Braving The Storm: An Age Gap, Cowboy Romance (Crimson Ridge Book 2)
Braving The Storm: Chapter 32

Fixing up Beau’s ranch on his behalf is a whole lot more appealing when there’s a sexy as fuck girl helping me out.

Briar arrived—that heap of junk rental car might be a death trap, but at least it has served a useful purpose considering these circumstances—and I immediately put her to work.

She’s nervous as shit after what went down last night, and I don’t blame her. It took me a minute to get my head around what her sister was spewing, and while I don’t care about any of it, I’m more determined than ever to plan my course of action right.

Wooing Briar Lane is like getting a skittish horse to come and finally trust you enough in order to take a look at its hoof. She’s had it rough her whole life, not lacking money or materialistic crap, but emotionally and mentally, the girl has been through the wringer. Damned if I’m going to do anything to make her feel like she can’t trust me.

Because one thing I knew as soon as I walked into that cabin last night, is that I’ll fight anyone and anything that tries to come between me and my girl.

She’s a glimpse of something spectacular, the dance of fireflies on the night breeze, the roll of aurora clouds through the skies, the gentle wash of the ocean glowing and glittering like it’s full of stars. All the kind of awe-inspiring sights that your brain can’t quite believe actually exist until you see them yourself for the first time with your own eyes.

So, I do what I do with the horses. I’ve put her to work to run out that tension and stress lurking in her veins. Which is why she’s standing with a bemused expression, holding a paintbrush in one hand and a roller in another, staring wide-eyed at Beau’s new ranch.

“Painting? I don’t know how to paint.” Her lips twist.

“It’s easy enough. I’ll show you the basics; just don’t load the brush or the roller too heavily to start with.” I beckon her over to where I’ve laid out the paint trays and drop cloths, having already sanded and prepped everything earlier on.

“This is your rodeo buddy’s place?” She narrows her eyes at the wall, as if it might jump out and bite her or some shit.

“I owe him a favor or ten for being a good friend when most didn’t want to know who I was anymore.” Shrugging, I crouch down beside one of the cans of paint and pop the lid with a screwdriver.

Briar hovers beside me.

“So… he’s not here?” She chews her lip, glancing around, taking in the open-plan living space. The rooms are empty and echoing right now, but there’s an expanse of timber flooring and stone features around the large fireplace, with big windows looking out over the rolling country, the trees, and mountains in the distance beyond the glass.

Once the ranch is properly running, those empty fields will have cattle and horses, but right now, the place is quiet. It’s just the two of us here, with no one and nothing stretching for miles in all directions.

“Nope. The place still needs a lot of work, as you can see, and until that’s all done, he’s got a lot to take care of out of state.”

“Will you work here?” She looks down at me, big dark eyes filled with curiosity. “Like you do for Devil’s Peak Ranch?”

Still crouched on my haunches, I rub my jaw with a thumb. “Maybe. We haven’t exactly hashed out the details, but Beau knows my shit, knows what I can do.”

“He’d be an idiot not to have you.” That’s the first time a little smile creeps onto her gorgeous features since arriving, and it makes something squeeze inside my chest to see her relax a little.

“I’ll tip some paint in here and get you started on that wall behind you.” Pointing past Briar with the screwdriver makes her whirl around to see where I’m indicating. It’s a fucking hideous pea-green color at present, with faded yellow outlines where artwork and crap hung on the walls for decades with whoever owned this property prior to Beau taking it on.

Briar turns back to face me, looking slightly put out. Her eyes bounce over my chest, ever so quickly down to my jeans, and back up to my mouth.

That draws a laugh out of me, so I hook the front of her jacket—my jacket—and drag her so that her hips are exactly level with my gaze.

“Come on… did you think I was luring you out here just so I could get in your pants?”

“I hoped you would.” She pushes the fingers of one hand into my hair, the front of her teeth dragging over that curve to her bottom lip I swear I could trace in my sleep.

I’m hopelessly in love with this girl.

