The music was low as it filtered through the open French doors.
And when she came into his arms, it wasn't in the waltz hold they'd practiced before. She was much closer. Both her arms came around his neck, leaving him to hold her waist between him hands. Beneath his palms, the material of her dress was soft and smooth.
He still couldn't fathom that she'd rather be out here with him than inside with her old beaus.
"I've been thinking," she said. "That I'd like to stay in contact after all this."
She would?
She seemed to sense his incredulity, because she smiled softly up at him. "It won't be quite the same, but we can still talk on the phone. Send texts. And I'll be back in the states eventually."
He nodded, stunned and running her words through his mind. She wanted to continue their friendship.
He knew that eventually she'd be distracted by her royal life. Or the man she'd eventually fell in love with.
Just thinking about that gave him heartburn.
And then suddenly his jacket pocket was buzzing. Or rather, his phone.
He ignored it, focusing on Mia's dear face, trying to soak her in for the long days when she was gone.
But it rang again, and she moved slightly back, letting go. "It might be important."
When the screen lit, he saw it was straight up midnight. He didn't recognize the number. He connected the call.
"This is the county sheriff," the voice on the line said. "I've got your brothers in custody. They're drunk. We picked them up for breaking into the feed store in town. They did quite a bit of damage."
He couldn't find words.
Mia watched him from too close, and he turned his back to her, not wanting her to overhear, to be tainted by his family drama. He knew there was press attending the event tonight, and knew that Mia wanted to stay out of the limelight.
Finally, he got his voice to work, though it was rough. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
He still couldn't think straight as he turned back to Mia. She wore a concerned expression and reached out one hand to him, but he pulled back before she could touch him.
"I have to go," he said, the words wooden. His stepbrothers had ruined this night not once, but twice.
"Ethan, can I help you—?"
He shook his head violently, not wanting her to become a part of this. "I just—I have to go."
He gathered his boots from the bench, not bothering to put them on. Urgency surged through him. His stepbrothers were in jail.
Mia was close behind him, wanting to help, but he couldn't face her right now.
Before she could stop him, before she could say something that would make everything hurt worse, he walked off, brushing past a buff guy in a suit who had to be security. Ethan rounded the house instead of going inside, hitting the parking lot and then his truck in his sock feet. He tossed the boots to the floorboard and cranked the engine.
His brothers had ruined his night, but that wasn't the worst of it.
What if they'd ruined their chances for a new future?
What did that mean for Ethan's future?
Chapter Seven
At seven the next morning, Ethan sat in the county judge's chambers. His elbows rested on his knees, and he stared at his feet. It was Saturday, so the courthouse was empty and quiet, but the judge had made an emergency exception and allowed Ethan to come in so he could plead on his stepbrothers' behalf.
He hadn't slept all night. He'd started at the county sheriff's office, where they'd told him the judge wouldn't be in until Monday. He'd gone home to make phone calls and change out of the borrowed tuxedo, only then realizing he was missing one of the fancy black dress boots. Which meant he'd have to go back to the mansion where the ball had been held and find it later. And if he didn't, then maybe he'd have to call Mia, if the book wasn't lying in the gardens or parking lot.
He hadn't slept at all. Had stayed awake praying and worrying and trying to figure out a way to get his stepbrothers out of this mess.
Apparently, the idiots had gotten drunk with some of their friends and decided it would be fun to ride the tractor mowers parked in front of the feed store. He couldn't imagine where they'd gotten the keys. But they'd turned on at least one mower and driven it through the front windows of the store, destroying thousands of dollars' worth of merchandise.
He didn't know if he could fix this. There was no money in the budget to retain an attorney. How would the boys even make restitution? What would this do for their college plans? School?
"Back again, young man?" The judge, in his fifties with a balding head and hard-to-read eyes, entered the room. His long black robe flowed around him as he moved to sit behind a huge, old-looking wooden desk.
"Hello, your honor." Ethan had hoped never to see him again after last summer when the boys had been charged with vandalism.
The judge shuffled some papers on his desk and flipped open a manila folder. He didn't speak to Ethan again as he read whatever was in that document.
"Your brothers—excuse me, your stepbrothers—appear to be in a mess of trouble. We talked last summer about them getting a second chance, but it sure seems as if they've squandered it."
Ethan nodded miserably. "I'm really sorry, sir. They'd been a little more responsible since last summer..." He let the words trail off, because what they'd done last night obviously belied the statement. He glanced at the door behind him. "Shouldn't they be in here?"
The judge flipped the folder closed and leaned back in his chair, which protested with a metallic squeak. "I wanted to talk with you first, before I see your stepbrothers."
Ethan's stomach tightened into a little ball of misery. This didn't sound good.
"They were what, ten and eleven when you were granted custody of them?"
"Yes, sir." Ethan wiped sweaty palms on his jean-clad thighs.
"Did you know that last summer, after their arrest, I got several phone calls and two letters from your neighbors and friends?"
What? That was news to Ethan. "No, sir."
"They all wanted me to know how much you were sacrificing for those boys and how you'd tried your best not only to provide for them, but to teach them how to be good citizens."
