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She frowned. “Which you’ll get half of.”
He studied her for a few seconds. “You think that’s why I came?”
“I’m still not sure why you came.”
Since he wasn’t, either, he was going to let that subject drop. But then he said, “I didn’t come here to hurt you. I know you’re grieving. I know you miss Alex and the life you had. I also know it’s better not to make major decisions right after a loved one dies. But you really have no choice.”
“I’m managing,” she protested.
“That’s why I want to look at the books. To see if you are.”
She put a weary hand to her forehead.
He thought it trembled a little. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. In the meantime, don’t you think you should be sleeping downstairs?”
“Why?”
“It would be safer. If you need things from up there, I can bring them down.”
The expression on her face brought him to his feet because he knew she was going to fight him on this and probably everything else.
“You were Alex’s older brother, Brock, not mine. You say you want to help. Fine. There’s not much I can do about that. But helping doesn’t mean changing the way I live my life. Helping means taking some of the burden off of Dix. Helping means getting to know Feather until I can get back out into the barn. Helping means looking at my agenda, not setting one of your own. If you can help in those ways, I’d be more than grateful if you’d stay. But if you came here with the idea that I’m going to put Saddle Ridge up for sale and sell it to a developer so you can wipe away the memories and pretend you weren’t raised here, it’s not going to happen.”
Her blue eyes were shiny with emotion now. “I love this ranch. Every hill and valley, every fence post, every floor-board that creaks. It’s my son or daughter’s future. A way of life that’s vanishing. I won’t let it vanish for him or her.” She went to the stairway and took hold of the banister. “I’ll be careful, Brock. Believe me, I will.” She started up the steps.
Her shoulders held a courageous line, and in spite of the friction between them, he wanted to take her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. But that was the last thing he intended to do. Truthfully, he didn’t know if everything would be all right. How could it be, when her husband was dead and she was in debt up to her pretty little ears? He had to find out how much. He had to find out what it would take to dig her out.
“As soon as I warm up my coffee, I’ll work up in the spare room.”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Do whatever you need to do. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He watched her until she reached the top of the stairs. Then she disappeared into the hall shadows. Moments later, he heard her bedroom door close.
Those had been tears in her eyes as she’d defended her dreams, and he felt like a heel for causing them. Snatching up his mug, he took it to the kitchen, hearing his father’s voice echo sarcastically in his head. Welcome home, Brock.
He refilled his mug, determined to block out his father’s indifference, along with the turmoil returning here had caused.
Chapter Two
When Kylie awakened, her room was pitch-black. No moon gave even an inkling of light. It was this time of night when she missed Alex most, and she wasn’t even sure why. What she missed was the way they’d been together after they first married. What she missed was the friendship and true caring they’d once shared. Over the past year, Alex had been away more than he’d been home. In the middle of the night, she’d often awakened, wishing he were there holding her, smiling at her in that crooked, boyish way he had. The daytime hours were so busy and passed so fast, she didn’t have time to think. At night she did. She had time to think, feel and miss what might have been.
She had turned in early because she’d been hurting and because she’d had to escape Brock’s questions as well as the look of censure in his eyes. The corner of her heart that at seventeen had thought he could do no wrong begged to be unlocked. But if she unlocked it, all of her fears and worries and regrets would come pouring out. She didn’t know if it was safe to give any of those to Brock. Her encounter with Trish Hammond was a sore that wouldn’t heal. She badly needed salve for it. When she had some time alone with Gwen and Shaye, she’d probably tell them about it. But it wasn’t something she could discuss easily. It wasn’t anything she could discuss when other people were around. It was embarrassing and humiliating and so deep-down painful, sometimes it took her breath away.
Alex had been unfaithful.
For how long? With more women than Trish? At the moment, she felt like Brock, wanting to evade or dismiss the past. She knew, in the long run, whatever happened to her would make her stronger. Still…right now she just plain hurt, emotionally and physically. Tears welled up in her eyes and she let them dribble down her cheeks. But then she stopped the self-pity, and as she had so often over the past months, she thought about her child.
Reaching to the nightstand, her fingers wrapped around her solution to insomnia—her tape player. There was a stack of cassettes there, too. She’d collected them over the years, and now switched on R. Carlos Nakai’s Christmas music.
The haunting notes of flutes and bells had her rubbing her tummy tenderly. “What do you think, baby? I know this is one of your favorites. You always settle down when I play this one.”
