Broken: The Cavanaugh Brothers

by Laura Wright

  “Why?” she asked, confused. “It’s just a thank-you.”

  “There’s no need for it.”

  “Because that’s what friends do for each other?” she asked, a thread of sarcasm in her tone.

  His chest tightened. “Sure.”

  Friends.

  He’d tossed that word out all nice and easy that day on the ranch. He’d tossed it out because it was way easier to put a benign and bullshit label on what he was feeling for her instead of dealing with the truth. But now, each time he heard it, he wanted to erase it from the goddamn English language. Friendship wasn’t why he’d stayed. Why he continued to stay. Why, right that very moment, with her fingers wrapped around his wrist, he knew he should head out of the room and get the nurse, find her something to eat—not lean down and kiss her.

  Her eyes tried to penetrate his thoughts. “James . . .”

  He eased his arm away. “Anyone I can call for you?”

  The action bothered her, maybe even hurt her, but she hid it fairly well. “Not really. I have one friend from college, but she’s in Europe for the next several months. There’s really no one else.” She laughed, but it was hardly a light, happy sound. “I’m so busy with work I forget to make friends. Even casual ones. The kind you go to lunch with.” Her eyes lifted to meet his. “I’ll have to remember that when I get back home.”

  It was James’s turn to look hurt. Or feel it. A slow, stabbing pain near his heart. “About that,” he said swiftly. “You’re gonna need to take a week or two off.”

  It was the first time James saw a flash of heat cross her gaze since she’d been in the hospital. She even sat up a little straighter against her pillows. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “I do. And Deacon does too.”

  Her expression downgraded to panic. “You didn’t talk to him about that, did you? He didn’t say anything to you?” Her eyes widened. “I appreciate him flying all the way out here, but I hope he knows I can get back to work soon—”

  “Stop worrying about this, Sheridan,” James cut in. “Deacon was very clear about your job being secure for whenever you want it,” he assured her. “But, no more working on the ranch site.”

  Her eyes widened. “He said that?”

  No. I did.

  “Relax, please?” he said. He couldn’t keep standing there anymore, looking down at her, into those soulful, beautiful, apprehensive gray eyes. Eyes that seemed to tug at his insides and kept him coming back when he should have been giving her a wide, protective berth. “Let me go find the nurse.”

  Without waiting for a response, he headed out of the room. Once in the hallway, he saw Deacon and Mac sitting in the waiting area. A battle raged inside him. Should he let them take over Sheridan’s care so, God forbid, nothing else happened to her? Should he just keep on walking and never come back—hell, never see her again—because . . . ?

  Three times.

  His gut twisted. Three times bad things had happened to the women he cared about most.

  His eyes shifted to Deacon and Mac, who were sitting so close together no air could get between them. He should let them take over. Let them sit at her bedside and comfort her.

  And yet, when he got to moving, he went straight past them and headed for the nurses’ station. Sheridan needed to eat.

  Diary of Cassandra Cavanaugh

  May 3, 2002

  Dear Diary,

  Tonight is the worst thing ever. Sweet didn’t meet me like he promised. I waited and waited, but he never came. I want to ask Deac if he knows Sweet. But then I’d have to admit I don’t know his real name. And Lord, Deac would ask me all kinds of questions.

  Maybe I could ask James?

  Ooooo, that could work all right. James doesn’t hover over me nearly as much as Deac and Cole do. Sometimes I think he doesn’t care as much about me. Or maybe that’s just his way. I don’t know. But his way might just help me.

  What if Sweet didn’t come because he doesn’t like me anymore? What if I said something weird or stupid? Maybe I kissed wrong!! He’s probably kissed a lot of girls his own age!! He probably thought I was baby!!

  SOBS!

  I have to make him see me as grown, that is all.

  I’m going to see James now. I’ll let you know what happens.

