by Zoe Dawson
She limped across the yard, a sick feeling washing through her. She opened the door and calmed a agitated Triton. Walking to the couch she sank down on it and drew up her knees and pressed her forehead against them. God, what had she done? What kind of damage had she caused? She had only wanted to protect him, but she had hurt him instead. Worse than that, she had resurrected the shame, the pain, the trauma that had been riding him hard for ten years.
A hollow, sinking feeling settled in her abdomen. Anything she tried to do now would only make matters worse. Her expression drawn, she turned and went up to the room they’d shared. Heartsick and overwhelmed by guilt, so alone in the bed where he’d made such passionate love to her, she finally let the tears come—tears that welled up from the bleak emptiness inside her.
That night as she lay in bed, she thought about Wes, and she so wanted to talk to him, but what could she say? There was so much that she’d held back, and she thought long and hard about why. She had said it was because she wanted the evidence she needed to convict Big Red, but that wasn’t the real truth. She was afraid, and it was a dark and buried fear that she only realized now.
She’d hurt him in the worst possible way. By the sin of omission, she’d betrayed him. But what was most unforgivable of all was that she’d done it because she was scared. She knew that now. She’d been afraid of him abandoning her like so many people had in her life.
Even computers had homes: the desktop; websites had home pages, and Microsoft Word’s first tab after File was Home. But this wasn’t about her logical mind. This was about the heart she had never given to anyone because it had been flawed. She’d loved him from afar and now she loved him for real. Her hands fisted as if she was trying to hold onto him, but she knew from her past that was impossible, especially when people always let her down.
She’d bought Sweetwater to preserve it, that was true. She’d wanted to save the ranch that Travis had died fighting for, but the real reason, the real truth was that it was Wes’s home. She couldn’t bear the thought that he would lose it.
She knew now what home meant and it didn’t have to do with brick and mortar or wood and beams or marble and glass, it didn’t have to do with a lost ranch or someone’s hometown.
Home wasn’t really a place…it was a feeling.
It was love.
17
Tank drove straight home, dropped Echo back at the kennel and then he slept for ten solid hours, went for a run and showered. After his vigorous bout of sex with Sally Jean, he couldn’t stop thinking about riding his bike. Just as he was heading toward the garage, his cell phone rang, and he answered, “Jordan, man I just got back in town.”
“Perfect. Do you think you could come by and meet the Doc today, like now?”
“Sure, I was just going for a ride on my bike so that’s perfect timing. What’s the address?”
He drove straight there and parked the bike in the parking lot. Then spied a coffee shop across the street. Man, he could go for some iced coffee. He’d missed that in Reddick. He dashed across the busy street and went inside, stood in line and ordered.
He held the door for a beautiful woman and turned to watch her walk away, her smile for him flirtatious. When he turned back around, he ran right into something soft. The collision caused the top of his cup to pop off and the distinct sound of his cold drink splattering just outside the entrance.
When he focused, he saw that he had spilled his whole iced coffee down the front of her.
There was a gasp and face contortions and a murmur, “Cold. Very cold.”
“Oh, my God,” he said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
She had her head down, her voice annoyed and beautiful, like liquid gold, the kind that could do car commercials and voice sexy anime characters. “That’s because you were ogling some sexy woman’s ass. You should watch where you’re going, Casanova.” She said “Casanova” like she knew what it was like to be with a guy who had a wandering eye and had kicked the bum to the curb.
She looked up then, and his breath caught in his throat at her eyes. This woman had the voice and eyes market cornered. They were a striking green with streaks of brown, almond-shaped and thickly lashed. Her long dark hair was pulled into a severe, tight ponytail and she wore no makeup, not a stitch of it, not even lip gloss.
She had a light scattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Their implied innocence was so at odds with her knowing eyes and sultry voice. But then, she was a study in contradictions when it came to his reaction to her.
They were standing close to one another. He felt himself lean closer, breathing in her scent. Something that he’d never done in his life. She was dressed like an accountant, non-descript blouse a tan color, tight brown pants and a pair of serviceable shoes. This close he noticed how smooth and soft-looking her skin was. Then there were those freckles. They were cute, and she wasn’t the cute type. She was no-nonsense and wore her confidence as easily as she did those chunky shoes.
She was so not his type. Not even close to the fluff that was Becca or the curvy Sally Jean. She wasn’t really beautiful, but there was something exotic and unique about her that made men look. But part of that, he suspected, was the way she carried herself. She was tall, a touch over five foot nine, with small breasts and a long, slender body—and legs that went on forever and ever.
She pulled the soggy blouse away from her skin with a sucking sound and his breath caught for a second time. Unfuckingbelievable.
Lace bra.
He couldn’t help staring. She was wearing a lace bra beneath her wet shirt. The delicate lace outlined against the tan silk was unmistakable.