Her baby was a kicker, especially—it seemed—in the middle of the night. But this music always seemed to calm her little one, as well as her. Even if she didn’t sleep while it played, she rested. Sweet visions of the mountains and the mustangs and the water rippling calm and serene filled the darkest time of night.
Using a technique she’d learned from a yoga class she’d taken with Gwen and Shaye many years before, she consciously relaxed her muscles, breathing out stress, breathing in peace.
Two soft raps on the door broke her focused concentration. “Kylie? Are you okay?”
“If I say I’m fine, will you throw a fit?”
She didn’t hear his sigh or see the roll of his eyes, but she knew he probably did both.
He answered gruffly, “You have a concussion.”
Yes, she did. The doctor had told her it would be better if she weren’t alone for the next few days. He’d probably told Dix the same thing. That’s why Brock was here. Some misguided sense of duty. He’d gotten the full gift of responsibility that Alex had lacked.
She switched off the tape player. “If you want to come in and see for yourself I’m not in a coma, feel free.” Propping herself a little higher on the pillows, she turned on the bedside lamp.
The doorknob turned, the door opened and then Brock was standing there in her bedroom, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.
“I can tell you my name, where I live and who’s President of the United States,” she assured him.
“Has anyone ever mentioned that you can be the most frustrating woman on the planet?”
“Not within the last year or so. But I imagine Dix would like to at least once a day.”
Finally, Brock’s lips twitched up at the corners. “Is the music for you or the baby?”
“That’s a toss-up. Sometimes it settles him or her down so I can fall asleep again.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
“If I don’t move, it’s not so bad.”
“Do you need ice? You didn’t bring any up with you.”
“Sometimes the ice bag makes me feel like a popsicle. I was going to try to relax into oblivion.” He was still wearing his jeans and snap-button shirt. Obviously he hadn’t turned in yet. “Have you been on the computer this whole time?”
“Actually, not your computer, but mine. I got a call after you went to bed. I’m finishing up a data summary and analysis for a job I did last month. The company’s having a board meeting on Monday and the CEO would like it by Friday. I’ll get to your books, just not tonight. I’ll catch a couple of hours of sleep before I check the cattle with Dix.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to watch my every move the rest of the day?”
His dark eyes stayed pinned to her. “It means I’ll set out everything you need for breakfast and be back in to get you lunch. Don’t even try to argue. For the next few days, just consider yourself pampered.”
Kylie had never been pampered. The idea that Brock was going to do it made her feel all warm and tingly inside. Maybe she should just give in and enjoy a few days of rest.
All of a sudden the baby started a kicking storm. Her hand went to her tummy and she smiled.
“You felt something?” Brock asked, coming a few steps closer.
“Whether I’ve got a boy or a girl, he or she will probably be a kick boxer.” Something in Brock’s expression made her ask, “Do you want to feel?”
In that moment, any camaraderie she’d felt with him fled. Heavy silence intensified the sound of the beating of her heart. She was wearing a flannel nightgown. When she’d shifted higher on her pillows, the coverlet had slipped and was only halfway covering her tummy. Nevertheless, she felt as if Brock could see right through her, could see beneath the quilt and her nightgown to the baby underneath.
“I think I’ll pass,” he responded, his voice low and deep.
Because he didn’t want to touch her? Because he didn’t want to touch Alex’s child? Because this baby was Jack Warner’s heir and could inherit Brock’s share of Saddle Ridge if she held onto the ranch? He had to resent her and the baby. There was no way they could have a common goal. No way he could help bring her dreams to fruition without trampling on his.
Had she thought they’d bond over Alex’s child? How naive could she get?
She’d been foolish to suggest that he feel her baby kick. She’d made an awkward situation even more awkward, and anything she said now would just make matters worse.
Pulling the covers up to her chin, she looked away from his nearly black eyes, looked away from the beard stubble on his jaw, looked away from the man who had intrigued her almost all of her life.
“Good night, Brock,” she almost whispered, tired of always trying to figure out the best thing to do, tired of feeling as if she were always swimming upstream against currents she’d never defeat.
“Good night, Kylie,” he returned, then left her room and closed the door.
Her throat tightened and she fought back tears, hating the hormone shifts that accompanied pregnancy. She thought about her wedding day and the album tucked away in the closet. She considered the days and nights Alex had been away and she’d been here alone. Then to her dismay, she all too vividly remembered the kiss she’d given Brock when she was seventeen and the way he’d kissed her back, just for a few moments. She felt guilty thinking about it, as if she were betraying Alex in some way. She’d wanted to be his wife. She’d expected their marriage to work. She’d thought they could be together more than they were apart.
