Entry #1 by WittyandorIronic
Scoop, lift, dump. Scoop, lift, dump. The hard dirt floor was gradually revealed beneath fouled straw as the tines stirred flies and scent.
Scoop, lift, dump.
"Karricker."
She paused and peeked out the stall to see Dave at the stable entrance. All the hands called from a distance rather than come upon her unaware. It hadn't taken long to realize 'courtesy' at 99ers Ranch was to quietly accept, rather than express interest.
Wave. Get back to work. Don't ogle.
Brenda smiled as Dave sauntered closer and ducked back into the stall. Her litanies were for comfort now rather than survival, but sometimes they were still useful. Dave was what Miranda, her oldest, termed, “Arrogant with cause." Dark hair, cowboy hat, and a lean form hardened by ranch work made him more than tempting, as he well knew.
"Hank wants you," he said, skirting the wheel barrow to enter the stall. The Montana accent was unique. It didn't twang like the southeast or disregard certain letters like Boston or her native Maryland. Nope. Montanans' were typified by slowly speaking the fewest words possible.
Dave stepped closer, forcing her to look up and her stomach to drop. She was half tempted to retreat, and half tempted to run a hand through her auburn hair to dislodge the straw she was certain peppered it. She did neither.
He took the pitch fork. "I'll finish for you."
"Thanks." She nodded, dropped her gaze.
She peeled off her leather gloves before grabbing her jacket. She tried to edge past him, but was stopped short as his arm barred her way, his hand at her waist. Her heart lurched, discomfort and attraction rising competitively. Her already large eyes widened.
"If you need anything, I'm here." His blue gaze was searching and the heat of his hand penetrated through the fabric of her flannel.
Her gaze flickered between him and the sanctuary of the stall gate. Before she was capable of responding he released her, and relieved she ducked her head and scurried through the door.
Inhale, walk, exhale. Don't run. She shoved her arms into the sleeves of her jacket, hurrying past stalls and tack. Dave had always flirted with her, made passes, but he had never accosted her before. Touched, she sternly corrected. Although it had taken years, Brenda was able to differentiate between being accosted, and a man touching her.
She walked towards the office, wondering if she was finally able to appreciate that difference as well.
* * *
"You knew." Montana had influenced her. Accusation, fear, fury; all of it contained in two low, slow words. Dave stopped shoveling but didn't turn.
She had been just as curt with the lawyer in the tin shack office. He had served her papers, snidely explaining that she was lucky no criminal charges had been sought, just an upcoming divorce and custody hearing. He was lucky she hadn't kicked his ass, Brooks Brothers suit and all.
"Why'd you let me walk in there blind? Aren't we at least friends?" Her jumble of dark emotions coalesced into anger. She was angry with the smug lawyer, and angry with Dave for distracting her from his ominous words with a teasing touch. She was angry at herself. She had changed her hair, her job, her life, but it hadn't been enough. Baltimore to Butte hadn’t been far enough.
But the real source of her simmering anger was Max.
It was just like him to find her here, now. Her teenage years were spent in the shadow of Max's popularity. Her college abandoned when they accidentally started a family, though he, of course, had graduated. Her career as an investment banker had been spent as his glorified secretary. All fifteen years focused on his success, and conversely her perceived failures.
“Pay more attention, smile, keep his dinner hot, don’t make him mad.” She spent hours berating herself, trying to obey all his rules, but her consistent failure earned his wrath. Now she had done something on her own, struggled to succeed, and here Max was to snatch it away.
Dave turned with narrowed eyes. "Friends know if their friends are married. Maybe I thought we were 'at least friends' too." He leaned against the rough timber wall. "Maybe we were both wrong."
Brenda looked up and down the stable row before entering the stall. "That's bullshit, Dave. This isn't a joke. This is my life, and my babies' lives."
At the mention of her girls, he softened. Miranda, Joyce, and Allie were well known and loved by the ranch staff.
"Don't tell me some stiff suit can scare a girl like you."
“Girls like me? You think Hank often hires girls with more pageant experience than horse sense? You think I came here out of some burning desire to tend cattle? Who that lawyer represents scares me. Why else would I be here?"
"I don't know, Brenda. That's the problem. You've kept me in the dark for three years. Don't shut me out and then expect me to have your back in a situation I know nothing about."
Brenda opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. He was right. She had isolated herself, given nothing, and now expected loyalty and friendship. Needed his support.
Inhale, exhale. She rubbed a hand over her eyes.
He pulled her into his arms and stroked a hand up her back.
Despite a touch of unease, she leaned into his embrace. Her need for comfort was stronger.
"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."
"No, you're right," she spoke into his chest.
“What does he want?”
She swallowed hard before replying, "I won't let him have my girls."
“’Course not."
"He doesn't even want them. He just wants to hurt me."
At her whisper he stilled. "I won't let him, Brenda.”
With a finger at her chin he forced her blue eyes up to meet his own possessive gaze. “I'll help protect you, if you let me."
Say yes.