Brett stood in the middle of the field with Kevin, surveying the water damage on the tender shoots of winter wheat just sprouting from the cold ground. A quarter of the field was underwater after a particularly wet few days.
"Dammit. Will it rot?" he asked, circling in place. Kevin grunted under his breath and knelt down to look closer, and tsked under his breath.
"Maybe? We'll just have to wait and see. We can't reseed at this point."
Brett nodded and motioned back towards the trucks at the edge of the field on the service road. It wasn't the end of the world, but it was a bit of a blow to yield and the profit they might see at the end of the season. It irked him more than normal. After last night's tragedy with that mare, and now this, he could feel the steam building in him. Anger that needed an outlet.
"You good, boss? You look a little troubled," Kevin asked as they walked.
Brett didn't mind if the senior crew talked to him like that, even if he ignored it. Harry and Kevin were long-timers, and knew him better than some folks knew their own families. The only one who steered clear of him personally was Keith, and for good reason. He tolerated him here, even when they would argue over the horses but in the end he trusted his judgement. He was a good barn manager, and last night they had worked side by side to try and save that mare. If it hadn't been for his late wife falling in love with the man, they might have become good friends.
"Bit tired from last night," he said dismissively.
"Kelowna was a good mare," Kevin commented, and then left it.
Brett appreciated the tact that Kevin showed. No sense in harping over it, dead was dead, and hopefully the post-mortem of the mare—which Brett was paying for—would indicate the colic wasn't the ranch's fault. Colic could be deadly, and they'd had no chance to even get her up and into a trailer before the vet who'd rushed out said there was nothing more they could do, a pharmacy of drugs into her, her strength and circulation failing.
If it was an intestine impaction, they'd have to look at the feed and take blame, even provide compensation to the owner. If it was a twisted gut, then, it could be anything, and thus, not their fault. Nature was a cruel mistress sometimes also by evidence of the crop damage he'd just waded through. They reached the road, nodding and splitting to their respective trucks.
"See you later," Brett called, and Kevin rattled off back towards the ranch with a wave out the window. Brett kept his crew busy, so did Tanner, and Kevin had shit to do with them thin on the ground. Tanner was moving a herd of steers up into new pasture with some of the cattle crew and wouldn't be back until tomorrow with Harry, and Brady was driving up tonight to help settle them in and keep watch for a day.
The house would be empty tonight.
Brett stayed put, staring out into the field, and thought about last night. He'd come home to Peony, in his kitchen, the relief of her presence hitting him like a sack of feed in the chest. Why he'd had that reaction to her, he had no idea. A few times now, he'd lingered to talk to her, those five minutes a highlight of his day. He pushed it off, but it was simmering in the back of his head that he liked having her around, and looked forward to their short conversations when he came in from night check.
Peony was a constant in his life. Steady, available, ready for anything he threw at her. He couldn't have gotten through the first six months after Veronica died without her taking over the day to day in the house. She herded his boys, she kept the place clean. She apprised him of the expenses, and never went over budget, even if Rosy complained.
But it was more than just running the house. She understood him, it seemed. When he needed space, routine and simplicity. He didn't need to be reminded every damned day what was gone, hence why he tore up the house to remove his late wife's influence on it. He'd wondered if Peony would be a reminder in herself, being Veronica's close friend in the end, but as the months ticked by, he found he thought less of her in that way, and more of her like he did his other long-term staff, with one caveat.
She was a damned fine looking woman.
Last night, when their hands had touched, something else had happened. Looking into her eyes, catching the flecks of gray in their blue depths, attraction had nosed in overtop of the tired. With her long dark blonde hair framing her face and her body with just the right amount of curve in the hips, he had wanted to pull her in against him.
He couldn't get away from her fast enough because that would not have been the right call to make. As it was, he'd been worked up and took care of that pent up frustration himself later on in the shower. Afterwards he chalked it up that he hadn't been with a woman in years, the stress of the day catching up to him, and her subtle sweet perfume a draw as they stood close together.
Maybe he was deluding himself. How many times had he skirted that thought as he'd watched her puttering around? This wasn't the first time he'd found himself wanting her. He just always set it aside.
His CB radio squawked as he started the truck, and he drove out towards the road back to the ranch, pushing thoughts of Peony away, replacing them with the massive list in his head of things to get done. Most pressing was the end of month paperwork to do this afternoon. He frowned, because he would much rather get on a horse and join his son driving cattle. The sun was out, it was a beautiful day, and he contemplated doing just that.
But duty called. That balance book wouldn't fill itself out.
He parked at the cattle barn a few minutes later and strode into the barn, heading for his office, his knees sore, an old rodeo injury in his hip twinging as he lowered into his chair. Cold and late Spring snow was coming, if that was any indication. He needed a coffee and something to eat, but the effort to get up and go get it seemed monumental. Stretching out in the chair, he closed his eyes to just take five minutes of peace before diving into drudgery.
A knock at the door opened them again, and Peony was standing in the doorway, a thermos and a plate in her hands. Groggily, he groaned and sat up. How long had he been out? She moved into the room, smiling the way she did when he assumed she found him amusing.