“Darlin’, you wanna fool around, you gotta make sure I’m not falling behind on my jobs first.”

Briar straightens up, standing to survey her handiwork. In doing so, she brushes some loose hairs off her forehead with the back of one hand and rolls her shoulders. She’s made perfect work of the large wall, giving it two coats of paint, which is now a vast improvement with the off-white eggshell color.

I come to stand beside her, looking at the same blank wall.

“So, husband, huh? I’m guessing that’s who was on the other end of the phone when I made you scream for me?”

Briar makes a rough noise and elbows me in the side.

“I’m sorry you had to replace out that way.” Her voice goes soft.

“It’s over between the two of you?”

“Honestly? It was never anything to begin with. I stupidly didn’t have a spine and allowed myself to get talked into a business arrangement.”

“Sounds pretty typical for Erik.” My jaw tics as I think of all the bullshit he’s clearly put Briar through over the years.

“So, wife, huh?” She leans her head against my side, and I draw her into me on instinct. Blowing out a long breath, this is where the rubber really fucking hits the road, isn’t it?

All the skeletons are primed and ready to tumble out of that particular closet.

“I think I need a drink for this conversation.” My palm brushes over her hair, and she tilts her chin up to meet my gaze.

“You can tell me.” That look, that assurance, that trust written all over her expression is something I don’t fucking deserve, but I’m going to hold tight to it anyway.

“Come on, I’ve got some beers.” I grab hold of her palm, threading our fingers together, and lead her through the sprawling ranch floor plan to where the entertainer’s dream kitchen stands. All the appliances here have already been upgraded, so it’s a fully kitted-out showpiece of stainless steel and perfectly polished wood countertops.

Fuck knows what Beau’s intending to do in here, but the guy obviously plans on cooking… a lot.

“Sit your pretty little ass up there.” Lifting Briar, she makes a tiny squeak of protest as I set her on the counter, then swipe a couple of beers from the cooler.

Opening and handing over one bottle, I settle myself, leaning up against the length of bench directly opposite where she’s sitting. Crossing my ankles, I enjoy simply looking at her for a moment. This position puts us eye to eye, and this just feels so fucking easy, so natural, even if what I’m about to try and talk about is like scratching nails down a chalkboard.

Tipping my drink back, I let a long gulp go down as my thoughts collect together in some sort of coherent fashion. Trying to make sense of the hornet’s nest of memories, I most certainly do not want to kick. This is a box I’ve had locked and shut away for so long now; it’s always a little rusty trying to open the hinges and rediscover the mess hastily shoved inside.

“One night in Vegas, I’d just had a massive win, one of my best rides, best points totals ever, won the entire fucking circus, and walked away with my big fancy check and all that bullshit.” Bringing the bottle back to my lips, I drink down another long draw while Briar watches me with those soulful goddamn eyes. “When I woke up the next day, I not only had a raging hangover to contend with and no memory of whatever the hell happened after the first few rounds of shots, but I had a fucking ring on my finger… one hell of a way to realize I’d fucked up so badly, not even the great Erik Lane could get my ass out of that legal mess.”

Running my tongue over my teeth, I inhale through my nose. Here comes the really shitty part of this whole terrible tale.

“She overdosed ten years ago. We had legally remained married, but I hadn’t seen the woman, Tegan was her name, since that night in Vegas, and truth be told, it was like hearing about a stranger passing. Yet, I had to show up to her funeral and play the role of the widower and all that shit that came with legally being attached to one another.”

Ten years since, I discovered exactly what my own goddamn brother had done.

“It’s kind of a lot to take in. I remember being told you’d been married. I vaguely remember hearing about the funeral, but I didn’t know much more than that. Of course, we were kept so far away from things. I feel like an idiot for not knowing, or at least asking.” She sips her beer thoughtfully.

“Probably same as how I didn’t know they’d married you off to some asshole.”

Briar sucks in a breath through her nose. “The Lanes are pretty good at keeping secrets, aren’t they?”

