by Jane Porter
He’d never in a million years call her gorgeous.
He wouldn’t even describe her as pretty. But she wasn’t homely, either.
Without her glasses she might be very attractive…
He sighed, wishing he hadn’t let Jane talk him into setting him up. He hadn’t felt the need to take anyone to the ball. His brother Dillon would be there, and so far Dillon hadn’t asked anyone to be his date. Cormac was supposed to be flying in from California to see Dad and attend the ball, and Cormac wasn’t sure if he’d have a date. The only Sheenan who had a date at this point, was Brock, and he was bringing his fiancée Harley.
But you have a date now, he reminded himself, and it was the perfect date for him since Troy didn’t do long distance relationships and he wasn’t about to get involved with someone in Marietta.
Much less Marietta’s new prickly librarian.
As Troy approached the old, two story ranch house twenty-five minutes later, the SUV’s snow tires crunching gravel, snow and ice, he noticed that the house was dark except for a light downstairs in the back.
Parking in front, Troy left his bags in the truck, and headed inside. He was eager to see his brother and dad.
The front door was unlocked as always and Troy walked down the hall to the kitchen where the light was shining. Thirty year old Dillon was at the farmhouse style sink, washing dishes.
“How’s Dad tonight?” Troy asked, as Dillon caught sight of him and turned the water off.
Dillon grabbed a towel and dried his hands. “Better, now that he’s sleeping.”
“I saw your text. He had a rough day?”
“He was upset today. He wants to go to the cemetery.” Dillon paused, glanced at Troy. “See Mom’s grave.”
Troy’s forehead creased. “Mom’s not buried in town.”
“I know.”
“Her ashes are here.”
“I know.” Dillon tossed the towel onto the counter. “I told Dad that but he got all fired up, snapped at me that I was being disrespectful and to just do what he asked me to do.” He shook his head. “Hard to see him like this. He was always so tough. Now he’s like a lost little kid.”
“Or a grouchy little kid.”
Dillon smiled. “Glad you’re back. It’s good to see you.”
“Why don’t you get out of here? Go into town. I’ll sit with Dad tonight.”
“It’s getting late, and snowing pretty good.”
“It’s not even nine and you drive one badass truck. You’ll be fine.”
“You really want to get rid of me.”
“I really want you to have a break. You’ve been alone with Dad for weeks—”
“Not that long. Harley’s been coming over almost every day for a couple hours at a time and then yesterday Brock came with her and the kids and they spent the day here so I could get out, and take care of some banking and shopping. When I came home, she had dinner all made.”
“So why hasn’t Brock married her?”
“I don’t know, but I’m thinking I should nominate them Friday night for that wedding giveaway contest. Can’t think of anyone around here more deserving.”
“True,” Troy agreed. “But now, go, get out of here while you can. If you leave now, you could be at Grey’s by nine thirty, shooting the shit, playing pool, and flirting with all those girls who have a thing for you.”
“All those pretty girls in tight jeans and short skirts are looking for a husband. And I’m happy playing darts and having a beer and making out in my truck, but that’s as far as it goes. I’m not looking to settle down, and nowhere near ready to be married.”
“That makes two of us,” Troy said, before heading upstairs to the master bedroom tucked back under the steep eaves of the eighty year old cabin, the interior walls covered with paneling, to hide the rustic split log walls.
For the next two hours Troy sat by the side of his father’s bed in the house that had been home to three generations of Sheenans, and tried not to think.
Or feel.
But that was easier done if he didn’t look at his father, who was now just a frail version of himself.
Easier done if Troy had remained in San Francisco, on task in his office on the thirtieth floor in the city’s financial district, or in his sprawling home in exclusive, affluent Pacific Heights with its views of the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz and the Bay.
But Troy had come home, and he’d returned for this. To be here. To take some of the pressure from Dillon’s shoulders, and ensure that his father was as comfortable as possible in the coming weeks.
Dillon had warned him Dad was fading, but even then it was a shock for Troy to see how much his father had changed since Christmas. His father didn’t even look like the same person.
It had always been hard for Troy to return to Marietta. He didn’t like coming home, didn’t like the memories or emotions, and that was before Dad was sick.
Now…
He shook his head, his jaw tight.
Now he just felt even angrier, but Trey was the angry Sheenan. Trey was the one who drank too much and hit things, broke things. Not Troy.
But whenever Troy did return to Marietta, and the ranch, he felt an awful lot like his infamous twin who was currently spending a five year sentence in jail.
Troy shifted uncomfortably in the antique chair positioned close to the bed, thinking if they were going to continue these bedside vigils for their dad, who was clearly on the downward slope now, then they really needed to get a bigger, sturdier chair in the bedroom.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and floorboards creaked as Dillon entered the dimly lit master bedroom.
“You’re back,” Troy said.
“Had a couple beers and nearly got into a fight with a punchy little cowboy acting like an asshole around Callan, but Grey threw me out before I could teach that boy some manners.”
“You and Callan dating?”
