Page 24 of Broken Roads (Hard to Handle #1)

Hailey

T he drive back from town leaves my nerves steadier, Tessa's wisdom and coffee working through my system like a balm. The familiar crunch of gravel beneath my tires as I pull up to my office feels almost comforting now, a small piece of routine in a day that's been anything but.

I climb the steps to my office, each footfall a deliberate attempt to ground myself. Fingers closing around the doorknob, I push it open, and walk inside, ready to lose myself in work that doesn't talk back or judge.

Except someone's already there.

Bradley stands beside my desk; broad shoulders tense like he's been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.

His presence fills the small cabin, making it impossible to breathe without drawing in the scent of him—leather and earth and something distinctly male that my body responds to before my brain can stop it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" The words tear angrily from my throat.

His jaw works, that telltale muscle jumping beneath his skin. "Hailey, I—"

I don't wait to hear whatever excuse he's prepared. This is too much. My private space, my work, invaded after everything that's happened. I spin on my heel, ready to flee, to go anywhere that isn't sharing oxygen with Bradley and his judgmental eyes.

But he moves fast—faster than a man his size should be able to—and suddenly he's there, blocking the doorway completely. His frame fills the exit, shoulders nearly touching both sides. My breath catches in my throat, heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.

"Move," I manage, hating how breathless I sound.

"No." Just one word, but it carries a weight I wasn't expecting.

I take a step back, needing distance between us. His proximity does things to me that I refuse to acknowledge. It sends heat spiraling through my core, makes my skin prickle with awareness.

"What do you want, Bradley?" I cross my arms over my chest, as much to hide my physical reaction to him as to show my defiance.

His eyes hold mine, dark and unreadable in the afternoon light filtering through the office window. Something's different about him, some subtle shift I can't quite name. The hardness is still there, the stubborn set of his jaw, but there's something else too. Something I haven't seen before.

"I'm here to apologize."

The words are so unexpected they seem to alter the air in the room. I shake my head, disbelief automatically rising to protect me from hope.

"Don't," I say, the word coming out sharp and furious. "Don't do that. Don't say what you think I want to hear because your father or Ruthie told you to make nice."

His expression shifts, something flashing in his eyes that looks almost like hurt before it's gone again, buried beneath that controlled exterior.

"It's not because someone demanded I apologize.

" His voice is firm but laced with an unfamiliar vulnerability that catches me off guard.

"It's because you deserve nothing less than my apology.

Not just for this morning but for how I've treated you since you arrived. "

My lips part, but no sound comes out. I stare at him, searching for the catch, the hidden barb in his words. Curling my fingers into fists at my sides, my nails dig half-moons into my palms as I wait for the other shoe to drop.

"You were right," he continues, and those three words from Bradley Walker might be the most shocking thing I've heard since arriving at this ranch. "About me. About the ranch. About... a lot of things."

Studying his face, I look for signs of insincerity, for the cracks that would reveal this as just another move in whatever game he thinks we're playing. But all I find is that same unfamiliar openness.

"I don't understand," I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper. "This morning you couldn't even look at me. Now you're breaking into my office to what…tell me you've had some miraculous change of heart?"

"I didn't break in," he corrects, one hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. "Door was unlocked. But yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

My breath comes out shallow and quick, disbelief and something dangerously close to hope warring inside my chest. I take another step back, needing to steady myself against the edge of my desk.

The solid wood grounds me, gives me something real to hold onto while the ground seems to shift beneath my feet.

"Why should I believe you?" I challenge.

His eyes never leave mine, holding steady with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. "Because this ranch needs you." He pauses before quietly adding, "Because I need your help."

The admission costs him. I can see it in the tightness around his eyes, the slight tremble in the hand that hangs at his side. Bradley carries his pride like armor, and he's just willingly set it aside.

I don't know what to say. Don't know how to process this version of him that stands before me, vulnerable and real in a way I haven't seen before. My anger, so carefully stoked all morning, flickers and dims, leaving me unsteady in its absence.

"I don't know what to do with this," I admit, the confession slipping out before I can stop it.

Something that might be the ghost of a smile touches his lips. "That makes two of us."

Neither of us seems to know what comes next in this unfamiliar script we've stumbled into.

Bradley shifts his weight, and the floorboards beneath him groan in protest. The sound breaks whatever spell has settled over us, and he moves with sudden purpose, crossing the small office in three long strides to return to my desk.

My heart skips as he reaches for the marketing proposals I've spent sleepless nights perfecting, the ideas he's dismissed without consideration until now.

Those large hands gather the pages with surprising gentleness.

I watch, frozen in place, as he shuffles through them, his dark eyes scanning line after line of my carefully crafted strategies.

The muscle in his jaw works overtime, but not in the dismissive way I've grown accustomed to.

This is different, this is concentration, consideration, maybe even respect.

"The website redesign," he says, holding up the page with my mock-ups. "The cabin renovations. The weekend packages for city folks wanting authentic ranch experiences." He pauses, eyes lifting to meet mine. "Even the social media campaign."

