Chapter 5
Taxed to the limits of his self-restraint, Blayne couldn’t wait another moment to see Brooke. He’d stayed away from her until Thursday when she said she’d come out to the ranch.
Somehow, he talked her into letting him pick her up and drive her back under the guise of her not getting lost on the back roads. In truth, the ranch was easy to find. He just wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.
At four that afternoon, he parked behind her studio then walked around to the front and entered her showroom.
Overhead lights, angled to play off the glass, illuminated her pieces with artistry and panache. When the shop remained silent, he made his way to the doorway he knew led to the workshop.
He stepped inside her hot shop, as she called it, and watched as she removed several small pumpkins from what looked like some sort of oven. Afraid of startling her, he remained silent by the door until she set the tray of pumpkins on a table.
“Those are pretty,” he said, as she moved back from the table.
To her credit, she barely jumped as she turned around and tossed a heavy leather glove at him.
He caught the glove and grinned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I waited until you set down the breakables. Do I get credit for that?” he asked, walking across the room and dropping the glove on the table. “Are you ready to go?”
“Almost. Would you mind locking the front door while I run upstairs for a minute?” Brooke backed toward the stairs he knew went up to her apartment.
“Sure. No problem.” He watched as she took the stairs two at a time then disappeared through the doorway at the top of the steps. She again had her hair pulled back in a messy bun with a bandana around her head. Instead of overalls, she wore jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows.
He returned to the showroom and locked the door, turned the open sign to closed, and went back to the workshop.
Since he was last there, a short fence that ran from the pig room to the back door, like an alleyway, had been installed. A doggie-door, except lower to the ground, had been added to the back door. He opened it and found the five pigs rooting around in the dirt where a garden had once grown. Winnie grunted and ambled over to him with the piglets prancing along behind her. He bent down and gave them all some attention, especially the little runt. If he remembered right from the other day, Brooke had named it Roo. “Hey, Roo. You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?”
Blayne studied the fence that crossed the grass and dirt to keep the pigs from wandering into the parking area. It looked sturdy and solid, with no chance of little Tigger escaping the confines. Even the latch on the gate was located on the outside of the fence to prohibit Winnie from nosing it open.
Impressed with the fence and the fact Brooke had been able to get it installed so quickly, he returned inside. The pigs all followed him, so he had to walk down their fenced-in pathway until they were all inside. He turned back and closed the outside door to keep them from escaping into the workshop. Tigger made a run for it, but Blayne caught him before he got away, setting him down in front of Winnie. With nowhere left to go, the pigs ambled to their room. Blayne checked to make sure they had water and thought about feeding them, but waited to see what Brooke wanted to do.
The sound of footsteps drew his gaze to the stairs. She hustled down them wearing a pair of bright red cowboy boots, skinny jeans tucked into them, with a soft tunic that made her legs look about ten miles long. Her hair was down and she’d applied a little mascara and lip gloss.
“Wow, Brooke, you look beautiful. You do know we’re just going out to the ranch, not somewhere fancy.”
She stopped on the bottom step and glanced down. “I only own this one pair of cowboy boots, and they look best with the skinny jeans, which means a long shirt, which…” She looked at him and laughed. “You don’t really care about my fashion explanations. Let me herd the piglets in and we can go.”
“They are already in their room, although I assured Winnie she wasn’t being punished.” Blayne followed her as she hurried over to check on her babies.
She fed them dinner and promised to give them a treat later if they behaved while she was gone. After she fastened the baby gate across the doorway, she wrapped two of the small pumpkins she’d set on the table in tissue paper, then slipped them into a gift bag. She grabbed her purse from where she’d set it on the stairs and motioned to the door. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” he said, opening the door and waiting as she stepped over the pig fencing and made her way outside. He opened the gate and held it as she walked through, then closed it behind him. “That’s quite a set up you have going on there. How’d you get it installed so fast?”
“Oh, I just called a few people and they were more than happy to help. It only took one afternoon to install everything, but it’s made all the difference with the pigs.” Brooke smiled at him as he gave her a hand while she climbed into his pickup. Fiery jolts raced up his arm at the contact and he wondered if she felt something similar when she pulled her hand from his and stared at it for a moment.
“Tigger hasn’t escaped and the others are behaving?” he asked as he started the pickup and drove down the alley.
“I didn’t say that, but at least they can get outside and roll in the grass or root in the dirt. I bought a little kiddie pool for them to play in, too. It gets them clean without me giving them a bath. Winnie and Roo seem to absolutely love it.” She rolled her head his way. “The boys, not so much.”
