Читать книгу Her Cowboy Lawman - Pamela Britton - Страница 12

Chapter Four

She should have said no.

You’re just nervous about Kyle learning how to ride.

But she knew it wasn’t just that. It was him. Bren Connelly. The former Green Beret. Gosh darn it all, another testosterone-filled male in her life. Just what she needed. He reminded her of Paul. And why not? They had both been manufactured at the same war-machine factory.

Too bad.

She would never go down that road again. Never, never, never. Which was really a shame because she’d found him kind of attractive.

Kind of?

Okay, very.

She heard his truck before she spotted it. For a moment she wished Kyle were with her, but he’d gone down to the stables ahead of her with Jax. The two were saddling up the horse they would use today, and so it was just her.

Don’t be afraid.

Bren was not Paul.

Besides, Bren was so aloof. He had no romantic interest in her. He wouldn’t wine and dine and woo her and then...change. Bren hardly glanced her way. That was good. She needed to keep it that way. She forced a wide smile on her face and pulled open her front door. At least he’d followed her instructions. She told him to drive around to the side of the house, to where the guest’s quarters of her brother’s multimillion-dollar home were located.

“Wow.”

That was all he said when he stepped out of the same black Dodge truck she’d seen at his house. The vehicle matched his all-black outfit right down to the cowboy hat. Not that she expected a warm greeting from him or anything. Ever since that first day he’d been so...standoffish. Still, a “Hi” or a “Hello” or “Good to see you” would have been nice. Not that she really blamed him. Her brother’s home could make a politician speechless.

“It’s kind of over the top, isn’t it?”

Bren had completely ignored her words, just stood in place, tipped his hat back, topaz-colored eyes taking it all in. She’d done the same thing when she’d first arrived.

The house had been built into the side of a hill, one covered by oak trees and a small outcropping of rocks. It’d been designed by some bigwig mucky-muck in New York, one who specialized in feng shui. Her brother believed in luck and Karma and all that other crazy stuff, so she hadn’t been surprised that he’d built his monstrous-sized home out of “natural elements,” in this case redwood and granite, and then ordered it to blend in with its surroundings. Three stories tall, it boasted a steep roof in the middle and two smaller peaks on the left and right. Giant beams stuck out at the ends, a design mimicked around the ranch. The second and third floors both opened up to decks, but she lived on the bottom floor, around the side, which sounded not as nice but, in fact, was super spacious and comfortable, and she thanked God for the roof over her head every day.

“And you live there?” He pointed behind her.

She followed his gaze, remembering what she’d thought when she’d seen the private entrance. She had a deck, too, although hers was more like a porch, the narrow steps leading to a door with windows on either side of it. Her apartment might look like a tiny portion of her brother’s giant mansion, but that wasn’t the case at all. She had the entire corner of the house—and given the size of that home, that said a lot—plus three bedrooms and a kitchen that overlooked the backyard. Even though the home had been nestled against the side of a hill, it was really more of an illusion. They had carved away the hillside to make room for more decking and a pool, all of which she could spy from her kitchen and family room windows along the back of her apartment.

“It’s supposed to be the maid’s quarters.” She’d laughed when she heard that. Her brother—with a maid. “But he’s letting me and Kyle live here until I’m back on my feet.”

Because her life had completely fallen apart when Paul had died. The lies. The half-truths. It had all come to a head and she’d been forced to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart and start all over again. And she’d been doing fine, too. She’d raised Kyle while holding down a job and going to school at night. But then Jax had visited her. His visits had been so few and far between when he’d been working full time. But now he wasn’t, and he’d seen the hovel where she lived and had insisted she move into his new place. It had meant moving to a different city and rebuilding their lives from scratch, but she’d done it for Kyle. He’d been happier than she’d ever seen him and it made her hope he’d escaped her marriage to Paul unscathed.

“Where’s the riding stables?” His gaze scanned the perimeter.

“Out back.”

He appeared skeptical. She didn’t blame him. The first day they’d driven up to her brother’s new home, right after she’d picked her jaw up off the floor—pictures did not do the mansion justice—Kyle had asked the same question. Surrounded by trees and the hillside, it didn’t appear to be anything other than just a home out in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s hidden,” she said.