He had tried to impart the lessons Dad had taught him, but somehow it'd gone all wrong. He didn't know how, couldn't see where he'd missed a crucial element, but clearly he had, because Robbie and Sam didn't get it. Ethan rubbed the bridge of his nose, behind which an ache built that he couldn't seem to get rid of.
"You've got good friends," the judge said.
Ethan nodded dumbly. He knew it. Just like the vet who'd watched out for him yesterday evening. But what did that have to do with his stepbrothers?
"And you've done your best to influence those boys. But I've been doing this a long time, and do you know what I see?"
The question didn't seem to require an answer. Ethan kept quiet.
"I see two young men who've been given every chance. Been taught right from wrong. Been loved on. And they still make bad choices. It's not your fault," the judge said quickly when Ethan squeezed his eyes shut. "You've given six years of your life to caring for and providing for these boys."
Longer, if one counted the time he'd spend working for his stepmother before his eighteenth birthday.
"It's my decision that your influence alone, as good as it's been, isn't enough to keep those two on the straight and narrow. They are removed from your custody and will become wards of the state. They'll likely have to serve some time in a youth detention facility for what they've done. They're not first-time offenders. And they're old enough to know better."
He sat dumbly in the chair. Not knowing what to feel. He would no longer have charge of his stepbrothers. He'd failed them.
Or they'd failed themselves.
His mind whirled with hurt, despair, fears for his stepbrothers.
He stood up, not sure what he should say. Thank you didn't seem quite right.
The ol
der man stood too, then rounded his desk before clapping a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "This isn't your fault. You understand?"
How could it not be? When Ethan was supposed to have taught Robbie and Sam right from wrong?
"A lot of people care about you—as evidenced by their phone calls and letters from last summer. You've done your best. But your stepbrothers haven't. That's all this is."
Ethan walked out of the office feeling sick to his stomach. He didn't know where to turn. Whether he should try to see his stepbrothers and say goodbye.
The last time he'd spoken to them, Robbie had thrown Ethan's actions in his face. They'd destroyed his dad's suit, one of his few reminders of his father. He could still see his dad in that suit—wore it to church every Sunday.
But Robbie and Sam—they'd been ungrateful and rude.
Would saying goodbye provide closure or just pour gasoline on the fire of his stepbrothers' hatred?
#
Monday morning, Gideon had wanted to come to the bank by himself, but Alessandra had parked herself in the passenger seat of his truck with arms crossed and refused to move.
So here they were, seated side-by-side at a desk in the manager's office, with the county sheriff behind them as digital video played over a large computer monitor.
The bank manager stood nervously behind Gideon's shoulder. Gideon knew the man was worried about liability being placed on his bank or his employees, but as far as Gideon was concerned, whoever had perpetrated this theft was to blame. Not the bank.
"The time stamp was for 10:50 a.m.," the bank manager said nervously.
The video feed on the computer monitor showed that the digital film was approaching that time, and Gideon found himself squinting at the screen, waiting to see a grainy image of Nate cross into the footage.
But when it came, it wasn't Nate.
"That's Dan," Alessandra whispered.
It sure was. The ball cap pulled low over his face wasn't enough to shield him from the cameras, and they watched as the cowhand presented a piece of paper to the cashier. They watched as ten grand was counted out to him by the bank teller.
A half hour later, Dan sat with head in hands in the Triple H dining room. The sheriff read him his rights, and he sat silently, unmoving.
Dan didn't fight the arrest, though Gideon stood nearby as backup, just in case. The sheriff was armed, though, and Dan seemed more resigned than anything else. Nate had followed them up from the barn and stood in the doorway, watching in horror.
When the sheriff had finished, he looked to Gideon, maybe silently asking whether he wanted to confront the man or not.
But it was Nate who burst out with a question.
"If you needed money, why didn't you come to me?" Nate's words emerged angry, but Gideon knew his foreman must feel the same betrayal and hurt beneath that Gideon did.
Dan shook his head, not raising his gaze from the table. "You'd already bailed me out once, man."
That was news to Gideon, who cut his gaze to the foreman.
Nate ignored him, his entire focus on Dan. "So you just stole it? Stole from Gideon, who gave you a job outta high school, when you had nowhere else to turn?"
He sounded like he wanted to smack the other man upside the head, but Gideon shook his head in warning as the sheriff ushered Dan out of the room.
Alessandra perched at the long table as if all the air had been sucked out of her entire body. Gideon reached for her, and she met his hand, linking their fingers together. "Now we know," she said.
"Yeah." It didn't quite cure the bitter taste that had been lingering in the back of his throat these past weeks. But at least they could close the case. Move forward, if he could figure out how to do that now.
"Any reason you didn't tell me about missing ten grand?" Nate asked, drawing Gideon's gaze away from his woman.
Nate stood with feet spread and arms crossed, looking like he wanted to do battle. He stared at Gideon for a long moment before realization dawned on his face. "You thought I took it?"
