The Rancher Next Door (6 page)

He glanced back at Caley and Ava, still planted in the driveway near the truck. “In the house, ladies.” He gestured over his shoulder toward her rental, wishing he’d passed down to Ava something besides his own stubborn streak. He swallowed hard. “Please.”

That did the trick. Caley picked up her purse and ushered Ava inside the house. He waited until the door shut firmly behind them before he turned back in the saddle and directed Nugget around the perimeter of the fence. There was a gate about a hundred yards around the bend. He’d slip in that way and come up behind the bull, then hopefully drive him back toward his separate pen. Of course, it’d help if he had a horse that wasn’t afraid of the beast.

Brady cast a glance back at Caley’s rental, and sighed.

And it’d help even more if he had a nanny who was.

Chapter Six

A
pparently there was something in Broken Bend’s water that made smart people oblivious to truth.

Caley slung her purse on the counter, fighting the urge to look out the window that glimpsed Brady’s back pasture and make sure he was all right. If he wanted to try to do something foolish, like round up a bull—that’d already spooked his horse once—by himself, then so be it. The risk of someone getting hurt was greater with him out there alone than with someone’s help, even hers. But the men of Broken Bend apparently drank a little more of that bayou stubbornness than others.

Her dad had certainly gulped his share.

“Is he going to be okay?” Ava’s drawn voice sounded from the living room, where she’d peeled back the thin curtains and stared into the field. Scooter pressed against her side in sympathy, whining. He’d always been able to tell when someone was worried.

Caley’s frustration at being held back faded at the worry in Ava’s tone. “Of course, sweetie. Your dad knows what he’s doing.” She believed that, but it still stung that he didn’t think enough of her to believe her own ability. But why did it matter so much?

She swallowed against the answer beating in her heart.

Because she wanted the man on the roof—the one who’d sat with her despite his obvious dislike of heights, the one who’d ask her about her grandmother and didn’t push when she’d verbally shut down, the one who’d shared the moonlight—to like her.

Respect her.

And not just as a nanny.

Caley ran the edges of the curtain through her fingers, the flimsy fabric cool against her palm. Maybe she’d taken in some of that bayou water herself. Because no matter how attractive Brady was or how good-hearted he appeared to be, she wasn’t the Broken Bend woman he needed. Even if she could fix the cracks in his family, he made it clear last night that he didn’t want her to.
Ava is fine. We both are.

She could tell that wasn’t true.

But she’d pretty much written the book on denial, so how much of a hypocrite would she be if she pressed him about it?

“There he goes.” Ava’s voice broke through Caley’s thoughts, freeing her from the relentless possibilities of what could be and what wouldn’t ever be. “Dad’s trying to go in behind him.”

Caley edged closer to Ava as she peered through the glass over her head, Scooter’s tail thumping a steady rhythm against her leg. Was that a lasso? Was Brady really going to try to rope the bull? Seemed crazy, but on second thought, she’d heard from firemen who took side jobs as rodeo clowns that oftentimes when an animal got a wild hair, all they needed was a firm hand and direction to bring them back around. Maybe that was Brady’s plan.

Not a bad one, but it’d be a whole lot better if he’d wait for Max.

She exhaled with relief, not even realizing until that moment she’d been holding her breath. “Spitfire doesn’t see him yet.”

“Nope. Is that good or bad?” Ava glanced up at her.

“Could be either.” She licked her suddenly dry lips as Spitfire’s head rose from the grass just as Brady began to wind his rope. Then, without warning, the bull whipped around and pawed the earth. “Never mind. Not good.”

It was too much for Nugget. The horse reared, and even from this distance, Caley could tell Brady wasn’t ready. His arms windmilled with the lasso as he fought for balance, but his horse was too fast. He barreled off the back of Nugget and landed hard on the packed ground as the horse bolted away.

Ava shrieked, clasping both hands to her mouth, and Caley’s heart leaped in her throat with the force of a jackhammer. “Wait here.”

She burst through the front door, slamming it behind her to show Ava she meant business about staying put, and ran as fast as she could toward the fence separating her from Brady. She prayed for the first time in too long, the words whipping through her head as fast as the grass whipping past her boots.
God, Ava needs her daddy. Don’t take him, too.
She didn’t think she was in a position to ask for any favors, but if there was ever any grace to be found, surely it would land on a sweetheart like Ava.

