The Buckhorn Legacy

by Lori Foster

  “That oughta tell ya something, I suppose.”

  Morgan rolled his eyes at Gabe. “Yeah, it tells us that he loves his adoring uncles and values our approval.”

  “She has mine.”

  “Mine too.”

  Sawyer shifted, running a hand through his hair and sighing. “She left here because she didn’t like it, or because she had some mighty big personal problems. Whichever, I’d hate to see Case hurt.”

  “He’s smart. He knows what he’s doing.” Jordan clapped Sawyer on the shoulder. “Of course, a man’s finer senses tend to warp a little when he’s getting his heart drop-kicked by love.”

  Morgan nodded. “It’s cruel the way a woman can lay you low.”

  Gabe said, “As long as she’s laying me....” The others lifted their drinks in a salute.

  Just then, Misty yelled from the porch, “You got the meat ready for me?”

  Morgan smiled while the others quickly turned their backs to snicker. “Always, sweetheart, always.” Then under his breath to his brothers, “She can’t get enough.”

  Jordan raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, well, your wieners are on fire.”

  Morgan hurried to move things around on the grill. Gabe glanced up, saw that Elizabeth had joined Misty in setting out side dishes, and yelled, “You ladies getting…hungry?”

  She smiled back with a look guaranteed to knock the wind out of him. “Ravenous.”

  Gabe clutched his heart. “Oh, God, I asked for that, didn’t I?”

  Sawyer called to Honey, “Be right there, sweetie.” And he blew her a kiss.

  Jordan said, “I like Emma’s friend, Damon.”

  “He loosened right up, didn’t he? When I first met him, he was such a starched shirt. Nice enough fellow, but so…precise.” Gabe said that as though it were a dirty word. “Put my teeth on edge. Never thought he’d be the type to hang around here this long.”

  “He’s still starched, but it’s just his way.” Sawyer nudged his brothers as he saw Damon come around the corner of the house, led by Amber and looking far from starched at the moment. Judging by his bare wet feet and wind-tossed hair, Amber had taken him along the bank hunting crawfish and minnows again—a pastime Damon apparently enjoyed, much to everyone’s surprise.

  Amber had insisted on his first such adventure, but since then he’d gone along willingly and they’d fallen into a routine of sorts. Whenever Damon came to the house with Emma, Ceily usually accompanied them, and they’d go to the shore with Amber and any of the other kids who were in attendance that day.

  Sawyer also noted that Damon had his pant legs rolled up, his shirt mostly unbuttoned, and Ceily tucked close at his side. “Ceily sure likes him.”

  “Likes him?” Gabe grunted. “She’s totally besotted, always sashaying around in front of him, batting her eyelashes and whispering in his ear. And he enjoys it—you can tell that much.”

  “Good for her.” Morgan pointed a metal spatula at Gabe. “’bout time she found someone.”

  “Hey, I got no problem with her being happy,” Gabe groused. “It’s just that I always figured it’d be someone local. I hope like hell he doesn’t break her heart, or worse, talk her into moving away.”

  “Moving away would be worse than a broken heart?”

  Jordan scowled at Morgan, then asked Gabe, “Why would she move away?”

  “I understand he’s a well-respected architect back in Chicago.” Sawyer shrugged. “Can’t see him giving that up.”

  The men all looked up as a scuffle started between Garrett and Shohn, who were a little too close in age at nine and ten not to compete at every turn. Adam, only slightly more subdued at thirteen, stood to the side shaking his head until Honey raced into the yard and said quite loudly, “That’s enough!”

  The boys broke apart, grumbled a little and, with Honey prodding them along, headed to the porch.

  Morgan shoved a platter of hamburgers at Jordan. “Here, carry this. We better feed the savages before they turn on each other.”

  Laughing, Jordan took the food. “I can remember Mom saying the same thing back in the old days.”

  Gabe snickered. “Yeah, but usually she was saying it about Morgan.”

  “Last time I talked to her, she said she’d be coming to town soon. Seems Casey spoke with her yesterday when she called. He mentioned Emma a few dozen times, and now she’s more than a little curious.”

  Sawyer laughed at Jordan. “Nosy is a better description.” The brothers all agreed with fond smiles. “I expect she’ll be here before too long.”

  Their mother lived in Florida with Gabe’s father, Brett. After losing her first husband and divorcing her second, she’d found true love. It made them all glad to see her so happy, and since she got to Kentucky at least six times a year, they didn’t mind that Brett had talked her into retiring in Florida.

  Later, after the food had been devoured and everyone, except the kids, was feeling a little more lethargic, Sawyer seated himself near Emma. She and Casey were on the porch swing, their hands entwined, talking quietly.

  “So, Emma, I hear you’ve been busy.”

  Her brown eyes warmed with a gentle smile. “Dr. Wagner has scheduled several massages, and so has Ms. Potter. They’re both very nice.”

  “I hear the wives have been in line as well.”

  She laughed. “Morgan too. But I enjoy it.”

