The Bull Rider's Twin Trouble

The elderly man looked up from his food slowly, clearly unwilling to join the conversation. His gray mustache shifted from side to side as he chewed. After it was clear he was expected to make some sort of contribution, though, he nodded slightly. “Fine boys,” he said.

Sarah looked triumphant, as if that settled everything.

Brock shrugged. “You know how I feel about raising kids. Between the rodeo circuit and the kind of life I live—”

His ma snorted, making her thoughts clear on that score. He plowed on, regardless.

“—I don’t want the responsibility of children hanging over me every time I go rock climbing or hop on my motorcycle.”

He didn’t need to say any more. His adopted parents knew that he would never want to leave children without a father. When his parents had died...well, it wasn’t something he would wish on anyone.

He turned his attention to his food, the air thick with unspoken words.

Still, if there was ever a woman who could make him consider breaking his “no kids” rule, it was this Cassie. Even then, the only type of relationship he was prepared to have with her would need to be something temporary, casual, especially when he’d be on the road again in another couple of weeks, and he doubted she would be okay with something like that. Not a widow with two young children.

It was best not to even start something, no matter how tempting the lady.

His ma shook her head at him. “Why you and your sister can’t be happy with a nice calm life, I’ll never know. With her always thousands of miles away and you doing reckless heaven-knows-what...at least your brothers don’t try me like the two of you.”

Brock bit his tongue, but he was sure Ma knew what he was thinking: what she called “reckless,” he called fun, interesting, exciting.

“Where’s Amy going after her visit?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“She said she needs to write an article about Morocco or something,” Ma said, still glowering. “It’s as if you two have a bet going to see who can make the last of my hairs gray the fastest.”

Brock had to laugh at that. He’d never told Ma about the time the previous winter that he’d nearly snowboarded off a cliff face when a storm blew up around him, or a dozen other adventures he’d had in the last few years, but he could imagine her hair going pure white if she ever found out about it. He wondered if Amy had been keeping similar secrets from their ma.

The older woman harrumphed, but didn’t say anything more on the subject, and for that he was grateful. They’d had the “When are you going to settle down?” conversation so many times that another run-through just sounded exhausting.

After eating, Brock climbed the stairs to his childhood room, too tired from the competition earlier in the day and the long ride home to think about much of anything. Before he went to sleep, however, the image of Cassie floated before his eyes, and he drifted off with a smile on his lips.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING dawned hot and still, the sky quickly turning from soft lavender to a bright, cloudless blue. Cassie was awake but kept her eyes shut, not wanting to let go of the luxurious feeling that had come with whatever dream she had been having. Most of it had slipped away the moment she awoke, but she remembered one part of it with a vivid clarity: strong arms encircling her, holding her close to a warm muscular body.

She sighed and opened her bleary eyes, pulling herself off her bed, which was currently nothing more than a mattress and box spring on the floor. The time for dreaming was over, and that dream in particular had no place in her very busy day. She looked around the bedroom full of cartons, her eyes passing from the unfinished Ikea dresser to the headboard leaning against one wall, waiting to be attached to a bed frame she hadn’t gotten around to putting together. She sighed again and started rummaging in one of the boxes for something to wear.

They had moved into the house two weeks before, but with the delays from the moving company and two raucous boys with no friends in town yet, she had hardly made a dent in the mounds of containers everywhere. Most of her time had simply been spent assessing what needed to be fixed and trying to organize the mass of paperwork the Wilsons left her about the property, none of which helped much.

What had she been thinking, buying this place and moving them all out here to chase some childish dream of hers? The thought had flitted through her mind over and over again since they’d arrived.

Without noticing, she had gotten to the bottom of the box of clothes, and her hand touched something silky. Curious, she pulled out whatever it was she’d found, promptly dropping it in surprise. The lingerie fell to the floor, a small pool of black silk and lace.

She didn’t remember packing it, had even forgotten she’d ever purchased the thing. It was years ago now, when she was trying to keep her marriage afloat. It was a reminder that she had once hoped to have an exciting love life, the sort of thing she was now avoiding.

Cassie shook her head slightly and shoved the thing into the bottom of the box marked “Pajamas,” then went back to picking something practical to wear. She pulled on jeans and a blouse, trying to forget the sexy black teddy, only to have the concerns about her new ranch rush back in on her.

She tried to make those thoughts go away, too. It was too late to second-guess her decision to put an offer on the ranch and sign the mortgage paperwork, so she might as well stop it and just look ahead to what needed to get done so their new home would run smoothly. Now that she’d have someone helping who might know a thing or two about how to do that, she felt hopeful about the progress that would be made.

If she could manage to keep her hands off him, of course.

She walked out of her depressingly cluttered room without looking at it again. That would need to wait until she dealt with more pressing matters, like when she could start seeing patients and figuring out how she could get the ranch to make money.

