1. Brady

1

brADY

G ravel crunches under my boots as I step out of the old wooden barn, its weathered boards creaking behind me as the door swings shut. The warm summer evening has settled over my ranch, the air heavy with the scents of hay, horses, and sun-kissed earth.

Even after all these years, this view gets me every time.

For a moment, I allow myself to bask in the satisfaction of a day’s hard work. The land stretches out before me, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Horses graze contentedly in the distance, their tails swishing lazily at flies. The air is alive with the chirping of crickets and the far-off cry of a hawk. Everything is as it should be—peaceful, orderly, under control.

Then I see her, and my gut clenches.

Claire is kneeling by that damn flower bed she insisted on planting months ago, her hands buried in the dark, rich soil as she tugs at weeds. The evening light catches in her braided hair, turning the loose strands into a golden halo. There’s something almost angelic about the way she looks, even though she’s up to her elbows in dirt.

She should’ve gone home an hour ago. Irritation prickles under my skin, but as I watch her work, something else stirs too.

It’s a hot and hungry feeling that I don’t want to name.

She’s humming softly to herself, lost in her task. The melody drifts across the yard, mingling with the evening birdsong. It’s a song I vaguely recognize—but on Claire’s lips, it becomes something else entirely.

Something that speaks of sweetness and possibility and all the things I tell myself I don’t need anymore.

Despite myself, I feel a familiar pull toward her. My feet want to carry me closer, drawn by an urge I can’t seem to shake. I clench my jaw and my fists, fighting it. But it’s impossible to tear my eyes away.

That flower bed has been a thorn in my side since day one. I never wanted it, told her flat out that a working ranch doesn’t need pretty landscaping. But Claire being Claire, she went ahead and planted it anyway. Now it’s thriving, a riot of color against the weathered wood of the fence. Blues and purples and yellows are all tangled together, as headstrong and vibrant as the woman tending to them.

It frustrates me as much as it draws me in, just like Claire herself. She’s been here a year now, and instead of fading into the background like I’d hoped, she’s only become more...everything.

More essential to the ranch’s operations.

More integrated into our lives.

More of a temptation I can’t afford.

My gaze drifts over her, taking in the tantalizing curves of her body beneath her work clothes. The worn denim of her overalls hugs her hips and thighs in a way that makes my blood rush where it shouldn’t.

Despite myself, I find myself wondering what her skin would feel like under my calloused hands.

The braid falling over her shoulder has come loose after a long day’s work, wisps of hair escaping to frame her face. There’s a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and my fingers itch to brush it away.

I clench my jaw even tighter and shove the feeling away. Heat coils low in my gut, sharp and unwelcome. It’s the same battle I’ve been fighting for months now, and I’m getting real fucking tired of the struggle.

But no matter how much I try to ignore it, my attraction for her burns hotter every day.

“Time to go home,” I call out, my voice gruff even to my own ears. I wince at how harsh I sound, but it’s better than letting her hear the want that threatens to bleed through.

Claire looks up, brushing dirt from her hands. A smile blooms across her face, warm and bright. My chest aches at the sight of it.

“I’ll head out soon,” she says, her voice lighthearted. “Just want to finish up here first.”

There’s a hint of playful defiance in her tone that sets my teeth on edge.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” I growl, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Oh, come on, Brady,” she says, laughing. “A few more minutes won’t hurt anyone. Besides, I thought you liked a hard worker.”

I exhale heavily, giving up. There’s no point arguing with her when she gets like this. Her stubbornness matches my own, but where mine is all hard edges, hers comes through in smiles and laughter.

It’s infuriating. And goddamn irresistible.

“Suit yourself,” I mutter, turning away before I do something stupid like smile back at her.

As I head over to the house, I can feel her eyes on me. It takes everything I have to not look back, to not let her see how much she affects me.

Inside, in my shower, I turn the water as hot as I can stand it, letting it pound against my tired muscles. Steam fills my bathroom as I scrub at my skin like I’m trying to wash away more than just the day’s work.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t rid myself of thoughts of Claire.

