Wild Ride Cowboy

Though, there weren’t really any other similarities between them. Jason had been bold, brash. Quick with a joke, and quick to run toward danger if he thought someone was in need of help. Alex had liked the guy on sight.

Jason had had it rough, there was no doubt about that. By the time Alex had met him, his mother had been sick for most of his life. They’d both enlisted in the military at eighteen. And when they were twenty-two Jason’s mother had passed away.

When Jason’s father died, he’d left the military for a year, returning home to take care of his sister. But once Clara had reached age, he’d enlisted again. Ultimately, Alex and Jason had found themselves on the same base over in Afghanistan. At first, he had imagined it would be a good thing to be out there with his buddy. A guy who had his back.

Of course, now he would give a hell of a lot to make sure that Jason was never there. Or to take his place if it were possible.

Jason had more than had his back. Jason had been a friend, a brother Alex had never deserved.

On summers spent in Copper Ridge Jason had been the one to bring him into a group of friends. To treat him like he belonged. His own father hadn’t had an interest in him. A group of strangers actually wanting to spend time with him had been healing in a way he hadn’t known he needed.

And it had been because of Jason.

He stopped thinking about his friend then. About the differences between him and his sister. Jason with his dark hair and gray eyes, and Clara with her pale beauty and sparkling baby blues.

He had to focus on the present. Focus on this fence.

“I suppose I could help,” Clara said, looking stubborn.

“Better get some work gloves. You don’t want to tear up your hands.”

She rolled her eyes. “I do know how to do basic ranch work, Alex. I grew up here.” She walked to a wooden box that was up against the wall and opened it, taking out a pair of leather gloves and smacking them against the edge of the box. “I do not need to put my hand in there and grab a spider,” she muttered, smacking them a few more times.

Then she put them on, curling her fingers as if to signal her readiness.

“No spider?” he asked.

“Am I fetal and weeping on the floor and threatening to amputate my own hand?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Then no.”

“Excellent,” he said.

He walked over to one end of coiled-up fence length and picked it up. She grabbed the other. Granted, she wasn’t contributing a whole lot, but there was something he enjoyed about goading her into helping out. They lifted the fencing into the back of the truck, then repeated the process with the next roll of metal. When they finished with the fencing, they began to move the posts. They worked in silence, and there was something oddly companionable about it.

He looked up, and noticed that some pale wisps of hair had escaped the braid, falling into her face. As they worked, she would stop and shake her head sometimes, trying to flick the hair out of her eyes. But she never stopped. Never stopped working. Never asked for a break. Not even to fix her hair.

Clara was soft in a great many ways, and she was hurting. That much was obvious. But she was also tough. Determined and stubborn. A whole host of big, deep things were contained in that petite, compact frame.

“Okay, that’s enough for now,” he said, when they had the bed of the truck mostly full. “We can drive out and get the lay of the place. Start replacing some of the fencing. Should go pretty quick since we don’t have to dig new post holes.”

“Right,” she echoed. Still wearing the leather work gloves, she opened the passenger-side door of the truck and got in. She grabbed hold of the handle just above the window, as if she were bracing herself for a bumpy ride. And right then she looked like some kind of ranching wet dream. Pretty and soft, but ready to work with those gloves and that very practical flannel top.

He nearly grabbed a wire cutter to cut his thumb—anything to redirect that line of thinking.

He got into the truck and started it, hoping she wouldn’t notice his momentary distraction. His moment of lecherousness.

She didn’t, and the fact that she didn’t was a testament to just how messed up it was that he would think of her in any way other than as Jason’s little sister.

“So...do you have some kind of rancher fantasy or something?” she asked after they’d been driving along the dirt road for a few moments.

Judging by the way he’d been reacting to her, he apparently did have some kind of rancher fantasy, but presumably not the kind she was asking about.

