by Gina Ardito
“I’ll let you have two minutes,” Brother Number One said.
“Very generous of you,” Drew remarked dryly.
“You better not be screwing with us. If I find out you had anything to do with what happened…” He let the threat trail off and headed down the hall, leaving Drew to follow. “I’m Mal, by the way. Malcolm, Jr.” He craned his neck to point to the others who still loitered by the elevators. “That’s Patrick and Seamus. And you already met Quinn.”
His parents couldn’t have named him anything more accurate. Mal, Jr. was an exact replica of his father, thirty years younger, with a bit more hair still covering his scalp. The rest of the clan’s features varied in subtle degrees from Mal, with Bo, thank God, receiving the least amount of her father’s genetics. She had his height and eye color, but the shape of her head was rounder, her hair a glorious mane, her body softer.
“I figure you should know who you’re up against,” Mal, Jr. said. “So when we find out we were right about you, you’ll know whose boots are on your spine.”
“Right. Thanks for the heads-up.”
They reached the door where a nameplate held a piece of white cardboard with the name, “McKenzie.”
The animosity so evident on Mal, Jr.’s face a second ago disappeared as he opened the door. “Hey, Bo,” he crooned. “Look who I found.”
His obvious affection disappointed Drew, who’d been looking forward to telling the big lug off. Since they both loved her, he’d have to find a way to get along with the bully instead.
For his part, Junior propped a hand on the door jamb, forcing Drew to duck under his arm to enter the private room. The window near the bed allowed generous sunlight to pour inside, spotlighting Bo’s pallid complexion, the bruises under her swollen eyes, and the forlorn expression stamped on her face. Jee-zus! She resembled an angel who’d just gone ten rounds with the devil.
Connie, seated at Bo’s bedside, rose with a grateful smile. “Drew. I’m so glad you’re here.” She indicated the fake leather armchair she’d vacated. “Sit. Mal and I will wait outside.”
Mal folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “No way. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on him. I’m staying right here.”
“No, you’re not.” Connie dug her fingers into his forearms and pulled him toward the door while walking backwards, which, on an ordinary day, would have been ludicrous, considering Connie’s bird-like stature and Mal’s titanic persona.
Drew stole another look at Bo in the hospital bed, watching their exchange without a hint of amusement, pain evident in her shadowed eyes, and his ridicule evaporated. Today was no ordinary day.
“Fine. I’ll go.” Mal grunted. “But I’m gonna be right outside, and I’m timing you. You’ve got two minutes.” He held up two fingers, as if to emphasize the number for everyone in the room.
“Yeah, yeah. We can all count without your help,” Connie muttered. “C’mon, smart guy. Outside.”
Drew took the offered chair, but said nothing until he and Bo were alone. “Hi.” Well, that was stupid. Good thing he didn’t need to convince a judge or jury with a delivery like that. No, he only had to convince Bo, who was tougher than a panel of Supreme Court justices.
“Hi,” she said in return.
Neither of them would win points for eloquence during this discussion. With a gentle squeeze of her hand, he turned on a lighthearted grin, far from the turmoil bubbling beneath his surface. “You couldn’t just close up and go home when everyone else did? You had to play superhero?”
She shook her head. “Wanted to work.” Her voice was raw, no doubt from the intubation irritating her throat, and she winced after every syllable. “You should be in Austin.”
“And you shouldn’t speak right now. I can hear how painful it is for you. Lucky me. That means I get to talk and you have to listen. Captive audience.” She took a breath as if to say something, and he placed a finger over her lips. “Nope. Rest. I want you out of this hospital by tomorrow. I’m betting that’s what you want too.”
She tried to talk around his finger. “Want out now.”
“Sorry, tomorrow’s the best we can do.”
“I hate this place.” She punched the mattress.
“I know. And if you continue to strain your throat, your doctor might change his mind about letting you go tomorrow.”
“Her.”
He blinked. “Her?”
“Doctor’s a her.”
