Walk Me Home

by Liza Kendall

  Now, watching his brother on the phone, Jake thought he still looked every inch like the man in charge Declan had always been, with that determined jaw and take-no-prisoners stare, but there were a few strands of silver threading through his dark Braddock hair and a few lines radiating out from those black Irish eyes.

  We’re all getting older, all five of us. Declan, me, Ace, Everett, Lila . . . and we’re all still so alone. How did we get here?

  Declan paced the plush, elegant book-lined great room, so at odds with the dirt under his fingernails and the bandanna rag sticking out of the back pocket of his worn jeans. Nicks and cuts from the barbed-wire fence he’d been fixing covered the muscular arm that held up his cell phone in a death grip. He spoke to their banker brother, Everett, in terse, controlled sentences; the tension with Rhett was never subtle, and Declan was the only one of the Braddock siblings who ever talked with him anymore.

  “The lease of the north forty,” Declan was saying, “will help us all pay off the mortgage, so that we no longer owe you.”

  There was a pause as Rhett said something on the other end of the line.

  “It doesn’t complicate things. The Sherman brothers will plant their crops for two years, and we’ll see how it goes. If things are good, we’ll renegotiate the lease at that point. If things get problematic, we can rely on the clauses I added to help us terminate the lease.”

  Another pause.

  Declan kept his tone very even, but anger seeped in. “Everett, we are all in your debt. And you like it that way. But your money doesn’t give you the right to call all the shots unilaterally. I’m asking you to sign off on this and trust me. I’m asking you to let me run things here effectively, or you will have to find yourself another rancher to manage this place. No. That is not a threat. But it is a line in the sand. You choose whether or not to cross it.”

  There was yet another pause.

  “Thank you,” said Declan. “I’ll send the paperwork—fine. Electronic signature is fine. Goodbye.”

  Deck ended the call, tossed his cell phone onto the leather couch, and exhaled audibly.

  “That sounded fun,” Jake said.

  “Always.” Deck’s mouth tightened. “He’s very busy. Had to jump off to play a round of golf with some big clients.”

  “Oooh. Tough day, then.”

  “Everett,” said Declan, and shook his head.

  He walked forward, palmed the black iron poker, and nudged at a log in the fireplace, causing the flames to snap and crackle in protest. Declan cleared his throat. “You know, Jake, you’ve still got a room here, if you want it.”

  Jake paused, then nodded at his older brother. The nod was a shade too casual, as Deck’s own words were. They both looked away at the same time, Jake out the plate glass window to the left of the massive oak front doors.

  The pale gold and green vista of the Braddock family land stretched for miles until it greeted the sky in a sentimental tinge of rose orange. The place was a patchwork of different pastures and crops.

  There were picturesque fenced paddocks with cattle and horses grazing peacefully in them. There were neat rows of corn and wheat marching in orderly lines like obedient soldiers. There was a gully that fed a stock pond, to water the animals and cool off kids on a hot summer’s day. And then there were the rows of apple trees, bursting with fruit. The view, to put it bluntly, did not suck. Maybe he should come here more often, he thought.

  “Thanks, man,” Jake said, and let his gaze run to the weathered pier-and-beam architecture, the simple pleasing geometry of it. The ceiling soared to the original structure’s apex, a good twenty-five feet high. His brother had modernized and updated the original bones, but also replaced what seemed like acres of rooftop. He’d done a beautiful job.

  Deck had left either side of the house open glass, framed in by the same rough cedar. This created the illusion that they lounged outside, the oaks shading and cradling the house to both left and right. Jake felt as if he could shimmy up one of the posts and right into the trees, as they had done as boys. He felt a lump rising in his throat, an ache for the innocence of his youth.

  Jake’s mouth twisted. Why didn’t God hand out reset buttons?

  As they’d caught fireflies, lizards, and toads, as they’d pitched tents of clothesline and old blankets, as they’d rubbed bits of flint together to try to start campfires . . . they’d had no idea what the future held. They’d had no idea those simple times of togetherness were precious.

