Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel

by Lisa Bingham

  “I know, honey,” Bronte said with a sigh, sweeping strands of wet hair from Lily’s cheeks. “It’s my fault. All my fault.”

  Taking Lily’s hand, Bronte managed a whispered explanation to Steff! who directed them to a large handicapped restroom in the hall. Once there, Bronte helped her daughter strip off her wet clothes. Within seconds, there was a tap on the door, and Steff! handed Bronte a small bar of soap, a clean towel and washcloth, a bag for Lily’s soiled clothes, and a child-sized hospital gown.

  As Bronte soaped and rinsed her daughter’s lithe form, memories of Lily as a toddler came crashing back—bubble baths and afternoons at the pool, bedtime and potty training. How many times had she run a washcloth over her daughter’s body, wiping her clean of the day’s adventures so that she could climb into bed smelling of soap and baby shampoo?

  While Lily shivered in the cold hospital bathroom, mortified and miserable, Bronte felt a fleeting instant of peace in the familiar routine. For an instant, she remembered that what was truly important was the well-being of her children. As long as they were safe and warm and fed, she could withstand almost anything.

  Bronte helped Lily slip into the hospital gown, wrapping it as tightly as she could around her. Then she drew her daughter close, hugging her, hoping that her trembling would ease as she absorbed the warmth of her body.

  “No harm done,” she whispered.

  “But—”

  “Shh.” She stroked her hair, rocking her ever so slightly. “It was my fault. All my fault.”

  She should have remembered that Lily had said she needed to use the bathroom. She should have listened when Lily had tried to talk to her. Lily’s shyness had grown almost paralyzing over the past year—to the point where she would rather die than talk to a stranger. And Kari …

  Well, she couldn’t blame Kari for inattentiveness when Bronte had cavalierly displayed it herself.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, pumpkin. As soon as we get back home, we’ll climb into bed. Come morning, everything will be better. It always is.”

  But the words sounded empty, even to Bronte.

  “Is Gramma Great’s our home now?” Lily asked, her voice barely a whisper—and Bronte instinctively knew that there were layers of meaning beneath Lily’s question. As much as Bronte might have tried to shield her children and obscure the true motives for their flight beneath the guise of fun, her dear, sweet, darling Lily had sensed the undercurrents of tension like a dowser finding water. With Kari, she might have prevaricated. But she sensed that Lily wanted—needed—the gift of truth.

  “I don’t know, sweetie. I think, at least for now, we’ll stay here. Gramma Great will need our help once she gets out of the hospital—and I think you’ll like it here.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought that the tense line of Lily’s shoulders eased.

  “Would that be okay?” Again, Bronte offered her daughter a choice, knowing that, like Bronte, Lily needed at least the illusion of control.

  She was rewarded with an eager nod and a quick, gamin smile, and Bronte’s heart flip-flopped in her chest like a grounded fish. If her children only knew how completely they held her heart in their palms, merely by being happy.

  She gathered Lily’s things, stuffing clothes and shoes into the bag. She was taking Lily’s hand when there was another soft tap on the door.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Steff! was beginning to grow on Bronte. Especially when Bronte opened the door to find the nurse bearing a soft fleecy blanket. “Look what one of my friends found for you in pediatrics,” the woman said, patting the furry fabric. “The minute she saw it, she knew it was meant to go to you.”

  “Why?” Lily asked in a barely audible whisper.

  “Well, she heard your name was Lily. Is that right?”

  Lily nodded.

  “Then this is definitely yours.” Steff! shook it open.

  It was a simple blanket, probably one of hundreds made by a ladies’ civics group or a local 4-H club. A single layer of fleece had been fringed at the edges and tied into decorative knots. But the bright blue fabric was covered with dozens of fat cartoon frogs basking on flowering lily pads.

  “I think that a blanket covered in lily pads should belong to a girl named Lily, don’t you?”

