She inhaled the mixture of frigid air and warm horse. A bubble of happiness built in her chest, rising to explode in her brain.

She worked her way through the string, and the ponies crowded her, curious, each wanting to be next. She spoke to them in a low voice of silly endearments, enjoying both the solitude and the camaraderie.

Time passed quickly in that peaceful place. Giving the last pony a final swipe, she let the brush fall to her side and massaged her biceps. It was going to take a few days
to build up the grooming muscle. She glanced up to the welcome light of the dining hall, shining warm and yellow on the brightening yard. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee drifted to her.

After dropping the brush box in the barn, she strode to the weathered building and shivered, imagining warmth enveloping her. Stepping onto the porch, angry male voices brought her up short. She hesitated, reluctant to have anything shatter the fragile calm of her morning. All she wanted was coffee.

“I heard in town yesterday that Trey Colburn married Jo Clark last fall.” The morning paper rustled as Wyatt turned the page. They’d been the first to arrive at the mess hall. “Didn’t you tell me on the phone once that you and she were dating?”

Max shot a look over the edge of his coffee cup. “We were.”

“So, what happened?” Wyatt scanned the page, then turned it.

Something in Wyatt’s uninformed nonchalance loosened the tight wad of words in Max’s throat. He barked them out. “Goddamn Colburn came back to town and sidled up to Jo, with his baby face, smooth ways, and family money.” He lifted his cup, but the slug of coffee he took had turned bitter. He forced himself to swallow it.

“I’m sorry, Max.” Wyatt looked up. “I’m surprised. I remember Jo being such a sweet girl.”

“She is. It wasn’t her fault. It’s that weasel Colburn.” He said the name like it was Osama bin Laden. He scanned the walls, the ceiling, looked out the window, but the silence pulled him back to his brother’s puppy-dog eyes. “Okay,
so maybe some of it was me.” He clunked the cup on the table. Coffee sloshed out. “Shit, you know me, Wyatt. I don’t go around calf-eyed, spouting poetry at a woman.”

Wyatt studied the paper, but his eyes didn’t move across the page. “No, no one could accuse you of that.”

So I have more in common with Dad than just his looks. But why do people have to run around talking, spewing their feelings all the time?
And if he were the type who did, would Jo be asleep in his bed at the main house right now, instead of in another man’s, a few short miles down the road? “I’d planned to marry that girl,” he almost whispered. The sadness he heard in those words burned almost as much as Wyatt’s pitying look.

“If you never told her how you felt, how could she have known that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Wyatt.” He needed to change the subject and fast. Living in the past never did anyone any good.

Max took a sip from his mug, trying to find the right words. “Wyatt, I know the ranch is half yours. I’m good with that. But let’s be realistic. At some point, you’re going to go back to your boyfriend and your fairy tale life, and I’ll be the one left to deal with whatever we decide.”

Wyatt leaned in, his face red. “Damn it, Max, you’re just like Dad.”

“That’s bullshit.” He snapped out. “If I were just like the old man, you wouldn’t have come home. And you damn well know it.” He forced a deep breath and got control of himself. “Wyatt, this isn’t about Dad. It’s not even about you. It’s about me. Humor me for a minute, will you?”
Walk gentle. Your future depends on this.

“I’ve thought about your dude-ranch idea. Let’s ignore
the fact that the repairs would cost more than we have in the bank. The bottom line is that I can’t live with it. I’m not willing to sell off any land for yuppie vacation retreats, so why would I run a ranch to cater to them? To give them a ‘real Western experience,’ whatever the hell that is. Can you see me doing that?”

Max looked across the table to the face he’d missed and been glad to be quit of all these years. He had always loved his little brother. How could he not root for the little underdog of the Jameson household? But Wyatt’s sexual orientation raised close-to-the-bone questions for Max. Questions he found easier to ignore than deal with. That philosophy had worked for years—as long as Wyatt was two thousand miles away. Lately, though, not so much. Max shifted in his chair.

Looking into his empty coffee cup, the tense lines on Wyatt’s face relaxed.

“I guess not.” He leaned forward, over his coffee mug, and looked straight into his brother’s eyes. “I know you don’t want to consider this, but what if we sold out? We could split the money, and you could get a good job as a ranch foreman somewhere. Think about it, Max. You’d still have the parts of the job you like, but none of the headaches of ownership.”

Max’s deepest fear, spoken out loud, hung in the air over the table. He smothered it with his bellow. “Jesus, how many shades of stupid are there?”

Wyatt flinched.

Max forced his voice lower. The anger made it come out in a hiss. “I make a pittance as a lackey for some rich dude? I still have all the problems without the pride of ownership?”

Wyatt raised his head. His entreating expression
reminded Max of that little kid, expecting his big brother to make everything right. “So what are we going to do, Maxie?”

Max’s hands tightened on the edge of the table. Building frustration and a haunting sense of failure made him want to throw something. “I don’t
know
, Wyatt,” he ground out, staring at his fingers, willing them to relax. “I’ve looked into alternatives. Kobe beef looked good, but then the economy tanked. People aren’t willing to spend the money for it, and the price has fallen to where it isn’t profitable either.”

Wyatt toyed with his coffee cup. “Then it looks like we’re back to selling some of the land. I don’t want to do it either, but we have to be realistic.”

The dark clouds of foreboding he’d been turning his back on could no longer be ignored. The too much coffee he’d drunk burned in his stomach.

