Chapter 9
Brooks
I’d taken over cleaning up dinner while Annie was giving Ruby a bath and tucking her in for the night.
Not because she’d asked me—hell, she’d told me the opposite. She’d insisted she’d handle it after Ruby was down and that I was “off the clock,” free to go do whatever I pleased.
But I didn’t want to retreat upstairs to my room. I didn’t want to disappear from the rhythm of her house. I wanted to linger, my hands busy at the sink, so I could be here when she came back down.
Annie intrigued me.
There was the obvious—her short, curvy frame, the cascade of auburn hair that looked like it would catch fire in the right light, and those sharp blue eyes that could cut a man to pieces.
But it was more than that. It was her grit.
The way she worked herself to the bone to give her daughter a good life.
The way she spoke to Ruby with warmth and authority all wrapped up in one voice.
It was… dangerous. This pull I felt toward her. I was here for a job, but that promise felt like a thin wire about to snap.
I shook the last bit of water off a plate and set it in the drying rack just as her voice came from behind me.
“Are you kidding me?”
I turned, a smirk tugging at my lips before I even saw her. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, hip popped out, one eyebrow arched like she’d caught me in the middle of a heist.
“Come help me then,” I called over my shoulder. “You can dry the last few since you’re so hell-bent on working yourself into the ground.”
“I’m not working myself into the ground,” she said, stepping forward. She plucked the dish towel from the counter like she was snatching a weapon. “I just don’t need you to do everything.”
“You worked all day,” I countered. “And you’re clearly exhausted. Let me handle it.”
“You watched Ruby all day and cooked. It’s only fair I clean up.”
I gave her a look. “It’s weird for you to accept help, isn’t it?”
She let out a huff, drying off a plate with a little more force than necessary. “Huh. Didn’t know rodeo clowns doubled as armchair therapists.”
That caught me off guard and pulled a deep laugh out of my chest. I tilted my head back, the sound filling the quiet kitchen. When I looked at her again, she was smiling too, though she tried to hide it.
“I’m here to help you, Annie,” I said, my voice softer now. “So let me.”
I finished the last dish, set it in the rack, and dried my hands.
Turning, I leaned back against the counter and watched her work.
There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved—efficient, sure, but graceful too, like she didn’t even realize the small, unconscious ways she drew a man’s attention.
“Fine,” she said finally, setting the last plate on the counter. “But no more buying Ruby enough outfits to clothe a small army.”
“I told you, Santa brought them.”
She narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”
“She just has a way with persuasion.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered.
When the kitchen was in order, Annie grabbed two wine glasses and filled them both generously. She handed me one, her lips quirking.
“Not a wine guy?” she teased. “You’ve got that rugged, broody, whiskey-drinker vibe.”
I took the glass without a word and downed nearly half in one swallow. Her eyes widened, and I held it out again until she poured more.
We took our glasses to the couch. I sat dead center, deliberately making her choose between keeping distance or closing it. She chose the latter, settling to my left, legs crossed and turned toward me, one arm draped over the back of the couch.
She took a sip, then stretched her leg until her foot brushed my thigh. It was casual… maybe. I felt the heat of it all the way up my spine. I didn’t move.
“So,” she said, tilting her head. “I’m dying to know more about this whole rodeo clown thing.”
“This is the third time you’ve brought it up since I moved in,” I said, sipping my wine.
“Because it’s insane!” She laughed. “Who actually does that for a living?”
“I haven’t been a clown my whole life,” I told her. “That was more of a… later-in-life career choice. Post-retirement.”
“Retirement? You’re thirty-two.”
“I was a professional bull rider for twelve years,” I explained. I lifted my elbow, showing her the pale scar that curved along the bone. “Took a bad fall. Shattered it. Couldn’t ride again. The clown work came after that.”
“Oh, God,” she said suddenly, dropping her head into her hand.
I frowned. “What?”
She just shook her head, muttering something I couldn’t catch.
“Annie,” I said, reaching forward. My fingers curled gently around her wrist, coaxing her hand away from her face. Her skin was warm under my touch. When she looked up at me, she bit her lip, and I felt it like a jolt straight to my chest.
