if he wouldn’t even dignify her with words, then she’d make her own decisions.
“Who do you think you are?” The words flew from her lips before she could censor them as she closed the distance toward him.
He dropped the fencing again, his gloved hands landing on his jeans-clad hips as he turned to face her. He didn’t look surprised, as if he knew even before she did that she’d come for a fight. “It’s not who I am. It’s who you are.”
“Let me guess. A female firefighter.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her heartbeat accosting her ears.
“No. A firefighter.”
“Don’t pretend like the adjective doesn’t matter.”
Brady tugged off his gloves again but didn’t throw them this time, despite the frustration seeping from his expression. “It’s not about being a woman.”
She hitched her eyebrows at him, and his concentrated stare broke away. “Right. Just like I thought. It’s always about being a woman.” She’d heard it all before, men backpedaling when she confronted them about their old-fashioned, misguided beliefs. She hadn’t made it this far to be called naive now. She knew how the world worked.
“I don’t care in general. I care—” He let out a sigh, before crossing his arms to match her own defensive posture. “I care about my family. I care about the effect it has on Ava.”
“You think because her temporary nanny is trying to get on the local fire department that she’ll be ruined for life?” She let out a huff of disbelief. “If anything is going to ruin her it’s—” She bit her own lip to stop the word you from escaping.
But from the shock wave of hurt radiating from Brady’s face, he heard it anyway.
The wind kicked up, stirring the dry leaves at their feet and illuminating the silence pulsing between them. One oak leaf, stained crimson and gold, fluttered in a slow circle before settling on Brady’s boot. He slowly reached down to pick it up, twirling the short stem between his fingers and avoiding her eyes. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t see the shame creeping up her neck, the same color as the leaf. She’d gone too far. He’d apologized in the past to her. Now it was her turn.
She licked her dry lips. “Brady, I’m sorry, I—”
“No. You’re right.” The resignation in his voice cut deeper than any preconceived notions he might have about women. “I’m doing my best with Ava. But it’s not enough.”
“You’re doing fine.” The protest sounded pitiful and weak even to her own ears, and she suddenly wished she could fly away on the wind like the leaves around them. She shouldn’t have come out here.
Maybe shouldn’t have moved here.
“Look. We both know the truth.” Brady dropped the leaf he held and it fell to the ground, missing the previous current of air. Caley stared at it, mixed among the dry grass and skeletal remains of other leaves, much less glorious in color. “Ava might respect me, might love me out of obligation for the time being. But she doesn’t need me.”
She snapped her head up to meet Brady’s pain-stricken eyes. “That’s not true.”
“She needs you.” The words grunted from his throat, rough and gravelly. “She needs a woman.” He coughed, and when he spoke again, his tone relaxed as if with resignation. “Five minutes ago, I was ready to fire you. But if you leave, she has no babysitter. And I have no cook or housekeeper.”
This was it. Her ticket out. She could walk right now. Leave Brady and the annoying chemistry between them and his drama far behind. Leave his old-fashioned tendencies and overprotective streak that brought back memories she desperately wanted to keep buried. But she had to have a paycheck until the fire department came around.
And she had to show Brady that he was wrong. Ava did need him—just not the way he was providing. Caley had gone overseas with the Peace Corps and helped poverty-stricken nations, but what good was that if she couldn’t help her own neighbors? If
“Who do you think you are?” The words flew from her lips before she could censor them as she closed the distance toward him.
He dropped the fencing again, his gloved hands landing on his jeans-clad hips as he turned to face her. He didn’t look surprised, as if he knew even before she did that she’d come for a fight. “It’s not who I am. It’s who you are.”
“Let me guess. A female firefighter.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her heartbeat accosting her ears.
“No. A firefighter.”
“Don’t pretend like the adjective doesn’t matter.”
Brady tugged off his gloves again but didn’t throw them this time, despite the frustration seeping from his expression. “It’s not about being a woman.”
She hitched her eyebrows at him, and his concentrated stare broke away. “Right. Just like I thought. It’s always about being a woman.” She’d heard it all before, men backpedaling when she confronted them about their old-fashioned, misguided beliefs. She hadn’t made it this far to be called naive now. She knew how the world worked.
“I don’t care in general. I care—” He let out a sigh, before crossing his arms to match her own defensive posture. “I care about my family. I care about the effect it has on Ava.”
“You think because her temporary nanny is trying to get on the local fire department that she’ll be ruined for life?” She let out a huff of disbelief. “If anything is going to ruin her it’s—” She bit her own lip to stop the word you from escaping.
But from the shock wave of hurt radiating from Brady’s face, he heard it anyway.
The wind kicked up, stirring the dry leaves at their feet and illuminating the silence pulsing between them. One oak leaf, stained crimson and gold, fluttered in a slow circle before settling on Brady’s boot. He slowly reached down to pick it up, twirling the short stem between his fingers and avoiding her eyes. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t see the shame creeping up her neck, the same color as the leaf. She’d gone too far. He’d apologized in the past to her. Now it was her turn.
She licked her dry lips. “Brady, I’m sorry, I—”
“No. You’re right.” The resignation in his voice cut deeper than any preconceived notions he might have about women. “I’m doing my best with Ava. But it’s not enough.”
“You’re doing fine.” The protest sounded pitiful and weak even to her own ears, and she suddenly wished she could fly away on the wind like the leaves around them. She shouldn’t have come out here.
Maybe shouldn’t have moved here.
“Look. We both know the truth.” Brady dropped the leaf he held and it fell to the ground, missing the previous current of air. Caley stared at it, mixed among the dry grass and skeletal remains of other leaves, much less glorious in color. “Ava might respect me, might love me out of obligation for the time being. But she doesn’t need me.”
She snapped her head up to meet Brady’s pain-stricken eyes. “That’s not true.”
“She needs you.” The words grunted from his throat, rough and gravelly. “She needs a woman.” He coughed, and when he spoke again, his tone relaxed as if with resignation. “Five minutes ago, I was ready to fire you. But if you leave, she has no babysitter. And I have no cook or housekeeper.”
This was it. Her ticket out. She could walk right now. Leave Brady and the annoying chemistry between them and his drama far behind. Leave his old-fashioned tendencies and overprotective streak that brought back memories she desperately wanted to keep buried. But she had to have a paycheck until the fire department came around.
And she had to show Brady that he was wrong. Ava did need him—just not the way he was providing. Caley had gone overseas with the Peace Corps and helped poverty-stricken nations, but what good was that if she couldn’t help her own neighbors? If
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