Storm's Interlude

by Vonnie Davis

  “You’ll make a good father one day.”

  Storm shrugged. “Not since I’ve broken things off with Pilar.” A jab of painful regret aimed straight for his gut. He still cared for her to a degree, even though he couldn’t handle her tirades and cheating. “Besides, she didn’t want to have children. She was afraid it would spoil her figure.”

  “Hunh! How can you spoil the shape of a nasty stick?”

  “Let’s not argue over my ex-fiancée…again. I believe the topic of our conversation was this new nurse of Sunny’s.” Noella had never made her feelings toward Pilar a secret. She thought Pilar was spoiled and self-consumed. Too bad it had taken him so long to see it himself.

  “Rachel will be good for all of us. You’ll see.” She favored him with a smile and a pat on his cheek.

  “I doubt she’ll be good for me.” Then, just as he’d done since he was young, he gave her a hug and a kiss. “Good night, Momma Noella. Sleep well.”

  Chapter Three

  Rachel was in yellow cotton pajamas, combing out her wet hair when she remembered Grace’s envelope. She tore it open and sat on the desk chair to read it.

  Hi Rach,

  Bad news, I’m afraid. Kyle broke your dining room window to get inside your house. I reported it to the police, who dusted all over for fingerprints—including the commode lid the idiot left up. They got a little pissy with me when I refused to tell them where you were, but I was being honest since I knew you were traveling.

  Kyle tossed everything from your desk, no doubt looking for clues to where you’d gone. Good thing you’d put all your important papers in a lockbox at the train station, where only I can get to them. I’m sorry to tell you, he broke your Grandma Emma’s blue vase and matching bowls you loved so much and slashed your favorite chair with a knife. That’s how I know it was Kyle in one of his rages.

  Text me when you get to the ranch and read this. Love you.

  Grace

  Rachel’s heart sank. Oh, Kyle, when will you leave me alone and move on to someone else? She tugged her cell phone from her purse and sent Grace a text telling her she was safely at the ranch. She asked if Grace had the window replaced and how much Rachel owed her. Laying her cell on her nightstand, she scooped up her comb to finish untangling her hair. There was a soft knock at her door.

  Comb in hand, she opened the door and came face-to-face with her new patient, Sunny Abbot. As expected, she was bald, thin and pale, but her wide smile beamed her inner warmth and beauty. Her dark eyes, now devoid of lashes, held what appeared to be pain and dread.

  Sunny took Rachel’s hands and squeezed them. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. I know it’s late, but I wanted to welcome you to the Triple-S.” She strolled into the room. “Did you find everything you needed?”

  “Yes, thank you. You have a lovely home.”

  “It’s a tomb.” Sunny shoved her hands into the pockets of the white terrycloth robe that nearly swallowed her and shrugged. “Sorry. Don’t mind me. I’m in a mood tonight. I think that’s why Sawyer couldn’t relax enough to go to sleep.”

  “Children sense our moods. I’m sure with you being sick, he’s become more intuitive.”

  “Yes, and it breaks my heart to put him through this.” Her thin hand fluttered to her scalp. “Having a bald mother has to be scary for him.”

  Rachel placed a hand on Sunny’s arm. “When you hug him and whisper words of love, do you think he cares you’re bald?”

  Sunny shrugged and swiped at a falling tear.

  “So tell me, why did you call this house a tomb?” She meant to get to the bottom of Sunny’s negative remark.

  Her patient started roaming around the room. “Because everyone in this house whispers now, as if my diseased body can’t handle normal noise.” Pulling back one of the white drapes, Sunny gave a quick glance to the darkness of the night. “It’s so damned quiet here that I almost welcome Sawyer’s tantrums.” She smiled and tilted her head. “Almost.

  “This was my room growing up. I was pregnant with Sawyer when I moved back here, so I took the suite of rooms across the hall since it had a nursery on the other side of the bathroom.” Sunny pulled the drapery back again and looked out. “I used to climb out this window onto the branch of that big ol’ live oak and shimmy down to meet Jackson, my childhood sweetheart.”

