Legacy of Danger

by Jillian David

  "Well. Possibly. Time will tell." Damn, but the woman was direct.

  "What about Eric?" Kerr asked.

  "Similar but with a worse head injury with that skull fracture. I've been on the phone with neurosurgery in Casper several times in the past twenty-four hours."

  "And? Anything they can do to help?" Vaughn snapped. He wanted to take the words back the second they left his mouth. He didn't miss her flinch.

  "According to the specialist, no further treatment is needed right now. I redid the CT scan on Eric this morning, and the swelling is going down. He doesn't need surgery." She bit her lip. "I'm happy to transfer him to Casper if you'd feel more comfortable."

  "No!" Kerr sliced the air with his hand. "They both stay here."

  Vaughn's head snapped up.

  Kerr ran a hand through his orange hair, making it stand on end. "I meant that it's better for them to be close to family if possible."

  Mariah exhaled. "All right then, I'll stay in touch with the neurosurgeon and we'll continue to care for them here. Our orthopedist will come in later today to check on Shelby." She walked to the sink and washed her hands, then turned back. "I'll be on call through tomorrow morning. If anything changes, we'll let you know." She didn't mention the Hungry Moose date. Of course not.

  Vaughn watched her retreating back, all the while feeling like a dog watching his favorite toy leave the room.

  "Dude. You need a bib for that drool?" Kerr grinned and made a kissing face.

  "It's not like that. Besides, she's the..."

  He inspected his nails. "Cute doctor who saved Shelby and Eric's life?"

  "Maybe," he mumbled.

  "Someone you'd like to perform a physical on you one day?"

  "Damn it. No." He rubbed his chin. "Doesn't matter." And that was a problem, wasn't it?

  The real problem had nothing to do with Mariah at all. It had to do with the fact that Vaughn had no business even thinking about a relationship with anyone. Not after what he'd done. And certainly not when he planned to stay in Copper River for as short a period of time as possible. Once things were back to normal with his family, he had a life to continue elsewhere.

  He had cut ties, started over, and created the life he'd always dreamed of.

  Right?

  His head snapped up as Kerr groaned and walked around the foot of the bed. He stretched out his back and picked up his feet. No, foot. With a tired slump to his shoulders and a halfhearted wave, Kerr left, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Vaughn sat his sorry ass down into the uncomfortable chair and rested his hand on Shelby's slack arm as his daytime shift at her bedside began.

  Chapter 6

  Vaughn went ramrod straight in the chair as Garrison stomped into Shelby's hospital room that evening. They still had unfinished, unpleasant business to discuss. There was the status of the ranch, the supernatural creature stalking their family, the feud with the Brands, Shelby and Eric's uncertain health, Dad's stroke, and, of course, the 800-pound gorilla: Vaughn's fuckup.

  "Any change?" The lines on his brother's face had deepened since last fall.

  "No. Stable. It's a waiting game now." He tried to meet Garrison's narrowed glare but couldn't.

  Garrison laid his hat on a rolling bedside table. "Well. Take off, then." The way he said it sounded like taking off was Vaughn's forte. He wasn't wrong.

  He pushed to his feet to meet his brother eye to eye. "Garrison. I need to explain about your wife."

  "Ex-wife," he spat.

  "Okay." Sweat collected on his lower back, making the fabric stick. "Look, I need to take responsibility for my part in what happened last year."

  "Not necessary." Garrison's words came out low. Controlled. It would be easier if he'd just yell and get it over with.

  "Yes, it is. I screwed it all up for you, man. Your marriage. Everything." Damn it, Vaughn was the oldest. Supposed to be the rock. Instead, he'd been a betraying lush who went terra incognita.

  "Not all of it." The smile barely creased Garrison's tight mouth.

  "Huh?"

  "Tiffani had checked out of our marriage long before she started making passes at you."

  Vaughn's jaw dropped. "You knew? Back then?"

  "Suspected. As it turns out, she'd had several extracurricular activities."

  "No way." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in the silence. Scuffed the vinyl floor with a boot.

  "You weren't the only one she..." Garrison muttered.

  Vaughn shook his head. "Not sure if that makes me feel any better."