“Ah. I stand corrected. The argument, however, still remains, so let me do the talking for a while. Close your eyes if you want.” She shook her head again. “God, you’re stubborn. That’s one of the things I love about you.”
She quirked a brow.
“Yeah, I said it, and I meant it the way you think I did. I love you. I didn’t realize it until I got Mitch’s message about the fire. That’s when I understood how easily I could’ve lost you, how I might never see you again. All I wanted to do was get back here and tell you how much you mean to me. I’m crazy about you, Bo. I know you’re scared, and you worry that if push comes to shove, I’ll choose my brother over you, but you’re wrong. I choose you. From this moment on, I will always choose you. And if that means I need to move slow with what’s between us, I’ll try to be patient. I’m not expecting you to say you love me too if you’re not ready yet.” She opened her mouth again, but he shushed her. “Don’t say it out of obligation. Say it when you mean it. I’m willing to go at whatever pace works for you. But you need to know I love you. Now. Tomorrow. Hell. Always. And I need you to promise you won’t take any more risks with your life. I’ve waited all my life to find you. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you now.”
Her face broke into a wreath of smiles. “Doc says I can only go home tomorrow if I have someone to watch me.” She shook her head. “Quinn just moved out of my place. Don’t want him back. Can I stay with you?”
He picked up her hand and kissed each knuckle, saying after each one, “Now. Tomorrow. Hell. Always.”
Chapter 19
Drew exceeded his prescribed two minutes, but still managed to remain under the more reasonable ten-minute edict to ensure Bo got her much-needed rest. When he stepped out into the hallway, a wave of curious faces inundated him.
“Well?” Mal, Sr. demanded. “How did she look to you? Is she okay? Do you think that doctor knows what she’s doing? Should I get a specialist flown in for her?”
Cripes. These guys seemed to blow hot and cold on the flip of a coin. Still, their concern for Bo must have outweighed their suspicion of him. He’d have to show them the same kind of courtesy. Biting back an indulgent smile, Drew waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t think that’s necessary. She’s awake, alert, and ready to get out of here before the ink can dry on her discharge papers. I managed to convince her to spend tonight here for her own safety, but she wants to finish her recuperation at my place once she’s allowed to leave the hospital.” He leveled a steady gaze on each of the men one by one. “Anybody have a problem with that?”
The men all looked at their feet or across the hall—anywhere but at him. Connie simply grinned. No one uttered a word.
“Okay, then.” Progress. “She said the rest of you should go home and leave the waiting room for families of real patients.”
“You heard the man,” Mal, Sr. announced. “Let’s go. Everybody out.” While the rest of the family filed toward the end of the hall with a lot of grumbling, he gripped Drew’s shoulder to pull him back.
“Mal?” Ian paused, his gaze studying both of them. “You coming?”
“In a minute. I need some time alone with Drew.”
“Okay.” Ian followed the others down the hall.
Once they were alone, Mr. Sheehan paced the small area between the nurse’s station and Bo’s room, cracking his knuckles—apparently, a family trait passed on from father to daughter. “I almost lost her once. Do you know that?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“I made a lot of mistakes whe
n I was raising her. I shoulda let her be a girl instead of raising her like my sons.”
“You raised her to be confident, independent, and strong,” Drew replied. “Daughters need to learn those qualities as much as sons do—more so, I think.”
“She acts tough, you know? Like nothing bothers her. But inside that steel armor is a fragile heart.”
“Yeah, I figured out she’s got a marshmallow center a long time ago,” he quipped.
“I’m not talking in metaphors, Drew, though she’s always been a softie on the inside. Do you know about her ex-husband?”
“She told me.”