  She turned to Rachel and smiled. “Oh, the antics we used to pull. My daddy threatened to tan my hide many a time, but he was more bark than bite, especially with me. My brother’s just like Daddy in that regard. He explodes and simmers, but he’s harmless. Don’t let his bluster intimidate you.”

  “I won’t. I’m a nurse, remember? I’m used to male doctors flexing their egos.”

  Sunny laughed. “Fewer men have egos as big as my brother. He thinks he can boss everyone around. Still, for all that, he’s a loving man. I depend on him more than I should, I suppose, but he’s one of the few men in my life who’s never let me down. Although he can be a bit of a tyrant. ‘Rest,’ he commands. ‘Keep the house quiet for Sunny,’ he orders.”

  Sunny turned and strode to the love seat, picked up a yellow and pink-striped throw pillow and fluffed it before flinging it back onto the love seat. “I swear the quiet in this house will drive me batty. Noella won’t even play her mariachi music anymore. I grew up dancing and stomping to that lively beat.” A harsh bark of laughter escaped Sunny’s lungs. “She’s even taken to tiptoeing through the house. Can you believe it?”

  Well, Rachel’s first order of business was certainly evident. She’d dispel the tomb image tomorrow. No matter what this brother and the housekeeper said, she’d fill the house with music and laughter.

  “They’re all natural responses when you don’t know what to do or how to handle a situation. I gather Noella loves you very much.” She was pleased to see a show of spirit. If Sunny could complain, she could fight.

  “Yes, Noella raised my brother and me, especially after Mother left. Storm and I were loud, rambunctious twins, and Mother was too high-strung to put up with us. Thank God we had Daddy. He was the best.”

  “Mine was, too.” A stab of pain pricked her heart. Thinking of her father, who’d died a year ago, still brought sadness. “I’m sure your mother’s leaving was hard on you.”

  “It was hardest on my brother, I think. He had nightmares for a long time afterward.”

  “How old were you when she left?”

  “Five.” Sunny fussed with the daisies and pulled one out of the vase to smell it, twirling it in her hand. “I barely remember her. My only image is of her being all dressed up, hurrying out the door and blowing us kisses. She spent a lot of time elsewhere.” She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “My fear is I’ll leave my son before he’s old enough to form lasting memories of me. Will Sawyer suffer the way Storm did, I wonder?”

  Rachel’s heart twisted at Sunny’s words. She had to do all she could to help Sunny. “Then we have to work doubly hard to see that doesn’t happen.”

  Sunny swiped at a tear and nodded. “You’ll meet my brother, Storm, tomorrow. He runs the ranch.”

  “How is he handling your illness?”

  “Not well. Everyone around here acts as if this were the land of the walking dead. I hate it. I want my life back.” Finally, as if she’d run out of steam, Sunny flopped onto the love seat. “You’ve looked at my medical records. What do you think?”

  “Well, I’ve studied your records closely. Your doctor’s office was very cooperative in faxing me everything I requested—lab reports, biopsies, bone marrow reports and peripheral blood smear reports. From what I see, your specialist has followed proper protocol.” Rachel sat cross-legged on the bed, facing Sunny.

  She ran the comb through her damp hair. “I want to change your routine and diet. You know this. We’ve discussed it.”

  Sunny nodded. “We have an appointment with my oncologist at nine tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. I’ll want him to go over the treatment plan I’ve developed. I’m n
ot a replacement for your medical team. I’m an addition. I do nothing without the approval of your doctor.”

  “That was one thing my brother insisted on. He’s a little leery of your methods.”

  “Understandable, I’d say. There are a lot of quacks out there in the nontraditional medical field. One does need to be cautious. I’ve always insisted the doctor knows what I’m doing with the patient at home.”

  Sunny aimed worried eyes on her. “I’m afraid I’m running out of time. What’s your opinion?”

  “Well, I might have thought that initially, but”—she shook her comb at Sunny—“if you can come into my room, stomp around and throw a bit of a tirade, tossing pillows and bitching about things around the house, I’d say you’re a fighter.”

  At Sunny’s widened eyes, Rachel smiled. “Sunny, a fighter always wins. Two boxers step into the ring. Two emerge. Both are victors because both had the guts to fight the fight. You’re in the boxing ring of life with cancer. Do you have the guts to fight the fight?”

