by Angel Smits
Tentatively, she looked up. Morgan’s back was to her, so she couldn’t see how badly he was hurt. He stood straight and tall and moved easily, so seemingly not bad. The other guy hulked around the ring and seemed to avoid Morgan rather than come at him.
Finally, time must have run out and the air horn sounded once again. Had he won? Was it over? Tara took a step away from DJ, hoping to get out of here and know Morgan wasn’t at risk anymore.
But the men simply stepped back, opposite each other, taking deep breaths. It was only a break. Tara took her own deep breaths as she looked at Morgan.
There was a nasty cut above his eye from where blood dripped down the side of his face. Another dribble of red pooled at the corner of his lip. Just then, he reached up and wiped it with the back of his big, red-knuckled hand. She tore her gaze away.
“There’s three rounds,” DJ explained. Tara’s heart sank and she swallowed hard to release the pressure in her chest. Only a third of the way through?
Morgan didn’t look at her. He didn’t look around at all, simply stared at the man across from him—intense and watchful.
“What’s happening? Why aren’t they taking a break?”
“They’re both making sure the other one doesn’t pull anything,” DJ explained.
“Like what?”
“Like cheating.”
Just then, a pair of hands hit the center of Tara’s back, right between her shoulder blades, hard. She stumbled forward with a loud cry of surprise. She hit DJ’s solid shoulder before nearly falling on her face in the dirt. She barely caught herself at the last second.
“What the—” She turned to stare at the spot where she’d been standing, where Wyatt had hold of a woman’s arm. The woman was struggling hard to get away, but Wyatt was stronger than her.
Tara stared. Sylvie.
Morgan wasn’t far away. He hadn’t moved, but his focus was definitely still on the fight. Then, as if shaking out of the trance, he glanced over at the commotion just outside the ring.
“Sylvie!” He turned toward them. The big man he’d been fighting took that as a cue to move, and Tara barely scampered out of the way as he swung at Morgan.
Morgan easily shoved the man aside. But instead of coming over to her, Morgan headed toward Sylvie. The crowd followed, and Tara was soon engulfed by onlookers. She didn’t have any choice but to move. It was that or be trampled.
Somewhere in the distance, buried in all the noise, she heard Dewey trying to get people’s attention. He even tried blasting the air horn a couple times, but they weren’t interested.
DJ appeared out of the crowd, with Wyatt and several of the other ranch hands. DJ took Tara’s arm, guiding her toward the door.
“Where are we going?” Where was Morgan? What was going on?
“We’re getting out of here. Now.” Wyatt led the way.
“Not until I find out what’s going on.”
DJ didn’t let go of her arm, but he stopped. “He’s in that mess—with her.” He pointed back the way they’d come with his free hand. “He’s not thinking about you and certainly not headed this way.”
That hurt. But she had to find out what was happening. She pulled loose of DJ’s grip and moved only a few steps before she saw them. Morgan was easily a head taller than the rest of the crowd. DJ was right. He was headed in the other direction. She took a few steps toward him, planning to follow and talk with him.
Then she saw what else he was doing. His arm was around Sylvie. He was holding on to her, guiding her through the crowd to a completely different exit.
Blue lights suddenly flashed through the open door across the building and the cracks between the boards.
“Come on,” DJ yelled, grabbing her arm again. Morgan didn’t look around, didn’t even look back to see where Tara might be. All too soon, she was out the door and Morgan had vanished into the night.
With Sylvie.
* * *
“LET GO.” Tara pulled her arm loose from DJ’s grip again. It wasn’t that he was hurting her. She just needed space between herself and anyone else.
“Hey, no problem.” DJ stepped back, lifting his hands away.
They reached Wyatt’s truck, which they’d parked on the other side of the field from the barn. Wyatt hadn’t wanted Haymaker’s crew to see his truck on their land. Now they didn’t have to fight crowds to get out, and the whole appearance of the police wasn’t a problem.
The flash of the blue lights faded as they disappeared behind the ridge, leaving only faint moonlight to light the way. She looked up, seeing clouds moving in again.
Perfect. The rain fit her mood right now.
Wyatt climbed in and started the pickup’s engine. The ranch hands climbed into the truck bed as easily as they would a car. Tara sat between her brothers as they headed toward town. No one spoke.
Finally, Wyatt pulled up in front of her apartment. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He looked pointedly at her.
“No, we won’t,” she said defiantly. “I’m not talking about this to you. Not to any of you.”
“Tara—” DJ said.
“I’m not kidding.” She stepped away from the vehicle. “Thanks for taking me. Now go home to your wives. Get some sleep and forget tonight happened.” That’s what she would do her best to do.
Right after she let herself dissolve into a bucket of tears. Maybe a gallon or two of ice cream would help, too. She was halfway up the walk when her phone rang. She struggled to fish it out of her pocket. It was nearly 2:00 a.m. Who would call her this time of night? Morgan?
Cursing her own stupidity for getting her hopes up, she stared at the number on the screen. The diner? What the—
“Hello?”
“Tara!” Wade’s voice was edgy. “We got a problem.”
“What’s the matter?” She turned around, seeing that her brothers and the crew were still at the curb.
