The Bull Rider's Twin Trouble. Ali Olson
woken at dawn, itching to get over there—to get started on all the work that needed to be done, he’d told himself. After all, two weeks wasn’t much time, and he didn’t want to leave his new neighbor in the lurch after he’d gone. So he’d headed over right after eating, without noticing exactly how early it was.
Brock decided that just because there was so much to do didn’t mean there wasn’t time for pancakes. “Actually, pancakes sound great. After all, there’s probably enough work around here to burn off four breakfasts, I’m sure. And while you’re at it, I’ll take a look around to see what all there is to do, if that’s all right?”
She nodded, looking relieved, and he immediately felt like he’d made the right choice. Plus, he would get to eat pancakes. That was a win-win.
“I’ll go get them started. Please make yourself at home, Mr. McNeal.”
“Call me Brock,” he answered before she disappeared into the kitchen.
The moment she was gone, he looked around the room and started creating an inventory of everything that would need to be done to get the house in shape. Besides two warped window frames and the very faded wallpaper, the living room at least appeared in decent condition.
“Would you like to come in our fort?” one of the boys asked suddenly, poking his head out between two boxes.
Brock had forgotten he wasn’t alone in the room. He gave the kid a small smile. “No, thanks,” he said, not sure if there was anything else he was supposed to say.
It had been a long while since he’d spoken to anyone under the legal drinking age.
The other boy, identical to his brother, crawled out of the fort and moved to stand right next to Brock. Brock waited, wondering what the little boy was thinking. Finally, he spoke. “I’m Carter.”
Brock nodded, wishing the child wasn’t quite so close. He wasn’t used to children and their lack of understanding about personal space. “Hi. I’m Brock,” he answered.
Carter kept staring, as if waiting for Brock to say more, but he couldn’t think of what else he should say.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked.
“I’m trying to figure out what we need to do to get this place fixed up,” Brock answered.
Carter looked around the room. “Like what?”
Brock felt slightly relieved that the large hazel eyes were no longer staring at him in that intense way. He pointed out the windows, explaining about the frames.
“Momma tried to open those when we got here and couldn’t,” Carter commented. “What else is wrong?”
Brock shrugged. “I don’t know. I just got here.”
With that, Carter was off, pointing out every problem he had noticed since they’d moved there. Some, like the faint scratches on the wood floor from furniture being moved around, didn’t concern Brock, but there were others that he added to the mental list he was making.
Soon, Brock and Carter had moved into the room the boys were sharing and Brock was examining the large wooden bunk bed the boys would use once, as Carter explained, it didn’t wobble anymore. “Momma says the Wilson boys must have been pretty rowdy to break such a big piece of furniture,” Carter said as Brock pulled on the top bunk and watched it sway precariously. Brock smiled, remembering exactly how “rowdy” the Wilson boys were. They had gotten Brock into quite a bit of trouble more than once when he was a kid.
Carter continued talking, as if he had no plans to stop anytime soon. “But it was free, so she said she would fix it and then we won’t have to sleep on the floor no more.”
“Anymore,” said a voice from the doorway. The other brother, Zach, had joined them.
Brock nodded to him, then turned back to Carter. “It’ll be easy to fix. A couple planks of wood and some nails will do it.”
“There’s some in the barn. Momma showed me.”
Brock stood, ready to go find them, but Zach interrupted his thoughts. “Mom says food’s ready, Mr. McNeal.”
Before Brock could say anything, Carter jumped up and grabbed his hand. “We have to wash up before we eat. I’ll show you.” And with that, Brock was being pulled into a small bathroom and shown how to clean his hands properly.
Brock washed at the sink and followed Carter and Zach into the kitchen, where the boys jumped into chairs, both sitting on their feet so they could see over the table. The moment he was back in the same room as Cassie, the air felt warm and heavy, neither of which had anything to do with the cooking.
Brock tried not to let his eyes wander along the length of her legs as she stood by the stove, flipping the last pancakes on the griddle. The jeans she was wearing hugged her in all the right places, and a long study of them would just make things worse.
He was here to do a job, help a lady and her kids out, and then he would get back to doing the things he did best. After all, his next big bull ride was coming up soon. It wouldn’t do to start getting sidetracked by a mess of russet-colored hair and a pair of shapely legs. Or any of her other attributes he had noticed.
With difficulty, Brock pulled his eyes to the plate in the middle of the table piled high with flapjacks. The smell wafting from them was light and sweet, and they made his mouth water despite the large breakfast he’d already had. The boys had quickly grabbed a couple and begun dousing them in syrup, so he speared a few of his own with his fork.
Cassie came to the table, taking the only open seat, the one directly across from him. Now that she was close and in the bright light of the kitchen, he could see a dusting of freckles across her nose and the clear green-brown of her eyes. When she leaned forward to grab her own pile of pancakes, he quickly glanced away. There was too much to catch all of his male attention when she did that.
Thankfully, she soon sat back in her seat and he could actually savor the flavor of the pancakes he had shoved into his mouth in a desperate bid for a distraction.
She didn’t seem to notice any of this and her attention remained focused on her children. “Did you both wash up before coming in and getting covered in syrup?” she asked.
Carter nodded as he licked some of the sticky sweetness off his forearm. “I showed Brock how to wash up, too,” he said.
Cassie gave her son a warning look. “Don’t be impolite. You can call him Mr. McNeal.”
“It’s fine,” Brock cut in, not wanting Carter to get in trouble for his actions. “I told him he could call me that. I think the only person who has ever called me Mr. McNeal was my fourth-grade teacher, and that lady was plumb crazy.”
Carter smiled at him. Brock couldn’t help but smile back.
Cassie also seemed pleased, though she wasn’t as obvious in her emotions as Carter was. “Well, now that that’s settled,” she said, “I was thinking we would start working in the library first, and then some of the fencing around the place, or maybe the barn. I want to get the ranch ready to hold horses.”
He nodded, trying to keep his eyes on his plate instead of on her. Hopefully she would show him where to start and leave him to it, and he could lose himself in hard work and avoid this woman who set his blood on fire.
After she dumped the dishes in the sink, though, she looked at her two boys and said, “While we’re moving things around, I’d like you to put your clothes into the drawers in your room. After that, you can work on your fort or play with your cars. Can you do that?”
So, she clearly wasn’t planning on freeing him from her presence. If he hadn’t been pleased that she was willing to get her hands dirty and help fix up the place, he would’ve been annoyed about spending even more time near her.
The boys nodded and raced into their room. Brock was impressed that such young children could follow directions, but before he could