Whiskey River Runaway (Whiskey River Series Book 2)

by Justine Davis

  She wouldn’t, of course, ever, but he didn’t know that.

  Scruples are too heavy to carry on the run, girl.

  The bit of hard-earned wisdom echoed in her mind as she wondered, not for the first time, how Brittany was doing. She’d met the young runaway—who had assumed Hope was not much older than her own sixteen—her first night in Texas, and the girl had shared what she’d learned as if Hope were much younger. Which, in the ways of being a runaway, she supposed she was. As it happened, she’d been a little flush at that moment, still carrying some of the money Bill had snuck to her, and with some idea of passing it on, she tucked a twenty into Britt’s pocket before they parted ways. It wasn’t much, but it was twenty more than the girl had had, and Hope didn’t want to think what she might do for a meal otherwise.

  She shook off the memory and refocused on the table before her. She’d managed to get a year’s worth of assorted receipts, estimates and other notes separated into piles, although she’d had to set a couple aside because she had no idea what they went with.

  “You’ll have to ask True,” Zee told her when she asked. “He’s finally gotten pretty good about writing the job name on everything, but it took a while.”

  Hope looked at the small paper on top, full of various numbers in different configurations. Dimensions of something, Hope thought. A lot of somethings. “Will he remember what this is?”

  Zee grimaced. “He’d better. I keep telling him most of us can’t look at something like that and instantly know what it relates to.”

  “But he can?”

  “He knows how things work. And how they go together. If you gave him a list of a hundred separate parts for something, he could tell you what they’d be if you put them together, and what size it would be down to the inch.”

  There had been nothing short of pure pride in Zee’s voice.

  “You love him very much, don’t you?” Hope said softly.

  “He saved me,” Zee said simply. “I would love him for that alone, but he’s become quite a man, my big brother.”

  Hope could not argue with any facet of that statement. “I. . .someone in town told me about your parents.”

  Zee expression was exasperated but resigned, and there was an unmistakable affection in her voice when she spoke. “Welcome to Whiskey River. There’s always somebody who feels compelled to share.”

  “And they all seem to think the world of your brother.”

  “He’s earned that,” Zee said. “Having his trust will get you in any door in this town.”

  “So I’ve noticed. I’ve never had total strangers be so. . .accepting.”

  “You’re reaping what True has sown. And he takes that very seriously. He knows people trust his judgment. It’s a responsibility to him, to be careful.”

  There was no tone of warning in her voice this time, but still Hope hesitated. Asking what was on her mind could destroy the tentative ease they had reached. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  “I saw. . .the picture of his wife. What happened to her?”

  Zee went very still. There was something about Zee’s expression. . . Protective. That was it. Very, very protective. As hard as it might seem to think of a man like True needing protection, he apparently had it. Which made her wonder all the more just how horrible his loss had been.

  “Given how little you’ve shared with him, I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” Zee said stiffly.

  “Fair enough,” Hope admitted. “I just didn’t want to inadvertently cause him pain because I didn’t know.”

  Zee seemed to consider that. Finally, she answered. “Cancer. It was ugly. And he was there with her every step of the way. He earned that bit of gray that happened practically overnight.”

  Hope sucked in a breath. She almost said “I’m sorry,” but it seemed so inadequate. And “Thank you,” seemed inappropriate.

  “Then it’s even more amazing he’s. . .who he is,” she said, stumbling over all the things she was beginning to think True Mahan was.

  Zee softened at that. “Yes. Yes, it is. He is.” Her love for her brother was clear and shining in her face.

  Hope went back to her task, and tried not to feel envious.

  *

  True handed the receipts from the hardware store over to his sister, who had come over from the office. Took one back when he realized he hadn’t put the job name on it, wrote it in the upper right corner they’d agreed on, and handed it to her again.

  “Good,” Zee said. “I’ll get these entered. When does the stuff come in?”

  “Tomorrow, Charlie said. But maybe afternoon, so don’t schedule it until Wednesday.”

  “All right.” She turned to head back to her side of the house and the office.

  “Zee.” She stopped, turned back, and suddenly he couldn’t find the words. Finally he blurted out, “Maybe she should stay on your side.”

  His sister arched a delicate dark eyebrow at him. “Problem?”

  “No, it’s just. . .I thought. . . She’s working there anyway, and she has to go out one side and in the other. . .” He trailed off.

  “She making too much noise in the morning, disturbing your beauty sleep?”

  He gave her a sour look. “No. She’s so quiet it’s like she’s tiptoeing around.”

  “Something else bothering you?”

  “No. I just thought it would be easier.”

  “Tired of cooking extra already, after one day?”

  “Never mind,” True muttered, wishing now he’d never started this.

  “She getting to you, big brother?”

  “No!”

  “Then why is her staying there a problem?”

  He glared at her then. “Have I mentioned lately what a pain in the backside you can be?”

  She grinned. “Wondered if you’d forgotten,” she said, and he knew she’d been deliberately provoking him.

  He shook his head in brotherly exasperation. “I’m out of here. I have to go talk to Kelsey, before I make the final materials order. At least she’s nice to me.”

