He squinted over at the machine shed as he exited the door of the barns and frowned, frustrated. Where was Tanner? He never took any truck but his own to go out and check other parts of the ranch, and as far as Jake knew, he wasn’t fond of riding the ATVs Rowan loved buzzing around on.
Brady’s truck was parked in front of the shop, indicating he was probably inside tinkering away on something. There was always some piece of machinery and equipment that needed fixing.
Jake’s boots crunched on the gravel as he made his way across the main farmyard, the stable down in front of the yard, the small forest that separated the cattle barn from the main house and lawn to his right. The machine shed bordered the left side of the yard, and beyond that were fields and the foothills that rolled up to the mountains lurking in the distance. He stopped, casting his eyes around him.
This was a beautiful place, and he absorbed that thought, maybe for the first time. So much had happened since he’d arrived, he hadn’t really seen the place properly or appreciated the peacefulness of it. Peace that in the beginning had been an irritant because it was too quiet, too slow, louder with the absence of the crush of people than the city ever was. Now, he looked forward to the nights when the only sounds were the crickets in the bushes, the hoot of an owl, the nighttime breeze ruffling the big pines along the driveway.
Brady had his head stuck in the side of a big green hulk of a machine, Bach filling the space. It brought Jake up short. He hadn’t taken Brady for a classical music kind of guy, and another piece of the puzzle slotted into place.
If Brett wasn’t his brother’s dad, who the heck was? He’d have to ask Liz if she had any ideas. So far even Peony had been mum on the subject, not wanting to talk about it, simply shaking her head and statingLet’s let it settle a bit firstwhen it had come up at dinner, much to Brady’s obvious relief. He didn’t want to talk about it either.
Jake looked over at the bench, a riot of wrenches and tools piled on top of one another, none of them hung back on the pegboard wall. A big rolling tool chest had half the drawers open, rags spilling out of one. Jake wondered how Brady could keep his office desk so neat but his shop so messy.
Brady was humming along to the music, random mutters punctuating the hums. He pulled a wrench from a side pocket and reached in, twisted something, muttered some more. He grabbed for a rubber belt hanging off a lever on the machine, and after a few moments of grunting and a largethunk, a “Got you, fucker” echoed into the garage from the belly of the machine. Brady hadn’t stepped back yet, and Jake hesitated, loathe to speak and startle him.
“Jake, stop lurking. Come hold this socket for me,” Brady called from inside the machine, without turning.
Jake stepped over to him and reached in where Brady was gesturing, Brady smirking at him. Jake shook his head, chuckling.
“Just hold that socket solid while I tighten it from this side.”
Brady slotted another wrench on the other side of the bolt and ratcheted it twice before he stepped back, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, his hands covered in grease and black from the rubber belt.
“Thanks. Easier with an extra hand,” Brady said, his grin wide as he tossed the wrench in the general direction of the workbench.
“Anytime.”
Jake handed him the socket that had been attached to the bolt. Brady tossed it into a plastic clamshell toolbox, then pulled his phone from the back pocket of his overalls and turned the volume down on the speaker sitting above the garage door.
“What’s up?” he asked. “Come to learn how to fix a baler?”
“I’m looking for Tanner,” Jake said, shoving his much less work-worn hands into his pockets, conscious he knew nothing about what Brady, as the main mechanic for the ranch, actually did in here. As for what a baler did, which he guessed was the thing in front of them, Jake had no clue.
“I figured you were hidin’ from Liz. She’s in a foul mood this morning. She stormed over to the stable, and I haven’t seen her on a horse yet, which means she’s stewing on something. She won’t swing a leg over if she’s mad.”
That was a whole thing he didn’t want to get into with anyone else; it was personal. But, with that description, he was going to steer clear of her until she’d let go of some of that steam. He hadn’t handled this morning very well, so she had every right to be pissed at him.
“Well, maybe I should,” he replied with a grin, deflecting a possible needling by Brady. “That good, huh?”
Brady raised his eyebrows but didn’t respond, and reached for a grease-stained ball cap hanging on the end of the machine, pulling it into place. He looked at his phone and furrowed his brow.
“Tan didn’t check in with me for lunch. He’s not in town still?”
“Nope. Truck’s in the driveway. Would he go out on a horse?” Jake asked. “He was dead silent this morning coming through the kitchen, looked like he hadn’t slept. He was carrying a bag of some sort, took a Thermos but didn’t grab a coffee.”
“Doubtful, if there was work to be done,” Brady replied, and they both walked back out into the sun. Brady leaned on the side of his truck and looked out over the back into the yard, obviously thinking.
He tapped the side of his truck after a moment. “Well, I think we don’t have a choice but to poke the grumpy bear. See if Liz knows.”
Jake swallowed a groan and nodded. That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he followed his brother, hopeful it wouldn’t be too explosive. Maybe after he could pull her aside and talk to her.
He was still frustrated with her, but the more he thought about how he’d run out of her room this morning, the more he realized he had to tell her how he felt so she could let him down and make it easier for him to leave when it came time.
* * *
The brown paper cube burst open, spilling stall bedding everywhere in the hallway before Liz could catch it.
“Fuck,” she swore, and grabbed a fork to shove the resulting pile of loose woodchips into the stall she had been carrying it to.
