Three Kids And A Cowboy. Natalie Patrick

       Chapter Two

      “What is going on here? Where are my parents? And why are you living in their house?” Miranda hadn’t thought herself capable of speaking. However, once she had dutifully followed Brodie into what had been her father’s den, the questions began to tumble out of her mouth.

      She supposed they were a defense against the waves of emotion crashing down on her at the sight of Brodie, big as life, before her. She hadn’t thought seeing him again would be so…confusing.

      Stabbing heartache fought with buoyant joy inside her. To complicate things further, as she watched him walking away from her now—a sight that could buckle the knees of any healthy woman—that old thrill rippled through her again.

      She brushed her fingertips over the crisp cotton of her shirt, feeling her heart pounding through the summer-weight fabric. She wondered what was going through Brodie’s mind. Was he glad to see her, or angry that she’d dare to reappear as suddenly as she’d left a year ago?

      Despite a flutter in her stomach, she gritted her teeth and told herself that Brodie’s reaction didn’t really matter. How he felt about seeing her wouldn’t change reality. For both their sakes, she had to put aside her questions and never let Brodie see any weakness he inspired in her. If he sensed her turmoil, he’d try to fix it.

      In her present confused state, she just might be tempted to let him try. And what would that get her but a new crack in an already crumbling heart?

      She tossed back her hair and angled her chin up. She’d come here to confront Brodie, and that was what she was going to do, as soon as he explained the strange set of circumstances in which she found him and her family home. Standing by the open door, her back pressed against the cool wall, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited for that explanation.

      Brodie moved slowly, like a man recovering from a body blow, around the big desk dominating a room whose focal point had once been a wall of her photos. The photos remained, but they seemed overshadowed by the unfamiliar trappings of a ranch office now in place.

      Behind the desk, he seemed to notice neither her nor the gaudy memorial her parents had made to her. His leather chair squeaked as he dropped into it. It squeaked again when he swiveled it frontward, then moved to take his Stetson from his head and place the bad-boy-black hat on the desktop.

      The moments dragged by, forcing Miranda to make a study of Brodie, rather than get her answers and get gone, as she would have liked.

      The last time she saw Brodie, he’d been fast asleep in their bed, naked except for a tangled sheet and that stealyour-heart grin on his face. She could still see his bare chest, well-muscled arms and long legs. He’d always been built like something out of a western fantasy, lean and clean-cut, with broad shoulders and a behind made to be caressed by faded denim. If anything, this past year had amplified those qualities.

      Miranda shifted against the wall, well aware of the changes she’d gone though—inwardly and outwardly—since she last kissed her husband goodbye. She tugged at the front of her shirt, hoping to make it blouse over the top of her jeans enough to disguise the ten pounds she’d gained trying to assuage her misery with chocolate candy and pasta Alfredo.

      He ran one of his big hands through the sun-streaked waves of his blond hair, which had grown considerably. He always did that when he took his hat off. Now he had a heck of a lot more hair to rake through.

      He’d let his hair get shaggy before, but it had never been this long. To her surprise, it worked for him. Worked too damn well, she thought, trying to quell the stirrings in the pit of her stomach.

      Miranda swallowed hard and touched her own soft hair. She wondered if he hadn’t bothered with a haircut because she wasn’t around to remind him to do it. Or could he possibly know how truly sexy and powerful the golden mane made him look? Could it be a calculated thing to attract women? Had he moved on that much?

      Not that it mattered, she told herself. In fact, that was exactly what she hoped would happened. She’d left Brodie so that he could find another woman, and if he’d actually started to make himself more attractive for just that reason, well…

      It stank. After all, he was still married to her. A tightening in her chest made her pull her shoulders square and tilt her head back. Only a jerk would go out looking for another relationship with so much unresolved.

      That wasn’t Brodie’s style. Like a dog with a bone, he would have held on. He had held on. That was why she had come back—because one of them had to let go. And a year’s worth of silence told her it wasn’t going to be Brodie.

      “This can’t go on, Brodie, and you know it,” she said aloud, to her own surprise.

      He jerked his head up, and for the first time, his gaze penetrated her facade.

      Miranda gasped quietly at the sheer power in his piercing blue eyes.

      His thin lips went pale as he spoke through a tight smile. “It’s nice to see you again, too, Randi.”

      “Don’t…” She glanced down at the tips of her favorite red cowboy boots and jiggled her foot. Telling herself she couldn’t afford to sound so distraught, she drew in a deep breath and went on softly, “Please don’t call me that, Brodie.”

      He tipped his head to one side and flattened his hands on the desk in front of him. Sunlight from the nearby window made the wedding band on his left hand glint as he whispered, “You used to like it when I called you that.”

      “Things change.”

      “Tell me about it,” he muttered, his gaze still fixed on hers.

      Miranda pressed her tight shoulders to the wall and swallowed hard. “No, you tell me about it. Tell me what’s going on…and I mean right now.”

      He laughed. It didn’t sound one bit as if he found her insistence amusing, though. It was a hard laugh. Cold.

      Miranda shivered.

      “That’s a hoot, Ran—uh, Miranda. You take off in the night, stay gone a year, then just show up on my doorstep and demand I tell you what’s going on.”

      “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” she said with false bravado. “And you can start by telling me why you call my mom and dad’s house your doorstep.”

      “I call it mine because I bought this place from them lock, stock and your barrel-racing trophies over three months ago.” He looked away from her. “You’d know that if you had bothered to phone home more than once every blue moon, or if you’d given your folks some way to get in touch with you.”

      “B-bought it?” Her shoulders slumped as all the pretense she had mustered drained out of her. “You own Robbins Nest Ranch?”

      He shifted in the chair. “It’s the Circle S now.”

      “You kept the name of the old ranch?” She blinked against the pain of the memory.

      The Circle S. They’d decided to name their ranch after the symbol of unending love—the circle—on their honeymoon. Miranda didn’t know what to read into Brodie’s keeping the name.

      “I didn’t keep the name,” he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. “I kept the ranch—expanded it to include this one.”

      “But you’re living here?”

      “I let the foreman and his wife stay in the old house.” His relentless gaze drove into hers. “I think it pleased your folks to know this house wouldn’t set empty.”

      Guilt at the mention of her parents made her bow her head. “I never had much to say to my folks while I was gone. I called now and then to let them know I was okay. When I wasn’t able to reach them these last