  Worried,

  Cass

  P.S. Maybe Sweet not comin’ has something to do with what he said last night. I thought he was joking around, trying to make me scared or something. Boys do that to girls they like. I’ve seen it with Deac and James. He said he thinks we’re being followed. I haven’t noticed anything. But I guess I’m going to keep my eyes peeled from now on.

  Dammit! I wish Sweet would just give me the number where he’s staying. It’s all just too secretive.

  Maybe I should start following him.

  Twelve

  “Those centerpieces are beautiful!”

  From the chair she’d moved and placed directly beside the bed, Mac nodded in agreement. “I think so too, but are you sure you want to be doing this?”

  Sitting up in the hospital bed, her legs crossed, feeling rested and nearly pain-free, Sheridan answered the bride-to-be. “I really do. Helping with wedding plans is fun and light, and the eternal happiness factor attached to it appeals to me right now.”

  Dropping a booted foot across her jean-clad leg, Mac shrugged. “Okay. But if you change your mind . . .”

  “I will tell you to pack your bridal magazines and your cake samples and your boutonniere ideas and hit the road,” Sheridan finished for her.

  Mac’s normally tanned face paled. “Boutonniere? What the hell is a boutonniere?”

  Sheridan laughed, then winced as the action made her shoulders flare with pain. “Don’t panic. It’s flowers that the men wear. I believe they’re supposed to match your bouquet.”

  The explanation did little to curb the woman’s anxiety. She groaned and grumbled. “Deacon was right. I should’ve hired somebody to help me. I have a week left to plan this thing, and I have cattle to move for God’s sake!”

  “I’ll help you,” Sheridan offered impulsively.

  “What? No.”

  “I’m your maid of honor,” Sheridan began. “That is, if you still want me—”

  “Are you kidding?” Mac practically cried out. “Please. Of course I want you. It’s just . . . I don’t want to push you. If you’re not feeling up to it—”

  “It’d be great for me,” Sheridan assured her. “The right kind of rehab, so to speak.”

  Mac laughed.

  “Come on. Let me help you. And not just when you pull me into stores and force-feed me frosting. Or for the rehearsal dinner. For real.”

  The forewoman sighed. “You know you’re sitting in a hospital bed right now.”

  “I do. But it’s not for long. A couple days and I’m going to be back to my old workaholic self.” Sheridan chewed her lip thoughtfully. “I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m going to be pulled off the ranch construction. I’m sure there’s a little paperwork I could do, but . . . I need to work. I need something to do.”

  Mac closed the magazine and placed it on her lap. “With what happened, I kind of thought you might want to head back to Dallas for a little while. Maybe until the wedding.”

  A thread of unease flickered through Sheridan, but she brushed it away. Though she knew she might very well be plagued with flashbacks and nightmares as the days went forward, that hell she’d experienced at Redemption was over. She wouldn’t let it run her out of town. She refused to exist in fear. “I don’t want to go back to Dallas yet. Mr. Palmer’s in jail. And if James has his way, I think the man will be staying there until the end of time.”

  Mac sniffed. “I think you’re right.” She shook her head contemplatively. “I’ve never seen James like this. Granted, he’s been away from River Black for a l
ong time, but even Deacon says this ferocity and protectiveness over you is unlike him.”

  Hearing that was like a warm, healing salve to Sheridan’s bruises. Both inside and out. But to Mac, she just said casually, “We’re friends.”

  A touch of amusement lit Mac’s eyes. “Right.”

  “We are,” Sheridan insisted.

  Though no one else was in the hospital room to hear what she was saying, Mac leaned in and whispered, “He sat in this room for two days. Making sure you got food when you were hungry, medicine when you had even a hint of pain. He wouldn’t let any of us take over for him.” Her brows lifted. “What does that tell you?”

  Sheridan stared at the woman. Oh, how she wished she could confide in Mac. Tell her the truth about her feelings for James. The fears she had about following in her mother’s path; loving only to end up losing everything. But she just wasn’t ready to let that wall come down—let her true, and oh-so-vulnerable self be revealed. She wondered if she ever would be.

