Page 30 of Wrangling Hearts
My mom was dying. There would be a day sooner rather than later that she wouldn’t be here anymore. I’d be an orphan. And there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing I could do to shield my siblings from the pain that awaited us. Hell, Tess wasn’t evenhere,and she was the most fragile one of all. How was I supposed to protect her when I had no idea where she was?
A choked, painful sound left me as I staggered back into the paddock. Beau’s face went from shock to helpless concern. I couldn’t stand having people look at me like that. Like I was something to pity.
“Claire,” he breathed, his voice full of remorse. He stepped closer, reaching for me.
I swatted his hand away, wiping my eyes roughly because at some point, I had started crying. “Don’t,” I begged, my voice breaking. If he touched me, I’d shatter.
Giving him my back, I gripped the metal of the paddock, my knuckles white. I took a steadying breath, forcing the emotions down. Crying in front of other people was a level of humiliation I had never learned how to cope with. I couldn’t bear the pitying looks and disingenuous sympathy and care. And Beau certainly had no reason to be genuine.
Looking around the ranch, I noticed everything wrong. Broken. Old. It was a weak attempt to ground myself in the here and now. The paddock was secured with a frayed rope, the fences had rotted or missing rails, and some feed buckets were warped or had holes in them. All things I knew Trent and Oliver had noticed when they toured the place.
I sniffled and my voice shook as I said, “You really think if I took a million-dollar deal, my ranch would look like this? That I’d even be here right now and not at the hospital with my mom?”
Beau’s voice was soft enough to hurt. “No.” I would’ve taken him yelling at me over that tenderness any day.
“Yeah, so,” my chin quivered, “you can go now. I have shit to do.”
My eyes drifted shut, sending hot tears rolling down my cheeks, when his engine roared to life and faded away as he pulled out of the driveway.
“Get it together,” I scolded myself, wiping my face again, and went into the barn to muck stalls. Because nothing said ‘your life sucks’ more than shoveling horse shit while sobbing.
But about thirty minutes later, that roar came back and got stronger by the second. When I peeked out of the barn, my mouth fell open.
Beau was back. This time, dressed in worn jeans and a basic white tee. He wordlessly opened the tailgate and started pulling out logs of wood, a hammer, nails, and a tool belt. Without acknowledging me, he went to one of the rotted fences, pulled it apart, and began replacing it with the new wood.
I squinted at him as he got to work. Was I hallucinating?
I stared for another long minute, wondering if it was real. And it was. Beau McLeod was down on the ground, fixingmyfence.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing the fence,” he replied as if it were a daily occurrence.
My eyes darted around, confused. “Why?”
Beau sat back on his haunches, looking up at me. He looked…good on his knees like that. His jaw was strong and accentuated as he tilted his head back. His eyes were so blue with the sun shining down on him. “Because it’s broken, and you need help.”
“I don’t need your help,” I snapped. “Don’t think I’m some charity case just cause I shed a few tears.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched. He tossed the hammer into the grass. “Goddamnit, Claire, just let me help you, alright?”
“Right. So I’m just supposed to let you do this nice thing for me and disappear again.” He was visibly confused. Idiot. “The fundraiser,” I reminded him. “We danced. Or did you already forget? I can get theWhispersto refresh your memory.”
His eyes flicked down to my mouth. “No, I didn’t forget,” he said with a heavy breath and went back to fixing the fence. “And I didn’t say anything cause I figured you wouldn’t want me to with the way you ran off.”
“I didn’trunoff. I had to go, and you got that call.”
He chuckled, not buying it, as he drove a nail into the wood. “Couldn’t wait for my ten-second phone call?”
Oh. So it was my fault. Of course. How silly of me. “How was I supposed to know it’d be ten seconds?”
“Cavendish could’ve been offering me the deal, and I would’ve cut it short with you standin’ there in that dress. Every time I shut my eyes, I see you under those lights, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at me.”
My face flushed with heat. “You can’t—You can’t say things like that to me.”
His eyes met mine, that light blue flashing with challenge. “And why the hell not?” I looked away from him. “Look at me.” I knew if I did, I’d do something stupid. Reckless. I shook my head. “Claire, look at me,” he demanded, his voice low, authoritative. I couldn’t resist it.
His mouth curled with a smile that made my knees weak. “So she does listen.” He stood, leaning against the fence. “Why can’t I tell you how beautiful I think you are?”
