Chapter 8
Brooke awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of squeals and cries. Convinced something was trying to kill her piglets, she jumped out of bed and raced for the stairs. She stubbed her toe on an end table then slipped on an area rug, banging into her apartment door. Desperate to get to the piglets, she ignored the pain in her cheek and foot, scurrying downstairs.
She grabbed a blowpipe then flicked on the lights, racing over to the pig room. No wild animals tried to devour the babies. No intruder wreaked havoc among the piglets.
Little Roo stood at the baby gate, crying and squealing with enough volume to inflict permanent damage upon Brooke’s eardrums. The three boys stood around her, adding their own thoughts on the matter with increasing anguish.
Brooke set down the steel pipe in her hand and picked up Roo. The piglet snuffled and grunted, but stopped crying. She burrowed against Brooke’s chest, wiping her nose on the striped oversized T-shirt Brooke wore for a nightgown.
“You just had to do that, didn’t you, Roo-Roo?”
The piglet looked up at her with sad eyes, twisting Brooke’s heart into knots.
“Okay, baby girl. How about you hang out with me for a while? Maybe your brothers will quiet down.”
Brooke sank down on the cold concrete floor of the workshop, leaned her back against the door to the pig room, and crooned a lullaby. Robin and Eeyore quieted and trudged back to their bed. Tigger stayed at the baby gate, watching Brooke for a few moments before his eyelids grew heavy and he made his way over to join his brothers.
By the time she finished the song, the three boys had gone back to sleep.
Roo, on the other hand, was still wide-awake. The moment Brooke stopped singing, the piglet squealed in displeasure and rooted against her chest.
“Roo-Roo, what am I going to do with you?” Brooke asked, rising to her feet and carrying the piglet around the workshop. She tried singing to her, rocking her in her arms, but Roo refused to be comforted.
An hour later, Brooke was bleary-eyed and exhausted. She hoped Winnie was faring much better than her daughter. Winnie spent the night at the vet’s office, sleeping off the effects of her surgery. Brooke had gone there as soon as Blayne called to tell her Winnie was doing fine, to see for herself.
It wasn’t until she was on her way back to her studio she realized how much time Blayne had given her these last few weeks. He had a big, busy ranch to run, yet he’d set aside his responsibilities to help her anytime she needed it, often before she even asked for it.
She hoped he didn’t see her as some useless female in constant need of a man to take care of her. Annoyed at the thought, she slammed the back door to her shop with more force than necessary when she returned, startling the piglets and jolting a small amber-hued acorn off the worktable onto the floor. The sound of it shattering only increased her irritation. She made up her mind to handle things on her own going forward, at least after the piglets were weaned and Winnie was back with them.
Now, at three in the morning, with dawn an eternity away, Brooke would have given anything to call Blayne and hear his deep, raspy voice telling her everything was fine. It wasn’t so much the words he spoke as just being able to listen to that voice. If he hadn’t followed in the footsteps of his ancestors and gone into ranching, she could picture him with a lucrative career in radio or television. Women would clamor to listen to a voice like that.
Instead of giving in to the urge to call him, she carried Roo upstairs and sat down in an antique rocking chair she found at a flea market and reupholstered back in her struggling artist days. After tugging a quilt over her legs, she settled Roo more comfortably and hummed as she toed the chair into motion.
Eventually, Roo quieted and fell asleep. Brooke listened to the little one take even breaths before she quietly rose and started down the stairs. She made it halfway down before the piglet awoke and started crying again.
Brooke made an about face and returned to the rocking chair.
By five that morning, she was a fatigued mess. Too tired to keep her eyes open a minute longer, she finally took Roo into the bathroom, made a bed for her on a frayed towel in the bathtub then collapsed on her bed.
She got almost twenty minutes of sleep before Roo’s cries and squeals awakened her again. Since the piglet wasn’t going to let her rest, Brooke exchanged her nightshirt adorned with pig snot and slobbers for a clean T-shirt, sweats, and a long sweater. She yanked on warm, fuzzy socks then hurried into the bathroom.
The light flicked on and Roo looked up at her with such agony in her eyes, Brooke almost burst into tears. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry we had to take your mama away, but everything will be okay. I promise.” Brooke quickly pulled her hair into a messy knot at the back of her head then picked up the piglet, tucking her under one arm as she wandered to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.
