4. Clover
FOUR
Clover
The house is quiet, so damn quiet. This is nothing like NYC. Even when everything in your home is off, there’s always the constant din of everything outside your house—or apartment, in my case.
Car horns, sirens, conversations, music, hell, even the occasional sexcapades of neighbors, New York is not quiet.
Darby was such a treat earlier, full of energy and questions about my life, but he’s asleep now, and I am far too restless to lay in bed for another moment.
The tour wasn’t really comprehensive…you could go check things out…
Throwing the covers off, I slide out of the unfamiliar confines and exit my room to take a stroll around the ranch. I’m curious what I didn’t see, especially if it’ll help me understand Brooks a bit more.
He’s such an incredible tight-ass, not to mention the tight ass. And I need to get out of my head if I want to keep it from going down a road that it should absolutely not travel.
The sheer size of the ranch and home is enough to distract me, and I’m truly impressed with how well-maintained it all is. I mean, the house is immaculate, and that’s with Brooks’s broken arm.
And all by himself.
Well, Brooks mentioned a few members of staff that he has helping out, particularly now. But it’s all outside with the animals and stuff. The house? That’s all him.
Raising a child alone while running a farm, ranch, or whatever must be incredibly difficult. And from what he made it sound like—and my dad’s input as well—Brooks has been taking care of Darby without help since the beginning.
Something about his fiance leaving him, which is so terrible. Talk about a low blow.
And that face Brooks made.
“She…left. Right after Darby was born.” Brooks is quiet, answering while Darby is washing his hands for dinner. “So it’s just us that you’ll have to worry about.”
My lips part slightly, and I’m ready to go bury my head in the bushes for making such an ass of myself.
“Sorry, I didn’t…I’m sorry.”
Brooks just nods, but damn. For as deadpan as he is most of the time, I can see the unmistakable flicker of pain in his hazel eyes.
I know I’ve stepped in it something fierce, and I kick myself. I have no idea what to say around this guy, but I know that making him dwell on his shitty ex is not it.
“Ready!”
Darby launches into the room with his usual flair, or at least what I’m guessing is his usual flair.
“Alright, buddy. Let’s sit down.” Brooks leads the way to the table where the plates are set before disappearing into the kitchen. “And leave that bread be!”
I look over to see Darby pulling his hand back from the basket of rolls and struggle to hide my giggle. I’m tempted to try them myself, but Brooks is very clearly “the boss.”
When Brooks returns, he brings out a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes and a plate of steaks. The classic meat-and-potatoes dinner isn’t one I’ve had in a long ass time.
And it smells incredible.
Slipping away one more time to fetch a bowl of broccoli, Brooks finally sits down. He smiles at Darby, who I entertained with my awful video game skills while he cooked.
“Alright, you know the drill.”
Darby looks from his dad to me, and I offer a curious smile, brows up to my hairline.
“Ugh, okay.” He settles into his chair and then looks back over at his dad. “Thank you for the food, the roof over my head, and…oh! Hiring Clover.”
A laugh breaks free, and I look back over at Brooks.
“We say what we’re grateful for. Tradition.” Brooks clears his throat, obviously searching for his list. “Thank you for being such a great kid, thank you to Leo for helping me find a nanny, and…thank you to Clover.”
His eyes meet mine, and all I can do is swallow hard, his stare pinning me in place.
“For accepting the job. We’re both very grateful.”
Smiling, I feel my cheeks heat, and I look over at Darby to offer my own thanks. “Well, thank you for having me. I’m very glad that I could find something that keeps a roof over my head and pairs me with such a cool kid.”
Darby looks very impressed with himself, and then we’re both laughing as Brooks doles out the food. It feels oddly intimate to have shared that with them.
I’m not sure who this guy is, but there’s one thing I know for sure about Brooks. There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye.
Snapping back to reality, I blink, realizing that I’ve walked the entire length of the house, replaying the events of dinner in my head.
While the beginning of the meal had been so warm and inviting, Brooks didn’t say more than ten words for the rest of dinner. Darby talked plenty, though, asking me questions about NYC and my job there.
It was adorable, and hell, the two of them know tons about me now. If only I could get the info dump from Brooks.
With the whole of the house now explored—even if I don’t remember everything I saw—I decide to take this show on the road and go outside. The summer evening is comfortable, and the wind from earlier has settled into a gentle breeze.
As soon as I step outside, I’m hit with a wave of humidity. I’m not used to it at all, but at least with the sun down, it’s not that bad. And crickets are singing loudly, coming from every direction.
I smile, wandering over toward a smaller building that’s parked right near the back of the house. It’s not the barn. That thing’s huge and in the other direction, so I figure, why not explore?
Getting closer, I can hear the sound of something whirring, and the door to the large shed of sorts is cracked open slightly, light spilling out from inside.
Turning around and going back to bed is what I should do, but instead, I find myself approaching the building cautiously, in some vain attempt to be sneaky.
Inside, I see Brooks standing over a workbench, hunched over something. There’s a fan set up to his left, enhancing the breeze, and there’s the sound of something scraping.
From where Brooks is standing I can’t see what he’s working on, but I can see a pile of wood shavings at his feet.
