Texas Blaze

by Jean Brashear

  Despite the unrest of the night, something inside Bridger eased. This was Sweetgrass. Penelope would go, but the essence of this unique place remained.

  Personally, he liked the hell out of it. “You badgering that poor boy?”

  She snorted as she poured him coffee. “I do not know what Mackey was thinking, bringing all the city slickers here for the wedding. They just keep showing up.” In her eyes, though, he saw a longing and wondered why. “Between him and Barbie, we’re overloaded on fluff.”

  “I notice you didn’t include Josh Marshall in that list.”

  “Josh is from Texas, and he’s not full of himself, even though he has been Sexiest Man Alive twice.” She said that loudly enough to be sure Roundtree caught it, then cocked her head. “You know what you want?”

  Bridger fought back a bark of laughter. “Yep. Three eggs, wheat toast, bacon and grits if you got ’em, hash browns if not.”

  “Now that Ruby knows you’re back, we’ll have grits starting tomorrow, you can bet. Want orange juice with that?”

  He nodded.

  She touched his shoulder. “Glad you’re back, Bridger. And I’m sorry for what happened.”

  Everyone knew. In most situations he’d be uncomfortable with that, but her sympathy didn’t seem to be pity, simply encouragement honestly offered.

  “Thanks. Good to be back.”

  She turned to go. “Hope you’ll stay a while. Folks like you around here.”

  More deeply moved than he’d admit, he merely nodded. “Appreciate it.”

  As she left, he heard Scarlett’s delighted laugh and saw Walker Roundtree smile. “You order what you want, and I’ll make sure you get it,” Scarlett said. “Not everyone here is a heathen,” she said loudly so Jeanette couldn’t help but hear.

  Jeanette stuck out her tongue.

  When Pen awoke again, the absence of Bridger in her bed once again made her heart ache.

  But that was ridiculous. They were friends at best, had had a fling for a few days, but she was back in reality—one of her realities, anyway. He was here to heal, and she was…

  Confused. Crap.

  Pen Gallagher was never confused. She couldn’t stand feeling this lost.

  Then she heard Rissa’s husky laughter and glanced out the window to see Mackey dipping her for a kiss, right in the middle of the drive that separated the house from the barns and stock pens. Even as it made her heart sting, she smiled. Rissa deserved this happiness.

  A movement nearby caught her eye. With a shock, she spotted her father on the porch.

  Smiling. Her always-angry dad. Wow.

  Only Jackson was missing—and Mama, of course. But Mama was never coming back, and Jackson was in town, at least, if spending most of his hours at Veronica’s flower farm, doing manual labor, for heaven’s sake. He seemed bent on finding out if what two teenagers had shared could overcome all that had come between them since.

  She would make an effort to see Jackson. They’d had little time together, and she missed her twin.

  She showered quickly and made her way to the house, ready to whip up breakfast for anyone interested, even though that was Celia’s bailiwick. The little time she’d spent helping Scarlett had been an awakening, a reminder of how much she’d once loved to cook with her mother. Of how good it felt to work with Aunt Ruby and her cousin, to be part of a team.

  But the scene she walked in on a half hour later was far more charged than what she’d seen earlier. “What happened? What’s wrong? Is it Jackson?” He was the only one missing.

  “Jackson left yesterday to deal with some crisis back in Seattle, but—” Rissa approached her. “There’s been a shooting at his headquarters—not Jackson,” she said as Pen gasped. “But one of his key people is dead. It was on the news.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  “Tried,” Mackey answered. “But he’s not answering his cell. Things have to be chaotic.”

  “We should go to him. See if we can help.”

  “Best to forget your brother, Penny,” her dad said harshly. “He sure as hell forgets us easy enough.”

  “He’s got serious troubles, Daddy!” She glared at him. “You have always been too hard on him, even before the wreck. He didn’t want what you wanted for him, and you drove him away. You hurt all of us when you did that.”

  Her father looked stunned. Rissa and Mackey stared at her in shock. She’d never spoken to her father that way, secure in being Daddy’s girl.