Guilt flushed into Gideon's face, but he didn't back down. "I thought whoever had the easiest access to the bank account and the computerized ledgers did it. I'm sorry." He was man enough to apologize when he'd been so very, very wrong.
Nate took off his Stetson and slapped it against his thigh, sending a little puff of dust flying from his jeans. "I've been with you for ten years, man. How could you think I'd steal from you?"
Alessandra started to speak up, but Gideon cut her off with a wave of his hand. This was his mess to deal with. "You want to tell me why you loaned Dan a chunk of cash to pay off his...what, gambling debts?"
He must've hit right on the money, because Nate flushed a dull red through his neck and jaw.
"You knew one of the hands had a problem and didn't tell me?" Gideon pressed.
Nate's lips firmed into a white line.
Gideon didn't want to fight and he didn't want to lose their friendship. He purposely relaxed his stance, let his arms hang loose at his sides. "It seems like we both made mistakes." He let that sink in for a moment. "You know I don't trust easy."
Nate snorted, but his frown relaxed slightly.
"Understatement," Alessandra whispered.
Gideon cut a glance at her to let her know she'd pay for that dig later.
"This whole situation," Gideon circled his hand between the three of them. "Me being gone, laying more on your shoulders, trusting you more. It's going to take some getting used to. For all of us," he said with an eye-squint at Alessandra. "So we didn't get it right on the first try. The Triple H needs you. I need you." The words weren't easy for Gideon to say. Alessandra squeezed his hand in support.
Nate's frown disappeared almost completely. "We might not be blood, but we're family." He stuck out his hand.
Gideon shook it.
Chapter Eight
On Sunday, Mia had tagged along with Gideon and Alessandra to their small church. She'd been enjoying a cup of coffee in the lobby when she'd overheard two women discussing Ethan and what had happened to his brothers over the weekend.
That afternoon, she hadn't wasted any time in enlisting Alessandra's help and making an impromptu video call to Eloise.
Now Monday morning, the sun was rising, and she was camped out on Ethan's back porch, waiting for him to come in from milking the cows.
Even though his world might be imploding, she knew he wouldn't be shirking his responsibilities.
Hearing secondhand about what he'd been through over the weekend, she'd realized he'd pushed her away the night of the ball at least partly because he'd known there was press in attendance and even more camped out in the parking lot. If she'd run off with him to the county jail, they'd have had a field day.
He'd wanted to protect her.
She wasn't falling in love with him. She loved him. Real love. True love.
The kind of love that made sacrifices. The kind of love she'd been waiting for all her life.
She wasn't waiting any longer.
She was going to be here for Ethan, for as long as he needed her. Hopefully for life.
There was a rush of cows exiting the back of the barn into the pasture. Then, a few minutes later, Ethan emerged from the front of the barn. He had his head down, and his shoulders were low, as if he carried a weight too heavy to bear.
She was ready to come beside him and bear some of it, too.
He must've sensed her presence, because his head came up as he entered the backyard gate. He stood stock still for a moment, staring at her. Peanut had had her head snuggled into Mia's lap, but she raised her chin and gave one happy bark to welcome him. The dog's tail thumped on the wood deck.
Ethan turned to carefully latch the gate closed. He took off his gloves as he approached, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Too far away for Mia's purposes.
"Hey."
#
"Hey."
Ethan couldn't stop staring at Mia. Part of him was sure this was a dream, that he'd mis
sed his three-thirty alarm and was fantasizing the entire thing.
She stood up, dislodging his dog and straightening to reveal the worn jeans and flannel shirt she had on. He'd never seen her in something so casual. She was even wearing worn-out boots.
Had he conjured up his perfect fantasy? A Mia who was his to keep?
"Seems you dropped this when you rushed out of the ball the other night." She held up something black. The dress boot he'd been missing.
He took it from her, the leather cool against his fingers.
He cleared his throat. "I thought you'd be packing for your flight."
An awful ache spread through him, just saying the words. He'd tried not to think about it all weekend, the fact that she was leaving. That he'd probably never see her again, even though she'd said otherwise the other night.
She moved down one step, which still put her a head above him. Two porch steps still separated them. "I made up with Alessandra."
He nodded, not sure what that had to do with her leaving.
"Turns out that family is one of the more important things in life, and between the both of us, we decided not to let our father's secrets and lies ruin our relationship."
He was glad for her. But the wounds his stepbrothers had inflicted over the weekend hadn't even formed a scab yet, and he felt a great gaping hole where he'd failed them.
Mia descended another stair, but in his hurt, he couldn't look at her. Instead, he averted his gaze over her shoulder.
"Alessandra also helped facilitate a conversation with my older sister." She descended the final step, which put her close enough to touch, though he didn't. "Basically, I told them both that I'm not leaving Texas."
At her words, his gaze flew to her face. "What?" She wasn't leaving?
She didn't answer with words. Instead, her arms came around his neck, and she stood on tiptoe as she leaned into him.
His hand that wasn't holding the borrowed boot came around her waist by reflex.
This time, she didn't give him room to question whether he was imagining her intent. She slid her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck and gave a gentle tug, bringing his head down.
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