Bruised (Brody Brothers, #3)

by Stacy Gail

  We all remember.

  Chapter Seven

  The sun was almost all the way up and promising to be a scorcher as Killian bounced down the reddish-tan ribbon commonly referred to as the Main Road, a dirt track that connected his place and his brothers’ houses to the outside world. No one had considered living in their old ancestral home where they’d grown up. Hell, no. For well over a decade, the Victorian mansion that had been home to generations of Brodys had become a house of horrors. Their batshit-crazy mother had spewed hate at every damn person who crossed her path, and the memory of their father, too weak to stop her, was etched forever into his psyche. For years he’d avoided stepping foot in that damn house. It had been easier pretending it didn’t exist, rather than remembering his last confrontation with his parents before his father loaded his wife on the ranch’s private plane and plowed it into the ground just outside Corpus Christie.

  That was a wound inside him that had never healed. As such, it never gave him a lick of peace. But he no longer averted his eyes while driving past the sprawling yellow Victorian. In fact, over the past several weeks his thoughts on the main house had greatly improved.

  After all, it was where he could find Dallas.

  Funny how he didn’t mind it nearly as much as he used to.

  A flicker of headlights on the horizon had him automatically pulling to the right, which was the practice when it came to sharing the narrow dirt track. When he saw a familiar face and an arm waving out of the driver’s window, he eased to a stop, waiting for the sun-baked dust to settle before rolling down the window.

  “Work buildings are in the opposite direction, slacker,” Killian told his brother Finian, who laughed in response. Fin laughed a lot lately, Killian noticed with a faint twinge of envy. This happy guy his brother had turned into was probably going to be the man Fin was from now on, now that he’d gotten engaged to the love of his life, Lilah Ledbetter. It had been a long, hard slog, but Fin had finally managed to seal the deal, and the bastard just couldn’t stop looking like he’d won all the lotteries in the universe.

  “Don’t dock my pay, man, I’m on a mission of mercy.” Still smiling, Fin reached over and plucked up a brown paper bag that had been sitting on the passenger seat. “I’m delivering three loaves of glucose-free cranberry tea bread made with yogurt, and a bag of decaf coffee for Des. Lilah’s done research on what promotes good health for the liver, and this is what she came up with. The bread tastes surprisingly good, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her the decaf coffee’s going to go over like a turd in a punch bowl.”

  Killian nodded. Like all Brody men, Des lived off of caffeine like it was manna from heaven. “How’s he doing?”

  “Hating the world and everyone in it. He’s sick to death of taking it easy, but if he doesn’t follow the doctor’s orders, he’s going to land his ass back in the hospital. Dude has no off switch, you know? None of us do.”

  “Don’t I know it.” The thought of not being able to do whatever the hell he wanted made his teeth grind. “He’s got to be going out of his mind.”

  “And then some. Ry spent a good chunk of the day with him yesterday, and today I’m going to see if I can’t get him to run some numbers with me regarding Pure Angus. It needs to be done if we want that facet of our business to grow, and it’ll keep him occupied.”

  “Good. He’ll hate the paper-pushing, but it’s for the ranch. That’s what matters.”

  “What matters is getting his liver to fucking stabilize.” Fin sighed roughly before slanting him a long look. “Have you been over to see him, Kill?”

  “I’d love to see him,” he said honestly. “Every damn day I look up this road and I think, ‘fuck it, just go. Go and see your baby brother. He needs you.’ Then I remember all the times he’s told me to fuck off and die, and that puts me back at square one.”

  “He knows everything you did to get Dallas here,” Fin said, surprising him. When his brows shot up, his brother shrugged. “And he knows you gave her a job here so she could be within shouting distance just in case her liver’s needed for an emergency living-donor transplant.”

  That wasn’t why he’d given Dallas the job, but whatever. “And how, exactly, does Des know all this?”

  “I told him.”

  Fuck. “Of course you did.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to keep your life of crime hidden from him. Cops show up to throw you in the pokey, he’s gonna want to know why.”