  But no more, and that was all right. Hadn’t Jackson suffered enough?

  “Princess, you don’t understand—”

  But she’d lost too much already, even if her twin had lost more. Her heart hurt for him, alone for so long, then coming home, starting to open up—only to be smacked in the face with yet one more injustice from his own father, in addition to everything else confronting Jackson now.

  And her father wanted sympathy? She’d had it with self-absorbed men like him and Hugh. “You left us every bit as much as Jackson did. After Mama died, you ran away, too, only you ran into your grief. We were kids, Daddy, and we needed you. Rissa was only a girl! Don’t you say one more word about Jackson if all you can do is spew hatred. He’s a good man, and he built a life even after being cast off like garbage!”

  “He killed Beth Butler.”

  “Jackson was with her, yes, but it was an accident, and you know better.”

  “Boy was drinking!” Her father shouted.

  “Because Mama was dead, and all you could do was criticize him. And after it happened, when he was devastated, what did you do? You don’t think he suffered, Daddy? You don’t think he needed the only parent he had left? Even now, you don’t respect what he’s accomplished, do you? He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be—he’s at least trying to reach out, and all you can do is just keep shoving away.” She whirled and headed for the door to keep from saying anything else hurtful.

  “I’m going to call Jackson.” She stalked out the door.

  She’d tried Jackson’s cell but had gotten only voicemail. She’d left a message asking if she could do anything to help. Offering to come to him if he needed her.

  Then she headed to Aunt Ruby’s. Maybe Jackson was only screening calls. Aunt Ruby was the only person he’d confided in during those long years away. If anyone could get through to him, Aunt Ruby could.

  When she entered the back door of the diner’s kitchen, Aunt Ruby’s look made it clear that she had already heard the news.

  “Have you talked to Jackson?” Scarlett asked. “Nana’s been fretting.”

  “The boy will call when he gets a chance. Lord knows he’s covered up with reporters and police and all.”

  Pen and Aunt Ruby exchanged glances. “Aunt Ruby, he’s not answering Mackey’s call or mine. Would you try? He needs to know he’s not alone anymore. I can fly up there and see what I can do to pitch in,” Pen said.

  “Best to wait to see what he needs, I expect.” Ruby cautioned. “How is James doing, and Rissa?”

  “My father doesn’t care. What is wrong with him, Aunt Ruby? He told me to forget Jackson—his only son! How does someone do that to his own child? He was a hard man before Mama died, but since then… How do you just desert your children like that? Or worse—banish one of them altogether?”

  “He loved your mother an awful lot, child. He was devastated by losing her.”

  “He abandoned us! Mama might have been dead, but we weren’t—and Rissa was a child! How is that love, to throw away the children you had with the woman you claim to love?”

  “I don’t excuse him, honey. James has a lot to answer for, and I’m so sorry. I wish things were different with your dad.” She took Pen’s hand and squeezed. “But you children can’t let your own ties come undone.”

  “Jackson’s done a pretty good job of that.” Resentment still burned inside her.

  “He suffered for it, though. He’s still paying. And now…”

  Pen sighed. “I know. I’m w
orried about him, too.”

  A figure entered the kitchen, and she realized it was Bridger. He came to Pen. “I just heard about Jackson. Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

  Pen rubbed her heart. “I don’t know. I’m worried sick about him. What on earth could have happened?”

  “We’ll know soon. In crisis situations, everyone’s got different perspectives on the event. It takes awhile to sort them out. The news is very clear, though, that he’s okay, at least physically. One woman hurt and one man dead, both of them executives. Man…gotta be rough.”

  “The boy needs to be reminded that he’s still part of the family, and we’ve got his back,” Aunt Ruby said. “I’ll go make that call.”

  After she left the kitchen, Bridger looked over. “Anything I can do for you?”

  The thoughtfulness was so typical of him. She was happy to see him. Somehow it settled her. “Until I can talk to Jackson, you could either go beat up my father or go sit with me while I get a cup of coffee.”

