Legacy Lost

by Jillian David

  Next to her, Kerr’s scowl turned into a twist of hurt. More feelings flew around. Regret. Guilt. Inadequacy. Mirroring her own emotions. She knew how her twin felt. Left out. Second best.

  Chopped liver much? Stand in line, brother.

  “Hold on a second, Garrison,” she began.

  When her older brother’s face went beet red and that vein stuck out on his forehead, she wanted to curl up in a ball. The icy pellets of his anger turned to pounding blocks of furious hail, beating her brain from all sides.

  “Kerr?” She turned to her twin, who shot her a stark stare from across the table.

  The way his gold and brown eyes flickered and shifted . . . what else might her near-death experience have triggered in his PTSD-embattled mind? For rattling the cages of his inner demons, yes, she was sorry.

  “You guys. I’m fine now.” Well, almost. A little blurriness persisted in her vision, but she felt confident it would clear up soon.

  Had to.

  Garrison leaned over the table and pounded his fist. “You weren’t fine up there. Not even close. If Eric hadn’t saved your ass, you’d be dead at the bottom of the mountain somewhere.”

  Kerr nodded blankly. Their strange twin connection buzzed, and she whipped her head around to check on him. Hints of explosions, pain, and death dive-bombed her consciousness.

  Eric rubbed a hand over his face and folded his arms over his broad chest. And smiled like a damned cat that just caught the mouse.

  Damn him.

  “You”—she waved a finger at Garrison—“sit down and shut up. You’re not my parent, and I’m not a kid. So chill out.” With a gulp, she added, “And don’t even think about trying your lie detector psychic ability on me. If you even so much as knock on the door to my mind, I will never help you again.”

  He clamped down hard on the words that looked like they were about to erupt from his mouth. Oh yeah. She knew guilt when it was written all over his scowling expression. After a minute, he scraped a chair out from under the table and sat. With a huff, he half turned away from her.

  “And you,” she growled at Kerr. Then she softened at the stricken expression on his face. She revised her accusation and glared around the room. “All of you. Turn down the volume on your emotions before my head explodes. You can’t yell at me if I have an aneurysm from emotional overload.”

  Mumbles and shuffles. Good.

  She caught herself before another coughing jag hit. It would do her argument no good if she let on about the true condition of her lungs and the depth of her foolishness, with participation in that Search and Rescue mission.

  Swiveling toward Eric, she caught him flashing a satisfied smirk. He froze as his dark blue eyes met hers. Busted.

  “Don’t even think I’m done yelling at you, either, ratting me out like that.”

  “Were you going to tell them?” he asked.

  How badly did she want to knock down that confident tilt to his hard jaw?

  Very.

  With a throat clearing sound to mask the wheezes, she leaned forward on her elbows. “First of all, Garrison, I don’t know how you can stand there and be upset that I was hurt using my power for Search and Rescue. You forced me to use the same ability to find Zach and Sara, and it warped my power. Whatever the hell happened last night is the result of the crappy software update.” She held up a hand when her big brother made the dumbest decision of his life by opening his mouth. “And no, I’m not upset that we were able to find Zach and Sara. I’d do it again, no matter if it hurt me.”

  “Damn it,” Kerr spat. The color ran high on his ruddy cheeks.

  “Enough,” she said. “You still need to work through some of your own baggage, Kerr. If my going out on a Search and Rescue job sets off your PTSD, that’s on you. And if it will help, I’ll go with you to counseling.”

  He stared at the floor. Rubbing her eyes, she squinted. Was Kerr starting to fade? Wouldn’t surprise her; his power’s defensive mechanism kicked in when he wanted to disappear. Probably helped him during his time in Afghanistan.

  Whatever. This wasn’t a battle. This was family.

  She took a deep, calming breath. “I’m not sorry for doing what was necessary to save that skier last night. Like all of us, except for Benedict Arnold over here”—she flapped a hand in Eric’s direction—“we will use whatever skills we have to help others.”

  Garrison’s voice came out far too calm to believe it. “You did a good thing, Shel. But all of us are needed here at the ranch. Family comes first. We’ve got a lot on our plates.”

