Page 40 of Broken Roads
I don't wait to hear whatever excuse he's prepared. This is too much. My private space, my work, invaded after everything that's happened. I spin on my heel, ready to flee, to go anywhere that isn't sharing oxygen with Bradley and his judgmental eyes.
But he moves fast—faster than a man his size should be able to—and suddenly he's there, blocking the doorway completely. His frame fills the exit, shoulders nearly touching both sides. My breath catches in my throat, heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
"Move," I manage, hating how breathless I sound.
"No." Just one word, but it carries a weight I wasn't expecting.
I take a step back, needing distance between us. His proximity does things to me that I refuse to acknowledge. It sends heat spiraling through my core, makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"What do you want, Bradley?" I cross my arms over my chest, as much to hide my physical reaction to him as to show my defiance.
His eyes hold mine, dark and unreadable in the afternoon light filtering through the office window. Something's different about him, some subtle shift I can't quite name. The hardness is still there, the stubborn set of his jaw, but there's something else too. Something I haven't seen before.
"I'm here to apologize."
The words are so unexpected they seem to alter the air in the room. I shake my head, disbelief automatically rising to protect me from hope.
"Don't," I say, the word coming out sharp and furious. "Don't do that. Don't say what you think I want to hear because your father or Ruthie told you to make nice."
His expression shifts, something flashing in his eyes that looks almost like hurt before it's gone again, buried beneath that controlled exterior. "It's not because someone demanded I apologize." His voice is firm but laced with an unfamiliar vulnerability that catches me off guard. "It's because you deserve nothing less than my apology. Not just for this morning but for how I've treated you since you arrived."
My lips part, but no sound comes out. I stare at him, searching for the catch, the hidden barb in his words. Curling my fingers into fists at my sides, my nails dig half-moons into my palms as I wait for the other shoe to drop.
"You were right," he continues, and those three words from Bradley Walker might be the most shocking thing I've heard since arriving at this ranch. "About me. About the ranch. About... a lot of things."
Studying his face, I look for signs of insincerity, for the cracks that would reveal this as just another move in whatever game he thinks we're playing. But all I find is that same unfamiliar openness.
"I don't understand," I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper. "This morning you couldn't even look at me. Now you're breaking into my office to what…tell me you've had some miraculous change of heart?"
"I didn't break in," he corrects, one hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. "Door was unlocked. But yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you."
My breath comes out shallow and quick, disbelief and something dangerously close to hope warring inside my chest. I take another step back, needing to steady myself against the edge of my desk. The solid wood grounds me, gives mesomething real to hold onto while the ground seems to shift beneath my feet.
"Why should I believe you?" I challenge.
His eyes never leave mine, holding steady with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. "Because this ranch needs you." He pauses before quietly adding, "Because I need your help."
The admission costs him. I can see it in the tightness around his eyes, the slight tremble in the hand that hangs at his side. Bradley carries his pride like armor, and he's just willingly set it aside.
I don't know what to say. Don't know how to process this version of him that stands before me, vulnerable and real in a way I haven't seen before. My anger, so carefully stoked all morning, flickers and dims, leaving me unsteady in its absence.
"I don't know what to do with this," I admit, the confession slipping out before I can stop it.
Something that might be the ghost of a smile touches his lips. "That makes two of us."
Neither of us seems to know what comes next in this unfamiliar script we've stumbled into. Bradley shifts his weight, and the floorboards beneath him groan in protest. The sound breaks whatever spell has settled over us, and he moves with sudden purpose, crossing the small office in three long strides to return to my desk. My heart skips as he reaches for the marketing proposals I've spent sleepless nights perfecting, the ideas he's dismissed without consideration until now.
Those large hands gather the pages with surprising gentleness. I watch, frozen in place, as he shuffles through them, his dark eyes scanning line after line of my carefully crafted strategies. The muscle in his jaw works overtime, but not in the dismissive way I've grown accustomed to. This is different, this is concentration, consideration, maybe even respect.
"The website redesign," he says, holding up the page with my mock-ups. "The cabin renovations. The weekend packages for city folks wanting authentic ranch experiences." He pauses, eyes lifting to meet mine. "Even the social media campaign."
Barely breathing, I say nothing, as I wait for the criticism, the cutting remark, the familiar dismissal that's become our routine. But it doesn't come.
"I'm in," he declares, looking up at me with newfound resolution. "Whatever you want to do, I'm in."
For a moment, I think I've misheard him. Or perhaps hallucinated the entire encounter. I remain perfectly still, waiting for someone to jump out from behind the filing cabinet and tell me I'm being pranked. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant nickering of horses and the low hum of ranch activity outside.
"You're...in?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper.
