The Book Babes Boxed Set (Texas Ties/Texas Troubles/Texas Together)

by Jean Brashear

  “Yeah.” Ellie stepped back.

  “I’ll never forget you, Ellie. Be well. Be very happy.” Saxon turned away.

  “You, too. Thank you, Saxon.” Ellie whispered.

  That proud, leonine head turned back toward her, and it was then that Ellie saw the single tear roll down his cheek. “No, angel. Thank you.” He brushed the tear away with his thumb.

  Then he headed toward Ava.

  Ellie looked up to find most of them watching her, but there was only one pair of eyes she wanted to see. Green eyes bored into her, dark and haunted, hope dancing around the edges of fear.

  And then Ellie realized that it was truly over. Saxon was gone, and she would never forget him. But her future stood before her in blue jeans and work boots, with one lock of mink-brown hair that refused to stay put.

  And Ellie smiled, a smile big enough to wrap a whole room with love—

  She walked toward the only man she’d ever truly loved, and when his arms closed about her, she whispered a prayer that Tom and Ava would have a moment like this, too.

  * * *

  Laken sat by Ava as the minutes crept past. She could feel her friend trembling, and she was inadequate to soothe her.

  How did you make everything better when the heart of you might die?

  Michael would know how to do this. He was good at soothing, his deep voice quiet and confident, giving heart and hope when things looked dire.

  But she’d sent Michael away. For reasons that had seemed sound at the time, but now…

  What did her independence matter? What was she afraid of?

  Too late, anyway. He’d left town, and she didn’t even know where he’d gone. She’d thought about trying his cell, but…what would be the purpose?

  She’d wanted to hear his voice. Right now she wanted that a lot.

  She’d consigned herself to the limbo of low expectations. Of careful solitude, where nothing could hurt you.

  Except when you hurt yourself. She could admit that now—her old life felt like crap. Nothing excited her anymore. She missed Ajax, his puppy breath, his eagerness, his sheer joy in sunshine and dog biscuits and cuddles.

  Get real. Okay, she did miss the pup—but she missed Michael more.

  Jeans-clad legs moved into her vision, pausing before Ava. “Ava, I’m so sorry.”

  That voice. The voice.

  Her head jerked up.

  He didn’t look at her, his attention focused on her friend.

  As it should be.

  Those long, lean, giving hands clasped Ava’s as he spoke softly to her.

  A shudder rippled over Ava, and she fell forward into Michael’s arms.

  Laken couldn’t begrudge her friend the solace. Was there a better place to rest and find peace than Michael Cavanaugh’s broad shoulders, his wide chest?

  Tears rose to her own eyes, and suddenly she had to get away. She stood and set down the magazine she’d been pretending to read.

  Before she could go, a hand captured her wrist. Banded it with strength that couldn’t be denied.

  She didn’t move. But she couldn’t look at him, either.

  With a few more words, he left Ava. Stepped toward her. “How are you, Laken?” he asked in his unbearably gentle voice.

  “Fine.” She still didn’t look up.

  Slowly, inexorably, he drew her to him. Took her hands in his and turned her to face him. And with that damned endless patience, he outwaited her.

  She summoned politeness. “How are you, Michael?”

  “I’d be better if you’d look at me.” But then he did what she really needed instead and drew her into his chest. Slipped his arms around her and let her rest. Let her burrow into the sanctuary she’d been craving since their first meeting.

  One big hand cradled her head as the other stroked her back. “I missed you.”

  She clutched at the back of his shirt.

  A small chuckle. “Not ready to talk? Fine—I will.” He kissed her temple. “I met my brother.”

  She jerked back. Scanned his face. “You look…fine. Are you? How was he?”

  “Shocked is a mild word for his reaction. For all he knew our mother was dead. He’d never known about me either.” He shook his head. “Us? We’re…a work in progress. But he’s a better man than I’d be in his shoes.”

  Not true, she thought. No one could be. “What’s he like?”