  Her anger exploded so quickly, she saw stars. “What? Are you putting a guilt trip on me so I stay at the ranch? You jerk. Yes, I get it—we’re all super stressed with the situation with the Brand family, waiting for another shoe to drop. Dad’s not well, and who knows when or if he’ll recover. And I understand that we need to pull together because we’re shorthanded, thanks to Vaughn running away last year.” She scrubbed at her face. “But you cannot clamp down on me as a way to accomplish the family goals.”

  “That’s not what I was doing,” her big brother gritted out.

  “I have a life, too, you know.” An argument negated by the fact that she lived in the same house she grew up in and cooked her fair share of the family meals. True, she didn’t mind doing those things, but she wanted to choose to do so—not get shoehorned into the duty.

  A corner of his mouth rose. “Of course you do.”

  “If you’re patronizing me, I will come across this table and finish you.”

  He raised his hands. “Swear. What I’m saying is that I get where you’re coming from. I never wanted to be the person where the buck stopped, but that’s what happened when Vaughn up and left.” Turning in the chair to face her squarely, he continued, “What I’m also saying is, it’s going to take all of us to keep this ranch going, take care of Dad, and deal with the Brands.”

  “We don’t have all of us,” Kerr mumbled. “That’s the problem.”

  Damn Vaughn. Why the heck had he left? Would he ever come back?

  “Son of a bitch. You don’t think I know that?” her older brother swore. “We’ll have to do the best we can, then. There isn’t much of an alternative.” He rapped his knuckles on the table and stood up. “Otherwise, there won’t be anything left of this place and the people in it.” With slumped shoulders, Garrison strode out the back door. His booted footsteps faded into silence.

  Shame settled like a wet spider web on her face, and she brushed her fingers over her forehead to try and remove it. Her brother was correct. They all needed to give 100 percent to the ranch.

  But she was proud of her work in Search and Rescue. Who wouldn’t be, with her track record?

  Maybe she could keep doing the work but take less risks.

  Would she be as successful? Would she have to choose between a few extra people living or dying versus her family’s needs? That was the worst choice ever.

  At what point had she lost all control of her own life?

  She peeked at Eric out of the corner of her eye. His posture might be relaxed, but the focus and emotion coming from him was more characteristic of a puma, waiting for her to walk beneath his tree perch. No movement, but observing her.

  If only she could let the puma pounce on her. Turn herself over to Eric, open herself up, emotionally and physically. Drop her defenses like she did this morning in the truck.

  And that thought scared the holy living hell out of her.

  “Well, that was a productive family gathering,” she tried to break the thick silence. “Okay, then. We all have work to do.”

  “I need to head to Jackson for the hardware you wanted, man.” Eric inclined his head toward Kerr.

  “Why?” her twin asked.

  “Wyatt Brand.”

  “What?” Kerr exploded. Then he peered at the back door. “Probably good Garrison’s not here. He’d be in orbit by now with this extra information.” Eyebrows raised, he asked, “So? What happened with th
at asshole, Wyatt?”

  One light brown eyebrow quirked upward. “Let’s say that he’s not going to come within a dowel’s length of Shelby any time soon.”

  She dropped her head in her hands. This story kept getting better and better.

  “Even his sister, Izzy, was shocked when Wyatt kicked us out.” Eric grinned. “That guy is so tight, if he swallowed a quarter, he’d crap a nickel. I figured the miser would never turn down the chance to make some money. Even if it was Taggart bucks.”

  “How was Izzy?” Kerr’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tense.

  Shelby braced for the emotion he would surely fling out. Nothing. Wow. Impressive.

  Any feelings he had must be stuffed far down inside. Good. Less for her to deflect.

  Shrugging, she said, “I don’t know. We didn’t stop to chat with her at the register since Wyatt was screaming at Eric and me to leave the store. But Izzy seemed ok, I guess. Tired. Like she’s lost weight. Stressed, maybe? I’m not sure. It’s been a while since I last saw her. Sara would know more, being her friend and all.”

