CHAPTER 15
They separated slowly.
Not because either of them wanted to.
But because they had to.
The kiss lingered between them long after it ended, leaving something unsteady, almost dreamlike in its wake.
Randi drew in a quiet breath, her gaze dropping for a moment as if she needed something solid to hold onto again.
“That …” she began, touching her lips, then stopped, with a faint, almost disbelieving smile.
Brew watched her carefully, something lighter in his expression now too.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Like the song says.”
The air adjusted, softer now, but no less charged as his attention became more drawn and his gaze lingered past her shoulder toward the canvas behind her she was working on.
She noticed the intent of his gaze.
“What are you working on?”
Randi turned instinctively, stepping just enough to block his view.
“It’s not finished.”
“That’s never stopped me before,” he said, a s he took a step forward, a hint of amusement threading through his tone.
“May I see?”
She shook her head, a touch more serious now and placed her palms against his chest to stop him from taking another step forward.
“No. This one… isn’t ready for anyone but me.”
Something in the way she said it made him pause.
Respect it.
“Fair enough,” he said, lifting his hands slightly in surrender.
“I’ll wait.”
Her shoulders eased just a fraction.
Because this wasn’t just another painting.
It was something she hadn’t even allowed herself to fully understand yet.
“You’re painting again,” he said after a moment, his tone sifting.
It wasn’t a question.
It was something closer to wonderment.
Randi glanced down at her hand, then back at him.
“I’m trying patiently.”
“You’re doing more than that,” he replied. “You’re reclaiming it.”
The words settled deeper than she expected.
She looked away briefly, absorbing them, before returning her attention to him.
“I missed it. I was letting my fear of pain hold me back. Visiting with the children at the hospital kind of created a barrier in my mind, and I stopped thinking about how moving hurt and allowed the joy to kind of, I don’t know, deplete the pain, if that makes sense. “
“Like your mind went on a short vacation.”
“Exactly!”
Silence followed, but it felt different now.
Open and uncomplicated.
“You know, I have the next three days off,” he said.
Her gaze lifted.
“And I’d like to spend them with you.”
There it was again.
Direct.
Honest.
“I thought we were taking this slow,” she replied lightly, though there was hesitation beneath it.
“We are,” he said. “This is… still that.”
She folded her arms loosely, considering him.
“And what exactly does ‘this’ look like to you?”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“A change of scenery.”
That alone was enough to make her suspicious.
“Brew…”
“Come with me,” he said, the warmth in his voice steadying the request. “I want you to meet my family, see where I grew up, and the change would do your mind, your therapy wonders. There’s another side of me, the real me, I want you to get to know. Please.”
That stopped her.
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t sound… slow.”
“It’s not what you think,” he added quickly. “It’s just time away. From everything. No pressure. No expectations.”
She studied him carefully.
“And where exactly are we going?”
He hesitated just long enough for her to notice.
“Brew…”
“You’ll see,” he said, the hint of mischief returning.
She shook her head, already half-resisting, half-curious.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be,” he said. “It’s supposed to be worth it.”
She exhaled slowly, caught between instinct and something far more dangerous.
Trust.
“Three days,” she said finally.
“Three days,” he confirmed.
“And nothing… complicated.”
His expression softened.
“Nothing you’re not ready for, and your own bed to sleep in, scouts honor.”
He raised his right hand, three fingers up with his thumb holding down the little finger.
“You think that Boy Scout Sign is gonna work again?”
His head bobbed with great anticipation.
“I sure hope so.”
That was enough.
For now.
“Okay,” she buckled.
The limousine arrived the next morning.
Randi stared at it through her front window for a full ten seconds before opening the door.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
The driver stepped out, opening the rear door with quiet efficiency.
“Dr. Clay sent me, ma’am.”
Of course he did.
She hesitated only a moment before handing him her suitcase and stepping inside.
The drive didn’t take her where she expected.
When the car turned toward a private tarmac, her suspicion sharpened into something closer to disbelief.
“Brew,” she said the moment she stepped out and saw him waiting.
He smiled, completely unapologetic.
“What?”
“You didn’t mention a plane.”
“I didn’t want you to say no before you saw it.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“That’s manipulative.”
“Effective,” he corrected.
She shook her head, but the edge of her resistance had already begun to soften.
“What if I still say no?”
“Then I’ll drive you home,” he said simply.
No pressure.
Just presence.
She looked past him at the small private jet waiting on the runway, then back at him.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told that.”
She hesitated.
Then sighed and raised three fingers in front of his face..
“Three days,” she reminded him.
His smile deepened.
“Three days.”
The flight stretched longer than she expected.
Seven hours.
Long enough for the initial shock to wear off and something more natural to take its place.
Breakfast gave way to conversation.
Conversation to laughter.
Lunch came and went without either of them noticing how easily the time was passing.
Randi sat back in her seat, watching him as he spoke, the ease in him different here and less guarded, more open.
“This is where you grew up?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Pryor, Montana. It’s part of the Crow Reservation. My father’s people have been there for generations.”