  Zee stuck her tongue out at him. But when he headed back out toward his truck, he was smiling.

  *

  “She reminds me of Shadow,” Kelsey said, nodding at her latest rescue. The raggedy looking black gelding who at first had seemed afraid of his own shadow, hence the name Kelsey had given him, was now standing peacefully as his rescuer groomed him.

  True glanced at the little horse, who seemed to be enjoying—no, luxuriating—in the steady strokes of the brush. His head lowered a little the longer she brushed, as if he were about to doze off.

  “You picked up on that?” he asked, returning to the subject of Hope; after she’d told him they’d settled on the final design, Kelsey had mentioned her encounter with her at the store.

  “I’ve had a little practice dealing with people who carry their nightmares with them all the time,” Kelsey said.

  True’s gaze shot back to her face. “Yes. Yes, you have.”

  “He still has times when it. . .tries to grab him. But now he fights it. We fight it.” She smiled, a small yet potently contented smile.

  “If I haven’t said, I’m really happy for you. Both of you.”

  “We know,” she said, her smile widening. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be building that pavilion thing for us.”

  True grinned. “It’s going to be something.”

  “Deck’s thinking it might be used for something else someday. Like some kind of gathering for kids. . .like he was. They could play, swim, and he’d talk to them. Maybe read Sam to them. Just a few, who are on the edge, to maybe keep them going another day.”

  True stared at her. “My God,” he said softly, “what a distance he’s come.”

  Kelsey’s smile was glorious this time. “I knew you’d get it.”

  “That would tie in nicely with your horse camp, wouldn’t it?”

  “What we were thinking,” she said with a nod.

  He gave a s
low, wondering shake of his head. “Kelsey Blaine soon to be Kilcoyne, I’m honored to know you. Both of you.”

  Her smile became a grin. “Good. Because we’re going to need a facilitator to get it all set up and running.”

  “That would be my pleasure.”

  He was still smiling when he got home. The house—his half, anyway—was empty. And locked. He had the sudden thought that Hope had no way to get back in, he hadn’t thought to give her a key this morning.

  Give her a key.

  He gave a sharp shake of his head.

  What you should be doing is rethinking this whole having her live here thing.

  He clamped down on that voice in his head. He wasn’t about to go another round with his sister and her teasing. And it was only for two weeks, after all. He could deal with anything for two weeks. And he’d meant it when he’d said she hardly made a sound, even though she had to go out his front door and over to Zee’s.

  He supposed the door in the common wall was an option, although by mutual agreement he and Zee never used it without calling or at least knocking first. Brother/sister closeness was fine, they’d decided, but they needed separate lives. But he doubted Zee would have shared that information with Hope; his sister might be younger than he, but she’d been ferociously protective of him ever since Amanda had died. And—

  A knock on the front door spun him around. Glad of the interruption to his chaotic thoughts, he went and pulled it open. And was face to face with the subject of those thoughts.

  “Hi,” she said, seeming rather embarrassed. “I saw you pull in.”

  “Oh.” Brilliant, Mahan.

  “Do you always work so late?”

  “I had some catching up to do.”

  She looked instantly contrite. “My fault, I’m sure. I’m sorry.”

  He waved off the apology. “It’s always something,” he said. Realized that sounded a bit dismissive, but was afraid if he tried to fix that it would only get worse. So instead he just unlocked the door and stood aside to let her in.

  “Did you find everything you needed?” he asked.

  She nodded as he closed the door behind them. And suddenly his usually spacious living room seemed smaller. “I’m afraid I used the last two slices of bread this morning, for toast.”

  Memory sparked. “Damn.” He pulled his keys off the rack he’d just hung them on.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, “but you said to—”

  “Help yourself, I know,” he said. “That wasn’t aimed at you. I just forgot I picked up some stuff at the market, but it’s still out in the truck.” Only when she relaxed did he realize how tense she’d gotten at his muttered oath. “What did you think, that I was going to yell at you for a couple of pieces of bread?”

  “Sorry,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “It was sort of a thing with. . .a guy I was seeing. Using the last of anything.”

  It was the first time she’d volunteered anything of her past. Keys in hand, he studied her for a moment. “Is he who you’re running from, Hope?”

  Her gaze snapped to his face as she exclaimed, “No!” She looked appalled enough that he believed her.

  “Then what? Who?” he asked.

  “You never give up, do you?”

  She sounded tired now. And a night’s sleep—assuming she’d gotten more than he had, which wouldn’t take much—hadn’t taken the weariness out of her eyes. He doubted a simple night’s sleep ever would. That bone-deep exhaustion had more than just a physical source. He knew that all too well from the times he’d looked in the mirror and seen that same expression.

  “Not even when it’s a losing battle,” he said with a grimace.

  He pulled open the door and headed back to the truck, conscious of her gaze upon him every step of the way.

  Chapter Ten

  She should go. Tonight. Now, even.

  He’d come too close. He saw too much. And if she didn’t get out of here, away from him, she was going to bring it all down on him. And he deserved better than to have his life destroyed because he’d been foolish enough to help someone who had a knack for bad decisions.

  Is he who you’re running from, Hope?