  “Yeah. Ok.”

  Shelby wasn’t blind to Kerr’s feelings. She wasn’t cruel, either. She drew the line at teasing her brother about his longtime, long-distance crush on the Brands’ baby sister. It didn’t matter. No way did Kerr and Izzy have a future—not with the bad blood between the two families.

  Too bad. She wanted Kerr to find someone nice and supportive, who would help him finish healing from the hell that had been serving in the Middle East.

  With a yawn, Eric pushed to his feet and jangled the truck keys. “Anything else you need me to get while I’m out? We need to consolidate the runs to Jackson from now on.”

  Maybe she should have handled Wyatt Brand better and not ruined her family’s ability to patronize the hardware store.

  Then again, maybe she should have shoved that dowel in much farther.

  Chapter 11

  “Zach Attack, go see if Grandpa’s up and wants breakfast,” Shelby called over her shoulder as she flipped pancakes. Had she been on that mountain only yesterday? Despite a decent night’s sleep, she was dragging. Man, she didn’t feel festive this morning, but for her eight-year-old nephew’s sake, she wore the fake tuxedo apron and made funny faces.

  The last thing she wanted to be was silly.

  As Zach dashed out of the kitchen, her smile fell. No energy to keep up appearances. No way could she come up with her usual jokes. Her shoulders and back still ached from that near-catastrophe of a rescue mission. Her headache from using her powers hung around as well.

  The one bright spot from yesterday also freaked her the hell out and then depressed her: Eric.

  She’d always thought of him as another brother. For the most part.

  Then, over the past month or so something had changed in the way she looked at him.

  And that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

  Damned if she would answer that question.

  Unfortunately, her hormones reacted like a schoolgirl, hand up, all eager to respond to the question. Idiot hormones. Shut up.

  Last night, she had lain in bed, warmed by the memory of New Eric. No longer the quiet guy, no longer the buddy, this Eric 2.0 had some seriously sexy moves. And what that man could do with his mouth—wow. Had she known about his lips, she would have pushed past the friend-zone years ago, wouldn’t she?

  No. Because she never got close to any man. Ever. With the few distant past attempts, she had ended up hurt. Ended up with another piece taken out of her confidence. Ended up with even less trust in herself. To be honest, it hurt too much to risk rejection anymore.

  At the smell of charred dough, she frowned and trashed the batch of burnt pancakes as Zach danced back in. “Grandpa’s up, but he doesn’t want breakfast,” he said.

  Damn it.

  In his late sixties, Austin Taggart had been vigorous and hearty. Indestructible. Or so they all thought.

  Then Mom had died five years ago.

  Then Kerr got hurt in the Middle East two years ago.

  Her older brother, Vaughn, had split a little over a year ago.

  Garrison’s wife left around this time last year. Later, as it turned out, she’d died of shady circumstances, directly or indirectly courtesy of Hank Brand.

  Then the Brands started making bids to buy the ranch. Only their offers had increased in the aggressive tone until they simply burned the barn to get the Taggarts to leave. Allegedly.

  When that didn’t work, Hank and Wyatt kidnapped Zach and Garrison’s girlfriend, Sara—the night Shelby’s powers evolved. At least she’d kept that tidbit about her brain short-circuiting from her father. Dad didn’t need more to worry about.

  So, yeah, the sheer amount of insanity he had dealt with in the past several years had taken a massive toll on him. The stress had built and built until his body couldn’t take any more. Now that the stroke had done its damage, now that the past five years had caught up to him, and now that life had beaten him down, he wasn’t recovering.

  Had he lost the will to continue? How long would he be with them? Tears made her eyelids burn. He was dwindling before all of their eyes, and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. What she’d give to turn back time.

  She rubbed the back of her wrist on her aching temple. Enough. Now was not the time for wishful thinking.

  Spinning around, she checked on Zach. Her nephew, an auburn-haired mini-me of Garrison, minus the temper, bounced in his seat. She checked the time. Seven o’clock.

  She smiled at his chatter as he described the activities planned for a big day of second grade, where every day was a new adventure more exciting than the one before.

