Lip Service

by Susan Mallery

  “Sorry isn’t good enough.”

  She straightened. “Fine. Then what do you want?”

  “I want you to bleed the way I’ve bled. I want you to feel all of it.”

  His anger and pain were living creatures in the room. They sucked out the air and made her want to bolt for the outside.

  Then she finally understood.

  “You think this is my fault,” she whispered. “You blame me for everything. If I hadn’t broken up with you, you wouldn’t have gone away. You wouldn’t have become a SEAL or lost your leg.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  She couldn’t believe it. “Are you sorry for what you did? The lives you saved? The difference you made?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is? You made a choice. We both did, and now we have to live with the consequences.”

  “Must be tough for you,” he said, his voice thick with anger. “Living in your big house with your kid and all. Does the pain and suffering keep you up nights? Do you regret marrying Ray?”

  Which was what it all came down to, she thought sadly.

  She stared into the eyes of the man she had loved more than anything, but not enough to defy her father.

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t. He gave me Erin and I would never wish her away. It’s done, Mitch. This is where we are.”

  “This is where you are. I’m somewhere else.”

  “I don’t know you anymore.”

  “Too bad. I’m a helluva guy.”

  “You used to be. Now you’re just a man who wants the whole world to feel sorry for him.”

  MITCH HADN’T KNOWN it was possible to feel this bad and not be dead. He’d passed out in his office some time the previous night and had woken up on the floor shortly before dawn. It had taken him the better part of an hour to limp to the house. The crutches had been as much a hindrance as a help.

  Showering, a pot of coffee and a handful of aspirin did nothing to ease the hammering in his head and the sour rock in the pit of his stomach. Nearly as bad was the fact that he didn’t remember much about what had happened, except he was pretty sure Skye had visited and he’d treated her badly.

  The devil on his shoulder told him that she deserved whatever he’d said, but the rest of him wasn’t so sure. There were some lines he wasn’t willing to cross. It was a bitch not knowing if he already had.

  Fidela fussed over him until he couldn’t take it anymore so he jammed a hat on his head and made his way back to the barn. If he remembered correctly, he had a mess to clean up in his office. Later, he would deal with Skye.

  The dim quiet of the barn eased the pressure in his head. For about eight seconds.

  “Mitch! Hi. Are you going riding? You haven’t been riding yet and you really need to ride Bullet. He’s very sad. I can tell.”

  Her shrill, eight-year-old, high-pitched voice cut through him like broken glass. He winced and wished he was anywhere but here. At this point, physical therapy was looking good.

  “Erin,” he said, speaking softly. “I’m not feeling too good today. Could you keep your voice down?”

  “Why? Does my talking make your head hurt? Why are you sick? Do you have a cold?”

  He wanted to groan. Yelling at her wasn’t an option. She might not be his kid, but he couldn’t be mean to her. It wasn’t much but right now that was the only bright spot on his otherwise tarnished character.

  “Everything makes my head hurt,” he told her.

  “I know what will make it better.” She put her small hands on her skinny little hips. “If you get on Bullet and ride with me I’ll be really quiet.”

  “I will not be manipulated by an eight-year-old.”

  She grinned. “Want to hear me scream?”

  “Erin.” He growled her name in warning.

  The grin widened. “Or I could sing. Come on, Mitch. Let’s go riding.”

  Bouncing around on a horse was a particular brand of hell he didn’t want to experience. There was no way, he told himself. No way at all.

  But he found himself looking into her eyes and seeing the hope there.

  “It’ll make you feel better,” she whispered. “I promise. I won’t talk at all.” She looked at his left leg—or where it used to be. “I know you’re hurt. Fiddle told me you’d done too much. She said that your pros-y thing can hurt.”

  She bit her lower lip and touched her own thigh. “I’d be scared if I lost my leg. I’d be so scared and hugs from my mom might not even help. It’s really sad.” She raised her gaze to his and he saw tears there. “I’m sorry you’re hurt now and that you got hurt before in the war.”

  A single tear slipped down her cheek. “Would it hurt you if I hugged you?”

  His throat got real tight and he had to swallow. When he shook his head, she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, then hung on as if she was never going to let go.

  She could have been his, he thought sadly. She should have been. He and Skye were supposed to get married. They’d have a family by now. Maybe a daughter like Erin.

  Instead her father was some old guy who’d stolen Skye. No, he reminded himself. It wasn’t Ray’s fault. He’d only taken what had been offered. The real villains here were Skye and Jed. And he was going to get both of them.

  “Say yes,” Erin said, looking up at him. “I won’t scream or yell or sing. Just come riding with me.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  She jumped back and hooted with excitement, then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I’ll be real quiet now.”

  “That would be good.”

  He walked to Bullet’s stall, then held the door open while she led out the horse. Using crutches meant Mitch couldn’t help gather equipment, but Erin knew what she was doing and quickly had the saddle pad in place. The saddle was big and heavy. She half dragged, half carried it to him. He balanced on one leg, handed her his crutches and managed to swing the saddle in place.

  Ten minutes later her horse was ready, as well. Mitch led Bullet over to the mounting block and hesitated.

