Promise Broken (The Callahan Series)

by Bridges , Mitzi Pool

  The brothers looked at him in astonishment. “You’re kidding! You’re a Callahan, always have been—always will be. How could you not know that?”

  “Douglas is right, Don,” TJ said.

  He turned on her. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a kid to take care of?”

  “Your godchild. Are you going to walk out on him, too?”

  “You look like hell,” Douglas said. “Have you shaved since you left home?”

  “Haven’t done much of anything except try to find the asshole who hurt Mom. Anyway, what do you care? I’m not your responsibility.”

  TJ put her hands on her hips. “Oh, really? Since when? I thought Callahans took up for one another—helped one another. Didn’t you guys come after me when you thought I was in trouble?”

  “That was different.”

  The men pushed back from the table, stood. “Let’s go, Donovan,” Dugan said. “This has gone on long enough. Mom needs you.”

  “Mom has you guys. She doesn’t need me there reminding her how I came to be.”

  “Then why did she take to her bed when you left? Why did she go into a depression she can’t seem to pull herself out of? Why does she cry every day for her first-born?” Dugan slammed a hand on the table. “I can’t take it anymore, Donovan. You’re killing our mother and none of us will stand for it.”

  “So that’s why you’re really here? Mom’s sick and I’m the cure?” Donovan hated the cruelty of his words.

  Mom was a loving and caring mother to them all. He’d never felt the least bit of discrimination between the way she treated her children.

  “You’re being stubborn,” TJ said. “Part of why we’re here is because of Mom. The other part is you’re our brother. We love you. Isn’t that enough?”

  “We’re not giving you an option,” Douglas said. “You’re going home.”

  “You have no idea how I feel. If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re probably right,” TJ said. “We don’t know how you feel. It was a shock to us, so I can only imagine how it hit you.”

  “Just say it. My father raped our mother. I’m the result. How can you want me in your lives?”

  He wanted to fight, just not his brothers and sister. The man he wanted to hit was already dead.

  TJ took his arm, walked him to the door. Douglas threw a fifty on the table before following. When they stepped outside, Donovan raised his face to the sun. It felt good, but the warmth didn’t penetrate. On the inside he was cold as ice.

  “We love you, Don. All of us. Nothing’s the same without you. I can’t live my life without you in it.”

  Douglas cleared his throat. “None of us can. I know it’ll be hard at first, but will you go back and give it a try?”

  “Our world is as off-kilter as yours,” Darin added. “We need you.”

  “That’s enough melodrama,” Dugan said. “Where are your things? We’ll pick them up and head home.”

  “What things? All I had was my truck.”

  They stared at him. “Sold it,” he mumbled. “I don’t have a thing.”

  Dugan shook his head. “My pickup is around the corner.”

  They weren’t giving him a choice. “I need a minute with Douglas. Alone.”

  Donovan and Douglas walked side by side a few feet from the others. “What do you need?” Douglas asked.

  “I want you to check something for me. I found out a couple of hours ago that Carl Perkins died in a knife fight two weeks after he came here.”

  Douglas’s brow lifted.

  “I want you to make sure it was him.”

  “Was that before or after you got to San Antonio?”

  “You would ask that, wouldn’t you?”

  Douglas grinned. “I’m a lawyer. I want all the facts. Not just those you choose to give me.”

  “Fair enough. I don’t know the date. You can check that out too.”

  “That all you need?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  They walked back to the others. TJ threw her arms around his neck and held tight. “Don’t do this again, Don. I can’t take it.”

  Darin and Douglas grabbed him in a bear hug before they piled into Douglas’s SUV for the drive back to Houston. In the back seat, TJ wiped her tears and waved.

  Donovan crawled into Dugan’s pickup and watched them go. Then, leaning back in the seat, let his younger brother take over. He was going back to the ranch whether he wanted to or not.

  He twitched in his seat, uncomfortable at the thought.

  It was true; Mom couldn’t run the ranch by herself. How ironic that he was the only one of the five who loved ranching. But wouldn’t he feel like a hired hand now?