“That son-of-a—Rob Carlysle embezzled millions from charities and society widows to fund his romance with a high-priced call girl who charged him by the hour for her company. He’d take her on trips to Aruba and Vail, pay all her expenses and a salary. When the extent of Rob’s crimes—and the reasons for them—hit the papers, Bo tried to hide behind her work. She nearly succeeded in killing herself instead. Her boss found her unconscious on the floor one morning, barely breathing. If he’d shown up an hour later, she probably wouldn’t have survived. Let me tell you, that’s a phone call I never want to get again. She scared me down to my bones. All those years my kids were growing up, Bo was the biggest hellraiser. To see her so thin and lifeless because of what that bastard did…” He shook his head as if to clear the memories from his brain. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse with stifled emotion. “She’s got a heart condition now, ‘cuz when they admitted her she was badly dehydrated. Quinn said you’ve been good for her, making sure she eats and insisting she rest when she pushes herself too much. Make sure she drinks plenty of water, too. Another episode like that will kill her.”
“I will.”
“I should’ve insisted she stay in New York,” he murmured more to himself than to Drew. “I could keep an eye on her there.”
“With all due respect, sir, she was in New York when she nearly died on that brewery floor.”
Mr. Sheehan nodded, but said nothing. The only sound came from the staticky loudspeaker where a Dr. Payton was asked to report to Pediatrics.
“Rob said he cheated because my girl wasn’t feminine enough for him,” he said at last. His gaze met Drew’s. “Can you believe that? Like there was something wrong with her because she preferred jeans and flannels to wearing a dress or makeup. That’s my fault, I guess. Hell, she doesn’t even like jewelry. What kind of woman doesn’t like a diamond or two?”
The kind worth a mine of ‘em. “For what it’s worth, I was married to a dress-slash-makeup-wearing, jewelry-wanting woman once. You know what I found out? That no matter how pretty she looked on the outside, inside, she was cold, greedy, and selfish. Keep your dresses and your makeup and your women who flutter their eyelashes to get what they want. I’ll take Bo—jeans and all—any day, over some pampered metropolitan princess-type. She’s strong and soft, confident and vulnerable. And you may not want to hear it, but she’s sexy as hell. I have no intention of changing her. Not today, not ever.”
“Ian’s right. You’re a good man.” Mr. Sheehan thrust out a hand and Drew shook it. “I’m headed back to New York tonight. I think Bo’s gonna be fine in your care. Thank you.”
No other conversation was necessary.
****
Inside a small gray room at the Randall County Sheriff’s office, Drew waited for Wade to be brought in from his cell. The silence and the stone walls around him enhanced his morose mood. So many people had warned him his brother was dangerous. Cooper tried to tell him. Rosa tried to tell him. Hell, even Wade had pretty much told him he wouldn’t give up his obsession with the former Garwood lands until he’d scared Bo away.
So why was he so surprised at the depths of his brother’s greed? When Drew considered the amount of damage caused in one night, how much more tragic it might have been, his gorge rose. If Wade and his cronies had opted to set the fires during business hours when employees and customers lingered in the buildings, how many innocent victims could have died? Bad enough Bo came so close. Too damn close. He shuddered.
The door on the other side of the room opened, and a burly guard escorted Wade, cuffed at the wrists and ankles, into the room. As he shuffled closer, his eyes lit up like a ghoulish jack o’lantern’s, and a crooked smile spread across his face. “Oh, look, Sergeant. My lawyer’s here.”
Drew shook his head. “I have no intention of representing you. I’m only here to advise you to take advantage of your right to a court-appointed attorney. I want nothing to do this. Or you. You went too far this time and there’s no going back.”
Wade waited until the guard stepped outside before he took the seat across the table, the short links of chains clanging against the metal furniture with his motions. “What do you mean you’re not representing me? You owe me. It’s your fault I’m here.”
“No, it’s not. I didn’t put the gasoline or matches in your hand. This was all you. You and your friends.”
“You filed that deed! You basically told me everything I wanted was out of my reach—forever. No, wait. What fancy-ass legal word did you use? Perpa…?”
“In perpetuity.”
“Right. Perpa-too-it-ee.” He sounded it out as if spitting bits of poison on each syllable. “Still think you’re better than me, doncha? With your fancy-ass words and your framed degrees?”
