Big Sky Wedding (8 page)

The house, though empty, was just as she remembered it—large and rambling, with spacious, raftered rooms and tall windows and a total of three natural rock fireplaces. There were four bedrooms and as many baths, along with a sizable dining area and a living room that not only ran the full width of the house, but offered a magnificent view of trees and mountains and that endless pageant of sky.

“Cleo gets here tomorrow,” Nash announced, when they’d come full circle, after about fifteen minutes, and returned to the kitchen. Zane and Slim were both gone, and Brylee caught the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of a hammer somewhere nearby. “She was my brother’s housekeeper, when he lived in L.A.”

Brylee offered no comment. She was just glad she hadn’t followed her first inclination and jumped in to ask who Cleo was before Nash got around to clarifying the matter for her.

So, Cleo wasn’t a girlfriend or, worse yet, a wife. Brylee felt like a damn fool for caring either way, but care she did.

“I guess she can really cook,” Nash went on conversationally, “but Zane says she’s a stickler for neatness and order, and she’ll raise hell when she gets a look at this place.” He paused, sucked in a breath and went right on talking. “We ordered a washer and dryer and another bed, but we’re holding off on all the other stuff because Cleo’s the type to want a say-so in just about everything.”

Brylee smiled, amused by this assessment of the unknown Cleo. She sounded like a SoCal version of Opal Dennison Beaumont, local force of nature. “That’s probably wise,” she said.

Suddenly, Nash looked wistful, and his gaze was fixed on something—or someone—very far away.

“You don’t have to tell Zane or anything,” he said, very quietly, “but I kind of like it here.”

Brylee rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, touched to the core of her heart. “Why would you want to keep that from your brother?” she asked, searching his face. If she’d known Nash Sutton better, she’d have put her arms around him just then, the way Donna Jackson had so often done with her, and given him a squeeze, promised him everything would be all right. Since they’d just met, though, she knew that would be overstepping, and she’d done enough of that for one day, accusing Zane of neglecting, if not abusing, his dog.

A muscle bunched in Nash’s jaw, and a fly buzzed against the torn and rusted mesh in the screen door, the sound of the hammer sifting through on a June breeze fragrant with pasture grass. “Because this is temporary,” the boy finally replied, feigning nonchalance and deftly avoiding Brylee’s gaze at the same time. “That’s the way my life goes. Everything’s temporary.”

The backs of Brylee’s eyes scalded, and she didn’t speak for a moment, fearing her voice would catch if she did. Sure, she’d missed having a mother continuously on the scene, both as a girl and sometimes even now, as a grown woman, but she’d always had her dad and Walker and a slew of good friends, including the Jacksons. From the sound of things, Nash was alone in the world, allowed to hang around until someone decided he was in the way and sent him packing.

Seeing Brylee’s expression, and reading it all too accurately, Nash turned up the wattage on that killer grin of his, so like his brother’s. He might have been only twelve, but he’d trained himself to act and talk like a man, and that saddened Brylee, sensing, as she did, that he’d missed out on much of his childhood—skipped right over it.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel sorry for me,” he said.

Too late,
Brylee thought, but she smiled to hide her sympathy. Pride seemed to be about all Nash had to call his own. “I live on the next place over, with my brother, Walker, and his family,” she said cheerfully. “We have lots of horses, and there’s always plenty of extra space at supper. Breakfast and lunch, too, for that matter. You’re welcome to drop by anytime.”

“You don’t have a husband?” Nash asked, apparently having noticed the omission when she mentioned Walker and Company. He sounded somewhat surprised, which was a compliment, she supposed.

“Nope,” Brylee said, rustling up another smile. This one was harder to come by than the last one, though. She
might
have had a husband by now, if she’d had the God-given good sense to pick anybody besides Hutch Carmody for a partner. “I’m single.”

Nash frowned, as though he might be trying to work out an Einstein-worthy equation in his head. “And you live with your brother?”

The question gave her a pang, but it also amused her a little. “Like you,” she confirmed. She leaned slightly to give her dog a pat on the head. “Snidely and I share an apartment on the premises, so don’t picture me sitting in a rocking chair in the attic, knitting socks. I’m not exactly the maiden aunt.”

