Page 22 of At the Rancher's Pleasure

“I had a mentor who trusted me enough to be a guarantor on a loan to buy this property. I then worked my ass off. That’s the short version of my story. But carry on with yours. I’m fascinated.”

Sarabeth took a sip from his wineglass before continuing. “I was living in Dallas and was struggling to get access to my kids. And as they grew older, I had to beg them to visit and when they did, we were all miserable. Rusty basically poisoned them against me. When it became too much, I went to LA and found work in an upmarket cosmetic store. One day I was bored, and I decided to find out how they made the products and was horrified to learn that a lot of the manufacturers use palm oil and experiment on animals—”

She nodded at the distaste on his face. They both loved animals, and with Sarabeth helping with the injured owl and frequently accompanying him when he did his nightly tour of the stables to check on his horses and other farm animals, most of which were rescues, the bond between them deepened every day.

“I started researching other ways to make soaps and lotions, using sustainable products, and I made a few batches. I rather liked them so I made more and started selling them at a market store on the weekends. Quite quickly, I realized I couldn’t keep up with demand, and I kinda, sorta went into production and began selling the cosmetics online.”

“I feel like a lot more happened than ‘kinda, sorta...’” Brett commented.

A million decisions, meetings, the hiring and firing of staff. Sleepless nights and pure terror. Feeling like a god when everything went right, crying in the bathroom when it didn’t. It had been the hardest and most rewarding thing she’d ever done in her life. Apart from her kids, of course.

“You started your own business, you know what it takes to become one of the wealthiest guys in the area. A hell of a lot of hard work, a little luck, some tears and a lot of stress.”

“Yep, that.”

Sarabeth dropped a kiss onto his mouth and pulled back before they took it further and got distracted. She wanted to tell him the rest, suddenly excited to be confiding in him about her business and her successes. She was at the stage in her life where she no longer required the world’s approval but for some inexplicable reason she wanted his.

As casually as she could, she asked him whether he’d heard ofSarabeths!“It’s a cosmetic line, gold and pink packaging?”

Brett slowly nodded. “A girlfriend a couple of years back wanted a set for Christmas.”

Sarabeth’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Did you buy it for her?”

“God, no! Far too expensive,” Brett replied on an easy grin. She didn’t say anything, she just waited for him to connect the dots, which he quickly did. “Wait, are you telling me that the Sarabeth inSarabeths!is you?”

She grinned, delighted, and lifted one shoulder in what she hoped was a casual shrug. “Yep.”

“Wow.” Brett ran a hand over his chin, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Holy shit, I’m seriously impressed.”

“Thanks.” Sarabeth tucked her face into his neck and she felt his big hand sliding over her butt. Mmm, nice.

“And you’re right, Rusty will be super pissed when he finds out.”

Sarabeth knew her smile was just this side of evil. “I know, right?”

Brett patted her butt in a “pay attention” gesture, and she pulled back to look at him. “How much time do we have until the corn bread is ready?” he asked.

Disconcerted by the rapid change of subject, she glanced at her watch. “Uh, fifteen minutes? Twenty?”

“Excellent. Just enough time to take my hot, sexy,smartlover to bed.”

Brett gave the best compliments, Sarabeth thought. Thanks to her looks being the currency she was taught to trade in, being called beautiful was overrated and meant nothing. But hot was lovely, sexy better and being called smart was the absolute best.

And yeah, when he said things like that she’d follow him anywhere.

By Sunday, after Brett spent three days in Austin visiting a ranch he was considering purchasing, Sarabeth was desperately missing him and actively loathing the fact that she did. He’d invited her to accompany him, but because they’d spent so much time together over the past two weeks, she thought it prudent for them to spend some time apart. Now, on Sunday, she was regretting that decision.

Every pore on her body missed him with an intensity she didn’t believe possible. Her bed in the cottage—she didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in Brett’s bed when he wasn’t there—no longer felt welcoming and her once cozy abode now felt cold and empty.

Sarabeth stood on the porch of her cottage and looked anxiously toward the drive, praying she’d soon see the big lights of Brett’s truck. On Friday he’d said that he’d be home by lunch on Sunday; it was now dusk and she hadn’t heard anything from him.

What was wrong with the man? Had he forgotten how to use his phone? Or to text? Had his battery run down, or, God, had he been in a car accident? How would she know? How could she find out?

Take a breath Sarabeth and calm the hell down. Do try to remember that you are not his girlfriend, wife, partner or significant other. You are the woman he’s currently sleeping with, no more and no less. He’s under no obligation to tell you where he is and what he is doing. Or when he’d be home.

Anyone on the outside watching her would think that what they had meant something, and it didn’t. She was acting like they were a romantic couple instead of treating him like a friend she was having sex with.

And it had to stop.

---