I close my eyes, and immediately I see her—kneeling in the dirt, that radiant smile directed at me. In my mind, I give in to the urge I’ve been fighting for months. I picture myself crossing the yard in long strides, pulling her to her feet, and crushing my mouth to hers. I imagine how she’d taste, how she’d feel pressed against me, the little sounds she’d make as I?—

“Fuck,” I growl, slamming my palm against the shower tiles. This has got to stop. I’ve got no business wanting her the way I do.

It was easier before she came along, back when it was just me and my son Logan running things. Then Logan reconnected with Sierra, his high school sweetheart, and everything changed. First, he was splitting his time between the ranch and Los Angeles for Sierra’s music career. Now they’re living on the ranch full-time, raising their twin babies.

I don’t begrudge my son his happiness. Hell, seeing him with his family fills me with pride like nothing else. But it meant Logan needed to lighten his load around here. That’s where Claire came in. She was supposed to be the perfect solution—hardworking, experienced, independent.

Except I hadn’t counted on how much she’d get under my skin.

Over the past year, it’s become harder and harder to keep my attraction at bay. I know it’s all wrong. Claire is a decade and a half younger than me, she’s my employee, and I’ve already had my chance at love. I lived it, savored it, lost it.

That door closed when I buried my wife, and I don’t see any reason to open it again.

I step out of the shower and wipe the steam from the mirror. The face that stares back at me is lined with years of sun and wind and hard work. What the hell would a vibrant woman like Claire want with an old rancher like me?

But then I remember the way she looks at me. The warmth in her eyes, her teasing smile. It makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe…

I shake my head, pushing away the dangerous thought. Even if she did want me, I can’t go down that road. I’ve worked too hard to build this life, this legacy. I can’t risk it all for a fling that’s bound to end in heartbreak.

I throw on some jeans and a fresh flannel shirt and step outside. The evening has cooled down, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of faraway pines. I’m relieved to see that Claire’s beat-up truck is gone, no longer parked in its usual spot by the fence.

But the sight of the empty space where it usually sits also leaves me unsettled, a quiet ache spreading through my chest.

Whenever she goes home, it’s like she takes a piece of the ranch with her—takes a piece of me.

I shake off the ridiculous feeling and make my way across the property to Logan and Sierra’s place for dinner. The lights are on in their two-story home, warm and inviting against the deepening twilight. The sound of the twins’ crying floats through an open window.

Logan answers the door, a baby tucked into each arm. Their chubby little legs kick with excitement when they see me, their cries melting into happy babbling. Something deep inside me softens, the tension of the day instantly melting away. I reach out to take them into my arms, marveling at how adorable they are.

“And just like that, peace descends,” says Logan, shaking his head. “You know, it’s not fair that you have this effect on them. I’m starting to feel a little betrayed.”

A low laugh escapes me as I walk further inside. “Don’t take it personally, son.”

“Dinner’s almost ready!” Sierra calls from the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans accompanying her words. The aroma of roasting chicken and herbs wafts through the air, making my stomach growl.

“Take your time,” I call back, settling into a well-worn leather armchair in the living room. The weight of the babies in my arms grounds me, their tiny hands grabbing at my shirt and beard. Toys are scattered across the floor, and a half-folded basket of laundry sits on the couch, evidence of the chaos that now rules my son’s life.

As I rock the babies, I tell myself this is enough. This is what matters—my family, the ranch, the life I’ve built. This is what I’ve worked for all these years. I should be content.

But it’s not that simple. Even as I breathe in the sweet scent of the babies, my traitorous mind conjures up images of Claire. I can’t stop myself from thinking of the way her eyes dance with amusement when she teases me. Or the kindhearted strength in her hands as she tends to the horses.

Or those damn curves of hers.

Each thought of her is a jolt to my system, a reminder of a hunger I thought was long buried. I close my eyes, trying to shut her out, trying to focus on the weight of the twins in my arms.

But Claire is there, always there, just beneath the surface. A possibility I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try.

And deep down, I know I’m fighting a losing battle.