Wrangling His Best Friend’s Sister: Beckett Brothers Book One Page 3
"Yes, please. I don’t want spider guts on me."
Bran laughed as Cam slid onto his back.
"Sorry," Ava murmured as they walked out of the cabin into overly bright sunlight. "He has a thing about spiders."
"Which he gets from you," Bran answered, trying to stifle a grin.
"I don’t—"
"Please. You’ve always been afraid of spiders. You think I could ever forget that one sleepover Hoyt and I had in eighth grade when we put the fake tarantula in your bed and you screamed so loud your mom thought you were being kidnapped?" He chuckled at the memory and shifted Cam’s weight from side to side. The kid giggled like a maniac.
Ava rolled her eyes. "Fine. He gets it from me."
"Well, the barn apartment hasn’t been used for a while, but my Aunt Sue always used to stay there, and she’s a city gal, a little delicate. If she thought it was okay, it should work for you."
They made their way across the drive and in through the small door that hung alongside the bigger barn entry.
"That’s good to hear," Ava answered, following Bran up the steep stairs to the attic. "I wouldn’t want to have to write something about the uninhabitable living conditions of today’s ranch hands."
"Not funny, A. Not funny," Bran chastised as he wiggled the knob on the door at the top of the stairs.
"What’s not funny?" Cam asked, his fists tightening on Bran’s shirt. The kid was like a little monkey, so light Bran hardly felt his weight, but warm and with that sweaty little boy smell that reminded Bran of growing up with two younger brothers.
The door finally opened, and Bran walked in, flicking the switch on the wall.
"Oh!" Ava exclaimed as she entered behind him.
Well, hell. None of the hands had bothered to tell him they’d apparently decided to store extra supplies up here. The place was stuffed to the gills with boxes, crates, bags, filing cabinets, broken equipment from around the house and barn, leftover lightbulbs, old signage from gates and fences—it was a disaster.
"Mr. Cowboy?" Cam whispered in Bran’s ear. "I don’t think my mommy’s going to like living here."
Bran had to agree. "You know what?" he said to Cam, letting the kid slide down until his feet hit the tiny patch of floor that remained clear. "I heard Mary Beth was baking fresh cookies over in the big house. Your Uncle Hoyt and I used to eat cookies in that same kitchen. How’d you like to go over there and get a snack?"
Cam’s face lit up as he looked to Ava for approval. Bran watched her, wondering if she’d realized what a mistake this was, yet.
"Cookies sound like a really good idea," Ava answered, giving Bran a quick wink. "Let’s go find them.”
Bran walked behind Ava as she held Cam’s hand. They were reciting some story about a mouse and a cookie. She was a good mom—Bran could see that even with his limited experience with kids. She was patient and kind, and she didn’t talk down to Cam even though he was only three.
But what else would he have expected from smart, daring, driven Ava? There wasn’t anything the woman couldn’t do well, and damn if she didn’t look amazing while she was doing all of it.
Today, she wore a pair of Levis so faded, Bran wondered if they might dissolve in water. He tried not to dwell on that image and the subsequent thoughts of Ava’s ass that it inspired. It was entirely inappropriate when the woman was with her child, for fuck’s sake.
An engine roared, and Bran’s less-than-chaste contemplations were interrupted by one of the guys driving a front loader down the road between the barn and a warehouse.
"Mommy! A digger!" Cam squealed, jumping up and down.
Bran squatted next to the boy and pointed. "That one’s actually a front loader. See how it has that big scoop on the front? It scoops up the dirt that’s already been loosened. And it can scoop up snow, sand, or even chunks of concrete."
Cam’s brow furrowed. "It’s a digger."
Bran glanced up at Ava. "They’re all diggers," she murmured, obviously trying to smother a smile.
Ah. Okay. "Yeah, rodeo man, it’s a really big digger."
"Can I ride in it?" Cam asked, never taking his eyes off the front loader as it rumbled along slowly.
