by Nan Dixon
Clapping came from the doorway. “Bravo.”
He tugged on the stupid gown and covered his ass. “Shut up, Farrell.”
Kaden walked into the room. “And they’re letting you go tomorrow?”
“Finally.” He wiggled to the head of the bed and flipped over, his ribs screaming in agony. “Can’t wait.”
“Who’s taking care of you?”
“I don’t need anyone.” Sage pointed a finger at Kaden. “But someone called my mom. She’s on her way.”
“You were unconscious. I did what I had to do.”
“But...” He didn’t want his mother to see him like this. She’d report back to his brothers and they’d be...ashamed.
“You can stay with me and Courtney,” Kaden suggested.
“Right.” Sage snorted. “Awkward.”
Kaden grinned. “We have this great pink princess bedroom you could sleep in.”
Sage wasn’t going to ask why Kaden was living somewhere with a princess bedroom. He changed the subject. “Margaret was here and on my case.”
Kaden took over the chair where Margaret had sat. “I told you to wait.”
Sage started to shake his head but caught himself. He was learning. “I remember needing to know how many people were in the house.”
There was a commotion outside his door, but Sage didn’t twist his head. He didn’t need the pain.
“That’s why I didn’t make a bigger deal out of you not waiting.” Kaden leaned forward. “But if you had, you might not be lying in this hospital bed.”
“Did you charge in again, little brother?” a voice called from the open doorway.
Sage slowly turned toward it. Damn it. “Jackson.”
His brother dropped a duffel bag and caught his hand, giving him a one-armed hug. “Glad to see you’re alive.”
“I...”
His mom wheeled in a suitcase right behind his brother.
She cupped his shoulders. “Sage. My baby.” Her hug ignited another pounding headache.
“Mom.” He swallowed back the burn of bile in his throat. He would not throw up.
Kaden let his mother take the chair next to the bed.
“Mom, Jackson, that’s Kaden Farrell.”
Kaden and Sage’s brother shook hands, but his Mom went in for a hug. “Thank you for calling.”
“No problem.” Kaden headed to the door. “I’ll stay in touch.”
Jackson pulled up a second chair. It screeched against the linoleum. “What’s this about you not waiting for your team?”
He was not going to review his errors with his brother. “I can’t remember much.”
“Another concussion? Your poor brain.” His mother pushed back her hair. A little more silver gleamed through the brown strands than when he’d been home at Christmas, but she was still a striking woman. With her trim figure from working the ranch and her bright green eyes, too many cowboys came sniffing around.
“We got a lot of drugs off the street.” Sage inhaled, trying to keep his lunch down.
“But you were shot.” Jackson frowned. “That seems like a failed op to me.”
Sage touched the bandage on the left side of his head. “We got intel on the next level up.”
“I would have thought your run-in with that bull would’ve stopped you from taking stupid risks.” Jackson leaned back in the chair and crossed his leg over his knee. His boot kicked the side of the bed. “When are you going to learn to stop rushing in by yourself?”
The kick on the bed jarred Sage’s head enough to have tears fill his eyes. Not that he would let his mom and brother notice. “You and Bart were egging me on.”
“Stop taunting him, Jax.” His mother glared at his brother. “I can still make you clean the barn.”
They laughed, but Sage’s was forced.
“After you were gored, Bart and I had to take your chores for months,” Jackson said.
“Because you encouraged your younger brother to do something stupid,” Mom squeezed Sage’s hand. “How are you?”
“Healing.” At least he hoped so.
“But your head hurts,” she said.
“Yeah.” He wanted to push the call button and get something for the pain, but he couldn’t do that around Jax. He already looked like a fool, lying there injured. “I thought only you were coming, Mom.”
“I wanted to see you.” Jackson’s feet dropped to the floor and he waved a hand over Sage in the hospital bed. “But not like this.”
Of course not. Sage wasn’t living up to the Cornell legacy. Why would his mother and brother even want to be here and see his failure?
His brother had the same deep green eyes and straight nose as their father. But Jackson was thirty-four. Their dad had died in Somalia at thirty-three—saving his squad by throwing his body on a grenade.
Mom and Jackson caught him up on the family and the goings-on at the ranch. But his eyes kept closing and his stomach churned.
“You rest.” Mom touched his hand.
He told them where to find his keys and the security card for his condo.
“We’ll see you in the morning.” His mother brushed a kiss on his cheek.
He sat up once too often and lost the battle with his stomach. Thank goodness his brother and mother had left before he grabbed the plastic bowl and threw up.
* * *
“MAMÁ, HOW COULD YOU?” Carolina stared at her mother’s checking account balance and then at her outstanding credit cards bills and the overdue lease payments on the BMW. Over the last three days, she’d worked her way through Mamá’s unopened mail, all of it unpaid bills.
Her mother’s small disability check wouldn’t make a dent in the balances. At least Mamá’s attorney was her ex-boss. He wasn’t charging anything for the legal documents he’d prepared.
“We should go to a spa.” Rosa swirled around the corner, the skirt of her pink sundress dancing around her knees. It was the perfect color against her olive skin and black hair.