“Callan and me? God, no. I’ve known her since she was in diapers but we are pretty tight. We have fun together,” Dillon said, running a hand through his thick dark hair, his hair the same shade as Troy’s, Trey’s and Brock’s. Only Cormac was fair, the same dark blond their dad had been in his early thirties. The rest of the Sheenan boys took after their late mother, Jeanette, who’d been part Indian, part Irish, and one hundred percent beautiful.
One hundred percent beautiful, and two hundred percent crazy.
Troy stretched out his legs, crossing his boots at the ankle. No, that wasn’t fair. Mom wasn’t crazy. She’d just been terribly lonely and unhappy on the ranch.
It hadn’t been the life she wanted, isolated from town and friends, alone except for her husband and her five sons.
Dad should have insisted she learn how to drive.
Dad should have insisted she got into town.
Dad should have taken care of her better.
Troy clamped his jaw, teeth grinding. Or they, her sons, should have, he thought, glancing up at Dillon.
Shouldn’t her boys have done more? Because isn’t that what sons should do? Take care of their mother?
“How was Dad while I was gone?” Dillon asked.
“He got up once, needing to use the bathroom, and I helped him get there, but the rest of the time, he pretty much slept.”
Dillon leaned against one of the columns of the four poster bed. “He does that a lot.”
“He thought I was Trey,” Troy added.
“Understandable, you’re twins and Trey used to live here with him.”
“He insisted I was Trey.”
Dillon grinned. “So what did you do?”
“Act like I was Trey, and let him lecture me on how I needed to make things right with McKenna and step up and take responsibility for my son.”
Dillon’s smile faded. “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen.”
“Trey loves his son, and McKenna.”
“Kind of hard to be a good partner and father in jail.”
“He’ll get out a
nd he’ll get his act together.”
“Yeah, but it’ll be too late by then, at least, for him and McKenna.”
Troy’s brows pulled. “You think so?”
Dillon grimaced. “She’s getting married again.”
“What?”
Dillon nodded. “Lawrence proposed last week, after asking Rory and Quinn for permission to marry their sister. Of course, Rory and Quinn, who both hate Trey, said yes.”
“If McKenna was our sister we’d hate Trey, too,” Troy said quietly, tiredly, aware that Trey would not take the news well. It was a good thing Trey was in jail. Because if Trey weren’t locked up, there’s no way in hell he’d let McKenna, his first and only love, and the mother of his boy, marry another man.
“Who’s going to tell Trey?”
“When’s the wedding?”
“Not until fall.”
“Then there’s no point saying anything now. Something could happen. The engagement could get called off. Why work Trey up when it could be nothing?” Troy nodded at the bed. “I’m going to grab my stuff from the truck and crash. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter Three
‡
Troy had gone to his truck without his coat and it was cold, seriously cold. His breath clouded in the air as he quickly scooped his bags from the backseat of the big Escalade. He was just about to slam the door shut when he heard a buzzing sound from beneath the passenger seat in front of him.
It sounded an awful lot like a phone.
His heart sank, thinking it was either the little librarian’s phone, or the person who’d rented the car before him. Either way it meant that someone, somewhere was without a phone—modern society’s lifeline—and probably frustrated as all hell.
Troy opened the passenger door, felt beneath the seat and then the side of the seat by the center console. Found it.
He glanced at the screen with the photo of a young Taylor Harris with a blond teenage boy wearing a high school graduation cap and gown.
Must be Taylor’s brother, even as he noted the five missed calls, and text after text.
Not doing so good.
Need to talk to you.
Call me.
Why won’t you answer?
Troy’s brow creased, concerned. This didn’t sound good at all.
He glanced at the time on the phone’s display. It was quarter past eleven. If he drove the phone back to Marietta, he wouldn’t arrive until close to midnight. How could he knock on the Jones’ front door at midnight?
But then, reading the desperate texts, how could he not?
Troy returned to the house for his coat and wallet. He told Dillon he’d found a phone in the car and had to return it to town. Dillon suggested Troy just stay in town at the hotel. No reason to drive all the way back so late.
Troy thought it made sense and said goodnight, letting his brother know he’d be back before noon to spend the afternoon with Dad.
Taylor woke up to Kara clicking the light on in Taylor’s bedroom. “You’ve got a visitor,” Kara said, covering her yawn.
“What time is it?” Taylor asked.
“Eleven forty-five.”
Taylor’s mind cleared, and she sat up abruptly, immediately thinking of Doug as she groped for her glasses on the nightstand. “My brother?” she asked, settling her glasses onto the bridge of her nose.
“No.” Kara pushed a tangle of dark blonde hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Your knight in shining armor. Troy Sheenan.” She saw Taylor’s baffled expression and added, “You didn’t even have to track him down in the morning. He found your phone in his car and has brought it back.”
Relief flooded Taylor. She’d discovered she’d lost her phone minutes after Troy had left and didn’t know how to reach him without calling Jane, and Taylor didn’t have Jane’s number memorized, just saved on her phone. “It’s awfully late to return it, though,” she said, pushing back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
Kara shrugged. “Apparently he was worried about some of the messages. He thought they might be… urgent.”
“From Doug?” Taylor asked, immediately on her feet and reaching for her thick fleece robe from the foot of the bed.