She doesn’t even know the half of what her father was capable of.

“My only real relief, if you could call it that, was that I’d been in an accident when I was a kid—the kind that meant I knew without a doubt I couldn’t get a chick like her accidentally knocked up from a stupid, meaningless drunken one-night stand.”

“You can’t have kids?” Briar’s eyes widen over the top of her beer, she pauses with her bottle halfway to her mouth.

“Nope.” Jesus, I didn’t even think about whether revealing that special little gem might have this girl running for the hills rather than sticking around with the likes of me. God. I hadn’t thought for a second about whether Briar might want kids of her own one day.

Fuck. It feels like someone just put my chest inside a vise and started tightening the screws.

But she doesn’t seem to react to that piece of information, just carries on matter of factly. “So why didn’t you get a divorce? Why’d you let her hang around?”

“Well, for starters, she didn’t exactly hang around. We never actually lived or spent any time together. It was all just a piece of paper tying us to one another in a legal sense, but that was it. At the end of the day, I was permanently on the road competing, and I had zero interest in having a wife. But your dear old dad persuaded me it would be ‘good for my image’ if we stayed married, ticked that box, you know…”

“More like good for the Lane family brand.”

“Precisely.” I set my beer down. “So, Tegan lived in LA while I carried on with my life, and we occasionally exchanged details through my agent and lawyer. It sounds fucking weird to say it now, but ten years went so fast when all my attention was on the rodeo. Seemed like it was over in a blink.”

“Couldn’t you have fought my dad on it?”

Shaking my head, I try to pick my next words carefully. “Look, Erik was jealous as fuck of the attention I got while I was still in my competing days, and hated even more that at that time in my life, I fed off the spotlight. I’m not proud of who I was if it didn’t involve being on the back of a bull, but getting wasted and chasing women… it was my best attempt at filling a void.” I flex my hands against the lip of the benchtop and chuckle to myself. “Probably a whole lot of shit to do with being dumped at an orphanage as a kid that someone really shoulda shoved me into therapy for at some point, but that’s a part of me I’ve gotta make peace with.”

We both sip our drinks, letting the dust settle on everything I’ve just shared.

Briar clears her throat. “I have this recurring nightmare. It’s from the day of my wedding. I’m in this stupid couture gown, walking down the aisle of some billionaire’s country club, and I’m just sobbing. I remember my entire body was convulsing, and no one cared. They all sipped their champagne and clapped politely when the deal was done and hid their laughter at my expense behind their hands.”

Her eyes get that far away kind of look to them I hate, but I’m also relieved she’s telling me this and I don’t want to stop things.

“Antoine reeked of smoke and cheap perfume, and I think they’d jetted straight in from his bachelor’s party. I nearly threw up in my mouth when I had to kiss him at the altar.”

“Did he ever lay a hand on you?” My grip tightens on my bottle. Forget digging Erik up out of his grave; I’m ready to board a flight to LA and smash this guy’s face in with a sledgehammer.

Briar shakes her head.

“Other than occasionally having sex, no. It was only what probably amounted to a few times, like it was some sort of annual obligation over the course of three years, give or take.” Now, it’s Briar’s turn to ruefully laugh. “I suppose I should be grateful, right? That my husband never wanted to touch me.”

“I fucking hate that he even got that much. The asshole didn’t deserve any piece of you, Briar.” I tell her with so much force, she gapes at me a little. As if no person has ever told this woman she deserves to be treated like she’s the most precious, important thing.

Not some kind of contract or deal.

“There’s stuff I have to sort out, with Cris.” Her lips roll together. “I didn’t have a plan before coming here except for running away. I still don’t have a plan. Other than starting a new life, minus a shitty ex-husband, of course.” Briar puffs out a small chuckle.

“Darlin’…” I cross the space between us and set my bottle down, cupping her face in both palms. “You’ve got me now. Forget all of it, fuck all of them, I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll protect you with every last breath I’ve got.”