“No,” he responded. “But I made my life about the military. About brotherhood. That’s what Jason and I had. Brotherhood. You don’t leave a fallen brother, Clara. You don’t.” He kept his mind purposefully blank when he spoke the words, because he didn’t want to relive that moment. Didn’t want to see it in his mind. “And when he’s gone, when you can’t help him anymore, you do what you can for those he left behind. It’s the right thing to do.”

He heard her swallow, looked over and saw a tear slide down her cheek.

“I really do miss him,” she said, her voice soft.

“Me too,” Alex said. “He was the first friend I made here during the summers I spent with my grandpa. Do you remember that red Jeep of his?”

“Yes,” she said.

“We used to stand up in the back while he drove.”

“That was stupid,” she said.

“Yeah. We were stupid. We were sixteen.” Invincible. Damn. Why hadn’t Jason been invincible?

“It’s funny,” Clara said. “I would go so long without seeing him while he was on deployment. And I was kind of used to that. He joined the military so long ago, when I was so young. And when our parents... Well, he came back for a while. And that was nice, but I’m used to doing things on my own, and when he left again, I just got accustomed to it all over again. But knowing he won’t come back is different. It feels different. It’s so final. Sometimes I try to pretend he’s just on a really long deployment.” She took a deep, choking breath. “That he’s just still out there riding around in a Jeep, looking badass.”

He didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to be there for someone. But he was the only one who was here for Clara. The only one who was left. So that meant he had to step up.

He looked out the windshield, eyes fixed on the dirt road. “The good news is,” he said, speaking slowly, “that he’s doing something better than that right now, I’m sure. Because trust me, a guy like that gets ushered right into the good part of heaven.”

Clara laughed, the sound shaky. “You think so?”

He wanted to think so.

“Oh yeah,” Alex said. “God probably showed him where all the good fishing holes are. And he’s not driving around some barren desert breathing in dust and hoping today is not the day you get mortared. No. He’s not worried about that anymore.”

Alex fought to keep his throat from closing up, to keep a wall of emotion from crushing him beneath its weight. “I think the only thing he’d worry about is you,” he continued, his voice rough. “But I’m aiming to make sure he doesn’t have to.”

Silence settled in the cab of the tuck. Then Clara cleared her throat. “You think he’s fishing up there, huh?”

“You know he is. And he doesn’t have to lie about how big the fish is anymore. They’re all monsters.” The ridiculous image made him smile. And he felt gratified when he looked over and saw that Clara was smiling too.

They got out of the truck at the old pasture where the cows had been once upon a time. The fence had certainly seen better days, and even if it were in great shape, it wasn’t going to be enough for bison. They needed good, strong materials, and the older one was sagging and falling over. So that meant refencing the entire pasture.

But he was happy enough with that. It gave him a goal. Gave him something to work toward. Something to give Clara. Something to give back to Jason.

He gritted his teeth. He owed the man more than he could ever repay.

And he sure as hell didn’t deserve any of it.

When they got out of the truck, he tossed Clara a pair of wire cutters. “Okay, what we’re going to do is go down the fence and basically cut. Should be quick enough. We’ll get to the posts afterward.”

Clara nodded, and they set to work silently. She was a fast worker, and she was a hard worker, and as he’d observed earlier, she didn’t seem to want to show the need to stop as long as he was still going strong.

So they worked until his shoulders ached, until he was hungry enough that he couldn’t keep going.

“Hey, Clara,” he called. She was several links down the fence, working her way in his direction. “Why don’t you open up the truck? I have a cool chest in the back. We can tailgate.”

“What do you have in there?” She wrinkled her nose as she peered toward the cool chest, looking skeptical and vaguely mouseish.

“I brought sandwich fixings. Nothing is on the sandwich as of yet. You can choose.”

“What kind of meat?”

“Well, I brought roast beef since I noticed when you ate the stew you seemed to like beef.”

She frowned. “I don’t like it cold.”

He looked at her and tried to figure out if she was kidding. Judging by her expression, she wasn’t. “I also brought turkey.”

She smiled at that. “Well, I do like turkey lunchmeat.”

