This was a large property, and what with the work he did for their company and everything he was doing for Allie’s honey company, she knew he was busy. “What happened to the barn?”
He paused as though considering if he should tell her not.
She clenched her jaw and seethed internally. After the Maryanne debacle had come out, Zoey was starting to realize just how much her brothers kept things from her … how much she’d let them keep from her because it meant she didn’t have to worry. But she’d come to realize that worry came with family—it was part of what held them all together, that they worried about one another. And she was being purposefully left out of that.
Hesitantly, he spoke. “Allie told you about the guys who tried to kidnap her and her sister, Jo, last spring?”
Zoey nodded. Actually, it’d been Hunter who’d told her about it. She’d gotten a few details from Allie later, but she wouldn’t have even known about it if Hunter hadn’t mentioned it during their ill-conceived pity dance.
“Well, the same man tried to burn the barn down. If it hadn’t been for Hunter and Maverik Westbrook, and Lucky Preston, he would’ve succeeded.” Brandon grinned. “Those boys are quick thinkers. Saved me and my horses.”
Zoey gasped. “You were inside?!” The thought of Brandon in a burning building made her chest squeeze so tight it hurt. She clutched her throat, imagining the suffocating smoke and his brush with death. She couldn’t imagine him in a situation he couldn’t get himself out of. Brandon was military—larger than life in her eyes and the guy who always saved everyone else.
Thank the Lord for Hunter Westbrook. And the others who’d helped, but she didn’t have faces to put with their names … With Hunter, on the other hand, she had a face and a body. The man was built tough. And the fact that he’d saved her overconfident and competent brother was … hot.
She shook her head to rid herself of those pointless thoughts. Hunter wasn’t into her. He’d made that perfectly clear.
Brandon pulled out a chair and sat. “Now, before we go back, there are some house rules.”
Rules? Psh. Please. Since when did she have rules? She sat too, just to appease him.
“The Harvest Ranch Fall Festival is starting up in a couple days, so Allie and I are going to be really busy. No going in the main house before the hours of seven a.m. or after eight p.m.,” he started.
Her phone dinged. It was a message from Allie.
“No walking in without knocking first. No—”
Zoey held up her phone and laughed. “Really? Because your wife just sent me a text that says, ‘Come over whenever you want; our house is your house. Make yourself at home. Breakfast is at six-thirty, and dinner is at six.’”
Brandon scrubbed a hand down his face.
Zoey’s phone dinged again. “Allie again. She’s just invited me to help with the festival.” She smiled. “Oooh, that sounds fun.”
“It is,” Brandon said, sounding wary. “It’s a lot of hard work, though.”
She bristled. “I’m no stranger to hard work.” She wasn’t. She’d gotten her bachelor’s degree in three years instead of four, all while working full time as an assistant for her brothers. Plus, she competed in barrel racing and cutting on the rodeo circuit and put lots of hard work in there as well—it was how she’d won all her buckles. She knew all about hard work.
“It’s a different kind of hard work,” he said.
She popped up from her chair and jabbed him in the arm with her fist. “Come on, bro. It’s gonna be fun! And me being here is going to be just like old times. You’ll love it.” He had no idea what was about to hit him. She thought of old times and brightened. “We should start going dancing again!”
Brandon’s face fell. “Dancing?”
“Does Allie know you used to go with me all the time?”
“I only did that to protect you.”
She shook her head. The Secret Service had nothing on Brandon. So she’d been the subject of more than one bar fight and had even been knocked around by other women a couple times. That wasn’t her fault. She never intentionally led anyone on.
She leaned toward him. “I don’t need protectin’, but I do need my bro and his mad dancing skills to take me and his wife dancing. So buckle up!” Turning, she skipped away to finish unloading her truck.
“Zoey-trained,” Brandon mumbled.
She chose to ignore him. This wasn’t a Zoey-train—it was good, common sense that a family that danced together stayed together. If they were going to make some glue to hold them tight for the next several years, then they’d have to start somewhere.
