The Rancher's Second Chance. Brenda MintonЧитать онлайн книгу.
you want.”
“I need a place to stay. Somewhere he can’t find me. I tried breaking up with him a few months ago but he keeps calling. He won’t stay away from Jacki’s.” Her eyes closed and tears slid down her cheeks.
“He isn’t going to come after you, is he? You’re gone and he’s probably feeling fortunate that you didn’t press charges.”
“I did press charges. He’s in jail. And when he gets out he’ll be furious.”
Brody smiled, imagining his old friend in the slammer. “Well, that ought to teach him. Good for you, Gracie.”
“You haven’t called me that in a long time.”
“Yeah, well, it didn’t seem right to call you that once you decided to leave me for my best friend.”
He fixed her a plate of cheesy scrambled eggs and bacon. When he put the plate in front of her she turned green, covered her mouth with her hand and ran down the hall to the bathroom.
He had a real bad feeling.
* * *
The nausea eased, and Grace leaned back against the closed door of the bathroom. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She had made some bad choices in her life, really bad choices. But Lincoln had been the worst ever.
She didn’t know how she’d become this person, forgetting herself, what she wanted out of life and who she had always known herself to be. She’d lost her way. That was what her granddad would say. Her life had been easy, smooth sailing. And then Lincoln had ensnared her.
A light rap vibrated the door. “You okay in there?”
“Oh, yeah. Wonderful.” She stood and turned on cold water to splash her face. He knocked again. She reached for a towel, wiped away the dampness, then stood there with the towel against her cheeks looking at the stranger in the mirror. A stranger with her eyes but with marks left by a man who had no right to do this, to take the best part of her and turn her into someone she no longer recognized.
She shouldn’t have stayed in the relationship. She should have walked away the first time. If anyone had asked her a year ago if she’d ever let a man hit her, she would have told them she’d make sure he regretted it if he tried. But Lincoln had hit her. More than once.
For a while she’d stayed in the relationship because Lincoln had a way of convincing her he loved her and that she could change him. And then she’d stayed because she’d been afraid to leave. He’d convinced her that the abuse was her fault and that she needed to change.
When she finally had walked away, he hadn’t been willing to end things. Tonight she’d made the mistake of opening the door and he’d pushed his way in.
She was going to find herself again. Calling the police had been the first step in that process.
“Want me to feed the eggs to the dog?” Brody asked through the paper-thin door. She could imagine him out there, forehead against the door, hand on the knob.
“No, I’m good. Please don’t let the dog have my breakfast.”
She opened the door, trying hard to avoid looking at the man standing there so casually, leaning against the wood-paneled wall. While his stance said casual, he would never fit that description. At six feet with blue eyes that tripped a girl up and dark hair that she knew to be soft beneath her fingers, Brody Martin could be lethal. His cowboy charm fooled a girl. No, he fooled a lot of people with that good-ole-boy act.
He shifted away from the wall and his steady gaze held her in place. She looked away at first, her hand going to her cheek. Feather soft his hand touched her arm. She flinched but didn’t mean to.
“You okay?”
She nodded but couldn’t form the words to assure him. If she spoke out loud, she’d cry. If he said anything, she’d cry harder. If he touched her, the dam would definitely break, and she’d probably never be able to get control again.
He gave her a long look and kept his distance.
“Let’s eat before that mutt gets our eggs. She loves ’em.” He motioned her to walk ahead of him.
She poured herself a fresh cup of the coffee. Now that her stomach had settled, she thought she could keep it down. She needed it. She’d been awake all night. Through the kitchen window she could see that it was morning now. Not a sunny morning, but dreary like the night that had just passed. The world was gray and a steady rain fell.
Brody walked up behind her. He took a plate off the counter and handed it to her. She watched him limp to the fridge. He didn’t say anything. He pulled out a jar of salsa and limped back to the table.
“Your knee isn’t better?” she asked him as she sat.
He sat across from her. “Nope.”
“You’ve been like that since the surgery or before. You’re worse now than you were when...”
He looked up, his blue eyes accusing. She glanced away, unsure how to continue.
“Yeah, there are a lot of ways I’m worse off than I was then. Thanks.”
“I didn’t leave you for Lincoln.” She at least owed him that explanation.
“You broke up with me, and the next week you were with Lincoln.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes, thinking back to all that had come between them. Her fears of getting too serious when her time in Stephenville was limited. His overwhelming need to keep her close. She hadn’t been ready for his kind of serious.
She took a bite of egg. The dog came to sit on the floor next to her. The white bit of fluff stood on its hind legs and begged. She tossed it a piece of egg.
“Where did you get the dog?” she asked, hoping to ease the tension between them. “A Maltese? She isn’t really the kind of dog I pictured a bull-riding cowboy to have.”
“I’m not a bull rider anymore. I’m just a guy living on a ranch, running some cattle with my brothers.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. She knew he’d wanted to be a world champion. She knew about dreams and how they drove a person. She’d dreamed of seeing a little more of the country before settling down into the rest of her life.
He’d had other dreams he’d shared with her. He’d wanted to find the mother who’d walked out on them. He didn’t want to be a man who gave up the way his dad had. He rarely talked about how his mom’s abandonment had affected him, but it was there, not so far beneath the surface. He had a hard time trusting.
He cleared his throat and tossed the dog a piece of bacon.
“I got the dog at the grocery store in Austin. She was thin and her hair was matted. The guy who had her wanted twenty bucks. I couldn’t leave her.” It was easier for him to talk about the dog than about bull riding.
That unwillingness to leave a stray was why she’d come here. Because as hard as he tried to be coldhearted, he wasn’t. He couldn’t leave behind a stray. He would never leave a friend to suffer.
“Brody, for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”
“I’m sure you are.” He gave her a pointed look, his gaze lingering on her bruised face.
“I’ll go. After I eat, I’ll leave.”
He slid his plate to the side. “Where would you go, Grace? Your parents are out of the country. What’s your plan?”
She shrugged, aching inside because she didn’t have a plan. She’d taken off in the middle of the night knowing she needed to put miles between herself and Lincoln. She hadn’t really planned on coming here. But when she’d put her car in gear, she’d found herself on the road to Martin’s Crossing.
“We’ll figure something out.”
With