Once she had a cup of hot java in her hand, she returned to the living room and the rocking chair. Roo settled against her, nestling into the quilt Brooke had on her lap and closing her eyes.
Brooke sipped the coffee and leaned her head against the back of the chair, wondering how long it would take for little Roo to adjust to Winnie’s absence. Too many nights like this would leave them both frazzled. She set down the coffee cup and let her eyes drift close.
Unaware of how long she slept, Brooke awakened with a start and looked up into Blayne’s handsome face.
“You okay?” he asked in a whisper, bending down and grazing a soft kiss across her lips.
Sleepy and surprised to see him, she straightened in the chair, doing her best not to disturb Roo. “What time is it? What are you doing here?”
Blayne grinned. “It’s almost nine. Robert Foster called and said Winnie is good to go, so I came in to pick her up. I thought I’d swing by here on my way and see how the piglets were doing. Looks like you and Roo had a rough night. I knocked on the door, but you didn’t answer and the boys were making it known they wanted breakfast, right now.”
Brooke wiped her eyes and swallowed hard, tasting the bitterness of sleep-deprivation mingled with too much strong coffee. Blayne could have at least given her a chance to pop a mint in her mouth before he got too close to her stinky morning breath.
She started to rise, but Blayne carefully took Roo from her, effortlessly holding the piglet in one of his big hands. Unbidden, Brooke had a sudden vision of him cradling a beautiful dark-haired, blue-eyed baby with even more ease and affection than he lavished on her piglet.
Frightened by the direction of her thoughts, she quickly rose, ignoring the hand he held out to her. “I didn’t hear the boys making any noise, but Roo kept me up most of the night. I do not function well on two hours of sleep.”
Blayne waited for her to walk downstairs, following behind her. When she missed the bottom step, his hand shot out and steadied her, pulling her back against him. Roo grunted with displeasure at her unexpected awakening. Before she could launch into another round of whining and squeals, Blayne gave her a charming smile and told her how pretty she was.
The piglet grinned and wiggled against him, as though she’d just been crowned princess of her own country.
Gaze narrowed, Brooke tugged her arm away from his. “Is there any female you can’t charm with that smile?”
“Just one that I’ve met so far,” he said, carrying Roo to the pig room so she could join her brothers for breakfast. After settling the piglet, he turned back to Brooke.
“And who might this woman be, the one with fortitude made of steel? Or is she blind and deaf?” Brooke asked in a testy tone. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against a worktable.
Blayne strode over to her and tipped back his hat in the way that had become all too familiar. He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb across the smooth skin, making Brooke fight down a shiver. “You, glass girl. You’re the only one who seems able to resist my smile and my charm.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she muttered, dropping her gaze before the hot blue depths of his eyes further weakened her resistance. She would have moved away from him, away from the temptation of him, but he blocked her in. He grasped the edge of the table with his hands, removing any means of fleeing unless she crawled under the table. “Blayne…”
“Brooke…” he said, his voice laced with longing, his face full of determination.
He leaned toward her, intent on claiming a kiss. Brooke tucked her face against her shoulder and pushed at his chest. “You do not want to kiss me. I’ve got dog breath. Maybe even dead dog breath. No one should kiss that. It could be lethal.”
He chuckled and reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of gum, and handed it to her. “I really don’t mind, but if this will make you feel better, be my guest.”
She stuffed the gum in her mouth, relishing the cinnamon burst that chased away the horrible taste while causing her mouth to water. Or maybe it was the luscious smelling cowboy with his incredibly strong arms blocking her escape that caused excessive moisture to flood her mouth.
Before she could give it another thought, Blayne lowered his head to hers, taking her mouth in a hungry, driven kiss. Brooke would have protested, would have pulled away, but somehow her arms wound around his neck and drew him closer. Fully involved in the passionate exchange, she decided this was the best start to a day she’d ever had, and that included waking up one morning to find a big name art collector wanted to commission her to do three pieces for him.
Brooke couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe with Blayne’s mouth pressed to hers, his warmth encircling her. For a moment, her heart shouted, “Home, this is home,” while her head muttered warnings of getting involved with a man like Blayne.
