Page 5 of Red Hot Rancher

“It wasn’t your fault.” Those words felt both stupid and necessary.

“His cheating wasn’t my fault. But I should’ve seen how dismissive and manipulative he is.” She paused. “He’s subtle though. Not that it would’ve made a difference if he weren’t.”

“Have you told your parents yet?” Joan and Rick Walker lived in Arizona. Joan would outrun cops to be by Brigit’s side.

“Nope. Mom really liked Oliver.” Was that why she hadn’t called her mother yet? Afraid Joan would tell her she should’ve stuck it out and worked on the relationship?

They wound through town and hit the highway that would take them to Justin’s. They’d have to pass all her cousins’ houses on the way when they turned off the highway. She’d asked Justin not to mention anything to them. Apparently the thought of a family swarm of support and comfort frightened her. Was it because that would call attention to her ordeal? He didn’t know, but all the Walkers would find out eventually. Oliver was smart to move out of Moore as soon as possible.

At Justin’s place, he backed the trailer up to the shop entrance. Brigit hopped out and opened the large sliding door. Together, they offloaded all the items without talking more than was needed to give directions and figure out where to place stuff.

He tried to ignore how much he enjoyed being around her. She wasn’t outright ignoring him, or giving him the stiff nod she used in public to keep people from asking why she wasn’t giving her brother’s good friend the time of day. Every time she walked by, he caught a whiff of her lotion, or shampoo, or whatever lightly scented product she used. He’d lived too long by himself if it was a thrill to smell a girl.

But Brigit wasn’t a girl anymore and he was reminded of that each time she bent over to pick up a box. The way her stretchy pants caressed her ass filled him with jealousy. She’d finally allowed herself some dessert and wasn’t all angles and bones. Of course she’d looked good then, too, but this seemed more…natural. More like the girl who used to sprint through the pastures and swing herself up onto a horse bareback. More like a woman who was comfortable in her own skin. A sexy woman he wanted to touch. A lot.

She wiped her forearm across her face, smearing dust and grit. The temp hovered above freezing, but they’d worked up a sweat. “That didn’t take nearly as long as I thought.”

“Unloading never does.”

Her face clouded over as she took in the pile of her belongings. “I can’t believe my whole life fits into a corner of the shop.” Before he could reply, she spun and marched out. “I wish I had time to cuddle some lambs, but I guess I’ll be doing that every morning now.”

He trotted out behind her and closed up the shop. Tomorrow, he and Justin would arrange the furniture on pallets and cover them with sheets. They’d already put out extra mousetraps. Wherever Brigit was going next, she didn’t need critters popping out of her couch.

“Justin won’t put you to work.” He went around to the passenger side where Brigit’s fine behind was sticking out of the door. He bit back his groan. She was wiggling as she wrestled her duffel bag out.

“I got the rest,” he offered.

She hesitated. Please don’t turn me down. He couldn’t walk away and leave her to drag her luggage to the house, but she’d know he was eying her body if he suddenly turned and stared at the fields behind the shop.

She stepped back, the bag slung over her shoulder and her arms full of pillows. He reached in to grab her suitcase and her blankets. A backpack was sitting on the seat and he slung that over his shoulder. A hard thump hit his ribs and he grunted.

His long strides caught up with her. “This backpack would make a good weapon.”

“Oh, those are my old textbooks. Too bad keeping them doesn’t guarantee my ability to get a job.”

Justin had joked that Brigit was a professional student. “Look, Bridge. You have time. Justin isn’t forcing you to go anywhere. He won’t care if you pitch in around here or work in town.”

“I’m not staying in Moore,” she muttered as she wrestled her gear through the side door of the house.

Tell me how you really feel. He’d never understood why she was adamant about leaving town to create a life. But then she’d never experienced a transient lifestyle like he had.

Caleb followed her inside. The house was newer than his grandma’s had been, though it had the same two-story farmhouse look and was easily twice as large. The kitchen was spacious and separate from the dining room. A den and the master bedroom were on the first floor. The stairs creaked as they went up to the second floor, where there were three bedrooms and a full-sized bath. His boots pounded ominously on the hardwood.

If Caleb could design his own place, he’d build a knock-off of a farmhouse like this. He might not be able to afford the same square footage, but he hoped he could get more than a manufactured home on pillars.

He wanted a home of his own. People wondered why he’d moved into Grandma’s dilapidated home after she died, but they didn’t understand. That place had been the only home he’d known, the only one where he’d been welcome. Her house had been a castle to him. And unlike his mom, Grandma had always been around.

Some people questioned why he ranched when he was only a one-man operation and had a full-time job, but that ranch had been in his family for generations. Perhaps people assumed that since his mom had been adopted, the place didn’t mean as much to him.

Brigit charged into her room. He cautiously followed her, plagued by the apprehension he’d experienced as a kid. From when they were little and she’d screamed at him and Justin to stay out, or later, when they’d discovered a mutual attraction and hadn’t wanted to get caught. That fear had propelled them to hook up in the great outdoors.

She dumped her load on the bed. The space was as plain as a hotel room. Her personality had been stripped from it, perhaps from when her other brother Travis had owned the place. The bedding was beige with a brick design and the walls were bare. The off-white carpet was the same, but nearly pristine. She must not have been allowed to even have water up here.

Caleb made sure to eat in the kitchen, and except for today, he always took his boots off when he came through the door. It might be Justin’s house, but after years of getting the stink eye from Joan, he didn’t want to risk her wrath.

“I guess we’d better get back.” She wasn’t looking at him, and her arms were hugged around herself.

The years bled away until it was just him and his old friend Brigit. Forget the abandonment, the lack of faith, and the hurt between them. They’d been friends once.

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