Should've Been You

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  ONE

  Bulls had the best life, hands down. Not the Spanish kind of bull that chased crazy thrill seekers through narrow streets, or the ones that charged red blankets. Nor the kind that bucked cowboys off their backs. No, the kind of bull Jase Beckford was thinking of was the good ol’ herd breeding variety. Those bulls had it made.

  They had one job. One hell of a job.

  “You can’t hardly wait, can ya?” Jase said to his new bull, Pitch, who was lazily chewing on the crunchy hay that Jase had just tossed over the pen fence. He stepped onto the bottom slat of the gate and rested his arms along the top so he could see his massive new creature without obstruction. Damn, he was beautiful. All seventeen hundred pounds of him.

  “It’ll be a heck of a new year for you, boy. Fourteen females out in that field. You think you can handle that?” He chuckled, his breath a wispy puff in the frigid air. “I know you can.”

  In a month or so, Jase would turn him out to pasture with the females he’d purchased several months back. Five cows and nine heifers, and he planned on Pitch working his magic on every single one of them.

  Pitch appeared uninterested in small talk as he took another sloppy bite of hay off the snow-packed earth, his mouth chomping loudly. He sniffed hard, steam rising from his nostrils.

  “I hope you’re a lot more charming when you meet the ladies,” Jase said with a headshake. “You’ll have to wine and dine them if you want things to go smoothly.”

  Just then Pitch slowly raised his head, stopped chewing, and turned his head to stare at his owner. Jase grinned. “Okay, okay. Sorry I questioned your skills.”

  Jase dug his phone from his pocket to check the time. Nearly eight a.m. and he was exhausted. He’d already moved his herd to another pasture, checked on his one pregnant cow—that had sure been a surprise when he’d brought them home—and made sure the ice on the pond was sufficiently cracked open. But although the work was taxing, he loved it. Felt grateful, because slowly, but surely, his plans were all falling into place.

  Most people would probably assume that this had been his lifelong dream, or even a family enterprise, considering he’d grown up in the rural town of Pierson, about forty-five minutes north of Manhattan, Kansas, on the west side of Tuttle Creek. But neither were true. Growing up, he’d wanted nothing more than to get away from the small town that didn’t even have a real grocery store of its own. Even more, he’d wanted away from his home life.

  The fastest—and most affordable—way out was to join the army, and it had taken him being stationed half a world away in Germany to realize that while he loved seeing the world, there was still something to appreciate about growing up in the rural Midwest. He’d gotten to know a German farmer who lived right off the base, mainly because it reminded him of home. Despite the elderly man’s broken English, they’d bonded. They’d talked a lot about the process of raising cattle, how he chose his animals, mated them, and what it was like during calving season. And several times Jase had given him a hand on his farm. That was when he’d realized that maybe the land he’d grown up on would be good for something similar. He’d never considered moving back to Pierson until then, but when his final deployment in the Middle East was up, he’d done just that. The choice made easier by the fact that his father was dead and gone by that point.

  Now it was just him and his mother. They talked occasionally, when she chose to have a conversation with him, or he with her. Eventually he’d maybe build a house of his own, but in the meantime he didn’t mind staying with her. Besides, until this all paid off—literally—he hadn’t many options. A huge chunk of his savings had gone into starting this business. He’d joined the Army National Guard not long after coming home but that and a fledgling cattle operation wasn’t going to make him a fortune, so he was counting on Pitch here to be the promiscuous male he was paid to be.

  Jase stepped off the gate of the bullpen and headed up the snow-covered dirt path that led to the back porch of the Walters farmhouse. The big white house with black shutters and a classic L-shaped porch never failed to make Jase feel welcome . . . and safe. He and his mother lived down the road, and as soon as he’d informed his longtime neighbor Tim Walters of his idea to raise cattle, the other man had offered to lease his own land to the cause. Jase, having been close to the Walters family for years, hadn’t hesitated, and ever since he and Tim had established a morning coffee ritual that was quickly becoming one of Jase’s favorite times of the day.

  Tim Walters was the kind of role model every young man needed in his life. Stern and serious when the occasion called for it, but quick with a laugh and a joke to lighten the mood. Jase had only heard him yell a handful of times in the twenty years he’d known him, and even then his understanding nature had always been apparent. Especially considering he’d probably been yelling at one of his twin daughters. More than likely, Hannah.

  Hannah. The woman in Jase’s life. Sort of. They’d never officially dated. Never had sex. And yet . . . they were definitely each other’s “other.” He’d say except for when she wasn’t playing at seeing someone else, but even then he was usually still the one she called. For everything, be it a wedding date, or because she’d locked herself out of her apartment and needed his extra key to her apartment in Manhattan. She’d never said, but he was pretty sure that their odd relationship was the reason many of her real ones didn’t work out.

  But he wasn’t sorry for it. Hannah was his girl, and if she was going to turn to another man to be her fixer, Jase needed it to be someone special. Once upon a time he’d hoped it might someday be him, but not so much anymore.