  Killian sighed. “I got nothin’ for a comeback. I can’t take this kind of shit without coffee in my system.”

  “For what it’s worth, Des was vaguely in awe of the whole kidnapping thing. But since you’ve bent over backwards to accommodate your victim ever since, he now suspects you might be suffering some weird form of reverse-Stockholm Syndrome—give your victim whatever she wants to make her happy, or whatever.”

  “Just what I need, analysis from the brother who hates my guts.”

  Fin’s smile faded. “Des doesn’t hate you, Kill.”

  “He does, and he’s got good reason to.”

  “Why? Because you were a scared and confused kid who was blindly loyal to Mom when Des first showed up?” Fin scoffed and shook his head. “A lot of years have come and gone since that time, and you sure as hell changed your tune by the time Mom and Dad went down in that plane. I’ll never forget how you stepped in when Mom said she was going to murder Des. With all that crazy in her eyes, every last one of us knew she meant it, while Dad just stood there like he didn’t have a fucking spine. He didn’t do a goddamn thing to shut her shit down. You’re the one who did that.”

  The muscles in Killian’s throat clenched, and he looked away on the premise of adjusting his rearview mirror before he could answer. “I stole his right as the man of the house to square his hot mess of a wife away.”

  Obviously you think you’re the man of the house now while I’m just an embarrassing joke to you...

  Killian locked his jaw as his father’s words echoed back to him. Damn, he hated that memory.

  “He had plenty of opportunity to be the man of the house, Kill.” His brother’s voice pulled him back to the present. “Hell, he had years. While you were away at college, he didn’t do a damn thing while his wife deteriorated by the day. I remember that final blow-up like it happened five minutes ago, and that asshole just stood there while you did what needed to be done. You protected Des, and the rest of us for that matter, and we all witnessed it. Especially Des.”

  Killian frowned. “So what if he did?”

  “I’m just saying Des hasn’t forgotten it. He heard you when you told that lunatic mother of ours that you were done with her terrorizing him. He was standing right there when you said it was high time to lock her ass up in the nearest psych ward we could find, because no one had done her any favors in keeping her here.” Fin rested his head against the seat’s headrest, looking back into time. “I’ll never forget that. Having someone finally take control of that rabid woman was like hearing music after a lifetime of having our ears filled with nothing but screams. Which is basically accurate, now that I think about it. That’s why I know deep down Des doesn’t hate you. When it mattered, you had his back. He knows that.”

  “Maybe.” Killian glanced at the dashboard clock and grimaced. “When Des is back to full strength, maybe we can try clearing the air between us, but for now I’m headed on to the main house and coffee with Dallas. Did you know she was a barista at some point? She can make the best damn cup of coffee you’ve ever had in your life.”

  “A barista? Along with being a secretary, and a piano tuner, and a ninja, and God knows what else?” Chuckling, Fin shook his head. “Lilah loves her, but she can’t imagine hopping from one job to the next the way Dallas obviously has.”

  “She’s an original.”

  “Lilah was kind of hoping we could talk Dallas into doing the secretarial gig at the ranch on a permanent basis. Any chance of that happening, or is she just a natural-bor
n tumbleweed?”

  “A tumbleweed?”

  “It’s a fair analogy. Tumbleweeds wind up being tumbleweeds because they don’t sink deep roots. It’s not in their nature. Doesn’t seem to be in Dallas’s nature, either.”

  “I haven’t given it much thought.” That wasn’t completely true. The possibility of Dallas staying on after Desmond’s health was settled once and for all was something that had begun to gnaw at the edges of just about every thought he had. “It makes sense for her to stay. As far as I know, Des is the only family she’s got left.”

  “Seriously? What happened to her parents?”

  Killian shook his head. “Don’t know. I just know she’s mentioned being in foster care. That’s a rough lot, no matter how you came to be there.”

  Fin’s brows came together. “Her parents were roughly the same age as ours, yeah? Shouldn’t they have lasted at least through her teen years?”