  Her patient shoved up the sleeves on her robe. “Believe me, I’d love to fight someone right now. To feel alive again.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “I did throw a bit of a temper tantrum, didn’t I? God, it felt so good! You never once told me to sit down or be calm. Why was that?”

  “All women need to bitch now and then. We were born with the bitch gene, after all.” She shot Sunny a wry look.

  Sunny laughed. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy having you here. I can tell we’re going to be great friends.”

  Rachel walked over to Sunny and knelt by her knees. “Training for the fight won’t be easy. You’ll have days where you’ll hate me for pushing you so hard. I’ve found the stronger a patient becomes, the better they can handle the fight. When I’ve pushed you too hard, I expect you to tell me. I need to know exactly how you’re feeling.”

  She took Sunny’s hand in hers. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll give me honesty every moment of every day, so I know how you’re feeling both emotionally and physically. In return, I promise I’ll be honest with you. I promise you’ll feel alive again.”

  Sunny blinked several times, her eyes locked on Rachel’s. A slow smile curved her lips, and her face shone like the star she’d been named for. “Girlfriend,” she purred, her Texas twang especially pronounced, “you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  ****

  Storm stepped onto the back porch, leaned against a wooden pillar and thought about the fancy nurse Sunny had hired. Rachel Dennison had more initials after her name than a bowl of alphabet soup. He’d checked her out online and then asked Jackson to do a background check. No disturbed quack was going to mess with his frail sister’s health.

  However, the squeaky clean nurse had checked out. Of course he’d had no clue what she looked like, no idea she had eyes as big and blue as the Texas sky or lips that... He groaned. God, those full lips were a guy’s fantasy.

  What did that recurring dream mean? She’d come to him, this petite woman who stirred his nighttime libido. He’d been so aroused the last three mornings he’d been in pain. Maybe that accounted for his behavior earlier out on the narrow road that ran past his ranch.

  If only Nurse Rachel had the foresight to post a picture of herself on her Website instead of pages of information framed with flowers or palm leaves, maybe then he’d have known whom he was dealing with on Longhorn Road. He’d have kept his urges in check. He rolled his eyes. She’d seen him naked. That whole scene had to go down as one of life’s most embarrassing moments. Parading down the road, damn near naked as the day he’d been born.

  He ran a hand through his hair. He’d kissed her, for God’s sake. Did more than kiss her—he’d nearly devoured her whole. Fact was, he’d been two heartbeats away from hauling that little morsel from her bug of a car and having raw, standing-up-against-a-tree sex. He felt himself harden and cursed. Why would a sane man respond to a strange woman like that? It had to be some odd lingering effects of that dream, that damnable dream.

  Pistol, his overweight Basset hound, stood at his feet and whined. Storm took pity on the long-eared dog and scooped him up. “Come here, short stuff.” He scratched behind Pistol’s ears, earning him a canine lick. “Let’s take a walk.” With the dog held in his arms, he walked toward the orchard.

  Near a plum tree, he set Pistol down and scooped up a handful of dry earth and smelled it. This was his land, his and Sunny’s and little Sawyer’s. However, Sunny was dying, growing weaker and paler. He slung the handful of dirt in anger.

  Permitting himself the momentary weakness of panic and pain for what lay ahead, he drew a ragged breath. It wasn’t often he allowed himself to feel like this, to hurt so deeply. Sunny, his sister, his twin, the person he’d shared the secrets of the womb with, was dying. He glanced up at the full moon and the bright clusters of stars. “I’d give up this ranch in a heartbeat to keep her alive.” He made a fist and shook it at the sky. “You hear me, God? Why her? Why not me?”

  Six months ago, in a tear-filled conversation, his beloved sister had begged for his promise to raise little Sawyer after…after….hell, he couldn’t even think it. He thrust a hand through his hair. Life without his twin? Unthinkable. Unbearable.

  Sunny feared her ex-husband, Mitch Abbot, absentee father of the century, would try to gain custody of Sawyer and his trust fund. He ground his back molars together. Over my dead body. Little Sawyer belongs here on the Triple-S Ranch.

