Page 38

“We're past it,” Brenton said, now on the other side of the stall. “Good to see you, Bradley.”

It took a few shakes, but Bradley finally broke out of my tight hold to grasp Brenton's extended hand. By Bradley's wide eyes, he was shocked at the gesture.

“No hard feelings, Mr. Graves—”

“Brenton.”

“No hard feelings, Mr. Graves”—I hid my smirk behind an open hand at the look of annoyance Brenton gave my brother—“but you can shove it up your ass. I hope your dad does sell the place so we can get as far from your fucked-up family as possible.”

My smirk fell as I stood motionless, shocked at Bradley. Without breaking eye contact with Brenton, Bradley threw down the shovel he was using, shouldered past Brenton, and stormed out.

“Beks.” Brenton's cautious tone pulled my gaze from the doors to his green eyes. “It's fine. I deserved that. I might’ve treated you somewhat decent, but I do remember being a shithead to everyone else.”

“It's how you broke your nose that summer,” I quipped. “Your smart-ass mouth and cocky attitude got you in more fights than one around here.”

“I admitted to being a shithead. Let's move on.”

“But it's so fun helping you remember those parts.”

He leaned against the stall and rolled his eyes. “That I remember just fine. It seems to just be you who has my memories hostage.”

“Do you remember using Bradley as your drug connection when you and Caleb, and maybe your dad too, needed a fix?”

The way his features hardened told me he did.

“I have a lot of repair work to do with the people around here. Hopefully I can show them who I am without Dad's coke finger shoved up my nose. And the first person is you. Because honestly, you're the only one who matters.”

“Me?” I squeaked.

“Yeah, you. I need you to see the man I am now instead of holding on to the memories of who I was and what I did. While we work on my fucked-up head, I'll prove I'm not that person anymore. By the time I leave, I'll make you see I'm the man you believed I could be.”

“Why?” I said, near breathless. “You're leaving again. Why does it matter?”

“Because you do.”

I swallowed back a lump of unshed tears and turned to pat the golden gelding in the next stall. Desperate to turn the heavy conversation, I shoved Brenton's shoulder and stepped out of the stall.

“Come on, fancy pants. Let’s go on this 'tour' you ordered.”

At my back, his low growl had the corners of my lips tilting up.

“These are fucking Wranglers. Stop it with the damn ‘fancy pants.’”

“Wranglers with the tag still on 'em.”

My deep, delighted laugh rattled through the open barn at his scowl before stopping to inspect his ass.

“There isn't... oh, you're going to get it.”

I shot a wink over my shoulder. “Looking forward to it.”

**

NEAR THE BACKSIDE OFthe five-thousand-acre ranch, we spotted one of the longhorn herds grazing in the distance. We agreed a quick diversion was needed and pulled under a mesquite tree to watch the massive beasts for a while.

“Why vet school?” Brenton asked between long swigs from the Gatorade I’d packed us from the stocked fridge in the barn.

I shrugged and tossed my empty plastic bottle into the back bed. As I pulled my SIG from the dash, I said, “Guess I thought it would be the easiest transition, you know.” Standing, I slid the holster on my hip and turned back to the cows. “I wouldn't know a thing about the corporate world, so business was out, and there wasn't anything else that drew my attention. I did well in my animal science classes, so I just went with it. That and....” I shoved off the John Deer Gator and looked back at him.