  She glanced down at the bridal magazine that was open on her lap. A red rose with a few sprigs of small yellow wildflowers smiled encouragingly up at her. “What about something like this for the boutonniere?” She held it up for Mac to see. “Simple. Masculine.”

  For a few seconds Mac stared at her, not the glossy page with the flowers on it. She seemed to be wrestling with Sheridan’s quick change of discussion. Or her blatant avoidance, depending on how one looked at it. But after a moment or two, the bride-to-be’s gaze shifted over to the magazine.

  “I was thinking red roses for my bouquet,” she said.

  “Well, then,” Sheridan said quickly, grateful that Mac hadn’t pressed her. “This could work. With two weeks to go, I say we start now.”

  “Start what?” came a masculine voice.

  Sheridan glanced up. Standing in the doorway, in the same shirt he’d worn for the past two days, was her fearsome protector. Her crush. Her friend. Even with two days of no shower, stubbled jaw, and rumpled hair, James Cavanaugh was the best-looking man in the universe. His eyes alone made him swoon-worthy material. But it was his quiet strength, his sensitivity, his passion, and his fierce protectiveness for anything that was seemingly helpless that made her heart beat faster. Made her feel undeniably safe. And Lord, made her want to stay in River Black to get to know him better, even though her instincts warned her to go home.

  “Sheridan is going to help me with the rest of the wedding plans,” Mac announced, standing up and gathering all her magazines. “An offer that makes me want to weep with happiness and relief.”

  James didn’t say anything, but his gaze grew heavy with concern. A fact Mac picked up on right away. And clearly wanted to avoid.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m going to find my fiancé and tell him not to worry about the grave insanity I’d promised him would occur if I didn’t have help.” She looked from James to Sheridan, gave the latter a quick smile, then swiftly left the room.

  “What’s wrong?” Sheridan asked as James approached the bed. “You look upset.”

  “Wedding planning?” he demanded, though his tone lacked heat.

  She nodded. “Definitely. I think it would be fun, and light.”

  A struggle seemed to be going on inside of him. He glanced back over his shoulder at the door. “So, you’re staying in River Black?” He turned to face her again. “After what’s happened?”

  Sheridan flinched. That light mood from a moment ago gone now. She lifted her chin and inquired, “Do you think I should go home, James?”

  As he stared down at her, confusion and heat warred in his eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He didn’t answer, just kept right on staring at her intently. Sheridan’s brows drifted together in a frown. Reading James Cavanaugh was a difficult task. Especially when she was feeling insecure. What was he saying? That he was worried about her? That he was worried about his own feelings for her? Or did he truly think it was best that she go home to Dallas?

  She reclined back against the pillows and reached for her cup of water. “Listen, you can be honest with me. Like I told you before, I’m good with honesty. I appreciate it.” Maybe my heart will hurt as much as the bruises on my shoulders, but it’s better than trying to guess.

  With a soft growl, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “You want honesty? Fine. Here it is, darlin’. I don’t like you having to be within a ten-mile radius of that piece of shit, Caleb Palmer. I don’t like thinking you feel afraid. And I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

  “Well I don’t want that either,” she returned.

  “Then maybe you need to go.”

  “Or maybe I need to stay with you,” she blurted out.

  His eyes jacked up. “What?”

  Oh, God. She swallowed at the quick ferocity she saw there. “Nothing,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know why I said that. Mac’s invited me to stay at the main house . . .”

  “Do you really want to stay with me, Sheridan?” he interrupted, his expression a strange mixture of shock and fascination.

  Mortification ran thick in her veins. “Please forget I said that.”

  “No.” His eyes softened. “I can’t. I don’t want to.”

  There was nothing Sheridan wanted more in that moment than to rewind the conversation and start over. Maybe with something like, “I’m excited to stay up at the house with my new friend, Mac.” But there were no do-overs in life. There was only honesty. Even if it stole your pride.