  He’d see how things went. He wouldn’t have his mom sick on his account. Once he was sure she was all right, he’d be free to stay or to leave.

  An hour later, they pulled through the familiar gate. Donovan’s heartbeat accelerated. Everything looked the same. The hay rings were filled to the brim. Cattle munched in contentment.

  Dugan, who had been exceptionally quiet, cleared his throat. Donovan glanced at him, saw his brother’s hands clench on the steering wheel, a strange look on his face.

  “What’s up?” Donovan asked.

  Another throat clearing. “Mom hired someone while you were gone. Name’s Phil.”

  “Figured she’d have to.”

  “I’ll drop you off and get back to work. Tell Mom I’ll be back for dinner.”

  Dugan stopped the pickup in the front yard. The house looked the same. Comfortable. Sturdy. His heart lurched at the sight. “You sure you don’t want to come in?”

  “Nope. This is your deal.”

  As soon as Donovan stepped out, Dugan backed up and high-tailed it down the lane to the road.

  Donovan walked inside. It was quiet, almost too quiet. “Mom,” he called out.

  No answer. He thundered upstairs, knocked on the door to her room. When she didn’t answer, he looked in. She wasn’t there.

  She wasn’t anywhere in the house.

  He raced out the back door. Stopped when he saw her. Relief poured through him at the familiar picture. In jeans and shirt, her slim figure straight and strong, she was watching a young boy sitting on TJ’s horse, Lily. A woman in jeans and baseball cap, blond hair pulled through the back opening, held Lily’s reins as she led horse and rider around the corral.

  Who was she? Who was the kid? He couldn’t be a day over six.

  His mother’s laughter floated toward him.

  Sick, huh? Sure didn’t look like it.

  He’d been suckered.

  The kid shrieked his excitement while the woman’s soft voice encouraged and coaxed.

  “You’re doing good, Mark,” Donovan’s mother sang out.

  “Let me go by myself,” the kid begged.

  “Are you sure?” the woman asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  Donovan recognized her reluctance as she handed the reins to the kid, gave him instructions and stepped back.

  The kid took the reins in both hands, sat up straighter and leaned forward. Lily didn’t move.

  His mother laughed; the familiar sound made his breath hitch.

  The woman went to the kid, told him something. He nodded, gave Lily a light jab with his sneaker-clad foot. Lily moved forward. The kid leaned over and patted her neck. Then he made a couple of circles around the corral to the cheers of both his mother and the woman.

  Donovan remembered the first time he was placed in a saddle—remembered his dad’s instructions. Donovan had been so proud when he could make that horse walk, turn right, left, then stop. It had been a powerful feeling of accomplishment, and he wondered if the kid felt the same.

  So, who was the kid? And the woman?

  He’d never seen them before, and the town was small enough to know everyone.

  Had strangers weaseled their way onto the ranch while he was gone—taken advantage of his mother’s good nature? She w
as a pushover for a sob story. With him gone and no one to watch over her—

  That didn’t make sense. Dugan was a regular at the ranch. He had two, sometimes three meals a week here. He’d know what was going on and put a halt to anything that looked even remotely suspicious.

  Donovan looked around for the hired man, Phil, but didn’t see him. Maybe they were Phil’s family.

  His mother turned, saw him. For a moment, she just stared. Then she ran toward him.

  “You’re home,” she said, taking him in her arms.

  His throat closed as his arms went around her waist.

  She touched his face, rubbed a hand over his beard. “You look different.”

  “I am different.”

  She looked up at him; her green eyes shining with unshed tears. “Under those whiskers is my son, Donovan Callahan, and he hasn’t changed.” She kissed him again. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  “Everything looks good. The cows look fed and healthy. You look fine. I was told you were sick. Why did you want me back?”

  She took his arm, pulled him close. “I was sick the minute you heard something I never intended you to know. Sick at heart. Sick that you were hurt. Sick that you could ever think you weren’t a part of this family.”

