Seven years of pent-up need and hunger clawed at her now, and she poured that focused energy into her kiss. She wanted—
“Get a room,” a dark voice snarled, splashing icy water on the fire inside her.
Brady jerked his head up, and she felt the tension that yanked his body tight. “Go to hell.”
Piper turned her head to see Gill leaning against a chair at the edge of the dance floor, a drink in his hand and a sneer on his face. “Is that any way to talk to your loan holder, Summers?”
Piper squeezed Brady’s arm, cautioning him, hoping to calm the fury she could see rising in his eyes.
“At the bank, you’re my loan holder. Here, you’re just an ass bothering me and my lady.”
Gill twisted his mouth in a sarcastic grin. “Your lady? So you two are an item again? And here I thought Piper was just having a vacation fling with her favorite boy toy.” He lifted his glass. “Congratulations, Summers. Maybe this time you won’t screw it up.”
Brady made a move toward Gill, but Piper blocked him, whispering, “He’s not worth it.”
She heard Gill scoff, and she pivoted on her toe to face him. “I find it interesting that you’re so interested in the status of our relationship. Could it be that you’re not getting what you need at home and have to live vicariously through us?”
Gill’s expression dimmed. “Schoolyard insults, Piper? I gave you more credit.”
“What do you want, Gill?” Brady asked in a low tone.
The banker shrugged one shoulder. “Just came over to say hello.”
“And now you have.” Brady squared his shoulders. “Now leave us alone.”
“So you can continue the NC-17 floor show?” Gill gave Brady a thumbs-up. “Be my guest.”
Piper’s cheeks burned as she watched Gill stroll away. “He’s right,” she said softly. “Things were getting too heated for public.”
“Are you ready to leave?” Brady asked, disappointment heavy in his voice. He motioned back to their table. “We could get dessert.”
She patted his chest and shook her head. “No. But thanks. Let’s go.”
* * *
Brady said good-night to Piper at the main house door, his mood high, his body vibrating with desire...and a niggling sense that despite how well the evening seemed to have gone, so much was still unsettled. As he made his way back to his house and let himself in the mudroom door, he tried to pin down the odd sense of imbalance. Like a musical chord meant to inspire and swell one’s emotions with one note flat, the evening was almost perfect. Except...
Brady brushed aside the niggling doubts as he entered the house quietly, not wanting to wake his family. Kip rose from her dog bed and, her tail wagging, trotted over to greet him. He rubbed her ears and gave her flank a pat. “Did you watch the house like a good girl?”
Kip answered with a thump of her tail on the cracked linoleum. Moving from the kitchen to the living room, he found his father in his recliner, asleep. Brady shook Roy’s shoulder. “Dad, I’m home. Don’t you want to go to bed?”
Roy blinked and sat forward in the chair. “Wha’ time’s it?” he asked, his voice a tad slurred.
Brady heaved a sigh. “Late. You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”
Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. “No.”
“What if something had happened, and you’d had to drive Connor to the hospital, or...?” He blew out a harsh breath. “I’m so sick of this.”
“I didn’t drink!” Roy shoved to his feet, his tone defensive, yet he wobbled as he took his first step.
“Go to bed, old man. I’ve had enough of your lies, and I won’t let you ruin what has been a pretty damn good night for me.” Brady turned and strode briskly to his room. He could hear his dad bumping into things and stumbling about as he got ready for bed. Brady stripped down, yanked on a pair of sleep pants and an old T-shirt and crawled into bed. Only after he’d settled deep in his covers and reflected again on his dinner with Piper did the nagging disquiet crystalize.
Piper had decided to move back to the ranch, was eager to form a bond with Connor and share custody of their son. But she’d made no promises, no mention really of a future for them. Despite their kisses on the dance floor, she’d dodged giving him reason to hope for their relationship. And her lack of commitment glared at him like an angry bull.
