Read Online The Rancher Next Door by Betsy St. Amant - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Betsy St. Amant
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know. You almost got yourself killed.”
Brady broke eye contact then, folding his arms over his wrinkled and torn shirt. “I meant you. I told you and Ava to stay inside.”
“Why, so we could watch through the window as you got yourself gored?” All traces of the chemistry that had previously pulsed between them vanished as indignation took its place. Caley reached up and tapped Brady’s head, beside his cut. “Exhibit A.”
“I would have been fine.” His lips thinned and frustration sparked in his blue eyes, so similar to Ava’s. “Just got the breath knocked out of me.”
“Which wouldn’t have been a big deal—if there hadn’t been a bull charging you at the same time.” Caley pushed past Brady, checked to make sure Spitfire was a safe distance away and hiked her leg over the tailgate. She slid to the ground as frustration welled inside. She’d worked with some pretty macho guys over the course of her career, but this one took the cake. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
Brady landed on the ground beside her. “Me being stubborn?” He jabbed his chest, his eyebrows hiking up his forehead and wrinkling the fresh cut. The sudden motion had to hurt, but to his credit, he didn’t even flinch. “You’re the one being stubborn. Your job is to protect my daughter.”
“And I did.” Caley stalked toward the back door, pausing with her hand on the knob. She shot him a look over her shoulder. “I protected her from having to watch her father die.”
* * *
He’d known Caley Foster was going to be trouble. Hadn’t he declared it from day one?
Brady slapped the dust off his cowboy hat before planting it back on his head. The comforting aroma of hay and horse sweat filled the barn around him, accompanied by the familiar sounds of jangling harnesses and horse tails swishing at flies—but all he could hear was the echoing snort of Spitfire’s wrath. The heaviness of his hooves.
The disdain in Caley’s voice as she leveled her last barb directly at his heart.
He wasn’t stubborn. He was careful. Caley didn’t understand—he’d lost someone he loved because of his carelessness in the past. He wouldn’t let that happen to his daughter, or anyone else in his charge, ever again.
Even if that cost him his own life.
But it hadn’t. He’d had it under control. If anything, she’d scared ten years from him the way she ran out in the pasture, whistling like some kind of Annie Oakley fresh off the range. Who was this woman, anyway? What happened to the cookie-baking—well, cookie- attempting —grandmother-visiting, sweet-smiling role model he’d hired? This woman camped out on roofs, ran faster than he could, faced off with bulls and shinnied up and down ladders and fences like they weren’t even there. Not exactly role-model material for a daughter he was trying to keep safe.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the way he’d reacted to Caley’s nearness in the truck, the way he’d appreciated the warmth of her against him, the way he’d pulled fence shavings from her hair and had to stop himself from curling those silky golden strands through his fingers and leaning in to kiss the worry from her brow.
Yep, Caley Foster was out-and-out trouble.
“Guess I shouldn’t go pick up feed anymore.” Max’s voice teased from down the barn as he emerged from the tack room, thankfully distracting Brady from the details of his adventure he’d be smart to forget. “You’ll just set the ranch on fire or something.”
“Very funny. Keep your day job.” Brady rolled his eyes at his friend, but his ire didn’t run deep. Max had really helped him out. He’d driven up at the ranch just as Brady had hiked back to corral Nugget and go after Spitfire again. Max had joined him on another horse, and together, they’d put the bull back in his own pasture and quick-fixed his fence. The temporary repair would hold now that Spitfire wasn’t on the rampage, but now Brady had two fences to
Brady broke eye contact then, folding his arms over his wrinkled and torn shirt. “I meant you. I told you and Ava to stay inside.”
“Why, so we could watch through the window as you got yourself gored?” All traces of the chemistry that had previously pulsed between them vanished as indignation took its place. Caley reached up and tapped Brady’s head, beside his cut. “Exhibit A.”
“I would have been fine.” His lips thinned and frustration sparked in his blue eyes, so similar to Ava’s. “Just got the breath knocked out of me.”
“Which wouldn’t have been a big deal—if there hadn’t been a bull charging you at the same time.” Caley pushed past Brady, checked to make sure Spitfire was a safe distance away and hiked her leg over the tailgate. She slid to the ground as frustration welled inside. She’d worked with some pretty macho guys over the course of her career, but this one took the cake. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
Brady landed on the ground beside her. “Me being stubborn?” He jabbed his chest, his eyebrows hiking up his forehead and wrinkling the fresh cut. The sudden motion had to hurt, but to his credit, he didn’t even flinch. “You’re the one being stubborn. Your job is to protect my daughter.”
“And I did.” Caley stalked toward the back door, pausing with her hand on the knob. She shot him a look over her shoulder. “I protected her from having to watch her father die.”
* * *
He’d known Caley Foster was going to be trouble. Hadn’t he declared it from day one?
Brady slapped the dust off his cowboy hat before planting it back on his head. The comforting aroma of hay and horse sweat filled the barn around him, accompanied by the familiar sounds of jangling harnesses and horse tails swishing at flies—but all he could hear was the echoing snort of Spitfire’s wrath. The heaviness of his hooves.
The disdain in Caley’s voice as she leveled her last barb directly at his heart.
He wasn’t stubborn. He was careful. Caley didn’t understand—he’d lost someone he loved because of his carelessness in the past. He wouldn’t let that happen to his daughter, or anyone else in his charge, ever again.
Even if that cost him his own life.
But it hadn’t. He’d had it under control. If anything, she’d scared ten years from him the way she ran out in the pasture, whistling like some kind of Annie Oakley fresh off the range. Who was this woman, anyway? What happened to the cookie-baking—well, cookie- attempting —grandmother-visiting, sweet-smiling role model he’d hired? This woman camped out on roofs, ran faster than he could, faced off with bulls and shinnied up and down ladders and fences like they weren’t even there. Not exactly role-model material for a daughter he was trying to keep safe.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the way he’d reacted to Caley’s nearness in the truck, the way he’d appreciated the warmth of her against him, the way he’d pulled fence shavings from her hair and had to stop himself from curling those silky golden strands through his fingers and leaning in to kiss the worry from her brow.
Yep, Caley Foster was out-and-out trouble.
“Guess I shouldn’t go pick up feed anymore.” Max’s voice teased from down the barn as he emerged from the tack room, thankfully distracting Brady from the details of his adventure he’d be smart to forget. “You’ll just set the ranch on fire or something.”
“Very funny. Keep your day job.” Brady rolled his eyes at his friend, but his ire didn’t run deep. Max had really helped him out. He’d driven up at the ranch just as Brady had hiked back to corral Nugget and go after Spitfire again. Max had joined him on another horse, and together, they’d put the bull back in his own pasture and quick-fixed his fence. The temporary repair would hold now that Spitfire wasn’t on the rampage, but now Brady had two fences to
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