Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Beau
After my old man died, I had nightmares for ages.
I couldn’t stop them. They’d come out of nowhere, even when everything was going fine.
In my dream, I’d be in a fire, engulfed by flames, just like he had been.
I could feel it on my skin, feel the smoke filling my lungs, taking me over completely.
And for the first time, in that moment, I feel it even though I’m awake.
Heat, smoke, danger. It rushes to surround, take over and consume me, and all the while Bailey is staring over the table with those velvet brown eyes, as though she’d like to kill me just a little bit.
If I wasn’t feeling like I was half on fire I’d laugh, because she looks, if possible, even more beautiful when she’s fit-to-be-tied mad—the fire in her eyes, the twist in her lips, the determination in the set of her jaw.
She looks too mad to talk, and I feel like I’m suffocating in smoke, so we’re a great pair. Before I can think of something to say, to water down the ice a little, a waiter approaches the table, carrying an empty tray.
‘Good evening, y’all.’
I flick a smile in his direction.
‘Can I get you anything to eat?’
‘No, thanks,’ Bailey says, making it clear she wants to get this over with as quickly as possible.
‘Come on now, darlin’,’ I tsk, enjoying riling her up more than I should. ‘How ’bout some fries, at least?’
She glares at me, and I have to bite back a laugh.
‘We’ll have some fries,’ I say, turning my attention to the waiter. ‘And some wings. Anything else?’ I glance back at her on purpose. She forces a smile—to the waiter—then looks at me blankly.
She’s mad as heck. Because I don’t want to tell her my life story without getting something in return?
Why would that be so hard for her? When I first came up with the idea, I didn’t even think it would be a big deal.
But something about this exchange has gotten way under Bailey’s skin, and damn it if I don’t want to dig around and find out why.
Which is actually not such a problem, given that she just agreed to the same terms that bind me.
‘Right.’ I relax back in my chair, arms stretched on the rests, eyes fixed to hers. ‘Tell me about yourself.’
She rolls her eyes before she can stop herself, just like she did at the airport.
As if to undo the unprofessionalism of that, she crosses one leg over the other, drawing my gaze down to her slender legs.
She’s wearing your average corporate clothes—suit pants, blouse, heels.
She looks good, but this isn’t her. Not really.
She’s more the Cali girl I picked up at the airport, all sweet and natural in flowing linen and cotton.
‘That’s not how we do it.’
I arch a brow.
‘Vague questions don’t get you anywhere. You need to focus a person. Like this: what made you decide to put your ranch on social media?’
The question—when I’d been asking about her—hits me out of left field, and reminds me how much I don’t want to do this. My family’s my own, it has nothing to do with my riding life. And yet the whole damn ranch is online—nothing’s really private anymore.
I shift my weight in the chair.
‘We have a deal, don’t we?’
I compress my lips, reach forward, take a sip of beer.
‘Money,’ I say, after a small pause. ‘My sister-in-law, Beth—well, she wasn’t my sister-in-law when this happened.
She was working for the place, doing the books.
She knew we were in trouble. After my dad died, it was all in a bit of a mess—’ I cut myself off, realising I’ve already said too much.
Way more than I intended. ‘Scratch that,’ I say.
‘Running a ranch is a complicated and expensive thing. You hit a rough patch, and it can be hard to find your feet again.’
‘And you hit a rough patch after your dad died?’ she asks, and the anger has dissipated, to be replaced by genuine, open curiosity.
I don’t directly answer the question. ‘Beth came up with the idea to build a social media following, to try to get some sponsorship dollars.’
‘And now you have millions of followers.’
‘The ranch has millions of followers.’
‘No doubt in huge part thanks to you.’
‘It’s Mack too—our intern. Beth and Cass—my sister—loaded a video of her singing. It went crazy. Like out of this world crazy. All of a sudden, the videos were being shared, remixed. It just kinda kept building after that.’
‘But when you went back to riding, a lot of people who wanted to follow you followed the ranch. You’re not on social media yourself.’
I square my shoulders, irritated for some reason that she’s done this much research on me, even when I get that it’s her job. ‘I have a private account,’ I say. ‘Under a different name. But no. I generally like to keep a little boundary between this world and that.’
Her lips purse thoughtfully. ‘So you really do hate the idea of this feature, huh?’
I glance toward the window—the sky is turning from dusk to night, the colours beautiful, but nothing compared to what it’s like back home. There, it’s like a whole palette of paint’s been spilled—it’s almost too luminous to be real.