  No, they’d just been goofy, rambunctious boys with the peculiar blessing of a little sister to torment—the best gift ever. They’d tickled little Lila, tackled her, and toughened her. They’d taught her to be one of them.

  He’d give just about anything to be ten again, clueless and carefree. Anything. He’d set the table without whining, even fold the napkins properly. He’d eat all the spinach in the pot, not just the requisite three bites. He’d even wash the dishes—just to have one last family dinner with all of them—with Mama and Pop.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. Their parents were dead, courtesy of a car accident on a country lane; the rest of them were scattered. Deck lived here on the ranch all by his lonesome with only Grouchy the mutt for company—so named not because he had a nasty personality, but because (except for not being green) none of them had ever seen a dog that looked so much like Sesame Street’s Oscar the Grouch. Lila had even sewn him a “trash can” to sleep in, made out of furry gray material with a pillow lid. It lay on its side in front of the fireplace, the dog half in and half out of it, only his back legs and tail to be seen.

  “Grouchy,” said Jake. “Oscar glares at people from his trash can. You’re in there wrong side out again.”

  Deck snorted and nudged one of Grouchy’s hindquarters with the toe of his boot. The dog thumped his tail. “He’s just backwards, like the rest of this family.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself.” He yawned. “I need to get going. Personally, I don’t care if you lease the north forty to performance artists who plant purple Popsicles, man. Really.”

  “Well, I wanted to check with you. We’d never sell acreage, of course, but I can’t plant all of it myself, and this will bring in a little more income. Which we need to pay off the loan to Everett.”

  Jake nodded. He strongly suspected that Deck had just used the idea of the lease as an excuse to get Jake over here. What he didn’t totally understand was why. He could have called him and then e-mailed the documents to him.

  Declan went behind his desk and sat down. He flipped a sheaf of papers to the signatory page and turned them to face Jake. There were names and spaces for all the siblings. “Sign and then initial the other four pages.”

  Jake leaned over and started signing.

  “Lila’s over at the Old Barn,” Deck said, “prepping the space for a wedding. Another of her ridiculous, over-the-top events. But at least they bring in money, too.”

  Deck had little patience with overdressed, tipsy strangers skipping around the family property, and Jake didn’t blame him one bit. But like the petting zoo and the apple picking, the party rentals at the barn helped to pay the bills on Silverlake Ranch. And Lila was brilliant at marketing and at managing the events.

  Deck straightened some pens on his desk that didn’t need straightening. “You could always stop by and say hello—and tell her that I need her to sign off on this, too.”

  Jake paused midsignature and looked up. “Can’t you send her a text?”

  Deck met his gaze evenly. “Is it really that big a deal for you to stop by?”

  Yes. The word hung unspoken in the air. Lila had remained good friends with Charlie when she and Jake broke up. Water under the bridge? Maybe. But blood should have been a hell of a lot thicker than that water, given what had gone down.

  Jake cracked his neck, finished initialing the pages, and stood u
p.

  “She is your sister.”

  “Really,” Jake deadpanned. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Deck let his loosely curled fist fall to the rough-hewn wooden desktop. “You know what? I keep this place up. I work to pay back the loan to Everett, while none of you will even speak to him. And I provide a side income stream for all of you. I surely don’t ask a lot in return. You know that.”

  Jake looked down, then looked up at the wedding portrait of their parents hanging over the fireplace. Mama wore a secretive little smile. Pop’s gaze was challenging somehow, as if he thought the painter of the portrait might be working up the nerve to ask his bride for a date—and he wasn’t happy about it.

  “So maybe you could do me a favor and at least try to remember we’re all family?” Deck asked. “Try to remember that Lila was caught in a tough spot, and that Charlie was grieving and needed her?”

  “She wasn’t the only person who was grieving.” The terse words escaped Jake before he could stop them, along with the resentment that punctuated them.