  “Weirdly, we have the same eyes and the same dimple. He’s tall, too. He’s a rancher—and the mayor of Sweetgrass Springs by consensus, if not officially. Everyone relies on him. Oh, and he’s married to a woman who was a fancy chef in New York, but she’s now running both her grandmother’s diner and a high-end organic restaurant people drive to all the way from Austin.” He grinned. “And she’s pregnant. I’ll be an uncle.” He beamed.

  More family for him, exactly what he wanted. “What’s the place like?”

  “It’s pretty great. Ian says they could use me there. The closest vet is fifty miles away.” He chuckled. “To say that town is small is an understatement, but it’s a mecca for all kinds of people. Scarlett—that’s Ian’s wife—has a cousin who’s a video game mogul from Seattle, a native of Sweetgrass, and he’s moved his company there. The town is the damnedest mix of cowboy and geeks, homespun meets West Coast…” He smiled. “I’d like to take you there.”

  She froze. “Me?”

  Disappointment flowed over his features. “I’m not asking for a commitment, just a visit. You don’t have to give up your life here or anything.”

  She glanced at Ava. Thought about her earlier musings. Lifted her eyes to his brown ones. “How’s Ajax?”

  “Misses you.”

  “I miss him and…”

  An arched eyebrow. “And…?”

  She swallowed. “You. I missed you.”

  His smile brightened. “Good.” Then he, too, cast a glance around the room, landing on Ava. “Now’s not the time, I know. But maybe we could talk later?”

  “Do you have to go?”

  “Do you want me to? Wyatt called me because he thought you might need me.”

  She tensed. Admitting need…

  Another quick glance at Ava. Don’t be an idiot, her friend would tell her. “Stay. I’d really like you to stay,” she said, even as her chest got tight. “But, Michael…I don’t know what all this means.”

  His smile was wise and tolerant. “You don’t have to. How about if we just…be?”

  “Be?”

  His chest shook with suppressed laughter. “Poor baby. This is hard for you, I know. Let’s just…hang out. You can do that, right?”

  Her throat filled, and she squeezed his hand like a lifeline. “Okay,” she whispered. “I can try.”

  “The first step is the hardest.” He bent and kissed her softly. “Go be with your friend now, sweetheart. I’ll be here.”

  Reluctantly she turned to go but saw that Ava’s children had settled to either side of her.

  Michael noticed, too. “Come on, then. Let’s sit down.” He escorted her to two chairs side by side and eased her down, then joined her.

  “Just…be?”

  “It won’t hurt, I promise.” He grinned.

  And inside her chest, hope rose like the morning sun.

  * * *

  Ava sat inside the prison of her terror, being very quiet and still and projecting every ounce of strength she possessed toward the operating suite where Tom lay fighting for his life.

  A part of her knew that her children needed her, and she gripped their hands tightly in solace. But she couldn’t speak, couldn’t disturb the flow of her thoughts, her prayers, her desperate hopes. Although her rational mind told her that Tom’s life did not depend upon her concentration, she was taking no chances. A deeper, superstitious part of her said that she could make him live by sheer will, that she could defy God to take him from her.

  Only once did she notice her surroundings, when an almost palpable current swept the room. She glanced up to see Saxon
coming toward her and Ellie moving into Wyatt’s arms. She let Saxon’s words flow over her and murmured appropriate responses, but the deepest part of her never wavered. Her conscious mind noted in passing the pleasure of seeing Ellie and Wyatt together, but her deepest self screamed in torment that she would not be denied that same reward.

  Soon after, Michael showed up, then Laken was no longer alone. That was good, and later she’d be glad.

  But right now, Ava alternated between cursing God and begging Him, between faith that fate could not be so cruel and panic that she would be punished for letting her ambition overtake her life. There’s always a price.

  She tried to remember every chant, every prayer, every half-baked theory about altering the cosmos she’d ever heard.

  And in between, her soul cried in pain. Don’t. Please don’t. Please, oh please, don’t take him. We need more time.

  Then both of her children’s hands went rigid in hers, and Siobhan gasped softly beside her as the surgeon approached, his face solemn.

  The deepest animal part of Ava shrank from what was coming, wanting to burrow far away, wanting to avoid the doctor’s eyes. No—she cried silently. You have to let me have him. Just a little longer. One day. One hour. One second to tell him—

  “Mom,” Grayson murmured. “The doctor’s here.”