"You know what? I’ll do you one better." Bran looked at Ava as he stood again. "If your mom says it’s okay, I’ll take you with me sometime soon, and you can steer the digger. How would that be?"
Cam jumped up and down. "Can I, Mommy, can I?"
Ava narrowed her eyes at Bran. "Not fair," she mouthed, but then a reluctant smile broke out across her face, and his whole midsection went fluttery. "Yes, you can drive the digger with Bran sometime."
Cam gave a good impression of a fan at an NFL game whose team just scored, pumping a small fist in the air and doing a little touchdown dance.
Bran was still laughing when they entered Mary Beth’s kitchen. The kid was damn funny. And spunky. Just like his mom.
While Mary Beth doted on Cam and commenced to stuff him with way too many cookies, Bran led Ava to the living room of the big ranch house his parents had left him along with the business—and every other responsibility in their lives.
He stood awkwardly at the bottom of the staircase leading to the family bedrooms. "So, uh, I guess I didn’t think the housing thing through real carefully." He wanted to point out that this was an example of why Ava working for him wasn’t appropriate, but that ship had sailed. He’d given his word, and he wasn’t about to go back on it.
"It’s okay," Ava replied. "Maybe I can take Cam back to my parents’ for a couple of days while I clear out the attic over the barn. I’m sure it’ll be fine once it’s organized."
"Ava. Get real. That wasn’t a one-person job, and it would take a hell of a lot more than a couple of days." He scrubbed a hand over the stubble he’d allowed to take root on his jaw the last few days. "I don’t know if the original furniture is even still in there somewhere, and I don’t have enough hands right now to lend any to help you sort through that crap. I’ve been on a hiring spree because I need boots on the ground right away."
Ava’s face fell, and Bran’s chest developed an odd ache.
"Ok," she said stiffly. "I get it. I appreciate you trying. I imagine I can still get that job at the paper. It’ll take me longer to save up what I need, but it’ll happen eventually."
Hell. Anything but disappointment. He could take just about anything from her but that. Before he could stop himself, he’d made an offer he knew to his very core he’d regret in a few hours.
"Nope. I promised you a job and a place to live, and you’ll have a job and a place to live. It’ll be a little unconventional, but we grew up together. Nothing wrong with one old friend helping out another."
She raised one eyebrow, skeptical at best.
He pointed up the stairs. "I’m the only one living here full-time anymore. The house is huge, and the old suite my brothers used will be perfect for you and Cam—two bedrooms and a connecting bathroom.” He started up the stairs, glancing over his shoulder to add, “Come on, I’ll show you."
Ava’s eyes widened for a moment, and her mouth formed a delicious little “o” of surprise, but she followed him upstairs without another remark.
The two bedrooms were fairly spare, used occasionally by his brothers, but mostly sitting there these days to give Mary Beth more to dust. The essentials were in place—beds, dressers, closets—and no spiders, crates, or outright child safety hazards.
"The bathroom has two sinks—" He leaned into the generous space and flipped on the light so Ava could inspect it. "What do you think?"
Arms crossed, Ava paced from one bedroom through the bathroom to the next. Her brow was furrowed, and for some odd reason Bran suddenly dreaded the "no" he anticipated. The man he’d been a few days ago? That guy had a modicum of sense and would have been relieved. If she turned this down, he’d be free of her and her demands. Free of the obligation to help her.
Today’s Bran didn’t feel that way, and that was scary as hell.
"Where do you sleep?" she asked, looking out the nearest window instead of at him.
"Right next door, so if you need anything, all you have to do is knock on the wall a few times." He laughed awkwardly. Good God, the woman had turned him into a total idiot.
"You sure you want to give up your privacy like that?" Ava asked, finally turning to look him in the eye.
Bran struggled with the tumult of emotions rushing through him. There was a touch of rejection in her tone, and more than a touch of need in him. Irritation won.
"Look, it’s what I’ve got. Do you want it or not?"
Ava jerked as if he’d slapped her. "Yeah. Okay, we’ll take it." She paused, obviously perplexed. "Thank you, Bran."