  "It shouldn't. And I hope you're haunted by what happened. I hope it motivates you to... be better or some crap like that." Garrison crossed his arms with a creak of material, not bothering to take off the shearling leather jacket. He planted his legs like he wanted to tackle Vaughn.

  Carrying out an uncomfortable conversation wasn't easy for the best of communicators. But for two dudes like he and Garrison? Wasn't pretty. But by God, Vaughn would keep going, even if it hurt.

  "Every day I think about what happened." Vaughn sucked in a lungful of air. "If it makes you feel any better, I was drunk when it happened. With Tiffani."

  "No, it does not make me feel any better."

  "Right."

  Garrison rubbed the back of his neck. "There's more. She was involved with Hank Brand shortly after you left."

  "That asshole? Talk about fucked up." Vaughn clamped his mouth shut for a solid ten seconds in case he said something else stupid. "Sorry."

  His brother's lips twisted. "You have no idea. Then she sent me divorce papers, threatened to take Zach if I didn't sign, drained the bank accounts, and disappeared. Turns out she left Hank, went to Salt Lake City, got mixed up with some sketchy folks and ended up dead."

  "Shit. I'm really sorry."

  "I've dealt with it." The negligent wave didn't match Garrison's haunted expression. "In retrospect, she was unhappy for years. Unhappy with me, with being tied down to the small town, and probably unhappy with herself."

  "Wow." He rubbed his chin with the heel of his hand and tried not to fidget. "Still doesn't excuse that I didn't stop her advances."

  Garrison dropped his hands to his sides. "No, it does not excuse what happened." Vaughn had to strain to hear his low voice. "I would have hoped for more from you."

  Yeah. Time to come clean. Might be the end of his relationship with his brother. Hell, how much worse could it get? But he had to tell the entire story. "She'd tracked me down a few times in the barn, making suggestive comments. Little touches that were not consistent with sister-in-law." When he gulped, it was like swallowing glass shards. "One night, you were down in Rawlings working cattle sales. I'd been drinking, as usual. When I woke up, she was in my bed. Naked."

  "Son of a bitch."

  "It looked like we'd been... yeah." He paced in the too-small room, a comatose sister serving as second witness to his confession. "I don't remember any of it. I still can't believe that I did anything. With her. But I just don't know. She had taken pictures of us in bed together. Told me she'd use those pictures to break you and little Zach. Shit, it's my word against a dead woman's. But I think it was staged." His tongue tingled with the desire for something liquid and high proof to roll down his throat. "You don't have to speak to me again. You can punch me out cold, if it will help. But, God's honest truth, that's what I think happened."

  Garrison sank into the vacated bedside chair and rested his elbows on his knees. "Damn."

  "Yes. And no, I didn't encourage any of it. I might have been a drunken idiot, but I didn't lead her on. I swear."

  His brother remained silent for the longest minute of Vaughn's miserable life.

  "Do you still drink?"

  "Nothing for over a year now. Not that I don't want it every single day."

  Garrison flicked invisible dirt from his denim. "So you up and left. Because you were too chickenshit to deal with what had happened. Without explaining anything to us. To me."

&
nbsp; "Figured it was better to cut myself off from this family than hurt it more. I'm sorry."

  "Well, your leaving hurt us." Garrison's grim and lost expression when glanced up would haunt Vaughn for a long time.

  "Damn it."

  "I need time to deal with this new information, on top of the normal piles of crap waiting for me back at the ranch."

  "I'm sor—"

  "Stop saying that."

  "Got it."

  He shoved back to his feet and paced. "It's going to take a long time for me to trust you, man."

  "I know. And I need to earn that trust back. I get it."

  He welcomed Garrison's dude-hug and fist on the back like he'd been starved for this moment.

  Vaughn went boneless as adrenaline seeped out of him. He wasn't innocent. Garrison wasn't over what had happened. But they were on the right path.

  After more than a year of self-imposed exile, damn, it felt good to be at peace with his brother.

  Long may it last.

  * * *

  After he left the hospital, Vaughn headed to his old gym, Bar None MMA, in Rock Springs, Wyoming. The ninety-minute drive in Kerr's truck did little to clarify his churning thoughts.

