CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

Brant

 

That had gone horribly. Fuck. Worst “proposal” in the history of the world. What was wrong with me when it came to Isabelle? It was like my brain deserted me, and all my base emotions took over, making me look like a total ass.

I rolled over, picking up my cell phone on the bedside table. 7:06 a.m. I sat up, squinting at the window where light shone in at the edges. I stood, making my way to the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under the hot spray of the water.

A new day. A new chance to make this right. I was Brant Talbot—I always got what I wanted. I paused, the suds from the shampoo in my hair dripping down my cheek. So why did I feel so out of my element?

Because I cared about Isabelle. I liked her. And I didn’t just want to win her. I wanted her to want me. I leaned a hand against the shower wall, feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable, and like hightailing it away from here for the third time.

I expected more from you.

I needed coffee. Once dried and dressed, I headed toward the kitchen. When I entered the huge room, my father and May were standing as if to head out.

“Brant!” May sung out, clapping her hands together in happiness, her smile beaming. I smiled back and then looked at my father.

“You’re back,” my father noted, no emotion in his tone. And yet I swore something that looked like satisfaction shone in his eyes.

“You don’t miss a thing, do you, Harrison?”

“Oh, I miss plenty. You here to see me off?”

I frowned. “See you off where?”

“Your dad is leaving for a lung treatment this morning,” May said. “I’m going to drive him to Louisville and stay with my cousin for the weekend while he’s there.”

“Breathing treatment?”

“It’ll decrease the pressure your father’s been feeling in his chest. Make him more comfortable they say,” May said, shooting my father a glance that held a measure of sympathy. What she was saying, I guessed, was that this was a treatment that would aid in his comfort, but not in the longevity of his life.

“We’ll be home on Monday,” May went on. “Isabelle will be here. You’ve got the house to yourselves, I guess.”

My heart picked up. “Has Isabelle been down yet?”

“Isabelle’s surely been up for hours. The girl rises before the sun. Probably out riding.”

“Where does she go?”

“Oh, all over,” May answered.

I frowned, not liking the idea of Isabelle out galloping through the pastures by herself. What if the horse fell? What if she got injured? Hell, the woman didn’t even carry a cell phone.

When I looked at my father I realized he was watching me closely, a small knowing smile on his lips that made me feel defensive for some unknown reason. “You were wrong about Isabelle, you know. She doesn’t expect a damn thing from me.”

“Do you want her to?”

A resounding yes echoed through my mind. “Maybe,” I replied.

He regarded me for a heartbeat. “From what I recall, you always were a persistent little bugger.”

May was looking back and forth between my dad and me, but she didn’t ask the questions I could see in her eyes, for which I was grateful. “Well, come on then,” May said. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late. You take care, Brant, and I’ll see you on Monday?” She eyed me hopefully, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah, May, you’ll see me Monday.”

She smiled, nodding her head as she moved past me. My father gave me one last look and then they both headed toward the front door, my father grumbling about having to endure May’s driving for the next hour.

I poured myself a cup of coffee in a travel mug, pulled my jacket from the hall closet, and headed to the stable. I saddled up Trapper, a beautiful chestnut whose personality was the perfect mix of gentle and feisty. He’d want to run, but he’d be responsive to my direction.

I rode out of the stable, waving at the guys in the yard and calling to let them know I’d be back soon. They waved in acknowledgment, turning back to their work. I was now recognized here and that knowledge sent a spiral of satisfaction through me. I was part of this place once again, not only in spirit, but in actuality. I was grateful that none of the staff were cold toward me. I had no clue what could and would have been said about my thirteen-year absence.

I allowed Trapper to run freely for a little while, keeping my eyes peeled for the sight of a lone rider out in the open pastures. There were so many small copses of trees, though, so it was difficult to see far in any one direction.

The stream had receded to its normal depth, and I could tell the ground was solid beneath Trapper’s feet. I thought back to the night of the flood, everything inside me quickening: my heart, the blood flowing through my veins, the desire in my body for the woman I was looking for. Where are you, Isabelle?

Just as I posed the question, I saw the small shape of a rider off to my right in the far distance and turned Trapper, anticipation and happiness ricocheting through my chest. Trapper and I moved toward her at a steady gallop and as we got closer, I realized her horse was standing still, neck lowered, grazing.

Isabelle looked over her shoulder and even though she was too far away for me to see her expression clearly, I saw her nudge her horse then move away from me, the horse breaking into a run.

She looked over her shoulder again and I thought she was smiling, which made me laugh in return, nudging Trapper faster, the charge of chasing a fleeing female catching at the primal part of me. Knuckle-headed Neanderthal, she’d called me. I laughed. Maybe she was right. Maybe there was something in a man’s DNA that naturally thrilled to a good chase. She raced ahead of me, this woman who seemed to know me better than I knew myself—or at least wasn’t afraid to call me on my bullshit. I hated it. And I loved it.

“Slow down,” I called, laughing.

She looked over her shoulder again. “Are you going to keep asking me to marry you?”

“Is that why you’re running from me?”