He stared at her. “You don’t make any sense, do you know that?”

She scowled at him, her pale face streaked with dirt, her cheeks bright pink. Her nose was a little sunburned, the upturned tip as pink as her cheeks. And then his gaze dropped to her lips. They were soft, full. At least, they looked like they would be soft. But he wondered if they’d stay soft if he leaned in to kiss them. Or if she’d firm them right up and try to bite him.

He would deserve the bite. Hell, he deserved it just for thinking about her like that. But the knowledge didn’t stop him from thinking it. Also, the idea of her biting him when he pressed his lips to hers didn’t cool him off like it should. No, his body found that every bit as intriguing as the idea of a kiss.

They made their way back to the truck and Clara hoisted herself up on the tailgate, opening the cool chest and rifling through the contents. She happily retrieved a Coke, popping the top while she continued to forage for sandwich toppings. She pulled out the bread, then grabbed the turkey. She took out the bottle of mustard and some pickles and nothing else. He found himself grimacing as he watched her assemble the sandwich and take her first bite. But then a smile spread over her face, and he couldn’t even judge her for her choice of lunch because he just felt accomplished at the fact that he’d given her something she actually wanted.

After that, he set out to make his own sandwich—with roast beef, since Clara had used all the turkey, which had originally been for him, dammit—and cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and mayonnaise.

Clara narrowed her eyes and looked at him, where he was standing. “Your sandwich looks gross,” she informed him.

“So does yours,” he said, walking over to the truck and lifting himself up next to her on the tailgate. He pulled a beer out of the chest and popped the top on the edge of the truck bed, and the two of them ate in relative silence, staring out at the work they had done for the day. At the discarded fencing, broad expanse of land and all the work they had ahead of them.

Clara popped the last bite of sandwich in her mouth and brushed crumbs off her lap. Then she lifted her hand, shading her eyes, and looked out toward the horizon. Up at the mountains.

“I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve been this deep into the property,” she said. “I’ve kind of gotten into my routine. Going to Grassroots, doing the small garden, checking on the bees. It keeps me close to the house.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it feels too lonely. I mean, realizing how big this place is, and I’m here all by myself. It just feels sad.”

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said.

At least not for now. But he left that part unsaid. Still, judging by the way she breathed in deep, by the way her shoulders sagged slightly, he could tell she had heard it somehow anyway. That she felt it.

He looked over at her, gazed at her profile, at the way her lips curved down, at that fine blond hair catching in the breeze.

As if sensing his perusal, she looked over at him. The breeze kicked up just then, and he caught her scent. Irish Spring and skin, nothing extraordinarily feminine. Just her.

His stomach tightened, and he found himself fighting the urge to reach out and touch her face, to see if her skin was as soft as he thought it might be.

Instead, he lifted his beer bottle to his lips and took a long, slow drag on it.

Clara looked away sharply, and he wondered if she had somehow sensed his thoughts again.

“We better get back to work,” she said, hopping down off the truck.

He nodded, setting the bottle down. “All right, boss, whatever you say.” And he smiled that easy smile because it was better than honesty at that moment.

As far as he was concerned, it was better than honesty almost always.

CHAPTER FIVE

CLARA QUESTIONED HERSELF as she walked into The Grind early the next morning. It was Asher’s day off, apparently, and he had not been in Stim when she had driven by that morning, so she had left and gone to Cassie’s coffeeshop because she liked their hot chocolate better.

Stim had some kind of bitter, extra dark chocolate, and that was not what she wanted. Frankly, she didn’t like anything on their menu. None of it was sweet. And as Alex had pointed out the day they had run into each other there—or rather, the day he had orchestrated the two of them to run into each other there—everything only came in one size.

The Grind was busy. It was a place people liked to sit and hang out at, as opposed to Stim, which seemed to attract people who were there to get something to go. There were only a couple of tables in that shop, and they didn’t have the variety of baked goods that The Grind had.

