Chapter 8 #2
He made several stops before he headed out. The first thing he did was inform a maid to check in on Julianne to make sure she did not need anything and the housekeeper to instruct the kitchen on what to prepare for her later on.
Then he stepped into the salon where his mother was sitting at her desk.
"I thought you already left."
"I wanted to take care of some things before." He glanced at the monogrammed invitations on the desk. "Those are for the Governor's ball?"
"We decided to host it this year if you'll recall."
He waved a dismissive hand. "You're the one who usually handles those things." Pulling up a chair, he turned it around and straddled it. "I need to talk to you."
She knew exactly what the discussion would be and was not looking forward to it.
"Yes?"
"I want her to be comfortable here, Mother."
"I'm perfectly capable of treating a guest in my house with the proper respect," she said primly.
Bryson's eyes darkened with impatience. "She's not a guest."
She lifted her eyes to meet his and squared her chin. "You never asked me how I felt about having her here."
"No, I never did." His mouth tightened. "And I certainly did not feel the need to ask you any such thing. Julianne is the woman who's carrying my baby. She's the woman I'm in love with and hopefully, one day, she will agree to marry me."
Barbara shuffled the papers on her desk to avoid meeting his gaze.
"And that displeases you."
She looked up then and took a deep breath. "She's going to leave."
"She won't."
"She did before."
"And I let her. This time, I won't be so understanding." He rose. "Asking you to accept Julianne should not be so difficult." His expression softened. "I know what you went through with Dad, but I'm asking you to try and put aside your prejudice and anger and get to know her."
A smile touched his lips. "She's so much like you. Get to know her," he urged. "Do it as a favor to me."
Without waiting for a response, he strode from the room.
Putting down the invitations, she stared blankly at the closed door, before rising a little unsteadily and going over to the window.
Her prized roses were in full bloom. The storm had uprooted several of the rose bushes, but the gardeners had already cleared things up.
The sun was shining and the rain that had fallen had made things so green, it hurt the eyes.
There were the usual activities. It was cattle branding time, so the men were out in full force, plus the itinerants that had been hired to get the work done. It was also fruit picking time and the women were gathered in the orchard with their baskets tucked over their arms.
She loved the ranch. When she first arrived from her home in Ireland, it had frightened her, but she had learned to embrace the wide-open space that reminded her of home.
She was in charge of the household. Her son, unlike his father, had relinquished it all to her.
Bryson ran the ranch, but she was completely in charge of the household.
It gave her a sense of accomplishment and purpose.
Her marriage had been dreadfully unhappy, but over the years, she had her son and the household and the responsibilities that came with it to keep her busy.
Now there was another woman threatening all of it.
Barbara had seen the look on her son's face when he came in cradling the woman against him as if she was the most precious thing in the world to him.
And that was probably the way he felt. No one had ever looked at her like that, Barbara thought with the sharp pain slicing through her heart.
She had longed for her husband to notice her, to offer her a kind word, to want to come to her bed, willingly.
He had accused her of being cold and sexless. Even now, years later, it still hurt. Blinking back the sudden tears, she turned blindly from the window and went back to her desk.
"Vagrants?" Bryson studied the precise slice through the barbed wire fence, a frown touching his brow.
"Or someone crashing here for a few days. One of the men reported smoke coming from one of the empty cottages during the storm," Jack told him.
"And no one saw fit to say anything to me?"
"With the storm raging and you preoccupied with Ms. Julianne, it slipped my mind."
"Have you checked out the cottage?"
"Yes. There's evidence of occupancy. There was charred wood in the fireplace and dishes in the sink. It might have been someone taking shelter from the storm." He shifted his hat from one hand to the other. "The lock was broken."
Jamming his hat at the back of his head, Bryson rose. "Get someone to take care of the fence. I want to take a look at the cottage."
"Boss, I'm really sorry..."
"Have you done a head count on the cattle?" Bryson interrupted brusquely.
"The cattle? You think..."
"I want to believe that this was some random act, that someone wanted to shelter from the storm, but this looks suspicious as hell. Gather the men and start a grid search." He glanced at his watch and hissed out a breath. "Let me know what you find." Pulling out his phone, he placed the call.
"I was sleeping."
"Were you? How's my favorite pregnant woman?"
"I'd better be your only pregnant woman. Why are you calling?"
Walking away from his horse, he went and propped his booted foot on a boulder, eyes scanning the horizon.
"To find out if you are behaving yourself. Have you eaten?"
"Yes, Mother. You know you're beginning to be a nag."
"Shouldn't that be my line?" he asked teasingly. He wanted to go home to her and resented the fact that he was still tied up.
"When are you coming home?"
He felt the spurt of pleasure that she had referred to the ranch as home. It showed progress. "I have some loose ends to tie up and then I'm all yours. Why don't you wait for me to have supper? We could have a meal out on the terrace."
"You mean I'm no longer tied to the bed?"
Her incredulous tone had him chuckling.
"Have you been a good girl?"
"Bite me."
He grinned. "I will keep that in mind. I miss you."
His smile widened and he could just imagine her frowning in confusion. He loved nettling her.
"Whatever. If you're not here in the next hour, I'm eating without you."
Hanging up, he headed for his horse.
He didn't make it back within the hour. In fact, it was almost midnight when he wrapped up and was able to leave.
Not only was the cottage broken into, but there were signs of looting and several heads of cattle missing.
Someone or more than one person had taken advantage of the bloody storm to help themselves to what was not theirs.
And they had maliciously wrecked the master bedroom of the cottage. The windows were broken and the beautiful quilt had been stripped from the bed. The pantry, which was always stocked with food, was now empty.
He had instructed the men to take off for the night, and tomorrow there would have to be a full inventory.
He expected her to be fast asleep when he dragged himself back to the ranch. Even though he felt a jolt of pleasure that she had obviously waited up for him, his first thought was that she should be resting.
"What the hell are you doing up?"
Her pleasure at finally seeing him faded at the impatient tone to his voice.
"Why don't you take a damn careful look and see who it is you're talking to? I'm not one of your lackeys and I don't appreciate the tone."
Passing a hand at the back of his neck, he closed his eyes wearily. He had taken off his boots and jacket and left them inside the mud room.
"I apologize," he told her quietly. "There was some vandalism, and that has nothing to do with you. Just let me get rid of the dirt and grime and I'll be right back." Stripping where he stood, he kicked the clothes aside and walked naked into the bathroom.
The man had an ass on him, she thought, leaning her head back and enjoying the view.
She had heard the strained sound of his voice when he called, telling her to go ahead and eat without him.
In the past, she had never really appreciated the enormous amount of responsibilities he had to contend with.
She knew that Circle M ranch was not just about cattle and horses.
There was so much more to it, and he was in charge of it all.
On top of that, he had taken it on himself to make sure she was all right.
She complained about it, but she reveled in the fact that he loved her enough to want to take care of her.
He came back out, a towel slung low around his hips, washboard stomach glistening from the water. His hair was still damp, curling around his shoulders.
Walking into the vast closet, he dragged on an old pair of sweats and a faded NYU t-shirt before climbing in next to her.
"Tell me about it," she said quietly.
"I shouldn't worry you..."
"I'm not something delicate that will break easily. If you want a relationship, then you're going to have to stop treating me like a damn child."
Suddenly the anger he had been feeling for the past three hours faded away as he looked into her eyes. Pulling her against him, he simply inhaled her scent and closed his eyes.