by Stacy Gail
“Foster daddy?” His brows came together, and she hated her stupid brain for wondering where he got that intriguing scar cutting through his left brow. “You had a foster father?”
“I had a couple foster fathers, but that’s not the point. All I’m saying is that next time, respect a few fucking boundaries, and knock.”
“You’re right.” To her shock, he nodded in what seemed to be agreement before he leaned against a carved wooden post by the top of the stairs and stared out at the circular dirt drive. “Next time I’ll knock. Or phone. I didn’t know that landline was still in there.”
“I get about half a dozen calls during the day, but I always reroute them. I don’t think you’ve lost any business because of it.”
“You could’ve called anyone.” Again he seemed more intent on speaking to his truck than her, and there was something new in his voice, a surprising softness, that made her edge closer. “Friends. The police. Hell, even your employers.”
“I have called them,” she said, then nearly jumped off the verandah when he turned his head to nail her to the spot with those dark green eyes of his. Man, the impact of his gaze was like a freaking Mack truck. Every time it turned her way, her skin was left feeling overly sensitive in a way she couldn’t explain. “They’re good people. I didn’t want them to hold my job open for me when I had no idea how long I was going to be gone, or what shape I’d be in if I have to go through major surgery. That was one of my favorite jobs to date, but it wouldn’t be fair of me to hold onto it when I don’t know what my future holds.”
“How long have you known the phone was there?”
“Since my first day here.”
“And you didn’t call anyone for help.” He shook his head. “Damn.”
“I told you, I was going to come here anyway, so I didn’t need to call for help.” Like him, she came to the edge of the stairs and leaned against the wooden pole opposite him. “What does my future hold, Brody? What’s going on with Des?”
His sigh was rough. “His latest labs were better number-wise, but he’s slowly losing weight, and he’s surly as hell. Then again, he’s always surly with me, so I guess it’s safe to say there’s not much change there.”
“Why is he surly with you?”
“Because I was a dick when he first showed up on our doorstep.”
“Gee, hard it imagine, you being a dick,” she drawled, though in her heart a new worry took root. Until that moment, she’d assumed all four Brody brothers—including her half-brother Des—were a united front. She might have been abandoned and alone in the world, but it had always given her comfort knowing her little brother had had a safe place in which to grow up. “What’d you do, yell at him for traipsing into your room whenever he felt like it? I used to do that, back when he was my brother.”
“He’s still your brother, Dallas.”
“Oh, really? I thought he was just a half-brother to me.”
“He’s a half-brother to both of us. That still means he’s family. That still means you love him.”
The gentleness in his tone shocked her enough to bring her gaze up to lock with his. Until that moment, she’d assumed he had no idea what gentleness was. “And you don’t?”
“I do, very much. I love all my brothers, but I’ll admit I didn’t see Des as family when he first showed up.” He shifted so that his spine was to the verandah’s pole and he faced her fully. “It rocked our world when your mother showed up one fine day and dumped a five-year-old boy on our doorstep, announcing to anyone who’d listen that he was my father’s kid. I hated him on sight.”
Nothing could have stopped her sharp gasp. “That wasn’t Des’s fault, Brody. He didn’t ask to be born.”
“Out of curiosity, you ever going to call me Killian?”
“No, and keep your eye on the ball. No one would ever ask to be born into the situation that Des was born into.” Or her, for that matter. But she wasn’t a Brody, so of course she’d been forgotten until they needed something from her.
“I know that, now.”
“But you didn’t then?”
He was silent for a beat, as if looking for the right way to explain it. “I was twelve when Des showed up. I was old enough to know what it meant that I suddenly had a brother who wasn’t my mother’s. My other brothers didn’t care—they were younger, and probably didn’t understand. They just loved Des on sight. But I understood that his presence in the Brody house would tear it apart. And I was right.”
“So you took it out on a five-year-old.”
“I said I was old enough to understand how Des got made. I didn’t say I was old enough to rationally cope with it,” he said, sending a quelling glance her way, and she couldn’t help but feel reprimanded. “It wasn’t until I got the hell out of this madhouse and got some perspective that I finally started to see how much of an asshole I’d once been to a child who’d been traumatized even before he got to this house. One of my brothers—Fin—told me some stories Des described to him around the time his true parentage was discovered. Apparently it got real bad at the Faircloth house, too?”
It was her turn to look at his truck. But in her mind, memories flowed like a poisonous river. The screaming, the terror, and at last the blood. Discovering her mother dead had been one of the worst moments of her life, but the memory of Des being yanked from her arms after her father had hit had left the deepest scar. “Mm-hm.”
There was a beat of silence. “Yeah, I guess it would’ve gotten bad. It got bad here, too, Dallas. Real bad. I know I made it worse by rejecting Des from the get-go. But like I said, I got my head out of my ass when I got out of this toxic environment. I finally saw that none of that shit was Des’s fault, so once I came home from college I tried to mend fences with him.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shake his head. “Des is as stubborn and plainspoken as any Brody. Told me to fuck off in no uncertain terms.”
