Page 31 of Broken Roads
What the fuck am I doing?
I watch as the evidence of my weakness swirls down the drain, carried away by water that suddenly feels too cold against my overheated skin. The shampoo bottle sits innocently on the ledge, cap still open, silently witnessing my moment of complete insanity.
Disgust rises in my throat. This isn't me. I don't obsess over women, especially not women who represent everything I've spent my life pushing against. City girls with fancy degrees who think a few spreadsheets can fix problems they don't understand. Women who look at this land, this life, and see only what needs changing rather than what's worth preserving.
I shut off the water and the sudden silence feels accusatory, as if the bathroom itself is judging me for what just happened. Grabbing a towel, I dry my body roughly as if I can scrub away the lingering shame along with the water droplets.
The mirror has fogged over completely, sparing me from having to look myself in the eye. Small mercies.
My movements are mechanical as I dress. The bathroom still smells faintly of berries and vanilla, a reminder I don't need of my momentary weakness.
I have a ranch to run, responsibilities that won't wait for me to sort out whatever this madness is.
My hand pauses on the doorknob, muscles tensing as I steel myself for what's to come. The day stretches ahead, full of opportunities to avoid her, to rebuild the walls she somehow broke through without even trying.
But first, I have to make it through breakfast.
The dining room buzzes with morning conversation as I push into the room, the scent of coffee and bacon hitting me like a physical force. They're all there—Dad at the head of the table with his newspaper, Ruthie bustling between kitchen and table with plates of food, Sawyer and Beckett already halfway through their breakfast. And Hailey. She sits with her back to me, dark hair falling in a thick braid, shoulders straight in a posture that speaks of careful composure. For a split second, I consider turning around, escaping back upstairs before anyone notices me. But Dad glances up, nodding in acknowledgment, and the moment passes. There's nowhere to hide.
"Morning," he says, folding his newspaper with practiced precision. "Was beginning to think you'd sleep through breakfast."
Beckett doesn't look up from his plate, but Sawyer gives me that irritating grin of his, the one that always makes me feel like he knows something I don't. "Yeah, you're usually the first one up. Must've had a late night."
The comment is innocent enough, but it hits a nerve. My jaw tightens as I move toward the empty chair, the one directly across from Hailey. Of course. Because the universe apparently hasn't finished tormenting me yet.
"Mare was foaling," I mutter, the lie slipping out easier the second time. "Had to check on her throughout the night."
"Must've gone well," Ruthie comments, setting a fresh plate of biscuits on the table. "You didn't wake me."
The back of my neck heats. "Didn't want to disturb you. Everything went fine."
Hailey shifts in her seat, the movement drawing my attention despite my best efforts. She's wearing a deep blue blouse today, the color rich against her skin. With her hair pulled back there’s no hiding the delicate curve of her ear and the elegant line of her jaw. She hasn't looked at me yet, her attention focused on stirring her coffee with meticulous precision.
"Bradley," Dad says, "Hailey was just telling us about her ideas for updating the guest cabins. Seems she thinks we could increase our rates if we made some changes."
"Is that right?" The word come out sharp enough to finally make her look up.
Our eyes meet across the table, and everything else in the room seems to fade. Her gaze holds mine for only a second before dropping away, but it's enough to send heat rushing through my body. In that brief connection, I see the same awareness that's been haunting me since last night. The recognition that something shifted between us in that kitchen, something neither of us wanted but can't seem to ignore.
My throat tightens. I reach for the coffee pot, desperate for something to do with my hands. The first sip burns my tongue, but I welcome the pain. It's grounding, real in a way that the fantasies swirling in my head are not.
"I was just suggesting some cosmetic updates," Hailey says, her voice carefully neutral. "Nothing structural. Just freshening up the decor, maybe upgrading the bedding. Small changes that would justify a rate increase."
"Our cabins are fine as they are." The defensiveness in my tone is unmistakable. "People come here for the experience, not fancy pillows."
Dad sighs, setting down his coffee mug with deliberate care. "No one's suggesting we turn this place into some fancy five-star hotel, son. But Hailey's research shows that updated accommodations could bring in significantly more revenue."
I open my mouth to argue further, but Ruthie places a hand on my shoulder as she sets a plate in front of me. The gentle pressure is both a warning and a reassurance. I force myself to take a breath, to nod as if considering the idea rather than rejecting it outright.
The table falls into an uneasy silence. I focus on my food. Across from me, Hailey takes small, precise bites of her toast, her posture so rigid it looks painful. The memory of her in the kitchen—water soaking her shirt, eyes wide with surprise—overlays the composed woman before me, creating a dissonance that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
Sawyer, never one to let silence linger, clears his throat. "So, Hailey," he says, leaning forward with that easy charm of his. "A bunch of us are heading to the Rusted Spur tonight. You should join us."
My head snaps up, fork freezing halfway to my mouth. Hailey's reaction is subtle but immediate. Her shoulders tense even more and her fingers tighten around her coffee mug. Something flickers across her face, there and gone so quickly I would have missed it if I wasn’t studying her so intently. Fear? Discomfort? Whatever it is, it's genuine enough to make my chest tighten with unexpected concern.
"Thanks for the invitation," she says, her voice carefully controlled. "But I have plans for tonight."
"What plans?" Beckett asks, finally looking up from his plate. "You just got here. You don't know anyone yet."