"I saw you drive in, figured you could use a pick-me-up."
The aroma of coffee hit his nose, and he stared down at freshly baked slices of her delicious rhubarb cake, butter melting overtop. It was like she'd read his mind.
"Thank you," he groaned, and looked up at her. She was wearing a blue and yellow flower print top that was distractingly sliding off one shoulder, her hair up in a ponytail. It was showing off her slender neck. Her eyes snapped brightly against the blue of her shirt, and she furrowed her brow and tilted her head as he stared like an imbecile.
"Brett?" she said, and he blinked himself out of his inspection of her. "Are you—"
"I'm fine, fine," he gruffed, and opened the thermos, searching on his messy desk for his coffee cup. It was filthy, so he shoved it aside and simply tilted the thermos up to his mouth, taking a pull.
"You are not fine."
He eyed her over the rim of the thermos and set it down slowly. She had her hands on her hips, and was giving him a new look, the one he assumed meant she was annoyed with him. Those didn't happen very often. Usually it came with her setting him straight, which he obviously needed or she wouldn't be ruffling her feathers at him.
"I'm not?" he replied. "What am I then?"
She sighed and perched on the edge of the desk with her hip, folding her hands over her thigh. "You're exhausted. With Harry, Tan and half the cattle crew up north of the ridge I bet you're trying to cover the work yourself. With last's night drama, did you sleep at all or spend it in that damned squeaky recliner in your study?"
She'd caught him, alright. How did she know him so damned well, like she could open up his brain and root around inside of it?
"I did get some," he said, mollified at her statement. "I—"
"Come up to the house and take a break. I talked to Harry. They're almost there, and everything is fine. He squared the feedlot schedule with you this morning and said you needed to—and I quote—'park your ass and take an afternoon off'."
Brett couldn't help but smile at her delivery of Harry's words, using a deep, rough voice, a comical frown on her face. If nothing else, it was permission for him to put off paperwork sitting in front of him for a chance to recharge.
"I'll consider it. There's a lot to do," he replied and she hummed under her breath.
"There is always a lot to do, Brett," she replied. She shifted and stood, and he was very aware of her beside him, looking down at him in his office chair. He swivelled to face her, looking up. He noticed a skiff of flour across one cheek, wisps of her hair coming loose around her face, and her jeans were moulded perfectly to her body, her hips soft and curved. There was that attraction again, just like last night, only this time it kicked his heart up a notch. The idea of her up against the wall with him buried inside her floated through his head.
It was getting harder to push it aside, and last night seemed to have broken the guilt he had wrapped around those inappropriate thoughts.
A sugary waft of the warm cake rose up at the same time, and his stomach rumbled, temporarily ending that vivid scene in his head, which was a godsend because he would go hard right in front of her if that kept up.
"Have some cake with me," he blurted, picking up a piece and biting half of it off, chewing. Despite the lust rolling through him, he wanted to keep her here longer. Her presence had smoothed out the anger he'd felt in the flooded wheat field, even if it was replaced by desire he couldn't let out either. That was preferable. He chewed thoughtfully in the silence between them, revelling in the taste of the cake. As always, it was perfect; his favourite.
She studied him for a beat, then picked up a smaller slice. Butter dripped off her fingers and she caught it, sucking her thumb into her mouth, muffling an "Oops!" as she did.
It was as if you had kicked him in the stomach.
He stopped breathing, riveted to her lips as she sucked it clean, popping it back out, then taking another bite of the cake, butter shiny across her lips. He was a randy frigging teenager, thinking of how that would feel if it wasn't her thumb, but his cock that she was sucking on. God dammit but he was aching to touch her, and it was reeling him in like a fish.
He sat up. Right now, all thoughts other than tasting the butter on her lips were gone from his head. Crops, cows, crew, it was all a shadow compared to her tongue as it swiped out over her bottom lip. The corner of her mouth was shiny as well.
Conscious that the impulse he was barely holding onto was one where if he gave in, there was no going back from, he reached forward as he stood.
"You have butter on your—" he murmured, swiping the corner of her mouth with his thumb. She went very, very still as he finished, and swallowed her last bite of cake while he moved closer to her.
Her chest heaved as she took a shaky breath, realizing that he had stepped over the line, and she had not pushed him back. He was quite possibly making the worst mistake of his life, or the best decision, depending on how she reacted to what he gave himself permission to do next.
He slid his hand slowly, carefully along her neck, pulling her even closer, and he lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her gently, then with more force, hoping against hope her hands would touch him not to push him away, but draw into him.
He was stock still for a heartbeat, and then she opened her mouth in response, a moan escaping between her lips into him. Her hands did find him at that point, grabbing his shirt, pulling herself up, pressing herself against his body.
Damn. He held her with his other hand across her back, and deepened his kiss, asking her to take the arousal he was feeling. The connection hit him and he groaned, her hands travelling up his body to thread into his hair.
In the haze of lust zapping through his body, he realised that he'd just kissed his housekeeper. Peony. His late wife's best friend. His life was already complicated, he had just thrown a huge monkey wrench into it, and right now?
He didn't fucking care.