  Sawyer nodded, having noticed that she was indeed a “toucher.” If Emma was near someone, she touched—rubbing a shoulder, hugging the kids, stroking the animals. She was very sweet, very open and friendly, and Sawyer liked her, yet still he worried. “How’s your dad doing? Any word on when he might get to come home?”

  “They tell me it’s still too early to know for sure.” Her expression grew troubled. “He had shown so much improvement at first, but this past week there’s been no real progress. If anything, he seems more sluggish. They’re adjusting his medicine, trying different therapy, but…I just don’t know.”

  Casey kissed her knuckles. “I went with her last night, and she saw him again this morning. He’s still talking, not real clear though.”

  Emma looked away. “He was crying this morning.”

  Damn. Sawyer glanced at his son and shared his look of concern. But he was a doctor, not just a father, not just a friend, so he put on his best professional face and tried to reassure her. “That’s not uncommon with stroke victims. I’m sure the doctor explained it to you?”

  She nodded. “Emotional lability, he called it. He said depression is common. I just wish there was some way I could help.”

  “Hey.” Casey put his arm around her. “You’re helping a lot. You’re here with him. You’ve rearranged your life. I’d say that’s plenty.”

  “I’d say so too,” Sawyer agreed.

  She didn’t look convinced. “He’s lost so much weight.”

  That wasn’t uncommon either. Sawyer asked, “They still have him strictly on IVs?”

  “Yes. They’re not sure yet how well he can swallow. I forget what they called it…”

  “Dysphagia.” Sawyer knew one side of Dell’s mouth was weak, so they likely had to be careful of the increased risk of choking. “Emma, it hasn’t been that long. Try not to worry too much, okay? He’s talking, and he recognizes you. That’s pretty miraculous and a good indicator right there.” He patted her hand, but he didn’t promise her that everything would be all right, because he really didn’t know.

 
A loud beeping broke the quiet, which had Morgan and Damon both reaching for their cell phones, then coming up with frowns because it wasn’t theirs. Honey pointed to Emma’s purse. “I think it’s yours, Emma.”

  She came off the swing in a rush and fairly dived off the porch to reach the bag she’d left at the picnic table in the yard. Casey stood to watch her, Sawyer beside him. It was the first call that she’d gotten to Sawyer’s knowledge and, naturally, it alarmed everyone.

  After Emma said a tentative “Hello” into the phone, her lips parted and she slowly sank onto the bench seat at the wooden table.

  Casey bounded off the porch steps in one leap and was at her side before she could say, a bit shakily, “I see.” He stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Damon sat down beside her. Everyone waited, alert.

  Avoiding all the curious gazes, Emma said, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Reider. Yes, of course, I’ll be right there.” She closed her eyes. “Yes, I understand.”

  Mrs. Reider? Sawyer thought. He’d presumed it was the hospital, that her father had taken a turn for the worse. But instead…

  Emma pushed the disconnect button on her small phone, tucked it back into her purse and stood. “I’m sorry to rush off, but I need to go.” At the word go, B.B. hurried to her side.

  “I’ll take you,” Casey said.

  She looked horrified by that idea. “No—”

  “I’ll take you.” He wasn’t about to be dissuaded, and Sawyer understood why.

  Emma looked to Damon, received his nod, and finally agreed. “All right. I suppose you might as well.”

  He might as well? What the hell did that mean? Sawyer wondered. And why did she look as if the rug had just been pulled out from under her?

  Reaching for his shoes and socks, Damon said, “I’m coming too.”

  “But…” With everyone watching the poor girl, she gave up. “Fine. But I do need to hurry.”

  Honey worried her bottom lip. “Your father is okay?”

  “Yes—that is, he hasn’t had a change.” She patted the dog, but her smile was a bit self-conscious. “That wasn’t the hospital.”

  Ceily sidled up next to Damon and asked, “Then what’s wrong?”

  Emma hesitated a long moment before admitting, “It’s my mother. She’s at the motel where Damon and I are staying. She wants to see me.”

  Damon looked far too grim, leading everyone else to wonder why a visit from her mother mattered so much. “You ride with Casey,” he told her. “I’ll drive your car.”

  Since that was how they’d arrived, she merely nodded.

  “Emma?” At Sawyer’s query, she turned. For a young woman who’d been smiling moments before, she now looked far too world-weary. It didn’t make sense, and filled Sawyer with compassion. “Let us know if there’s any way we can help.” And he thought to add, “With anything.”

  She stared at him a long minute before nodding. “Thank you. Dinner was wonderful. Everything was wonderful. I… Thank you.”

  And then Casey led her away. Sawyer watched until she and B.B. had gotten into his son’s car before turning to his wife. Honey hugged his waist. “I’m worried about him, Sawyer.”

  Sawyer knew exactly how she felt, but he repeated his brothers’ reassurances, saying, “He knows what he’s doing.”

  Honey nodded. “I know. But does he know what she’s doing?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE PAST WEEK and a half had been wonderful, but now it was over. All the secrets, all the pretending. She didn’t know how or why her mother had sought her out, but she knew their reunion was bound to be difficult—just as her relationship with her mother had always been.

  “I don’t want you to come up with me.”

  Casey didn’t bother to glance at her. “Why?” His hands were tight on the steering wheel, his expression dark.

