Broken: The Cavanaugh Brothers

by Laura Wright

  The long-term care facility where Sheriff Hunter was living under the name Peter Green looked just like it had when James had seen it on the Internet a week ago. A very nice, two-story home on a large lot. The sign on the lawn out front read BARRINGTON RIDGE SENIOR CARE, and as they pulled in and searched the parking lot for a spot, James felt a giant lump form in his gut. Was this it? Were they going to get some answers here? The truth to what really happened to Cass? Did the ex-sheriff know anything, or was Grace Hunter right?

  “You ready?” James asked as he slipped into an empty parking spot and cut the engine.

  “I don’t know.” Cole glanced over at James. “Maybe we should’ve told Deac.”

  James shook his head. “He’s got enough going on right now. Besides, it’s too damn late to consider that.” He opened his door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Or started.

  • • •

  Sheridan ran down the list with the eraser end of her pencil. “Cake done, dress done, music done, favors done, caterer hired.” She glanced up. “You’re sure about the Tex Mex buffet?”

  Pacing the floor of the sun porch at the very back of the Triple C’s main house, Mac nodded and grinned. “Love it.”

  “Okay.” Sheridan studied the list again. “So, I have dresses to try on.”

  Mac stopped and clasped her hands together. “I can’t wait to see that.”

  “I think I can,” Sheridan returned with a laugh. A bridesmaid fashion show was so not her idea of fun.

  “You’re going to be gorgeous,” Mac insisted. “Red is your color.”

  Sheridan had no idea if that was true or not. She didn’t own anything red. But what the hell. She would wear a potato sack if it would make Mac happy. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely,” she said. “But remember, it’s your day. No one’s going to care what I’m wearing.”

  A slow, secretive smile spread over Mac’s face. “I know someone who will care.”

  Sheridan pointed at her with the pencil. “Stop that.”

  Mac laughed, then started pacing again.

  “Now,” Sheridan said returning to her list, though her mind was on James. Him seeing her in the dress. Him dancing with her in the dress. Him unzipping the dress in the backseat of his truck because he had to have her and he couldn’t wait until they got home. “What do you think?” she continued, her blood heating up inside her veins. “Do you want any other bridesmaids?”

  “No. Deacon will have his brothers standing up there with him, and I’ll have you.” She stopped pacing for a minute and stood directly in a patch of sunlight, gripping the back of one of the wicker chairs. “I want it to be simple.”

  “Totally get that,” Sheridan said. “Simple, low stress, beautiful . . .”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, I think that just leaves flowers and your something borrowed and something blue.”

  Mac looked wistful. “I was hoping the real Blue would be here for that.”

  “Maybe he will be,” Sheridan said, trying to be upbeat and supportive. She didn’t know the entire story behind why Blue had left River Black, but she did know that he had been just recently deemed a Cavanaugh brother, which gave him a claim to the ranch. No doubt it was strange and stressful and awkward for them all.

  Mac shook her head. “Do you know how many times I’ve called his cell phone, written him e-mails?”

  “And he never answers you?”

  “He has, twice. Both times just telling me he’s okay. That he needs time and space to figure things out.” She pushed away from the chair and started pacing again. “But I need him.”

  Granted, she didn’t have a best friend—yet—but Sheridan could imagine it was close to having a beloved family member not show up for the most important day of your life. And that had to really suck. She wished she could do something to help her.

  “I think you should e-mail him one more time,” Sheridan suggested. “Tell him you understand why he’s doing what he’s doing, but that if he could just come for a couple of hours on Sunday, it would mean the world to you.” Even as she said the words, she knew it was probably a long shot. But optimism was running around free and happy inside her blood these days. One could always hope.

  “I don’t think he will,” Mac said, echoing Sheridan’s thoughts. “I think he’s just too angry and confused. He doesn’t want to have to make any decisions right now.”

  “All you can do is try. Be vulnerable.”

