“I know. I mean, of course you’re you. I—I hate how much you’re giving up.”
“You—y’all are worth it.”
“Oh, honey.” All sorts of emotions swirled in him, the anger still there, but not at Trace. He was just a cowboy, and this was all so complicated. He nodded, though. They were worth a lot, this family.
And when it got right down to it, he could stare into those eyes. They were like river stones, green and gold with little flecks of gray.
“Brent? Are we okay?”
“I don’t know.” Trace’s lips looked soft. Hot. Open a little like they were begging for his kiss.
“You don’t?” Trace blinked at him. Those eyelashes were so long.
“No.” He was kind of freaking out. He tilted, ready to press his mouth to Trace’s.
Trace leaned in toward him, their gazes locked.
“Dad-O! I need help!” Caroline called from the yoga mat, making them back up.
Damn it all.
“I…” Trace stared at him for a second, sighing softly. “Jesus. Coming, sweetie!”
“Later.” He meant it. Right now, he had a lot to process.
“Yeah. Later. I—later.” Trace nearly ran out the door, running like the hounds of hell were after him.
Brent shook his head. Lord have mercy, this was getting complicated. Both good and bad.
Still, the good part of it was…delicious.
He wanted to know what would have happened if Caro hadn’t hollered.
Brent figured he was going to find out too. Hopefully sooner rather than later.
Chapter 11
Brent breezed into Jan’s diner, grinning when he saw the little pod of men sitting along the counter and in the booth right at the end of it. The unofficial Friday rancher’s breakfast had started without him.
He blamed the wine, but he’d slept in a little.
“Morning, Jan. Gents. You save me a seat?”
Pooter Davis scooted over, giving him the outside seat of the booth facing the counter. It had taken him a while to earn his place here and feel comfortable, especially since his momma had taken her own life. No one had known what to say, and it was Pooter who finally invited him to come and eat. He belonged here, dammit, and he needed to sit and act like it.
Coffee appeared like magic, and Marissa didn’t even ask him for his order. She knew—two eggs over easy, toast, and crispy bacon. He was smiling today. Bad day order was that burrito with queso.
He sank down, nodding back at all the bobbers. “So, what’s the news?”
“Shit, man.” Pooter’s laugh filled the air. “You’re the news. Jesus’s wife was in the feed store with that new baby going on about your new hand, and that’s why you ain’t been in for damn near a month of Sundays.”
He took off his hat to hang it on the post that ran up the side of the booth, hooks all the way around the four sides. “He’s a good’un.”
“Yeah? He a cowboy?” Doc Miller looked at him over his reading glasses, where he was doing the crossword in the paper.
“Nope. He’s a hippie who was teaching elementary school in Austin.” He dropped that one like a surprise calf in January, then watched to see the sensation.
“A—what you going to do with him, buddy? What use is he, I mean?” Old Rocket didn’t look terribly impressed.
“Well, he’s damn good with the kids, he’s taking over the chickens and goats, and I’ve set him to tending a garden out back.”
“Huh.” Doc nodded at him. “Good deal. It’ll free your time up to work. He’s a good guy?”
“He seems to be, yeah.” He gave them all a stern look. “Y’all will give him a chance.”
“You fixin’ to start bringing him to breakfast?” Pooter rolled his eyes like they were thrown dice.
Like they all hadn’t heard the gossip after the Walmart incident. Shit. “No, but you’re sure to see him here in town. He’s taken over the grocerying from Bald Harold. Thanks, lady,” he said when Marissa put down his food.
“You’re welcome, honey. Jan says you hired that nice little man with the baby. How’s he working out?”
“Good.” He would not roll his eyes. “He gives Cookie here a run for his money with the cooking.”
“Rock on. She liked him. Said he was a breath of fresh air.”
“Good deal.” He winked at her. “How’s Andie?” Marissa had a little girl who was eight, and she had a few health issues, poor baby.
“Hanging in there, you know? She’s with her granny today.”
“Well, you tell her anytime she wants to come see the horses, she can come on.” That baby girl loved horses like any eight-year-old girl,