Chapter Twenty-Seven

Brantley stopped in the town nearest Rebecca's home. Vanity had never been one of his characteristics but he'd been riding hard for a week to get there and wanted a bath, a change of clothes and a shave. He wanted to make a good impression.

She no doubt thought he was dead—he sure as hell didn't need to show up smelling like it.

His nerves were eating a hole in his stomach as he hopped back on his horse an hour later and headed out of town. What if Rebecca wasn't happy to see him? What if she chose to stay with Martin? What if she and Martin had divorced and she no longer lived on the ranch?

Well, if that were the case that bastard would just have to tell Brantley where to find her.

But what if there was someone else? What if Brantley had been gone too long and Rebecca had found her happiness with someone who wasn't him?

Brantley growled and rubbed at his nauseous stomach. He hoped that wasn't the case but, if it was, Brantley would just have to walk away... as long as Rebecca had found that happiness she'd been searching for, Brantley could walk away and leave her to have it.

But, damn, that would gut him.

Attachments were things that Brantley had worked hard to avoid in his life. Tenderness was an emotion he had worked hard to never feel. Those things were dangerous. They meant you had weaknesses—things to lose. But he knew he'd failed when it came to Rebecca.

That woman was one hell of a weakness.

It took a lot of riding but finally the home began to come into view. Brantley knew this had to be the home she shared with Martin. Smallwood Ranch was written on the iron gate that stood open as he rode through it.

What would he do if he was met by that bastard? Probably punch him in his goddamn throat.

Bushes and trees—all perfectly manicured lined the path toward the house—and what a damn house it was. Three stories tall and gaudy as hell. It screamed opulence and Brantley hated the sight of it. He couldn't imagine his Rebecca living in a place like this. Hell, no wonder she had compared it to prison. Brantley had never been much for fineries. He wanted a small cabin, a bed big enough to laying Rebecca down on and table for two in the kitchen where they could sit and talk and laugh. That's all he needed.

But apparently Martin was not familiar with simplicity. The barns were just as damn hoity toity as the house was—hell they were nicer than the livery stables in most towns Brantley had been in. Corrals were spread out and Brantley knew the ranch must stretch for miles and miles. Hell, he could probably ride for days and not see everything there was to see.

Men milled around the many barns, tending horses and cattle. Chickens ran loose and there were several dogs lazing about in the dirt. Heading toward the house, cause that's where he figured Rebecca would be but he was stopped by a large man with a gun on his hip.

"Just who are you and where do you think you're going?"

"I need to speak with the lady of the house," Brantley replied, not quite ready to give his name. For all knew Martin might know his name and his men might have orders to shoot Brantley on sight.

The man frowned and rubbed at his red beard. "And just what would a stranger like you have to say to Miss Rebecca?"

Brantley felt relief. At least he knew Rebecca still called the ranch home. "Or are you here for Isabelle?"

Isabelle? It was Brantley's turn to frown. Who the hell was Isabelle?

"Uh.. Rebecca. I'm here for Rebecca."

The man still didn't seem near ready to let Brantley continue his ride to the house. "Take your horse to that first barn over there and hitch it up. I'll find Miss Rebecca and see if she's expecting any visitors. What did you say your name was?"

Brantley hopped from his horse and began to lead the mare toward the barn, fully aware of the large, red-haired man behind him. "I didn't."

"Then how the hell am I supposed to let her know who's here?"

Brantley was about to answer but was stopped dead in his tracks by a familiar laugh coming from inside the barn he was walking toward.

He swore his heart skittered in his chest an his grip on his horse's reins tightened. The man behind him was talking, insisting to know his name, but Brantley ignored him.

Out of the darkness of the barn, he saw her emerging. Hell, she looked like an angel as she stepped out into the light.

That dark hair was pulled away from her face but hanging loose and long down her back. Her doe brown eyes were sparkling and her full lips were curved in a happy smile. She was still so short, so tiny and petite, though her waist looked softer than it had before. Brantley didn't mind that. The woman was perfection.

But he swallowed hard and that skittering heart of his fell into his boots because that sparkling in her doe brown eyes and that smile curving her full lips were aimed at the tall, dark-haired man she was arm in arm with stepping out of that barn.

A man who was smiling just as happily back down at her.