  This time, there was nothing shy about her daughter’s grin. She accepted the gift with a sigh of delight, rubbing the soft fabric against her cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, honey. But you know what this means, don’t you?”

  Lily shook her head.

  “You should never accept a gift from a stranger, so we’d better not be strangers anymore.” She held out her hand. “I’m Stephanie Sato, but everyone around here calls me Steff, so you be sure to do the same.”

  Lily shook the woman’s hand and nodded, then Steff helped her wrap the blanket around Lily’s body for warmth.

  “All done here?” The deep voice interrupted the introductions.

  Bronte wasn’t sure how, but she’d all but forgotten about Jace Taggart. When he loomed beside her, tall and broad and male, she grew tongue-tied and self-conscious.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.” She turned to Steff. “Will someone call? If there’s a change?”

  “Of course.”

  Bronte reached into her bag, digging around the flotsam of tissues, packets of moist towelettes, hand cream, sunblock, and fruit snacks that had slowly edged out the quaint bottles of perfume, embroidered handkerchiefs, designer lipsticks, and manicure supplies that had graced her pocketbook before she’d given birth. Toward the bottom, she found a scrap of paper—a receipt from a McDonald’s in Cheyenne—and a pen. She scribbled her contact information and handed it to Steff.

  “That’s my cell phone if you need it.”

  “I’ll clip it to Mrs. Ellis’s chart.” She waved to Bronte’s daughter. “Bye, Lily.”

  Motioning to Kari, Bronte trailed Jace into the hall. Lily ran ahead, pushing the button to the elevator while Kari followed, her eyes still glued to her iPod and her thumbs frantically moving across the screen, sending one final text before she lost the Wi-Fi signal.

  As they waited for the doors to open, Bronte turned to Jace. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for us tonight.”

  “Glad to help,” he said, unconsciously slapping his hat against his thigh. “Annie is a good friend.”

  The doors slid open with a soft ping. After they’d stepped inside, Jace leaned against the railing, idly watching the lights march toward the ground floor.

  “While you were in the ICU unit, I stepped out to make a couple of calls,” he said, his voice rumbling in the close confines. “One of my hired hands is a decent mechanic, so I had him drop by Annie’s and check your van. He thinks the battery is to blame. You’ve been leaking acid. Tyson will pick up a new one at the auto parts store when it opens in the morning. He should be there after nine to install it. If that’s your only problem, it will save you an expensive trip to the shop.”

  The elevator opened, but her feet were rooted to the floor. She was stunned that a man she’d barely met had taken her so completely under his wing. “I … Thank you.”

  The girls ran ahead of them to the revolving front entrance to the hospital. Lily shuffled Morticia-like against the tight stricture of her blanket, and too late, Bronte realized she was about to run outside barefoot.

  Lily seemed to discover the same thing, because she came to a halt, stopping the revolving door in the process. Kari, who was trapped in one of the sections behind her, banged on the glass shouting, “Why did you stop, you little creep!”

  Jace sidestepped the revolving door, using one of the side exits. Swinging Lily into his arms, he said something to her that made Lily smile and released Kari from her momentary prison.

  The rain had eased while they’d been inside, becoming a fine mist. Yards away from the truck, Jace touched a button on his key fob and
the vehicle rumbled to life. By the time they climbed inside, the interior was warm and filled with a heavenly aroma. On the center console, there was a beverage holder with four cups and a stack of food containers.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but it’s been a while since I’ve eaten, so I got enough for everyone. There’s hot chocolate for the kids, coffee or chamomile tea for us. There’s also steak fingers and gravy for a snack, if you’re hungry.”

  Steak fingers and gravy?

  Before Bronte could warn Jace about the dangers of having kids and gravy in the same vehicle, her girls reached for the containers.

  Jace seemed to read her mind. “Don’t worry. It’s a ranch truck. They can’t do anything to hurt it.”