  Oh, no. Cagan wasn’t someone who’d chase down his own game. He’d send someone, one or both of the mindless ones, as she’d always called the duo who served as Cagan’s bodyguards, enforcers, and attack dogs. She’d seen what they could do, and the thought of True up against those two-legged grizzly bears made her heart slam in her chest.

  She fought for calm, afraid he would ask again, try to pry more out of her. And the more time she spent around him, the less she was confident that she could keep hidden what she had to. He was such a. . . Her thoughts trailed away. She had no words for the kind of man True Mahan was. Good, solid, caring, and a man of his word clearly all applied. As did hard-working, respected, responsible, and God help her, even noble. Enough that just his approval was enough to get her accepted all over Whiskey River.

  You’re just thinking that to avoid the rest. The hot, gorgeous, sexy part. The tall drink of cool water in the middle of the desert part. The part that makes you almost wish he would want payback in that very basic of ways.

  In all her time on the road she’d managed to avoid that. She’d learned the hard way that appearance counted for nothing, that it was safer to assume everyone was out for themselves, and that everything came with a price. There was the occasional Bill, but they were rare.

  Besides, looking at sweet, old Bill was hardly the same as looking at True. She remembered her first, flashing thought when he’d opened that pantry door. Tall, dark and studly. It had been half joking, an acknowledgment that she was now in Texas, the land of cowboys and horses.

  I’m not a cowboy.

  Oh, but he could sure pass for one, those boots, the jeans that emphasize the length of his legs, and hugged a backside that made her want to slip her hands into those back pockets.

  She shivered, feeling swamped with unfamiliar feelings. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if that could keep her from simply flying apart. And then she heard his steps on the front porch as he returned.

  And she ran. Coward that she was, she ran. Darted down the hall to vanish into the guest room he’d given her.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, the bed that was the most comfortable place she’d had to sleep in weeks. She hadn’t unpacked what little she had in her backpack last night, except to take out that dog-eared picture and look at it. Unpacking would have been a decision to stay, and she hadn’t made that yet. At least she hadn’t last night. But now? She’d actually enjoyed the day. Enjoyed having something to think about, something to do, that didn’t have to do with where to run next, how to survive. The sorting, the organizing, the preparing all the papers for scanning had taken just enough of her concentration to allow her mind to let go of the fear for a while. Zee went about her own business quietly; thankfully she didn’t seem to be one who needed to fill the air with chatter and was content listening to the music that played at mid-volume from a system she set her phone in.

  So the part of Hope’s mind now free had flitted about until it had solved the mystery of why True was doing this, why he would help a total stranger who had trespassed on property he was responsible—that word again—for. It was the only thing that made sense to her. He saw her as one of his rehab projects. She was like that house, abandoned, broken here and there, neglected, but for the moment still standing.

  And how he would laugh if he knew what lascivious thoughts his new rehab project was having about him.

  But there, in the businesslike atmosphere of Zee’s office, she had been able to figure it all out. Two weeks of some routine work for a grand in running money? She would be crazy to turn that down. She would do it, do it as well as she possibly could. She would be helpful, she wouldn’t irritate Zee, and most of all she would stop having these ridiculous thoughts about Zee’s brother. There, that was it, she would think of him as Zee’s brother, put that o
ne step back between them. Not to mention it would remind her of how protective Zee was of him, remind her the woman would likely take her head off if she messed with him.

  . . .he was off at college, only eighteen and just starting, but he came right back. Went to court and got custody of Zinnia, and stayed home to raise her.

  And suddenly she was curled up on the bed, her face buried in the pillow to muffle her sobs. She didn’t think she still had it in her, to cry. She thought she’d hardened herself against that kind of breakdown, but she guessed it proved her point. When True Mahan set out to help someone, he got it done. When she tried, all she did was make it worse. He had had such tragedy in his life, his parents, his wife, and yet he was all the things they said he was. She had let her life spiral out of control, until she’d had no choice but to cut ties and run.

  There was only one explanation. Her parents had been right. She was weak, useless, and stupid into the bargain. Gran and Gramps had been wrong, they were just too sweet, too generous to see the truth about their wayward, deficient granddaughter. The only thing she had to be thankful about now was that they couldn’t see now what a mess she’d made of her life.

  And that she’d done the only thing she could do to protect them.

  No, whatever it took to go on the way True had, she didn’t have it. In the same way he was good, and strong to the core, she was weak, cowardly.

  She could not bear it if she brought the shambles that was her life down on the Mahans. So she would take this unexpected windfall, because it would enable her to do what she must.

  She would keep running.

  *

  “You look like hell, brother mine.”

  Zee set the mug of coffee in front of him. He hadn’t asked for it, but he supposed she’d taken one look at his eyes and assumed.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, and let her decide if it was for the coffee or the assessment.

  “What happened? And don’t bother to say nothing, because I’ve seen her and I’ve seen you.”

  He let out a long breath. Zee had called while he was standing rather blankly in the kitchen, thinking there was something he should do but unable to get his fuzzy brain to remember what. She hadn’t asked to come over, she’d merely announced that she was, and moments later the adjoining door opened and she’d swept through into his kitchen, coffee in hand, and ordered him to sit down.