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“I hope my shoulder heals as quickly. There are so many things I want to be doing.”
“Like?”
“Like finishing making Christmas gifts. Like decorating for the holidays. Like getting the nursery ready. Like doing anything in the barn I possibly can. I can’t stay out of the barn, Brock. I need the smell of hay to live.”
Shaking his head, his hand tenderly cupped her cheek. “You can breathe in the hay. You just can’t shovel it or move it. When you’re feeling better, you can feed Feather her snacks. But that’s about it, Kylie. You know it and so do I.”
His touch on her skin sent tingling through her body. Why was she reacting like this? Because she already missed being held? Because she missed the intimacy between a man and a woman? Because when Brock touched her, she felt cared for and almost cherished in a way she’d never felt with Alex?
This was wrong…for both of them. When she stepped away from him, his eyes became flat and unreadable.
The front door flew open. Gwen Langworthy and Garrett Maxwell tumbled inside.
Seeing her in the kitchen, Gwen called, “Dix told us to come on in.”
Gwen was carrying a chocolate bundt cake wrapped in plastic wrap.
In his arms Garrett lugged a huge carton. Taking it to the kitchen, he set it on the table. “I’ve got meat loaf and scalloped potatoes, a tray of lasagna and a frozen apple pie.”
Kylie’s eyes misted. “You shouldn’t have gone to all of this trouble.”
Maneuvering around the table, Gwen gave Kylie a hug. “No trouble. We had to eat. I just made double.”
“Garrett, this is Brock Warner, Alex’s brother. Brock, this is Garrett Maxwell, Gwen’s fiancé.”
Brock shook the man’s hand. “Congratulations are in order. You’re marrying after Christmas?”
“December twenty-eighth,” Garrett answered with a grin.
Brock turned to Gwen. “And I remember you from the days you came riding here after Kylie moved in. You haven’t changed.”
“I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” Gwen responded wryly. She patted Kylie’s shoulder. “We can’t stay and visit with you now. We have a meeting with a contractor this afternoon to talk about enlarging Garrett’s house.”
“So there will be room for Tiffany and the baby?”
“For them or just for us. We want Tiffany and Amy to stay as long as they need to,” Garrett interjected. “But already Tiffany is talking about getting an apartment with another young mother in the spring.”
“I’m going to miss them terribly when they leave,” Gwen admitted.
Kylie briefly filled in Brock. “Someone left a baby inside Gwen’s sunroom. After a search, she and Garrett found Tiffany, the young mom who hadn’t wanted to give up her baby, but hadn’t known what else to do. Gwen took them both in.”
“It was a kind thing to do,” Brock said.
Garrett dropped his arm around Gwen’s shoulders. “She likes mothering. If Tiffany and Amy move out, we’ll just have to work on producing some kids of our own.”
Her cheeks flushed, Gwen murmured, “Well, they aren’t going anywhere yet. And that’s another reason we stopped by. How would the two of you like to join us for Thanksgiving dinner? Garrett’s mom is flying in and my dad and a lady he’s seeing will be joining us, too, along with Tiffany and Amy, of course.”
Before Kylie could consider the invitation, Brock broke in. “The doctor wants Kylie to rest. Especially for the first week. She’s still pretty sore and tired and—”
“I’m right here, Brock. I can answer for myself.” She gazed up at Gwen. “I’d really love to come, but I can’t. I have to take care of myself and the baby. Maybe next week we can get together. I should be feeling a lot better by then.” She glanced up at Brock. “You could consider going for Thanksgiving dinner at Gwen’s.”
Appearing startled at that suggestion, he shook his head. “On Wednesday I’m picking up a turkey for us. We’re not going to let Thanksgiving go by without roasting a bird.”
“You’re going to cook?” Kylie looked amazed.
“I’m going to cook. I’ve developed skills over the past few years you know nothing about.”
There was a flash of something primitive in Brock’s eyes that connected to something just as primitive in Kylie. With her gaze locked to his, she trembled. The idea of spending Thanksgiving day alone with Brock was scary, intimidating and…exciting.
She shouldn’t be feeling excitement now. She should be mourning Alex’s loss. She should be nurturing the good memories they’d had between them. She should be remembering their friendship.