  “I haven’t been on a horse in nearly ten years,” he muttered. “And that was with two legs.”

  He also wasn’t used to getting on the right side, but without a prosthesis, he didn’t have much choice.

  “You can do it,” Erin said, standing in front of Bullet and stroking his face. “I’ll hold him. But I don’t think he’ll move. He’s special.”

  Trained for a cripple, Mitch thought bitterly. He leaned his crutches against a post, then hopped up the three stairs, holding on to the railing to stay upright. When he was on the mounting block he gripped the railing and half lifted, half threw his left leg over the saddle. He shifted his weight, pushed off with his right leg and found himself in the saddle.

  “You did it,” Erin crowed, the sound ripping his head from the inside.

  But he didn’t remind her to be quiet, mostly because it felt pretty good to be on a horse again. She passed him the reins. He urged Bullet forward and the horse moved.

  Erin climbed on her horse like a little monkey and joined him as he rode outside.

  The sun was bright and hot and made his head throb, but he ignored it. Bullet’s movements were familiar, making him wish he hadn’t been so stubborn about riding. This felt good. Almost normal.

  “I knew you could do it,” Erin told him.

  “Yes, you did and you were right.”

  She grinned at him and he smiled back.

  They rode toward the cattle and circled around the herd. To their right was the fencing for the chickens.

  Erin pointed. “There’s a break in the fence. We need to tell Arturo so the coyotes don’t get them.”

  The coyotes could have them all, he thought. Damn chickens.

  “You tell him,” he grumbled.

  “Don’t you like the chickens?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “This is a cattle ranch.”

  �
��Diversification is important.”

  He looked at her and laughed. “How do you know that word?”

  She pressed her lips together and looked smug. “Sometimes Arturo and I talk. He’s teaching me about the ranch. He said you can’t just depend on having one thing. Like cows. You need more. So if something bad happens, you’re safe. It’s like bringing your raincoat if it looks cloudy. If you don’t, you might get wet.”

  “You’re saying chickens are a raincoat?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I guess. Arturo said it, not me.”

  “My family has run cattle on this land for nearly a hundred years. No Cassidy ever kept chickens.”

  “They didn’t use computers, either, but you do.”

  He glanced at her. “You’re very smart.”

  “I know. And it’s not their fault they’re chickens. You shouldn’t be mad at them.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “You look mad when you talk about them. They’re really good chickens. They eat coconut.”

  He reined in Bullet. “What?”

  “Maybe not a whole one, but part. It’s in their food.”

  Coconut? “Do they get piña coladas, too?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “It’s so they don’t eat soy. You’ll have to ask Arturo. I don’t know what it all means.”

  Coconut? Sure. And they were probably served dinner on silver trays, with champagne.

  “Where’s your mom and dad?” Erin asked.

  “They died nearly ten years ago.”

  Her mouth twisted. “That’s sad.”

  “Yes, it is. They liked to travel a lot. They were in Europe, taking a small plane from Italy to a resort on the Black Sea. The plane crashed.”

  “Do you remember them?”

  He nodded. They hadn’t been around much. His father had grown up hating the ranch, feeling he was trapped by the land and the cattle. He’d married and had Mitch, but inside he’d been waiting until his father died so he could escape.

  Mitch had been nearly ten when his grandfather had passed on, leaving Mitch’s parents free to travel the world. They’d been gone within a month. Arturo and Fidela had stepped into the emptiness, giving him the stability he needed.

  He hadn’t missed his parents that much, although he’d found himself feeling lost when they died. Maybe it had been the realization that he had no other family. Skye had been there for him and at the time, it had been enough.

  “You want to go fast?” Erin asked, looking eager.

  Mitch found himself wanting to see what he and Bullet could do.

  “Sure,” he said.

  She leaned over her horse and whispered something. The animal shot ahead. Mitch tightened his muscles and Bullet raced after her. The wind blew in his face. Despite his amputation, he stayed on the horse without a problem.

  Freedom, he thought, grateful for the chance to experience this again. He owed Erin for pushing. Owed and would find a way to pay her back. He would also pay back Skye, but for very different reasons.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SKYE WALKED into the Calico Café and found both Lexi and Dana, their friend and Titanville deputy, already waiting.

  “Where’s Izzy?” Lexi asked, then slapped her menu on the table. “Don’t tell me you two still aren’t speaking. What’s going on there?”

  Dana picked up her coffee. “Let me guess. It’s a man.”

  “Sort of,” Skye said, feeling defensive. “I told her about breakfast. She’s the one who said she didn’t want to come.”

  “Who’s the guy?” Dana asked.

  “He’s not important.”

  “But you’re fighting over him?”

  “I know.” Skye slid into her seat and nodded when the waitress brought over a pot of coffee. She waited until hers had been poured to say, “I’m tired of Izzy assuming she’s the only guy magnet in the family. I could be one if I wanted.”

  Lexi and Dana glanced at each other, then at her.

  “Do you want to be one?” Lexi asked.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “I’m thinking therapy or medication,” Dana said. “Maybe both.”