  But once he went through a killer workout, those stress levels dropped. Sure took the edge off the hooch cravings. After an hour of beating up inanimate objects, he paced circles on the mats, cooling down.

  "Man, you're cut," said one of the guys who had high-fived him when he entered.

  "Good to see you, too, Marcus. Still fighting at lightweight?"

  The wiry guy grinned. "Moved down to the featherweight trenches, 145 pounds or bust. I have a fight next weekend at the Owl Creek Casino in Lander. You want to come along?"

  "Sure love to, but it depends on stuff going on back at the home front."

  As the seven o'clock session got started, a few other acquaintances wandered over and shook hands or slapped Vaughn on the back. The gym. Hell, he loved the easy camaraderie. Like he had never left.

  Strike that. It was better than before he'd left. At least now, every workout session didn't involve spending the first hour sobering up.

  "Where have you been?" One of the older fighters and gym owner, Earl, crossed his zero-body-fat arms. "Heard you're all uppity now. Big-shot city guy, fighting in the concrete jungle. Too good for the common fighters out here in the boonies?"

  "It's not like that at all. I had to leave town for a while."

  He sized Vaughn up. "How long are you back?"

  "No idea. A week, maybe more."

  "You stay fight ready?" Earl nudged one of the other men, and they snickered.

  What gave? "Sure, why?"

  "Want to take a fight on short notice up in Lander?"

  A surge of adrenaline made Vaughn's heart thud. He hadn't fought on the local circuit for several years. Being in jail repeatedly put a cramp in his training regimen and fight appearances back in the day. But now, with the opportunity to pound the crap out of a real live human being? Hell, yeah. He'd take that fight any day of the week ending in the letter Y.

  Vaughn's power to avoid danger buzzed. "Depends. What weight?"

  "Light heavyweight." Earl pinched Vaughn's nonexistent love handle. "You're soft, like butter. Can you make 205 by this weekend?"

  Fifteen pounds in five days? Wouldn't be a problem. "Sure. Who am I fighting?"

  "Looks like you'll fight Lincoln McDowell, the regional champ."

  "Linc."

  "You know him?" Earl asked.

  The opportunity to flatten that asshole's face almost gave Vaughn a hard-on. "Yeah, we've fought before. Many years ago. He's a dirty bastard." Split decision in Linc's favor. One of the few fights Vaughn had lost. But call a spade a spade: Vaughn didn't do himself any favors by rehydrating with Jim Beam after weigh-in. If he almost beat the guy while sloshed, imagine what he could do sober.

  His hands curled into eager fists.

  The owner grinned. "That's why you two would be a match made in heaven."

  "Why doesn't Linc have a bout lined up?"

  "His opponent got injured last week and had to pull out of the fight. Angelo Martinez, the fight promoter, would give anything to keep that card filled. If I send him a replacement, he'll be more willing to put my gym's guys on fight cards in the future."

  "Are you certain of the fight?" Angelo was the shrewd promoter for most of Wyoming. The guy worked hard to elevate fighters to the next level of MMA. He worked even harder to make bank on every event, too.

  "No. This is secondhand information. But I'll tell Mr. Martinez to call you ASAP. I bet he'd be very interested."

  "Fair enough." He shook Earl's hand. "Well, I have work to do. Can I take a bag home for the week?" He motioned to one of the Everlast punching bags hanging by a chain.

  "Don't see why not." Two of the men took the bag down and left to stow it in the back of the truck. "You also want something for ground and pound work?"

  "Yeah. Give me the heaviest grappling dummy you can spare. I'm going to need it. Hey, maybe I'll see you guys this weekend in Lander."

  Marcus hollered, "Hey, pansy, make sure you bring your A game. Linc's gotten better over the past few years. That bastard is scary as shit."

  "Understood." Throwing on a sweatshirt, Vaughn pushed through the front door and into the bracing night air.

  No more snacks for the next week, then. So be it. He curled his fingers around the steering wheel as a smile pushed the edges of his face. A live fight. This trip back to Wyoming was turning out to be therapeutic as hell.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning's rounds had Mariah up bright and early.

  Well, at least early.