Aren’t you?
taunted that inner voice, the one that never let her get away with a darn thing.

Nash actually laughed this time, with a boyish delight that made her think of Shane. “‘Snidely’? That’s your dog’s name?”

Brylee grinned, already on her way toward the screen door. She’d stayed too long; it was time to make an exit. “Yes,” she replied, glancing back over her shoulder. “For Snidely Whiplash.”

Nash looked puzzled. “Who?”

Brylee sighed, opened the door to step out onto the porch, which, like the rest of the house, had seen better days. “Don’t kids watch cartoons anymore?” she countered, in pretend despair. “Look him up on the internet.”

Nash made a salutelike motion with his right hand. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, in a passable Western drawl. “I’ll do that.”

Outside, Zane had stopped working on the fence and turned to watch the road, where a truck was slowing down to swing in at his gate, hauling a horse trailer behind it. As Brylee looked on, oddly stricken—
again
—by the sight of him, a slow grin spread across his face, the kind of grin that put a person in mind of a brilliant sunrise following a long, dark night.

The driver of the truck got out, opened the gate, drove through, got out again and closed it behind him.

Slim, probably figuring he ought to earn his keep somehow, barked a couple of times, which got Snidely started.

“Shush,” Brylee said, shielding her eyes from the sun-dazzle of the shiny silver trailer, and Snidely quieted and sat down obediently at her side.

Zane, meanwhile, waited, shirt open, teeth gleaming in his tanned face, his hands resting easy on his lean hips, making Brylee think of an old-time town marshal or a sheriff, there to welcome a wagon train full of trail-weary travelers yearning to settle down for good.

Brylee knew well enough that she ought to go on about her business instead of standing there staring the way she was, but she couldn’t help it. She shifted her gaze from Zane to the truck and trailer and back again—several times.

Nash fairly shot from the house—apparently he hadn’t seen or heard the arriving rig right away—and the smile on his face was downright transcendent.

“Blackjack’s here?” he called to Zane.

Zane nodded, swallowed visibly. “Blackjack’s here,” he agreed, his voice just this side of raspy.

Blackjack, it turned out, was a magnificent gelding, his shiny coat dark as coal, and as Zane and the truck driver unloaded the animal, the creature tossed its gigantic head, mane flying, and looked around as if to say,
Home at last. Why did it take so long?

Zane took the lead rope from the driver and spoke in a low, easy tone as he urged the horse the rest of the way down the ramp and onto the hard, rutted ground.

Brylee knew horses; she’d been raised around them, ridden with her dad when she was barely two years old and by herself or with Walker just about every day since then. And she’d never seen a finer animal than this gelding, with his ebony coat and silky mane. His conformation was nigh on perfect, and the sight of him brought an ache of admiration to her throat and a twinge of envy to her middle.

Unable to resist, she stepped forward.

“Stay back, now, ma’am,” the truck driver said quickly. “This horse has been riding in that trailer for a long time, and he’s likely to be a mite on the skittish side.”

Zane didn’t look at the man; his gaze was on Brylee, and he didn’t hesitate to speak up. “The lady knows what she’s doing,” he said, with a quiet conviction that caught Brylee totally off guard, caused things to tip over and spill inside her, warm and thick and sweet as honey fresh from a hive.

Oh, Lord.

She could dislike Zane Sutton when he was being obnoxious or arrogant, but his obvious respect for her expertise with horses was a game-changer.

She approached Blackjack slowly, let him sniff the back of her hand before stroking his long face and velvety nose. “Well, hello there, handsome,” she said softly.

Blackjack nickered again, but he didn’t sidestep or back up.

The truck driver, reassured, gave a low laugh and said, “I bet he gets that reaction from every woman he meets. Love at first sight.” He paused, shook his head, resituated his worn-out straw hat. “Lucky critter.”

Zane handed the lead rope to Brylee to take the clipboard the other man offered and sign for the delivery.

Still careful to move slowly, Brylee led Blackjack away from the trailer, walking him around in a wide circle so he could work some of the kinks out of his legs and get used to the feel of solid ground under his hooves.