  “Okay,” she said, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “If we’re telling the truth here . . .” Her eyes lifted to meet his. “I trust you. I feel safe with you.”

  He looked stunned.

  “And let me add,” she went on, “I’m not a pain in the ass. I’m a good houseguest. I’m fairly neat. I’m great at boiling water for pasta, and the remote is only mine when Scandal’s on.”

  When he still didn’t say anything, she panicked and backtracked hard. “‘Course there’s something to be said for staying with friends. Girlfriends. Or so I’ve heard. And Mac says there’s a wicked soaking tub in one of the guest rooms.” She gave him a tight smile. “A girl ain’t nothing without her tub.”

  “No,” he said, a trace of a growl in his tone.

  She stilled. “What do you mean, no?”

  His eyes darkened to a rich sapphire. “You’re staying with me, Sheridan.”

  Her heart dropped into her belly. “James, I didn’t mean to make you feel obligated. I swear. It was a momentary thought—”

  “Game of Thrones.”

  She shook her head, confused by the abrupt segue. “I’m sorry?”

  He stood up, the angst in his expression completely gone now. “That’s when the remote belongs to me.”

  “Oh,” she said, understanding him.

  He gave her a broad, encouraging, and very knee-weakening smile. “Rest up, Miss O’Neil. I’ll be back to get you in the morning.”

  • • •

  “What are you doin’?” Cole barked from his position just inside the bedroom door.

  James didn’t look up. He was too busy. Just muttered a quick, “Packing.”

  “Hey,” Cole exclaimed, coming to stand over him. “That’s my gear you’re messin’ with.”

  “Yes, it is.” James zipped up the massive duffel and stood. “You’re moving out.”

  “What?” Cole exclaimed.

  He headed out the door. “You heard me.”

  Cole followed him. “I heard something. Sounded like bullshit.” He stopped when they reached the living room. “Like my brother thinks he’s calling all the shots.”

  “He is,” James answered tightly. He didn’t have time for nonsense. Not today.

  Clearly Cole recognized the imp
enetrable tone of an older brother and cursed. “Where am I going?”

  “Up to the house, in town, to one of the cottages.” James dropped the bags right beside the front door, then turned to look at the tatted-up fighter, who was wearing ripped jeans and a white tank top. “Anywhere but here.”

  “And why’s that?” Cole’s gaze lifted and, maybe for the first time since he’d walked through the front door a few moments ago, he really looked around the place. “Wait a sec.” He inhaled deeply. “It smells good in here. Did you clean up? Is that a new rug on the floor?” His eyes bugged out. “Are those flowers on the table?”

  “Well, your eyes and nose seem to be workin’ just fine,” James remarked dryly. “Guess you weren’t hit too hard during training.”

  Cole’s jaw dropped open and he pointed to the bay window. “Tell me you didn’t hang those curtains yourself?”

  “’Course I did.” Granted, the job had taken a solid hour. The lace he’d picked out hadn’t fit on the iron rod. He’d ripped the thing clear apart. He’d had to go back into town to buy a new rod, and have the fabric sewn up.

  Cole was staring at him, confused. Maybe even a little wary.

  “What?” James demanded.

  “Man card’s been revoked, brother. Hand it over.”

  James picked up the bags and thrust them at Cole. “Don’t have it on me right now. I’ll bring it by tomorrow. Just let me know where you’re staying.”

  A bag in each hand, Cole stood his ground. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about.”

  Christ almighty. Once an annoying little brother, always an annoying little brother. He shrugged, tossed off a quick, “Just want some privacy.”

  “Because . . .” Cole nudged.

  “Get out of here.”

  The way Cole was staring at him, like he was trying to drill a hole in his head and get a good look at his thoughts, was unnerving as hell.

  “Fine,” James ground out. “Sheridan’s moving in here with me.”