Of course, really, she should be back home in bed. It was just that she had woken up early after barely sleeping the night before, and she had known Alex would be coming by the ranch soon, and she hadn’t wanted to be there when he arrived.

It was silly, but spending the day with him yesterday had left her feeling emotionally wrung out.

They had talked about Jason, and while that was probably a good thing, it was also hard.

There was something about being around Alex that made her skin feel like it was too tight, made her scalp feel prickly and sensitive. It was the emotional thing, it had to be.

It couldn’t be anything else. All she had done was toss and turn until the sky had turned gray this morning.

It was cloudy now, and she had a feeling the time on their sunny weather had run out. It’d been an abnormally warm streak, with blessedly clear skies.

But of course the clouds always rolled back in.

She waited patiently in line until it was her turn, and then ordered an extra-sweet hot chocolate with whipped cream and candy cane pieces from the girl behind the counter.

She also got a brownie.

She figured if people could justify eating doughnuts for breakfast, a brownie should be fine.

She took her treats back to one of the bistro tables and sat, pulling out her phone—which still didn’t have service, but could hook up to Wi-Fi and had games that were functional—and started playing a puzzle game.

She was in a blissful state of sugar-fueled zoning out when the chair across from her moved. She looked up and her eyes clashed with Alex, who was standing there holding a to-go cup.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, realizing belatedly that it wasn’t the friendliest of greetings.

“Getting coffee,” he said, “since you apparently don’t have any.”

“Oh.”

She was still being very unfriendly, but she was not ready for this. She was not ready for him.

“I was on my way to your place,” he said, “and I stopped in here because I realized I needed another hit.”

She scrunched her face up into an expression of faux concern. “Are you stalking me lazily again?”

“No. Just stalking caffeine.” He took a seat across from her without asking for her permission.

She could only marvel at how badly her avoiding-Alex plan was going.

He looked at her cup, which had whipped cream still covering the top of the drink, little candy pieces nestled upon it. “Do I want to know what that is?”

She frowned. “A cup of diabetes, and it’s no one’s business but mine.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I need harder stuff.”

“Chocolate has caffeine, you know.”

“Right. I prefer not to screw around with mine.”

She lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip, and he did the same.

She couldn’t help but watch the way his lips touched the rim, the way he held the cup in his hand. Which really was rather large. And masculine.

She returned her own cup to her lips and took a swallow that was much too large, scalding her throat.

She put the hot chocolate down, pulling a face.

“I didn’t think you worked today,” he said.

“I don’t,” she responded tartly.

“Then what are you doing out? I thought you were all about sleeping in and blankets and stuff.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, if you must know,” she said, opting for honesty, though God knew why.

“Why?”

He made her want to throw her hot chocolate in his face. He was just so...persistent. He was caring, in a way that he could never sustain. She didn’t want to get used to having someone around again only to have to deal with them leaving. There was no point to it. And she was just...exhausted. Tired of that kind of thing.

“I was thinking about Jason,” she said finally.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t kill him.”

Neither of them said anything after that. They just sat there, sipping their respective drinks.

Alex made her more aware of her surroundings, hyperaware, and when the door opened again, her head whipped around to look. Sabrina walked through, and stopped when she saw them.

“Hi, Clara,” she said, her voice stiffer than usual.

“Good morning,” Clara said.

“Just grabbing coffee on the way to work,” Sabrina continued. She was shifting her gaze between Clara and Alex with an odd expression on her face, and Clara wanted desperately to tell her that whatever she was thinking, it wasn’t that.

“Us too,” Clara said, then winced because she’d made it sound like they’d gone to coffee together, or that they were a unit functioning as one. An us. “I mean, I was here. Alex happened to be here too. Separate from me.”

“Okay,” Sabrina responded, her expression growing still more skeptical.

Clara knew she was already verging on protesting too much, but as Sabrina walked toward the counter to get her coffee, Clara had to fight with herself to keep from laying on more excuses and justifications.