  What could she tell him? That she didn’t want everything to end with such an unpleasant scene? “She’s my mother and I’ll deal with her.”

  “You think I would interfere?”

  “No, but…” She drew a breath and gave him part of the truth. “It embarrasses me.”

  Casey pulled the Mustang into the gravel lot. He put it in Park, started to say something to Emma, but then stalled as his gaze lit on something. “I’d say it’s too late to worry about that.”

  Emma followed his line of vision and saw her mother. She was half slumped at one of the picnic tables, holding her head with one hand, a lit cigarette with the other.

  Emma’s heart got caught in her throat. Regardless of anything else, of the past and the hurt feelings and the dread, she was seeing her mother again for the first time in years. And she was choking on her hurt.

  Her mother’s brown hair, like Emma’s only shorter, was caught back in a blunt ponytail. She wore dark jeans, a short-sleeved white blouse and sandals. Seeing her like that, she could have been anyone’s mother. She could have been a regular mother.

  She could have been a mother who cared.

  Emma knew better though. Ignoring Casey, she opened her door and stepped out. Her mother noticed her then and stood. She swayed, unsteady on her feet, and had to prop herself with one hand on the tabletop.

  Of course, she was drunk, just as Emma had expected.

  “Where the hell have you been, young lady?”

  The slurred words were flung at Emma without regard for the quietness of the lot or the spectators close at hand. Somewhere in the back of her awareness, Emma knew Damon and Ceily had arrived. She knew Casey was close behind her, leading the dog. She knew Mrs. Reider and a few guests watched from the motel-lobby door.

  It’s not me, Emma told herself. What she does, who she is, doesn’t project on me. She knew it, had lived with that truism all these years past, but still her shame bit so deep she could barely see as she made her way to the picnic table.

  Her voice sounded wooden as she said, “Mother.”

  “Don’t you call me that,” her mother sneered, and Emma saw that familiar ugliness in her brown eyes, in the dark shadows beneath, in the pasty sheen of her skin and the spittle at the side of her mouth.

  “All right.” Sick dread churned in her belly. She knew her mother would humiliate them both. What she didn’t know was how to deal with it. As a child, she’d begged, hidden, run away. But she wasn’t a child any longer, and her mother was now her responsibility.

  “A daughter would have come to see me by now. You know I’m all alone. You know I needed you. But no. You’re too good for that, aren’t you?”

  “You have my number,” Emma reasoned. “You could have—” No. Emma stopped herself. She knew from long experience that there was no reasoning with her mother in this condition. It would be a waste of breath to even try, and would only prolong the uncomfortable confrontation. “Why don’t I take you home?”

  “Oh no, missy. I don’t damn well wanna go home now.” She took an unsteady step forward. “I want you to take me to the store, and then we’re goin’ to the hospital to see Dell.”

  Emma’s heart nearly stopped. Take her mother to the hospital? Not while she was drunk. “I won’t buy you alcohol.” She didn’t bother to reply to her other request.

  Her mother looked stunned at that direct refusal. Her eyes widened, her mouth moved. Finally, she yelled, “You just get me there and I’ll buy it myself. I’m worried about your father and sick at heart and God knows my only daughter doesn’t give a damn.” As she spoke, she tottered around the table
toward Emma. Ashes fell from the cigarette, which was now little more than a butt.

  Just as she’d done so many times in the past, Emma braced herself, emotionally, physically. Even so, she had a hard time staying upright when her mother’s free hand knotted in the front of her shirt and she stumbled into her. “You’ll take me,” she hissed, her breath tainted with the sickly sweet scent of booze and the thickness of smoke, “or I’ll tell everyone what you did.”

  A layer of ice fell over Emma’s heart. It was now or never, and she simply couldn’t take it anymore. “What you did, you mean.”

  The shock at her defiance only lasted a moment. “No one will believe that.” Her mother laughed, and tugged harder on Emma’s shirt. “You, with your damn reputation. You don’t have any friends around here. Even that nosy sheriff was always checking up on you. He’ll believe whatever I tell him. And you’ll go to jail—”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Enraged, her mother drew back to strike Emma, but her hand was still in the air when Casey pulled Emma back and into his side. Her mother’s swing, which would have left a bruise, given the force she’d put behind it, missed the mark by over a foot and threw her off balance. She turned a half circle and landed hard on her hands and knees in the rough gravel. Her cigarette fell to the side, still smoldering.

  Emma had automatically reached out to break her fall, but she pulled back. She could feel Casey breathing hard beside her, knew he was disgusted and shocked at the scene—a scene he’d probably never witnessed in his entire life, but that was all too familiar to Emma.

  B.B. went berserk, barking and snarling, and Emma, feeling numb, caught his collar to restrain him. She whispered to the dog, soothing him while staring down at the woman who’d birthed her. She waited to see what else she’d do. Her mother could be so unpredictable at times like this.

  But she stayed there, her head drooping forward while she gathered herself. Eight years had apparently taken a toll on her too. When she twisted around to look up at Casey, it was with confusion and anger. “Who the hell are you?”