Page 50 of Broken Roads (Hard to Handle #1)

Bradley

T he sunset paints the mountains in shades of gold and crimson as I stand on our porch, watching Hailey lean against the railing.

Six months after Dad's collapse, and I still hold my breath sometimes.

Still catch myself in moments of disbelief, not just that Dad pulled through, but that this life is actually mine.

This house. This view. This woman who somehow crashed through every wall I'd built and made herself at home in places I thought were locked for good.

I step forward and slide my arms around her waist from behind.

"Penny for your thoughts, sunshine," I murmur against her ear.

She leans back into me, her body fitting against mine like she was designed for it. "Just thinking about how far we've come," she says, her hands coming to rest on mine where they're clasped around her middle.

"Yeah," I breathe, placing a soft kiss on the side of her neck.

We’ve built a home, Hailey and I. The modest two-story house with large windows that frame the Montana landscape like living art.

The wraparound porch I insisted on building myself, spending weekends hammering and measuring while Sebastian—of all people—held boards in place and made unhelpful comments about my technique.

Hailey tilts her head, giving me better access to the sensitive spot below her ear.

A blur of black and white fur tears across the yard below us, chasing nothing but his own excitement. Bandit races in wide circles, occasionally stopping to bark at a butterfly or dig frantically for a few seconds before resuming his endless patrol of what he clearly considers his personal kingdom.

"That dog has more energy than all the ranch hands combined," I chuckle, watching him leap over a fallen branch with unnecessary enthusiasm.

"He's just happy," Hailey says, the smile evident in her voice.

"Seems to be a theme around here lately," I say, tightening my arms around her. "Dad actually smiled yesterday when I told him the March bookings were full. Not that grimace thing he does when he's trying to look pleased but actually thinks the world's going to hell. A real smile."

Hailey turns in my arms and tips her face up to mine. The fading sunlight catches in her eyes, turning them to amber. "Speaking of your father, how was his check-up?"

"Clean bill of health," I tell her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sebastian says his heart rhythm is stable, blood pressure's good. Said if he keeps taking his meds and doesn't try to break any rodeo records, he should be around to terrorize us all for years to come."

"That's wonderful." Her smile deepens, creasing the corners of her eyes in a way that still makes my heart stutter. "And how are things between you and Sebastian?"

I consider the question, thinking back to the phone call I had with my brother yesterday.

Six months ago, I couldn't have imagined having a civil conversation with him, let alone the easy back-and-forth we'd managed to develop.

"Better," I admit. "Still weird sometimes, but.

.. better. He's coming out next weekend, actually.

Says he needs some fresh air and real food whatever that means. "

"It means he misses you," Hailey says, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. "And the ranch. Maybe even Ruthie's cooking."

"Maybe," I concede. The truth is more complicated—a careful rebuilding of trust, tentative steps toward something that might eventually resemble the brotherhood we lost. But it's progress, and that's more than I ever expected.

The sun has nearly disappeared now, the last crimson streaks fading from the sky as stars begin to appear. I wrap my arm around Hailey's shoulders, pulling her close as we watch darkness settle over our land.

"Six months ago, I thought I was going to lose my father," I say quietly. "I thought my brother and I would never speak again. I thought a lot of things that turned out to be wrong."

Hailey rests her head against my shoulder. "Life has a way of surprising you."

"You surprised me," I murmur into her hair. "From that first day when you showed up with your city clothes and your big ideas and that look on your face that said you weren't taking any of my shit."

"You were pretty insufferable," she reminds me, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

"I was terrified," I admit. "Not just of change, but of you. Of what you made me feel from the moment I saw you."

She pulls back to look at me, her expression serious now. "And what was that?"

"Hope," I tell her, the word scraping my throat with its honesty. "You walked into my life, and suddenly I could see possibilities I'd given up on years ago. A future that wasn't just about survival."

Her eyes shine in the fading light, and I know she understands exactly what I mean. Because that's what we do now—understand each other in ways I never thought possible.

"I never imagined being this happy," I confess, the words feeling both inadequate and overwhelmingly true. "Never thought I deserved it, after Claire, after how I shut down. But you…" My voice catches, and I have to clear my throat before continuing. "You make me believe I do."

"Bradley Walker," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't you know by now? You deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer. And I plan to spend however long you'll have me making sure you never forget that."

"How does forever sound?" The question slips out before I can overthink it, before I can second-guess what I'm really asking.

Her breath catches, eyes widening slightly. "Forever?"

I swallow hard, suddenly nervous in a way I haven't been since that first night we spent together under the stars. "Yeah, forever. If that's something you might be interested in."

A slow smile spreads across her face, brighter than any sunset I've ever seen. "Are you asking what I think you're asking, cowboy?"

"Depends on your answer," I hedge, but I'm smiling too, unable to hide the hope blooming in my chest.

"Ask me properly and find out," she challenges, eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper, something that looks a lot like love.

I don't hesitate. Dropping to one knee right there on our porch, I take her hand in mine. I don't have a ring—this wasn't planned, wasn't rehearsed—but I've never been more certain of anything in my life.

"Hailey Monroe," I begin, my voice steadier than I expected.

"You walked into my life when I least expected it and turned everything upside down in the best possible way.

You challenged me, fought me, forced me to see beyond the walls I'd built.