  “Not really into pummeling old men.” He smiled. “You should have food, too.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Scarlett, this woman needs feeding. Can we get her something?”

  “Absolutely. Just…give me a minute…” Scarlett turned to them, and they watched her eyes roll up as she turned sheet-white and slowly collapsed like a graceful rag doll.

  Bridger caught her just before she hit the floor. Chaos broke out, people shouting and scrambling—

  In the midst of the uproar, just as before with the boy, Bridger was an island of calm in the midst of turbulent seas.

  Pen glanced at Henry. “Take over the grill so nothing burns.”

  “I will.”

  “Call Ian,” she told Jeanette.

  “Already dialing.”

  “Want me to call for help or just get your bag?” she asked Bridger.

  “Hold on a second. She’s coming around already. She only fainted, I think.”

  Scarlett’s lashes fluttered.

  “Hey, there,” Bridger said easily while checking her pulse and scanning her face.

  “What happened?”

  “You tell me. Do you have a habit of fainting?”

  “Me? Please.” But she glanced away.

  Bridger’s eyes sharpened. “My next question you might want to answer privately.”

  “I wasn’t ready to tell people,” Scarlett said.

  “Does Ian know?”

  “What are you two talking about?” Jeanette demanded.

  “I need to see Ian first.” Scarlett wasn’t budging. “Let me up.”

  “Get me some orange juice, would you please, Jeanette?”

  “Ian’s on his way,” the waitress replied, for once not barking at Scarlett, who was just as likely to bark back.

  “Here—” Brenda hustled over with a glass.

  “Let me up, Bridger.”

  “Not until you drink the juice,” he replied.

  Commotion stirred, and Ian burst through the crowd. “Where is she?” He shouldered his way past all the gawkers. When he spotted her in Bridger’s hold, he paled. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He dropped to his knees and reached for her.

  “Let her finish the juice first, okay?” Bridger cautioned.

  “Juice? Why?”

  “She hasn’t eaten this morning, am I right, Scarlett?” His expression was calm, which made Pen feel better, but not Ian.

  “Why didn’t you eat anything? What’s wrong with you?”

  Scarlett clasped his hand while exchanging glances with Bridger, who grinned.

  Grinned?

  “Okay, folks, let’s clear out and give these two some privacy,” Bridger said, rising.

  “You can’t just leave her,” Ian protested.

  “Oh, good grief,” Scarlett burst out. “Ian, I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.” He scooped her up in his arms and wheeled to charge out the door with her.

  “Stop right there.” She smacked his shoulder.

  “Ow! What the hell?”

  Scarlett glared at everyone. “Shoo. Get out of here and give us a minute, would you?”

  “Don’t you go anywhere, Bridger,” Ian warned. “You’re riding to the hospital with us.”

  “Ian McLaren, would you please let them go, so I can tell you something?”

  He clutched at her. “You know what’s wrong? Oh, man, what is it? However bad it is, I’m with you, babe. We’ll find the best docs, and we’ll get you fixed right up.”

  “Oh, heaven help me, you are determined to make me say it in front of everyone, aren’t you?”

  “Say what? Honey, what…” Ian’s voice trailed off, and his eyes went huge and round.

  Then he smiled as if the sun had just come out. “Oh, man. Oh, man oh man—seriously?”

  The always-confident Scarlett bit her lower lip. “Are you okay with it?”

  Ian laid a kiss on her that had everyone squirming.

  “For mercy’s sake, Scarlett, will you please spit it out for the others?” Ruby complained, coming back in the room. “It’s not like you’re the first woman in Sweetgrass to have a baby.”

  Audible gasps everywhere.

  Then huge smiles. Henry started clapping, and other joined in. Even Jeanette was grinning.

  “But she’s the most important one,” Ian said, his eyes never leaving Scarlett’s.

  “How are we going to manage, though? I have a restaurant to open.”

  “We’ll work it out,” said Ruby.

