Wild Ride Cowboy. Maisey Yates

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СКАЧАТЬ later in life, and when her mother had gotten sick, her father had done everything he could to make his wife comfortable as her health declined. She’d died when Clara was twelve. And there had been no amount of preparation that could soften the blow. No amount of expectedness that could have made it feel less like a giant, ugly hand had reached into their life and wrenched the beauty out of it, leaving nothing but a dark abyss.

      Their father had thrown himself into work. Into the ranch and into drinking. He’d tried to be there for his kids, but it had been too hard for him to look at them sometimes. And Clara could understand. It had been hard to look at him too. Hard to look at him and see the grief, stark and horrible on his face.

      And then he’d died of a heart attack when Clara was seventeen, the stress of caregiving and loss too much for his body.

      And now Jason.

      A black sense of humor honed out of necessity—since a good portion of her life had been very dark indeed, and she’d had to find ways to laugh—forced her to wonder if she should look out for stray lightning bolts.

      Whatever the reason—hex, divine intervention or plain bad luck—the Campbell family hadn’t been very long-lived.

      So now Clara was alone. And really, she wanted to get to the business of being alone. She did not want to deal with Alex’s dutiful presence. Because that’s all it would be. He and Jason had been in the military together, they’d been friends and brothers in arms.

      She had a suspicion Alex had even been there when her brother was killed. So of course the guy felt some sense of... Something. A desire to make sure she was okay. The need to check on her and the ranch, and whatever else.

      But she didn’t need that. She didn’t need anybody coming into her life and carrying a portion of the weight for a limited time. She wanted to get on with that permanent, hard stretch that was the rest of her life.

      She didn’t want a false sense of ease. That would only make it all the harder when she was alone again.

      “It’s not okay, actually. We have some things we need to discuss.”

      Clara looked down at the top of her coffee cup and wished that she hadn’t put the lid on, so she could make a show out of studying the milk-froth fern. “Oh. Do we?”

      “Yes.”

      She looked at the clock on the wall and regrettably she had time.

      Time she had built in so she could make conversation with Asher if he’d been in the mood to make conversation. Not so she could hassle with Alex and the myriad emotions just looking at him made her feel.

      “Well, I’m on my way to work,” she said, edging around his masculine frame and backing toward the door.

      “You have a job other than working at the ranch?”

      She should have known the big, muscly soldier wouldn’t take hints well. “Yes,” she said. She didn’t elaborate.

      “Where at?”

      She made an impatient sound she didn’t even try to cover up. “Grassroots Winery.”

      “I haven’t been out there yet. Maybe I should check it out.”

      Rather than answering, Clara lifted her cup to her lips and absently took a drink. She grimaced, barely stopping herself from spitting out the hot liquid. It was still bitter, with a kind of sickly sweet flavor running over the top of it. Compliments of that extra sugar she had dumped into the cup to linger over Asher a little longer.

      She really, really didn’t like coffee.

      Alex treated her to a strange look.

      “It’s strong,” she said, gesturing with the cup. “Just the way I like it.”

      “Glad to hear that.”

      “Well—” she waved her fingers “—bye.” She continued walking past him, heading out the door.

      Much to her chagrin, he followed.

      She paused, turning slightly in the gravel parking lot. “You didn’t get your coffee.”

      “I actually wasn’t there for coffee. I don’t like places like that.”

      “Why not?”

      “You can only get one size. What the hell is up with that? I don’t need some hipster giving me prescriptive coffee. I don’t need to be told the way they think coffee must be served to be better. I need it the way I want it.”

      He stopped walking, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He was wearing a plain, tan-colored T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. Somehow, even out of uniform, he still looked like he was in one.

      “Why did you stop in then?”

      “I saw your truck outside.”

      She frowned. “You acted surprised to see me.”

      “No,” he said, “I believe what I said was ‘Fancy meeting you here.’”

      She rolled her eyes. “Well, you knew how I would take it.” A strange sense of disquiet stole over her, a feeling of creeping tension.

      “I tried to call your cell phone,” he said.

      She blinked. “How did you get my number?”

      “It was on some paperwork I got from the attorney’s office. It looked like something we both should have had copies of.”

      Right. Paperwork that was probably sitting unopened in a pile on her table. To go nicely with the messages from the lawyer she’d been avoiding. He’d tried to talk to her at the funeral too. But she hadn’t been able to handle it. Because then they’d be talking about her brother’s estate. Which was what your possessions turned into when you were dead.

      An Estate.

      She’d had to discuss her mother’s. Then her father’s. She’d had the feeling she’d crawl out of her skin talking to anyone about her brother’s. It was stupid, and she knew it. Ignoring bills didn’t mean they didn’t need to be paid. Ignoring a lawyer wouldn’t make Jason not dead.

      But once she talked to him, it would all feel final. And she couldn’t handle that. She was barely keeping her head above water. She was dependent on her routine. These quiet mornings where she got coffee she didn’t want to drink from a man whose whole being made her feel...happy. If only for a few moments. Then she would go and work at the winery showroom until closing time, enjoying being surrounded by people. Then she’d head home. Home to her empty house, where she would do any chores that needed doing before she fell into bed, passed out, didn’t dream—if she was lucky—and repeated the whole thing the next day.

      Maybe it was denial. But she deserved a little denial.

      Alex was interrupting her carefully orchestrated coping mechanism. She didn’t like it. “You took my phone number from a piece of paper?”

      “I told you, I need to talk to you about a few things. I assumed you knew some СКАЧАТЬ