Blayne laughed. “Why, Miss Roberts, I’m sensing some derogatory stereotyping taking place.”
“It absolutely is, cowboy. I bet you hated baths when you were a little cowpoke.”
He nodded. “Guilty as charged. Grams used to bribe me to get in the tub. I could have a cookie after I took my bath, but not before.”
“Smart woman.” She smiled. “Tell me more about your grandmother.”
Blayne talked about his grandparents being his best friends while he was growing up and how worried he’d been that his grandmother would die right after his grandfather passed away. He told of them making it through their grief together, the expansions they’d made at the ranch, and the neighbor’s interest in courting his grandmother, despite her insistence she wasn’t interested.
“Grams still has a lot of good years left in her, I just hate to see her spend them alone,” Blayne said, driving out of Romance, heading south on the highway.
“You make her sound like a horse or something. If you start singing the song about an old gray mare, I’ll tell your grandmother on you.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “No tattling to Grams, but I wouldn’t say that about her, anyway. Grams looks pretty good for her age, and she’s more active than many in their mid-seventies. She can outride about anyone on the place, and she doesn’t take sass from anybody, me included.”
“Good. I look forward to meeting her. She sounds like the type of person I want to be when I grow up.”
Blayne gave her a long look. “You look pretty grown up, or grown up pretty. Something along those lines.”
“You’re terrible at flirting, Blayne,” Brooke said, softening her words with a teasing smile. “Don’t you get much practice?”
Caught off guard by her blunt statement, he hesitated before answering. “Actually, I don’t. Most of the women I’ve dated don’t mesh with ranch life and I don’t usually have time for it anyway.” He gave her another glance. “What about you? Do you get in a lot of practice flirting with men who jet-set an artist like you around the world?”
Brooke snorted then clapped a hand over her mouth. At his broad grin, she smiled. “No, I don’t. I don’t jet set. I don’t flirt. And I certainly don’t practice, unless you count batting my eyelashes at Eeyore and Robin.”
“Piglets definitely do not count.”
The rest of the way to the ranch, they kept up a light, playful conversation. When Blayne turned off the highway then onto a side road, Brooke sucked in a gulp.
White fences framed picture-perfect pastures with cattle as far as the eye could see. A big red barn looked like something out of a movie set, especially with horses racing in a pasture behind it and a big pole-fence corral beside it.
Blayne guided the pickup past several outbuildings then turned a corner that took them up a driveway lined with decorative trees and bushes to a two-story farmhouse with a porch across the front. Pumpkins spilled down the steps while bundles of broomcorn flanked the porch posts. A burlap wreath with autumn leaves and acorns hung on the front door.
“Oh,” was all Brooke said as Blayne parked the truck and turned off the ignition.
“Welcome to the Rockin’ G Ranch.” He glanced over at her, taking in her wide-eyed gaze of wonder. “Like it?”
Unable to find her tongue, she merely nodded her head, continuing to stare out the window until Blayne opened the door and offered her his hand.
“You okay?” he asked, concern evident on his handsome face.
“Fine,” she mumbled, seemingly unaware he held her hand as he led her across the walk and up the porch steps. She glanced at the wide swing taking up one end of the porch. The ropes attaching it to the ceiling of the porch looked like they belonged on a ship from a time of pillaging pirates. Blayne smiled and nudged her forward, opening the front door and wiping his boots on the doormat.
Brooke quickly swiped the dust from her boots before stepping inside the entry. The scents of pumpkin and apple mingled with cinnamon and yeast in the air while a painting of two children kicking at autumn-hued leaves drew out her smile. A long, narrow table held an assortment of decorative pumpkins, including the glass pumpkin she’d sold Blayne at the festival.
“I told you Gram liked the pumpkin. This is her special collection.” Blayne spoke quietly in her ear, making a shiver race through her. Whether to blame it on his proximity, the warmth of his breath on her neck, or the sound of that deep gravelly voice in her ear, she didn’t know and hadn’t time to question. A woman with Blayne’s beautiful blue eyes bustled toward them, arms outstretched with a welcoming smile on her face.
“Hello, hello!” the woman said, embracing Brooke in an exuberant hug before she could blink. “Oh, it’s so lovely to meet you, Brooke. I’m sorry I didn’t make it over to your booth during the festival. I was so busy in the donut booth, I just didn’t get away. When my shift ended, I was anxious to get home and rest my tired dogs.” She shook a bare foot, nails painted hot pink, then laughed. “Goodness, I’m just chattering like a magpie. Sweetie, bring this girl to the kitchen and pour her something to drink. You can take her outside and show her around while I get dinner ready. It’ll be another hour before we eat.”
