Blue Skies, Season 2, Episode 8 (Rising Storm)

by Dee Davis

  Still, she poured herself a cup of coffee and came to stand in front of them, still behind the bar. “The two of you are so much like your father.”

  “I don’t see that as a problem,” Logan said, as Dillon grunted in agreement.

  “Most of the time, neither do I.” Sonya’s smile was warm. “He does, after all, hold the key to my heart. But that doesn’t mean the man’s a saint.”

  “Thank the good Lord,” Dillon said, raising his glass. “He already thinks he’s right all the time; can you imagine how hard it would be to live with him if he were truly perfect?”

  “Don’t speak ill of your father.” She shot her oldest son a quelling glance. “The point I’m making is that your father almost let me slip out of his grasp. If he hadn’t fought for me, I’d have married Marshall Beckham.”

  It was an old story, one that differed slightly depending on if his mother or father was telling the tale. But the facts were that Marshall Beckham had wanted Sonya for his own. And a more determined man there’d never been. Except for Aiden Murphy.

  “We know the story, Ma.” Dillon rolled his eyes, shooting a look at Logan.

  “So you do. But you’re missing the obvious point. If your father had let himself be swayed by all the gossip—lies started by Marshall himself—none of us would be standing here right now. He had to reach past all the bullhockey and take what he wanted.” She shrugged and took a sip of coffee, her gaze holding theirs. “Me.”

  “And you’re trying to tell Logan that he should wade through the shit and get Ginny back?”

  “Except that it’s real shit,” Logan protested. “Not fabricated lies. Or at least the lies were what created the shit in the first place. And to make it worse, they were Ginny’s.” Logan tried for anger, but his heart wasn’t in it. Delia had been right. He did love Ginny. And the idea of living a life without her made his gut hurt.

  “Okay, so maybe my analogy isn’t quite right,” his mother said. “But the point is, life is short and you have to go and get what you want. And sometimes to do that, you have to sacrifice your pride.”

  “That’s pretty much what Delia said to me.” Logan sighed.

  “Well, that complicates things a bit, don’t you think,” Dillon said, his words a statement, not a question.

  “More than you know, brother. But not in the way you mean. Ginny saw us together.”

  “You and Delia?” his mother asked. “That can’t have gone well.”

  “I don’t know. Brittany talked to her, but I felt like a total ass. To both of them, if that matters. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “About Delia or Ginny?” Dillon quipped, but sobered when Logan shot him an angry look.

  “Ginny.”

  “Do you love her?” his mother asked, her voice gentle as she reached over to cover his hand with hers.

  “I do. It’s just that I thought she was the one person who would never lie to me.”

  “I don’t condone what she did, telling people the baby was Jacob’s. But I can understand why she did it. And I think if you’re honest with yourself, so can you. Sometimes all it takes is a beginning. A first step.” Sonya topped off her coffee and headed back toward the kitchen.

  “See, I told you she was talking about you,” Dillon offered as he took a sip of beer.

  “Don’t get too high on your horse, Dillon Murphy.” Sonya stopped and turned around to face her sons again. “You’ve got to find your own kind of courage. If you truly love Joanne Alvarez, you can’t let her stay in that hellhole Hector’s made for her. She may feel trapped again now that he’s home, but it’s up to you to remind her that there’s a way out. Or barring that, you can always run the bastard out of town again.”

  She walked past the bar and into the kitchen, leaving her two sons sitting for a moment in brooding silence.

  Finally Logan turned to Dillon, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “She always does know everything, our ma.”

  * * * *

  Ginny leaned against the stone façade of the store next to Cuppa Joe, trying not to throw up. Her sister’s bakery was only a few steps away. All she had to do was get there. But her head was swimming, the senator’s words echoing in her head like some nightmarish litany. She’d made such a horrible mistake and now she was going to pay for it the rest of her life.

  Not because she was having a child. That part she’d come to see as a blessing. No, it was the senator that made it all so hellish. He stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. And if he wanted Ginny’s child, well he just might have the power and connections to pull it off.