“We can’t afford a spa.” Carolina waved her hands at the bills spread on the dining room table.
“Oh, pfft. Of course we can.”
She had to stop her mother’s spending. “Let’s go to the shore and hunt for seashells.”
Her mother pouted. “I...”
“Everyone who sees you will be jealous of this gorgeous dress.” Carolina caught Mamá’s arm. “Come on. It will be just like when I was young. We always walked the beach on Sunday.”
They were out the door and heading to the ocean before her mother could complain.
“I love this dress.” Mamá swung the full skirt. “Your father and I used to take you to the beach. I think he liked to see me in a bikini.”
“Of course, he did.” She always agreed whenever Mamá brought up her father. Otherwise an argument ensued.
“He was so handsome.” Mamá swayed like she was waltzing. “But his bitch of a wife wouldn’t give him a divorce. Beau wanted to be with us, but she kept us apart.”
“Mmm-hmm.” For years, Carolina had believed her mother. But now—she didn’t know. Carolina was the product of an affair between Mamá and a married man. She barely remembered her father.
At the end of the walkway her mother kicked off her sandals, not bothering to pick them up. By the time Carolina slipped off her flip-flops and picked up their shoes, Mamá was splashing in the waves.
Wouldn’t it be nice if her Mamá’s tumors had made her more responsible and not less?
“Don’t look sad.” Her mother ran back and caught her hand, tugging her along the beach. “Life’s too short.”
They took a half hour, until Rosa tired. “Let’s have ice cream. Your father always bought me ice cream.”
Instead of agreeing, Carolina redirected. “How did you meet Daddy?”
Rosa turned in a circle, the pink skirt and her long curly hair winging around her. “He was building condos and apartments.” She waved her hand toward the bay. “They were going to be glorious. And expensive. He would have been rich.”
The bay condos had sat unfinished for years. Someone else had finally bought and completed them. “But how did you meet?”
“I was singing at a club here on the island. It’s closed now.” She hummed. “He drank bourbon and watched me. Those eyes.”
Married man on the prowl. How many times had Carolina been propositioned while she’d bartended or sang? Scum.
“When you met him...did you know he was married?” She’d never asked that question before.
Mamá sighed. “He didn’t wear a ring.”
And Rosa had thought he was rich. “When you told him you were pregnant, did he want me?”
Her mother’s lips pinched together. “He was Catholic. He should never have suggested...what he did. And he accused me—”
“Of what?” Trying to trap him? Carolina had heard an argument between Yaya and her mother once—something about how foolish her mother had been to think she could trap a man into marriage. Had that been what Yaya meant?
“That’s when he told me he was married. All his excuses on why he couldn’t spend time with me finally made sense. Excuses.” Mamá waved her hand like she was erasing a chalkboard. “It doesn’t matter.”
But it had mattered. Carolina had always been isolated. As a child, Mamá had forbidden her to talk about her father. At least no one had ever called her a bastard. No one knew.
“I miss my Beau.” Mamá’s steps slowed. The lines around her mouth deepened.
Carolina shouldn’t have brought up Daddy. Shouldn’t have asked questions. She knew better. Knew depression clung to her mother like a shadow. Her father hadn’t cared enough to take care of his other family.
They headed up the steps, Carolina taking Mamá’s elbow as she shuffled and almost lost her balance. Inside, Mamá collapsed on the sofa.
“Do you want anything?” Carolina asked.
“Could you get me a pill and then rub my head?” Her mother’s voice cracked with the pain.
“Of course.” After getting the pill and a glass of milk, Carolina said, “Let me know if I hurt you.”
She stood behind the sofa and kneaded her mother’s shoulders. Each day Mama’s skin changed. Her muscles were losing their bulk. Carolina didn’t press hard, just kept working them until they softened. Moving up, she pressed her thumbs into the base of her neck and worked on the taut tendons.
“Oh...oh...” her mother groaned.
Carolina ripped her hands away. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. That’s...good.”
She worked her thumbs through her mother’s gorgeous thick hair. Would it fall out when the treatments started?
Carolina ended the massage by working her mother’s temples. Again, she dug in her thumbs and listened to Mamá’s groans. But this time she could tell it was from relief.
“Better?” Carolina asked.
“Yes.”
Carolina helped her mother stack pillows and settle on the sofa. Even after walking in the sunshine, there was a grayish cast to her mother’s skin. “Get some rest.”
“I will.” And she dropped off.
Carolina waited. Planned dinner. Worked on her to-do list. Then while Mamá slept, she headed to her mother’s bedroom and searched through the bags scattered on the floor. Jackpot. The bags still held the receipts and most of the clothes still had their tags.
She took the bags to her car and called the attorney. “Can I return clothes my mother bought?”
“You have power of attorney now. It shouldn’t matter if you put the credit back on your mother’s card.”
“Good.” She would find time tomorrow to take the things back, using the ruse of going to the grocery store.
The credit wouldn’t solve the debt her mother had accumulated, but it would help. Then she would call the leasing company to turn in the car.
