Page 50 of Red Hot Rancher

Her stomach growled at the thought of their greasy burger and fries. The day hovered above zero degrees and doing chores in the cold always ramped up her appetite.

He kept pushing snow. The dusting was closer to an inch, and while Justin didn’t need much of an excuse to fire up the snow blower, her brother was with Maisy at one of her first OB appointments. With Priya as the OB. He’d either want to work until he dropped when he got back or collapse on the couch with a six-pack.

There was always something to do. Brigit grabbed the big shop broom and joined Caleb.

“Anything exciting happen today?” Breath puffed out of the coat collar he’d crunched his face in to block the wind.

She liked the sting. It reminded her that she had a warm bed to go to each night and a family that loved and supported her. A little below-zero wind chill centered her. “I found out I didn’t get the job we went to the Cities for.”

Damn. She hadn’t meant to spill it so soon. But this was as good a place to talk as any. Any tears would disappear in the cold, dry air, and it’d look like the weather was the reason her eyes watered.

“Shit, Bridge. I’m sorry.”

She stopped pushing the broom, both hands gripping the handle. “They liked me enough to call and tell me to keep applying. Not sure how to interpret that.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Better than nothing.” She was about to tell him that she’d applied to several places in Phoenix, but she ducked her head and plowed another strip clear.

“And Moore’s still…”

“I looked and didn’t find anything,” she said, her tone shorter than she’d intended. Was that guilt rearing its head? She was enjoying her time with Caleb. But getting a job meant leaving him. It was a weird contradiction she lived in. “We should eat before the lunch rush hits, or everyone’s going to listen to what we say.”

Caleb glanced at the house, his expression pensive.

“What?”

“We don’t have to—”

“I didn’t get shitty news to have leftovers. Come on. Justin paid me for last week. I’ll treat.” Caleb lifted his shovel but didn’t move. “The LT called me into the office. They want me to apply for a position that’s opening soon. It’ll mean more responsibility but more pay. And it’s a stepping stone to future promotions.”

The cold wasn’t so refreshing now. It sapped her energy, chapped her cheeks, and she wanted to crawl under the covers. Caleb didn’t want to shake salt on her wounded pride and was offering to let her stay home and sulk. He was also stifling his own good news for her.

“Then we definitely need to eat out.” Her words came out too cheerful, but dammit, she was trying.

“Bridge—”

“Caleb. You’re good at your job. You’re trying to build a house. This is good news. Don’t hide it because you think I’ll feel bad.”

He closed the distance between them and stood so he blocked the wind. “How you feel is important to me.”

He was a good man. The best. His grandparents should get a commendation. “And your good news is important to me.”

His gaze swept over her face. “You always have a place with me.” The corner of his lips popped up. “Well, when I have a place.” He grew serious. “But my ranch is your ranch. I think the cows listen to you better.”

It almost sounded like he was proposing. Oh God, what would she say? Elation nearly pushed all thought aside.

No, of course he wasn’t proposing. He wasn’t the type of guy to ask her to marry him just to get her to stay.

Even if she wanted to stay. Was she strong enough to face the uphill battle of being a rancher’s wife? A life of insisting that she didn’t have to defer to Caleb because she was in charge? Would she really be in charge? Was there such a thing as a pity ranch?

Regardless, she didn’t need to figure it out now. “We should get going.”

His jaw tensed. She’d stepped on his feelings, but analyzing them out in the cold wouldn’t help either of them. Especially when her single-minded goal for the last ten years was in danger of evaporating with her tears.

Chapter 15

Caleb scowled into his beer. The bar was quiet tonight. One of the perks of having an odd schedule. He wasn’t restricted to Friday and Saturday nights, when it was too loud to talk. And he was at the age where he went to a bar to talk. Women weren’t on his agenda anymore. Not until this thing with Brigit died a slow painful death, which was the only outcome he could foresee.

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