Chapter 9 Claire #2
My anger ratcheted up a notch. “Are you insane? You really think I’d sell out to that piece of shit grandaddy’s boy?”
He took a step closer. “Well, you weren’t at the Cavendish presentation, so where were you?” He asked, demanding. As if he had the fucking right to know. As if he were my keeper. One dance didn’t earn him that right.
I shoved him away from me. “At the hospital, you asshole!”
Beau’s anger evaporated like steam as he staggered back. His voice was low, stunned. “What? Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Everyone knows why, Beau. My mom is dying!” I yelled.
My eyes went wide, and I slammed a hand over my mouth.
I hadn’t meant to say that. Especially not to him.
My hand shook against my face, the grief suddenly too raw to keep contained.
Too real. I couldn’t even be embarrassed that Beau was seeing me like this, too lost in the torrent of emotions taking over.
I’d never said those words out loud before.
Never let myself even think them for more than a second.
Following some stupid, childish logic that if I didn’t acknowledge it, then it wasn’t real.
But now they reverberated through me, smashing into the defenses I’d built these last three years like a sledgehammer.
My mom was dying. There would be a day sooner rather than later that she wouldn’t be here anymore.
I’d be an orphan. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Nothing I could do to shield my siblings from the pain that awaited us.
Hell, Tess wasn’t even here, and she was the most fragile one of all.
How was I supposed to protect her when I had no idea where she was?
A choked, painful sound left me as I staggered back into the paddock. Beau’s face went from shock to helpless concern. I couldn’t stand having people look at me like that. Like I was something to pity.
“Claire,” he breathed, his voice full of remorse. He stepped closer, reaching for me.
I swatted his hand away, wiping my eyes roughly because at some point, I had started crying. “Don’t,” I begged, my voice breaking. If he touched me, I’d shatter.
Giving him my back, I gripped the metal of the paddock, my knuckles white.
I took a steadying breath, forcing the emotions down.
Crying in front of other people was a level of humiliation I had never learned how to cope with.
I couldn’t bear the pitying looks and disingenuous sympathy and care.
And Beau certainly had no reason to be genuine.
Looking around the ranch, I noticed everything wrong.
Broken. Old. It was a weak attempt to ground myself in the here and now.
The paddock was secured with a frayed rope, the fences had rotted or missing rails, and some feed buckets were warped or had holes in them.
All things I knew Trent and Oliver had noticed when they toured the place.
I sniffled and my voice shook as I said, “You really think if I took a million-dollar deal, my ranch would look like this? That I’d even be here right now and not at the hospital with my mom?”
Beau’s voice was soft enough to hurt. “No.” I would’ve taken him yelling at me over that tenderness any day.
“Yeah, so,” my chin quivered, “you can go now. I have shit to do.”
My eyes drifted shut, sending hot tears rolling down my cheeks, when his engine roared to life and faded away as he pulled out of the driveway.
“Get it together,” I scolded myself, wiping my face again, and went into the barn to muck stalls. Because nothing said ‘your life sucks’ more than shoveling horse shit while sobbing.
But about thirty minutes later, that roar came back and got stronger by the second. When I peeked out of the barn, my mouth fell open.
Beau was back. This time, dressed in worn jeans and a basic white tee. He wordlessly opened the tailgate and started pulling out logs of wood, a hammer, nails, and a tool belt. Without acknowledging me, he went to one of the rotted fences, pulled it apart, and began replacing it with the new wood.
I squinted at him as he got to work. Was I hallucinating?
I stared for another long minute, wondering if it was real. And it was. Beau McLeod was down on the ground, fixing my fence.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing the fence,” he replied as if it were a daily occurrence.
My eyes darted around, confused. “Why?”
Beau sat back on his haunches, looking up at me. He looked…good on his knees like that. His jaw was strong and accentuated as he tilted his head back. His eyes were so blue with the sun shining down on him. “Because it’s broken, and you need help.”
“I don’t need your help,” I snapped. “Don’t think I’m some charity case just cause I shed a few tears.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched. He tossed the hammer into the grass. “Goddamnit, Claire, just let me help you, alright?”
“Right. So I’m just supposed to let you do this nice thing for me and disappear again.” He was visibly confused. Idiot. “The fundraiser,” I reminded him. “We danced. Or did you already forget? I can get the Whispers to refresh your memory.”
His eyes flicked down to my mouth. “No, I didn’t forget,” he said with a heavy breath and went back to fixing the fence. “And I didn’t say anything cause I figured you wouldn’t want me to with the way you ran off.”
“I didn’t run off. I had to go, and you got that call.”
He chuckled, not buying it, as he drove a nail into the wood. “Couldn’t wait for my ten-second phone call?”
Oh. So it was my fault. Of course. How silly of me. “How was I supposed to know it’d be ten seconds?”
“Cavendish could’ve been offering me the deal, and I would’ve cut it short with you standin’ there in that dress. Every time I shut my eyes, I see you under those lights, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at me.”
My face flushed with heat. “You can’t—You can’t say things like that to me.”
His eyes met mine, that light blue flashing with challenge. “And why the hell not?” I looked away from him. “Look at me.” I knew if I did, I’d do something stupid. Reckless. I shook my head. “Claire, look at me,” he demanded, his voice low, authoritative. I couldn’t resist it.
His mouth curled with a smile that made my knees weak. “So she does listen.” He stood, leaning against the fence. “Why can’t I tell you how beautiful I think you are?”
A part of me had thought he hadn’t meant what he said that night. That it was just because of the dress and makeup. But he was looking at me with the same intensity now. And that terrified me.
“You know why,” I whispered.
He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Remind me then.”
“Because—” I sighed, looking for a legitimate reason. “Because of our family history. We can’t go there.”
“That has nothing to do with us. Bullshit excuse, what else you got?”
“It is not,” I forced out.
“We were friends when we were kids. Before I left for school.”
“That was completely different.” How could he not see that?
His brows raised a fraction, amusement sweeping across his face. “Is it? Because I remember catching you checkin’ me out a handful of times.”
“You were the only boy I’d been around besides Emmett. It was morbid curiosity. Nothing else.”
“And yet,” he pushed off the fence, stalking toward me. “You never looked at Colt, or Weston, or any of our friends we brought around.” A shaky breath left me as he tilted my chin up, making me look him in the eye. “Just me.”
“Your ego is concerningly large.” My voice came out thin, lacking the insult I meant for it to. He smiled, eyes searching mine. His skin was like fire against mine, trailing heat in his wake as his fingers ran along my jaw before brushing the flyaways from my braid behind my ear.
“And you’re as stubborn as an ass, but I think I like fighting with you.”
I was lost in a daze as his thumb stroked my cheek tenderly. I hardly heard him speak over the pounding of my heart. “You think?”
“I know. You’re sexy as hell when you’re pissed, and I’m desperate to kiss you.”
The brutal honesty of it ripped me from the moment. I backed away, breathing hard. “I can’t do this. I just”—I squeezed my eyes shut—“there’s too much happening. I’m sorry,” I rushed out and went inside, leaving him standing there with his hand still hovering in the air, looking lost.