Chapter Ten

The next week dragged by for Brian. Each day around two p.m., Rush phoned. On Wednesday, Brian waited in his office for the call. It was crazy, but he’d come to think of the unanswered call as sort of a love letter between them.

It told Brian, “I still care.”

Brian’s refusal to answer told Rush, “I’m still hurt.”

His phone went off and startled him from his thoughts. It was Rush. The corners of Brian’s lips turned up as he stared at the display. The phone seemed to chirp in perfect rhythm with the beating of his heart. Then, the most amazing thing happened. The message symbol popped up on the screen. Brian’s heart pumped in quick time.

Rush had left a voice mail. He’d never done that before.

Brian stared at his phone. Maybe it was important. Maybe Rush had been hurt and was lying in some hospital. Maybe he needed Brian.

After scooping up the phone, Brian brought the message up and hit Play.

“Darlin’.” A sigh. “I’m so sorry.”

Brian replayed it, just to hear the cowboy’s voice. Even on a message, it sent shivers of desire through him. Fuck, he was addicted to Rush’s voice.

He played it again, hanging on every syllable, every nuance. Taking in that soft sigh. Was Rush smoking? Brian listened to the emphasis on the word so.

Carefully, he saved the message and closed the phone.

 

* * * *

 

Rush pushed his hat back and turned his face to the sun. He’d done it. He’d left a message. Once he’d decided to do it, it had taken him the better part of the day to figure out just what he would say. He’d changed it about a hundred times until he’d gotten it just right. Then he’d practiced it, mumbling it under his breath as he’d ridden the fence. The two hired hands with him had kept looking at him as if he were crazy.

They stared at him now. He didn’t care. Tomorrow, he’d leave another message. He’d always hung up before it rolled to the message. Brian wasn’t blocking his calls after all. He might still be hurt, but he hadn’t written Rush off completely.

Maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance.

 

* * * *

 

On Thursday, Rush leaned on the fence railing as three buyers looked over a selection of bred heifers. Aware that two p.m. was approaching, he fought the urge to rush them so he could make his call. Every sale was important to the ranch.

“What about those three?” one of the men asked the older buyer. Jim Bower, a longtime customer of the Double T, was shopping for a few heifers to improve his own herd and he’d brought two men, his foreman and Jim Jr.

“I’m not sure about the one on the left,” Junior put in.

Rush didn’t think Junior knew much about cattle from what he’d seen, but he kept his mouth shut and watched the senior Bower.

Mr. Bower squinted at the heifer in question. “She’ll do, Jimmy. I’ll take the three, Mr. Weston.”

“Right.” He called to the man inside the pen. “Manuel, cut those three out for Mr. Bower.” Turning to Bower, he said, “Sir, it was a pleasure doing business with you, as always.” Rush shook hands with the older gentleman, then with the son.

While Manuel separated the cattle and herded them to the chute to load into Bower’s trailer, Rush walked a few yards away and pulled out his phone.

A quick push of the buttons, and Brian’s number rang. Rush’s heart beat like a hammer against the walls of his chest. Today, he’d leave another message, and he’d thought all morning about what it would be. He wasn’t much on sweet talk, but he could at least put his feelings into a few simple words.

He listened to the message. The familiar generic female voice told him he’d reached the number and that no one was available, but since his call was important, he could leave a message after the tone. God, he wished that Brian had recorded his own message so he could hear Brian’s voice whenever he needed to.

“Miss you, darlin’,” Rush said then closed his phone and put it back into the pocket of his jeans. He rejoined the group of men and watched as the cattle were loaded. Bower Sr. came over to him, shook his hand once more, and handed him a check for the cattle.

Rush folded it and put it in his shirt pocket. As Bower walked away, Rush wondered if the older man would do business with a gay man. The rancher looked like he was cut from the same narrowly woven cloth as his father.

Coming out might be business suicide. It didn’t make any sense to Rush.

And without someone like Brian beside him, what was the point?

Excuses. Just excuses to keep the status quo.

Nothing had changed.

He was still a coward.

 

* * * *

 

Brian held the phone to his ear, closed his eyes and listened to Rush’s message.

“Miss you, darlin’.”

Short and so sweet. He played it again, sighed, then saved it.

“Miss you, too, cowboy,” Brian said.

Shit. He really must be in love.

Brian grinned then put his phone on his belt and went back to work on his computer.

 

* * * *

 

Brian sat at his kitchen table eating a salad for dinner when the phone rang.

“Brian? It’s Sammi.”

“Hey, Sammi. How’s it going?” Brian took a sip of coffee from a mug that said, A Hard Man is Good to Find.

“Just great. I was wondering if I could hire you again.”

Brian straightened and put his mug down. “I’m here if you need me, you know that. What’s the problem?”

There was a silence, then Sammi whispered, “I want to find my family.”

Brian had wondered how long Sammi would take to get to this place. He knew just knowing his name wouldn’t be enough for him. “Well, it may take some time, but I’m sure I can locate someone.” Brian didn’t want to say that he thought Sammi’s mother had died those years ago, and in her state of mind, it was quite probable.

“Good. Do you have enough info to get started?” Sammi’s voice was a breathy whisper.

“Sammi, why are you whispering? Does Mitchell know about this?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t want me to look for them. He says I’ll just get hurt.”

“He’s probably right. But if it’s what you want, you should do it.”

“Same rate as before?”

“That’s right. I can’t promise you much, Sammi. And, even if I do find your family, I’m going to have to ask them if they want to see you, you understand?”

“But I’m hiring you.”

“Yes, but they have rights, too. And one of them is to decide whether or not they want to meet you. I’m afraid Mitchell might be right.”

“I know. He’s just trying to protect me.”