Finally, when he raised his head, he drew in a long, slow breath. “Now that’s what I call a good morning greeting. Why don’t you lead with that next time I’m here before you’ve had breakfast?”
She released a choppy laugh and took a step to the side. “I’m a complete smelly disaster, Blayne. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise.”
He moved back and let his gaze travel from the top of her messy hair down the pumpkin-colored shirt, long cream sweater, and navy blue sweats she wore, to the orange and blue mottled socks on her feet. “You’re gorgeous.”
“You’re blind!” she said, unable to hide her smile or her pleasure in his words. Blayne wasn’t full of idle flattery like many men she’d met. If he paid her a compliment, he meant it. It was beyond her ability to fathom how he could think she looked like anything other than a homeless bum, though. She knew she was a mess and then some, but she liked hearing him say she was gorgeous all the same.
“No, ma’am, I’ve got great vision. If you don’t believe me, you can check with my doctor or ask Grams.” He reached out and clasped her hand, rubbing tantalizing circles across her palm. “Before I go fetch Miss Winnie the Pig, would you like to have breakfast with me?”
“That would be nice, Blayne. Just give me a minute to clean up and change.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You can go like that. I don’t mind.”
She swatted at his arm and backed away from him. “Well, I do. I’m not leaving this building until I’ve had a shower.”
He took a step toward her, a rakish smile on his face. “I could help with that. Just tell me where…”
“Stay!” she commanded him, as though he was a dog in need of obedience school, then raced up the stairs. In spite of her barked order, a giggle drifted down to him, broadening his smile.
~*~
Blayne settled Winnie into a stall across from Donkey Kong. Doris had been out to check on her twice, staying to pet the pig and murmur little assurances that she’d be fine in no time.
Both times, Winnie snuffled Doris’ hand, then dropped her weary head back to the soft blanket of her bed and closed her eyes for another nap.
The third time she woke up, she drank from her water bowl and nibbled at some feed, both good signs. The surgery had gone well with no complications, but Blayne worried about the pig, mostly because if something happened to Winnie it would devastate her owner.
He leaned on the stall door and called Brooke.
“How’s she doing?” Brooke asked the second she answered his call.
He grinned. “Well, hello to you, too.”
“Hi, cowboy,” she said, a smile evident in her voice. “How’s my sweet Winnie doing?”
“Great. She’s awake and having a little supper. If you’re not careful, Grams is going to spoil her even worse than you do and she won’t want to move back to town.”
Brooke feigned a shocked gasped. “She wouldn’t dare. That’s my pig! No spoiling allowed.”
Blayne chuckled. “I’ll tell her, but it might be a little late for that.” He leaned over and pet Winnie. “Want to come out for dinner and check on her yourself?”
“I’d like that very much,” Brooke said. “Is there anything I can...” Her voice trailed off.
The sound of running footsteps followed by a loud crash came across the line.
Blayne’s brows furrowed. “What happened?” When she failed to respond, his concern tripled. “Brooke? Are you okay?” He started down the aisle of the barn, ready to race into town to her rescue, if necessary.
“I’m fine,” Brooke said. He could hear a piglet grunting and squealing in the background. “Tigger somehow escaped into the showroom and broke that big autumn-leaf vase I had on the floor by the door.”
“Oh, no! I’m sorry, Brooke. I know you worked hard on that piece. Tigger clearly does not have a true appreciation for priceless art.”
Brooke laughed. “No, he does not.”
“But I do. In fact, after dinner I’d be happy to show you my endless appreciation for the beauty of your lips. My humble opinion classes them as a fascinating work of art,” he said in a husky tone. “A few affectionate kisses might give you a taste of how much I value them. Perhaps I could wax poetic about the long, graceful column of your neck, or elaborate on the perfection of your lovely little ears.”
He could almost picture her rolling her eyes as she replied. “Blayne Grundy! You are such a tease. Now hang up the phone and go take care of my pig. I’ll see you around six.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He did his best to sound dejected and contrite.
“And Blayne?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d like to hear more about your idea of art appreciation. I might appreciate some of your priceless art, too, if you behave yourself.”
A smile burst across his face. “Yes, ma’am!”