Western Spark

A Doozy - Part 4

His hand shook as he picked up his pen, once he heard the outer door of the barn slam. It had taken every ounce of willpower for him not to lose his damned mind when she'd stopped him.

It had taken more to calmly give her the choice of what to do. Something had clicked into place the moment she'd apologised and it had put ice through his veins. She'd been hurt in the past. Badly. He had zero experience in dealing with that, but he hoped, by putting the decision on her, that he relieved the fear that flitted through her eyes when he'd asked her if she wanted him to stop.

He hadn't lied. He wanted her, and he wasn't going to back down now that he'd given into the impulse to kiss her. She had responded to him, and her body against him had been exactly as he'd hoped it would be. Warm. Soft. Pliant. Inviting him in.

"Fuck," he muttered as he regarded his hand, holding the pen. All thoughts of work were gone, replaced by the remnants of her warmth in his palm. He wanted that warmth to be skin on skin, and he threw the pen and clenched his hand to ward off the new impulse to chase her and demand something of her he knew he couldn't.

She had to come to him.

Could he start another affair? Especially with someone like her? The consequences lingered heavy in his mind. She was indispensable to him, and her fear of losing her job was one he didn't fault her for. Most sane women would go there, especially ones who'd come into it with nothing except the clothes on their backs, like she had.

Even if she said no, and they had to hurdle what would become an indiscretion, she was still his employee. She was as much a fixture at the ranch as any of his staff. It also hit him, as he adjusted his still semi-hard dick that he hadn't been with a woman in a very, very long time. As much as he and Veronica had an arrangement—her with Keith—him with other women as discreetly as possible, it had been almost four years.

Four years since he had prioritized his own sex life. That meant the moment he touched another woman, of course he was going to be ready to go. Was it just pent up need, or was it Peony herself that had driven him to act as rashly as he just had?

It was too much to roll around in his head. He needed out of this damned office.

He was halfway down the aisle of the stable carrying a saddle when Keith stuck his head out of the office and beckoned at him wordlessly.

"What," Brett snapped as he stopped in front of the door. Keith always gave him that mildly patronising stare, never rising to take the bait of Brett's moods. Likely a good thing, because in his state of mind, he could easily have a rousing argument with the man, which would solve nothing.

"Autopsy's done on Kelowna."

"And?" Brett clipped.

"Her lower intestine was completely twisted and ruptured. She was also full of tumors and adhesions which was why she twisted," Keith replied. "Matter of time."

There was relief in that depressing statement, because any blame that could be put back on the ranch was gone. One thing had gone right today, at least. Or, more right. Kissing Peony hadn't exactly been a wrong thing, but it wasn't right either. It was this grey area of what he wanted versus what his morals told him he should be doing which was now rather thin.

"Well damn. Nothing else?" Brett asked, frustrated with himself. Peony was invading his every thought right now, and he needed to stay on task.

"None. Vet's cleared her for burial. Meat truck won't take her, of course," Keith said, and tapped the doorframe. "I'll have one of the boys go out with the bucket hoe, get her into the ground. We'll need a new bag of lye."

"Fine. Tell the owner we'll cover the cost of burial," Brett clipped again and hefted the saddle up. "Have Kevin go get a bag, he's headed in to pick up the feed order."

Keith gave him a strange look, and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Brett glared at him and Keith just shook his head, a rueful half smile sliding across his damned face.

"What is it, Gallagher," Brett clipped, irritated with him.

"Take Topper out instead of Rocky. Rocky might not be as forgiving of your foul mood, old man, and I don't want to pick you up out of the dirt," he said. Brett bristled. Keith always had to have the last word. Sanctimonious prick.

But the man was right, dammit. Rocky was a pain in the ass if you were tense, and right now, he was about as tight as a drum. If he had a tough ride on Rocky, it might help work out some of the frustration he was currently feeling, but that wasn't fair to take out his mood on a horse.

He grunted in response as Keith left him to it, and moved off towards Topper's stall, setting the saddle down as he looked in on the big rangy paint.

"You and me then, is it?" he said as the horse put his nose up to the bars to see who had come to visit him. He hadn't ridden this horse in years, because Topper was normally for newer riders. The crew often called him the "girlfriend horse", forgiving and quiet, much like Dolly was, who was in the stall beside Topper. She stuck her nose out of the feed door, and he ran a hand down her soft muzzle.

"No mints for you today, sweetheart," he murmured.

He'd bought Dolly on a whim a long time ago now, right when he'd re-invested in the ranch, young and stupidly full of dreams. All three of his boys had ridden her as their first horse, and she held a special place in his heart for it.

The usual pang of guilt and hurt threaded its way through his chest, and he slammed the mental wall down that he'd built when he thought about his first son, the one that was lost to him, gone from here so long ago. He didn't care about Heather—the boy's mother—much anymore, resentment for her all but erasing any love they'd shared. But he still looked for the boy. Hopefully someday he'd find him, and bring his firstborn son home.

"You okay Mr. West?"

Liz had Topper's bridle in her hand and was peering up at him as he stood, hand on Dolly's stall, the old mare lipping at his fingers curled around the bars.

"Fine, girl. What do you want?" he clipped as he took the bridle from her and hung it on a peg near him.

"Just making sure. You look really sad," she said quietly.

Brett regarded her. She was a far cry different from the mouse that was hiding behind her mother when they arrived. She could ride circles around some of the crew already, and he'd heard her sassing as good as the men when they were out working the horses. She fit as well as Peony did, and he liked the girl. She was a good influence on his boys, and worked hard.

He groaned inwardly as it hit him. Fuck, he was an insensitive ass.

Peony had been worried after he kissed her, had mentioned her daughter, and there it was. The girl was home here, and Peony didn't want to take that away. He had played it cool in the office, not sure how to proceed after that kiss, other than to state what he wanted.

Peony had more than just herself to think about, and he'd missed it completely.

He needed to make clear to her that she never had to leave, no matter what. How to do that, he had no idea. Their dynamic was completely changed, with the question he'd given her to answer. Could they still be easy with one another if—

"When you get to my age, girl, it's just tired," he gruffed back, trying not to project his tension back onto her, jerking open the stall door. His thoughts about Peony were inappropriate at best when talking to her daughter.

"Well, okay. Have a good ride!" she chirped and kept moving, her blonde ponytail swinging when she walked, unfazed by his grumpy response.

He needed to get on the damned horse and sort the jumble of thoughts racing through him at light speed. The turmoil in his head dragged him through the regret of his life like one of those damned tv movies, and confused him about what it was he wanted from Peony.

"Alright boy. You and me, let's go for a gallop," he said as he hefted the saddle over Topper's back, shutting down the heavy thoughts.

A gallop would set his head right.