“He loves you. It’s only natural.” Brian chuckled. “And, if I remember correctly, you’re nothing but trouble.”

“That’s the story of my life.” Sammi laughed. “Okay. See what you can find and if they want to meet me. I’ll have to settle for that.”

“Good.”

“Now, when are you meeting Rush again?” Sammi asked out of nowhere, knocking Brian off center.

“I’m not planning on meeting him.”

“Well, you should. You love him. He loves you. Just work it out.”

“Simpler said than done.” He sighed. “But you’re right. I admit it. I do love Rush. I’m just not willing to go out on a limb and get my heart stomped on. Not again.”

“Trusting is the hardest part. I should know. And if I could trust you and Mitchell, then you can trust Rush.”

“Thanks for the words of wisdom, Sammi. I’ll call you when I find out anything.”

“Okay. Bye.” Sammi hung up.

Brian finished his meal, put his dishes in the sink for later, then went to his office. He brought up the folder with Sammi’s name on it and went over the records he’d gathered.

The first place to start was with Sammi’s mother, Lydia Mae Waters, and the first step was a quick Google search. Then he’d move on to tracking down her birth certificate, driver’s license, and, if he had to, even a death certificate.

After thirty minutes, Brian had found nothing with her name in it. It was probably as he’d suspected and she’d died shortly after giving up Sammi. But he’d need a death certificate for Sammi’s closure. Until then, it was just speculation.

This would require doing research down at City Hall in the Records Division, and that would take time.

Brian pulled up his calendar and checked his schedule. The next week looked busy with two new jobs, so he might not get to Sammi until the end of the week. He opened a new appointment for next Thursday and booked the day under Sammi’s new name, Sammi Waters, then saved it.

Then, remembering how long he’d taken in Austin, he booked the following Friday.

 

* * * *

 

Two p.m. Friday came and went.

Brian had pulled his phone out and checked it a dozen times. It was on, the battery was fully charged, and he had all four bars.

At three, Brian had to admit Rush wasn’t going to call, and it hurt so bad it shocked him. A kick in the nuts would have felt better.

Fuck, he should have called back. He should have at least acknowledged Rush’s calls. Sent him a text message, maybe. What would it have hurt to send, “Miss u 2”?

Was it too late?

He flipped open his phone and summoned Rush’s number when he froze.

Sure, Rush had left messages, had called every day. But he’d never said what Brian had really wanted to hear.

Those goddamned three stupid little words.

If Rush had said them, Brian would have run to him in a New York minute. Taken him back, forgiven him all sins and trusted him with his heart.

Rush had never said, “I love you.” He’d never even said, “I care about you.” Or even an insipid “I really like you.”

The only thing he’d ever said was he missed him, he wanted him, he needed him, and it had all been about sex. Not love, not commitment, not forever.

Brian wasn’t ready to trust his cowboy, not yet. For all he knew, Rush still thought of him as a piece of ass, a booty call. A fuck buddy.

He groaned. What a fool he’d look like, calling Rush back. It would be like begging for more, asking to be used. Like saying, “I’m a doormat. Step on me. Hard.”

No fucking way. Mitchell was right. He shouldn’t be treated any less than he deserved, and he deserved a lot better than Rush Weston.

He closed his phone, put it back in its holder, and decided to go to his favorite garden shop, The Arbor, and pick out some plants to add to his backyard garden. It was his favorite pastime and should take his mind off the fact that Rush hadn’t called.

 

* * * *

 

“Shit. Shit. Goddamn. Shit.”

Rush hovered over his phone as it lay in pieces on a towel on a table in the barn. How could he have been so clumsy? He’d been mucking out the large stall he used for birthing, putting in fresh hay for the mare who was about to foal, when he realized it was just past two p.m. and he hadn’t made his call to Brian.

He’d pulled out the phone to make the call, and it’d slipped out of his hand. As he’d bobbled it from hand to hand, he’d known he wasn’t going to catch it. With a sickening plop, it’d fallen into the bucket of water he’d brought for the trough. He’d retrieved the phone, but it wouldn’t turn on.

Cursing a blue streak, he’d taken it apart to dry it. But once dry, it still wasn’t working.

He cursed his decision to take out the landline from the house. Without a cell phone, he was cut off. Come Monday, he’d order the landline again and put one in the barn.

He didn’t even wear a watch anymore because he’d become so dependent on the phone to tell the time.

“Damn it.” He danced around the table, slapping his hat on his thigh, angry at the phone and furious at himself.

What would Brian think?

“Fuck. Just fucking great.” All his plans to win Brian back down the drain. He reassembled the phone, put his hat back on, and finished prepping the stall before moving the mare into it.

Rush shut the gate to the stall and headed to his truck, sure of what he needed to do.

It cost him thirty minutes to drive into Spring Lake, to drop by the vet’s to let him know about the mare, who assured Rush he’d be on call when the time came for her to deliver her foal.

Next, Rush headed down the street to buy a new phone. That took a bit longer because the young sales guy tried to talk him into upgrading to a bigger, flashier one Rush bought one similar to his old one, the guy changed out the sim card for him, and handed it back. He put the box in a bag and handed it over to Rush with a thank you for shopping with us.

Rush got back in his truck and pulled out the new phone. He had a plan of action. He’d call Brian. Leave another voice mail. Explain everything.

Rush stared at the phone. In his heart, he knew a call just wasn’t going to cut it this time. He tossed the phone into his cup holder on the console.

The time had come for desperate measures.

He waited for the vehicles on the main street to clear before backing out of the slanted parking space. Rush settled his hat on his head and put the truck in drive.

He could be in Houston in less than two hours.

At Brian’s house before seven p.m.