  “So…you’re glad?” Scarlett asked Ian.

  “Are you kidding me?” He whirled her in a circle, his head thrown back as he all but shouted, “I am the happiest daddy in the history of the planet, Scarlett McLaren, and you are the most beautiful mama any baby was ever lucky enough to have.”

  Pen’s own eyes filled at the sight of so much love.

  Bridger took her hand and squeezed, then offered another handkerchief.

  Chapter Eleven

  When the celebration in the cafe finally tapered off, Bridger walked outside with Pen to her car. Aunt Ruby had only been able to leave Jackson a message that Pen wanted to talk to him.

  Her phone rang, and she hoped it was him. She glanced at the number displayed and couldn’t stifle the gasp. “I have to take this. It’s my firm.”

  “Want me to leave?”

  Did she? “I…”

  “I’ll be over by my truck.” He pointed. “You’ll be okay?”

  “Sure.” She wasn’t, not a bit.

  Her heart beat faster as she answered. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Gallagher?” said the voice of the firm’s senior partner’s assistant. The icy woman was a thousand years old and had served the senior’s father, too. She didn’t like Pen. Never had. “Prescott Long calling. Please hold.”

  She vanished before Pen could open her mouth.

  “Ms. Gallagher,” came a patrician baritone.

  Ms. Gallagher? She’d been Pen the last time they’d spoken, as he was congratulating her for a stunning success with a difficult case.

  “Hello, Prescott,” she greeted, to level the playing field.

  “Ms. Gallagher, you are not presently in town, am I correct?” Her ear should have frostbite.

  “I am not.” I’m having hot sex with a gorgeous fireman, she was tempted to say. And wearing a red cowboy hat.

  This was clearly not the time, nor did it resemble her normal comportment. They were all about sober reliability at Long and Graves.

  “Then I suppose there’s no help for it. The discussion can’t wait.”

  She refused to ask, though her insides were queasy from his tone.

  “Ms. Gallagher—”

  “Not Pen anymore, Prescott?”

  “I don’t believe that would be wise. It is my responsibility to care for the well-being of the firm.”

  She’d known this was coming, hadn’t she? Somehow they’d found out.

  But how?

  “We’ve had a partner’s me
eting,” he began.

  “We? Last I looked, I was a partner. Why wasn’t I notified?”

  “That would have been unseemly. A conflict of interest, I’m afraid.”

  She wasn’t going to give an inch, even if her chest was aching. “And that would be…why?”

  “I think you know, Ms. Gallagher.”

  Damn it, she wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Partners had rights. It was why young lawyers went without sleep for years, to get to that safe, exalted spot.

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  He cleared his throat. “Very well. It has come to our attention that you have participated in a clear violation of our firm’s ethical standards.”

  The words were a punch to the gut.

  And then she knew exactly what was happening. A partner can’t be fired, but a violation of the firm’s ethics was cause for not only dismissal from the firm but also a revocation of any monetary stake in the partnership.

  “How?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How did this unnamed violation come to the firm’s attention?”

  “That is confidential.”

  Of course it was. But it had Lauralyn Rutherford written all over it.

  The question was why. What had happened since Pen left town as the future first lady had demanded?

  “I am a partner in the firm, and as such I have a right to full disclosure of any potential liabilities that might jeopardize the firm’s well-being.”

  “Not when you are no longer a partner, Ms. Gallagher.”

  She couldn’t help her gasp. “You have got to be kidding me.” What about Lloyd Brenner, who had a gambling addiction? Or Patricia Rothmoor, who had gone to rehab for painkillers?

  But an instinct for self-preservation blessedly reared its head.

  Say nothing. Anything she said could weaken her potential defense. Could forewarn them about the approach she planned to take.

  Oh, God. What approach? Her entire career had just imploded. She had lost…everything. Panic struck, and she was desperate to get off the phone.

  Somehow she summoned the wherewithal to keep her voice calm even as her insides shook as with a palsy. “I don’t believe you’ve thought this through, Prescott.”