“Fine. I asked her to schedule the truck,” he said. “After having the most fabulous hot shower at Dawson’s house that I’ve ever had. I just want that for you, Lenny.” He wore that pleading expression again.
“You want it for me,” she asked, refusing to let her heart melt at his puppy dog eyes, strong jaw, and sexy beard. “Or for yourself?”
“For both of us,” he said.
“This isnotyour land,” Lenore said, edging in closer to him. “How dare you put your name on it and say this is your place?”
“Lenore.” He sounded tired. “I’m not trying to take your land from you.”
“It’s what it feels like,” she said. “You and Zona are always doing whatyouwant, even when it’s not whatIwant. This ismyland, Brandon, and I get to decide.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then two or three layers of hardness moved over his face, shuttering off his emotions. “You’re right,” he said, in a hard tone that held a river of anger just beneath it. “You get to decide.”
He thrust the clipboard toward her. “But you better do it quickly, because if you’re not going to let them drill today, I’m sure they have other customers who will.”
He turned and started to walk away.
Lenore’s heart yelled at her to get him to come back. She ignored it. He had crossed the line. She was tired of bending to him and Zona. “Where are you going?”
“I need to get Dumpling out of the truck,” he called without looking at her. “He was really grumpy that we got up so early.”
36
Brandon didn’t even slam the door when he entered his cabin. He stepped inside, set Dumpling gently on the floor, and turned back to close the door with a quiet, deliberate click.
The silence that greeted him was oppressive, pressing in on him from every corner of the room. It wrapped around his chest, tight and unyielding, crushing his ribs into his lungs.
Dumpling yowled once and padded to his empty food bowl, his tail flicking like even he knew something had gone terribly wrong.
Brandon moved slowly, like a man twice his age, and sank onto the couch. His breath leaked out of his body even as he heard the drill truck roar to life. His heartbeat jumped, and then Dumpling howled his displeasure at the noise in his usually-quiet environment.
Or maybe that was because Brandon hadn’t fed him yet this morning.
Yawning, he got up to do that, because the cat wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted.
“Must be a theme in your family,” he grumbled to himself, wishing the surprise of the drill-truck had gone better.
You and Zona are always doing what you want, even when it’s not what I want.
Did he and Zona always do what they wanted?
After feeding Dumpling, and with the feline chowing down, he braced both hands on the edge of the kitchen sink, his head bowing low, shoulders sagging.
“Dear Lord, bless them to find water.”
Maybe if the well came to fruition, Lenny wouldn’t be too mad for too long.
Brandon raised his head, knowing he couldn’t hide out in here today. He’d made his choice to keep the drill-truck a surprise, and if he’d been only five minutes earlier getting back to the homestead, things might have gone differently.
An ache had started in his chest, and it throbbed sharply, getting dangerously close to his heart.
This is my land, Brandon, and I get to decide.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made the words echo louder. Her tone hadn’t just been angry. It had been final, a closed door, locked from the inside.
Brandon straightened slowly and moved to the coat rack by the door. He tugged his work jacket down and held it in his hands for a moment. It still smelled like pine sap and wind—and faintly of Lenny’s shampoo. That wildflower-and-honey scent that clung to his shirts because he spent his evenings in her cabin with her, often lying with her on the couch while they brainstormed and dreamed of all the homestead could be.
“Herhomestead,” he said bitterly. That much had been made clear.