  Storm leaned back against a plum tree, reached up and plucked a ripe fruit. He sniffed the plum appreciatively before biting into it. Juice ran down his chin and he wiped it away with the heel of his palm.

  One day soon he’d show his nephew how to climb one of these fruit trees. He planned on teaching Sawyer everything about the ranch. The boy had been ten months old the first time Storm set him on a saddle in front of him. They still rode like that, nephew and uncle astride Lightning, while he pointed out things to Sawyer about the ranch. With every ounce of his being, he’d keep this child he loved here where he belonged.

  To further secure Sawyer’s future, the two siblings had their family lawyer draw up the proper papers and update their wills. Still, a sympathetic judge might overrule Sunny’s wishes in favor of Sawyer’s natural father. Mitch was good at playing the victim. Wasn’t that how he’d ensnared good-hearted Sunny?

  Less than a year after their hasty marriage, Sunny was pregnant, but the bloom of her pregnancy was soon erased by the shadows of a wandering husband. When their father suddenly passed away, she came home alone for the funeral.

  Late on the night of their father’s burial, Storm had pried the truth from Sunny. She was miserable. Mitch was taunting her with details of his affairs. Promising not to beat her husband to a pulp, Storm moved his sister home the following day, two days before Sawyer was born.

  In many ways, Sawyer was his son. He’d walked the floor with him many a night when he was fussy. He’d held the child’s chubby hand when he made his first awkward steps. Promising to raise Sawyer was no great sacrifice, for he dearly loved his nephew.

  Even so, Storm’s promise to Sunny had put him in an unpredictable situation with Pilar. Pilar Fontaine, the woman he’d been casually dating for two years, had suggested if the two of them were married, the courts would look more favorably on Storm’s claim to Sawyer. Mitch was single, after all. If Storm had a wife, they could provide a more stable environment for Sawyer than Mitch. So they’d planned to marry.

  While Storm enjoyed Pilar’s company, his love for her wasn’t as deep, as all-consuming as a man’s should be for his wife or fiancé. That knowledge eventually made him regret his promise to Pilar, which was one of the reasons he ended their engagement—that and her cocaine using circle of rich friends, plus rumors of her seeing other men.

  Granted, Pilar was used to a glossier lifestyle where she lived in Austin—parties, plays, and oodles of expensive boutiques. That had him somewhat concerned. However, she assured him in many little and sensu
al ways he was the man for her. But could she give up her chrome and glass condo to live an isolated life on a ranch that generations of Blackhawk’s had owned?

  He hoped in time, she’d come to understand his reasons for breaking off their engagement. That she would find someone else who loved her lifestyle for he didn’t.

  Storm had already postponed the wedding once when Sunny was hospitalized with complications from her chemo. She was so weak, the doctors weren’t sure she’d survive. Pilar accused him of always putting his twin first.

  Then there were the vision dreams of a blonde with sky blue eyes. The woman in a little red car, who had snagged his attention.

  He laughed, recalling Rachel’s quip that a French beret would be enough to hide his manhood. Nurse Rachel had spirit. He’d give her that. Recalling the way her trembling hand kept sliding under her skirt, probably in search of a hidden weapon, he’d guess she was cautious, too. Not with her kisses, though. No, she wasn’t cautious with them. She’d been sensually devastating.

  While he, on the other hand, had been reckless for kissing a complete stranger. Up until four days ago, he’d been engaged. If he ever married, he had every intension of being a faithful husband. There would be no affairs for him. He wouldn’t be like his mother. No, what happened out on Longhorn Road was the foolhardy action of a man on the rebound—merely an interlude.

  He pushed himself away from the tree and glanced toward the house. Pistol, who’d been sleeping at his feet, stood and yawned as he stretched. Storm bent to scratch the Basset’s ears. “No use hiding, Pistol. Some mistakes you just have to face.” He headed for the house, hoping he wouldn’t have contact with the blue-eyed mistake until morning.

  Storm heard off-key singing when he opened the back door. He quietly toed off his boots in the mudroom before stepping into the kitchen.