"Sure," he mumbled, heading to the door, anxious to get away from whatever was tormenting him. "Just do your job, and it’ll all be good."
He didn’t turn back to see what Ava’s face could tell him, but he thought he heard her murmur, "If you say so" before he stomped downstairs and out the front door.
5
Bran pressed his Stetson harder down on his head, blocking the early morning sun as he strode across the drive from the house to his office in the family barn. He sighed with relief as he watched the routines of a day on the ranch unfold. Trucks coming and going, ranch hands yelling to one another, chickens fussing and scratching in the poultry yard.
And most of all, Ava Pearson, assigned to the farthest barn on the property, caring for the sick and elderly horses.
She and Cam had disrupted his entire weekend, and while he didn’t mind—exactly—by Sunday night, he’d been anxious to have his orderly existence back.
After moving the pair into his brothers’ old bedrooms, it had been one thing after another—putting child safety locks on the bathroom cabinets, setting the hot water temperature so it wouldn’t burn the kid, teaching Cam he couldn’t pull the barn cats’ tails, and introducing him to Screechy, the old hound dog who followed Bran all day from house to barn to truck and back to the house. Bran had no idea a human being that small could require so much. Mary Beth had spent most of the day on Sunday—supposedly her day off—instructing him on the changes he needed to make around the house if he was going to have a preschooler living there.
But the worst part of all was that Ava was there—constantly. Her long, silky, blonde hair, her big green eyes, her willowy figure—so strong but so delicate at the same time—it was as if Bran had been sentenced to purgatory. He’d managed to keep his thoughts, desires, and hands to himself, but it had taken monumental strength, and he was honestly worn out from the effort. Over and over again, he’d reminded himself that the little sisters of friends—even friends you hardly ever saw—were off limits. As were the little sisters of men you needed investment dollars from.
He sighed as he opened the door to the office and settled in for a morning of entering inventory into the system. Trying, yet again, to figure out why nothing in his business seemed to balance like it should.
* * *
Two and a half hours later, Bran had finally settled, his mind occupied by the routines of administrative work, his body off the high alert it had been on all weekend. At the sound of the office door opening, he glanced up, expecting his foreman or one of the guys from the branding shed.
Instead, there stood his tormentor in jeans, a black Beckett Ranch t-shirt already dusty from the day’s work, and the strangest shoes he’d ever seen.
"Hi," Ava said, sliding into the room with a warm smile. "I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk about the article?"
His gaze traveled down the length of her. He was unable to stop his enthusiastic assessment, until he reached the shoes—bright red sneakers with some sort of pattern on them.
"What in God’s name do you have on your feet?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh! Do you like my kicks?" she gushed, stepping around the corner of the desk and holding out one foot for his inspection.
"Kicks?"
She grinned, shaking her head. "Sneakers, old man."
"What is that on them?" he asked, leaning forward to get a closer look.
"Pineapples," she answered with a shrug. "They’re really cool, and Cam has a pair the same shade of red—but his are high tops. Ever since he was old enough to walk, we’ve been buying shoes together. It’s kind of our thing."
Bran shook his head at this evidence of goofiness. All of it would be fine, except they were working on a ranch where you needed boots to protect your feet.
"They might be cool, but I’m not sure they’re the best for ranch work, A."
She flopped down in one of the chairs facing his desk. "I promise to wear my Fryes when I’m around the livestock. But this morning, they didn’t really need anything in the infirmary, so I’m getting everything together for our little investigation."
Bran sighed and leaned back in his chair. As much as it was tormenting him to be around Ava and keep his hands to himself, the situation with his vanishing funds was a bigger burr under his saddle. He needed her to help him get to the bottom of this, especially if he was going to open his books to Hoyt. No decent businessman would invest in a business that couldn’t balance its damn accounts. And Hoyt was a very good businessman.
"All right," he said. "What do you need to know to get started?"
She pulled a small notebook and pen out of her pocket, looking every inch the intrepid reporter.
