Page 43 of Broken Roads
"Dammit," I mutter as the brush slips from my fingers, clattering against the packed earth. Max snorts and tosses his head as if sharing my frustration.
I retrieve the brush, wiping it clean before resuming my task with renewed determination. This is ridiculous. I'm acting like some lovesick teenager, not a grown man with responsibilities. A ranch to run. A legacy to protect.
A woman I can't stop thinking about.
"Well, well. Look who's actually working instead of hiding in the barn." Sawyer's voice cuts through my thoughts, the familiar drawl carrying an undercurrent of amusement that immediately sets my teeth on edge.
I don't look up from Max's coat, not trusting my expression to hide whatever's going on inside me. "Some of us can't spend all day polishing our belt buckles."
Sawyer laughs, the sound easy and unbothered, as he leans against the fence post with that languid grace that always looks like he's posing for a damn catalog. "Touchy today, aren't we? Wonder why that might be."
I can feel his eyes on me, studying and assessing. The fucker misses nothing, especially when it comes to the shift in dynamics between people. It's what makes him so good with the more difficult horses and so damn annoying when it comes to my personal life.
"Did you need something?" I ask, setting aside the curry comb to reach for the soft brush. "Or did you just come to provide unwanted commentary?"
"Actually," he says, pushing off the fence to approach. "Was heading into town for lunch. Thought you might want to join. That new place on Main has burgers that might actually be worth the drive."
Any other day, I might have accepted. Might have welcomed the break from ranch work, the chance to get off the propertyand clear my head. Today, the idea of leaving feels wrong, like there's an invisible tether keeping me anchored to this place. To her.
"Thanks, but I've got too much to do here." The excuse sounds hollow even to my own ears.
Sawyer's eyebrow lifts, the movement so exaggerated it would be comical if it weren't so knowing. "Uh-huh. And would thattoo muchhappen to include a certain financial consultant?"
Heat crawls up the back of my neck, the betraying flush thankfully hidden by the shadow of my hat. I focus on brushing Max's flank with more concentration than the task requires, refusing to give Sawyer the satisfaction of seeing how close to the mark he's hit.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I mutter, stepping around to Max's other side, putting the horse between us like a shield.
"Look at that," Sawyer says, ignoring my dismissal completely. "Bradley Walker, blushing like a schoolboy. Never thought I'd see the day."
"I'm not—" I start to protest, but the words die in my throat. Denying it would only confirm his suspicions. I settle for a glare instead, which only makes his grin widen.
"Going, going." He backs away, hands raised in mock surrender, but his smile remains. "Enjoy your...work, Bradley. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"That leaves a lot of options open," I call after him, earning another laugh as he saunters toward his truck.
Am I really that transparent? Has everyone noticed the shift in how I look at her, think about her?
I finish grooming Max with methodical thoroughness, the physical task helping to steady my thoughts. By the time I lead him back to his stall, the sun has climbed higher, marking noon's approach. My stomach growls, reminding me that morning coffee is long gone and I've been working for hours.
The main house beckons, the promise of Ruthie's cooking enough to pull me away from the stables. But as I cross the yard, my eyes drift toward the small cabin where Hailey has set up her office. Is she working? Has she eaten? The questions form before I can stop them, an instinctive concern I'm not ready to examine too closely.
The kitchen smells of fresh bread and something savory that makes my empty stomach clench with anticipation. Ruthie stands at the counter, her small frame bustling with the efficient energy that's kept this household running since before I could walk. She glances up as I enter, a knowing smile immediately spreading across her face.
"There you are," she says, turning back to the sandwiches she's assembling. "Was beginning to think you'd work straight through lunch again."
I move to the sink, washing dust and horse hair from my hands. "Just finishing up with Max." The words come out casual, betraying none of the thoughts circling in my head.
"Mmhmm." She slides a knife through a sandwich with surgical precision. "Roast beef today. Your favorite."
"Looks good." I dry my hands on a towel, then lean against the counter, aiming for nonchalance. "Has Hailey been in for lunch yet?"
Ruthie's hands pause, just for a fraction of a second, before resuming their work. But that brief hesitation speaks volumes. "Not yet. Been in that office of hers all morning, working away."
I nod, as if this information is merely passing curiosity rather than something that's been nagging at me. "Probably lost track of time."
"Probably." Ruthie's voice carries that tone she uses when she's humoring me, the one that says she sees right through whatever pretense I'm attempting. She's known me too long, knows my tells better than I do myself.
I shift my weight, suddenly feeling like that twelve-year-old boy caught sneaking cookies before dinner. "I could take her something. If you're worried about her skipping meals."