Barely breathing, I say nothing, as I wait for the criticism, the cutting remark, the familiar dismissal that's become our routine. But it doesn't come.

"I'm in," he declares, looking up at me with newfound resolution. "Whatever you want to do, I'm in."

For a moment, I think I've misheard him.

Or perhaps hallucinated the entire encounter.

I remain perfectly still, waiting for someone to jump out from behind the filing cabinet and tell me I'm being pranked.

The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant nickering of horses and the low hum of ranch activity outside.

"You're...in?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper.

Bradley nods, a single, certain movement. "All of it. We need to change to survive." His fingers tap against the edge of my marketing plan. "Your ideas... they don't strip away what matters. They highlight it."

I stare at him like he's grown a second head. This man, this stubborn, infuriating man who's fought me at every turn, is suddenly endorsing my vision without reservation? It doesn't compute. Doesn't align with anything I know about Bradley Walker.

Afternoon sun streams through the office window, the golden light softens the hard angles of his face, illuminating features I've been desperately trying not to notice—the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip, the depth in those dark eyes that see too much and reveal too little.

And there, the change I couldn't pinpoint earlier. His expression, usually carved from granite and just as unyielding, has softened. Just enough to be noticeable. Just enough to transform him from adversary to... something else entirely.

He stands his ground, holding my papers, waiting for my response. Patience isn't a quality I've associated with him before, but he exhibits it now, letting the silence stretch without rushing to fill it. Without pushing for the answer he wants.

My fingers tap nervously against my thigh as I struggle to find words that won't reveal how deeply his sudden support has affected me. "Who are you and what have you done with Bradley Walker?" The question comes out half-joking, but the tremor in my voice betrays my uncertainty.

A hint of a smile, an actual smile, tugs at the corner of his mouth. It transforms his face in a way that makes something flutter dangerously in my stomach. "Still me. Just... with my eyes open for the first time in a while."

I circle my desk slowly, maintaining a safe distance from him as I try to process this seismic shift. "So just like that? After fighting me on every suggestion since I arrived, you're suddenly Team Hailey?"

"Not suddenly," he admits, setting the papers down with unexpected care.

"Your... feedback this morning hit home.

Made me realize some things." He takes a breath, shoulders rising and falling with the effort.

"Then I came in here, saw your work, really saw it, and understood what you've been trying to tell me. "

I study him, searching for any crack in this newly constructed facade. But all I find is that same raw honesty from before, unfamiliar but undeniably real.

"You went through my desk?"

"I did." No excuses, no justifications. Just acknowledgment. Another surprise from a man who's been nothing but predictable in his opposition until now.

My hand reaches out, almost of its own accord, to touch the edge of the marketing proposal he was reading. Our fingers end up inches apart on the paper, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. Neither of us moves to close that final distance, but we don’t pull away either.

"If this is some kind of strategy," I say quietly. "Some way to make me lower my guard so you can undermine me later..."

"It's not." His response comes instantly, cutting through my doubt. His eyes lock with mine, and for a breathless moment, everything else falls away—the office, the ranch, our short but complicated history. There's just his gaze, steady and certain. "I give you my word, Hailey."

The way he says my name, soft where everything else about him is hard, sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. I want to believe him. Heaven help me, I want to trust this version of Bradley that stands before me now, humbled but somehow stronger for it.

"Okay," I finally say. "We'll try this. Together." I pull my hand back from the papers, needing distance to think clearly. "But I need to know this isn't temporary. That tomorrow you won't wake up and decide I'm the enemy again."

He straightens and his full height makes the small office feel even smaller.

"I can be stubborn," he admits, and I can't help the short, surprised laugh that escapes me at the understatement.

A smile flickers across his face in response, gone almost before it forms. "But when I commit to something, I see it through. No matter what."

The intensity in his voice sends another wave of heat through me, one that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun and everything to do with the man standing before me. I clear my throat, desperate to regain solid footing in this conversation that's shifted the ground beneath me.

"Well then," I say, gesturing to the chair across from mine. "I guess we should get started."

As he sits, his knee briefly brushes against mine beneath the desk.

The contact, though fleeting, sends electricity racing up my leg.

I shift back slightly, creating space between us.

Not because I want to, but because I need to.

Because whatever is happening between Bradley and me is dangerous in ways I'm not prepared to face.

"Where do we start?" he asks, his voice carrying a new note of deference that I'm still not used to.

I take a deep breath, centering myself in the work; the one area where I feel confident, where emotions and attractions can't interfere.

"We start," I say, pulling out my laptop. "With understanding exactly what makes Walker Ranch special. Not just to guests, but to you." I look up, meeting his eyes directly. "Tell me what you love about this place, Bradley."

His expression shifts, vulnerability and passion warring for dominance. When he starts speaking his voice is low and reverent about the land that's shaped him, and I realize I'm seeing the real Bradley Walker for the first time.

And so help me, I like what I see.