“The creek’s overflowing. We got water coming in the back door.”
Glancing up, she saw the storm clouds dancing overhead. They led her gaze to the horizon where the cloud bank was dark and thick to the north. She cursed. That rain was coming from upstream and headed this way. “I’m on my way.”
DJ rolled the window down. “What’s the matter?”
“The diner. Wade says there’s water from the creek coming in the back door.”
“Hop in,” Wyatt yelled. “We’ll take care of you, Tara.”
For the first time in a while, she wanted to hug her brothers. They’d done so much for her and were still doing more. “Thank you.” She climbed into the truck.
But she still wasn’t discussing Morgan with them.
* * *
MORGAN WASN’T LETTING Sylvie out of his sight. If he had to hold on to her like this for a week, he’d do it.
“Let me go,” she screeched at him, trying to pull her arm away from his grasp.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He had to clench his jaw to keep from saying all the things he wanted to say to her. “I’m not letting you go anywhere until we’ve settled this.”
“There’s nothing to settle.”
“Oh, yes, there is.” He dragged her across the parking lot to Dewey’s pickup. The man was nowhere to be seen, damn it.
And neither was Tara, for which he was thankful. Her brothers would get her out of here, keep her safe. The ranchers were good, solid men. The kind of men he could count on.
Not that he’d ever get that chance. He’d known instantly that they didn’t think too highly of him.
Blue lights strobed through the night. He didn’t have the time he’d hoped to deal with Sylvie. And he certainly wasn’t letting the cops get her—he’d never see her again.
“Look,” he pulled his soon-to-be-ex around to face him. “If you want to
avoid the cops, then you’d better cooperate with me.”
This close, even in the dim light, he saw the differences in her. Taking her chin in his abused hand, he tilted her face up to him. She wouldn’t look into his eyes. “What are you on?”
“Nothin’.” She pulled her chin from his grasp, briefly glancing angrily at him.
That glance was enough to show him the over-bright sparkle in her eyes. She was high. Even high, it took her only an instant to decide he was the lesser of the evils. “Okay,” she begrudgingly agreed.
He peered back at her, looking for some sign, some sliver of the girl he’d been attracted to not that long ago. Was she gone? Or just buried too deep to see? Had she ever really been there, or had his wishful thinking made it all up?
They’d had some good times. They’d brought Brooke into this world. Where was that girl?
She tried to pull away. “Come on.” Morgan wove through the rows of cars, keeping his head down and heading toward the road. He wasn’t going to walk on it, that would be too obvious, but he recalled a trail on the other side of those trees. Thank goodness he’d taken the time to learn the area on his runs.
The trail followed the creek that ran behind Tara’s diner. He’d used it the last time he’d fought, coming to her door much more quickly than following the road.
He wasn’t going to stop at Tara’s diner, though. No, he intended to keep her out of this mess completely. He dragged Sylvie along with him, kept his hand tight, but not bruising tight, around her wrist.
“Morgan, stop. You’re hurting me,” she whined.
“No, I’m not. And no, we’re not stopping until I’m sure those cops aren’t coming after us.” He kept going, and she managed to keep up.
The sound of rushing water was loud in the night, and the ground beneath their feet was soggy. It slowed their progress, but Morgan didn’t think anyone was coming after them. Finally, the trail widened to a spot that was almost big enough to be a beach of sorts. He turned to face Sylvie.
“What the hell were you thinking?” He almost didn’t yell the words.
“Whatcha talking about? Your new girlfriend don’t like the circle?” Sylvie’s voice sounded slurred, almost like a four-year-old’s taunting him.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” He couldn’t give her that piece of information to use against him.
“You walked in holding her hand.”
“Was that what that little stunt was about?” He didn’t hear footsteps or anything behind them. “Start explaining. And start with where the hell Brooke is.”
Sylvie was struggling to catch her breath, but that didn’t stop her from leaning against him. “Ah, come on, Morgan. When did you get to be so not fun?”
“Life isn’t all about fun.” She was trying to work her hand free from his grasp. “It’s not going to work.” He tightened his fingers ever so slightly. “Where is Brooke?”
“Oh, um...with the babysitter. Somewhere. I told her I’d be back around two, so she took her for the night.”
Relief almost made him relax. “Where does she live? We’ll go get her, and then I’ll let you go.”
Sylvie stared at him for a long time. “Well, I—” She stopped midthought, frowning. “I don’t exactly know for sure.”
“What?”
“She always comes to the store and picks Brooke up there. I don’t ever drop her off.” She shrugged as if giving his daughter to an unknown stranger to take god-knows-where was normal.
He was about to lose it. “Then we’ll go to the store and wait.”
“Jimmy won’t like that.”
“Who’s Jimmy?” He pulled her close, putting his face right in hers.
“My boss. He don’t like kids much. We rent a room from him.”
“A room? A single room?”
“Hey, it’s all I can afford.”
“Doing what exactly?”
“Hey, I’m good at sales.” She lifted her chin defiantly, nearly stumbling despite the fact she was standing still. “We make really nice T-shirts.”