  He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

  “Don’t you understand?”

  He shook his head. “All I know is that you were raped and I’m the result. I don’t know how you could possibly care about me or why you don’t hate me. How could Duncan Callahan claim me as his son? Did he know? He did, didn’t he?”

  She nodded, touched his cheek again as a tear slipped down her cheek. “Duncan Callahan was your father in every way that mattered and he wanted to be your father. Never question that. The rest we’ll talk about later. Now I want to know where you’ve been, and if you found what you went after.”

  Chapter Two

  The tall stranger had Phyl Leander’s heart almost leaving her chest. Who was he? Had they found her?

  Quickly, she lifted Mark off Lily’s back, and sent him to the barn. Her mind racing, she followed with Lily in tow.

  “I did good, didn’t I?” Mark asked, as his mother took the saddle, threw it on a sawhorse, handed Mark a brush, and motioned for him to brush Lily.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t come out of the barn until I call you,” she ordered.

  Wiping her hands down her jeans, she hurried to the barn door and looked out just as Nellie embraced the man.

  Nellie knew him. Could he be the son who’d abandoned Nellie and the Callahans, leaving them so desperate that Nellie was willing to hire her immediately even without references?

  She’d seen pictures of Donovan Callahan in the house. She knew he looked different from the rest of the children who came here often. She’d wondered if maybe they were switching off their visits to keep an eye on the new hired hand.

  They were a personable bunch, got along together, but what impressed her the most was the obvious love they had for each other.

  From her position in the barn, she couldn’t hear what the two were saying, but Nellie looked happy. When the man turned slightly, she saw his profile. Even with the beard, she was sure it was the missing son.

  Phyl went weak with relief, admonished herself for being so paranoid.

  Taking a deep breath, she went back to Mark, who was doing his best to brush Lily. “You’re doing good, Mark.”

  “Can I ride again tomorrow?” he asked, brown eyes pleading.

  “Maybe.”

  After feeding Lily, they walked toward Nellie and the stranger.

  “There you are.” Nellie smiled. “I want you to meet my oldest son, Donovan. Don, this is Phyllis Leander and her son, Mark. I hired her to look after things while you were gone.”

  He gave Phyl a hard look. One that screamed he didn’t think her capable. So she was thin. Too thin, Nellie told her that her first day. Did he think she couldn’t do the work? Or she couldn’t do it because she was a woman? Ignoring the look, she stuck out her hand. “Call me Phyl.”

  He took her hand, squeezed. She let her gaze wash over his whiskered face. Dark blue eyes glared at her. Tall. She had to look up to him. Unusual since she was five-foot-ten.

  Mark tugged on her jeans. “Is that Donovan?”

  “Mark.” The man bent and shook hands.

  Not many acknowledged a child.

  “After all the stories the Callahans told Mark about you, my son thinks you’re the greatest.”

  She turned to go into the house, giving him a look she hoped he could read. One that said he’d better not disappoint her child. There had been too much of that lately.

  She entered the kitchen and let the warmth of the house seep into her, as she had every day since her arrival. She didn’t think it was the house itself, but the warm and caring woman who gave Phyl a job the very moment she thought she couldn’t run another mile or another minute. Here she felt safe. Mark was safe.

  She gave Donovan another quick look. Would she have to leave now? A tug of concern turned into a ball of apprehension. One she wouldn’t pursue right this minute.

  There was something in his eyes though, that made her wonder.

  He wasn’t her problem. She had enough of her own. Those problems had escalated the minute the missing son came home.

  Nellie went straight to the stove. Mark trailed alongside Donovan.

  “Go upstairs and clean up, Mark,” Phyl told her son.

  “I want to stay down here,” he argued.

  “As soon as you’ve bathed and changed clothes,” she insisted.

  “Mo-om!”

  Phyl smiled to herself, Mark was a typical six-year-old, and thankfully showed no signs of the trauma they’d been through.

  Donovan’s watchful eyes followed her, and they didn’t look happy. Interesting.