  He wished he knew why, because he adored Hannah. Loved her, even. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t pushed for things to move to the next level, but he never had, and each year that passed by—and every time he turned to another woman for a physical release—it became more likely he never would.

  When he pulled open the back door to the kitchen of the Walters home, Jase was met with the delicious smell of coffee brewing and meat frying. The sight he was met with, however, was far from familiar, but definitely just as delicious as anything he’d ever set his eyes on. A woman stood inside the refrigerator door, and his eyes zeroed right in on her perfect ass, which was covered by pink cotton panties.

  “Dad! Turn around. I’m not dressed,” her voice screeched, the beautiful body trying to hide behind the fridge door.

  Instantly Jase jerked his body around to face the other direction. Now that he’d heard her voice, he knew exactly whose cute ass that was, and lust he hadn’t felt in a long time hit him hard.

  Becca Walters.

  He should have known, but damn, she hadn’t been back home in ages. Not long enough for him to see her anyway.

  “I thought you were gone, Dad. Didn’t you get my text? I told you to call on your way,” she said. Jase heard the refrigerator door shut, followed by a loud gasp. “Jase! Oh my God. What the—”

  He chuckled as he heard a chair scrape and then her f
ootsteps shuffling across the wood floor, down the hallway. He peeked over his shoulder just in time to see her long legs fly up the stairs. She’d had on a T-shirt, so none of the outfit had been inappropriate—no more than a bathing suit would be—but still he felt as if he’d just been caught pulling a Peeping Tom.

  He grinned anyway and made his way over to the coffeepot and poured himself a mug. Over his head the floor creaked as she shuffled around her room making herself presentable, no doubt. A shame; he would have had no problem catching up with her half dressed. She, on the other hand, now had another reason to be irritated by him. Ah well. Same old, same old.

  Hannah had always been the outgoing, funny, flirty twin. Becca—while gorgeous—had always made it clear that she believed herself to be above everyone else. At least that’s how she always treated Jase. Truth was, he’d never gotten over that long-ago Christmas Eve night he’d become a part of the Walters family by proxy. Tim Walters had shown up at Jase’s house and rescued him from a brutal beating at the hands of his own dad, and then carried him across the field that ran between their homes, in the snow, and tucked him into Becca’s bed. He could still remember her sitting there with him, holding a cloth on his bleeding head while Mrs. Walters had rushed around caring for his injuries. Bringing him water, soup, and telling him everything would be all right.

  Taking a sip of his coffee, he recalled the words Becca had whispered to him that night as she sat on the edge of her bed beside him, holding his hand. “It’s okay if you want to cry. I won’t tell anyone. Your daddy is a mean son of a bitch and I’d like to kill him for you.”

  Harsh words for a young girl. But she’d said them with conviction, and he’d instantly loved her for it. Despite having just been beaten, he’d slept so soundly in that soft bed that smelled of Becca Walters’s candy cane lotion. He remembered seeing it on her nightstand on Christmas morning.

  But then later that day they’d relocated him to the sofa.

  At the time, he hadn’t let it hurt his feelings. It was probably not right for him to stay in a girl’s room. He was fourteen and fully experiencing puberty. But later that week, Hannah had told him the truth. Becca had thrown a holy fit over having to give up her room to him. Begged her parents to get him out of her bed, told them he smelled bad, and that it wasn’t fair that she’d been the one to have to give up her room.

  He’d never looked at her with that loving feeling again. Clearly, she’d felt sorry for him that night when she’d held his hand, but not enough to look past the fact that he was an abused redneck boy from down the road. It had been humiliating to realize she’d been disgusted by him being in her perfect frilly pink bed.

  Jase wasn’t sure why the thought still irritated him, but it did. She’d only been twelve. How could he hold the feelings of a child against her now that she was a grown woman? And wow, was she a woman. It was a little tough to conjure up that same old resentment after he’d just witnessed her perfect round ass hanging out.

  * * *

  Becca Walters had known better than to hang out in the kitchen half dressed for so long. Tugging on a pair of jeans, she conjured up the sight she’d just witnessed in her father’s kitchen. Jase was much larger than the last time she’d seen him, but the shape of him was imprinted on her brain, so she’d known it was him immediately.

  How much had he seen of her? She nearly groaned thinking about it. Several times while making breakfast she’d considered that she should run upstairs and get dressed, but in her defense, she’d only been expecting her father, and she’d told him to call her when he was on his way home. And if he’d forgotten, well then, she knew that she’d hear his tires on the gravel drive as an advance warning.

  Where had Jase even come from? Did he walk from his mother’s house? And how in the hell did he still manage to make her heart pound with one look at him? It had been years since she’d seen him, but she would bet that age had done nothing to diminish his handsomeness. His backside had been perfect, but did his blue eyes still look like deep ocean water? Were his dark brows still the most expressive part of his face? He’d had a hat on, but she’d still noticed that his light-brown hair was a little too long: exactly the way she’d always liked it best, when the ends began to curl the slightest bit.