* * *
A loud crash woke Brady some hours later, and he struggled to rouse himself. He blinked, trying to focus on the alarm clock beside his bed, but the numbers swam in a blurry glow. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, his arms feeling especially weak, and his head pounding at the change of position. He grunted to himself. He hadn’t had that much to drink at dinner, had he? Hearing another crash and the sound of retching down the hall, he gritted his teeth, knowing the source. Rising on unsteady legs, he staggered to the door and into the hall, his anger rising.
As he suspected, he found his father on the floor of the bathroom, gripping the toilet as he vomited. Around him were the items Roy had knocked to the linoleum from the counter around the sink. Toothbrush and cup, medicine bottles, razor, soap...
“Damn it, you were drinkin’ t’night, you liar!” he growled, his words sounding somewhat slurred. What the hell?
Brady gripped the door frame and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was throbbing, and he was having trouble focusing. Why was he feeling so weak?
His father raised his head to look at him. “Didn’t. I swear. I...don’t think...”
Turning back to the commode abruptly, his father retched again.
“Right. Look’t you!” Brady shook his head in disgust and immediately regretted it.
Roy groaned in misery, clutching the toilet seat like a life preserver. So hard, in fact, that his fingernails were dark pink, almost red.
Brady swayed drunkenly, then stumbled to the sink to get the aspirin from the medicine cabinet. As he closed the mirrored cabinet over the sink, he noticed his slightly blurry reflection. His cheeks were unusually pink. Could he be coming down with something? Was that why his head hurt and he felt so unsteady? His stomach rolled with a touch of nausea, and he gripped the counter harder when his knees buckled. Brady gave his father a side-glance. Roy had slumped down on the floor with his head at an angle against the side of the bathtub. The idea that something was off tickled his brain, but he struggled to make sense of it. His head hurt so badly, and his stomach had started to churn...
He stared at his own face in the mirror for long seconds. Rosy cheeks, dull eyes...
He couldn’t quite capture the thought that wafted around his head, but something felt off about the situation. He wasn’t drunk. Red cheeks, red fingernails. Confused...
A pang of concern sent him staggering into Connor’s room. If he and his father were sick, maybe...
“Conn’r?” He stood at the door of his son’s room and peered through the dark at the body-shaped lump under the covers. Connor didn’t stir. “Conn’r?” he said again, louder, not sure why he was waking the boy other than from his vague sense of alarm. When Connor slept on, still, silent...deathlike, Brady’s unnamed worry spiked.
Chapter 12
“Connor!” he called louder, moving to the bed to shake the boy. He snapped on the bedside lamp and jostled Connor’s shoulder. “Wak’up.”
Connor gave a weak sigh and rolled his face toward Brady. His son’s cheeks were flushed bright pink. Adrenaline flashed through Brady, fueling his limbs. Without examining why, Brady dragged Connor into his arms and staggered with his precious burden toward the bedroom door.
“Dad!” he called as he hurried, swerving as he made his way to the back door. The chilly October air slapped him in the face as he lurched into the dark night. He set Connor on the grassy lawn under the oak tree nearest the house and knelt beside his son. Though outside the circle of the halogen light halfway between their house and th
e McCalls’, the security lamp provided enough illumination to see Connor’s face and limp arms. Patting the boy’s cheeks, he sucked in deep breaths of the crisp autumn air. “Conn’r. C’you hear me, buddy? Wake up!”
“No,” Connor grumbled and rolled away from him, shivering.
Relief swamped Brady when he saw his son stir, and he struggled to focus his thoughts on the source of his sense of urgency. What was wrong? What next? Blanket. Connor was cold. He was cold. Roy? Was his father ill?
He glanced back at his house, then to the McCalls’, trying to dispel the fogginess in his brain. A light was on in Piper’s bedroom. He shoved unsteadily to his feet and jogged with wavering steps to her window.
“Pip’r!” he called as he rapped his knuckles against the glass. “Pip’r, you awake?” A moment later the curtain was pushed back, and she cupped a hand to her eyes to block the room’s light and gaze out at him.