“Yes!” She laughed, the wind picking up the sweet sound and tossing it back at me.

God, she was amazing.

I nudged Trapper harder. Belle was a better rider than I was, I could admit as much, but the horse she’d chosen to take out today was a dappled-gray mare named Pretty Penny. She was sweet and reliable, but she couldn’t outrun Trapper. No way. I gained on her, leaning low like the jockeys, letting the cold fall air whoosh past me.

I came up right beside her and she shot me a look of annoyance, but I saw the side of her lip turn up slightly before she slowed, falling behind me. I nudged Trapper to a halt, pulling on his reins and turning, trotting back to where Isabelle now stood. I squinted at her, smiling. She was so damn beautiful sitting atop her horse, her hair almost completely loose from her braid, the red highlights glinting as they picked up the sunlight. She was fresh-faced, not a lick of makeup, wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt that looked about two sizes too big, and she was the most stunning woman who’d ever walked the earth.

“You’re staring.”

“I know. You’re beautiful.”

She blinked and looked down for a second and then back up at me, a stain of pink blossoming on her cheeks. “Flattery won’t work. I still won’t marry you.”

I chuckled, looking off into the horizon for a second. When I looked back at Isabelle my expression was serious. “I’m not trying to flatter you, Belle.” I rode closer so the sides of our horses’ bellies touched. I took her hand in mine. “I wish I could do last night over.”

Her eyes lingered on mine for a second. “Yeah? What would you have done differently?”

I used one finger to run along the delicate bones of her knuckle. “First of all, I would have told you I was sorry for leaving without saying goodbye.” I watched my hand holding hers for a moment, hers so much smaller than mine. She was so strong, so courageous, and yet she was so delicate too. This woman who’d shown up in my world and knocked me sideways. “I’m sorry, Belle.” I met her eyes. “You deserved more than that. I convinced myself it was better for everyone if I left. But the truth was, I was spinning in a hundred different directions and needed to get myself straight. But even so, I should have found you. I should have at least said goodbye. I should have told you how much that night meant to me.”

She watched me, taking her bottom lip into her mouth. My jeans suddenly felt tight. I remembered what that full lip tasted like and wanted to taste it again.

You could. If she was yours you could taste it every day for the rest of your life.

“And, I should have greeted you properly last night. I should have bought you a drink and wished you a happy birthday. Let me make it up to you, Belle. Let me take you out tonight.”

She looked away. “I saw you, you know, online with that blonde on your arm.” Vulnerability skated over her expression before she glanced back. She’d looked me up. Somehow that knowledge brought me hope. She’d thought about me while we’d been apart too. Wondered enough to look online and find a picture of me with some blonde. Blonde? Ah, Sondra. The fundraiser. I’d seen her for two minutes, max. “Why come back for me when you have women like that waiting for you in New York?”

Women like that? I studied Belle for a moment, gorgeously disheveled, clothes worn for comfort and function, not style. Did she consider herself less beautiful, less desirable when put next to a woman like Sondra? God, if she only knew. “I’m not interested in her or anyone else, Belle. We dated casually for a short time and she happened to be at the same event as me a couple of weeks ago. Our picture was taken together, that’s all. There’s only one woman I’m hoping like hell will let me take her to dinner tonight and that’s you.” 

She tilted her head, still looking skeptical and my chest tightened as I waited for her answer.

“Just dinner,” I said.

“No marriage proposal?” Her lip quirked up slightly.

I laughed. “I’ll try my best.”

Isabelle released a breath, and I could almost hear her mind working through the arguments for and against dinner. She lifted her chin. “All right. Dinner.”

My heart soared and I grinned. “I missed you,” I admitted, both to her and to myself. I’d missed her voice, her laugh, the way she challenged and excited me. I’d missed her strength—the way she could still smile after all she’d lost. Yeah, I’d missed her, and I didn’t want to miss her anymore.

“You did?” she asked. Isabelle clicked her tongue at Pretty Penny, and the horse lifted her head from where she’d been grazing again and moved forward, carrying Isabelle away from me. “I agree to dinner. But I swear, Brant Talbot, if you mention anything about marrying you, the date’s over.”

I laughed, turning and following her as she moved in the direction of the stable.

 

**********

 

The restaurant in a small town about half an hour away was just as I remembered it—quaint and inviting with a large fireplace in the center of the room. It was an old farmhouse that had been converted into a restaurant.

The hostess showed us to a table at the edge of the stone hearth, and we both took a seat, the warmth of the fire making me feel relaxed and at ease. I looked at Isabelle across the table, noting for the second time that night how pretty she looked. She’d left her hair down where it curled in soft waves, and it looked like she had some makeup on. She was wearing a black dress that wrapped around her slim body, a tie holding it closed just above her hip. I wanted to pull at that small bow and see if the dress fell off her as I suspected it would. Moving those frustrating thoughts aside, I took a drink of water.

“The first time I met you, you were wearing a blue and white sundress,” I said. “It slipped off your shoulder and I practically had to hold my own hand down not to pull it back up, just to get closer to you, to graze your skin for a moment.”

