assumed. However, the fat cat in his arms was staring at her, not respecting her, because once again, Brooke was letting the door to her future close. No, not today.
“Wait.” She wrote down her name and put the Captain’s phone number after it. “This is my work number.”
Mr. Cervantes adjusted the cat, freeing one hand, and then tucked the number in his pocket. “I’ll pass it along and tell him it’s an emergency.”
“No!” she yelled, and now Mr. Cervantes was staring as well as the cat. “I mean, it’s not a huge emergency. I get anxious sometimes. I should learn to relax more. It’s why I moved out here. I lived in New York once.”
“New York, huh? Pretty fancy place. You’re going to find out we do things a lot different out here.”
Brooke smiled at the man, because everything about this town was different, and that was exactly why it felt like home.
A FTER DINNER , Brooke watched Dog clear the dishes, noticing that this time, there were no glitches or flaws in the mechanical grips. Every time the Captain found something off, he had to repair it. Including her life. But she could repair her life first. If the mineral rights on the Hart land turned into real dollars… If the Captain could see her as something more than a mechanical automaton to be repaired. If only he could see her as a woman again.
If only…
From across the room, the Captain sat at the table, tinkering with a gutted radio, studiously avoiding talking to her. Not that she wanted him to, but the silence between them had changed from something companionable to a war zone, and she wished he could repair the glitches in their relationship, as well. Not happy with the status quo, Brooke stood, preferring the lonely security of his bedroom to this.
“Brooke.”
She stopped, turned. “Is this work related?”
He looked at her impassively, scarred and patched, a man who had suffered a lot more than her. “Please” was all he said, but that small conversation was better than nothing at all. Brooke snagged a barstool, pulling it close to his chair. Her foolish hands itched to straighten the screwdrivers or stroke the rough stubble at his jaw. Instead she folded them tightly in her lap.
“How are things with your brother? He’s nice to you?”
They were conversing formally, like an employee and boss. Whatever. Brooke met his eye, equally cool. “Austen is nice enough. I like Gillian. They invited me to dinner tomorrow evening, so you won’t be burdened with my company. Feel free to roll out the keg and strippers.”
“You’re usually nicer than this.”
“I know. I felt like being catty.”
The corner of his mouth lifted and she remembered the feel of his lips on her neck, the taste of him on her tongue. Her gaze drifted to the hefty ridge beneath his fly and stayed there. He knew. The air was charged with the tension, her overheated nerves sparking, nipples on alert. When he leaned closer, Brooke held her breath, but then the mulish Captain pulled back. “You should take the money and stay at the Inn.” His voice was as rough and hard as his resolve.
“I’ll only take what I earn,” answered Brooke, because she could be just as stubborn.
He didn’t look happy, but obviously he knew better than to argue. “All right,” he agreed, turning back to his work, and she told herself she didn’t care.
At the dismissal, she climbed down from the stool, acting the perfect employee and the perfect guest. “We’re done?”
He picked up his screwdriver, pretending to work. Brooke knew better. The Captain’s twists were always properly seated, never a wasted movement, much like when he was inside her. Not liking the direction of her thoughts, she looked away. “Do you need any clothes or female things?” he asked politely.
“No, thank you.”
“Did you talk to the lawyer?”
“He’s out of town.”
“When is he coming back?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, and finally he looked
“Wait.” She wrote down her name and put the Captain’s phone number after it. “This is my work number.”
Mr. Cervantes adjusted the cat, freeing one hand, and then tucked the number in his pocket. “I’ll pass it along and tell him it’s an emergency.”
“No!” she yelled, and now Mr. Cervantes was staring as well as the cat. “I mean, it’s not a huge emergency. I get anxious sometimes. I should learn to relax more. It’s why I moved out here. I lived in New York once.”
“New York, huh? Pretty fancy place. You’re going to find out we do things a lot different out here.”
Brooke smiled at the man, because everything about this town was different, and that was exactly why it felt like home.
A FTER DINNER , Brooke watched Dog clear the dishes, noticing that this time, there were no glitches or flaws in the mechanical grips. Every time the Captain found something off, he had to repair it. Including her life. But she could repair her life first. If the mineral rights on the Hart land turned into real dollars… If the Captain could see her as something more than a mechanical automaton to be repaired. If only he could see her as a woman again.
If only…
From across the room, the Captain sat at the table, tinkering with a gutted radio, studiously avoiding talking to her. Not that she wanted him to, but the silence between them had changed from something companionable to a war zone, and she wished he could repair the glitches in their relationship, as well. Not happy with the status quo, Brooke stood, preferring the lonely security of his bedroom to this.
“Brooke.”
She stopped, turned. “Is this work related?”
He looked at her impassively, scarred and patched, a man who had suffered a lot more than her. “Please” was all he said, but that small conversation was better than nothing at all. Brooke snagged a barstool, pulling it close to his chair. Her foolish hands itched to straighten the screwdrivers or stroke the rough stubble at his jaw. Instead she folded them tightly in her lap.
“How are things with your brother? He’s nice to you?”
They were conversing formally, like an employee and boss. Whatever. Brooke met his eye, equally cool. “Austen is nice enough. I like Gillian. They invited me to dinner tomorrow evening, so you won’t be burdened with my company. Feel free to roll out the keg and strippers.”
“You’re usually nicer than this.”
“I know. I felt like being catty.”
The corner of his mouth lifted and she remembered the feel of his lips on her neck, the taste of him on her tongue. Her gaze drifted to the hefty ridge beneath his fly and stayed there. He knew. The air was charged with the tension, her overheated nerves sparking, nipples on alert. When he leaned closer, Brooke held her breath, but then the mulish Captain pulled back. “You should take the money and stay at the Inn.” His voice was as rough and hard as his resolve.
“I’ll only take what I earn,” answered Brooke, because she could be just as stubborn.
He didn’t look happy, but obviously he knew better than to argue. “All right,” he agreed, turning back to his work, and she told herself she didn’t care.
At the dismissal, she climbed down from the stool, acting the perfect employee and the perfect guest. “We’re done?”
He picked up his screwdriver, pretending to work. Brooke knew better. The Captain’s twists were always properly seated, never a wasted movement, much like when he was inside her. Not liking the direction of her thoughts, she looked away. “Do you need any clothes or female things?” he asked politely.
“No, thank you.”
“Did you talk to the lawyer?”
“He’s out of town.”
“When is he coming back?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, and finally he looked
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