“Brady?” she said through the glass, then unlocked and opened her window. “What in the world? Why...?”
“Cannu watch Conn’r?” he slurred. “He’s o’er th—” When he turned to point back toward the oak tree, he lost his balance and fell against the house, shoulder first. He grabbed the window ledge to steady himself.
“Good grief! Are you drunk?” she hissed.
“No...som’thins wrong. Dad’s still...”
Piper opened her window farther, and the weathered wood and metal protested with a creak and scrape. “What’s wrong?” She cupped her hands around her eyes again to squint across the dark lawn. “Is that Connor under the tree?”
“Yeah. Need you...” He paused long enough to grab his aching head.
“Hang on.” She ducked back inside briefly, then appeared again with her bathrobe on, a quilt in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She climbed out the window and wrapped the quilt around him before shoving her shoulder under his arm. She started walking him back across the dimly lit ranch yard, using her cell phone as a flashlight. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
“Not sure. Can’t think. Something...” He inhaled deeply and blinked, noticing his vision had cleared some. “Roy’s sick. Me, too...maybe. Red...”
“What do you mean Roy’s sick? How? Where is he?”
“Bathroom. Throwing up.”
“He’s drunk, you mean?”
Brady shook his head. “I don’t know. Something’s...wrong. I don’t feel...right.”
Piper stopped and looked at him with a narrowed gaze. “You do look sick. Your face is flushed.” She glanced back toward the oak tree, her expression growing concerned. “Connor.” She snapped her head back around to him. “Is Connor okay? Why is he outside?”
“Red...cheeks. Roy, too.” Brady sucked in another deep breath of cold night air and tried again to collect his thoughts. To rein in the warning that circled the edges of his mind.
“Is Connor sick, too? Why is he out—”
Brady stopped short, tensing as his muddled thoughts sharpened at last. “C...O.” He squeezed Piper’s arm as the symptoms clicked into place. Carbonox—poisoning.” He couldn’t make his tongue say the words, but Piper’s eyes widened and her back straightened. She understood.
“Carbon monoxide?” She whipped a glance toward the house. “And Roy’s still inside?”
He bobbed a nod, then pushed away from her. “He needs air. Call f’r help.” He trotted unsteadily back toward the house, and Piper followed.
“You can’t go back in there! Brady, wait!”
“Go to Connor. Call help.” A sense of urgency and deep breaths of clear night air gave Brady renewed strength and better clarity.
“Let me go in for Roy...” Piper argued, tugging on his arm “...or my brothers. You need to stay out here in the fresh air.” With the thumb of the hand holding her phone, Piper started tapping in a call.
“You’re not strong enough...to drag him.” He wrenched free of her grasp, knocking the quilt off his shoulders, and headed toward his house. Time was wasting.
“Neither are you in the shape you’re in. You can barely walk straight!” She snatched up the quilt he’d dropped and followed at his heels.
She was right about that. He wanted to run but only had the energy, the strength, to trot. She easily kept pace with him, her phone to her ear.
Brady heard a muted voice as someone answered her call, and she pressed the phone closer. “It’s me. I need both of you at Brady’s house. Now! Hurry!”
She disconnected without explanation, shoved the quilt into his arms and sprinted past him into his house. He paused briefly at the tree to check on Connor, who was groggy but awake and watching the proceedings with wide eyes. He covered his boy with the quilt, noticing for the first time the sweet smell of honeysuckle, Piper’s scent, which clung to the bedding.
“What’s wrong, B-Brady?” Connor asked, clutching the quilt around him, teeth chattering.
“Don’t worry, buddy. Ev’thing’s gonna be okay.” He lifted Connor’s chin and peered into his eyes. He could tell his slurred speech was concerning the boy so he spoke more slowly, working to control his tongue. “Are you okay?”
“My stomach hurts. And my head.”
