Page 29 of Broken Roads (Hard to Handle #1)

"Didn't expect to see you out here," he says, his voice low enough just for me. "Thought you'd be buried in spreadsheets until dinner."

"Needed some air," I reply, the partial truth easier than admitting I'd been looking for him specifically. "The numbers start to swim after a while."

He nods, his gaze moving to the corral where Beckett now shows proper brushing technique to the fascinated children. "Annie's folks own the hardware store in town. Jake's dad works cattle with us sometimes. Great kids."

"You're good with them," I tell him, meaning every word. "They clearly adore you."

Something softens in his expression. "Kids are easy. They don't have agendas or hidden expectations. They just want your time and your honesty."

"And horses?" I ask, nodding toward Max, who stands patiently as tiny hands drag a brush across his massive flank. "Are they easy too?"

"Easier than people, most days." A smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "Definitely easier than financial consultants from Chicago."

There's no bite to the words, just a teasing warmth that would have been unimaginable weeks ago. I match his smile with one of my own. "Are you suggesting I'm difficult, Bradley Walker?"

"I'm suggesting you're complicated," he counters, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "And worth the effort."

The words land like pebbles dropped in still water, sending ripples through me that reach places I've kept carefully guarded. Worth the effort. Three simple words that shouldn't affect me so deeply but somehow cut straight through my defenses.

"Do you ride?" he asks, changing the subject before I can respond to his unexpected compliment.

I shake my head. "City girl, remember? The closest I got to horses growing up was the carousel at Navy Pier."

"I could teach you," he offers. "Max is the gentlest mount we have. Perfect for beginners."

"I'd like that.”

He shifts slightly, turning to face me more directly.

The movement brings him closer, close enough that I can see the different shades of brown in his eyes, the faint stubble darkening his jaw, the small scar at the corner of his mouth I've never noticed before.

My awareness of him intensifies, every sense heightened.

For a moment, we simply look at each other, the conversation falling away as something deeper and more primal takes its place.

His gaze briefly drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes, the small movement sending heat spiraling through my core.

I wonder if he's thinking about kissing me. I wonder if I'd stop him if he tried.

With a quick clearing of his throat, he finally breaks the spell.

"Actually," he says, his voice slightly rougher than before.

"I was heading into town tonight. New burger place opened up on Main.

Sawyer says their shakes are worth the drive.

" He pauses, and I can feel the invitation coming before he speaks it. "Thought maybe you'd like to join me."

My heart leaps, a physical reaction so intense it's almost painful. Yes. Holy shit, yes. The word forms instantly, my body already anticipating an evening away from the ranch, time alone with him beyond the professional boundaries we've maintained. I can almost taste the excitement on my tongue.

Then reality crashes in. Thursday night. Seven o'clock. The community center with its circle of folding chairs and stale coffee. Tessa waiting to meet me outside, her steady presence a lifeline I can't afford to abandon.

"I can't tonight," I say, the words tasting like acid. "I have... plans already."

Something flickers across his face—disappointment, confusion, perhaps a flash of suspicion—before his expression smooths into careful neutrality. "No problem," he says, the casualness in his tone too forced to be genuine. "Another time."

"I'd really like to," I add quickly. "Maybe tomorrow night instead?"

He nods, but something has shifted between us, a subtle withdrawal I feel like a physical chill. "Sure," he says, already pushing away from the fence. "I should check on that mare. Foal's due any day now."

It's an excuse, and we both know it. The mare isn't due for another week—I'd heard him tell Ruthie as much at breakfast. But I can't call him on it without revealing how closely I track his words, how deeply I've begun to care.

"Bradley…" I start, though I'm not sure what I plan to say. I can't tell him about the meeting, about my sobriety that still feels too fragile to share, too personal to expose to potential judgment.

"We'll talk later," he says, already turning away. "I've got chores to finish before dinner."

I watch him walk away; his shoulders set in a rigid line that wasn't there minutes ago.

The distance between us grows with each step he takes, and it feels like more than just physical space.

I've built my walls so high for protection that they've become a prison, keeping others out while trapping me within.

My fingers find the sobriety chip in my pocket, thumb tracing its familiar contours. Seven months and counting. An accomplishment hard-won through tears and determination. I won't risk it, not even for the promise in Bradley's eyes when he looked at me just now.

But as I watch him disappear into the stables, I can't help wondering if, someday, I'll find the courage to let him see all of me. Not just the polished professional with marketing plans and spreadsheets, but the broken woman who's carefully rebuilding herself, one day at a time.