Is he building something? With his broken fucking arm?
After a moment, Brooks shifts, and I can see that he’s holding some type of sander or cutting device and tracing it over the edge of what looks like the leg of a table. He’s using the thing with one hand, and I can tell it’s annoying him to no end.
He fumbles with the device as he rubs it around the bulge in the middle of the leg, dropping it to the floor. Brooks lets out a huff, his hand going to his hip.
“Goddamn it.”
Brooks is working without a shirt on, the tee tucked into the waistband of his blue jeans at his back. A backward baseball cap keeps his hair out of his face, and the glimmer of sweat coats his skin.
My breath leaves me in a shaky rasp, and I realize I’m staring. Hell, I’m ogling.
I should not be staring at him like this. What the hell is wrong with me? I mean, yeah, he’s gorgeous. But he’s way older than me, and I’ve got one reason to be here, and it’s not to get laid.
It’s been a minute since I did enjoy any type of sexual company, though. That’s got to be it.
Brooks bends to get the sander thing from the floor, and his jeans pull against his ass. My heart flutters, beating too loudly in my ears.
“Clover?”
I’m yanked from my thoughts when he turns around enough to see me, and I jump like I’ve just touched the electric fence outside.
“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt. I saw you working on…what I’m guessing is a table. Got a little caught up in the process of it all.”
God, that was the worst lie.
Brooks cocks a brow at me, and I can feel his judgment land on my skin. After a moment, he clears his throat and steps backward, putting the in-progress table between us.
“So, whatcha working on?”
I’m trying to keep the mood light, but I can’t deny the fog of tension that makes the hot air between us all the more uncomfortable.
“It’s nothing. Just a project.”
His eyes go back down to the leg, and Brooks tries to smooth some of the ridges on it again with the sander thing.
“A project? That’s it?” I drop my head toward my shoulder, eyeing him. “Come on, you gotta give me more to go on than that.”
“I carve wood. It’s a hobby.” Brooks eyes me, a gleam of something making them glow. “Doesn’t everyone have a pastime?”
I shrug, approaching the table leg and inspecting the way it curves like an uneven hourglass.
“I mean, sure. Course they do. But I’m asking about yours. I’m going be hanging around for a while, so I figured I should know something about you.”
Heaving out a breath, Brooks sets down his tool and turns to me, a tiny smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.
“It’s a table, yeah. I’m having trouble finishing it with my arm in this cast.”
“Understandable.” I nod, turning down the corners of my mouth. “So what do you do with them once they’re finished? I don’t think this is the first time you’ve made something.”
Brooks drops his chin and narrows his stare. “Oh? Because I’m so good? Or are you trying to give me the benefit of the doubt?”
Unstoppable laughter bursts from me, and I cross my arms. “It’s very nice. Haven’t seen the rest of the table, but that’s one nice leg.”
Taking his shirt from his pants, Brooks flicks it open, and my heart sinks for a second when I think he’s going to put the thing back on.
Jesus, Clover. Snap out of it. We’re not going to be thinking this way. Not about the boss, who also happens to be your dad’s buddy.
“I put them inside. Most of the furniture in there was made by me, actually. ‘Cept the couches. And beds.”
“That’s impressive.” I smile, purposefully letting it show on my face. I want Brooks to lighten up around me and maybe consider taking that pole out of his ass.
“Thank you.”
As the silence comes in again, I watch as Brooks takes his shirt and, instead of putting it on, wipes his face with it, taking off his baseball cap and tossing it down to the workbench as he fluffs up his hair.
His hair is a deep brown, but there’s evidence of the sun on the ends and silver streaking near his temples. It’s not thick, but it’s enough to remind me that Brooks is older than me.
When Brooks goes back to sanding, I decide the silence is over and ask what’s been on my mind since I met him.
“So,” I start, and I notice how he adjusts as I pull him out of his concentration, “why the lack of confidence in my skills? You weren’t exactly subtle about your… distaste for the situation.”
Brooks scoffs, which melts into a laugh as he puts the sander down and looks over at me again.
“Pretty blunt there, aren’t you?”
I shrug, offering a smirk. “I’m from New York. We’re not people who beat around the bush or mince words.”
“Apparently.”
There’s a bit of a staring match building between us now, and I face off against him, totally unwilling to back down.
“I don’t think you’re cut out for the life.” He raises his brows, his expression matter-of-fact and calm. “I don’t think you’ll hack it here on the ranch.”
My brow furrows before I can even respond, my mouth dropping open slightly. “You don’t know anything about me. You have no reason to think that except for the fact that I’m from the city. Isn’t that a mite judgemental?”
I know I’m pressing my luck a little, using language I know is stereotypically associated with the country, but the anger is too hard to dismiss right away.
“Perhaps. But if I’m right…”
Brooks lets it hang like that, and I just glare back at him. After a few seconds, I put my hands on my hips, leaning in toward him to make my point.
“If you’re trying to push me out or ‘test my resolve,’ just know I can take anything you dole out. I’m not a quitter.”
He doesn’t say anything, content to return to his damned table leg. All I can do is glare at him, knowing that I have to drop it for now and go back to bed.
Still…
If this jerk thinks I can’t hack it, he’s got another thing coming.