Belle blinked at me, setting the water glass she’d just taken a sip from on the table. “You were such a jerk to me that day. I thought you hated me.”

“I did, sort of. Because I wanted you and I thought you and my father . . .” I waved my hand, not wanting to even put words to what I’d thought. “I didn’t admit it to myself, but yeah, I was sick with jealousy.”

“Of your father? Oh, Brant.”

“I know, I know.” I grimaced. “I didn’t like it either. In fact, I hated it.”

She tilted her head, her gaze washing over me and seeming to soften as a smile played at her mouth. “So you acted like an ass.”

“Yeah. I acted like an ass. An impulsive, jealous ass.”

She blew out a breath, but there was a small laugh contained within it and her eyes still held that softness. She looked at her menu and we were both quiet for a second as we perused the choices. After a minute she set her menu aside. “You saw your father this morning before he left?”

“Yeah. He told me about the treatment. I hope it brings him some relief. That rattle in his lungs . . . it’s gotta be uncomfortable.” She nodded, her expression full of the unfeigned concern I knew she had for him.

The waitress came and took our order and when she left, Isabelle said, “It’s going to be quiet this weekend at the house. Are you planning on staying?” Our eyes met and something flashed between us, but Isabelle lowered her gaze before I could tell exactly what she might be thinking. My own blood buzzed with the thoughts that suddenly entered my mind. Having Isabelle to myself, the whole house empty, just us, for an entire weekend.

“I’d like to.” My voice sounded deeper—needy—even to my own ears, and I cleared my throat. Color rose in Isabelle’s cheeks as she looked at me, her eyes skittering away as if she’d somehow seen the visions my brain had conjured. Us. Alone. A huge house all to ourselves. So many surfaces.

“Why’d you come back, Brant?” she asked, her finger circling her glass.

I swallowed, wanting her touch on me, circling, exploring. And more. So much more. That one night hadn’t been enough, dammit. Not even close. I needed to experience her again, and again, and again, not just in the dark of night, but in the soft light of morning and the bright afternoon sunshine. I’d wondered before what it would be like to know a woman, really know her, and though the thought had enticed me then, fear had come quick on its heels. But looking at her now . . . there was only that burning desire and nothing else. Why had I come back? “I meant it when I said I missed you.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “And I started thinking about what my father said. It made sense.” At the look of exasperation that flashed in her eyes, I held up my hand. “Don’t get mad. I know now that it’s not what you expect. Let me just explain where my mind was. I was thinking that if we married, we’d both own Graystone Hill. It’d stay in the Talbot name. I would leave the running of it to you, and you’d have no reason to turn it down. And you wouldn’t have had to worry about someone else owning it who might split the place up, or run things in a way you didn’t care for.”

“Brant, if your father left it solely to you, you could just assure me of those things and go on your merry way.”

“My father doesn’t trust me. He trusts you. My father loves you like a daughter already. A marriage would have made it both of ours.”

“A marriage of convenience, Brant? Seriously?”

God, no. “It would have been more than that.”

“Really? It doesn’t sound like it. We don’t know each other.” She huffed out a breath. “We seem to be good at fighting and well . . .” Her cheeks turned pink, her eyelids fluttering down. Fuck, she was so damned pretty. Fighting and fucking, that’s what she meant, but I doubted Belle would have put it like that.

“What else is there?” I asked.

She laughed, but then pressed her lips together. “A lot. There’s a lot, Brant.”

“But that’s a good start, right?” I tilted my head and gave her my best boyish smile. “I’m crazy about you, Belle.”

She shook her head and looked mildly annoyed. “You’re charming me, and I don’t know if I should let you.”

I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. “Let me. Let me charm you. I can be better at it. I know I can be an insensitive jerk, but I’m not always. You deserve to be charmed, Isabelle. You deserve happiness and laughter. Give me this weekend. Let me show you how it can be between us for longer than one night. At least that.”

Our food showed up, and as the waitress set down our plates, I watched Isabelle and could tell she was using the brief interruption to form her answer. When the waitress left the table, she looked up at me and I held my breath. “I’d like to spend this weekend with you, Brant.” She rearranged the utensils next to her plate, her brow furrowed. “But not to discuss marriage or your father’s wishes.” She rubbed at her temple. “Or anything weighing on us right now. Truthfully, I’d like to put all that aside for a couple of days . . .” Her voice trailed off as if she was thinking about something specific, something she hadn’t shared with me perhaps, but then she raised her eyes and the heat in them made my own flare in response. “I’d like to let it all go and just enjoy each other.” She bit her lip as if worried I’d say no to that. As if.

So, I had offered her marriage, and she had countered with a weekend of . . . enjoying each other. And the funniest part about it was that I was actually a little disappointed. But a weekend of enjoying Isabelle? It was a pretty great consolation prize and I wasn’t about to turn it down. “Check please,” I joked and Isabelle laughed, shooting me a bemused look and then picking up her fork and digging in to her food.

I suddenly wasn’t hungry at all.

At least not for food.