  This morning had been a critical failure on her part. She was not at her own home, not even in the same town, where getting up and making coffee in her underwear was no big deal. She was used to being alone or with Brian, her boyfriend.

  But today—oh God. Never had it crossed her mind that anyone but her father would be around, and of all the people to show up, she couldn’t believe she’d just had her ass on display for Jase Beckford to ogle.

  It was because of him that she’d spent the past decade trying to find the anti-Jase to marry. Someone who had eyes for only her. Made her feel beautiful and wanted, and certainly didn’t compare her with Hannah. Becca was certain that Jase had always seen her as the much less desirable twin, and damn her sensitive heart, but it had never gotten the message. No matter how much of an ass he could be, she’d been madly in love with him since the age of ten when he’d moved in down the road.

  Rushing into the bathroom, she used a cloth to swipe the crumbling mascara from her eyes and then reapplied a fresh coat, two quick strokes of blush, and some lip gloss. She wanted to look better, but not like she was trying too hard. Because she wasn’t trying for Jase. Nope. Never.

  Still unsatisfied, she dabbed some concealer under her eyes. Damn it. She couldn’t not try. This was Jase. It had been five years, and she’d always planned that the next time they met she’d be sporting a put-together, doing-well-for-herself look. Maybe toting along a husband and a child.

  Instead she looked like a nearly thirty-year-old, unmarried hot mess of a woman who had just slept in her childhood bed alone. Which, sadly, was exactly what she was, although in her defense she expected to be engaged by the end of the week. For Christmas.

  She took a deep breath at the top of the staircase, then headed back down to the kitchen. “Sorry about that,” she said from the doorway.

  Casually leaning against the far counter with his legs crossed at the ankle, Jase glanced up from his phone and coffee, let his eyes roam up and down her body, and then smirked.

  Her knees nearly gave out.

  There they were, those deep ocean water eyes. And yep, one quirked brow expressed his amusement. The small laugh lines at the corners were new, but only served to make him look more weathered and manly. The best part, he still had that slight dimple in his right cheek. She’d always been a sucker for it.

  “No need to apologize,” he said, forcing her attention to his full lips. “But if you were hoping to make me forget what you looked like naked, those jeans were not the right choice.”

  She sucked in a gasp. Yes, they were fitted jeans, but they were still jeans for goodness’ sake. And was he flirting with her? She walked over to the skillet she’d left on the stove, hoping nothing had burned.

  “I wasn’t naked,” she snapped.

  “Not entirely. No. But I have a good imagination.”

  “I was hoping you’d handle what just happened like a gentleman, but I won’t let my disappointment last for too long.”

  “Oh, come on, Becca, don’t be that way. I enjoyed seeing you in your panties. I know it’s not appropriate to say so, but I’m just being honest.”

  Thank goodness she was tending to breakfast so he couldn’t see the shock on her face.

  “Sorry I scared you, though. Didn’t know you’d be here. Where’s Tim?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, actually. I figured he ran to Ben’s.” Ben was her father’s best friend; he lived down the road in the opposite direction of Jase’s family. Sometimes they helped each other out for various things. It wasn’t unusual for her dad to be up and at ’em at the crack of dawn, but it had struck her as odd that he hadn’t made coffee. “I made him breakfast. I figured he’d be here by now.”

  “He’s not
outside. But his truck is here. He must have taken the Buick into town,” Jase said, his voice contemplative.

  “Yeah, maybe.” That worried Becca. He would have taken the truck to Ben’s. Surely if he’d had an appointment he would have told her last night. Then again, she had gotten in close to eleven and they hadn’t spoken too much before going to bed.

  “You hungry?” she asked Jase. “I’d hate all this food to go to waste in case he doesn’t come right back.”

  Jase eyed her quickly, probably trying to decide if she was just being polite or if her offer was genuine.

  She grabbed a plate to clue him in. “Please say yes. I can’t eat all this, and to be honest, I’m kind of worried about him now.”

  Jase pushed off the counter and walked over and stood close to her. Too close. She could smell his aftershave, feel his warmth. He’d removed his coat and hat when she’d gone upstairs, and she loved how he’d pushed his flannel sleeves up to reveal his arms—still lightly tanned from the summer. “You don’t have to feed me. But it’s not really my style to turn down a home-cooked meal. Especially not one out of this kitchen.”

  She looked over and gave him a little smile. He’d had plenty of great meals here with them when her mother was alive. “Here you go,” she said, handing him a plate loaded with bacon and scrambled eggs. “Hope you don’t mind turkey bacon.”

  She didn’t miss his slight grimace as he turned and headed for the table in the corner of the cozy kitchen. “Turkey bacon. Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. My dad needs to start watching what he eats.”

  “Always thought it sounded like an abomination. Your mother never cooked us turkey bacon.”

  “No, but maybe she should have. You might like it if you have an open mind,” she said. Brian loved turkey bacon. Had encouraged her to try it.

  She sat down at the table across from him, cradling her coffee between her hands.

  “I have an open mind about many things, I’ll have you know. But the sanctity of pork fat is not one of them.”