But all she could remember was Trish’s satisfied expression. All she could feel was the deep betrayal a wife experiences when her husband turns to another woman instead of her.
Underneath all of it was the invisible bond she felt to Brock.
After Gwen and Garrett’s visit, Brock had skipped lunch to finish examining the property. As he came into the house that afternoon, he found Kylie washing out her soup bowl.
“You can just leave that in the sink.” He wished she’d stop cleaning up after herself. He wished she’d stay put on the sofa, rest and heal. But she wouldn’t want to hear that again from him.
To make conversation, he remarked, “Garrett said he used to be FBI.” He’d actually enjoyed talking to Gwen’s fiancé. They’d quickly established a rapport over computer lingo. Garrett was now a security specialist for Web sites and alarm systems. But mostly, Brock had been interested in his search-and-rescue work. As a pilot, Garrett often took off at the beep of his cell phone to look for a lost child.
“Does Gwen know what she’s getting into, marrying a man like him?” Brock asked.
Kylie swung around to glare at him. “What do you mean? He’s a good man.”
“I don’t doubt that. But how does she feel when he takes off in his Skyhawk and she doesn’t know when he’s coming back?”
“Gwen’s strong. And she knows how important Garrett’s search-and-rescue missions are to him. She already went through a rough situation with him landing his plane in a snowstorm. That’s when they both realized how much they loved each other.”
Just from his conversation with her, Brock could tell Gwen was less traditional than Kylie, more assertive and just as stubborn.
“He invited me to the hangar to check out his plane.”
“Gwen’s dad hangs out there sometimes. He often acts as a spotter for Garrett.”
Kylie dried her hands on the dish towel. But as she tried to do it one-handed, the towel slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. She stooped to retrieve it, but when she came up she wobbled a little.
In two long strides, Brock was beside her, his arm around her, steadying her. “What’s wrong?”
“I just got a little dizzy.” With his arm around her, she was practically in his arms…practically against his chest…practically holding onto his shoulder.
“You came up too fast,” he murmured, his chin close to her cheek.
When she took a deep breath, her hand slipped from his shoulder. He felt the path of it scorch through his shirt. The heat of her body fired his. Remembering that kiss so long ago, he wondered how she’d kiss now that she was a woman.
Damn it, he couldn’t go there.
Straightening, he put some distance between them. Only a few inches, but it helped. “Maybe you’d better take a nap this afternoon.”
“I don’t want to have trouble getting to sleep tonight.”
“Then go prop your feet up on the sofa. I can start a fire and you can listen to music.”
“I need to go upstairs and finish the beadwork on a Christmas present.”
“One-handed?”
“I can use my other hand if I’m careful. I just can’t move my shoulder.”
“Christmas is still weeks away.”
“I have a lot to do. I’m preparing for a baby as well as Christmas. I don’t trust myself with a sewing machine yet, but I can work at the table for a little while.”
He’d seen the table set up with containers of beads, pieces of leather and special tools.
Wanting to keep an eye on her, he figured out how to do it. “I could start going through the ranch’s records while you’re there. Then if there’s something I don’t understand, you could explain it.” He wanted to start with the year before his father’s death and look at the figures for each succeeding year to see where the money had gone, to examine what expenses had taken their toll, to read why Saddle Ridge had gone into a decline.
“All right. We can do that. I’ve kept the books since Jack died.”
“You have?”
Drawing away from him, she pulled a pack of saltines from the counter and took out a few. “You know Alex always said he didn’t have a head for figures.”
“I know that’s what he said. But I’m not sure I always believed him. He preferred being in the barn to sorting receipts.”
“Wouldn’t anybody?” she quipped.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“How about you?” she asked. “Which would you prefer?”
“I’d prefer the barn,” he replied easily. “But I know reports and vet records and feed expenses all go along with it.”
“Alex only liked to do the things he liked to do,” she murmured.
There was something in her tone that made him look a little closer. Yes, he saw grief in her eyes, but was there more than that? Had she helped run the ranch into the ground, too? He couldn’t see much evidence of that. Still, Kylie could have an expensive hobby he didn’t know about besides making Christmas presents for her friends.