She let the worry drift to the back of her mind as she entered the living room, where Zach and Carter were using the piles of boxes and some blankets to make a fort. She smiled and crawled through the little doorway they had created using two kitchen chairs and a rug. Before she spent the day trying to be a doctor and a rancher, she could spend an hour being a mom to her two boys. That, at least, wasn’t overwhelming.

They weren’t very far along on their fort, however, when there was a knock on the door that made her heart sink. There was only one person who could be on the other side of that door, and despite how much she needed his help, she wasn’t looking forward to seeing the handsome Mr. McNeal again, especially not after her dream from the night before. Zach jumped up, his head grazing the blanket that made the fort roof. “I’ll get it!” he shouted, diving between the two chairs.

She listened to his quick footsteps and the squeak of the front door. When she heard the deep rumble of Brock McNeal’s voice as he spoke to Zach, her face flushed. She steeled herself for a long day of pretending not to notice how attracted she was to him.

And how attracted he is to you, a little voice inside her added. Her mind drifted back to what hid in the bottom of her box of pajamas. She quelled all that immediately. Sure, she’d seen the way he had looked her over when she’d opened the door the previous night, but she had also seen the way his face fell when Zach and Carter joined her. She knew what that look meant, and it was enough to make her even more sure that she would keep her distance from this man.

If he wasn’t interested in a woman with kids, well, it just made things that much easier. She took a deep breath, glanced down to make sure her shirt was more modest than yesterday and began trying to extricate herself from the tiny fort.

* * *

BROCK FOLLOWED THE young boy into the home formerly owned by his old neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, where he had played dozens of times as a kid. The house had a slightly dilapidated look about it, as if nobody had taken the time to keep it in good working order, but it was still clean and homey, the wallpaper and fixtures exactly as they had been twenty years before, and likely twenty years before that.

Though it was outdated and a little the worse for wear, it was of solid construction, a good home. He imagined there wouldn’t be too much to do to get it up to snuff; hopefully the land was in a similar state and not too far gone to seed.

In the living room, the lovely woman of the evening before was crawling out of what was clearly a makeshift fort, her curly hair a messy tangle that hid half her face, her splendidly curved butt shown off in lovely detail.

How did she manage to make climbing out of a blanket fort sexy?

If he’d been out of sight, he would have smacked himself in the forehead to dislodge these wayward thoughts. It was clear to him that he’d need to help her as quickly as possible, and then keep his distance from this woman from then on out. If she got his heart pumping doing something so innocent, he needed to do everything in his power to protect himself.

She straightened up, looking even more deliciously tousled, and nodded to him with a small smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr. McNeal. I wasn’t expecting you this early. I was just going to make some pancakes for the boys. Would you like some?”

Brock knew he should take the chance to get working while she was busy elsewhere, to ensure that he could concentrate on the manual labor without her nearby, but the thought of missing out on pancakes was disheartening. His ma was happy to make eggs and bacon but had never been one for pancakes—too sweet for a good start to the day, she’d always said. He forced himself to shake his head. “No, thanks, I already ate. I’ll just get started on whatever you need me to do, if you don’t mind.”

Her mouth thinned a little and her cheeks blushed a light shade of pink. He realized that she really hadn’t expected him yet, and she wasn’t sure where he should start. She seemed to be at a loss for a moment.

Not that it was surprising she hadn’t anticipated his early arrival. He’d woken at dawn, itching to get over there—to get started on all the work that needed to be done, he’d told himself. After all, two weeks wasn’t much time, and he didn’t want to leave his new neighbor in the lurch after he’d gone. So he’d headed over right after eating, without noticing exactly how early it was.

Brock decided that just because there was so much to do didn’t mean there wasn’t time for pancakes. “Actually, pancakes sound great. After all, there’s probably enough work around here to burn off four breakfasts, I’m sure. And while you’re at it, I’ll take a look around to see what all there is to do, if that’s all right?”

She nodded, looking relieved, and he immediately felt like he’d made the right choice. Plus, he would get to eat pancakes. That was a win-win.

“I’ll go get them started. Please make yourself at home, Mr. McNeal.”

“Call me Brock,” he answered before she disappeared into the kitchen.

The moment she was gone, he looked around the room and started creating an inventory of everything that would need to be done to get the house in shape. Besides two warped window frames and the very faded wallpaper, the living room at least appeared in decent condition.

“Would you like to come in our fort?” one of the boys asked suddenly, poking his head out between two boxes.

Brock had forgotten he wasn’t alone in the room. He gave the kid a small smile. “No, thanks,” he said, not sure if there was anything else he was supposed to say.

It had been a long while since he’d spoken to anyone under the legal drinking age.