“Now she’s thinking weird things about us,” Clara said.

“Weird things, huh?” Alex asked. “What kind of weird things?”

“You know,” she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation.

The door opened again and Clara turned to see who it was this time.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

She reached across the table, yanking Alex’s cup of coffee from his hand, then shoving her mug of hot chocolate into the blank space in front of him as she lifted his cup to her lips and took a sip. She did her best to control her face as she glanced to where Asher had just come through the door.

He was looking straight ahead at the chalkboard menu above the counter, his expression serious.

“Hi,” she said, her voice sounding high and stupid.

She wanted to bite off her tongue. What had she been thinking trying to get Asher’s attention? She was with Alex and he was going to think she was with Alex. And then Alex was going to mock her mercilessly later. And she had surrendered her hot chocolate.

Asher turned toward them, confusion and surprise on his handsome face.

Alex, for his part, seemed to be frozen between what looked to be a state of amusement. He looked from her to Asher, then back to her.

Clara wanted to punch him.

“Are you cheating on Stim, Clara?” Asher asked, treating her to a warm smile as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans.

She had determined she wasn’t going to compare him to Alex, but it was difficult when they were in such close proximity to each other. Alex was broad, big. He was wearing a battered old jacket, a blue Henley with the top two buttons undone, and his white cowboy hat, now sitting on the table because he’d removed it when he’d sat down. Asher was shorter, his frame more slight. He had his hair back, and was wearing a leather bomber-style jacket that looked new, along with a sweater and a scarf. His jeans looked distressed, but artfully so.

Looking at Asher made something in her chest ache. He was just...everything she wasn’t. And part of her thought that if she was just able to be with him, to be near him, he could give her some of what she lacked.

He was polished, put together, and she was sitting there in a flannel drinking a hot chocolate.

Well, at least now she didn’t look like she was drinking a hot chocolate.

“I could ask you the same question,” she countered playfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and tilting her head to the side. “Are you cheating on Stim?”

“Checking out the competition,” he said, smiling. “Actually, I like a variety of roasts. What Cassie has here is pretty good. It’s nice to change it up.”

“Oh yeah, me too. I’m all about the um...variety. In roasts.” Clara lifted the coffee again, but she didn’t actually take a drink this time.

Asher’s gaze slid to Alex, and so did Clara’s.

“This is my brother’s friend,” she said, the words coming out quickly. “My brother who died.”

Asher flinched, and she realized she’d done a pretty ham-fisted job of introducing that topic. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.” She hadn’t gone out of her way to talk to Asher about Jason. In fact, she had kind of done what she could to avoid bringing it up with him. It made him even more of a safe space. More of a vacation from the rest of her life.

“It’s just... He’s helping me out with some things. My brother left him some stuff.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. She couldn’t tell if he was relieved, or if he was wondering why she was bothering to give him so many details. She wished she knew something about men—anything about men.

“Well, I’m meeting some friends for a hike in a bit, so I’ve got to grab my coffee and get moving. It was good to see you.”

“You too,” she said, watching him as he walked to the counter. Then she let out a long breath she didn’t know she had been holding and set the coffee down. “Stupid small towns.”

“Well, that was quite the display,” Alex said, sounding decidedly amused now.

“Shut up,” she responded.

“So you have to pretend to like coffee all the time for this guy. Not just so you can go in and buy coffee from him, but so he doesn’t know you’re basically a hummingbird who exists on sugared nectar.”

“I am not a hummingbird,” she groused.

“You probably have the heart rate of one, considering how much junk you consume on a given day.”

“Bite me,” she said.

Alex only stared at her, his green eyes sharpening slightly. And she felt it. In her chest. Like something inside of her had turned over.

She breathed in deep, trying to dispel the tension. It didn’t work.

“He seems...like he’s from Portland,” Alex said.

She had a feeling that wasn’t a compliment.

“He is,” she said. “He moved out here to help start the coffee shop. He likes the slower pace. And how authentic everyone is here.”