The pictures in Morgan’s head kept getting worse and worse. The mysterious T-shirt vendor came to mind. Was that Jimmy? Was the woman who’d said she didn’t know Brooke the babysitter?
He started walking again, dragging Sylvie with him. He needed to clear his head before he talked to her anymore. The flashlight app on his phone helped get them there more quickly.
It also showed him the rush of the water beside them. Clouds were moving overhead, gobbling up the stars. It’d be raining again soon.
Finally, he saw the lights of town, saw the familiar outline of Tara’s diner and the hulking frame of his truck on the other side of the water. They’d have to go to the bridge farther down to cross.
“Hey. Is that your truck over there?” Sylvie asked.
“Yeah.”
Finally, they reached the familiar wooden bridge, and Morgan was surprised to see water lapping at the bottom boards, occasionally spilling over the top. It had rained for days, soaking the ground. Maybe too much now. He thought about that tree he’d seen the other day. How dangerous was it now?
Morgan stepped onto the wet bridge.
“I’m not going over that,” Sylvie screeched. “We’ll drown.”
“We aren’t going to drown.” He faced her. “You can either walk over that bridge with me, or I’ll carry you.” He leaned closer to her again. “I don’t much care, but one way or another, you’re crossing it and I’m getting Brooke back. Tonight.”
She huffed but stopped pulling against his grip. As if to accentuate his plan, those clouds that had been coming in settled close and started to dump even more water on them.
“Come on,” he said. “Unless you want to get drenched.”
Tentatively, Sylvie stepped onto the wood slats. He didn’t rush her. While he was beyond angry with her, he wasn’t trying to be cruel.
Finally, they reached the other side, and Morgan had to admit that it felt good to be on solid ground. That bridge wasn’t as steady as it had been a few days ago. If the water kept rising, it probably wouldn’t hold.
Morgan headed to the truck, still dragging Sylvie behind him. He glanced at the rear of the diner, then yanked his gaze and his mind back. Tara didn’t need to be part of any of this.
He prayed her brothers took her home, took her away from all this insanity.
Sylvie didn’t say anything, and the more the rain fell, the less she resisted. As he opened the cab door, he felt her shiver and knew that, if nothing else, her need to be warm and dry would keep her from trying to get away.
It was a temporary solution, but whatever worked. He lifted Sylvie inside ahead of him. He knew he was taking a chance that she’d try to run when he let go of her, but in here, in these close quarters, he knew he’d catch her.
He yanked towels out of a cabinet and tossed her one. “I don’t have any dry clothes to offer you.”
“I can borrow something of yours.” She leaned in to put her hand in the middle of his chest. Her fingers were cold as ice.
“I don’t think so.” He removed her hand and spread a towel on the edge of the bunk. “Go ahead. Have a seat.” He wanted away from her as soon as possible.
“Oh, you’re no fun.” She pouted.
“I’m no fun?” He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know we were playing games, Sylvie.” Slowly, he reached into the drawer by the bunk and pulled out the folder. He might not have Brooke yet, but he would, and he wasn’t wasting this chance. He handed it to her. “Read it. And sign.”
“What is it?”
He shook the folder until she took it. He took a step back since that was all the room there was and crossed his arms. Waiting.
She scowled but took it, pulling out the pages. “You’re really divorcing me?” She a
ctually looked indignant.
“Yeah.” He hurt, not because she was upset or his heart was broken, but because he saw this as a failure. But that was all. Even before he’d come to the realization they weren’t going to make it, neither of them had been happy. “You knew that when you took off with Brooke. We never should have gotten married, Sylvie.” There, he’d put the truth out there.
Morgan glanced out the windshield at the diner. So much possibility sat over there.
“You’re just mean.” Sylvie interrupted his thoughts.
“I’m mean?” The urge to hit something returned, almost too strong to resist. “You took my daughter a year ago. One entire year I haven’t seen her. And I’m mean?”
Sylvie didn’t say or do anything. She didn’t look at the papers, simply sat there staring angrily at him.
“Do you need some help?” He yanked open another drawer and handed her a pen. “This should work.”
“Then what?”
“Then in sixty days, it’s final. We’re divorced and can get on with our lives.” How wonderful those words sounded, even accompanied by his sense of failure.
“What about Brooke?” Sylvie whispered.
“She’s coming with me.” He no longer even tried to look calm. “I won’t let you have her until I know you won’t take off again.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair? Fair?” Morgan flexed his hands, noticing for the first time the ache in his knuckles. Damn, he should ice his hands. Not an option. He leaned in, so she had to look at him and know he was serious.
“Here’s the deal. I won’t turn you over to the cops as long as you cooperate. I won’t tell them how you took Brooke—I won’t tell them anything. But you cross me, and I won’t promise anything.”
“Fine,” she spat. “I don’t want to be married to a jerk like you anymore, anyway.”
Jerk. She’d called him worse. How much had she said to Brooke? he wondered, wishing he had his daughter now so he’d know. He was close. So close.
He watched, his eyes hungry until she’d dotted every I and crossed that final T. Before she could do anything else, he took the paperwork from her and shoved it into the lockbox over their heads. He wasn’t taking any chances with it until he could turn it in to the courts.