  “You want a special pancake, Zach Attack?”

  “Yes please, Auntie Shelby. Mickey Mouse, please.” The kid vibrated with energy this morning. What she’d give to bottle that kid’s enthusiasm.

  Dishing up pancakes and bacon, she said, “Pour milk for everyone, ok?”

  Only, the number of “everyone” was dwindling. She forced a sigh around the tight spot in her chest. Quit it. She still had her family and the ranch. And the Taggarts had each other’s backs, no matter what the situation. They would stick together, even in the face of whatever those crazy Brand folks had planned.

  Man, she’d love to noodle into their neighbors’ heads and figure out what kind of mayhem they were cooking up. Do a little spying on whatever operation was going on over there. Find some way to prepare and fight back.

  Unfortunately, she could only detect emotions. She couldn’t go fetch someone’s thoughts. The best person to reach inside a Brand’s mind and yank out the truth would be Garrison with his human lie detector capabilities. Too bad taking either her power or his up a notch could render them comatose. Or worse.

  But she had eyes, a good dose of sneakiness, and a quality set of binoculars. So, almost as good as Garrison’s psychic ability. If she could break away from ranch duties today, she could ride out to a vantage point and check out Brand Manufacturing, Inc., or whatever they called their crazy operation over there.

  “Yep.” Zach jumped up and ran to the fridge. Giving her a quick hug around the waist that made her tear up again, he took the milk out and filled up four glasses. Not five.

  “Morning.” Garrison strolled through the back door. A smile softened the corners of his mouth. The tense set of his shoulders had disappeared.

  Didn’t take a genius to figure out where he’d been last night, and it wasn’t here at home.

  Jealous, much?

  Why? Because he had found someone wonderful who loved him despite his strange powers and crazy family?

  “Hi, Dad!” Zach waved. “Is Mickey ready?” He ran over to Shelby’s side with hope written all over his guileless face.

  “Sure thing, dude!” She lifted the pancake creation with her spatula, laid the big pancake with two smaller round pancakes as ears on his plate.

  “Whiskers!”

  “Patience, grassh
opper,” she said with an accent, laying two crispy bacon strips in a narrow X under the two banana slice eyes.

  “Wow!” He held the plate with care as he returned to the table and dove into his breakfast.

  She peered at Garrison. “You want anything?”

  “Um, not hungry.” A flush stole up his neck and cheeks. Yes, he definitely had enjoyed a hearty . . . breakfast . . . before returning to the ranch this morning.

  Getting his attention, she pointed to her cheek. He had salsa-red lipstick on his jaw, thanks to one Ms. Sara Lopez.

  He ducked his head and wiped his face.

  The back door clapped open again as Kerr limped through, hanging his hat on the peg next to the door and shrugging out of the oilskin duster. He’d started his day early, as usual, as the scent of cattle and hay that wafted in with him attested.

  “Ooh, pancakes? For me? You shouldn’t have.” He batted his eyes, making Zach laugh, then settled in a chair with a groan as he straightened out his prosthetic leg.

  “Yes, pancakes, but don’t get used to it. Tomorrow’s your day to cook,” she warned as she poured more batter in the pan and fried four more strips of bacon.

  “I’m on it. My contribution will be cereal delight!” He grinned while Zach pulled a face.

  Kerr shot a sideways glance at Garrison’s stupid-happy smile this morning and rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

  They didn’t need psychic abilities to make fun of their older brother. That man was so whipped. If Sara told him to jump, he’d beg for her to tell him how high.

  Good for him. That woman mellowed big brother out. He needed Sara in his life.

  After a few more minutes, Shelby brought the meal over to Kerr, pulled out a chair, set down her own plate, and bellied up to the table. Zach continued his commentary, pausing to eat a bite here and there.

  Garrison rolled his head and neck.

  Yeah, real stressed out. Not. Her brother radiated just-got-good-lovin’.

  Ew. This was Garrison she was thinking about. Her big brother.

  He glanced at his son’s plate and then pushed back from the table. “Finished, buddy? Don’t want to be late for school.”