  She summoned a deep breath, ignoring the tightness in her chest and the pain in her lower back. This was not the place to have a panic attack. Just a few more steps. But even as her feet started to obey, her gut clenched in agony.

  “Ginny.” Her brother’s voice reached her from what seemed to be a great distance, but she felt his hand on her elbow. “Hang on there, sis. We’re almost to Marisol’s.” He tightened his hold as Mallory came up, supporting her from the other side.

  Everything seemed to run together after that. Mallory and Luis propelled her forward, her little brother holding her tightly, giving her his strength. Then the cool air of Cuppa Joe hit her face and she instantly felt better, the familiar sounds and smells of Marisol’s bakery easing her pain. Her gut relaxed, and the senator’s voice was banished to some dark corner of her brain.

  Ian Briggs was there, lifting her with ease into his arms and carrying her over to the corner, away from the regulars sipping their late-morning coffee. Marisol hovered for a moment, her hand cool against Ginny’s forehead. Then she disappeared, Ian’s worried face swimming into view. It was nice to see him here. She’d seen the way he looked at Marisol. Like the sun rose and set around her. She tried to smile, but the effort cost too much. Logan had looked at her like that once upon a time.

  “Maybe it’s sunstroke,” Ian was saying. “It’s awfully hot for this time of year.”

  “Welcome to Texas, Ian.” Ginny heard Marisol laugh as she handed her a glass of iced herbal tea. “Here you go, sweetie. Drink this. It’ll help calm you down. And then you can tell us what’s wrong.”

  “Is it Logan?” Luis asked, his face scrunched up in anger. “If it is, I’ll break a few bones.”

  Laughter bubbled up in Ginny’s throat but didn’t actually make any sound. Still, it was funny to think of Luis trying to beat up Logan. Not that her brother was a wimp or anything, but Logan was a badass. A trained badass.

  She swallowed the passionfruit tea, the cool liquid soothing. “Not Logan.” Well, not completely anyway.

  “Then what?” Marisol asked, pushing a plate of snickerdoodles in front of her. Marisol believed any problem could be made better if she threw enough cookies at it.

  Ginny closed her eyes for a second, the senator’s threats coming back full center. She hated to burden her family, but then what else was family for? She knew they’d stand by her. And peripherally Mallory was family too, and hadn’t she just been hoping the same about Ian? Her gut clenched again, her back still aching.

  She blew out a breath and opened her eyes. “It was Senator Rush.” It seemed weird to be so formal. The guy had, in all probability, knocked her up. But Ginny realized she’d never really thought of him in any other way. How sick was that?

  “What about him?” Marisol asked, her voice tight with anger. Ian reached over to lay a soothing hand on her shoulder. Yup. The man had it bad.

  “He threatened me.” Ginny’s voice came out on a whisper, and she shuddered with the memory. “I think he was trying to get me to reconcile with him. Give him access to the baby.”

  “And you told him no,” Luis said, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression thunderous.

  “Of course I did. But that’s when he threatened me.” After another sip of tea and a wince from the pain in her gut, she told them everything the senator had said.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Ian said, anger glitt
ering from his eyes.

  “No.” Marisol shook her head. “This isn’t your battle.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” Again he reached out to touch her, and for a brief moment Marisol leaned into the touch.

  “No one is going to do anything.” The pain had let up a bit, the tea and the proximity of her family easing her panic. “We don’t even know if the baby is his.”

  “Ginny,” Marisol began, but Ginny cut her off.

  “I know the odds, Marisol. But I’m not giving up. And even if Little Bit turns out to be the senator’s, I’m not just going to hand him or her over. This is my child. And he or she belongs here with me.” Her gaze moved to encompass them all. “With us.”

  “And we’ll do everything in our power to make sure that happens,” Marisol said.

  “Damn right,” Ian echoed, with Luis and Mallory nodding behind him.

