Cowboy to the Rescue

“No. You can stay here tonight if you don’t mind the couch. The bedrooms are full of stuff or torn apart for remodeling. And all the cabins are occupied.”

“Really, I’ll be fine.”

“What about the bunkhouse?” Ryan piped up.

Brooke looked across the kitchen island to where he stood on the other side. He didn’t meet her eyes as he twirled an apple that sat atop a pile in a large wooden bowl.

“That’s a good idea,” Merline said. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean and way better than the Rochester. Ryan, can you help Brooke get settled in the bunkhouse?”

He hesitated for a moment, as if he might be regretting opening his mouth, before finally nodding. “Sure.”

Brooke thought about objecting again, saying she could manage on her own if they’d just point her in the right direction. But she was exhausted, and the quicker she found a bed to collapse on the better. She could go get what little she’d left in her motel room tomorrow.

After another round of good-nights, she followed Ryan outside, smiling at him as he held the kitchen’s screen door open for her. Chris had held the door for her countless times, but looking back she realized it was all for show, to keep up his image. With Ryan, she got the impression that courtesy was as natural as breathing, that he would never not think to do it. She didn’t know how she’d deduced that about him after so short an acquaintance, but she believed in the absolute truth of it.

“The bunkhouse isn’t far,” he said as they stepped out into the night.

“Good. I think I’m even more tired than I realized.”

“You’ll sleep like a baby out here then.”

She nearly sighed out loud at the wonderful thought. The night before had been anything but restful. On top of her nervousness about her interview was the fact that guests of the Rochester obviously didn’t stay there to sleep.

When they reached her used Focus, packed like the proverbial sardine can, she tried not to think how its purchase was another step she’d taken to distance herself from all that had come before. She hated it. Not that there was anything wrong with the car. Goodness knew it was better than the beater she’d driven in high school and college. But it was what it represented. Like staying at the Rochester, the compact blue car was part of a plan to be as little like her true self as possible. The only thing she hated more than the car was Chris—and her own blindness to what he truly was.

“Got any room in there for a passenger?” Ryan asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

She eyed the pile of stuff on the passenger seat. “If you don’t mind holding a box. It’s that or strap you to the hood.”

He laughed. “I’ll take the box.”

After a bit of rearranging, they got into the car. She knew Ryan was tall, but he seemed even more so wedged into her passenger seat.

“Sorry about the tight fit,” she said.

“No problem. We’re not going far.” He directed her past the barn and down a dirt road that meandered along a fence. It was so dark outside that she couldn’t see anything beyond that. She almost commented on it but didn’t want her remarks on his home to potentially invite questions about where she was from.

Ryan seemed content to sit quietly. She’d noticed he was less talkative than his brothers, particularly Simon. She hoped Simon would tire of his flirting if she didn’t respond in kind. But she had to be careful not to be seen as rude either. She’d worked with enough hotel convention-goers to be able to deal with lots of personality types, but she’d always known they’d be gone within a week. For as long as she stayed at Vista Hills, she’d have to see Simon.

“There it is.” Ryan pointed through the windshield.

Her headlights illuminated a low, rustic building surrounded by sprawling, gnarled trees. Live oaks. While all trees were technically alive, the live oaks seemed more so, as if they had unique personalities. She pulled into a clear area that bore the marks of earlier vehicles.

“Hope you’re not expecting four-star accommodations,” Ryan said as she cut the engine.

She gave him a raised-eyebrow look and allowed herself to relax a little. “You do remember I was staying at the Rochester, right?”

He smiled. “Good point.”

After Ryan got out of the car, it took Brooke a moment to recover from seeing his simple smile up close. It’d been warm, easy, not loaded with expectations.

Maybe Simon wasn’t the Teague brother she was going to have to guard against.

“What do you need tonight?” Ryan asked when she got out of the car.

“I’ll get it,” she said as she started toward the back of the car.

Ryan held up a hand to halt her. “You’re in Texas now. Chivalry isn’t quite dead here yet.”

“You could tell I’m not from Texas?”

“Not enough twang.”

This time, she was the one to smile. “I’ll have to work on that.”

“So?” Ryan nodded toward the car.

She relented and pointed at the backseat. “The suitcase on top.”

Ryan retrieved the suitcase then led her toward the bunkhouse. He unlocked the front door and turned on an overhead light to reveal a main room that was half living room, half kitchen like the main house, only on a much smaller, more rustic scale. A nondescript tan couch, two matching chairs and a scuffed coffee table filled the foreground. Beyond the couch was a simple kitchen a few decades out of date with its Formica countertops and a table suitable for a fifties sitcom.

Ryan sat the suitcase next to the couch. “Nobody’s lived here in years, not since we started focusing more on the guest ranch than raising horses. All our ranch hands now are married, so they have their own homes.”

“It’s nice of you all to let me stay here tonight. I’ll look for another place as soon as I can.”

“No hurry.”

Did he want her to stay here at the ranch? She looked away, telling herself she was being silly. Plus, it didn’t matter. Ryan Teague was simply her employer’s son, would never be more than possibly a casual friend. And it was better that way.

A wave of loneliness as heavy as her fatigue descended on Brooke. Was this the way it was going to be the rest of her life—living a lie and being alone?

“You okay?” Ryan took a few steps closer to her, and she had to fight the deep urge to seek a hug from him, this man she barely knew.

“Yeah, just tired.” She hoped he couldn’t tell how choked her voice sounded. She kept her eyes averted so he couldn’t see the tears welling in them.

When he didn’t respond, she dared a glance and saw recognition in his expression. He knew more than exhaustion was tugging at her, but he didn’t push the subject. Instead, he took a step back and gestured toward the two doors on each side of the main room.

“There are four bedrooms with small bathrooms, all pretty much alike. Make yourself at home.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. This might be where she was starting over, but it wasn’t her home. Would any place ever feel like home again?

“I’ll go so you can get some rest before you collapse.”

Brooke started to move toward the door. “I’ll drive you back to the house.”

He smiled. “I think I can make it.”

“You’re sure?”