She leaned forward slightly, totally amazed by his revelation. She already knew … he looked the part … there was no question, but still she remarked.
“You’re Native American?”
“Full-blood, no. Mom is Scottish, born in the highlands, County of Sutherland. She’s of Viking blood really. They settled some six thousand years ago, set up a colony and never left. I favor my dad’s side in looks, kinda.”
Her jaw dropped in utter amazement.
“What a history. Tell me more.”
And he did.
About his father, Braden, a Crow Native through and through, strong, steady, rooted in the land and its traditions.
“Dad looks like a Native, high cheekbones, darker skin, the traditional long, raven hair. I get my cheekbones from him … and lips,” his eyebrows quirked mischievously.
“Nice lips and bone structure, I agree,” she countered with eyes bright with humor.
“My mom met him at a horse show forty-five years ago, is a proficient rider, and licensed midwife whose hands have brought babies into the world more times than she could count.”
“Do you have siblings?”
He nodded, raising two fingers with a quick chuckle.
“We couldn’t be more different. Brett’s a playboy, two years older and looks like mom, blonde, blue-eyed and still single. He handles the business side,” he said. “Took what we had and turned it into something global. Marketing, sales, international demand.”
“And your other brother?”
“Branson,” he replied. “He’s way more grounded and stays traditional to our people, proudly wears his hair longer than mine, favors dad’s coloring and features. He runs the day-to-day—horses, the breeding, the land. Everything that makes the place what it is.”
Randi absorbed it quietly, picturing it as he spoke.
“And you?” she asked.
He smiled faintly.
“I left.”
“But you didn’t really.”
“No. A big part of me is still there,” he admitted. “I invested in it to protect what my parents started. Stay connected. It’s still… mine … will be … when my parents pass, in trust equally with my brothers.”
She hesitated, then asked the question that had been forming.
“The plane,” she said carefully. “The lifestyle… how?”
He didn’t take offense.
“Being a surgeon helps,” he said lightly. “But the farm does more than most people realize. There’s international demand for pure mustangs. It’s a niche market—and a very lucrative one.”
Her brows lifted slightly.
“In the mid-1800s, there were millions of wild mustangs in that region,” he continued.
“Descendants of Spanish horses brought north generations earlier. The Crow, my father’s people, protected them.
So has my family to this day. Our land is part of the reservation.
My father acquired acreage for a homestead and ranch from the Elders.
It reverts to the tribe if no descendants remain. ”
“And now?”
“Now we protect what’s left,” he said. “Four thousand acres, bloodlines that live on, replenishing the numbers lost for generations to come.”
Randi studied him, something shifting in her understanding.
“You’ve built a life in two worlds and your family a legacy,” she said.
He met her gaze.
“Those worlds are never separate. They’re like two links of galvanized steel, strong, flexible, resilient, forever connected and bonded.”
“However, do you find the time for you.”
“I would if I had a reason,” he replied with a wink.
She smiled at his words and questioned in her mind if she was ready for what was ahead between them.
By the time they landed, the air had changed.
Open.
Expansive.
Untouched in a way she hadn’t experienced before.
A Jeep was waiting, and the drive across the dry plains was stunning, with red-rock canyons, limestone cliffs, and sprawling sagebrush flats.
The landscape alternated between high alpine wildflowers and "rusty" red deserts, offering quiet solitude where she witnessed wild horses roaming free and bounced excitedly in her seat.
When they finally pulled up to the house, figures were already stepping outside.
His family.
Real.
Immediate.
Randi was in awe at the expansive log home nestled against the untamed backdrop of the still snow-capped Pryor Mountains. The logged structure, Brew shared earlier, was made of river rock and Douglas fir, honey-hued and polished to a soft glow.
She found its rustic design appealing and charming with its large windows catching the mountain light, and a massive wrap-around porch that offered a panoramic view of the emerald pastures and vast skyline.
An enormous barn was set back to the right which Brew told her offered state-of-the-art stables and couldn’t wait to get a tour of them at some point.
It was a true working farm. Native ranch hands bustled about, cleaning water troughs, moving livestock between pastures, exercising horses, mending fences, and more. She counted eight and knew there had to be more.
Beyond the barn were multiple lush paddocks with a pond situated in the middle, and vast, wild acres leading directly into the rugged foothills.
Wow! What a sanctuary, she praised silently.
Introductions came quickly.
His father, Braden—strong presence, tall and sturdy as a tree, handsome features, and steady eyes that seemed to see more than most.
His mother, Blythe— was petite and a natural beauty, warm, welcoming, her smile immediate and genuine.
His brothers, Brett and Branson, were handsome in their own right. The description Brew shared of them was spot-on. Now that they stood all together, Randi could see how Brew was a blend of both his parents. Still, each carrying their own version of the same rooted strength.
She also became aware of the comfort, of the unfamiliar feeling of being… included.
She was being seen.
And for the first time since she had said yes, she understood what he had meant.
This wasn’t complicated.
It was something else entirely.