Cowgirls Don't Cry(116)

Silence.

Brandt glared at his father, his rage a living thing.

“You can have her or a stake in the ranch, Brandt, but not both. You choose.”


He didn’t look at his brothers or his mother as he picked up his hat and left.

Jessie had just gotten back from feeding the animals when she noticed Brandt’s truck was parked in front of her trailer. No sign of him. He’d probably gone inside.


Without saying anything to her? That was strange. Brandt always searched her out when she did chores. Always.

Maybe he was tired. Yesterday was long and emotionally trying for both of them. Not to mention he’d kept her up half the night, making love to her until they fell asleep still joined—which had been a first for her, and more romantic than she’d imagined. Draped across Brandt’s warm body, her head nestled under his chin, her knees curled by his hips with his cock still embedded inside her, his hands cupping her ass.

She’d woken up a couple hours later when he hardened inside her. He rolled her over and made love to her again, whispering words of devotion. Declaring his undying, never-ending love for her. Making promises she actually believed.

It’d been the greatest night of her life.

Smiling, she dropped the bucket and the pitchfork next to the gate and raced to the house. She burst inside. “Brandt?”


No answer.

Lexie lifted her head and gave her a crabby look for disturbing her nap.

Huh. That was weird. Brandt’s boots weren’t on the rug. His clothes weren’t hung up on the coat tree.

She kicked off her overshoes and walked down the hallway. “Brandt? You okay?”


No answer.

He wasn’t in the bathroom.

He wasn’t in the bedroom.

Maybe she’d just missed him and he was in the barn.

As Jessie was slipping her boots back on, she heard her cell phone beep, indicating she had a voice mail. She snatched the phone off the coffee table and checked the missed calls. Tell had called. Four times in the last hour.

Her stomach sank to her toes. She dialed her voice mail and listened to the first of two messages.

“Jessie. Brandt is on his way there. Or I assume he’s on his way. He’s not answering any phone calls from me or Dalton and…Jesus. We’re freaked out. It didn’t go well with Dad today and…Just call me, okay?”


Didn’t go well? What the hell did that mean? The next message started to play.

“Jess, I know I already left you a message, but it’s really important you get back to me right away and let me know you’re okay. I’ve never seen Brandt like this.”


Never seem him like this. Like what? Why would Tell be worried that Brandt would hurt her? Brandt would never ever hurt her.

Maybe he’s worried that Brandt will hurt himself.

Oh God. No.

Fear spiked her pulse. Jessie tore down the steps and sprinted to the barn. But when she reached the side barn door, which had been left ajar, she skidded to a stop. Busting in on him was a bad idea.

She slipped inside as quietly as possible. The familiar scents of hay, manure, dirt, grain and grease didn’t offer the usual comfort, especially when she heard harsh grunts and the hard and fast thud thud thud of one object striking another.

The sound of a chain rattling echoed from the tack room. A sound she recognized. The heavy bag.

She crept to the back of the barn and froze.

Any relief that Brandt was taking out his aggressions on the punching bag fled when she saw all the blood. Spattered on his face. On his bare chest and arms. Bloody streaks smeared on the canvas cover of the bag. His knuckles were raw. His forearms were scraped from elbow to wrist. Bloody scrapes spread across both his shoulders.