a good response. “I just need to ask Jameson something.”
“Well, if you need anything let us know.”
“I will.” Brooke headed to the back of the house and saw Jameson standing just outside the doorway. As he stood staring at the horizon, she took a moment to stare at him. She looked at him through the eyes of an artist. If she were to paint him, she’d depict him as a landscape with shoulders as wide as the Montana sky, skin smooth as the sharp edge of a canyon and height as tall as a mountain. He was lean but muscular, with the intensity of a raging river. Her heart began racing, even though she’d told it to behave. Jameson had always had that kind of effect on her.
Brooke opened the door and cleared her throat to let him know she was there and not startle him.
Jameson didn’t turn and he didn’t seem startled; it was as if he already knew she was there. “Yes? What do you want?” he said, his voice a low, deep rumble.
Brooke swallowed. If he could affect her like this with his back to her, how would she fare when he faced her? She had to find out.
“I want to talk to you,” she said, her voice higher than she wanted, but steady.
She saw his shoulders stiffen. It was just a flash and if she hadn’t known him so well, she wouldn’t have seen it. He turned, in a slow, deliberate manner that only increased the anticipation of seeing his face again. His cowboy hat kept his face in shadow, so she couldn’t clearly read his expression. Brooke braced herself for his response, half afraid of what he would do. Would she get the cold politeness of Laney?
“Brooke Palmer,” he said in a low, deep voice that to her was as sweet as hot maple syrup drizzling on warm pancakes. It sent a thrill through her; no one said her name the way he did. He didn’t seem surprised to see her and gestured to one of the chairs inside the house. “Sit down,” he said, walking past her and taking off his hat.
“Thanks.” Brooke took a seat and fought not to stare. Without his hat, his brown eyes were clear, reminding her of Montana oil—dark and rich. He was better than the finest wine. And he also got sexier with age.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
Brooke blinked, touched by the compassion in his eyes. She forced herself to focus on her reason for coming. Her father had died suddenly and he was the main reason she was there. “Thanks.”
“How’s Meredith?”
She paused, surprised he’d even ask. “She’s in New York with Richard.” He was her second husband, but Brooke didn’t mention that, not sure Jameson would care.
“I’m glad.”
Brooke furrowed her brows in confusion. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Who was this even-tempered, controlled man? The Jameson of the past had been more passionate. Especially with her sister. Brooke remembered overhearing an argument they’d had when her sister was preparing to go to college. She had been passing by the family room when she had heard them.
“I don’t want to be without you,” Meredith had said near tears.
“You know my place is here.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You’re good at so many things. Why can’t you attend college in the East with me?”
“I told you what I plan to do.”
“You need to stretch your horizons. Get away from farming—”
“You know I’m not just a farmer. You say that just to annoy me.”
“I’m trying to find your sense of humor.”
“I don’t joke about the ranch.”
“That’s the problem. You already sound like an old man and you haven’t even reached twenty yet. Why do you take things so seriously? You don’t need to work so hard. You have enough money and the ranch basically runs itself.”
“By itself?” he said in surprise. “You talk about the ranch like it’s some toy that runs on batteries. Do you know how much it costs to get a cow bred? Or fed? How about vet expenses? And then there are the chickens and—”
“Your family has more than enough money to take care of all of that, and you know it.”
“It’s not about money. It’s about business and I’m going to run it well. For the sake of my family and the sake of our children. Meredith, you know I love you and I will provide the best for us. But my place is here. I like being my own boss and living my life by my rules.”
“You mean your family’s rules,” she snapped.
“They’ve served me well. This is home.”
But, back then, Brooke knew her sister hadn’t felt the same about ranching and the land when she was dating him, although she’d pretended she did. Early on, Meredith had always wanted to get away from Granger and thought she could persuade Jameson to do the same. Meredith didn’t understand Jameson the way Brooke did. Her sister didn’t know how much her teasing words hurt him. As she listened to the argument, Brooke had wanted to run into the room and tell Jameson how much she knew he loved his ranch and his family, and that, if he’d have her, she’d never leave him. But at that time, just like now, he didn’t see her in that way. And now she hoped she could change that.
“So what can I do for you?” Jameson asked, his deep voice pulling Brooke out of her memory.
Everything, she wanted to say. For a moment she didn’t know herself anymore. She didn’t know how to behave with him. She was no longer the awkward girl of fifteen, and he certainly wasn’t twenty-two. He was older, a little harder, almost a stranger to her, despite his welcome and patience. But, in spite of her apprehension she knew he was a man she could trust.
“Brooke?”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, shifting in her seat. “I was just wondering how to say this.”
“Don’t think about it—just say it.”
She gripped her hands in her lap and met his eyes. “I want you to marry me.”
Chapter 3
Jameson didn’t move. He didn’t smile or frown or give any indication of how her request had affected him. He just looked at her with an inscrutable expression.
Brooke gripped her hands tighter. She couldn’t have thought he’d get on his knees and propose, although she’d dreamed of a moment like that many times. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. She could take him being outraged, shocked or even appalled, but his dark steady gaze held her paralyzed. She didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. She’d said what she’d wanted and she knew she needed to explain but she didn’t know how.
“I know this seems crazy,” she said in a rush, desperate to fill the silence. “But I don’t know who else to ask. After my father’s death things just went—well, I don’t know the right word for it really. Then the will was read and he has this requirement in it. And the creditors are knocking down the door and I don’t know where else to turn and—”