Blayne placed an arm around his grandmother’s shoulders. “Brooke, this is my grandmother, Doris Grundy. I call her Grams. You can call her crazy if you like.”
Doris swatted at Blayne and he ducked away from her hand then the two of them laughed. Brooke stared from one to the other then slowly smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Grundy. Thank you for making dinner tonight.”
“Oh, honey, I make dinner every night, so it’s no trouble at all. Would you like to see more of the ranch or maybe just sit in the kitchen and visit?” Doris asked, looping her arm around Brooke’s and guiding her down the hall to the kitchen.
“Well, I…” Brooke glanced at Blayne and he winked at her, following as Doris led her to a big, airy kitchen. The delicious autumn smells intensified, coupled with the aroma of roasting meat. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Gracious, no. Why don’t you have a cup of cider and go visit the horses?”
“That’s a great idea, Grams. Brooke met Girl and Boy at the festival, but I don’t think they made a good first impression.”
Doris raised white eyebrows in question, but didn’t say anything as she took a thick mug from a cupboard and ladled it full of cider from a pan on the back of the stove. The moment she lifted the lid, steam filled the kitchen with the scent of apples and cinnamon. Brooke inhaled deeply, as though she absorbed the moment as much as the fragrance.
Brooke took the mug Doris held out to her and savored another whiff of the delicious steam wafting around her face.
“You want a cup, Blayne?” Doris asked, reaching for another mug.
“No thanks, Grams. Maybe later,” Blayne said, pulling himself away from ogling Brooke. He took the gift bag and purse she held in one hand from her and set them on a bench by the back door. He opened the door and guided her outside then turned back to his grandmother. “We’ll be back in time to set the table.”
“Take all the time you need, sweetie,” Doris called as he closed the door and placed his hand on Brooke’s back, guiding her down the back steps and across the yard.
Once they were out of sight of the house, he reached for her hand, leading her in the direction of the barn.
“Did your grandfather build the house?” she finally asked, breaking the silence before taking a sip of the cider. “Oh, wow. That is some good stuff.”
Blayne lifted the mug from her hand and sipped the hot brew before handing it back to her. “Grams makes great cider. You ought to taste her apple pie. It’s off the charts.”
Brooke stared at the mug. She wasn’t a germophobe or anything like that, but she never shared her beverages with anyone. The fact Blayne so easily took a drink from hers and she didn’t mind at all made her want to scrutinize the reason why. Further examination may have been necessary had she been willing to acknowledge that when she took another drink, her lips covered the exact spot where he’d placed his lips on the rim of the mug.
“To answer your question, my great-grandfather built the house. It’s been updated numerous times over the years. Grams and Gramps renovated the kitchen back when I was in high school. We just had the bathrooms updated again last spring.” Blayne pointed to a little cabin visible on the far side of a pasture. It was fenced off to keep the cattle from getting to it. “That’s the house my great-great-grandfather built for his bride. Six kids later, they had to build a bigger house. It burned down back around 1910, but by then, my great-grandfather had already built this house.”
“It’s beautiful,” Brooke said, turning to study the Victorian house with its turret and gingerbread trim. The trees around it, boasting autumn’s best finery, made it appear like something from a storybook.
“So are you,” Blayne said in a husky tone.
His thumb grazed across her bottom lip and Brooke almost dropped the mug. If his goal was to leave her thoroughly discombobulated, he was doing a stellar job.
As though he sensed her unease, he dropped his hand and pointed to the pasture. “Here come the horses.” She turned and watched as half a dozen horses moseyed in their direction, among them the two giants she’d encountered too close for comfort at the festival.
When they hung their big heads over the fence, eager for attention, Brooke took a step back. They seemed even bigger and more intimidating out here in the open with only the fence keeping them away.
Blayne chuckled as she sidled away. “I promise they don’t bite,” he said, reaching back and clasping her arm in his hand. Gently, he pulled her forward. “Just give Girl a pet. She likes you.”
The disbelieving glance she tossed at him made him grin. “Go on.”
Hesitantly, Brooke lifted her hand. The horse sniffed it then turned slightly, so Brooke could rub her neck.
Blayne smiled. “See? I told you she liked you.”
“Well, I’m not sure the feeling is mutual, but she does seem like a nice horse for a giant, scary beast.”
Blayne scratched the horse along her shoulder. “Hear that, Girl? She thinks you’re a beast, a giant scary one.”