His Rebecca had found someone else—and it looked like she was happy.

***

Rebecca had been laughing at one of her brother's comments on horse's asses and rich folks. She'd been smiling and fully prepared to remind him that, by default, he was now a rich folk, but all that stopped the moment she looked forward and saw him.

Her world completely stopped turning. She no longer heard the men working. The horses were silent. The chickens had stopped their pecking. The dogs weren't barking or growling or digging at fleas.

Nothing else in the entire universe remained in existence.

Standing less than twenty feet from her was the man she had thought dead. The man she had cried countless tears over. The man she loved.

Johnathon seemed oblivious as he continued walking toward Brantley. Rebecca was too stunned to do or say a word as she allowed Johnathon to pull her along with him.

"Peter, who's this?" Johnathon asked the ranch foreman who was standing behind Brantley looking quite irritated.

"I don't know. He won't tell me his name."

Rebecca swallowed hard. Brantley's green eyes were looking straight into hers. She let her gaze run across his face.. That messy hair, strong jaw, chiseled cheek bones. His body was still just as lean and strong as she remembered. One of his big calloused hands had a death grip on his horse's reins while the other rested on his revolver.

Johnathon seemed to notice the way the two were staring at each other and he pointed at Brantley. "Becca, do you know who this man is?"

Rebecca knew she should speak. She needed to speak. But her voice wouldn't come. Her mind whirled. Brantley looked sad—he looked devastated. His green eyes were a war of emotions as his throat bobbed. His tongue ran across his bottom lip. "I didn't mean to intrude on your day, ma'am," he said, his voice void of any of the emotions that were shining in his eyes. "I should have sent a letter, I didn't realize you.. I didn't realize you'd moved on. I'm real glad though, ma'am. You look happy and you told me happiness was the one thing you really wanted." Brantley paused and cleared his throat. "I just came to let you know that Hoff and the others aren't a threat anymore. They're gone. And I got a pardon so I get a fresh start."

Why was Brantley acting like he was about to leave? Why was he calling her ma'am? Why was he mounting his damn horse?

"Brantley?" Rebecca called, finally finding her voice.

Brantley paused with one hand on the saddle horn and one foot in the stirrup. He didn't turn to look at her. His posture was rigid and he was shaking.

"Dammit, Rebecca, I'm trying to be a good man and walk away.... You obviously love that man your holding onto and you're obviously happy. That's all I care about."

Rebecca looked up at her younger brother who was staring hard at Brantley's back. She removed her arm from Johnathon's and took a step forward but was stopped from speaking when her mama stepped out onto the porch of the house.

"Rebecca, sweetheart, the little one is getting fussy. I believe she needs her mother!"

Now, Brantley turned. Rebecca knew he was fighting with all he had but she also could see the redness in his eyes and knew that he was near tears. The foolish man. Did he honestly think that Johnathon was her man? Did he honestly believe that she could have moved on from him? He was her one—you don't simply move on once you've found your one.

"A baby?" he whispered. "So you weren't the problem after all." He turned his gaze to Johnathon but Rebecca didn't miss the way that his hand gripped a bit tighter on his gun. "Congratulations. You better treat her good."

Rebecca was about to tell Brantley he was wrong and they needed to talk privately, but the man surprised her when he swooped in suddenly and wrapped her in tight hug, gathering her against his chest and burying his face in her hair.

"I really am happy for you, Rebecca. I shouldn't be hugging you in front of your husband but I had to touch you one last time. You always wanted a babe. You'll be a great mom."

Rebecca breathed in his scent and held him tight. Brantley... her Brantley. How long had she dreamed that she'd finally hold him in her arms again.

"Brantley, we need to..."

Brantley pulled away before she could finish. With a sniff and quick swipe of his face with his shirtsleeve he took several big steps back. His face became an unreadable mask. "I'll be leaving now."

Johnathon stepped forward as Brantley turned his back. He grabbed Brantley's shoulder and whirled the man around. "You're Brantley?"

"Yeah, and I'm trying to be a good man and leave without putting a bullet straight between your eyes, so if you'll let me go...."

Without another word, Johnathon balled up his fist and swung, catching Brantley hard in the jaw. Brantley staggered back several steps, spit out a bit of blood and lunged.