Time to search for a job. She opened her laptop. Wouldn’t it be nice if she could find a weekend singing gig?
There were none around.
So she searched for waitressing and bartending jobs. And found a few. Only a couple on Tybee, everything else was in Savannah.
She opened job postings. There was one for a part-time bartender. At Southern Comforts, a new restaurant. Perfect. She clicked it open and read the listing. “Weekend hours. Possibility for more. Savannah.”
She winced, hating to leave her mother for that long. She scrolled to the bottom. “Apply at Fitzgerald House with Abby Fitzgerald.”
She shivered, suddenly freezing. Fitzgeralds. Her father’s real family. The ones who’d ruined her mother’s life. Her half sisters.
“What are you doing?” Rosa peered over her shoulder.
“I didn’t hear you wake. Are you hungry?” Carolina tried to close the screen.
Mamá held out her hand. “What are you doing looking at that family’s website?”
“I was looking for part-time work.” Trying to figure out how to pay off Mamá’s debts.
“Not with those bitches.” Mamá pointed a finger at the screen. “Work for anyone but them.”
Carolina patted her mother’s hand. “I know.”
Rosa sank into the dining room chair, holding her head. “Could you make me some tea?”
“Sure.”
Carolina would apply for the waitress and bartending positions listed on Tybee Island. She pulled out the tea a nurse recommended for Mamá’s headaches, making two mugs. She’d had a headache since she’d added up Mamá’s bills.
“Shall we take this to the porch?” she asked.
Her mother stared at the job posting on Carolina’s laptop, her nails clicking against the wooden table. “Maybe. Maybe.”
Carolina headed to the porch, wishing she’d shut the computer before she’d fixed her mother’s tea. Even talking about the Fitzgeralds made her mother rant.
“I was thinking we could have fish tacos tonight.” Carolina pushed open the door.
Her mother stared at the screen.
“Mamá?”
Her mother’s head jerked. “What?”
“I thought we’d have our tea out on the porch.”
Her mother’s eyes didn’t focus as she walked outside. She sat in a chair and Carolina took the rocker.
“I think you should do it,” Mamá blurted out.
“Do what?”
“Apply for the job with the bitches.”
Carolina choked on her tea. “I don’t want to meet them.”
Her half sisters wallowed in wealth while she and Mamá struggled to survive.
Her mother’s dark eyebrows came together. “I want to know what they’re up to. I want you to see the birthright they kept from you.”
Carolina clenched her fists. “I don’t.”
Her mother bounced out of her chair. “You could be a...a spy.”
Was this her mother’s obsession with the Fitzgeralds talking or her brain tumors? Every muscle in Carolina’s body tensed. “I don’t want to spy.”
“It would be for me. For your mother.” She clasped her hands against her chest and swayed. “For all the things I couldn’t give you. You deserve this. We deserve this.”
“Mamá, sit.” Carolina eased her back into a chair. “I need a job closer to home.”
Maybe if Carolina never brought up the job again, her mother would forget.
Please let Mamá forget.
* * *
“MOM, I’LL BE all right.” Sage said for the tenth time that morning. He sat at the kitchen table and sipped his coffee. He sure would miss Mom’s coffee, but he hated having her hover.
“You’re still as rocky on your
feet as a newborn calf.” She brushed back his hair. “I wish Jackson could have stayed longer.”
Sage didn’t. Jax had stayed for three days, his presence a constant reminder Sage had screwed up. Not that Jax or Mom ever said anything. It was their looks of concern and disappointment. He’d failed to live up to the Cornell image. Honor before everything. “Jackson had to get back to saving lives.”
Mom crossed her arms, staring down at him. “Your head still aches.”
“I’ll handle it. You’ve been here a week. Go home to the ranch.” He wanted quiet. He hadn’t had true peace since he’d awakened in the hospital.
He liked people, he really did, but he needed space. And he wanted to get back to work. “I’m okay. Besides, the ranch needs you.”
“Uncle Dale is running the ranch.” His mother frowned.
“He’s almost eighty.”
“And sharp as a tack.” She pointed a finger at him. “Managing the ranch makes him feel useful.”
“I’ll be fine.” Another headache brewed, but he couldn’t tell his mom. She’d cancel her flight and stay another week. His River Street warehouse condominium was too small for the two of them.
“Then you’d better answer my calls. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be back.” His mother softened the order with a kiss on his cheek. “I worry about my baby.”
“I’m twenty-nine.” He grinned. “I don’t need burping.”
“Ha ha.” She sat next to him and squeezed his hand. “I worry about all my boys.”
“Why would you need to worry about Jax and Bart?” They were heroes.
“Because they’re my sons.”
“But every breath they take honors Dad.”
Mom closed her eyes and shook her head. “I know you idolize your brothers and father, but...they’re still mortal.”
Cornell men were supposed to be more. Sage needed to live a life so heroic, his father and brothers would be proud of him. It was all he wanted in life. “You raised two very special men.”
“Three.” She cupped his cheek and stared him in the eyes.
He tried not to blink, not wanting her to examine his soul.