“Sounds like it.”
Rattled, Taylor stuffed her arms into the sleeves and tied the belt around her waist. What had happened? Was Doug in trouble? Had he gotten into it with someone? He’d been beaten up once at Hogue Ranch and he’d vowed he wouldn’t walk away from a fight the next time. He’d defend himself…even though it’d mean legal complications.
Taylor hated the cold queasy uneasiness filling her. She hated that just hearing her brother’s name made her worry. Worry was a terrible feeling, and it seemed like she lived in a perpetual state of anxiety over Doug these past six months. She needed him to get better. She needed him to get the right help and then maybe, just maybe, he’d have confidence again. Hope again. As it was, he struggled to hang in there.
But no matter how dark things seemed, she wouldn’t give up on him. There was no reason to give up. Doug was young and still physically maturing and as doctors said, a young male’s frontal cortex didn’t even finish developing until mid-twenties. Doug just needed to be patient. He just needed to believe in himself, the way she believed in him. He’d already survived six months at Hogue. There were just three months left. Once he completed the program, he could live with her. That was the goal. That was the focus. That was her promise to him.
“Where is Troy?” she asked, combing her fingers through her long hair, trying to smooth and untangle it in one quick motion.
“In the living room. It was the warmest room.” Kara gave Taylor a pointed look, her eyebrows arching. “Although maybe that didn’t matter, because he’s so hot.”
“Is he?” Taylor asked, indifferently. She didn’t understand all this fuss made over Troy. Yes, he was handsome. But so what? The world was filled with good looking men.
“Seriously hot,” Kara drawled.
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Is every woman in this town crazy about him?”
“Every woman with a pulse.” Kara winked, and headed back to her bedroom.
Taylor found Troy standing in front of the living room fireplace studying the framed photos on the mantel. She hesitated in the doorway, watching him examine the photos of Kara and her brother growing up.
His dark hair was cropped clean at his nape, showing off his high hard cheekbones and square chin, his strong jaw shadowed with a day old beard. He was wearing a long black wool coat, something you’d probably see in San Francisco’s financial district and the tailored wool coat made his shoulders look even bigger, broader, which just emphasized his height.
But then he was tall—six two at least—and not the skinny kind of tall, but solid. Muscular. He’d made the huge Escalade feel small and it was probably a very roomy SUV.
“Hi,” she said.
He turned to face her. “Sorry to wake everyone up.”
As he turned from the mantel, his long black wool coat fell open, exposing his black cashmere sweater, and how it clung to the hard planes of his broad chest.
She’d tried not to stare at his chest in the car.
She had to remind herself not to stare now.
“I’m sorry you had to drive all the way back to Marietta tonight, at this hour.” Her voice came out soft, breathless.
She told herself she was breathless because she wasn’t accustomed to greeting men in the Jones’ living room. She’d had some double dates with Jane, but none of the men had ever picked her up here. She told herself she was breathless because she was worried about Doug. She couldn’t admit she was breathless because he was so…so…different…from any man she’d ever met before.
Nervously, she jammed her hands deeper into the robe pockets, thinking she must look as pretty as a roll of toilet paper in her fuzzy gray robe dotted with fat pink pigs, the robe a Christmas gift from Doug several years ago.
“I d
idn’t want you to panic,” he said.
“That was nice of you, because I was, a little bit,” she admitted. “I haven’t backed up my contacts. Need to.” She was babbling. She hated that. But she felt so jumpy. Troy made her self-conscious. And the robe didn’t help. She felt silly in the robe. Why hadn’t she just put on jeans and a sweatshirt? It would have felt so much safer, and she would have been more confident, than she did greeting him in a pig robe.
Because of course he’d still look urban, and sophisticated.
Dashing.
A prince coming to the villager’s house with the glass slipper.
Or in this case, a phone.
“I would have waited until morning,” Troy said, walking towards her, “but the messages seemed urgent.” He handed her the phone. “Hope everything’s okay.”
His fingertips brushed her palm as he placed the phone in her hand. Taylor blushed, feeling a sharp tingle where his fingers had touched her palm.
This was so absurd. She had to get a grip. She rubbed at the sensitive, tingling spot even as she glanced at the screen of her phone.
Tons of missed calls. Tons of text messages. All from Doug.
“My brother,” she said, heart sinking all over again.
“The one in Paradise Valley?”
She nodded. “Do you mind if I send him a message and make sure things are alright?”
“I think that’s a good idea. I can always drive you to him if you need a ride.”
She didn’t bother to explain there were no visits at Hogue Ranch, and no dropping by. The ranch was a halfway house program approved by the state although Taylor wasn’t sure how they maintained their status. They weren’t doing much for the men there but making them work.
Taylor quickly shot her brother a brief text. Everything ok?
Where have you been? Doug answered almost immediately.
Taylor typed back. Had a car accident and lost my phone. But I’ve got the phone now.
You okay? Doug asked a second later.
Fine. Car’s not so good but that can be fixed.
Good. Glad you’re safe.
She drew a deep breath and repeated her first question, dreading his reply. So are you okay?