  “You’d think so. Then again, our parents didn’t last through your teen years, or Des’s.”

  “Yeah, because Dad plowed their plane into the ground. Best decision he ever made in his miserable waste of a life.”

  Inwardly Killian winced as his father’s final words again tried to play through his head. I’m an embarrassing joke to you... “Maybe. But I was an adult when their plane went down, and technically so was Ry. We had each other to lean on, as well as everyone here at Green Rock to help us carry on. Who did Dallas have?”

  “From the sound of it, a shitload of employers.” A text chime caught Fin’s attention, and after a quick glance at his phone plugged into the truck’s console, he made a sound of impatience. “Shit. Des says he’s heading out in five. Gotta catch him before he makes a break for Mabel’s Diner and sends his system into shock with a plate of all-you-can-eat pancakes. See you.”

  “Give him my best.” Killian watched in his side view mirror as his brother drove off, before he put the truck back in gear and headed in the opposite direction. Within minutes, the spires of the main house appeared. The house itself was meticulously maintained, buttery yellow with white scrollwork trim and blue slate roofing. A cradle of a dozen or so mature pecan trees planted in a semi-circle out back outlined the outdoor entertainment area, with an all-brick smokehouse just beyond that. The newest structure was a large white bandstand, its raised platform big enough to comfortably hold a six-member band and all their equipment. Earlier in the year, Celia had added some outdoor lighting, and had already warned everyone that they needed something more permanent than what she’d put up. That was a project that had been put on hold when Des got hurt.

  Everything had been put on hold when Des nearly lost his life—the new office renovation, the outdoor lighting project, finding a permanent replacement for their former secretary, and countless other things. Killian, Ry and Fin had all ground to a halt when they’d believed they were going to lose Des. That was how bad it had been. That was how tenuous it still was.

  But with Dallas there, it was almost as if life was getting back on track. Because she wanted to help Des if he needed it, sure.

  But also because...

  Life was just better with Dallas in it.

  “Dallas?” Silence greeted Killian as he stepped into the foyer, and he glanced at his watch as he closed the door behind him. He was early. Business didn’t start for another ninety minutes or so, but he figured she could cuss him out while she got some of that amazing coffee ready. With that in mind, he headed for the main kitchen, but that wasn’t his ultimate destination. He now knew where she slept—the small suite of rooms his grandmother had once used whenever she was in town. It didn’t make a damn bit of sense to him why Dallas had chosen that area as her personal space. When he’d asked her about it, she’d simply shrugged and said, “It fits me.”

  Most women would have gone for one of the lavishly decorated rooms upstairs, but not Dallas. She never did anything that was expected. That was why he found her so baffling.

  And fun.

  And addictive.

  God, so addictive.

  “Rise and shine, Dallas.” He knocked on the door, listening for signs of life. A muffled shriek and a wail reached his ears, and his anticipation turned to white-hot alarm. He flung the door open with a snarl, his pounding heart lodged in his throat at what horrors he might discover...

  And found Dallas in a semi-fetal position in the middle of the narrow twin bed. She’d kicked the bedclothes off to show a silky pink and black slip-like nightie hugging her curves—definitely not the Pikachu pajamas he’d accidently picked up. Her eyes were closed, her hair damp and sticking to her forehead as she kicked out a long, pale leg. The bedclothes, already a tangle, slid off the bed.

  “Dallas...?”

  Another muffled scream escaped her, and when he saw her face was wet with tears he snapped out of his paralysis. “Dallas, wake up.” In a flash he was on the side of the narrow bed, wrapping her up in his arms. “Wake up, baby. You’re dreaming. You’re—”

  “Don’t!” Her hands shot out as if shoving something invisible, her fingers splayed. He got a tighter hold on her, dragging her onto his lap even as she struggled. “Don’t, please!”

  “Dallas, you’re safe. You’re with me. You’re with Killian, you’re safe.” She shuddered on a sob, a jagged sound that hurt him to hear it. “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m here. Killian’s here. I’ll always keep you safe.”