Brady gritted his back teeth, wishing he could magically take away any and all discomfort Connor had. He’d gladly bear ten times the amount of pain or illness if it would spare his son. Instead, all he could do was kiss his forehead and give him an encouraging smile. “Keep taking slow, deep breaths. You’ll...feel bet’r soon. Stay here. Understand?”
Connor nodded, and Brady pushed to his feet to hurry inside. Despite all the grief he gave his father over his drinking, he didn’t know what he’d do if anything happened to Roy. Losing Scott and Pam had been hard enough. With anxiety streaking through his core, Brady whispered a prayer that his father would be spared and charged back inside the oxygen-deprived air of their house.
* * *
Piper slowed her steps only long enough to dial 9-1-1 as she sprinted into the Summerses’ house. She gave the operator the critical information as she searched for Brady’s father. She found Roy on the floor of the back bathroom, and telling the emergency dispatcher she was putting the phone down to help Roy, she hastily worked to find the best way to move him. She tried dragging him by his feet first, but decided bumping his head along the floor couldn’t be good for him. Shifting to hoist him by sliding her arms under his armpits, she lifted the foreman’s torso with a grunt of exertion.
Even with adrenaline powering her muscles, she staggered under the man’s weight. She growled her frustration, knowing that in days past, when she’d been doing ranch chores on a regular basis, she’d been in much better shape for this kind of task. Boston and her desk job had made her soft.
She heard footsteps and glanced behind her to see Brady lumbering down the hall. Her pulse spiked with concern for him. “Get out! You shouldn’t be in here!”
“Not ’til Roy’s out.” He moved into position beside her, taking one of his father’s arms.
“Brady, you can’t—”
“Pull!”
“Mule!” Seeing that she wouldn’t dissuade him, Piper funneled her energy into rescuing Roy. Side by side, her body grazing Brady’s as they wrestled his father toward the back door, they worked in concert, scooting Roy a foot or two at a time.
Brady grumbled a curse as he wiped a fine sheen of sweat from his brow. “I should be able to throw him over my shoulder. This sucks!”
“It’s not your fault. You’re oxygen-deprived.” She clenched her teeth as she mustered all her strength to pull Roy another two feet across the kitchen floor. “You shouldn’t even be in here.”
“Piper?” Josh called from outside.
“In here!” she shouted. “Hurry!”
Her brothers burst through the back door, and Zane frowned at the sight that greeted him. “What’s wrong?”
“We think there’s a carbon monoxide leak. Get him outside!” she said, standing aside so that Josh could take over.
“Where’s Kip?” Brady asked.
“I’ll get her,” Zane said, heading down a hall in search of the dog.
Josh crouched and grabbed Roy under the arms. In a matter of seconds, he’d moved their foreman outside, and Zane came out on their heels carrying the dog to the tree where Connor waited.
Once Roy was laid out on the grass and Brady had collapsed beside his father, sucking in deep breaths of air, she moved to Connor’s side and eyed her brothers.
Both were dressed in jeans, boots, even jackets. She wrinkled her nose at them. “Seriously! I call you with an emergency and you take the time to dress?”
Josh arched a black eyebrow, and even in the dim glow of the security light, she saw the spark of mischief in his eyes. “You’d rather I’d come out here in the buff?”
Cuddling Connor close, she sputtered. “Uh, wh—”
He grinned. “That’s right. I sleep in the raw.”
She pulled a frown and shook her head. “Jeez, Josh. TMI!”
“Trust me, Pipsqueak,” Zane added, “The few seconds it took us to dress meant we were better prepared to help.” He nodded to Connor. “Is he all right?”
“I think so. Have you called 9-1-1?” Brady asked, lifting a worried gaze from his father.
She remembered the phone she’d set on the bathroom floor. “I did. My phone’s still inside. I put it down to get Roy out.”
Zane stood from the crouch he’d assumed checking on Roy. “I’ll get it.”
Rancher's Deadly Reunion Page 17