The horse shook her mane and blew out a puff of air then stared at Brooke.
While Blayne laughed, Brooke backed away.
“Aw, come on. We’re just teasing you,” he said, trying to pull her forward again, but Brooke set her feet and wrapped both hands around her mug of cider.
“I think I’ve had my fill of petting the horses.” To prove her point, she took another step back.
“How about a smaller horse?” Blayne asked, giving Girl one more pat before he whistled. A blue roan horse on the other side of the pasture raced toward them, coming to a stop so Blayne could reach through the fence and pet him. “This is Spot. He’s my saddle horse.”
“Saddle horse? You mean you ride the others without a saddle?” Brooke asked, confused.
“No,” Blayne said. His arm snaked around her waist and drew her close to the fence again, although he didn’t try to get her to pet the roan. “I usually ride with a saddle, although I’ve been known on occasion to swing onto one bareback. A saddle horse just means a horse is used for riding.” Blayne pointed to a Palomino mare across the pasture. “That one over there is Miss Pussy. She’s Grams’ horse. You might enjoy riding her.”
“Riding?” Brooke’s voice raised half an octave in volume and she took a hasty step back, sloshing cider out of the mug and over her fingers. “Oh, I don’t think so, cowboy. It’s one thing to stand on this side of the fence and admire their beauty, but I think that’s close enough, thank you very much.”
Blayne shrugged. “Suit yourself, but if you change your mind, we have several gentle horses you could take your pick from to ride.”
Brooke nodded, but continued backing away. Sooner than she could beat a cowardly retreat to the safety of the house, he grabbed her hand.
“Come on. I think you’ll like meeting our newest resident,” he said, leading her inside the barn and down a row of stalls. Halfway down, he stopped and motioned for her to look inside.
A brown donkey with fuzzy ears and a dark mane rose from his bed of straw and hurried over to them, braying loudly.
“Meet Donkey Kong,” Blayne said with a grin.
The donkey brayed again, making Brooke want to clap her hands over her ears. Instead, Blayne reached into a bucket and handed her a carrot.
“Hold that over the stall door. You’ll be his new best friend,” he said, stepping back so she could move in front of the door.
She held out the carrot, prepared to jerk her hand back if the donkey tried to swallow her arm. But the cute, furry animal nibbled at the carrot and looked at her with sweet molasses-colored eyes. “Oh, he’s so cute, Blayne,” she said, moving her fingers back as the donkey ate more of the carrot.
When he finished, the donkey cocked his head to the side then gave her a big smile.
“That’s his way of saying thank you,” Blayne said.
Brooke turned to see if he was teasing or serious. The infectious grin on his face didn’t help her decide, but did make her grin in turn. Between the two of them and the loony donkey, she decided they probably looked like a deranged trio.
She reached out and brushed a hand over Kong’s head, rubbing the soft hair before she stepped back. Blayne showed her a litter of kittens the barn cat had hidden in a corner stall, played chase-the-stick with two of the rambunctious ranch dogs, and introduced her to a handful of cowboys they encountered on their way back to the house.
Mouth-watering aromas rolled over them as they walked into the kitchen. Brooke felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment when her stomach growled.
Doris cocked a snowy eyebrow and smiled. “Glad to hear you’re hungry and ready to eat. As soon as you two kids wash up, we can sit down.”
“The bathroom is the first door on your right down that hall,” Blayne said, pointing toward a hallway off the end of the kitchen.
In need of a moment to gather her composure, Brooke hurried from the room.
~*~
“I like her, Blayne,” Doris whispered as she scooped mashed potatoes into a bowl while he washed his hands at the sink. “What did she think of the horses?”
Blayne shook his head. “Girl and Boy scared her pretty good at the festival and she hasn’t quite recovered. She wouldn’t even pet Spot, but I did get her to feed Kong a carrot.”
Doris laughed. “It’s hard to resist that sweet little donkey. What kind of ninny named him Donkey Kong? It makes it sound like he’s some sort of wild monster.”
“Well, he does get pretty excited if he doesn’t get breakfast on time,” Blayne said, picking up a fork and knife then expertly carving the roast.
Brooke returned to the kitchen. She’d taken time to smooth her hair, and her cheeks glowed with a pink, rosy hue. He thought she looked stunning.
“Ready to dig into this great dinner Grams made?” he asked, pulling out a chair for her at the table. He wasn’t sure he had the willpower or patience to sit so close to her and keep his hands entirely to himself. It would surely be one of the longest meals of his life.