His brother continued. “I know Colburn has already put in an offer. Wouldn’t it be better if we sell some land and at least have cash to run the rest?” Wyatt’s look speared him. “I know it would stick in your gut to sell to him, after Jo. But if we don’t, we’re going to lose everything. Every day that goes by—”

Max exploded to his feet, his chair hitting the floor with a clatter. “
Goddammit,
Wyatt, don’t you think I know that?” He strode to the wooden door and yanked it open, slamming the screen door against the wall as he barreled through. Sensing movement, he turned his head to see the city girl lurking against the wall, a startled deer-in-the-headlights look to her huge brown eyes. The high color in her cheeks told him she’d been standing in the cold for some time, spying, no doubt.

“This day just keeps getting better and better.” He snorted in disgust and kept walking.

After sharing a quiet breakfast with Wyatt, Bree followed him to the barn for a rundown of her job duties.

“We don’t expect you to groom the working ponies. The cowboys do that.”

She waited in the doorway. “Oh, that’s okay. I’m awake early anyway, and we all enjoyed it.”

Wyatt walked past her, leading the way down the aisle. “I’ll explain the routine to you.” As he turned, she almost walked into him. “And don’t let me forget to show you how to cinch a Western saddle.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and Aubrey smiled back.

Wyatt introduced her to her charges and the details of their care. Various breeds occupied the twenty stalls: Arabs, Thoroughbred crosses, a Tennessee Walker, and most prevalent, the quarter horse, king of the West. By the time they’d worked their way back to the tack room, Aubrey had relaxed. Wyatt knelt at the door to her room, pulling a screwdriver and a small paper bag from his back pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m installing a dead bolt and a slide lock.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Oh, thanks. That’s thoughtful of you.”

As he looked up, she was struck again by his golden handsomeness. “Don’t thank me. This is Max’s idea. It’s his concession to allow you to sleep out here. It’s more to make him feel better than out of necessity.” He must have seen her stiffen because he said, “Look, Bree, you’ll find it’s best to choose your battles with Max.”

“Is that how you’ve gotten along with him all these years?”

“No.” He bent to his task and screwed the plate in with more force than necessary. “This is my first trip home since I left when I was seventeen.”

“Can you tell me something? Does Max have a problem with mankind in general, or is it just me?”

Wyatt smiled up at her. “Both, I think.” His smile slipped. “You may want to give Max a bit of a break. He’s taken a lot of hits lately.” His gaze sharpened on her face. “One of the hits had auburn hair. Just like yours.”

“Oh.” The revelation hit her brain like a punch. She, of all people, could understand loss of a dream.

Wyatt looked back to the doorframe. “Don’t feel bad. There was no way you could know.”

She hesitated to bring up the next subject, but she didn’t want to put it off. Besides, she’d already put one foot in her mouth—God knew, it was big enough for two. “I overheard you and Max in the mess hall this morning.”

Wyatt’s neck turned red and the screwdriver slipped off the screw head.

“This must be a stressful time for you.” His head came up. She touched his shoulder. “I just wanted you to know that I’m here, if you ever want to talk.”

“Hello the barn!” A female voice drifted down the breezeway, announcing the first boarder of the day. “Anybody here?”

“Well, that’s my cue.” Aubrey glanced into the tiny mirror and slapped on a baseball cap instead of trying to tame her unruly mane.

Wyatt stood and slipped the screwdriver into his back pocket. “That’s Sue Phelps. Her horse is Winter Park, the
big Appaloosa. You’ll do fine, Bree. This will all be routine in no time.”

She took a deep breath and got to work.

The days of her new life flew by, filled with simple tasks: grooming, feeding, and getting acquainted with the horses. Aubrey enjoyed their individual personalities, even Trouble, Max’s bad boy. She saw through his testosterone-fueled fractiousness. All he needed was more exercise and something to distract him.

If only his owner were so simple.
The brothers seemed busy as well, appearing at mealtime to bolt food, then disappear back into the house. Their overheard conversations were all business, but she sensed a fragile truce between them.

Bree finished picking out the hooves of a mixed-breed bay belonging to an executive in town before picking up his empty water bucket.

“Where
is
everyone?” A shrill voice shattered the late-morning quiet.

Bree stepped out of the box stall and slid the door closed. A raven-haired woman in tight jodhpurs strode the aisle, a riding crop slapping lustrous knee-high riding boots with every step. Her white blouse exposed a generous swell of creamy cleavage. A man in a business suit trailed in her wake, fingers tapping an iPhone, one eye downcast, wary of the shine on his Toschi loafers.

“Why isn’t my horse saddled?” The woman stopped and looked down her imperious nose at Bree. “And who are you?”

Well, la-di-da.
“I’m Bree, the new groom. Can I help you?”

“Jesus, this place changes grooms like I change lipstick.” She looked Bree over from top to bottom. “And now I’ve got to break in another one.”

Bree recognized the aggressive glint in her eye from her shark swim at Other Coast Trends. “This is Tuesday.” The woman lifted her arm, glancing at a glinting Rolex on her slim wrist. “It is ten thirty. In the future, I expect my horse groomed, saddled, and waiting. This day, this time, every week. Understand?”

The businessman raised his head, as if sensing chum in the water.

Aubrey pasted a helpful smile on her face. “Yes, ma’am, perfectly clear. Might I inquire as to your horse’s name?”