And somewhere along the way, you became my home.

" I squeeze her hand gently. "Will you marry me? Make this forever thing official?"

Her free hand comes up to cover her mouth, but it doesn't hide the tears that spill over and track down her cheeks. For one terrifying moment, she doesn't speak, and my heart pounds so hard I swear it's going to break through my ribs.

Then she nods, a quick jerky movement at first, then more decisively. "Yes," she manages, voice breaking on the word. "Yes, of course I'll marry you."

I'm on my feet in an instant, lifting her into my arms and spinning her around as relief and joy crash through me like a summer storm. Her laughter rings out, bright and clear in the gathering darkness, and I know it's a sound I'll never tire of hearing.

When I set her down, her face is flushed, her eyes bright with tears and happiness. "I don't have a ring," I admit, suddenly sheepish. "This wasn't exactly planned."

"I don't need a ring," she tells me, rising onto her toes to press her lips to mine. "I just need you."

"You have me," I promise against her mouth. "All of me, forever."

As we stand on our porch, the stars appearing one by one above us and the distant lights of Walker Ranch glowing in the valley below, I hold the woman who saved me in more ways than one and think about beginnings and endings.

How sometimes the end of one chapter is just the start of a better one.

How sometimes the hardest roads lead to the most beautiful destinations.

And how sometimes, if you're lucky enough, the right person walks into your life at exactly the right moment, turns everything upside down, and helps you build something more beautiful than you ever imagined possible.

Not ready to say goodbye to Bradley and Hailey? Click here for a sneaky peek into their future.

***

Sneak Peek of Dr. Sebastian Walker and his fiery fellow.

"Do you understand the liability issues you've just created?

" Dr. Walker continues, crossing his arms over his chest. The gesture stretches his white coat across his broad shoulders that I absolutely should not be noticing right now.

"Do you comprehend the protocols you've bypassed? The chain of command you've ignored?"

Swallowing hard, I try to maintain eye contact.This is not how I pictured our first conversation. In my daydreams, he was nodding thoughtfully at my brilliant diagnostic insights, not listing my professional transgressions like he's building a case for my immediate dismissal.

"I saw someone in distress," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "I acted."

"You acted without authorization in a hospital where you have no standing."

"I acted as a doctor," I counter."Which is what I am."

"Not here. Not yet." His eyes flick to the clock on the wall, then back to me. "Not for another twenty-eight minutes, officially."

The beeping of monitors and hum of voices around us fade into background noise as we face off.

I'm acutely aware of every detail about him—the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the controlled tension in his jaw, the way he holds himself like a man who never learned how to yield.He's everything I expected from his reputation and nothing like I imagined all at once.

"Would you have preferred I let him die?" The question slips out before my better judgment can catch it."Sir," I add, because I'm pushing my luck and I know it.

Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe,that I'm pushing back. Good. Let him be surprised. I might be star struck by his brilliant mind, but I'm not about to apologize for saving a life.

"What I prefer, Dr. Phillips, is a hospital that runs according to established protocols designed to protect patients and practitioners alike.

" He leans in slightly, and I catch the faint scent of coffee and something clean, like expensive soap.

"What I do not prefer is a fellow who believes their judgment supersedes hospital policy before they've even completed orientation. "

The frustration building in my chest threatens to spill over. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I'llregret, but I can't quite stop myself entirely.

"With all due respect, Dr. Walker, the patient's rhythm is back." I gesture toward the cardiac unit where they've taken him. "If I'd waited for proper authorization, he would be in the morgue instead of cardiac care. So while I apologize for the disruption to protocol, I stand by my decision."

His eyebrows lift fractionally. It’s the first change in his expression since he started listing my faults. "You stand by it."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Ido."

Dr. Walker studies me for a long moment, his gaze so intense I have to resist the urge to step back. I can almost see that brilliant mind of his working. What file is he mentally putting me in? Probably one labeled "Problems to Deal With Later."

"Your résumé says Johns Hopkins," he says abruptly.

The shift throws me. "Yes."

"Top of your class."

"Yes."

"Excellent recommendations. Particularly from Dr. Lenowitz in cardiology."

I nod, not sure where this is going. "He was very supportive."

"And yet." Dr. Walker's gaze sweeps over me again, from my messy braid to my rumpled clothes. "Your first act at Sierra Mercy is to create chaos in the lobby and challenge my authority in the ER."

"My first act was saving a life," I correct, unable to help myself. "The rest was... collateral."

For a split second—so brief I almost miss it—the corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. More like he's suppressing some reaction he doesn't want me to see. Then it's gone, replaced by that same stern assessment.

"I already know you're going to be trouble," he says, emphasizing the word in a way that makes it sound like a proper noun. A title. My new identity.

It settles over me like an ill-fitting coat.Trouble. Not brilliant. Not promising. Not even competent. Just Trouble, with a capital T.

"Dr. Walker, I—"

He holds up a hand, cutting me off. "Get upstairs to diagnostics. Get properly signed in, get your credentials, and get oriented before you decide to play hero again."

I should nod and retreat. I should be grateful he's not firing me on the spot. I should absolutely, positively not say another word.

"I wasn't playing," I say, because apparently my self-preservation instinct took the day off. "And I'd do it again."

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