Good for you, Des. “That was a while ago, though. How are you two now?”
“Basically he hates my guts with the passion of a thousand burning suns.”
Whoa. That wasn’t good. “Still? I mean... How old were you when you tried to make peace with him?”
“Eighteen, I guess.”
“So that would have made Des, what? Eleven?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, that explains it. Remember how eleven was? It’s a tough age. Everything pisses you off. Everything feels new, and no one understands the hell you’re going through, so—”
“If this were a case of hormones or a bad case of pre-teen angst, it sure as hell has been going on a long damn time.”
That had her turning back to face him, leaning against the verandah pole in a pose that mirrored his. “So, you’re saying that for all these years, Des has...”
“Hated me? Yeah. To this day, if he sees me coming, he’ll turn around and go the other way. Literally. That’s one of the reasons why I spend so much time away from Green Rock. Yeah, there’s work that needs to be done, from Alberta, Canada all the way down to the tip of Chile in South America. But out of respect for Des, I give him whatever space he needs.”
“Oh, no.” Ice filled her veins, because what Killian was describing sounded like genuine hatred, and hatred was almost always rooted in pain. She knew that because she’d experienced it a time or two herself, but she’d hoped life would be different for her little brother. “That’s a lot of hate. Or anger.”
“It’s both, probably.”
“Does he have a reason to still be angry with you?”
His heavy sigh should have warned her. “During our growing-up years, things got about as bad as they can get inside this house. Des took the full brunt of it, even though it was the weakness of our father that caused all the shit we were living through. For years, not a day went by without someone saying they wished Des was dead, and they usually said it right to his face.”
That jerked her upright while her hands balled into fists. “What the fuck. Who? Who the hel
l would say such a thing?”
“Look at you.” Her sudden movement had him glancing her way, and his gaze slid down to her ready-for-action fists before returning to her furious eyes. “What a good big sister you must’ve been. Honest to God, you look ready to beat the shit out of the school bully.”
“I’m not kidding, Brody, but I sure as hell hope you are. Who would ever say such a horrible thing to Des?”
“Usually it was my mother, who had what I believe was an undiagnosed psychotic break when Des showed up. But there were times when I said it, too. That’s what I need to make up for,” he went on when she hissed and turned on her heel to stalk to the far end of the verandah. “If I could go back and kick the shit out of my twelve-year-old self for being such an asshole to an innocent little kid, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I can’t. All I can do now is be as good a brother as I know how. That’s why I went around the fucking bend trying to get you here, Dallas. I don’t want Des to die, even though he’s probably convinced I do. More than anything, I want my brother to live, and if that means yanking you out of your life and using you for spare parts, then God help me, as horrible as that sounds, that’s exactly what I’ll do. I don’t even expect forgiveness for that, so I won’t bother asking for it. All that matters to me is keeping Des alive.”
“You’re a goddamn piece of work, Brody,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, folding her arms tightly across her chest as she stalked her way back to him. It was the only way she could make sure she didn’t go for his throat. “Whenever life went sideways, the one thing I held on to was the thought that my little brother was safe. He was safe with all of you here at Green Rock Ranch. When I was abandoned and traumatized out there in the world without anyone giving a damn about whether I lived or died, I would think of Des. I’d picture him in this house, laughing and having a good time with a big family around him, and lots of loving brothers who’d help him the way I used to when we were little. That thought always got me through. No matter what was happening to me, at least Des was safe. But he wasn’t safe, or laughing, or loved, because you let him down. You let us both down, because you didn’t help him—”
“Stop crying.” Roughly he pulled her to him, his arms wrapping around her like a straitjacket, and it wasn’t until her face hit his chest that she was aware it was wet. What the hell? She never cried. “I’m putting things right, you hear me? I’m swearing it to you right now that I’ll find a way to make it up to Des. And to you. I’m not going to let you down again.”
Dallas didn’t answer. She didn’t even move. She was too busy being held against his rock-solid chest with her arms stuck between them and tears drying on her cheeks while her brain short-circuited. This wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She wasn’t supposed to be pressed against Killian Brody’s magnificent chest, breathing in the scent of his woodsy cologne while he tried to comfort her. The Brodys had blasted through her childhood like a wrecking ball; nothing good could ever happen around the black hole that was this all-powerful family. The last place she should ever be was in the arms of a Brody.
Yet here she was.
And...
It wasn’t completely awful.
“This isn’t about me.” Confusion made it almost impossible for her to put two words together, much less move. All she could do was stand there like a statue and wonder if he felt as seared by their combined heat as she did. “Des has to know he can rely on you. On us. I want to meet with him. Even if it’s only for five minutes—”
“I don’t know how that’d make any difference, except to maybe cut you up all the more.”
“What?” At last she was able to move, if only to look up into his bearded face. There was just a hint of gray starting on either side of his chin, and for the life of her she couldn’t understand why she wanted to touch him there. “Why would it cut me up?”
She felt the powerful, bellows-like movement of his chest as he sighed. “Des was only five when he was separated from you, Dallas.”