Thankfully, Spitfire had taken off after Nugget again, leaving Brady time to gather himself. But he wasn’t leaping immediately to his feet. She hoped he hadn’t hit his head.

“Brady!” She cupped her hands and hollered as loud as she could. He staggered to his knees, blood dripping from a cut on his brow, answering her question. She caught her breath, hope filling her heart at the sight of him moving, albeit slowly. “Are you okay?” Her legs trembled beneath her, willing his reply.

He lifted one hand as if to tell her to wait, his other fist pounding his chest. He’d probably gotten the wind knocked out of him, and Caley knew from ladder-training mishaps that took a minute to recover from. Not to mention it hurt like crazy.

Across the field, Spitfire—apparently tired of chasing Nugget, who appeared to be heading back toward the barn—focused his attention toward Brady, still at half-mast in the field. He saw the danger the same time she did, and he began hurrying toward the fence.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

Caley might not be able to control the future, but she sure wasn’t going to stand by and let Ava become an orphan today. Without hesitation, she hauled herself over the fence and slipped two fingers in her mouth, whistling loud enough to perk the ears of every horse in the neighboring counties.

Just as she’d hoped, Spitfire changed direction and barreled toward her, wide nostrils flaring to twice their size. Brady darted toward the fence, ninety degrees from Spitfire, steering clear of the bull’s peripheral vision. Caley hooked one foot on the fence and swung her leg over toward safety, heart pounding in her ears. Spitfire hadn’t jumped it the first time. Hopefully he wouldn’t be further motivated now.

She cleared the fence, noting Brady had done the same, and landed hard, dropping to one knee in the grass. Brady, still running, pointed to her truck. “Bed.” The word rasped out barely louder than her heartbeat in her ears.

Sudden hooves pounded behind her, and Caley decided she didn’t want to trust Spitfire’s previous decisions after all. She propped one foot on the fender of her pickup and Brady grabbed her arms, hauling her over the tailgate. He pulled her down into the bed of the truck just as Spitfire crashed through the fence, sending a shower of wood splinters raining around them.

Caley covered her head, and Brady’s breath fanned her cheek, his arms wrapped with firm pressure around her shoulders. “Stay down.”

Angry snorts sounded from near the wheel well, and Caley willingly obeyed, moving only the elbow that she knew dug into Brady’s ribs.

“When they lose visual, they calm down.” His voice whispered in her ear, husky and warm, and his heart pounded a matching rhythm against her palm, still resting on his chest.

Caley quickly moved her hand, face flaming. She wasn’t entirely sure which was more terrifying—the close call they’d just had, or the feelings being in such close proximity to Brady stirred in her heart. “Is it safe?” It felt anything but, for myriad reasons.

Brady gently shifted her off him and propped up on one elbow, just enough to peer over the rim of the bed. The blood on his forehead had dried to rust, smearing the corner of his temple. “He’s back in the pasture now, seems calm.” He pushed up on his knees and stood, then reached down to help propel Caley to her feet.

She brushed off the back of her jeans, and Brady plucked a piece of wood shaving from her hair. Their eyes locked and held, and Brady’s finger grazed her cheek before he dropped his hand to his side. “That was dangerous.”

No kidding.
She still couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t because of Spitfire. She tried to look away from his arresting gaze, but failed. “I know. You almost got yourself killed.”

Brady broke eye contact then, folding his arms over his wrinkled and torn shirt. “I meant you. I told you and Ava to stay inside.”

“Why, so we could watch through the window as you got yourself gored?” All traces of the chemistry that had previously pulsed between them vanished as indignation took its place. Caley reached up and tapped Brady’s head, beside his cut. “Exhibit A.”

“I would have been fine.” His lips thinned and frustration sparked in his blue eyes, so similar to Ava’s. “Just got the breath knocked out of me.”

