by Maya Banks
She accepted long ago that she was weak. A strong person would never have existed as she had for the last year. She was a coward who took the path of least resistance, but she recognized her limitations and knew that even if she wanted to be more resilient, she’d fail. She’d died with Sean, only her body was too stupid to realize it.
Greer and Taggert herded her toward the parking area and into a new-looking blue SUV.
“Where’s the Dooley?” she asked faintly. The red, extended cab diesel truck was as much a fixture of the MPR as the Donovan brothers.
Tagg threw the luggage in the back while Greer opened the passenger door for Emily.
“It’s still there. Relegated to the work truck now. She’s seen better days.”
He waited patiently for her to climb in, and then he reached for a pillow lying on the floor behind the driver’s seat. He plumped it and tossed it on the seat.
“Lay down, sweet pea. Get some sleep. You look like you’re in another world. I’ll wake you up when we get home.”
Her eyes were so heavy, she wasn’t sure she could keep them open if she tried, so she settled down on the seat, snuggling her face into the soft pillow.
She dimly registered doors shutting, the engine starting and the SUV rocking into motion. Tagg’s and Greer’s low voices buzzed warmly in her ears, but she couldn’t decipher what they were saying.
Home.
She was going home.
It terrified her and offered her sweet comfort all at the same time.
“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” Greer murmured as he turned to look over his shoulder at a sleeping Emily.
“We are,” Taggert said grimly. “You saw her. Hell, Greer, how much longer was she going to last like that? Did you see the locks she had on the door?”
“Well at least she was smart about her safety,” Greer said.
Taggert scowled. “She should have damn well come home a long time ago. She should have never left.”
“You and I both know why she did,” Greer muttered.
Taggert glanced away, his fingers tight around the steering wheel. Yeah, he knew why she’d left. Why she couldn’t stay. Why she and Sean made a life away from the ranch. Why she’d ended up Sean’s wife in the first place.
He’d made mistakes. No question. But that didn’t mean Emily was going to keep paying for them. Four years was a long time. The last year had been hell on all of them, but especially Emily. Sweet, delicate Emily with the voice of an angel and a heart to match.
Goddamn, it hurt him to see her so defeated. She wouldn’t even sing, and she’d always sung. Always. He couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t weaving words into beautiful music.
“We shouldn’t have let this go on for so long,” Taggert said. “We should have dragged her ass home months ago.”
Greer nodded. “Agreed. But we can’t change the past.” He rubbed a tired hand over his face. “God, if we could. All we can do is make damn sure Emily feels safe with us, that she knows the ranch is her home.”
“And that this time we aren’t going to give her up like we did before,” Taggert vowed.
“She may not want us now,” Greer said carefully. “Time changes things. She married Sean. She’s a different woman now.”
Taggert turned fiercely to Greer, slowing down as he did. “You look at that girl back there and you tell me she’s a different woman. She’s hurting like hell. She’s grieving. She’s tried to stop living, but she’s still the same sweet, giving girl we’ve known all our lives. She loved us, Greer. We shit on that love, but she loved us, and I don’t believe for a minute she gave that love lightly. We can get her back. I didn’t say it would be easy, and it shouldn’t be after we turned her away, but I won’t give up.”
“I hear you, man. She needs time, and she’ll have all the time in the world at the ranch where we can take care of her and end this path to self destruction she’s on.”
Grief and regret, so much regret, swirled in Taggert’s stomach. Sean shouldn’t have died protecting Emily. His older brothers let him down—let him and Emily both down. Taggert would have to live with that for the rest of his life. But he wouldn’t surrender Emily the same way. She was alive, damn it, and she was going to start acting like it.
Chapter Three
Emily woke in Taggert’s arms as he strode from the SUV toward the front porch of the two-story frame house. She’d always loved this house. Whitewashed, it could have existed a hundred years before, a farm house on a fledgling cattle spread. And it did, she reminded herself ruefully. This land had been in the Donovan family for over a century, built when the west was still new, when people with big dreams came to settle the raw, untamed land.
The sun was sliding over the mountains, and the chill of the spring air elicited a trail of goose bumps over her arms.
Tagg looked down at her as he mounted the steps, and his eyes softened. “We’re home, Emmy.”
He set her down, almost as if he knew how important it was that she walk inside on her own. Greer opened the door, and Emily stepped into the living room.
The first thing that hit her was the smell. It was hard to put a name on the smell of home. It was older, musty but not unpleasant, just the reality of an aged house. There was a hint of tobacco, the scent of leather and a faint whisper of daffodils.
Nothing had changed. The furniture was the same down to Taggert’s favorite threadbare armchair with ottoman. The old television had been replaced and a flatscreen was mounted on the wall catty-corner to the stone fireplace.
Through the adjacent door, she knew she’d find the kitchen the same as she’d left it, its large open floor plan inviting and homey, the wraparound bar that hugged the entire kitchen a place for people to gather, talk and eat at the end of a long day.
She could almost hear the laughter echoing through the hallways.
“Emily, my dear! It’s so good to see you.”