  Bronte seriously doubted that statement. She turned to offer a warning to the backseat. But when she found her girls talking and giggling with one another as they dunked bite-sized pieces of chicken-fried steak into white gravy, she turned to Jace instead. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She reached for the container of tea, gravitating toward the familiar, soothing scent of chamomile. It didn’t escape her that, despite his insistence that he’d bought the food to ease his own hunger, he didn’t sample anything but the coffee. The fact that he’d given Bronte and her kids a way to save face in accepting the food was infinitely touching.

  Bronte hadn’t planned on eating anything herself, but when her children insisted that she try the steak fingers, she realized why her girls had wolfed them down. After miles and miles of traveling interspersed with fast-food hamburgers, pizzas, and sandwiches, the steak fingers and gravy offered a hint of a home-cooked meal.

  More than ever, Bronte prayed their journey was over. She and her children needed to stop living out of a suitcase. They needed fresh air and sunshine, regular meals, and a daily routine. They needed …

  Peace.

  As if sensing her tumultuous thoughts, Jace didn’t bother to try to engage her in casual conversation. He lapsed into silence, his fingers tapping against the wheel in time to the country ballads easing from his radio. Yet, there was no tension to the silence. Instead, it wove around her, soothing her nerves, allowing her to sip her tea, breathe deeply, and let the knotted muscles in her shoulders unwind.

  “Long day?” Jace murmured.

  Bronte glanced at her children, but for once, they were getting along as they played a game on Kari’s iPod.

  “Yeah.” The word held a wealth of meaning. Long day, long month, long year.

  Her gaze skipped to the clock on the dashboard and she was amazed to find that it was only seven in the evening. She was sure it would have been closer to midnight. But then, she’d driven through several time zones.

  “When did you leave Boston?”

  She squinched her eyes shut, trying to count backward. “Uh … six days ago?”

  He whistled softly. “You must have driven straight through.”

  She nodded, her eyes opening in time to see the concern in Jace’s.

  “That’s a tough haul, especially without a relief driver.”

  Tears prickled at the backs of her eyes at the memory of the fear and desperation that had forced her to flee. As if sensing a portion of her emotions, Jace took her hand.

  The gesture was so unexpected—so warm, so comforting—that Bronte caught her breath. When he squeezed slightly, as if offering her silent encouragement, the memories faded beneath something closer to wonder.

  When was the last time anyone had taken her hand and offered her encouragement—all without being asked to do so? For so long, it had been Phillip who’d received all of the attention and well wishes of the few friends who hadn’t abandoned them. Bronte couldn’t really blame them, since most of them had known Phillip for much longer than they’d known her. But Bronte had been hurt when these “friends” had begun to treat her as if she were part of the problem, rather than the only person fighting for a solution to their marital woes.

  Jace’s thumb strayed to caress the back of her hand before he seemed aware of what he’d been doing. To his credit, he didn’t immediately release her.

  “You must be exhausted.”

  Her laughter was rueful. “You have no idea.”

  “Well, you’re here now. So take it easy the first few days.”

  Take it easy. Bronte wasn’t sure she knew what that meant any more. For years, she’d been working double jobs—one at a coffee shop and another transcribing handwritten research notes for a local professor and typing them on a computer. In order to make sure her girls didn’t feel that they were being ignored, she tried to complete most of the transcribing after they’d gone to bed, working into the wee hours of the morning.

  She wasn’t quite sure how either of those occupations would help her find employment here in Bliss. Work was probably limited in such a small town. And even though there were only six weeks left of the school year, it was important that she get her kids enrolled as soon as possible so they could make friends before summer vacation. Then …

  Jace squeezed her hand again.

  “You look like your brain is going to explode.”

  A rueful laugh burst free. “It might. I thought that once I arrived at Annie’s, I could take a few days to get accustomed to the area.”

  “You can still do that.”

  She opened her mouth to argue with him, then simply shook her head, realizing that she didn’t want this man to know how desperate her situation was.