“Which wouldn’t have been a big deal—if there hadn’t been a bull charging you at the same time.” Caley pushed past Brady, checked to make sure Spitfire was a safe distance away and hiked her leg over the tailgate. She slid to the ground as frustration welled inside. She’d worked with some pretty macho guys over the course of her career, but this one took the cake. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

Brady landed on the ground beside her. “Me being stubborn?” He jabbed his chest, his eyebrows hiking up his forehead and wrinkling the fresh cut. The sudden motion had to hurt, but to his credit, he didn’t even flinch. “You’re the one being stubborn. Your job is to protect my daughter.”

“And I did.” Caley stalked toward the back door, pausing with her hand on the knob. She shot him a look over her shoulder. “I protected her from having to watch her father die.”

* * *

He’d known Caley Foster was going to be trouble. Hadn’t he declared it from day one?

Brady slapped the dust off his cowboy hat before planting it back on his head. The comforting aroma of hay and horse sweat filled the barn around him, accompanied by the familiar sounds of jangling harnesses and horse tails swishing at flies—but all he could hear was the echoing snort of Spitfire’s wrath. The heaviness of his hooves.

The disdain in Caley’s voice as she leveled her last barb directly at his heart.

He wasn’t stubborn. He was
careful.
Caley didn’t understand—he’d lost someone he loved because of his carelessness in the past. He wouldn’t let that happen to his daughter, or anyone else in his charge, ever again.

Even if that cost him his own life.

But it hadn’t. He’d had it under control. If anything, she’d scared ten years from him the way she ran out in the pasture, whistling like some kind of Annie Oakley fresh off the range. Who was this woman, anyway? What happened to the cookie-baking—well, cookie-
attempting
—grandmother-visiting, sweet-smiling role model he’d hired? This woman camped out on roofs, ran faster than he could, faced off with bulls and shinnied up and down ladders and fences like they weren’t even there. Not exactly role-model material for a daughter he was trying to keep safe.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the way he’d reacted to Caley’s nearness in the truck, the way he’d appreciated the warmth of her against him, the way he’d pulled fence shavings from her hair and had to stop himself from curling those silky golden strands through his fingers and leaning in to kiss the worry from her brow.

Yep, Caley Foster was out-and-out trouble.

“Guess I shouldn’t go pick up feed anymore.” Max’s voice teased from down the barn as he emerged from the tack room, thankfully distracting Brady from the details of his adventure he’d be smart to forget. “You’ll just set the ranch on fire or something.”

“Very funny. Keep your day job.” Brady rolled his eyes at his friend, but his ire didn’t run deep. Max had really helped him out. He’d driven up at the ranch just as Brady had hiked back to corral Nugget and go after Spitfire again. Max had joined him on another horse, and together, they’d put the bull back in his own pasture and quick-fixed his fence. The temporary repair would hold now that Spitfire wasn’t on the rampage, but now Brady had two fences to mend.

Caley’s angry, hurt expression flashed in his mind, and he sighed. Make that three.

Max braced his forearms on Nugget’s low stall door next to Brady. “Well, the tack is rubbed down, boss.” He paused and studied Brady. “You might want to go clean that gash on your head next.”

“It’s not that bad. Nugget just happened to dump me on a rock.” Brady reached up to touch the tender flesh, a knot forming beneath the wound and sending a headache pulsing through his temples and down his neck. It did need some soap and water, but heading inside to clean it now seemed like defeat. Like admitting Caley was right.

Like the way it hurt to take a deep breath meant she really had saved his life.

“Jokes aside, I’m glad it worked out okay. I had no idea Nugget was so skittish with Spitfire. Could have been really bad.” Max lifted his hand from the stall wall and winced. “Splinter.”

“I didn’t know, either. Wish I could have found out a little easier.” He reached up to pat Nugget’s cheek. “Speaking of splinters, we need to get Caley’s fence fixed ASAP, since Spitfire mauled it. Don’t want her landlord having a heart attack if he comes by to check on the property.” He rubbed grit from his eyes and wished he could just go inside and take a few pain pills and a nap. But the work at the ranch wouldn’t do itself. “You know how particular Tommy is.”

“Doesn’t the entire town.” Max picked at his callused palm. “Man, I hate splinters.”

So did Brady. Hated the kind that nestled unwillingly under his skin, the kind that poked and prodded tender areas best left ignored. The kind with blond hair and too much ambition for their own good.

The kind he was going to have to apologize to.