  Deck stared him down. “Well, you’re the one who made it either her or you, man. And you did it after the fact, which isn’t really fair.”

  “When somebody accuses you of something you didn’t do—something terrible—the people who care about you are supposed to stand by your side. I didn’t start that fire, Declan. I told that to Lila’s face right back when it all happened. I wouldn’t have my badge today if I’d done what the Nashes accused me of. But Lila didn’t stand up next to me when she should’ve; she straddled the fence. Stayed by Charlie’s side instead.”

  Sure as hell, Jake had made his sister choose sides. He’d hardly had anybody left. He had needed to know there were still people in this world who cared about him. If it hadn’t been for Old George taking him under his wing . . . he didn’t like to think about it. The former fire chief had understood his pain, had patiently answered all of his naive questions about the fire, and had shared his time with a bruised and lonely kid.

  Pain flashed in Declan’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Jake flushed, suddenly recalling that the moment he’d realized that Lila was staying friends with Charlie Nash was also the moment he’d realized how Declan had felt trying to make enough of a home for his brothers and sisters to stay by his side.

  Damn. The old wounds never stayed closed for good, no matter how many stitches they’d tried to put in over the years.

  Jake sighed, bent down to give Grouchy a brief rub, and then got to his feet. “I didn’t ask for your take on things.”

  “I know. You got it anyway.”

  Jake exhaled. “Yeah.”

  The truth was, he missed Lila. And the tight expressions passing for smiles when they crossed paths in public were getting really old. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world to have an excuse to talk to her. Not that he’d admit that to his brother. “If it’ll make you happy, then I’ll stop by.”

  “Thank you.” Deck seemed on the verge of saying something else, but evidently thought better of it. He got up, too, stretched out a hand toward Jake, then let it fall. “Good to see you, kid.”

  Wish you’d quit being a stranger. Jake heard it, even though Deck didn’t say it. The pressure to come home. Even though he was now a fully grown adult. Well, if he’d felt that Deck could replace their parents, he’d never have left, would he? Searching, as all of them had, for the anchors that had moored them, the anchors that had sunk without a trace.

  “Yeah. See you around, man.” He clapped Deck on the shoulder and headed out.

  Grouchy extricated himself from his trash can and followed him to the door. Declan was his favorite, but he greeted everyone, barked like crazy at strangers, and followed their vehicles until they were off the property. Jake was so busy trying not to step on Grouchy, spinning like a tornado at his boots, that he almost stepped on the cat.

  Wait a minute. We don’t have a cat.

  Meow.

  Jake stared down at a gray cat with golden eyes, swishing its fluffy tail at him.

  “Where’d you come from?” he asked it.

  It jerked its tail, as if to say, None of your business.

  Grouchy lunged playfully at it, the cat swatted his nose, and then the two took off running.

  “Deck?” Jake called, sticking his head back through the door.

  “Yeah?”

  “You got a cat?”

  There was a pause. “Damn thing’s adopted me.”

  “You do have a choice, you know. You’ve never been a cat person . . . Wait, is that a bowl I see? Two, actually. About cat size.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Deck called.

  “Uh-huh.” Jake grinned and shook his head.

  “Okay, okay. Grouchy likes the critter. Gives him something to chase besides cars.”

  “Unbelievable. You don’t let it in the house, do you?”

  “Absolutely not. It does let itself in now and then, though.”

  “Declan, are you getting soft?”

  Grunt.

  “So what’s your new buddy’s name?”

  “Just Cat. I draw the line at naming it.”

  “Good to know, tough guy. Good to know.”

  * * *

  It was a short ride over to the Old Barn, which the Braddocks had been renting out for events for the past five years. It had actually been Lila’s idea. Who would have suspected that the former tomboy could plan weddings and parties?