  For several seconds she didn’t seem capable of speaking. She made several attempts that ended in gulps and sobs before her tear-drowned eyes looked up at him. “K... Killian?”

  “Finally.” More relieved than anything, he kissed her forehead. It was clammy and a little feverish. Not good. “I finally got you to say my name. Say it again.”

  “What are you doing here?” she said instead. Of course. If he’d told her to zig, she would have zagged. That was Dallas in a nutshell.

  “I was looking for a free cup of coffee. Instead, I found you having a nightmare.” She fit on his lap better than he could have ever imagined, all soft curves and feminine sweetness. “You okay?”

  She gulped once, then nodded sharply. “Yes.”

  “You want to talk about—”

  “No.”

  A door slamming in his face couldn’t have been any plainer. Stay Away. No Trespassing. Do Not Enter. She might as well have posted signs in neon all around the room.

  Too bad for her he didn’t give a shit about warning signs.

  “You owe me,” he said, holding her closer. “I saved your life just now.”

  She shot him a baffled look. “What are you talking about?”

  “Woman, it sounded like you were dying in here. Swear to God, I thought someone was attacking you. I still think something was attacking you. The least you can do is tell me what I saved you from.”

  “I’m fine, Bro—”

  The bell-topped alarm clock sitting on the bedside table suddenly went off, and she screamed. Without a qualm, he held her in one arm while reaching over with the other, snagged up the clock and threw it at the wall, where it smashed into pieces.

  “There we go. Saved you again.” Wrapping her up once more with every intention of holding her close all day—or at least until she realized she was safe and didn’t have to scream at every little thing—he smiled down at her. “Nothing’s allowed to get to you, Spice, you hear me? It has to get through me first, and I’m never going to let anything hurt you. Not even your dreams.”

  “You broke the clock.” She stared at the offending clock’s now-silent remains for a few seconds before looking up at him. “Why didn’t you just turn it off?”

  “That would’ve taken two hands. As you can see, I’ve got my hands full.” Just in case she wasn’t clear on his meaning, he gave her another squeeze. “It was the only reasonable option I had left.”

  “Reasonable?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have impulse issues?” Her eyes were drying fast,
their peridot color so light they almost didn’t look real. “Because you do. Like, in a big way.”

  Whatever. “Speaking of options, you’ve got a couple to choose from. One, you can tell me about that nasty dream you were having, because that’ll make you feel better, and then we can get on with our day. Or two, I hold you for however long it takes for you to realize you’re not going anywhere until you tell me about the nasty dream you were having, and then you tell me about it so we can get on with our day. See? Options. You’ve got ‘em.”

  She sighed, and the delicate pink and black material of her nightie moved over the full globes of her breasts. “You’re really something. Has anyone ever successfully said no to you?”

  “Well, just Europe. But eventually I’ll get our Black Angus into that market. You watch me.”

  “I believe you.”

  “You should also believe me when I say that nothing’s going to get to you as long as I’m here.” With a tenderness he’d never felt before, he bent to brush his mouth over her brow, and was relieved to find it had cooled off. “I just need to know what I’m dealing with. Tell me about the monsters you have inside you so I can chase them all away.”

  “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

  “Now you’re getting it.”

  “Until you popped up, I hadn’t had the dream in a couple years.” The words seemed to drag out of her, as if she had to fight to get them past her lips. “It used to plague me every time I closed my eyes—night terrors, my social worker called them. But I thought I’d finally grown out of it, you know? Then you showed up, and here it is, all over again. The dream.”

  Another nail in his kidnapper’s coffin. “Tell me, baby.”

  “It’s stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid. It scares you, so that makes it my enemy. Tell me about it so I can figure out how to kill it.”

  She gave him a look that said she worried for his sanity, before she took a steadying breath. “It’s... I’m a little girl again and I’m in the old house where I had a real family—you know, before my world fell apart.”