“It would be nice if we could just forget the drudgery, but we can’t,” he remarked.
The statement was meant to be leading, and he waited for her to say something else. Something more. He wanted to know if the pain in her eyes was from grief and loss or regret. But she didn’t say more and the silence weighed heavily between them.
Finally he nodded to the saltines. “I don’t see how you can eat those. They taste like cardboard.”
“They don’t,” she protested with a smile. “Especially not when they’re fresh. I’m trying to stay away from that chocolate cake Gwen brought.”
“She brought it for you to eat.”
“Oh, and I’m sure I will. But I’m trying to be good for today. Are you ready to go up now?”
For some insane reason, he wanted to sweep her up into his arms and carry her up those stairs. He wanted to make sure she didn’t fall, didn’t trip, didn’t overuse her shoulder. He was just going to stick close to her for a few days until she was feeling better, yet he realized the thought of doing that was both a pleasure and a pain. When he was around her, he knew he should stay away from her. When he wasn’t around her, he worried about her. He attributed it all to his big-brother protective instincts taking over. She was such a little bit of a thing, even pregnant.
Had his brother felt this protective of her?
That question gave him a stone-cold feeling. He motioned toward the staircase. “Ladies first.”
Once upstairs in the spare room, Brock realized how bad an idea this was. The room was small, barely big enough for the computer setup, Kylie’s sewing machine, her craft supplies and the table she worked on. There was a soft leather purse laying on the table with fringes that were partially beaded.
When Kylie sat in the wooden chair at the table, he asked, “Don’t you want a pillow or something?”
“A pillow would just slide off. This chair’s just right with the table.” She switched on an intensity light where she was working.
Although he booted up the computer, that wasn’t where his attention stayed. Maybe it was the scent of Kylie’s shampoo, or some kind of lotion. She’d never been one for perfume. She’d always chosen natural scents. This combination was something like peach and spice. At least that’s what it smelled like to him.
When he glanced at her over his shoulder, she was already busy at work. She had her left arm propped on the table and was using her hands to hold the leather. Her head was bent and her silky, glossy hair, more golden than any wheat field, fell lazily over her shoulder. As she used tweezers and wire, her fingers almost looked as if they were dancing.
Again he turned his focus to the computer screen and the icons there, clicked on the accounting program and found the year he was looking for. But Kylie working silently less than five feet away was a distraction he couldn’t ignore.
Out of the blue she asked, “What size turkey did you order?”
“It’s big. I just told Vince Shafer to hold one for me. How long has he had the store on Bear Claw Road? He used to sell from his ranch.”
Kylie had her lips pursed as she concentrated on slipping the bead onto the piece of rawhide. “Mmm, about three years, I guess. It’s only been the last one or two he’s gone organic with some of the vegetables. I like that idea, especially now that I’m pregnant.” Her gaze came up to meet Brock’s and he saw there hopes and dreams and longings that twisted in his chest.
She broke eye contact first and went back to her beadwork.
“How did Alex feel about being a father-to-be?” Brock asked nonchalantly, though he was feeling anything but nonchalant.
She took her time in answering. When she did, it was evasive. “He was getting used to the idea.”
“My guess is, he did want a son so he’d be able to teach him all the secrets of bull riding.”
After a moment, Kylie responded, “We never really discussed that.” Then she stood. “I think I am going to take that nap. This position’s hurting my shoulder and…and I don’t want to make it worse than it is.”
When she walked to the door, Brock thought she was as graceful as ever, pregnant or not.
Then she was gone, just like that, leaving him with too many questions.
He was going to find the answers…and soon.
Chapter Three
“Don’t even think about it,” Brock’s deep voice warned from behind Kylie’s shoulder.
Thanksgiving morning, coming downstairs and hearing the first floor quiet, Kylie had assumed Brock was outside. He hadn’t been around the house much the past couple of days as he helped Dix catch up on chores. She’d gone to the front door, opened it and looked longingly at the barn. That’s where she wanted to be.
“I didn’t know you were in the house,” she replied softly, turning to face him.
“I was washing up. I have an eighteen-pound turkey to wrestle. Remember?”