Lace.
So feminine compared to her Plain Jane look.
“Ugh, just great. Thanks, you big lug.” She pivoted on her practical heel and started away.
Wow, he was transfixed by the way she moved, with the long-legged stride of a runway model, yet the grace and power of an athlete. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
A hand came down on his arm, and the woman who he’d held the door for and had caused the collision slipped her card into his charcoal gray motorcycle pant’s pocket.
But as soon as she moved away, he searched the street for the green-eyed woman, but she was gone.
He was irritated and suddenly that itch started up again. Restlessly, he went back inside and got another coffee, this time careful when he left. He crossed the street and walked up to the Old Town Pet Clinic. Opening the door, he saw Jordan handing off a puppy to a blonde woman with a smile.
Jordan turned and saw him. “Hey, come on back. The Doc is in the bathroom. Be right out.”
They waited, shooting the breeze about getting together for hoops when the door opened.
“I swear, men are so pathetic. This huge Neanderthal doused me with his iced coffee. If he could keep it in his pants, I wouldn’t have to go through the morning wearing a soggy blouse and look like I was in a wet T-shirt contest.” She was dabbing at the mess he’d made of her shirt with a paper towel. “And, I had to miss my morning dose of caffeine. This is silk, too. It’s probably ru—”
She looked up and froze. He couldn’t get enough of looking at that face. But he never dated her type. Ever. The marrying kind, the girlfriend kind, the fall-in-love-and-lose-your-shit kind. No one would control him. Besides she seemed tight-assed, straight-laced as if she had a white picket fence up her ass.
“Dr. Alyssa St. James, meet my brother, Petty Officer and Navy SEAL dog handler, Thorn Hunt.”
Shifting his iced coffee, he offered her his hand. “Uh, that would be Neanderthal to you. But my friends call me, Big Lug and all the women I seduce…they call me, Casanova, but usually in a less deep and more breathy voice.”
Her eyes narrowed, then that mouth curved up. Oh, look out, major babe earthquake. “Okay, so your brother has a sense of humor,” she said with a laugh and a devastating smile as the world shifted under his feet.
He. Was. Not. Going. There.
Wes couldn’t face his family and realized that he wasn’t going to be able to function well in Reddick. He just hit the highway and started back home to San Diego. He apologized profusely to his sister, unsettled with leaving things the way they were with his mother, but after learning what Kia had done, he was heartsick.
All this time. Ten years. She’d owned Sweetwater and from what he could tell from afar she had done a bang-up job with it. His hands gripped the wheel as he drove. My God, she had preserved it, expanded on it. She had kept his legacy alive. Why wouldn’t she tell him about that?
All the junk that he thought he’d worked through came rushing back. He was more mentally tough than this, he told himself. But when he tried to sift through it all, what stood out was Kia. It was the first person he thought of when he woke up and the last when he fell asleep.
For the next few days, he reverted back to his college days and running himself ragged. He didn’t want to think so he lifted, ran, swam. When he wasn’t doing those things, he would stand in his crappy apartment in anguish, his past overwhelming him, the memories of her breaking him down.
When Tank showed up on his doorstep and took one look at him, he swore. “What happened?”
Wes told him and Tank said, “I can’t believe you left without hearing her out. That’s low, Cowboy. She doesn’t deserve that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she left to go to DC on her own so she could spare us the decision to throw our careers away and help her. She single-handedly saved her own ass in an ingenious way. She’s a babe, funny, quirky and works hard. Look what she did for that reunion. It was a success because of her. But you go ahead and act like a fool. If you can’t see that, then you don’t deserve her.”
Days later, Tank’s words tying him up in knots, he was ready to climb the walls, he headed out to the gym, and when he got home and picked up his mail, there was a large manila envelope that had an attorney’s office return address. When he saw the Corpus Christi location, his gut clenched. He went inside, sat down on the bed and tore it open. Feeling as if he’d just taken a blow to the midsection, Cowboy bolted to his feet, warmth flooded him, gratitude and a sense of closure. It was the deed transfer of Sweetwater to him and a check for the proceeds of the ranch over the ten-year period she’d owned it for just shy of a million dollars. He sat back down on the bed, dragging his hand down his unshaven face, his throat cramped up, his eyes smarting. Unable to see, he gouged at his eyes, guilt slicing through him. He deserved this. God, but he deserved this. He’d been such a bastard to her.
A white envelope dropped out of the paperwork. His name written in a flowing script was the only thing on the envelope.
