Dara Girard - Engaging Brooke

She’d dreamed of showing up in a white wedding dress at the church and telling Jameson to marry her. She understood him in a way she felt no one else did. At times, he seemed to stand in the shadow of his father, whose radical ways of breeding high-end cattle and heritage farm animals had made them incredibly wealthy. His father also had secured an advantageous marriage into the Webb family, who’d made their fortune breeding rare stallions and quadrupled the profits of the ranch. Jameson wasn’t as charming as his younger brother, Wes, but she thought he was better looking. His intense ways could be off-putting, but she knew how much he loved the land and, from her point of view, he was all a man should be.

Unfortunately, Brooke knew that Jameson saw her as a child. He’d never looked at her the way he’d looked at her sister and other women. She was just a little girl to him. He was a man planning his future. She’d even thought of buying him at the recent cowboy charity auction, but she hadn’t been bold enough, considering the history between their families. But now she had a reason to meet with him. She knew he wasn’t a man who liked to date, but she wondered what he thought about marriage.

Brooke took a deep breath then raised her hand to knock on the door just as it swung open. Laney took a step back in surprise. Jameson’s younger sister was as beautiful in person as she was in all the pictures taken of her. Even more striking actually.

“Hi, Laney,” Brooke said when the other woman just stared.

Laney shook her head, as if coming out of a stupor. “Hi.” She opened the door wider. “Sorry, I’m just surprised to see you.”

“Congratulations on your medals. It must be hard getting back to the ordinary life and routine of Granger.”

“No, it’s a relief.”

When she didn’t expand, Brooke searched her mind for something else to say. “You look great.”

“Thanks.”

Brooke shifted, feeling awkward. Laney obviously didn’t want to talk. She was usually more bubbly, but she seemed quiet and reserved. Perhaps she resented her for being the sister of a woman who’d broken her brother’s heart. “I don’t want to keep you. You were getting ready to go somewhere. I just want to see Jameson.”

Laney gestured for her to come inside, clearly eager to leave. “Oh, he’s in the back of the house, gazing at his mistress.”

Brooke felt her heart race. “Mistress?”

“You know,” she called over her shoulder as she stepped outside. “The ranch.”

“Right,” Brooke said, feeling her pulse return to normal. “Thanks,” she said, but Laney was already out of hearing range. Even though Jameson had his own house on the property, people knew he spent most of his time at the main house. Brooke closed the door then walked through the hallway off to the side and saw Mr. and Mrs. Broward sitting in the Great Room. They stared at her, stunned.

“Hello,” she said, wanting to break the silence. She absently pointed to a vague space down the hall. “Laney told me Jameson was down here.”

“How have you been?” Steven said. “We were sorry to hear about your father.”

“Well, thank you.”

Gwendolyn stood up. “Where are my manners? It’s lovely to see you. Would you like something to drink or—?”

“No,” Brooke said, relieved that their welcome had been a bit more cordial than Laney’s. That gave her hope that the favor she needed from Jameson might get a good response. “I just need to ask Jameson something.”

“Well, if you need anything let us know.”

“I will.” Brooke headed to the back of the house and saw Jameson standing just outside the doorway. As he stood staring at the horizon, she took a moment to stare at him. She looked at him through the eyes of an artist. If she were to paint him, she’d depict him as a landscape with shoulders as wide as the Montana sky, skin smooth as the sharp edge of a canyon and height as tall as a mountain. He was lean but muscular, with the intensity of a raging river. Her heart began racing, even though she’d told it to behave. Jameson had always had that kind of effect on her.

Brooke opened the door and cleared her throat to let him know she was there and not startle him.

Jameson didn’t turn and he didn’t seem startled; it was as if he already knew she was there. “Yes? What do you want?” he said, his voice a low, deep rumble.

Brooke swallowed. If he could affect her like this with his back to her, how would she fare when he faced her? She had to find out.

“I want to talk to you,” she said, her voice higher than she wanted, but steady.

She saw his shoulders stiffen. It was just a flash and if she hadn’t known him so well, she wouldn’t have seen it. He turned, in a slow, deliberate manner that only increased the anticipation of seeing his face again. His cowboy hat kept his face in shadow, so she couldn’t clearly read his expression. Brooke braced herself for his response, half afraid of what he would do. Would she get the cold politeness of Laney?

“Brooke Palmer,” he said in a low, deep voice that to her was as sweet as hot maple syrup drizzling on warm pancakes. It sent a thrill through her; no one said her name the way he did. He didn’t seem surprised to see her and gestured to one of the chairs inside the house. “Sit down,” he said, walking past her and taking off his hat.

“Thanks.” Brooke took a seat and fought not to stare. Without his hat, his brown eyes were clear, reminding her of Montana oil—dark and rich. He was better than the finest wine. And he also got sexier with age.

“I’m sorry about your father.”

Brooke blinked, touched by the compassion in his eyes. She forced herself to focus on her reason for coming. Her father had died suddenly and he was the main reason she was there. “Thanks.”

“How’s Meredith?”

She paused, surprised he’d even ask. “She’s in New York with Richard.” He was her second husband, but Brooke didn’t mention that, not sure Jameson would care.

“I’m glad.”

Brooke furrowed her brows in confusion. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Who was this even-tempered, controlled man? The Jameson of the past had been more passionate. Especially with her sister. Brooke remembered overhearing an argument they’d had when her sister was preparing to go to college. She had been passing by the family room when she had heard them.

“I don’t want to be without you,” Meredith had said near tears.

“You know my place is here.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You’re good at so many things. Why can’t you attend college in the East with me?”

“I told you what I plan to do.”

“You need to stretch your horizons. Get away from farming—”

“You know I’m not just a farmer. You say that just to annoy me.”

“I’m trying to find your sense of humor.”

“I don’t joke about the ranch.”

“That’s the problem. You already sound like an old man and you haven’t even reached twenty yet. Why do you take things so seriously? You don’t need to work so hard. You have enough money and the ranch basically runs itself.”

“By itself?” he said in surprise. “You talk about the ranch like it’s some toy that runs on batteries. Do you know how much it costs to get a cow bred? Or fed? How about vet expenses? And then there are the chickens and—”

“Your family has more than enough money to take care of all of that, and you know it.”

“It’s not about money. It’s about business and I’m going to run it well. For the sake of my family and the sake of our children. Meredith, you know I love you and I will provide the best for us. But my place is here. I like being my own boss and living my life by my rules.”