“I know how old he was. I was there, remember?”
“That’s the thing, though. Des doesn’t really remember you.”
Des doesn’t...
Pain jolted through her so hard it was a wonder she didn’t shatter.
Remember you.
“He remembers having a sister, generally speaking, and he remembers your name and some bits and pieces. But that’s pretty much it,” he went on while silently her blood froze over. “It’s nothing personal, so there’s no need to get upset about it, you hear me? It’s nothing personal.”
“Right. Nothing personal.” But how could it not be personal? Des was the only family she had left on earth. Admittedly that wasn’t something she’d thought a lot about when she’d been trying to survive on her own; making it to the next day and the next week and the next year had been first and foremost in her mind. And until she’d been brought back to Bitterthorn, she’d suspected her path might not ever cross Des’s again.
But she hadn’t forgotten him.
Not ever. Not for a minute.
It didn’t matter, she thought, locking her jaw against that painful tightening in her throat. If nothing else, she had to tell Des she was sorry she hadn’t held onto him all those years ago. The moment Des had been ripped out of her arms was the moment her world had ended. From that day on, she’d been forced to drag herself along, burdened by that one crippling regret. It didn’t matter that it was irrational; logically she knew that holding on to her little brother wouldn’t have stopped her world from falling apart.
But logic didn’t matter when a memory was forever locked in a moment seen from a child’s eyes.
Nothing mattered except what she’d felt.
What she still felt.
Deep down, part of her was still screaming as her baby brother was stripped out of her arms.
“This isn’t healthy.” She heard the words whisper from her, and some kind of knot loosened in her chest as she at last faced that truth. It was such a profound feeling she couldn’t stop herself from dropping her head until her brow rested against the solid wall of his chest. It felt so good, the strength that radiated from this man who was savage enough to kidnap her, yet gentle enough to hold her when she needed it most. “I can’t do this anymore. I have to get on with my life.”
For a moment those arms tightened before he suddenly wasn’t there. Though it was summer in South Texas, a weird chill wrapped around her as he backed up another step, his eyes burning over her like she’d shot his dog.
“You think I’m going to be wrapped around your little finger just because you turned on the waterworks?” he muttered, and his dangerous tone surprised her as much as the words. “You want to get out of here so you can—how did you put it?—get on with your life?”
Whoops. “That’s not what I was talking about.”
“Gotta say, curling up against my chest was a nice fucking touch. I’m sure that trick’s worked for you in the past when you wanted to get your way, but whatever angle you’re playing now, it’s not going to work on me. I’ll never be a weak-ass fool like my father was, so you’re not going anywhere.”
She stared at him, baffled. “What trick? What angle? You’re the one who put your arms around me, and for the last time I don’t want to go any—”
“I’m just saying you and I are not going to get personal, you understand? Your bitch of a mother and my asshole of a father already went that route, and their selfishness blew up two families. I’m not going to make that same mistake, and understand this here and now, woman—that is exactly what you are. A mistake.” With that, he stalked off the verandah to slam into his truck. In seconds, he was roaring out of the driveway, leaving her stewing in infuriated silence.
Chapter Four
“Now this,” Dallas announced as she ran a smooth scale up the old piano’s keys, “is a finely tuned instrument. What do you think, Manny?”
“Sounds a helluva lot better than I’ve ever heard it, and I grew up with my gra
nny pounding out gospels on that thing.” Leaning his forearms on the bar, Manny and a couple early regulars watched as Dallas ran through a few more scales before sliding into a rendition of Elvis Presley’s iconic “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.” “Y’know, you’re pretty good, D. Where’d you learn how to play?”
“My social worker.” She began humming along with the tune while the lyrics tumbled through her head. “I was a handful by the time I was ten, but she’d been around the block a few times when it came to crazy kids. She knew music really can soothe the savage breast, so she kept an electronic keyboard in her office. I took to music like a duck to water, and I’ve been playing whatever instrument I could get my hands on ever since.”
“Cool. We could have music night every Thursday, or whatever. Make it a big deal.”
“Why Thursday?”
“Because today’s Thursday. And hey, since you got that old upright tuned up and sounding better than ever, we should celebrate. Where’d you get your hands on those tuning things anyway?”
“The main house over at Green Rock Ranch has this gorgeous grand piano just sitting there in one of the living rooms. They had an entire tuning kit, brand spanking new, tucked inside the piano bench all along.”
“Green Rock Ranch.” One of the early regulars, Imogene Flores, repositioned her bottle of light beer on her cocktail napkin. She was one of the few patrons who used the napkins, and she always placed it precisely for the single bottle of beer she nursed throughout the evening. She was more reliable than the rising sun when it came to where she sat—on the far left end of the bar, where she could shyly chat with Manny throughout the evening. For his part, Manny didn’t seem to be aware that Imogene showed up for company far more than the beer, but he was sweet enough to make sure she was never lonely. “I’ve heard such stories about Green Rock Ranch’s main house, Dallas. Is it really a mansion?”