‘It is what it is.’
‘Why’d you agree to it?’
‘Didn’t feel like I had much choice.’
‘You and I both know that’s not true. You’re not the kind of guy who does anything he doesn’t want to.’
‘For Jett Alvarez? I’d do pretty much anything.’
She makes a note in her book. I hate that too.
For a second it had felt a bit like we were just two people having a conversation.
But that’s never the way it’s going to be with Bailey.
For three weeks she’s going to reach in and lift the lid on whatever she wants in my life, then she’s going to go home and write all about it.
I’ll never see her again, and yet she’ll know all kinds of shit about me.
‘Are you close to your family?’
I start to wonder if it’s a deliberate technique to keep me off balance by moving from one topic to another so quickly I get whiplash. She’s like the conversational equivalent of a bucking bull.
‘Yes.’
She makes a note, but frowns. ‘Yes?’
I wait for her to keep going, but she just taps her pen against the notepad, then reaches for her beer.
Fuck, I wish she wouldn’t drink it like that, with her eyes feathering closed, her lips all pink and soft as she swallows.
It makes me want to reach over and brush my thumb over her lower lip, to cup her cheek.
Maybe I need to go out and meet someone else.
Someone not Bailey James. Maybe this is just pre-event adrenalin or something, a buzz I need to wear off.
Except, even as I think it, I know that’s not the case—why bother lying to myself?
‘Close to anyone in particular?’
‘Depends on the time of day.’
‘Are you being deliberately annoying?’
A lazy grin itches on my lips. ‘Cole’d say so.’
She glances down at her notebook, flicks through a few pages. ‘He’s the oldest?’
Frustration flares through me. I don’t want her to know this stuff because she’s googled it or whatever.
I want her to know it because she’s learned it from me.
Which is ironic, because I’m also doing a damned fine job of shutting her down as much as possible.
So which is it, hotshot? You want to tell her about your life, or not?
‘Yeah.’ The word rumbles out of me.
‘And you have a twin, right?’
I nod.
‘You must be close to him.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Beau—’ Her tone carries a warning, and I lift my hands in silent apology.
‘I told you, I’m no good at this.’
She compresses her lips, sighs, then slips her notepad into her bag. I instantly feel a weight lifting off me. ‘Let’s just talk,’ she suggests. She smiles, but it’s a cajoling smile, like you might offer a kid who won’t hand over the candy they’ve snuck.
‘Nash—my twin—lives in Phoenix. He’s a music producer.’
‘Yeah, I saw that,’ she murmurs, and I can just tell she’s itching to pull her notepad back out. ‘And there’s another brother?’
‘Austin.’
‘He works on the ranch?’
‘He’s a Marine,’ I murmur.
‘Oh!’ Her surprise is obvious. ‘I didn’t know that.’
I lift my shoulders. ‘Why would you?’
‘I’ve done a fair bit of research.’
‘Well, I guess it’s good you’ve got me to fill in the blanks.’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’ She sips her beer. When she replaces it on the table, her fingertip stays on the glass, running down the condensation on the sides as though she’s trying to curtail her need to grab a pen. ‘And you’ve got a sister.’
‘Cass. She’s just graduated from college. Reckon she’ll spend a year or so back home. Things are getting busy there now. Beth and Cole have got all kinds of plans—they’re gonna need us to pull together.’
A wistful expression crosses her face. ‘So, your long-term plan is to go back and work there?’
Ice spreads through me when I imagine leaving this behind. ‘Can’t ride bulls forever.’ I don’t even bother to hide the tone in my voice. Why should I? Leaving this is going to kill a part of me.
‘No,’ she agrees. ‘I guess most athletes have a bit of a shelf life. Except maybe golfers. You could try that next?’
I grin, just imagining it.
‘I mean, I know it’s a little tamer …’
‘A little?’
‘But I did a piece on a pro player last year—there’s a lot of money in it, and he seemed pretty happy.’
‘I’ll keep it in mind, Bailey James,’ I lie.
We both know golf isn’t for me. Nothing else is.
What could compare to the feeling of going head to head with a bastard of a bull—and winning?
It’s damn near spiritual. In that moment, when I’m being bucked but holding on for dear life, I know what it is to be truly powerful.
‘So sports journalism is your thing, huh?’
She pulls a face. ‘If you say so.’
‘No?’