  The word seemed to have some effect on Mac. She inhaled deeply, then nodded. “Yeah. All right. I’ll give it a go.” She turned back to the one remaining issue. “What to do for the something borrowed?”

  “I have a few things,” Sheridan suggested. “A pair of earrings, some perfume.” An idea struck her suddenly, and she voiced it without thought. “Is there something of Cass’s maybe?”

  Mac stilled, her face going simultaneously hopeful and ashen. “Wow. I don’t know.”

  Instant regret moved through Sheridan. Sensing she might have opened a can of worms that wasn’t ready to be opened, she tried to bite back her idea. “Oh, Mac, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up—”

  “No, no,” the woman insisted passionately. “Don’t be.” She was thoughtful for a second, then said, “That’s actually a great idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself. There are several boxes in the basement. Her things. They were left to me in Everett’s will. I was going to go through them with Cole when we had time. But with all the wedding stuff, and him being away training . . .”

  Sheridan put her pencil down. “There’s time now.”

  A slow, appreciative smile moved over Mac’s face. “Okay. Let’s do it. Basement is just off the kitchen.”

  Nineteen

  James was starting to wonder about the life Cole had been living since leaving the Triple C. The man was incredibly gifted at getting people to agree to things they wouldn’t normally agree to. Like, for instance, convincing the very protective staff at Barrington Ridge Senior Care that he and James were visiting from Dallas and in some way related to Peter “Green.”

  “Who are they?” The man seated at a table by the window demanded in a reed-thin voice. He looked James and Cole up and down a few times and sniffed with irritation. “I’ve never seem ’em before in my life.”

  The older female caregiver, who had taken an immediate shine to Cole when she’d discovered that he too shared a love of almonds and polka music, turned to James and said in an almost apologetic whisper, “It’s the disease. He has a hard time even remembering your cousin sometimes.”

  “Cousin?” James said without thinking.

  “Yes, our cousin, Grace,” Cole added helpfully, his eyes narrowing at James with annoyance.

  “Grace comes often,” the woman said. “She’s such a lovely girl.”

  Cole forced a smile. “She’s something else—that’s for sure.”

  “Why don’t you two have a seat near Peter, here,” the woman suggested, pointing to the vacant chairs around the small table. “I’ll just tidy up things while you chat.”

  As she went to the bed and started fussing over the blankets and some strewn magazines, James glanced over at Cole, brow lifted, and the silent conversation began. They were damn good at it, had spent years reading each other across dinner tables, ranch fence lines, even the playground at school. This woman wasn’t going anywhere, and they needed to find a way to speak to Hunter alone.

  “Elisabeth,” Cole said, heading her way. He’d procured the caregiver’s first name about five minutes after they’d arrived, during the almond-and-polka discussion. “I was up all night last night. Couldn’t sleep. Found out my girlfriend is seeing someone behind my back.”

  “Oh dear,” Elisabeth said, taking the bait immediately. “That’s terrible. The girls today can’t commit to a hair color, much less a man.”

&nbs
p; Cole’s grin was predictably devastating. “I’m bettin’ you were never that way.”

  She blushed. “’Course not. Thirty years married to the same man. ’Course, there are times I want to beat him senseless, but I’ve never strayed.”

  “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it now,” Cole put in. “All the good ones are taken.”

  James just stood there and watched the treachery with equal parts admiration and disgust.

  “Is there somewhere I can get me a cup of coffee, darlin’?” Cole asked. “I think that would pick me right up.”

  “Of course. I’ll take you myself.” She hesitated for a moment, looking at James and Sheriff Hunter.

  Cole offered her his arm. “James can stay with Uncle Peter. J, why don’t you tell him that story about the movie theater, from when we were kids? See if he remembers it?”

  The words slammed into James’s gut. Granted, he knew why they were there, but hearing Cole talk so damn casually about the theater . . . it just tore him up inside.

  Cass . . .