  Ginny felt the warmth of her family surround her and started to relax, but then the pain was back, stronger now, almost robbing her of breath. She leaned forward, clutching her belly.

  “So what do we do now?” Luis was asking.

  Marisol’s arms came around Ginny, holding her close. “We get Ginny to the hospital. I could be wrong, but I think that was a contraction.”

  Chapter 3

  Joanne Alvarez shot a look over her shoulder at the closed master bedroom door. No sign of activity. Hector was still asleep. He’d been up long enough to demand his breakfast, but then headed back to bed the minute the last of the eggs had slid down his throat.

  She’d finished the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. Everything looked spotless. Although she knew that wasn’t necessarily enough to placate her husband. Especially when he was angry and hung over, which was most of the time. Thankfully, Dakota was still sleeping, Mallory had left early, and Marcus was spending as little time at home as possible.

  She hated the idea that her son was angry with her, that he believed she succumbed to Hector’s rages out of fear. There was some truth to that, of course, but it was more than that. What she wanted more than anything in this lifetime was to protect her children. All three of them.

  Dakota might not incite Hector’s wrath as much as she and Marcus did, but he was doing his best to destroy her just the same. In some ways, she was the child most in danger. As long as Joanne kept Mallory safe and Marcus out of jail, the two of them would be fine. They’d both grown into wonderful people who had opportunities for real happiness. But Dakota. She wore her anger much like her father. And although Joanne knew there was a lonely, hurting girl inside, that part of her daughter was growing smaller and weaker every day.

  And as long as Hector ran roughshod over the family, there was every chance it would die out altogether. Joanne’s eyes welled with tears and she wondered how the hell she’d come to this point? Why one mistake had turned into such a complete and total nightmare. Hector had been so charming. So handsome. He’d swept Joanne off her feet.

  Oh, if she were honest, there had been signs. But she’d been young and stupid and Hector had been different. Exciting. Deadly. In the beginning, she’d thought she could change him. That loving him would make him whole. But there’d never been a chance for that. Hector wasn’t interested in changing. And he sure as heck didn’t love her.

  But by the time she’d figured that out, it was too late. She was married with a toddler and another baby on the way. Her lot in life set in stone. He’d isolated her from her friends and family. He’d stolen her confidence. Her joy. And her life had become an endless game of save the children.

  But then he’d gone away, and her life had been so much better. She’d pulled herself together. Had a glimpse of the woman she once was. The woman she was meant to be. But then, as if it were nothing but a cruel trick, Hector had jerked the rug out from under her again. She tried to tell herself that it was different. That her kids were older. Stronger. But she knew that if she tried to leave Hector, he’d take it out first on her and then on the people she loved.

  Marcus, Mallory, even Dakota. And definitely on Dillon.

  Dillon.

  Despite the fact that Hector slept only a short distance away, her mind moved to thoughts of Dillon. She was still angry at him, but her heart wanted what it wanted. And she’d wanted Dillon Murphy for a very long time. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to think for a minute about his kisses.

  Then she pushed the thoughts aside. There was no point in torturing herself over something she’d never have. Better to concentrate on her life as it was now. She straightened her skirt and checked her makeup in the hallway mirror. The cut on her lip was covered with lipstick and the bruise under her eye was almost concealed. The worst of her injuries were hidden by her clothes. And as long as she held her head high, there was a chance no one would notice.

  It would be easier to stay here and lay low until she’d healed, until she’d defused at least a little of Hector’s anger. But she wanted to talk to Tate. She needed to resign, but she wanted to do it in person. She knew he’d try to talk her out of it. But she simply couldn’t risk Hector doing anything to upset the campaign. Tate deserved better than that.

  All she had to do was nip down there before Hector woke up. Then on the way home, she’d stop by the grocery and tell him that’s where she’d been. She picked up her purse and pulled out her keys, smiled weakly at her reflection, and then started for the front door.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Hector snarled, his hand closing around her upper arm, fingers digging into her skin.