  I can’t. Deep within, Ava shivered. I’m afraid to hear. I can’t live without him.

  But she forced herself to her feet and lifted her gaze, gripping Grayson’s hand like life itself.

  “Mrs. Sinclair? I’m Doctor Pearce.” Then he smiled. “Your husband is still critical, but I believe he’s going to make it.”

  Around her the cheers arose, the shouts of thanksgiving she’d remember later. But suddenly, all Ava could think, all she could do, was curl into herself, hands covering her face, tears flowing from her eyes. Thank you. Oh, thank you, oh, God, thank you. Then she grasped the doctor’s arm. “I have to see him. Please. You have to let me. Even for one second.”

  “He’ll be in Recovery for a bit. It won’t be long.”

  “I’m begging you. Now. Just for a second. We argued before I left this morning.”

  The doctor studied her, then nodded. “It will have to be quick and only you, but come along. I’ll take you to him.”

  Ava clutched his arm like a lifeline, this man who had just handed her the keys to a new life. Trembling from head to toe, Ava began to walk.

  “He’s not awake, you know.”

  “I know.” Ava kept moving, intent upon only one thing.

  “It may be some time before he is conscious. And he’s not out of the woods, by a long shot.”

  “I know.”

  The doctor stopped before a double door. “Knowing all that, you still want to see him? He won’t look like himself.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Gray eyes twinkled, and he patted her hand. “Then see him, you shall. This way, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  And at last, after all the terror, all the anguish, all the moments she thought she’d never see Tom again, Ava at last saw the face of the man she knew was the only thing that really mattered in her life.

  He lay so still. So pale. Too many tubes, too many machines, too much that said Hands off. Her Tom looked lost on an alien planet. Only the dark curls sprinkled with gray looked familiar.

  Ava glanced at the doctor. “I need to touch him, to let him know I’m here. Will I hurt him?”

  Kind gray eyes smiled. “Stay away from his chest, and don’t disturb his IV, but I’m of the school that thinks knowing you’re here is the best medicine of all.”

  She drew a deep breath and stepped forward as if treading across broken glass on bare feet. Her fingers stole through the railing on the bed, hovering above a hand that had touched her so often… but now seemed so foreign.

  Carefully… slowly… she lowered just the tips of her fingers, afraid of what she would feel.

  But his hand was warm, and her skin knew his. Sliding her fingers around to his palm, she squeezed gently, then leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I’m here, Tom. I won’t leave you. I love you, and you’re all that matters. Thank you for fighting to come back to me. I—” Her voice choked with the power of what had almost happened.

  Slowly… softly, she leaned her forehead against his temple, squeezing her eyes against the tears that would not stop. The vise around her heart eased, just a little.

  “Heart of my heart,” she whispered. “Keep fighting. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Then she kissed his temple. “Sleep well, my love.”

  She stood up, but could not let him go.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sinclair, but we have to do a few more things before we can move him to ICU. They’re important,” a nurse spoke softly.

  Ava turned, still gripping Tom’s hand. “He’s going to make it,” she vowed.

  The nurse smiled. “That’s the plan. Now, please, if you could step back.”

  Ava leaned over once more, kissing his cheek, wishing she could kiss his lips. Inhaling the scent that was only Tom, despite all the disinfectants, despite the hospital smell that pervaded.

  “I’ll be close by, love. Siobhan and Grayson are here, too, and all our friends. We’ll be waiting.”

  Then Ava did one of the most difficult things she’d ever been asked to do. She let go of Tom’s hand.

  But not for long.

  * * *

  Down a long, dark corridor, Tom struggled toward the tiny light. When he reached it, too much assaulted him. Faint beeps. Garbled voices on loudspeakers. Sharp, astringent smells. His eyes fluttered once, but the light was too bright, too painful.

  An elephant sat on his chest. The room was freezing.

  But one hand felt warmth. One hand felt something…

  Tom slitted his eyes, then blinked against the light. A mass of dark hair spilled over the sheets.

  “Ava?” His voice came out a crackly whisper.