  James sat down at the table and let his gaze move about the room. From the now freshly made bed, to the lamp, water cup, and book on the side table. He wondered what the man who might hold the clue to their decades-long mystery—to their torment—was reading. Looked like a biography of some kind. He turned to the framed pictures on one wall. There were five of them, and he recognized Grace in every one. A hundred different emotions rolled through him, but he knew he didn’t have time to explore any of them now.

  When he looked back, Peter Hunter had turned away from the window and was staring at him. “We’re not family, are we?”

  Where there had been clouds only a minute ago, now a stark lucidity glistened in the man’s eyes. This was Sheriff Hunter talking. Or the closest they were ever going to get. James took his chance and leaned in. “Do you remember a girl named Cass Cavanaugh?”

  “No.” He didn’t even hesitate. Which either meant his daughter was right about his mind going, or he was lying.

  “She was abducted when you were sheriff in River Black,” he continued.

  “Sheriff,” he said blissfully, like it was the best word in the world. Then his eyes narrowed. “Cavanaugh, you say?”

  Something shifted inside James and he nodded. “Cass Cavanaugh.”

  “She friends with my Grace?”

  “No.” Dammit. James inhaled sharply. “Sheriff, she was abducted, killed on your watch. You investigated her murder. But the person who committed the crime was never found.”

  The man’s lips thinned. “That’s too bad.”

  What was he doing here? What the hell was he doing here? “It’s more than that.” James turned and glanced at the door. He knew he was losing precious seconds. “Do you have a diary or know of a diary belonging to Cass Cavanaugh?”

  “Why are you telling me this?” the man asked, his expression darkening, his eyes growing cloudy again. “Are we playing a game? Detective? Are we solving a murder?”

  “The diary, Sheriff,” James pressed, his chest tightening. “Do you remember having it? Telling Grace you had it?”

  “Grace?” His face brightened. “Is she coming tomorrow to see me? Maybe she wants to play this game of yours.”

  No, he didn’t think she did. Sighing, James sat back in his chair. He was starting to think that Dr. Hunter was telling the truth after all. That her father’s memory was long gone, and whatever he had said to her before was bogus ramblings. That is, until the man turned to look out the window and said in an irritated voice, “That boy should’ve never come to River Black.”

  Tiny pinpricks of tension erupted inside James. “What boy?”

  “He ruined everything. She never would’ve broke if he hadn’t come.”

  James got to his feet. “Who?” he demanded harshly. “Sheriff Hunter, who are you talking about? Who ruined everything? And who was the girl who broke? Was it Cass?”

  The door opened then, cutting off all questions, leaving behind the heavy tension of the unanswered questions. Both Cole and the caregiver looked from Hunter to James, wondering what had just transpired between them, and why James’s face was contorted into a mask of fury. He turned to look at Cole, who raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Everything all right in here?” Elisabeth asked in a singsong voice as she walked into the room. She went directly to Sheriff Hunter and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you having a nice conversation with your nephew, Peter?”

  “I don’t have any nephews,” he replied in a soft monotone.

  “Oh, of course you do,” she said gently. “How about a little lemonade? Hattie made it fresh this morning.”

  “I’m tired,” he answered, still staring out the window. “I want to rest a bit before my shows come on.”

  “Of course.” She turned to both men and said with a soft, but firm smile, “I think we’ll have to cut this short. Another time?” She said the last bit to Cole, her cheeks flushing pink and her eyes sparkling.

  “It’s a date,” Cole said, still standing beside the open door. “Thank you kindly, Elisabeth.”

  On their way out of the care facility, Cole was so curious and agitated he nearly jumped on James for answers the moment they hit the relative privacy of the parking lot. “So?”

  James shook his head, still deep in his frustration. “He was all over the place. Didn’t even recognize Cass’s name.”

  “You two looked pretty tense when we walked in.”

  “He said something about wishing a boy hadn’t come to River Black.”