  Jace glanced at her again, seeming to invite her to confide in him, but she offered him the same plastic smile she’d perfected over the years to hide her true feelings. She’d learned long ago that she was alone in her struggles. Although help might have been offered by Phillip’s friends, they hadn’t really wanted her to accept.

  But she could tell that Jace saw through the subterfuge because the smile he threw her in return was openly amused. “Give it a try, okay?”

  He released her then, subtly, when he made the left-hand turn back into Bliss. Immediately, her gaze fell to the long, slender fingers gripping the wheel, even as the warmth of his touch continued to soak into her skin like a phantom caress.

  Again, she was struck by the way a man she’d known for only a few hours already knew more about her situation and her emotions than most of the people she interacted with at home.

  No. Not “home.” Boston wasn’t “home” anymore.

  “Thanks,” she said softly. “I’ll do that.”

  FOUR

  BY the time they arrived at Annie’s home, both of her children were asleep. Without being asked—not that Bronte would have the chutzpah to do so—Jace gathered Lily in his arms and carried her into the house. Bronte was startled when he walked right in, but then she remembered that Annie never locked her doors. She probably wouldn’t know where to find a key after all these years.

  It took several minutes for her to wake Kari enough for the teenager to stumble into the house. Bronte tried to guide her upstairs, but Kari veered into the living room and dropped onto the couch, pulling a folded afghan around her body. Bronte left her there and stumbled back into the entryway.

  Jace’s boots clattered on the steep treads. “I put Lily in Annie’s room,” he said with a hitch of his thumb in that direction. “Do you need help bringing anything in from your van?”

  She shook her head, slightly flustered. Here in the cramped confines of the hall, she became even more aware of his height, the width of his shoulders in his jacket, and the button-down shirt that hinted at a hard, flat waist and well-defined musculature. His shirt had been tucked into jeans that were butter soft, and the narrowness of his hips was emphasized by a leather belt with an oval silver buckle.

  For several long minutes, her gaze hung there, focusing on the gold-tinted figure of a horse and rider. Inexplicably, a fluttering began low in her belly—a tingling of awareness that she hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. It spread through her body, branching out until it reached the tips of her fingers
, so that they twitched with the need to—

  What? Reach out and touch a stranger?

  Her cheeks flamed and her gaze shot up to tangle with Jace’s. Unable to look away, she watched a montage of emotions march across his face—curiosity, confusion, then a recognition of her need. But when she saw the first spark of interest flare up in his eyes, she took a step backward, folding her arms protectively across her chest.

  But that was a mistake as well. Even though she refused to look at him, she could feel his regard shift to her breasts, and that fact alone—that for the first time in years, a man was staring at her chest—caused her nipples to immediately respond.

  Damnit. He’d asked her a question. She should answer. Now. So that he didn’t feel the need to stay any longer.

  But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what he’d asked. Worse yet, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to leave. Not yet. This man—this stranger—exuded warmth and strength and safety. In a single evening, he’d come to her aid, reassured her children, kept them warm and dry, and filled their stomachs, all without being asked.

  “Thank you, Jace.” The words emerged with a huskiness she hadn’t intended but that she wouldn’t have changed. Jace Taggart would never realize how close she’d come to the brink. She honestly didn’t know what she would have done without his intervention—probably spent the evening worrying about her grandmother and cursing her own inadequacies. By shouldering some of the burden, however inadvertently, Jace had given her a chance to gather her dwindling strength and return to the fight.

  His smile was slow and crooked and filled with hidden undercurrents that hadn’t been there before. Lordy, lordy, what it did to her knees.

  “My pleasure.” He gestured to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help with your luggage?”

  Sheesh. That was the question he’d asked her earlier.

  She quickly shook her head. “I’ll go out in a few minutes and grab my overnight bag. Since the girls are already asleep, I’ll have them get their gear in the morning.”