Right then, as if on cue, a horse nickered in the distance. Bren turned toward the sound coming from the tree-studded hillside and cocked his head.

“It’s around on the other side.” She pointed to a gravel road that swept past her apartment and wound through the hills. “Kyle’s already down there.”

He nodded, but whereas last week he’d pretty much ignored her, today he turned and studied her. She felt the urge to brush a hand through her hair. She’d left it down today. No more pigtails, but for some reason she wished she’d taken time to style it a little more.

Stupid. Former Green Beret, remember?

“I heard your brother is a military contractor.” He cocked his head a bit as he awaited her answer.

“He was,” she said, glancing down at her new boots. They weren’t broken in yet and they already hurt. “He’s mostly retired now. Focusing on Hooves for Heroes.”

Because far be it from Jax to retire, although she supposed that at thirty-eight, he was far too young for that. Still, most men in his position would want to travel the world, to forget the past and the stress of their previous line of work. Not her brother. No. He wanted to help the men and women who’d served their country—and had the scars to prove it.

“If you don’t mind driving, we can go down there now, unless you’re not supposed to drive civilians around in your vehicle or something.”

“I won’t exactly be driving on city streets.” He shot her a smile. “Not that it matters. The truck’s a perk of the job. I can do whatever I want with it.”

Must be nice, she thought. But she supposed a lawman was never really off duty, and so who was she to pass judgment?

“It’s just a little too far to walk,” she said, “and my brother already took off with the Rhino.”

There he went studying her again. Why, oh why, did she feel her skin begin to prickle, her fair flesh no doubt changing colors like a neon sign behind a window. It was as if he knew she had a secret.

“The Rhino is an all-terrain vehicle Jax bought to drive back and forth to the stable area,” she explained because she felt the need to say something.

“I know what a Rhino is.”

Then why did he stare at her so intently? She almost asked the question. Instead she swallowed, looking toward his truck. “Is it unlocked?”

In response he moved to the passenger side of his truck and opened it. She hadn’t had a man open the door for her in, well, a long, long time.

“Thanks.”

He smiled. She had to look away.

Great. Less than two minutes in his company and it was all she could do to look him in the eye. He made her edgy. Made her mouth go dry at the mere thought of sitting next to him for a quick jaunt to the stables. He caused her heart to beat what felt like a million beats per minute.

“Need help up?” he asked, holding out a supporting hand.

“No, I’m fine.”

She’d never been inside a law enforcement vehicle before, and so she told herself that was why she hesitated to get inside. There was a gun on a rack in between the seat and a computer on a stand attached to the dash. But she knew that wasn’t why she paused. It was because she was suddenly...afraid.

Why?

He must have thought she couldn’t make it up on her own, because he helped her anyway, his hand capturing the crook of her elbow and gently guiding her. She might have moved, but inside, everything froze, her breathing, her heart, even her vision as she stared straight ahead. And then he let her go and she wilted into the cab of his truck, the door sealing with a pop.

Oh, dear Lord.

How would she ever make it through the next few hours?

* * *

SHE’D GONE QUIET on him. That was okay. They didn’t need to get chatty, or even friendly, not if he wanted to keep his distance—which he did, he reminded himself. George’s reaction the other day had been all the proof he needed that she was too young for him. The man had razzed him right up until the moment he’d walked away. And if he needed further proof, he’d done some checking around. Knew for a fact that she was twelve years his junior. Too young. When he’d been eighteen, she’d been six. Hell, when he’d been in combat, she’d been in high school. It had just felt wrong to notice how attractive she’d looked standing there in her tight jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to her body. Wrong and yet oh so right.

“There it is.”

It took her words to shake him out of his reverie, to look ahead and damn near slam on the brakes. A barn had come into view, although calling it a barn was like calling the White House a home. It wasn’t just a stable; it appeared to be an arena and stable combined, one with a steep angled roof and large wooden beams poking out from the side just like the main house.

“Exactly how rich is your brother?”

“I know.” She shot him a tight smile. “It’s massive, isn’t it?”

