"Well, since you aren't being any help at all, Crew, I'm going to try to figure this out on my own. I guess I have a foreman who runs things around here."
"That's a start. Keep me updated on what you're doing."
"Fine. But only so you know how miserable I am," she said, unwilling to admit to him that she missed him, too. If she admitted that, she would have to think about the past, think about what had torn them apart in the first place, and that was a place she never wanted to revisit again.
"I'll speak to you soon, Peaches."
Before she was able to snap at him about that damn nickname, he hung up the phone. The thing was that she wasn't angry about hearing it now, just a little sad that it had been lost in the first place. What was this place doing to her? She didn't even know who in the hell she was anymore, let alone what she was going to do next. She was supposed to be here for a full year at a minimum. She'd never survive it.
Returning her vulnerability to the shelf in the back of her mind, Brielle decided it was time to find her foreman. She was going to do what she had to do and then she was getting as far from this stupid state as she possibly could.
///
Hell, maybe she'd even leave the country once her trust fund was back in place. That thought should have made her smile. It didn't. Everything seemed to make her feel empty these days.
But then Colt appeared in her head. There had been nothing empty about what that man had made her feel in the few minutes they'd been together.
Sick! That thought appalled her, so she left the house and began walking. Ready or not, her foreman was about to find out just how stubborn Brielle could be.
Chapter Five
What do you mean, 'no'?" Brielle thundered at the man standing before her.
All he did was let loose with a long stream of spit that nearly landed on her toes. She squealed and jumped back.
"Do you realize that these are three-thousand-dollar Jimmy Choo shoes?" she gasped.
"Yeah. I figured they were some ridiculous amount, and they certainly shouldn't be worn in a horse barn," Tony said before spitting again.
"Well, that's not your concern now, is it?"
"I don't really give a damn what you wear," he told her, then turned and walked away.
"You work for me!" Brielle yelled at his back, but her words didn't even slow his pace. She found herself chasing after her foreman once again.
"I've got work to do, ma'am. I don't have time to coddle you." Tony moved into his office at the back of the barn.
She hated this room, hated how bad it smelled, and hated how cluttered it was. Still, she never complained about his space, because if it weren't for this man, she'd be totally screwed. No doubt about it. Not that Tony listened to her. None of the men did. Including the first ranch hand she'd met on the very first day she was here. What was his name again? Colt. Like she'd really forgotten …
Two weeks she'd been there, and yes, she'd admit that she'd been less than pleasant at first, but the last few days she'd decided she was stuck, and she was through being bored. After speaking with Crew just now, she really wanted to prove she could do this.
She'd even watched about two dozen cowboy films this last week - wouldn't that help her learn something about ranching? So far, though, she knew she was falling very short of what she was supposed to be doing.
"Listen, Tony. I think we've just gotten off on the wrong foot. How about we start over and be friends?" She gave him her most winning smile.
Tony looked up and gave some sort of movement to his lips that she supposed could be considered a smile, and she thought for sure that she'd finally won him over until a shadow fell over her and the room seemed to shrink.
Nope. Tony's smile, or whatever it could be called, wasn't for her. It was for the man standing behind her. And she knew exactly who it was. Not because she'd seen him yet, but because she could feel him.
"Afternoon, Tony. Problems?" Colt asked as he walked up beside Brielle.
She did her best not to look at him. If that happened, she'd lose her breath and get all airheaded. She wasn't an airheaded type of girl. Yes, there were some people who might think that about her, but it was far from true. She'd actually been a straight-A student in high school and during her first year of college.
She'd made it into Brown, after all. Did these guys have any idea how much of an accomplishment that was? They had only a 9 percent acceptance rate for undergraduate applicants.
Perhaps her major hadn't been the most practical: she'd studied English. But if anyone thought that was easy, far from it. She'd worked her tail off, and she'd planned on going into journalism, and working for a paper or magazine at some point. No, things didn't end up working out, but it wasn't over yet.