One question played loudly in her head. What would have happened if Brock hadn’t come to Jack Warner’s funeral with a wife on his arm?
She didn’t have the answer to that one and expected she never would.
Kylie descended the steps the following morning, surprised she had slept so late. It was 10:00 a.m., and she never slept past 6:00. But she supposed her body was trying to heal itself. It was healing itself and keeping her baby safe.
When she reached the kitchen, she spotted the cereal on the table, the toaster pushed to the edge of the counter and the place set for her. It was as if Brock didn’t even want her on tiptoes reaching into the cupboards.
His words when she’d asked if he wanted to feel the baby were still clear in her head. I think I’ll pass. He was taking care of her out of misguided duty. He didn’t really want to be involved.
Suddenly, the front door opened and Brock came inside, along with a rush of cold, Wyoming air. He was wearing a down parka that looked like one of Dix’s, and his Stetson was pulled low. “I thought you might be getting up around now. How do you feel?”
“Better,” she responded, then assured him, “Really.”
Unzipping his coat, he hung it on the hook in the kitchen, then plopped his hat on the hat caddy beside the door. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee. I want to ride the parameters of the property and see just what condition the land is in.”
“You remember how to ride?” she teased.
“That’s not something I’ll ever be likely to forget. Sometimes on a site I’ve ridden to hard-to-reach places.”
“Hard to reach and dangerous?” she asked, thinking about the continents and countries where he might have found oil.
“Sometimes. That’s when the pay was really good.”
“Did your wife go with you? I know she was a geologist, too.”
“Ex-wife,” he reminded her, his shoulders more rigid, his deep brown eyes on the alert. “At the beginning, we worked jobs together. Then she got tired of the traveling and decided to take a staff job in Houston.”
“You didn’t want to take that kind of position?”
“Not particularly. I like the field work.”
Suddenly she wanted to know a lot more. “Is that what caused a rift between you?”
The clock ticked, the furnace fan switched on and finally Brock answered, “It doesn’t matter what happened between us. It’s over.”
After a brief hesitation, she asked, “Did you want it to be over? Or did she?”
“It was a mutual decision.”
She thought of Alex on the road. A husband and wife couldn’t have a marriage if one of them wasn’t there.
Although she didn’t say the thought aloud, Brock must have read her mind because he added defensively, “There was more than one reason why we divorced.”
“Do you still see her?”
“Enough questions, Kylie.” He looked angry and she didn’t know if that was because she was digging into his past, because she’d touched a nerve or because he was simply a private man.
Going to the coffeepot, he took it from the machine, filled the carafe with water and dumped it into the back.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” she said softly.
“Yes, you did. But what’s happened in my life has nothing to do with what’s going on here now.”
She wasn’t so sure of that. However, she took his very strong hint and changed the subject. “Speaking of what’s happening here now, how’s Feather?”
“She’s a looker,” he agreed. “Wary of me.”
“She won’t be for long if you’re patient with her.”
“We’ll see. Dix said you have a special oatmeal treat you give her.”
She pointed to a stoneware canister on the counter. “I make them myself when I have time. There’s about half a jar there. She also loves licorice hard candy.”
“I’ll remember that the next time I get into town. You’d better eat breakfast or it’s going to be time for lunch.”
As the coffee bubbled and brewed, Kylie went to the refrigerator for the container of milk. It was a gallon jug and more economical to buy it that way. But the container was still three quarters full and heavy.
Brock saw her go for the handle and was quickly beside her, his hand covering hers. “I’ll get it.”
She didn’t argue. She usually used two hands to maneuver it.
At the table he asked, “Do you want a glass of milk besides what’s on your cereal?”
“Half a glass.”
After he poured the milk into the bowl and the glass, he set the jug on the table and really studied her. They were standing close—close enough that she could smell the pine of his aftershave, the scent of Brock that hadn’t changed all these years. She’d pulled the upper part of her hair back in a ponytail and let the rest flow long. Now he touched her forehead beneath her bangs. With anyone else she probably would have shied away. The area where she’d hit her head was tender.
His thumb was calloused, but oh, so gentle as it traced the edges of the bruise. “It’s changing color. It’ll be gone in a few days.”