“You don’t want to know the thought I just had,” she murmured.
“Something tells me I do.”
Her eyes sparkled like she was deciding whether to let me in on the joke—or the fantasy. Either way, I was already hooked.
“It’s so embarrassing,” Annie murmured, eyes darting anywhere but mine.
Her voice had a nervous lilt, and I couldn’t help but lean forward, curious. Embarrassing to her might be pure gold to me—maybe even something I’d happily replay later in the quiet of my own mind.
She took a long sip of wine, as if fortifying herself, and let out a slow breath.
“I’ve probably heard worse,” I coaxed.
“I thought, you know…” She hesitated, cheeks warming. “You being an ex–bull rider and all, you’d be the ride of my life.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Okay, yeah, that’s pretty embarrassing.”
“Brooks!” She swatted my bicep, but there was no real sting to it—just the kind of touch I’d been craving from her all night.
I let my hand rest on her leg, my thumb brushing back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm meant to assure her I wasn’t laughing at her, not really.
“I’m just kidding,” I said softly. “Not embarrassing at all. Because, truth is… I probably would be. Never had any complaints.”
Her smile faltered just enough to make me wish I’d reeled the teasing back a notch. I wouldn’t. She took another sip of wine to try and hide it.
“I’m real good with my hips,” I added, letting the words hang in the air like a promise.
She groaned, shaking her head, but she didn’t move my hand. If anything, her knee edged closer, like she wanted me to keep touching her.
I let the air between us cool to a low, slow simmer before steering us into safer waters. “So… I don’t think you’ve told me why you were in such a pinch at such short notice.”
Her mouth twisted as she swirled the wine in her glass. “My dumb, douche-canoe of an ex-husband, that’s why.”
“He was supposed to take Ruby for the holidays and bailed?” The thought made my chest tighten. A man skipping out on his daughter this time of year? That hit me wrong.
“Yup.” Her tone was sharp but tired. “Instead, he decided to go to Hawaii with his new wife because it was an ‘opportunity he couldn’t miss.’” She made air quotes.
“Ah,” I said dryly. “So he’s that kind of father.”
“Ruby’s used to it by now,” she admitted. “Didn’t even blink when I told her. Just asked if we could still make cookies and drink hot chocolate.”
I scoffed. “I imagine it’s still hard for you to watch that happen to her.”
“Oh, yeah. When I married him, I thought he’d be a great dad. That’s why I wanted to have a kid with him. He’s been a disappointment ever since.”
I gave her leg a slow, reassuring squeeze. “I don’t know him, but I can already tell he was an idiot for fumbling two great girls.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, soft and shining in the warm light, and she gave me a small smile that hit me harder than I expected.
“What about you? Why are you still single?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Work. Bull riding was my life. Never had time to settle down, never wanted to slow down. But life… has a way of humbling you.”
I thought of all the recklessness, the risks, the parties, the adrenaline rushes that used to keep me alive. Then I thought about the fall that changed everything. About how I’d stayed as close to the sport as I could without climbing back onto a beast determined to throw me.
“So you never pictured yourself with kids?”
I shook my head. But, that didn’t mean I couldn’t be easily swayed.
“That’s a shame,” she said softly. “You’re pretty damn good with Ruby.”
We fell into easy conversation after that, talking about the Christmas party she was catering, the menu, her excitement. I liked listening to her. She spoke with her whole body, her eyes sparkling, her hands moving in the air like they were painting her words.
My hand never left her leg. Her leg never pulled away. If anything, she leaned into my touch.
I let my fingers trace a lazy path up and down, memorizing the warmth, the softness, the way the air between us seemed to hum.
By the time we’d drained our glasses and stood, there was a moment—just a heartbeat—where neither of us moved.
She lingered there, close enough for me to see the faintest part in her lips, like she was about to say something. But instead, she turned away, shuffling in her socks toward the sink.
I watched her go, every sway of her frame committing itself to memory, until she disappeared down the hallway with a final wave goodnight.