between us.”
“Have you told Braden that?”
“If we could find time to spend an hour or two together, I probably would.” He got up from his seat, crossed the den, pulled the empty spreadsheet from the printer and handed it to her. “This is pretty self-explanatory.”
Okay, so he was done discussing his feelings about his brother. That was fine. It wasn’t any of her business anyway. So she scanned the document and nodded. “When do you want me to get started on this?”
“Now, I suppose.”
“Do you plan to break for dinner?”
He glanced at the clock on the desk. “I guess we’ll have to. Sometimes I forget the time and work until my stomach growls, but that’s not fair to you.”
“Would you like me to cook something?” she asked.
“That wasn’t part of the deal, but sure. If you don’t mind. You may have to hunt and peck to find something decent to fix, though. I have some lunch meat and sandwich fixings, but I haven’t done any real grocery shopping.”
“I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“We can trade off kitchen duties,” he added. “But on my nights, we’ll probably call out for pizza. I’m not much of a cook.”
“That sounds fair to me.” She tossed him a smile, then headed for the kitchen.
Before she stepped foot into the hall, he stopped her. “I have a question for you.”
She turned and waited in the doorway.
“How do you know Braden so well?”
“We were neighbors before my grandma’s ranch went into foreclosure. He and I used to be riding buddies back then. I guess you could say we were friends and confidants.”
He merely studied her for a moment, as though he found that difficult to believe. Or maybe as if he might be a bit envious.
But of whom? Her or Braden?
From the way those meadow-green eyes were boring into her, she couldn’t be sure.
* * *
Juliana set out a delicious, mouthwatering spread of tuna rice casserole, sliced tomatoes, homemade biscuits and Granny’s canned peaches. Jason sat in awe at her domestic capabilities, especially when she didn’t look the least bit like a homebody.
She’d probably meant to keep her long, wavy red hair out of the way while she’d cooked, because now she wore it in a sexy topknot, with wisps of escaped curls dangling along her neck and cheeks. He would have guessed that she might have done it on purpose to tempt him—if she’d also changed out of that attractive gauzy blouse and put on a slinky tank top instead.
But she hadn’t. She’d also kept on that pair of knee-length shorts that revealed shapely calves. While they were modest and a far cry from a revealing pair of Daisy Dukes, there’s no way he’d ever call her Bird Legs again.
Now they stood at the sink, washing the last of the dishes, a chore he’d always done while staying on the Leaning R and seemed especially fitting this evening.
“Did I tell you how much I enjoyed dinner?” he asked.
“Yes, several times. And you’re welcome—again.” She tossed him a dazzling smile. “But I’m going to have to go shopping tomorrow to pick up something from the meat market. There wasn’t much to choose from, other than the sandwich fixings you had in the crisper, tuna, biscuit mix and your great-grandmother’s canned goods.”
“Those peaches were a real treat. And I can’t remember the last time I had tuna. To be completely honest, I might have passed if it was offered on a menu. But it was actually really good. Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“My mom taught me. She’s a whiz at making a meal out of whatever she can find in the pantry.”
Jason rarely talked about his past, but for some crazy reason, he found himself saying, “You’re lucky. I lost my mom when I was just a kid.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“I’m sorry. At least you were old enough to have some memories of her.”
Not too many good ones. The years he’d spent living only with his mom hadn’t been all that happy. She’d been emotionally broken and damaged by his father’s cheating.
When he’d eventually gotten a stepmom and was able to move in with her and his dad, Carly’s mother had been too busy with her singing career to stay home with her own baby, let alone with a boy who wasn’t hers. So Jason had been sent off to an elite boarding school.
But that was okay. It had been good for him. Everyone had said so. Everyone except Granny, anyway. He’d once overheard her tell his father what a mistake he was making. But when that summer was over, he was sent right back to Thorndike Prep as always.
Still, he did have those vacations...
Thankfully, Juliana didn’t ask a lot of questions, and Jason was glad. He’d never been comfortable with anyone expressing their touchy-feely emotions or expecting him to talk about his own, especially when it came to his mother.
Granny had tried to step in and take on a maternal role, but it wasn’t the same. Hell, his mother hadn’t even been a real mom. He supposed he was one of those kids who’d pretty much grown up on his own in a lot of ways. He just hadn’t been without any of the essentials or all the shiny extras—houses all over the place, private school, fancy cars...
But he didn’t want to think about any of those lonely days and crappy memories, not when he had a beautiful woman at his side. So he said, “I have a bottle of merlot in the pantry. How about a glass of wine?”
“I’d rather have a glass of juice, if you don’t mind. And under the circumstances, let’s call it a debriefing. We can also create a game plan for tomorrow—or set up a calendar for trading off meal duties. But to tell you the truth, I don’t mind cooking. I’m not fond of cleaning up, though.”
If he was being honest with himself, as well as with her, he’d rather create a game plan for tonight, complete with romantic music, maybe a slow dance under the stars. But Juliana had put a stop to that by setting them both back on track. And he ought to thank his lucky stars that she had. Sexual harassment training was a priority for everyone in upper management at Rayburn Energy, and he’d best keep that in mind.
He offered her a platonic smile—his best attempt at one, anyway. “You’re right. That’s what I meant. Grab two goblets, then make yourself comfortable on one of those chairs on the porch. I’ll get the wine and juice.”
Moments later, he took the uncorked bottle of wine and a quart of orange juice outside. After filling their glasses, he took a seat, joining her under the soft yellow glow of the porch light.
He took a sip of his merlot and glanced at the barn door with the chipped paint and broken hinge that dusk couldn’t hide. He’d have to ask Ian McAllister,
