Page 33 of At the Rancher's Pleasure

She didn’t push him to explain his guilt, instead she just patiently waited for him to continue, in his own time and at his own pace. She seemed to know that if she demanded an answer, he would shut down the conversation. Yeah, he was stubborn that way.

“The guilt was my constant companion.” Brett placed his forearm over his eyes and tipped his head back, images of his mom lying on that ragged rug, white and still, bombarding him. “I remember that night so clearly, Sarabeth. I was dating Lexi and my mom asked me to come home early, mumbling something about having ‘bad’ thoughts, that she was thinking about ending it.”

Brett released a harsh sigh. “But Lexi was waiting, I was about to get lucky and she’d had a million ‘bad’ thoughts before. She’d cried wolf about suicide so often, always when she was very drunk, so I assumed she was rambling, that she didn’t mean it. She was, I told myself, looking for attention.” He felt his breathing turn shallow and his arm felt heavy across his eyes. “She was still warm when I came home and I tried, I swear I tried, Sarabeth. I did CPR, mouth-to-mouth, I really tried to save her.”

“I know you did, honey.”

He told her this much, he might as well get the rest out. “I saw the lights of the ambulance coming up the drive and I gathered the empty bottles of pills and hid them, and stashed the empty vodka bottle in my gym bag.

“The official cause of death was a deadly but accidental combination of pills and booze, but I can’t help thinking that it was suicide, that she meant to take her life.”

Brett never talked about the night his mom died, not even discussing it with Jules, and he shuddered to think what the Royal Reporters would say if they heard that delicious tidbit. But Sarabeth would never betray his confidence; he knew that like he knew every inch of this ranch.

“Ah, Brett.” He dropped his arm from his face when he felt her straddle his thighs. Then she brushed small, comforting kisses on his chin, his jaw, the tip of his nose. “I’m so sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

“And what it isishorrible,” Sarabeth insisted, leaning back. She tipped her head to the side, her forehead furrowed. “I don’t mean to gloss over your mom’s death—and thank you for telling me—but can we go back to your habit of hooking up with waifs and strays?”

“If we must,” Brett grumbled. Actually, he was done talking. Talking was exhausting.

“So, what I’m thinking is that I can be your transition girl, woman...whatever.”

What the hell was she talking about?

“Sorry?”

Sarabeth flicked her thumbnail against her front teeth. “Well, it sounds like I’m the exact opposite of the women you normally get involved with,” she said, looking very at ease perched on his thighs.

Again, what the hell was she going on about?

“I’m not a waif or a stray, Brett. I’m financially independent, emotionally stable—mostly—and I don’t want or need you to fix me or my life.”

Brett pushed his hand through his hair, not sure where she was going with this. “I know that. I don’twantto fix you. You’re pretty perfect as you are.”

Sarabeth grinned. “Now, that’s a big, fat lie. I’m stubborn, ridiculously independent and far too proud.” She scratched her cheek, looking pensive. “But I’m okay with my flaws...they are a part of me.”

She hesitated, as if deciding how to convey her thoughts. “You know, for years I was lost, and had no idea who I was or what I stood for. I turned myself inside out trying to make myself into whatever the man in my life wanted me to be. Once I stopped trying to please the man in my life and started being my authentic self, I was so much happier. I became me. I’m flawed, sure, but I’m strong and I don’t need anyone to fix me.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “Okay.”

“And that’s why I think that I could be your transition girl, a bridge for you. Maybe the next time a woman takes your fancy, she’ll be more like me, independent and self-sufficient. Because you need someone strong, Brett, you really do.”

Taken aback by her words, Brett silently cursed. He didn’t want someonelikeher, he wanted her. Clearly he’d had a harder day than he’d imagined because that notion was, as Tweed used to say, hole-in-the-screen-door crazy.

Sarabeth swiped her mouth across his. Before he could gather her closer, she edged away to stand up. After lifting her wineglass to her lips, she held it against her chest and sent him a small smile.

“I know that I shouldn’t be saying this, and I’d only ever say this to you, but thank you for decking Rusty. He totally had that coming to him.”

“My pleasure.” And it had been. But he was still pissed that he hadn’t hit him hard enough for his ass to connect with the floor.

Sarabeth planted another hot kiss on his lips before speaking again. “Let’s go disinfect your hand, slugger. Who knows what awful germs you picked up smacking that ugly face?”

Brett laughed and followed her inside.

Nine

The next evening, Sarabeth sat in her SUV on Main Street, her fingers gripping the steering wheel as she stared into space, thinking about her conversation with Brett the previous evening.

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