  She cradled her cup of sanity like it was priceless crystal as she shuffled to the nurses' station. No one was going to deprive her of her drug of choice this morning. She rolled her shoulders. Thank God for low census in the hospital. She had only seven patients to round on, then she was off to brunch with a certain guy who made her uterus quiver.

  A woman in flower-patterned scrubs strolled over.

  With reluctance, Mariah set down the cup. "Good morning, Amber. Any changes with Ms. Taggart and Mr. Patterson?"

  "Ms. Taggart woke up a little while ago."

  "As in, awake-awake?" The unspoken question of mental status hung heavy in the air between them.

  "Alert and oriented." The nurse looked at the floor then back up, triggering a sinking sensation in Mariah's stomach.

  "But what?"

  "Her vision is gone. Can't tell when the light is on. No sight at all."

  "Oh, wow." Mariah racked her brain for stroke syndromes and head injury complications causing isolated blindness. Occipital lobe injury? Funny, the CT scan didn't show any abnormalities in the woman's brain. "Okay. I'll check on her. How about Mr. Patterson?"

  "Still in a coma. No change."

  "That's the damndest thing. I'll give the neuro guys in Casper another call to see if there's anything else we can do. Thanks." After a sip of the coffee, she trudged down to Shelby Taggart's room.

  Before opening the door, she peeked through the narrow slit of glass. Sure enough, Shelby's eyes were open. Even though her patient's head was turned in the direction of her twin brother, Kerr, the unfocused gaze supported her nurse's assessment.

  Mariah rested her hand on the door, but her muscles refused to work. The intense bond between brother and sister was obvious as he patted Shelby's shoulder and talked to her. A painful vice sensation developed around Mariah's ribcage.

  Damn, she missed Kevin. Sure, Mariah and her brother chatted or texted a few times every week, but it didn't take the place of being near each other. They'd stuck together despite injury, struggles, and parents who had all but abandoned them. They had been each other's biggest cheerleader, the person each could call in their deepest funk. She and Kevin had escaped that awful situation together, years ago. Something no kid should ever have to deal with.

  So, no question, Mariah knew all about t
he bond between brother and sister.

  Sliding her hand off the door handle, she backed away.

  She'd evaluate Mr. Patterson first. She brushed a hand over her eyelids.

  Must be some pieces of lint irritating her eyes.

  * * *

  Copper River's famous Hungry Moose diner was nearly empty in the post-breakfast, pre-lunch lull on this cold weekday in December. After checking with Kerr to make sure Shelby was still awake and improving, Vaughn had decided that it would be okay keep his appointment with Mariah. Then he'd take a shift at the hospital, sitting with Shelby. His sister was awake. Thank God.

  Vaughn took off his leather coat and adjusted his neatly tucked thermal shirt once more.

  He checked the parking lot for the tenth time in the past three minutes. Not that he cared if Mariah showed or not. Might be better if she canceled.

  As his growling stomach attested, having a meal date while trying to make weight was one of the more boneheaded decisions he'd ever made. The aroma of bacon and hash browns? Torture.

  A prickling sensation at the back of his head signaled his weird radar awakening.

  Ah, speaking of torture.

  He gritted his teeth as he mentally unfurled the control he had over his ability, trying to ignore the headache that came with it. The compulsion to make sure Mariah was safe overrode all other instincts when he got close to her.

  She pulled up in a black Mini Cooper, complete with little racing stripes. Seriously, who drove a car like that in this town? It looked like a toy parked next to his ranch truck. Then she hopped out of her car without any difficulty, and he understood why she had such a ridiculous ride. That tiny car fit her to a T.

  He snorted, then froze in place.

  A shadow flitted behind her car. A glint of ember red shone within the darkness of the shadow.

  His headache spiked.

  As she glanced up toward the diner, she pitched forward and her foot slid on the ice.

  His power surged, and he jumped in her direction, nearly traveling through the glass storefront. At the last minute, he rested a fist on the window and sucked in air until the urge passed. She hung onto his truck handle but didn't hit the ground. He checked again. No shadow visible. Head aching, he vibrated in place but managed to stay put. What the actual hell was going on with his ability?