  She tried not to wince, but his grip was punishing.

  “Out. We need milk,” she whispered, trying to quell her roiling stomach.

  “I’ll get it. I don’t want you going anywhere,” he snarled. “Especially not dressed like that.” His bloodshot eyes moved from her lips to her breasts. “You look like a whore. Dillon Murphy’s whore.” His grip tightened as he raised his fist, his face turning red as his anger crested.

  Joanne closed her eyes, waiting for the blow.

  * * * *

  Payton Rush walked into the front hall of her sister’s house, surprised to see Celeste sitting at the dining room table with a cup of coffee and a stack of stationery. Her sister looked tired, but she was dressed and sober, which was definitely an improvement. She finished writing something and then looked up with a wan smile.

  “I would have come home sooner if I’d known you were going to be up and about.” Payton crossed the hall and walked into the room, taking a seat across from her sister, trying to sound cheerful.

  “I take it you stayed at Francine’s last night?” The question was offhand, clearly nothing more than conversation.

  “I did. And we had a lovely time,” Payton returned, not sure that she should be saying the words out loud. Celeste was so fragile, but sitting here at the table, writing letters, her sister seemed almost normal. Whatever in the world that meant. “What are you doing?”

  Celeste blew out a breath. “Writing thank you notes. So many people sent flowers and donations to honor Jacob. It’s past time that I acknowledged the fact.” She set her pen down. “In fact, it’s past time I did a lot of things. I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through these last months. You had enough on your plate without having your baby sister fall to pieces too.”

  “Oh, Celeste, sweetie, I can’t even imagine the pain you’ve been going through. If I’d lost Jeffry or Brittany, I’m not sure I could survive.”

  “You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, Payton. Look what you did for Jeffry. And for Brittany. You showed them what a powerful woman can do. You stood up to Sebastian. And you circled around your children when they needed you.”

  “Yes, but you’ve always done that. I was too locked into my own little corner of hell to see the damage Sebastian and Marylee’s skewed sense of morality was inflicting on my children. The truth is that you’ve been strong for years with a moment’s weakness. And I’ve spent my life being weak and have had only a m
oment of strength.”

  Celeste reached over for Payton’s hand. “The important thing is that we have each other. And our children.” Her smile turned sly. “And Francine.”

  “Oh, stop it. I don’t have her. I just am…well, we’re feeling our way.” Payton marveled at the fact that her sister had clued in to the newly minted relationship between her and Francine. Payton wasn’t totally certain she understood it yet herself.

  “Feeling being the operative word?” Celeste waggled her eyebrows, then sobered. “I’m happy for you. You deserve to have someone in your life who loves you for being you.”

  “So do you.” Payton couldn’t remember the last time she and Celeste had been so open and honest with each other. Tears touched her eyes. “So where do you go from here?”

  “I don’t really know. I’m going to take it minute by minute. Grief is a tricky thing. And I’m not going to pretend that I’m over it. I don’t know that I’ll ever get over losing Jacob. But I love my daughters and they need me now more than ever.”

  Payton paused, frowning as she realized what, or rather who, Celeste was omitting from their conversation. “What about Travis?”

  Celeste lifted her chin. “We’re getting divorced.”

  “Oh, Celeste, I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t surprised though. She’d known something was off with Travis. Been pretty sure he was having an affair, actually, though she hadn’t wanted to know for sure.

  “Don’t be. It’s long overdue. I actually had the papers drawn up before Jacob died.”

  She started to ask about the affair but then thought better of it. What if her sister didn’t know? There was no need to add to her pain. “You did?”

  “Yes.” Celeste met her sister’s gaze. “I knew about the affair, Payton.”

  Payton blew out a breath. “I wasn’t sure if you’d heard.”

  Celeste’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I think half the town knows. It’s next to impossible to keep a secret around here. Especially when Travis and Kristin are seen together all the time. They actually had the audacity to pass themselves off as a married couple at a resort in Bastrop.”