  Her head shot up, her green eyes wide, first with fear, then brimming with love. And tears. She was on her feet in an instant, her smile wide and glorious. “Oh, Tom, I love you so much. I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. I need you, I love you, I—”

  He croaked out, “Love… you,” but the words came out like dry leaves crushed underfoot. “Water,” he whispered.

  Her cheeks flushed red. “Oh—I didn’t think.” Her head whipped around. “I don’t see any. Let me get the nurse.” She turned to go.

  But he held on, trying to wet his sandpaper throat. “Wait—” he croaked. “Luisa?” he asked.

  Ava’s eyes dimmed, and he cursed himself for causing it. If only he could think straight, but he was so weak. “Told her. Don’t want… her,” he croaked. “Want… you. Love… you.”

  Then she was gripping his hand tightly, holding it to her breast, tears running down her cheeks. She nodded. “She told me. Oh, Tom, I was so afraid I’d lose you. I should have been here. I shouldn’t have gone, shouldn’t have let my career get in the way.”

  Then it all came back. “Carlos?”

  “He’s fine.” The glow dimmed again. “Ramon is dead. The police shot him after he—” Her face crumpled. “After he shot you.”

  “Chest?”

  She nodded. “It nicked an artery. You almost died, Tom. Thank God you’re still a fighter. The doctor said it was close. So close.”

  They both went very still, and he knew that her thoughts must parallel his. Life was too short, too sweet.

  “The price was too high. I don’t want the fame anymore. I just want—”

  “Don’t… quit.” He shook his head violently, then groaned aloud.

  “I’ll get the nurse.” She turned to leave, but he tightened his grip on hers, pitiful though it was.

  “No. Wait.”

  “But—”

  “Jealous.” He pointed to his chest. He drew a shallow breath; any more than that hurt, but he had to get this out. “Thought… didn’t need… me.”

  “Oh, I need you. More than
my next breath.” Her tears renewed. “We thought we were indestructible, but it’s always fragile, isn’t it? We’re never safe.” She gripped his hand. “Love takes tending.”

  Tom could only drink in the sight of her beloved face, wishing he could hold her, wanting to find the right words.

  Then he watched a tiny smile began to play around her mouth. “You’re still a star, you know. Carol Chase wanted to know if you still look good in tight jeans.”

  Tom started to laugh but quickly discovered what a bad idea it was. The laugh turned to a groan.

  “I’m buzzing the nurse.” Ava leaned over and pushed the button above his head.

  “What—” He had to catch his breath.

  Ava leaned closer.

  Tom gathered his strength for one more question. “What… tell her?”

  Then a wonderful thing happened.

  Ava laughed.

  Tom wanted to laugh with her. One day soon, he would. They had a lot of laughing to catch up on.

  “I told her you still had a great ass,” said the Ava Tom loved.

  * * *

  Sylvie held her mother’s hand tightly, the rattle of Margo’s breath growing harsher by the moment. Tears she thought she’d surely used up kept flowing as if from an endless river.

  Gabe slipped up behind her, his strength a bulwark against the breaking of her heart.

  “She’s not going to wake up. I’m not going to get my miracle,” Sylvie whispered.

  Gabe pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’m here, sweetheart. Hang on.”

  Sylvie leaned back against him. “I don’t want to need you so much.”

  She felt the soft huff of his laughter. “I know. But I’m glad you do.”

  “Oh, Gabe,” she sighed. “I’m so tired.”

  “Tell her it’s okay to go, Sylvie. She’s tired, too.”

  “She can’t hear me.”

  “Tell her anyway. Release her. Let her find her peace.”

  Sylvie’s heart clenched with longing and anger and a sadness too deep to bear. Bowing her head, she gripped Margo’s hand tightly.

  Then she drew a deep breath and leaned over, her nose brushing her mother’s silvery hair.

  “I love you, Mother. It’s all right. I have Gabe. You can go—I won’t be alone anymore.” She started to raise up, then lowered her mouth again. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for making me strong. You told me not to depend on any man because Daddy left us too soon and life was so tough on you. But Gabe isn’t just any man. I’m going to grab hold of Gabe and wring life out of every minute we have left.”