  Skye managed a smile. “I know it sounds crazy. I can’t really explain it. T. J. Boone is—”

  “I know T.J.,” Lexi said, looking confused. “I went to high school with him. He lives in Dallas.” She turned to Dana. “You remember him, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh. He’s pretty enough, if you’re into blond guys.”

  “This isn’t about his appearance,” Skye said primly. “It’s about principle.”

  “The principle of being right?” Dana asked.

  Being in law enforcement and basically sensible to her bones, Dana could be counted on to get to the heart of a matter. Normally Skye appreciated that in her friend. Just not this morning.

  “Jed is trying to hook up T.J. and me,” Skye said. “Izzy talked to him and then informed me that there’s no way he’s actually interested in me as a person. And that T.J. is wild about her because who wouldn’t be. The way she tells it is that she’s dating him to protect me and, I guess, to save me from myself.” She took a sip of the coffee. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  Lexi shifted in her chair. “There is a chance that Izzy’s intentions are good and that she really is worried about you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “She’s your sister.”

  “I know that.”

  Dana leaned forward. “What she’s trying to say is maybe you should be the mature one in all this.”

  “Not what I want to hear.”

  “Do you even like the guy?” Lexi asked.

  “He’s charming and funny and making a serious effort to win me over. I should like him.”

  “But?” Dana asked.

  “Can we change the subject? Let’s talk about something easier to define, like our evil half brother. Any luck finding out Garth’s source with the media?”

  “Not yet,” Lexi said. “Cruz has hired a detective who’s digging around, but so far we’re not even close. If we could just find a way to link him to something, anything illegal, we could call in the police.”

  “Speaking for Titanville’s finest,” Dana said. “I’m ready to be called.”

  “I’ve spoken with that woman who filed the lawsuit against my spa,” Lexi said. “She later withdrew it. She’s moved away and despite the fact that she’s not working for Garth anymore, she won’t testify against him. She won’t even admit she filed the suit on his request. It’s so frustrating.”

  “But he’s good,” Dana said. “You have to give him that.”

  “Yeah, good at destroying us,” Skye said. “Why couldn’t we have a normal half brother? One who wanted to bring us flowers and eat fried chicken? Instead we have someone who is plotting our destruction. It’s like being in a James Bond movie but without all the cool gadgets.”

  “Or James Bond,” Dana said.

  “That, too.”

  “I want to get my hands on him,” Dana said.

  Lexi looked confused. “James Bond?”

  “Garth.”

  “He’s not your type,” Skye teased.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “And speaking of types.” Lexi eyed Skye’s coffee but reached for her juice, then turned to Dana. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  A few weeks ago they’d had a girls’ night helping Dana recover from being dumped. At the time she’d made it clear she was far more upset about the guy leaving her rather than the pain of being left.

  “I’m between men,” Dana said. “I’m going to keep it that way for a while.”

  “What about you?” Lexi asked Skye. “Are you still going to see T.J.?”

  “I don’t know. He’s very nice.”

  “Words every man longs to hear,” Dana muttered. “Nice is the death of hope in a relationship. If he’s not making you all tingly, you should leave him for Iz
zy to play with.”

  “Maybe,” she said, knowing she couldn’t tell them the truth. If Jed was serious about her getting together with T.J. then he would pressure her in ways her sister and her friend couldn’t begin to understand. That even now, as a mother herself and a woman with a relatively successful life, she was still afraid of losing her father’s affection.

  No matter how many times she told herself she wasn’t that ten-year-old little girl standing over her mother’s dead body, she couldn’t shake the fear of being abandoned yet again. She hated the part of herself that feared Jed, but she also couldn’t ignore it.

  “SO, YOU’RE THE JACKASS Joss told me about.”

  Mitch looked up from the computer to see a tall man standing in the doorway of his office. The guy was probably in his mid-forties, fit and tanned.

  “Who are you?” he asked, already suspecting the truth. Joss wouldn’t be happy just taking away his prosthesis. He would want to make a point, as well.

  “I’m Alex.” The guy walked into the office and took a seat without being asked. “Joss asked me to stop by and talk to you.”

  Mitch could see both the guy’s hands, so he must have lost a leg. “Which one?” he asked.

  “Right. Makes it a bitch to drive. Mid-thigh. I was a kid, driving drunk.” Alex shrugged. “It happens. At least I had the excuse of being a teenager. What’s yours?”

  “I fell on a bomb.”

  “I don’t mean for losing your leg. I mean for acting like a jerk. From what I hear, you beat yourself up pretty bad last week. No matter how hard you push yourself, you’re not going to grow back your leg.”

  Mitch’s mild interest turned into annoyance. “Thanks for the greeting card’s worth of advice. I’m busy.”

  “Too bad. I’m not leaving until I’ve said what I came here to say.”

  Mitch crossed his arms over his chest. “You think you can make me listen?”

  “Probably, but think about it. Two cripples wrestling on the floor, prostheses and crutches flying. Do you really want people to see you like that?”

  The image was so clear, Mitch found himself fighting a smile. “It might damage my tough-guy image.”

  “You think?”

  “So why are you here?” he asked, although he already had a good idea.