  She washed up and began to set the table.

  Donovan went upstairs. Nellie was busy at the stove. But Phyl’s thoughts were troubled.

  Sheer luck had landed them on the Callahan ranch. She liked it here and didn’t want to leave.

  Where would they go?

  She’d sold her car in Arizona over a month ago, spent the proceeds on bus fare and the few clothes they had to have. When they got here three weeks ago, all they had were the clothes on their backs, a couple of changes of underwear, and one extra outfit each.

  “Upstairs, Mark. Bathe and change, then you can come down.”

  The bite of fear she couldn’t keep out of her voice sent Mark running.

  She worried about him. Both of them had been threatened, but the thought that Mark could be hurt made her wary. “I’ll get you both and the kid will watch you die,” the killer had screamed. The words rang in her head every day. Now she had another fear. She was afraid Mark held Donovan up like some kind of hero. Not good. Not if they were to leave.

  She finished setting the table and went upstairs to TJ’s old room. Nellie had told her when she was hired that it would be hers for as long as she stayed. Phyl let a half-smile cross her face at the first time she’d met the only girl in the family. Nellie introduced her as Taralyn. Phyl was told in no uncertain terms to call her TJ. Only her husband, Max, and her mother called her by her full name. There had to be a story there somewhere, but Phyl didn’t know if she’d be around long enough to hear it.

  Her first day here, Nellie suggested one of the boys’ rooms for Mark. Phyl insisted he sleep in hers. No one understood. Not even Mark. But Nellie gave her a cot and Phyl put a foam pad on it. Mark was quite comfortable.

  Her glance went to the cot. Though she was doing her best to teach Mark to make his bed, it left much to be desired. Half the cover was draped on the floor. Still, it was pulled up and covered the pillow. The remote-controlled car his father gave him before he died lay on top. She sighed. Mark loved that car. He’d carried it in his arms from California to Texas.

  It made her sad to know what it represented and who it reminded him of.

>   Her thoughts flew to the small stash of bills in the dresser. It was all the money they had. Donovan simply couldn’t make them leave.

  But the look in his cobalt blue eyes wasn’t promising. A trace of fear rose up and bit her in the gut. She pushed it down, tried to ignore her shaking fingers as she unbuttoned her shirt, stepped out of her jeans and into the shower.

  If he made them leave, they’d be in danger again. She shuddered at the thought.

  She was tired of running.

  In fact, she was just plain tired. She’d worked hard all day, just as she had every day she’d been here. Growing accustomed to ranch work again made muscles she’d long forgotten scream in agony.

  True, she’d worked on a ranch for years as a kid. But ranching had ended when her dad died while she was in high school, and an aunt took her to California.

  After three weeks at the Callahans, she was just now getting used to the routine again. A good night’s sleep was what she needed.

  Taking her time, she dressed in clean jeans and T-shirt, dried her hair with an old hair-dryer she’d found in a drawer, tied it back with a ribbon. She didn’t relish seeing Donovan again.

  She and Mark both liked Nellie. She was like a mother to Phyl, and a grandmother to Mark. She didn’t remember the mother who died when she was barely five. She did remember her dad telling her that Mom was with the angels, and wouldn’t be coming back. She did remember the trauma that followed.

  Nellie was a comforting and reassuring presence. Plus, she seemed to care for them. Phyl hoped so, now more than ever.

  As usual, Nellie was at the stove when Phyl walked into the kitchen. Mark turned her way with a piece of apple in his hand.

  “What can I do?”

  “You’ve already set the table, and you’ve worked all day. There’s no need to do more.”

  “You tell me that every day. Now tell me what needs to be done or I’ll just get in your way.”

  “I guess you can fill the glasses with ice. The enchiladas will be ready in about ten minutes.”

  “Smells wonderful.” She looked over at Nellie who was peeling avocados. “Will Dugan be here?”

  “I’m sure he will. Set him a place.”

  “You look happy.”

  “I am.” Nellie smiled softly. “Donovan’s back.”