He was irritated.
The rain wasn’t helping.
Jane’s name hadn’t been on the guest list he’d gotten from Grandfather. Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling him to just leave her alone—what good would it do anyway? Ask her on a date and then end the date by saying, “oh and by the way I’m going to have to put you on a time out while I go drink wine with that rich supermodel who bid on me”?
Thunder rumbled louder as rain pelted against the windshield.
Brock had always hated thunderstorms. Their loud, majestic power was yet another reminder that he was a very small part of a very big universe. Something that normally would humble a man made him feel weak, reminded him that he didn’t have the power to do anything, really.
His body chilled, he turned up the heated seat and focused on the rest of the drive down the three-mile long, tree-lined dirt road that led up to the main house. He hadn’t been back since he was a child.
The place held too many painful memories.
Memories that he’d always wanted to keep locked down, until now.
“Twirls me, twirls me, Daddy!” Brock giggled as his father twirled him around and around. “Higher, higher, Daddy!”
His dad suddenly stopped and set Brock back onto his feet. Out of breath, he’d mumbled, “You’re getting so big!”
“I four.”
“I’m four.” His father repeated with a laugh as he messed with Brock’s dark hair and then leaned in with arms open wide. “Now give your dad a hug. It’s time to go in for dinner.”
Brock hung his head. “I not hungry.”
“I’m not hungry.” His dad said the sentence again, correcting it for Brock. He’d had a speech problem as a child, was unable to say most of his R’s, and had been blind as a bat before glasses, and later, contacts.
Brock took a deep breath and repeated. “I’m not hungry, Dad.”
“But your mother worked very hard on this meal, so even though you aren’t hungry, we need to still be respectful of the time she put into making the food so you grow big and strong, yes?”
Brock nodded his head.
“Now, how about that hug?” His dad’s arms opened wide.
Brock ran into them and his dad twirled him around on the grass one last time.
It was impossible to see the actual patch of grass that they’d so often played on, but Brock knew it was there, fifteenth tree in, to the left.
Brock briefly closed his eyes and slowed the car to a stop. With shaking hands, he put the car into park and sat there listening to the rain. He still had a mile or so to get to the house but he needed a minute. Just one goddamn minute to get his head on straight.
Finally, Brock sucked in a long soothing breath, put the car back in drive, and pressed down on the accelerator. Only to have the tires squeal in protest.
“What the hell?” He tried again but got the same response. Muttering a curse, he slammed his hand against the leather steering wheel.
Brock grabbed his coat and stepped out into the cold, wet rain. Lightning sizzled across the sky followed by the bellow of thunder as he made his way to the back of the Audi and inspected the damage. The tire was caught in the mud, which would have been fine if he’d had someone who could hit the accelerator while he pushed.
“Damn it.” He was going to have to walk.
Chapter Twelve
Jane giddily walked around the property, her shirt attaching itself to her body like a second skin. Rain slid down her cheeks, thunder rolled, and she was deliriously happy.
She’d left her sisters a note.
A freaking note.
She laughed out loud again at the freedom she felt. They were going to be so mad, but it was only three weeks. She imagined their clothes would be pink from their trying to figure out how to do the laundry, and they’d probably lose weight because they didn’t even know how to pour milk into a bowl for cereal.
Arms spread wide, she twirled, over and over again, then nearly ran smack dab into one of the large oak trees that had been planted on the property.
The owner must like trees, because there were hundreds lining the long driveway and a forest behind the ranch, with trails leading around the thirty acres.
In all reality, the house was a dream.
Her dream.
Judging by what she was getting paid to get the place ready for the new tenants, she assumed the man who’d called her had money, but the house didn’t shout money. Sure, the kitchen was gourmet and immaculate, but every single wall had pictures of a family that she’d suddenly, very desperately wanted to meet.
Three little boys.
Two smiling parents.
And a grandfather in a cowboy hat.
They were lucky, that family.
Lightning streaked across the sky. She should probably go inside. After all, she had to meet the elderly ranch hand first thing in the morning, and she was tired.
Escaping prison did that to a person.
With another giggle, she started making her way back to the house.
* * *
He’d walked more than a mile before Brock finally made it to where he could actually see the house.
He was soaked.
Pissed.
Exhausted.
Damn it, he’d do anything for a whiskey.
And a nice crackling fire.
Maybe he’d steal one of his grandfather’s cigars like he had that time when he was a kid. Only, that adventure had ended with him puking hits guts out on the back porch while Grandfather made him smoke the rest of the stash to teach him a lesson.
He smiled at the memory and picked up his pace.