Nash stood at a slight distance, clearly fascinated and probably a little scared, too, and silently, Brylee gave the boy credit for good sense. After all, Blackjack must have measured seventeen hands at least, and he had a giant, warrior’s heart pumping away in that broad chest of his, sustaining well over a thousand pounds of sheer muscle—all of which meant he was a very powerful and very unpredictable animal. Even a well-trained and familiar horse could be spooked unexpectedly, and a frightened horse was a
dangerous
horse.

For all that, Blackjack clomped alongside Brylee, calm as a dog on a leash, and just being that close to the nearly mythic creature thrilled her ranch-kid heart through and through. She’d have given just about anything to mount that gelding, with or without a saddle, give him his head and let him fly like Pegasus, but it was too soon, of course. And even though Zane had gone up a notch in her estimation by trusting her around Blackjack, well, that didn’t mean he’d let her ride.

Some people—especially men, being famously territorial—wouldn’t share their horses, period. Furthermore, while Zane had somehow sensed her competence, he had no way of knowing that, like her older brother, she rode with the skill of a seasoned Apache on the warpath.

All these thoughts were going through Brylee’s mind when the truck driver tucked his clipboard under one arm, shook Zane’s hand in farewell and, after one last admiring glance at Blackjack, climbed into his truck, started the engine, made a broad turn and drove off, the now-empty trailer flashing aluminum-bright as it rattled down the rutted dirt driveway.

Zane appeared at Brylee’s side, gently took the lead rope from her hand and gave Blackjack an affectionate pat on the neck. Nash didn’t venture any closer, and both dogs trotted over to join the boy, evidently bored with the proceedings.

“Is it just me,” Zane asked, his voice low and a little husky, “or did something change between you and me a few minutes ago?”

Brylee’s heartbeat quickened, and so did her breathing—she actually thought she might hyperventilate—and she felt her cheeks heat up a little, too. She couldn’t look directly at Zane, for fear of what she might see in his eyes, but she wasn’t going to lie, either. “Maybe,” she allowed cautiously. Then, with more certainty, she added, “Thanks for not assuming the little lady didn’t know one end of a horse from the other.”

Zane chuckled, inclined his head in the direction of the rapidly disappearing truck and trailer. “I think that guy’s intentions were good,” he remarked. “He didn’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

“Nice of you to give
him
the benefit of the doubt,” she said, miffed.

This time, Zane laughed outright. “Strange,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I could have sworn you just thanked me for not writing you off as a greenhorn. And at what point, Ms. Parrish, did you give
me
said benefit? Did you or did you not accuse me of starving my dog?”

She was cornered, like a queen on a chessboard with no moves open. “I can sometimes be sort of contrary,” she admitted, though it practically killed her to concede the point.

“
You?
Contrary?” Zane grinned down at Brylee, as at ease with her as he was with the horse, and waited for her to answer. The implication was clear enough: he could handle them both.

Brylee might have kicked him in the shins just then, if it hadn’t been for her aversion to physical violence. The discouraging thing was, she was every bit as intrigued by this man as she was irritated by him. If Zane had tried to
kiss
her in that moment, for pity’s sake, she’d probably have let him.

What was
wrong
with her?

“Go riding with me?” he asked next. “Tomorrow sometime, I mean? I presume you own a horse.”

Brylee blinked. Of course she owned a horse—in fact, she owned several, since half of Timber Creek Ranch belonged to her.

“You could show me some of the countryside,” he said, when she didn’t speak right away. An impish grin danced in his eyes. “That would be the neighborly thing to do.”

Suddenly, Brylee’s palms began to sweat. She ran them down the thighs of her jeans, wishing she didn’t like the idea quite as much as she did. “Okay,” she said, turning to point toward home. “The ranch house and barn are a couple of miles that way. You can’t miss them.”

“Time?” Zane prompted.

“Late afternoon?” Brylee heard someone answer, using her voice. “I have to work.”

“And I have to fetch Cleo from the airport,” Zane said. “How about five o’clock or so? There’ll still be plenty of light, and the heat might let up a little by then, too.”

“Make it five-thirty,” Brylee said matter-of-factly, feeling as though she’d just accepted a dare to bungee jump off a high bridge instead of a simple, harmless invitation to go horseback riding with a new neighbor, “and it’s a date.”