  Cole stared at him hard. “What boy? That Sweet guy?”

  “I don’t know. I thought it was something and I pressed him.” He shook his head. “But he wouldn’t answer. He was barely there.”

  “Did you mention the abduction? The movie theater?”

  “’Course I did,” James said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “I’m telling you he didn’t remember a damn thing.”

  “Fuck,” Cole ground out as they headed for the truck. “You should’ve gone with the nurse, and I should’ve stayed.” His tone darkened. “I would’ve helped Sheriff Hunter remember.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Like what?” Cole said.

  James slid into the driver’s seat. “Like you don’t give a shit who you hurt or what you have to do to get answers.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t,” Cole shot back, getting in and slamming the door. “Maybe knowing the truth once and for all would be worth a few months in jail.”

  • • •

  The Triple C’s basement was unfinished and full of cobwebs, but somehow Sheridan and Mac made the place feel cozy with lots of blankets and mats to sit on, some cookies, and a little wine. Mac didn’t seem to want the experience to feel morbid in any way, and Sheridan was glad for that.

  “Did you know there were this many boxes?” Sheridan asked, her gaze running up the tower to her right, five stacked one on top of the other.

  “I thought there might be five or six,” Mac answered, sounding slightly daunted. “But I hadn’t been down to check.” Suddenly, her face brightened. “The last time I was down here, Cass and I were hiding from Deacon. I’d taken something from his room.”

  “What was it?” Sheridan asked, lifting up one of the boxes and placing it on the blanket between them.

  “A book on the human body.” Mac laughed. “Cass and I, one flashlight, and a whole mess of giggles.”

  “Sounds right,” Sheridan said, nodding. “Nothing can make a preteen girl laugh more than seeing pictures of male anatomy.” When Mac laughed again, Sheridan dipped her hand in the box. Then paused. “Are you okay with me going through them with you? Or would you rather do it alone?”

  Mac sobered a touch. “Definitely not alone. I’m so glad you’re here.” She grabbed a cookie and took a bite.
As she chewed, she regarded Sheridan. “She would’ve liked you. Cass.”

  “Really?”

  “She would’ve thought you were funny. And kickass. She liked kickass girls.” She pulled the box she’d grabbed earlier over to her and started riffling through it. “She continually wished she was more kickass.”

  “I wish I could’ve met her,” Sheridan said.

  With a soft smile, Mac returned to the box. “There’s so much paperwork here. All her school stuff from kindergarten onward. I bet there’re some notes we passed in class, and cootie catchers. Oh my God, the cootie catchers.”

  “I have no idea what that is.”

  Mac’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? They’re the paper you fold in all these different ways and you write questions and answers on them. . . . Anyway, it was stellar girlie fun.”

  “You’ll have to teach me to make one,” Sheridan said, pulling up something from the box. “Oh, hey. I have photo albums. . . .”

  “If you don’t mind stacking those,” Mac jumped in quickly, “I’d love to bring them upstairs, go through ’em later.”

  “Of course.” She held up another item. “A jewelry box.”

  Mac gazed at it fondly. “I got her that. She hated jewelry.”

  Sheridan opened the top and made a little squeal of discovery. “There’s something in it.”

  “What is it?”

  Leaning over the plate of cookies, she handed Mac the small diamond ring. “It’s pretty.”

  “It was Lea Cavanaugh’s.”

  “Their mom?”

  Mac nodded. “Everett must’ve put it in here after she passed.” She rolled it around on her palm. “Wonder if I should let the boys know about this. See if they want it.” Suddenly her face got really pinched and her nostrils flared. Almost as if she were angry. “On second thought”—she placed the ring back in the box and shut it—“let’s keep looking.”

  Sheridan hesitated. Mac obviously knew a lot about the history of the Cavanaugh brothers, as well as the tragedy of losing Cass. But by the expression on her face and how she’d reacted to the ring, misfortune seemed to have befallen other members of the family as well.