Bad Boy Rancher

A brother? Friend? The need to know seized him.

“Who’s William?” he asked when she returned, blowing her nose.

“No one.” She snatched the tags from his hand, yanked open a drawer and dropped them inside.

“My brother Jesse died almost four years ago,” he heard himself say.

What was he doing? He knew better than to talk about Jesse. Yet something about Brielle’s pain made him want to share his.

Her stiff expression slackened. “I’m sorry. I heard he was your twin?”

“Identical. We even liked the same mustard. The brown spicy kind, not the yellow stuff.” He nearly kicked himself. Why was he telling her this nonsense?

Her smile revealed two enchanting dimples on either side of her mouth. “I hate the yellow kind, too. Much too watery. What else did Jesse like?”

“Kids. No mother was safe around him.” His shoulders lowered as he relaxed into the tale. No one ever talked about Jesse except in tragic terms, if they spoke of him at all. His family tiptoed around Justin’s grief like it was a land mine.

Yet undaunted Brielle waded right in without hesitation. It felt good to have an unbiased ear, someone who’d let him focus on positive memories, unfiltered by the bad. “Jesse begged to hold babies every time he came within fifty yards of them, and he had to be bribed to give them back.”

“He sounds like a special guy.”

Justin’s eyes burned for a moment. How long since he’d cried over Jesse? He hadn’t allowed himself tears at Jesse’s funeral nor a day since, and he’d be damned if he was going to start now, in front of a beautiful woman whom he never wanted to view him as broken. “He wasn’t a bad element like they’re saying.” He jerked his head toward Carbondale, visible through her window.

She nodded. “I know.”

Two words. Simple and direct. They carried such conviction that they reached inside and stirred his heart.

“So that’s why I want to help you.”

“You won’t be able to do that from jail.”

He let that sink in. She was right. He’d be behind bars when the meeting took place and couldn’t speak up for Jesse.

“Unless...”

He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Unless?”

“You came here instead.”

When he opened his mouth to object, she held up a hand. “Hear me out. I know you don’t think we can help you, and maybe we can’t, but you could do us a lot of good. I haven’t found someone to lead the patients’ ranch activities yet. You could take that over temporarily, as a volunteer, while you’re staying here to fulfill the court ruling. It’d help my case and impress the local ranchers at the meeting. Plus, I’d have more time to recruit another cowboy to take on the job permanently. What do you say?”

The room spun around him for a moment. “I—I’d have to think on it.”

“What’s to think about?” she challenged with that same give-no-quarter directness that backed him up and kept him off balance. “What are you afraid of?”

That snapped his spine straight. “Nothing.”

“Then prove it. I dare you to spend the next six weeks here.”

“Dare?” Was she joking? This wasn’t kid stuff...it was life or death. And the way Brielle got under his skin, opened him up, was downright dangerous. If he accepted, he’d need to keep his distance. “I’m not going to any group talks.”

She pondered that a moment then sighed. “Fine. Go only if you want to, which I’m betting will be plenty.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

“I am.”

He found himself smiling. When was the last time he’d smiled for no reason? He liked Brielle’s gumption.

“So,” she pressed, looking so flushed and vibrant he wagered touching her would be like grabbing hold of an electric fence. He could feel the spark from where he sat. “Do we have a deal?”

He shoved back his chair and held out his hand. “Dare accepted.”

As he left the facility to meet his sister for a ride home, thoughts ran through Justin’s head. He hadn’t been able to save his brother, but perhaps it wasn’t too late to make some sort of amends and help others, even though he had little faith it’d make a difference with him.

And deep down, he had to admit that the choice between spending the next one-plus month with Brielle Thompson versus Sheriff Travis Loveland wasn’t exactly hard to make.

His lips curved as he pictured her fired-up expression.

Nope.

Not a difficult decision by a long shot.

CHAPTER FOUR (#u0e7d92e2-277b-5e7e-9a21-240f5a960324)

“HE’S HERE. HE’S HERE!” Doreen stage-whispered, fluttering in Brielle’s office door the following day. Her gravity-defying bangs quivered like antennae.

Brielle cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Him... Justin Cade. He’s filling out his contact and insurance information.” Doreen waved a hand before her scarlet face. “And he’s wearing his dark leather jacket and black cowboy hat with the brim low over those eyes of his and...”

“Decorum, Doreen,” Brielle chided gently, knowing herself to be a flat-out hypocrite considering she craned her neck to glimpse the dark rider just feet away.

Anticipation fired her synapses, lighting her up inside. She’d nearly given up on Justin showing today, given the hour—4:55 p.m. A clear indicator of his reluctance, and his nerves, she suspected, no matter how tough and gruff the grizzly bear of a cowboy appeared.

“Send him in when he’s finished, please.”

“Can I offer him coffee?” Doreen bit her lip and shot a sideways glance over her shoulder. “Tea...some Twizzlers...?”

Brielle tucked back a smile at her smitten secretary. Justin Cade was a tall, dark, dangerous drink of water. No wonder he had Doreen spinning in circles.

“Whatever you like, but don’t stay past five, okay? You’ve put in too many extra hours as it is.” She shot her employee a grateful smile. They’d all been slaving, double time, to get the facility up and running. With her resident cowboy now on location, the final pieces fell into place...

Except community buy-in.

She clamped a hand over her jittering knee. In a few days, she’d face the town members who’d written complaints to the local paper’s editor. They’d air their grievances, and she’d settle their concerns. Simple, right? So why did she feel as though she was preparing to trundle down an IED-riddled road? One wrong move, one careless word, could destroy everything.

Just this morning, a letter had appeared in the paper labeling Fresh Start a “Dangerous Den of Druggies.” She appreciated the alliteration—the sentiment, not so much. She’d defend this facility to her last breath just as she’d stood by her soldiers.