Once upon a time, Drew would’ve quickly denied the accusation, would’ve never thought such a thing about his older brother. Now, he couldn’t deny it. “It has nothing to do with my education. You committed arson! And for what? Because you thought you were owed something. You destroyed the livelihoods of several local business owners and injured a couple of firefighters over some birthright that wasn’t yours to begin with. For God’s sake, you’re lucky the fire didn’t kill anyone.”
His brother snorted. “It was supposed to be more contained. We were gonna light up some gas-soaked rags in a few empty corners, do enough damage to scare a few people into selling the property for cheap to get out. Just a warning, you know?”
Despite his brewing disgust, he feigned interest to keep his brother talking. The more he said, the more the DA had to work with. “So what happened?”
“We shoulda brought flashlights with us. It was dark. Rusty tripped over the pneumatic drill in the auto shop, knocked over a pail of some kind of chemical and whoosh! The whole area flared like we’d dropped an atomic bomb. Rusty’s pants went up like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Brock and I had to yank a tarp off a car engine and wrap him in it to douse the flames. He’s got burns from his thighs to his ankles and no hair left on his legs. Talk about extra crispy, huh?”
The amusement in Wade’s tone and expression pitched Drew’s stomach on a sea of disgust. He stared into his brother’s eyes and found nothing but darkness in their depths. “You think this is funny?”
“It was funny that night. Now…” He lifted his cuffed wrists and let the chains clink then frowned. “I could do without the new jewelry. How soon can you get me out of here?”
“I already told you I’m not representing you. In fact, I’m going to see to it that you go away for a long time and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you stay locked up until you’re a feeble, bitter, old man.”
“So that’s it then?” Wade sneered. “You’re turning your back on your only family for a blond Frankenstein who pushes overpriced beer to losers?”
Drew got to his feet. “Within the next year or so, I’m hoping Bo will be my family—the only family I need. Whether or not she agrees, you will never get another chance to hurt her or anyone else in this town. Goodbye, Wade.”
Chapter 20
Bo’s first stop after her discharge was, of course, the brewery.
Seeing the damage by the light of day impressed upon her how close she’d come to death. The charred back door, now fortified by a sheet of plywood and secured with a padlock, the blackened scars left by excessive smoke and water that streaked th
e walls and floor, and the melted plastic shrink wrap around the stacked bags of grain were all stark reminders of what she’d survived.
“Jee-zus,” Drew exclaimed under his breath as he surveyed the area with her.
She ignored his awestruck reaction, as well as the fine hairs that danced on her forearms. Instead, she turned to Mitch. “How much did we lose?”
“Very little, as a matter of fact. Structurally, we’re still sound, except for the door, obviously. The tuns were sealed and protected from the excessive heat, thanks to the sprinkler system, so they’re still in working condition. We’ve already started a new batch of wort, since you managed to save the grain. All in all, the loss for us was mostly cosmetic, and I’d say about eighty-five percent of it is here on the brewery floor where few people will see it anyway. Minor smoke and water damage in the tasting room.”
She had to remind herself the damage there was considered minor. Looking at the mess broke her heart. Her chrome handles had lost their gleam, and the pool tables would have to be replaced, thanks to their sodden felt surfaces. Growlers, plastic cups, and flight trays were coated with soot. Still, like Mitch said, her damage was mostly cosmetic. By containing the blaze inside while the firemen focused their efforts outside, she’d cut off the fire’s path and saved her brewery. A week, maybe two, she’d be up and running again. She ran a finger over the wet bar top, leaving a clean streak in the black grime.
Mitch stared at the line she’d created and frowned. “I don’t want you to get upset over this. Ian and I will handle all the details. You just concentrate on getting well, okay? I’ve got a professional cleaning crew scheduled to start tomorrow. Insurance guy coming this afternoon.”
“Whoa. Wait a sec. Do we know how much it’s going to cost? What am I expected to lay out of my pocket?” Dollar bills zipped through her skull at dizzying speeds. “How long ‘til we get a check to pay for the repairs?”