She blinked in shock to see Doc Summerston stand from his perch on the couch. She’d been so busy remembering that she hadn’t even noticed him in the room. What on earth was he doing here?
“Hello, Doc,” she said a little nervously.
Greer wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a light squeeze. “We asked Doc to come out and look you over.”
She inhaled in surprise and glanced sharply up at him and then over to Taggert who looked none too apologetic.
“Is that all right with you, Emily?” Doc asked in a gentle voice.
Her shoulders went down in defeat. It didn’t really matter. The sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could go to bed.
“Where am I sleeping?” she murmured.
“In your room,” Taggert said.
She nodded and started for the stairs, Doc following behind her. Was there a diagnosis for dead-and-don’t-know-it? She almost laughed. Doc would think her terribly fatalistic.
“Well, we got her here, now what the hell are we going to do?” Greer demanded after Emily and Doc disappeared up the stairs.
“That’s a loaded question,” Taggert said with a sigh. “We take it one day at a time.”
“It scares me to see her this way. It’s like she’s given up.”
Taggert scowled. “I think she gave up a long time ago.”
The two men paced the living room, and fifteen minutes later, Doc came down the stairs, a grim look on his face.
“Well?” Taggert asked impatiently.
Doc sighed. “It hurts my heart to see her like this. I watched that girl grow up, so happy and sunny. No one could look at her without smiling.”
“Is she okay? I mean physically?” Greer interjected.
“Well, yes and no. The problem is, she just doesn’t care. She’s weary to her bones. I doubt she’s slept for more than a few hours at a time in the last year. She’s only eating enough to get by. She’s given up. There’s so much hurt in that little girl’s eyes, it makes me ache.”
“That makes two of us,” Greer mutter
ed.
Taggert shoved an impatient hand through his hair. “So what can we do?”
Doc pinned them both with a resigned look. “I hate to say it, but you’re going to have to get tough with her.”
Taggert frowned. Greer winced a little, but he knew Doc was right. As tempting as it was to coddle and baby her, it wasn’t going to help her rejoin the land of the living.
“She has a routine of not having a routine. She eats, she sleeps—or tries to, and then she does it all over again. She’s on autopilot and a crash is inevitable. Give her a day or two to rest. I gave her something to help her sleep through the night tonight. Make sure she gets plenty to eat. But then, you’re going to have to make her break out of her comfort zone.”
Taggert swore long and low. “Christ, she’ll hate us.”
“Maybe at first,” Doc said. “She’ll come around, though, and then she’ll understand.”
Greer sighed. He and Taggert wanted nothing more than to bring her home so they could protect and love her. Making her hate them again…
“We appreciate you coming by, Doc,” Greer said.
“Anytime. I’m just glad Emily is home where she belongs. It’s been a tough road for her, but she’s young and resilient. She’ll bounce back.”
“I hope to hell you’re right,” Taggert said.
***
Emily woke to a stream of sunlight piercing the white ruffled curtains. For a moment she lay there soaking in the warmth, and then she turned to look at the old alarm clock on the nightstand. Eight o’clock.
Taggert and Greer would have been up several hours already. Work started early and ended late on a ranch. They and the hands put in long hours every day.
Sundays though…Sunday had always been their day. In the summers they snuck down to the watering hole, one of the Donovan brothers keeping watch for Emily’s dad. A few times he’d shown up, but by the time he had, they’d gotten Emily out of the creek and headed home.
Emily’s mother had died when she was young, and her father was the epitome of old-time conservative strict. Spare the rod, spoil the child. A motto that should have been his family crest.
She’d gotten more beatings over spending time with the Donovan boys than anything else. She wasn’t a rebellious child, and she was usually obedient. Except when it came to Taggert, Greer and Sean. Spending time with them had been worth every lash of her father’s belt.
They’d hated her father, but he was her father, and she owed him as much respect as she could give. He’d been proud of her singing. He loved to hear her sing in church. Every Sunday she sang with the choir, her clear, radiant voice rising above the others.
He’d hit the roof when her attention turned to more commercial songs, and he’d forbidden her from seeking any sort of a career outside the church.
One night she’d snuck out, and Sean drove her to the neighboring town where the honkeytonk was having talent night. She’d sung her heart out and garnered the attention of Frank, an agent to several already established singers in the business.
Her father was waiting—with his belt—when she returned home. It had been the worst beating she’d suffered, and she didn’t go anywhere for three days for fear Taggert, Greer or Sean would find out.
The two things she loved most in the world—the Donovan brothers and singing—were the things forbidden to her by her father.
She’d taken her courage in her hands and gone to the ranch, determined to make the brothers see how she felt about them. In her youth and inexperience, she hadn’t considered how ludicrous her wants were. She only knew how desperately she loved them all.
It was the worst night of her life. Far worse than any beating she’d ever suffered. Sean hadn’t been there, but Taggert and Greer had gently but candidly told her that what she wanted wasn’t possible.
Then she’d gone home to face her father and his wrath.
Sean came for her two days later, furious with his brothers and ready to kill her father for what he’d done. Sean had refused to leave her there one minute longer. They eloped, but that hadn’t been the final nail in the coffin of her nonexistent relationship with her father.
