Cowgirls Don't Cry(119)

Her Irish coffee threatened to come back up.

“Then Brandt threw Dad against the wall and that’s when me’n Dalton came in. After that, Brandt left.”


“So you don’t know if he’s decided—”


“Don’t say it, Jessie, don’t even f*cking think it. Brandt loves you. He always has.”


She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “But he loves that ranch too. That’s all he’s known.

That’s all he’s ever wanted was to take over running it.”


“And you think our Dad don’t know that?”


“I know that once Casper has drawn the line in the sand, he won’t erase it, he won’t move it, and he sure as hell won’t back down from it. Brandt will have to choose.”


A muttered curse, followed by, “Yeah, it sucks, but he will.”


Poor Brandt hadn’t wanted to choose between her and Landon. He’d dodged that bullet only to have the gun waved in his face again. As much as she wanted to be the one he’d pick, as much as she wanted to plead her case and offer him assurances that their life together would be worth giving up his heritage, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She had to give him the time to decide, even if it damn near killed her, so he wouldn’t have regrets about his choice.

Even if she did.

Chapter Twenty-Four


Brandt couldn’t go to his trailer, couldn’t go to Tell’s place or Dalton’s place, couldn’t go to Ben’s.

Definitely couldn’t go back to Jessie’s.

His entire body burned with shame. After he’d left his folk’s house, he’d driven to Jessie’s on autopilot. But once there, he realized he didn’t want her to see him in such an extreme state of anger. So he thought he’d take the edge off by using her heavy bag.

Everything was a blur after that. Until he saw Jessie watching him. Every ounce of shame surfaced.

It defied logic when she’d wrapped herself around him, offering him comfort when he should’ve been reassuring her that he wasn’t an animal.

An animal that’d hurt her.

His beautiful, sweet, kind, loving Jessie had blood on her face. Blood he’d brought forth in anger. It’d made him absolutely sick.

He’d had to get out of there.

He needed a place to think things through.

He’d ended up at the bunkhouse. It sat empty for most of the year, only used during calving and haying season. Or when one of his cousins and their wives needed alone time, hence the nickname the nookie shack.

It wasn’t easy to get to, especially not in a snowstorm. Equipped with food, water and a bunkbed, Brandt figured he could crash a couple days before anyone thought to look here.

He fired up the wood stove and set a pan of snow on the top to melt. He’d need to clean himself up since his wounds were starting to sting. But his adrenaline rush was history and he crashed. He hit the bed with his boots on, his clothes on, his gloves on, in too much pain to do anything but groan before he passed out cold.

Brandt dreamed of Luke.

The old Luke. The brother he’d laughed with and worked with and worshipped his whole life. The brother he’d mourned more than anyone other than Jessie had ever known.

They sat around a campfire, drinking icy cold Fat Tire, staring at the black sky overloaded with stars.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward, as it’d been the last few years.

Brandt sipped his beer, taking in the wide-open space. It wasn’t anywhere he and Luke had ever been.