"Let’s start with what you want to get out of my investigation?"
Bran scowled at her. Wasn’t it pretty obvious? "I want to know where my damned money’s going."
She didn’t seem to notice he was being disagreeable and just scratched away on her little notepad. "Ok, and in order to do that, I’ll need to speak with your hands. I’m writing this as a 'life on the modern ranch' piece, so I won’t be doing formal interviews, but telling them about my project and then having informal discussions with them, both individually and in groups."
Bran reminded himself he and Ava were trading favors. He couldn’t second-guess everything she did. He needed to be patient with her process.
"All sounds good to me," he said, hoping she’d move along faster if he was agreeable.
She glanced up at him, and for a moment he was fixated on her rosy lips. Just like that, he was ready to climb the walls again. He tried to remember the oaths he and Hoyt had taken as teens—we promise to never touch each other’s exes—"or my little sister,” Hoyt had added, grinning. Bran had given his word. Even if it was over a decade ago. Where was the nearest cold shower, anyway?
Ava tapped her pen on her pad. "So, I’ll start with the upper managerial staff—your foreman, the two livestock managers, and the maintenance director."
Bran nodded his agreement.
"First off—Rick. How long has he been foreman?"
"Um…" Bran wrinkled his brow in thought. "It was between when my mom died and my dad died, so must have been about seven years ago?"
Ava narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before continuing. "And does he live here on the property?"
"Yep."
"So he’s not married, then? Not seeing anyone?"
Bran’s lip curled in distaste. "How would I know? It’s sort of frowned on to question the hands about their personal lives."
Ava studied him, looking sincerely confused. "The man’s worked for you seven years, and you don’t know if he has a girlfriend?"
"We’re not besties, Ava. We talk about work."
"And what about the guy who manages your horses? How long has he worked here?"
Bran sighed. "I really have no idea. I sort of remember him being on the list for Christmas bonuses, so at least since then, but Rick does most of the hiring, so he’d have that information for you."
Ava gently folded her notebook and put it back in her front t-shirt pocket. "And does he have any family in the area? Kids? Parents? Siblings?"
Bran shook his head with a sense of foreboding. "Don’t know," he muttered.
Bran scratched the back of his head, more than uncomfortable now, even though he didn’t see any point to the question. "I really wouldn’t know."
"Branson Beckett." She looked at him like a mother about to scold a child. "How can you run a business like this and not know the most basic things about the people who work for you?"
He held up a hand, palm out, to stop her questions. "I know the things that matter. I know what they’re supposed to be doing and if they do a good job of it. For instance, Rick isn’t the best at rotating the stock in an organized way. He’d keep moving them between the same three pieces of land and overgraze, so I have Carlos work up the rotation schedule and all Rick has to do is make sure it’s followed."
"Ok, good. It’s great you know that kind of detail. And I understand it might not seem relevant to know stuff that isn’t directly about work. But even more than in other businesses, ranching requires good interpersonal relations. You all live here together. I remember on our farm, my mom always used to bake a cake for each worker’s birthday, and we had guys that lived-in on their work days but went to stay with their girlfriends on their days off."
Bran simply looked at her. He sure as hell wasn’t going to bake anyone a cake, and it was no business of his where his hired hands spent their nights on their days off. If he had to take a guess, most of them were drinking down at the Boot and Barrel and then stumbling back to their bunks after closing.
"So maybe I can start by getting the information you do have. Like who’s supposed to be doing which jobs, and the things they’re better and worse at?"
That he could manage.
He was not going to feel guilty about not baking cakes, for fuck’s sake. He had a ranch to run. And he’d been doing it for nearly seven years. Things were fine.
Except for that missing money.
6
Ava slapped the horse on the rump to send him up the ramp into the back of the trailer. She was loading up some of the horses who’d come into the infirmary to get their annual vaccinations. Now they’d go back out to the eastern acreage, where the ranch hands assigned there would use them to move the cattle in for branding.