Trent parked the Jeep and got out. He attached the quilt like a bedroll at the base of his high-tech pack and stuffed their picnic lunch inside.
“I can carry something,” Bryn said.
His motions were quick and methodical. “I’ve got it.”
The trail was only a mile long, but it went up, up, up. Trent led the way, his stride steady, his back straight. Bryn’s leg muscles were burning and her lungs gasping for air when they reached the summit.
“Oh, Trent…I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here.”
The valley of Jackson Hole lay before them, breathtaking, magnificent, tucked against the backdrop of the Grand Tetons. A lone eagle soared on thermal currents overhead. Her throat tightened, and she wondered how she had stayed away so long.
“It’s my favorite spot on the ranch.” For a moment she saw vulnerability in his face and she wondered if he ever regretted moving away.
Trent spread the quilt, and they sat in silence, enjoying the view. Bryn was extremely conscious of him at her side, so close she could feel his body heat. He had leaned back on his elbows, and his flat stomach drew her attention. He was lean and fit and utterly masculine.
She had loved him one way or another for most of her life. When her parents died, it was nineteen-year-old Trent, more than anyone else, who had been able to comfort her. She had cried on his shoulder for hours, and finally, she had believed him when he said the hurt would get better.
If Trent said it, it must be so.
She tried to bridge the gulf between them, wanting some kind of peace. “You taught me to ride a horse…to drive a car. I always wanted you to give me my first kiss. But instead, it was Jesse.”
Trent’s expression was bleak. “That was a long time ago. Things change.”
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She was not the same scared, devastated girl who left the ranch six years ago. She had borne a child, gone back to school, learned to deal with life’s disappointments.
But here on this mountaintop, she could feel the pull of emotion. And that was a recipe for disaster.
“What did the doctor say about Mac yesterday?”
Trent sat up, his shoulder momentarily brushing hers. “He was pleased with his physical progress. But he pulled me aside and said he’s concerned about Mac’s mental condition. There’s no real reason Mac needs you or anyone to babysit him anymore. Mac seems to think he’s more fragile than he really is. The doc says we need to coax him out of that damned bedroom and get him back to living.”
She flipped an adventurous ant from the edge of the quilt. “They say that even for a normal heart-attack patient that can be hard. But on the heels of Jesse’s death…” She trailed off. They both knew that Mac hadn’t dealt with either the reality or the circumstances of Jesse’s passing.
Finally, still without looking at her, Trent spoke. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you to the prom.”
She was surprised that he would bring it up after all this time. “I was a silly girl. You were a grown man. That was bound to end badly.”
“Still,” he said doggedly, “I could have handled it better.”
What could she say to that?
At last he turned toward her. “I was attracted to you, Bryn. And that scared the hell out of me.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” She couldn’t meet his probing gaze. “I was so embarrassed. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Literally.” Thinking about that long-ago afternoon made her cringe.
He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “I’m serious, Bryn. When you started dating Jesse, I hated it.”
At last she found the courage to look at him. His eyes were sober, his expression unguarded. His small grin was self-deprecating. “He was my own baby brother, and I wanted to punch him in the face.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. “I didn’t mean for it to happen that way. I never should have asked you to take me to the prom. But then Jesse found me crying behind the barn and he promised to take me to the dance. He made me feel better.”
“Because I had made you feel like nothing.”
A jerky nod was all she could manage.