  Jake aimed his Durango down the curving paved drive and then cut left onto a gravel road that led to the east bend of the property. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other arm hanging out the open window, catching the crisp breeze. The sun was warm on his skin, the air fragrant with the scent of damp earth; Declan must be planting the oats and wheat around now. A western scrub jay and then a vermilion flycatcher danced by the windshield, wheeling and cawing in the ultrablue morning sky. Nothing to complain about—that was for sure. It was one of those days on which anyone was thankful to be alive.

  The road wound to the left, then doglegged to the right, the Old Barn coming into view about a half mile ahead. Jake drove idly, wondering what, exactly, he’d say to Lila except for “Hello” and “Deck wants to see you.”

  He’d refused to even speak to her for a long time when she wouldn’t sever the friendship with Charlie. She’d called over and over, trying to explain. Sure, he bumped into Lila now and again, but it wasn’t the same. He’d just poured cement down in the hole where his heart had once been and let it harden. It was a lot more comfortable that way.

  He never let his mind go to Charlie anymore. Never wondered where she was or how she was doing. He didn’t want to know what she did for a living, if she’d gotten married, if she’d had kids. He just didn’t want to know.

  Jake’s mouth flattened as he approached the Old Barn, slowed, and parked. Get it over with. It’s better than what you’re signed up to do this afternoon, for chrissakes.

  Most towns this small had only volunteer fire departments. Silverlake, Texas, was different, and thanks to a tradition as old as the town itself—made official in the earliest city council documents, thank you very much—a squad of seven guys—himself, Old George, Grady, Mick, Hunter, Rafael, and Tommy—lived at the firehouse and received a civic salary. The trade-off was the understanding that when they weren’t putting out the rare fire, the men were on call for anything the community needed.

  This included such glamorous gigs as putting up the town Christmas lights; playing Santa; volunteering at the tri-county animal shelter; and once, regrettably, unclogging a toilet at city hall. (That one had been fiercely debated, since at the time of the Great Overflow, Vic, the local plumber, was seated only two blocks away at the bar in Schweitz’s Tavern. And drinking a cold one. But Vic was clearly off duty and would bill for his services, whereas
Jake was unfortunately free in both senses of the word.)

  He climbed out of the truck, slammed the door, squared his shoulders, and headed toward the sound of his sister’s voice. Lila was inside the barn by the wall, talking to a pair of booted feet on a ladder. The boots screamed city. They were black and high heeled, ridiculous for a barn. The body was blocked by a massive rafter.

  “Hey, Lila,” he called. “I heard a rumor—”

  The feet jumped. Literally.

  “—you were out here.”

  The feet came down all wrong.

  “Holy—!” Jake sprinted forward as the ladder teetered.

  A bloodcurdling shriek resounded through the cavernous space as the ladder fell.

  “Oh God!” Lila exclaimed.

  Without thinking, Jake dove as he might have to catch a football, twisting in midair to land on his shoulder, then his ass.

  What he caught was no football. And it was worse than the flu.

  After a decade of refusing to see her, speak to her, or think about her, Jake Braddock had caught a big curvy armful of none other than Charlie Nash.

  Chapter 3

  Charlie felt only blind panic as she fell. It was the longest half second of her life.

  And then she hit not the ground but Jake Braddock’s chest. His muscular arms locked protectively around her, and she could feel his heartbeat pounding in time with her own. They lay there, unmoving and mutually horrified.

  The wind had been knocked out of her. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t speak. Why, oh why, could her extra eleven pounds not have cracked open the floor so that she could’ve fallen right through it?

  “Charlie Nash,” he said at last. “What in the . . . Are you okay?”

  The deliciously deep rumble of Jake Braddock’s voice saying her name was something of a shock. A memory she’d either forgotten or forced out of her head. Of course, the last time they’d spoken, he was just sixteen. Charlie opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.

  He was warm and reassuring underneath her. His chest was solid muscle; so were his thighs under her backside. But how, out of all the people on the planet, could she be sprawled inelegantly on top of Jake Braddock?