Page 3 of At the Rancher's Pleasure

Except that lately, he hadn’t been. Not with Lexi. God, he was embarrassed and ashamed and felt a little bit sick for the pain and stress he’d caused. He could, easily, cover the bills of the nonwedding but he couldn’t wipe away Lexi and the Alderidges’ humiliation by writing a quick check.

He remembered standing to the side at the dinner, apart and alone, thinking that he didn’t want to hurt Lexi, that he’d rather cut off his hand than do that. But, surrounded by their guests, he realized that what he felt for Lexi was both complex and disorienting, his feelings influenced by his youthful wish to be accepted, to belong, to be anything other than the boy who always stood on the outside of the cool kids looking in.

Along with owning and operating one of the most successful operations in the area, marrying Lexi and being Winston’s son-in-law would cement his place in Royal; he would finally, finally belong.

And that he’d just have to sell his soul to do it.

Biting the bullet, he’d pulled Lexi aside and told her he couldn’t marry her, that he didn’t love her and that she didn’t love him either, not the way two people getting married should. She’d cried and he’d walked away, leaving her alone and confused and shocked and, worst of all, blindsided.

And half of Royal witnessed the train wreck that was supposed to be their rehearsal dinner.

God, he was such a bastard.

He felt the brief touch of a hand on his biceps, heard a soft feminine sigh. “Sucks to be you, right?”

Brett opened his eyes to see Sarabeth standing next to him and managed a small smile at her comment. Her eyes radiated sympathy and, best of all, no judgment. Not that her opinion mattered overmuch; she couldn’t think any worse of him than he did of himself.

“Why did you run?” she gently asked.

Even if he was in the habit of explaining his actions to friends or strangers, which he wasn’t, he wasn’t sure if his explanation would make sense. How did he explain that he’d simply been struck by the unassailable truth that he and Lexi weren’t each other’sit?

And that he didn’t think he would be marriage material, now or in the future. He was too closed up, too self-reliant, too screwed up to be anyone’s husband, lover, partner...

Any woman’sanything.

That gentle hand patted his shoulder. “You don’t have to answer me.”

He knew that and he had no intention of doing so. Exposing his soft emotional underbelly wasn’t something he ever did, and especially not to a gorgeous stranger with shadows in her eyes.

“But can I say this? This will pass, trust me. It might pass like a kidney stone, with a bunch of pain, but itwillpass. Everything always does.” Sarabeth’s smile was soft and understanding, and Brett felt like he could rest within it.

She turned her back on him and walked toward the road. When she hit the road, she pulled her cap down and lifted two fingers to the brim in a goodbye salute.

Then she broke into a smooth run, her body moving with ease and grace.

Damn, the woman was intriguing.

Sarabeth kept up a wicked pace until she came to the cottage she was renting. Braking abruptly at the steps leading up to the porch, she slapped her hands on her thighs and bent over, sucking in some much-needed air.

She was partly winded from her hard run—she could, at forty-eight, still run a seven-minute mile—but a lot of her breathlessness could be attributed to Brett Harston and his mysterious, deep forest green eyes, sooty lashes, thick stubble and hard jaw. His hair, the little that wasn’t covered by a black Stetson, was a rich brown and his nose just a little crooked.

And his body... Lord, thatbody. Long legs, narrow hips, a broad, muscular chest and shoulders wide enough to make angels weep. He was a man in the prime of his life, fit and powerful.

Sarabeth straightened up, feeling a little woozy, off-balance. Had she straightened too fast? She sat down on the third step and stretched out her legs, still thinking about Brett’s flat stomach and very nice package under that soft denim.

Whoo-boy! It had been a long, long time since she’d given any thought to a man’s masculine package...

She’d met a lot of cowboys but Brett Harston was superfine. And ridiculously sexy. And the expression “save a horse and ride a cowboy” suddenly made a great deal of sense.

Not that she would be riding him, or any other Texas cowboy anytime soon.

Sarabeth leaned back on her elbows and tipped her head to the sun. She couldn’t believe she was back in Royal, Texas, after a nearly twenty-year absence. And, despite laying eyes on her luscious landlord—an unexpected treat!—she wished she could say she felt excited about returning to her home state.

She didn’t.

When she’d left this part of Texas with only an alimony check, her car and her clothes, she’d promised herself to never return and she didn’t like breaking promises, not even those she’d made to herself. But she’d storm hell itself for her children, and she wanted to build on the bourgeoning relationship between her and her previously estranged son, Ross.

She’d never forgive Rusty for alienating her from her children after she left—trash-talking her by blaming her for their divorce, telling them she was no longer interested in being their mother, making it difficult for her to see them... Constantly fighting for a place in their lives, and frequently losing, had broken her heart over and over again. Oh, there had been times where she’d been desperate to tell Gina and Ross that their father was a serial cheater and had been verbally abusive, but she figured one of their parents had to be the adult in the room.

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