He’d seemed willing to forgive her marriage to Sean, but when she told him she had a record deal, he’d disowned her.
It seemed everyone but Sean had turned his back on her, and now Sean was gone. All because of her.
He loved her, put her first¾her career, her wants and needs¾and she hadn’t been able to save him.
She waited for the tears to come, even welcomed them, because anything was better than this barren wasteland that resided in her chest. But she simply stared at the window, her grief sealed behind an impenetrable wall of ice.
With a heavy sigh, she slid her legs toward the edge of the bed and struggled upward. Funny, she didn’t remember getting undressed last night, but she supposed she had after Doc gave her a sleeping pill.
Normally she wouldn’t bother with a shower, because there was only her to put up with her appearance, but she wasn’t in her apartment anymore. Aside from Greer and Taggert, there were a number of ranch hands who lived here.
Grimacing over the effort it took to dig in her bag for clothes and the basic toiletries, she trudged off to the shower and without waiting for it to warm, stepped underneath the spray.
The cold shocked some of the lethargy from her system, and by the time she washed and rinsed her hair, it didn’t quite feel like sludge ran through her veins.
After drying off and dressing, she looked at herself in the mirror and winced. She looked…well, dead. There was no life, no spark in her eyes, and her lips were drawn, not in a frown, but in a flat line of indifference. Even a frown denoted some sort of emotion.
To her surprise, her stomach growled, and she took it as a promising sign. Maybe the mountain air was good for her. Or maybe it had just been too long since she had a decent meal.
Leaving her still-damp hair hanging to her shoulders, she picked up her mess and went back into her bedroom. She pulled up short when she saw Taggert standing in the doorway.
“Oh good, there you are. I was coming up to see if you wanted to eat. Buck left breakfast for you.”
“I thought it was against his religion to hold a meal for anyone,” she said dryly. “‘Either be there when it’s put on the table or go without’.”
Taggert chuckled, and she watched the dimple in his cheek deepen. It always amazed her how something so innocuous as a dimple could transform his hardness.
He reached out his hand. “Come on, Emmy. Come eat with me. Afterward I’ll take you out to see the new colts.”
A flicker of interest stirred for a moment, but the thought of walking so far exhausted her.
“Maybe I’ll just eat and hang out here,” she murmured.
His eyes hardened for a moment, but he didn’t argue. Instead he motioned for her hand again, and when she finally extended it, he pulled her out into the hallway.
“You’ve lost weight,” he said bluntly as they descended the stairs. “You need to start eating again.”
Her cheeks tightened, but she remained silent.
When they got to the kitchen she was surprised to see Buck puttering around and even more surprised to see that he still wore the same apron he had years ago. It was worn, had holes and was so thin she could see through it.
“What are you staring at, girly?” he asked rudely.
She felt her lips going upward in a smile, and it shocked her. But it grew even larger as she stared at the cantankerous man who’d been the Donovans’ cook since before she was born.
“Well, now, that’s better. Come here so I can hug you.”
Mechanically, she went forward, still enjoying the sensation of smiling. He hugged her tightly, and she smelled the faint mint of his snuff.
“Still chewing,” she said with a sigh. “Buck, your mouth is going to rot and fall off.”
He drew away and glared at her. “Still nagging, I see. Greer hasn’t given up his s
mokes, so nag him if you feel the need, but leave me be. I’ve been chewing for forty years, and I don’t aim to quit anytime soon.”
She rolled her eyes as she stepped back. “Pardon me for not wanting you both to die of cancer.”
“The good Lord will take me when he’s ready and not a minute sooner.”
Her smile disappeared and the heavy weight descended on her chest again.
“Ah sheeit,” Buck said. “That was a damn fool thing of me to say, Emmy. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
“I know,” she said, trying valiantly to resummon her smile.
Giving up, she took a seat at the bar beside Taggert and avoided both their gazes. When Buck put a plate in front of her, she ate without tasting. She knew they watched her and also knew they were measuring every bite, so she made herself eat all of it.
When she pushed the plate away, Buck gave a grunt of satisfaction and picked it up to put it in the sink.
“So how about that walk out to the stable?” Taggert asked.
There was a challenge in his voice that made her groan inwardly. What she really wanted to do was go back to bed or even curl up on the couch and absorb the familiar smells of the Donovan house.
But she was embarrassed to tell him no, to explain that she didn’t have the energy to do much more than brush her hair. It was still damp, and if she went outside, she’d need to comb it and dry it.
She raised trembling fingers to press against her forehead.
“Are you okay?”
Taggert’s concerned voice brushed over her ears. She tried to nod, but all she managed was a clipped half motion that could either be deciphered as a yes or a no.
“The walk can wait,” he said after a pause. “You should get some more rest. When you’re feeling more up to it, I’ll take you out to see the horses.”
Relief made her weak. She put her hands on the edge of the bar to push herself off the stool, and then she made her way toward the living room. Did the closet still hold all those wonderful old afghans that Maria Donovan had made?
