Liz found Tanner exactly where she expected, sitting in the big loft above the stable, legs dangling out the elevator chute door. Brady was nowhere to be seen, but she figured he had his head underneath the hood of one of the farm trucks. Tanner sulked when he was mad, and Brady tinkered. Liz normally just doubled down on the job, but right now, she didn’t want to get on a horse. Her patience was so thin she’d do more harm than good.
“Tan,” she said quietly, and he turned at her voice. She could see he’d been crying, which was unusual for him. He was the most stoic, uptight man she’d ever met, next to Brett. This was big, though. This was his life. Tears were justified.
“Hey,” he said, wiping at his face and scooting over for her, attempting to hide the emotion he’d obviously been unable to cope with but didn’t want to share. She lowered herself down beside him, and they sat shoulder to shoulder and looked out over the back pasture. Horses lazily cropped at grass or stood in the shade, tails flicking, not a care in the world. A serene, never-changing view, and Liz felt at odds with that, because it had changed, irrevocably.
“What did we do?” Tanner said suddenly. “What would make Dad do that? Did we upset him, or—”
“I have no idea,” Liz said quietly. “I wish I did.”
“Not like I can ask him, can I?” Tanner replied, irritated. “Jesus, Lizzie. How in the hell am I supposed to make this work?”
She couldn’t answer him right away and squeezed his arm, letting the silence envelope them once again. The dust motes floating through the air and the fresh, fragrant hay stacked to the rafters were soothing to her nerves.
What did you say? What could you say about what had just happened? She picked at her fingers, looking over at Tanner, whose face was reverting to an unreadable mask. Tanner always bottled shit up, which made it ten times worse when it overflowed. He had an explosive temper, and it meant that in the past, he and Brett had raised quite a ruckus arguing over ranch matters.
“If it helps, your long-lost brother is no more on board with this idea than you,” she offered finally. “He and Frank are looking into loopholes right now.”
Tanner, all thirty years old of rough, tough ranch foreman, took on the face of a petulant child, and spat, “I don’t want that asshole here. He’s no brother of mine.”
“Tan,” Liz warned. “He’s a West, even you have to see that. And it isn’t his fault that your dad decided to be a jackass. He’s gotta be here, or we lose the place. You saw the will.”
“Fuck!” Tanner spat, and turned to her, his ire up again. “It’s bullshit. What the hell is he going to do, huh? Take over my job?”
“Hey, I doubt that! He’ll likely have to sign some paperwork and he’ll, I don’t know, live here in the guest room until we can get it signed back over to you and Brady. It’s not impossible, Tan. Just a bump. You believe that, right?”
Tanner stood with a jerk and dusted off his jeans. He stopped, let out a tired, creaky groan, and held out a hand, pulling Liz up. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I can’t take it out on you, that’s not fair. I’m being stubborn and I’m not dealing, which I should be.”
“Fair? Fuck fair, Tan. You’ve got a right to be mad.”
Tanner turned, his hat in his hand. She touched him on the shoulder, and he stopped, and then she did what she’d done for him every time he’d gotten into a scrap with his father, or another boy at school, or something had rubbed him the wrong way. She grabbed him before he could protest and hugged him around the waist. He was her brother—maybe not by blood, but it mattered that he was her chosen family.
Tanner hated hugs, but from her he’d take one, in private, and not for long. He hugged her back, squeezing her just a little, then let her go.
“I have no idea what the fuck to do,” he muttered.
“We’ll figure this out. Frank’s a good lawyer.”
“I sure hope so,” was the response as he slid down the access ladder opposite the hay chute to the stable aisle, striding away as soon as his boots hit concrete. Liz stood in the loft a moment more, then threw the night hay down. Might as well get back to work. Horses didn’t care who ran the joint, as long as they got fed.
Chapter Five
“It’s fine, Peony. Really.”
Jake looked into the comfortable guest room, the en suite door peeking out from along the far wall. It would more than do. It wasn’t a cold couch that doubled as a bed in someone else’s apartment. He wanted to lie down in the massive queen-sized bed right then, but other matters were more important.
“Well, I’m sure your home in New York is much nicer,” Peony replied, and shook her head ruefully. “I bet it has big windows and a huge kitchen overlooking the river.”
Jake chuckled. “It did. I had to give it up not too long ago.”
Peony made a noise and gestured into the bedroom. “Well, this is yours while you’re here,” she said wearily. Jake looked sharply at her.
“You should be resting.”
“No time. Need to get dinner on. We gave the cook the evening off, so someone needs to feed everyone,” she replied and shuffled toward the main area of the house. He saw the funny gait, the tremble, and reached her side in two steps, hand on her elbow.
She looked up into his face and patted his hand on her arm. “It’s okay. Just my arthritis kicking up. Stress does that. I’ll be fine.”
Jake nodded but steered Peony around, back down the hallway. A need to take care of her overwhelmed him, just like it used to when his mother would come home drunk—or worse, high. He realized there must be something inherently broken in him to be comparing those terrible nights to this, but he let it pass so he could focus on making sure this woman took the time to rest. Today had been a huge shock. For everyone.