And it only grew bigger as they approached. It’d been built in the middle of a meadow, one framed by redwood fence posts, horses grazing in the distance. It was a covered arena, he noted, but clearly taller than any he’d seen before, and he realized why as they drew closer. He could see windows inset into the long side, not the type used to allow light into the interior but large panes of glass trimmed with dark-stained wood. The exterior of the place was all wood, too. No metal beams in sight like most big-time arenas. Amazing didn’t begin to describe the place. Even the short side of the arena, something that was usually kept open, had been closed off, cathedral-sized windows stretching toward the top, smaller on the short side and then getting bigger toward the middle.

“Are those apartments along the top?” he asked, having spotted walls through the side windows.

She nodded. “Both sides, actually. Four in all. They’re for guests.”

He’d never seen anything like it. But what a great idea. Judging by the size of the arena, the apartments must be huge and, he would bet, every bit as luxurious as the main residence.

“Do you have anybody living in them?” He didn’t see any cars parked out front. The place seemed completely deserted, so if her son was inside, he couldn’t tell. The only sign of life was the Rhino parked out front, the vehicle stopped at an odd angle. He pulled up next to it.

“Not yet.” She glanced over at him, but it was quick, her hazel eyes catching his gaze for a moment before she looked away. She was like a shy kitten, one that wanted to be friendly but didn’t quite trust the human next to her. “Kyle should be inside. They’re getting a horse ready to ride.”

There was an entrance on one side of the barn with double doors and the initials HFH carved above it, and she slipped out of the truck and headed toward it. Hooves for Heroes. A sign stood next to the door. He silently whistled as they stepped inside, and if he were honest with himself, he half expected a red carpet on the other side. Instead there were more big beams stretching up toward the crown of the roof, the same beams that poked through the sides. It really was like a cathedral, he thought, pausing to get his bearings. Sunlight filtered in through windows in the roof. Tiny motes of dust danced in the beams of light, the particles seeming to swirl through the air. No need for artificial lighting in here, at least not during the day. The smell of freshly stained wood mixed with the pine and Bren knew they must have just completed construction a short time ago.

“Mom!”

Her son had slipped out of a stall, or maybe a grooming area—they were too far away to tell—his short legs pumping as he ran down the aisle.

“Hey,” he warned. “No running in the barn. You might spook the horses.”

He still couldn’t believe this was anything resembling a barn. The boy skidded to a stop, a wide smile on his face.

“Uncle Jax is in with Rowdy, but we’re having a little trouble with the saddle.” Brown eyes just like his mom’s peered up at him. “Thank goodness you’re here. YouTube has been no help.”

For some reason, the words almost made him laugh. Was everything YouTube-able these days? The kid turned and started to run back the way he’d come, caught himself and walked, but his steps were just shy of a jog, he was so full of enthusiasm and eager anticipation, and it made him want to smile and point out to Lauren how lucky she was that she’d found her son’s passion so early in life. He didn’t. She would barely look at him today and it had him wondering yet again what had happened to her. No amount of poking around had helped. She was too new to the area. He’d resisted the urge to snoop around online, too. Or use his resources at work. Whatever it was that had turned her kind eyes into pools of uncertainty, he would find out...in time.

They reached what was clearly a grooming stall. Bren would have gone inside except he drew up short at the sight that greeted him. Bren had seen some pretty remarkable things during his tenure as sheriff, hilarious things, and so he somehow held it together. What he wanted to do was double over in laughter. The horse’s halter was on upside down. They’d gotten the nose part right, but the leather strip that was supposed to run beneath the chin and throatlatch stretched instead up the middle of the horse’s face like some kind of medieval headstall. The halter should have buckled up by the horse’s ear, too, but the brass fitting must have been on the other side, down by the throat. The cross ties were attached to the rings by the neck, not the ones by the horse’s nose. And the saddle was on, but they’d used a back cinch for the front and the front girth for the back, although how they’d managed to do that when they had different fittings was anybody’s guess. But perhaps the most comical thing of all was the look on the sorrel horse’s face. It had such a pained expression of “help me” in its eyes that it was all Bren could do to hold it together.

“What’s wrong?” Lauren asked.

“Well,” he said, tipping his cowboy hat back. “It’s hard to know where to start.”