He broke the seal and read it twice. When he got to the part about his dad, everything went dead still for Cowboy—the sounds, his hands, his heart—and it felt as if every drop of blood had drained from his head. He slipped to his knees, a soft sob escaped his lips. Tears dropped onto the page. He hadn’t taken his own life. Losing his shit for several minutes, Cowboy felt as if a heavy weight lifted from him. She laid everything out for him, her reasons for her actions, the original reason and the real reason she hadn’t told him. Red Sweeny had shattered everything he’d valued and Kia, his beautiful Kia had preserved it all. He was infused with so much admiration for her, for her integrity, for her steadfast belief, for her determination. She had saved everything, and he’d never even known it. His second chance with her was in tatters because of his actions. But now it felt like she was everything.
Everyfuckingthing.
Feeling like a thrice cursed bastard, he rose. His cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his back pocket. The display showed Erin was calling.
When he answered, no one said anything, then he could hear crying, sniffling. “Erin?” But he already knew what must be wrong.
“Wes, you need to come home. Can you?”
“Yes. I know about Dad. I just found out.” His voice broke and for a few minutes neither of them could speak.
“It’s like a nightmare. All this time and we believed he did this to himself. It changed me, changed you, just about killed Mom. How could he do such a thing?” She sniffled. “We just had a visit from Uncle Jerry. He said that Red Sweeny was arrested for Dad’s death. He murdered Dad then staged the suicide. Kia Silverbrook has been investigating his death all this time. She was finally able to find the evidence. He’s also being charged with assault and battery for his attack on her. Mom is inconsolable. I need you here.”
Shock rendered him speechless. His dad had been murdered. Everything he’d thought, believed for ten years had been a lie. Kia had suspected, and she’d followed through. “I’m on my way.” Cowboy inhaled unevenly, his voice thick.
After he ended the call, a debilitating weakness rushed through him. Cowboy braced his elbows on his thighs and hunched over, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He had to go home.
It was after two in the morning when he got off the plane in Corpus Christi. The first seat he’d been able to get was on the red-eye. Erin met him, took one look at him and wrapped her arms around him. They reached the house by two-thirty, his niece and nephew were with Brew’s parents. They had been alarmed and upset by their grandmother’s grief.
He went up to her room as soon as he walked through the door. She was sitting in a chair by the window, and she turned dull, grief-stricken eyes toward the door. There was a small spark when she saw him. “Wes,” she sobbed as she rose, and he engulfed her in his arms.
“I’m here, Mom. I’ve got you. We’ll get through this. I promise.”
She buried her face in his shoulder and nodded as she clutched him to her, sobbing.
He helped her downstairs, broke the news about the ranch, and Kia’s part in it. How she had preserved their birthright by her own toil. “It’s ours again, lock, stock and barrel,” he said. He showed them the check and there was a stunned silence in the room, then his mom and sister burst into tears. As his brother-in-law consoled Erin, he held his mom tight.
After that, he got her to lay down and held her hand until she fell asleep. He let her talk about his dad openly now without the anger that always made him shut down.
He’d done his dad a terrible disservice, but he wasn’t going to beat himself up over it. He hadn’t known and his reaction had been his reaction, but it was no longer valid, how he felt was, but not that anymore. He asked for his mom’s forgiveness, silently prayed for his dad’s and he let go of the past, let it flow out of him like poison. Kia had healed him. He was no longer that coward’s son…he never had been and he shed the weight of that.
“That girl is a treasure,” his mom whispered. “A gem.”
“She is.”
“Invite her over for supper, Wes. We all want to thank her.”
“I will, Mom. Tomorrow when I see her.”
After leaving her room, he went downstairs. Erin pushed him down in a chair and set a plate in his hands. “After the word spread, we had more food than we know what to do with. So please eat.”
She studied him. “You okay?”
His throat feeling tight and raw, Cowboy answered, his voice gruff. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Erin stared at him for a moment longer, then said, “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
Without looking at his sister, he nodded. “Yeah, if I haven’t blown it.”
He was so numb with exhaustion that he couldn’t regiment his mind and bits and pieces of thoughts kept surfacing, like flotsam churned up by the tide. He had been so wrong. And so damned blind. What Tank had said had been true; he should have heard her out instead of letting the old baggage influence him.
If he was lucky—damned lucky—maybe she wouldn’t turn and walk away.
The next morning when he woke up, he showered and changed. As soon as businesses opened, he went in and had a conversation with Uncle Jerry. He was just as heartbroken as they were, just as praiseworthy of Kia. After that he went ov
er to the bank and deposited the money into an account. It was just about the time she fed the horses when he turned onto her drive and passed under The Gray Havens’ sign, a moving truck passed him on the road.
She was moving? He felt a little panicky that he could have missed her. It was a good thing he got here when he did.
He saw a horse trailer and her car filled with boxes. Quicksand let out what he could only describe as a loud, joyous whinny. “In a minute boy,” he murmured as he went up on the porch. He knocked, but no one answered.
He couldn’t have missed her because her Jeep was still here and all three horses were in the corral, so she couldn’t be out riding.
He heard barking and the tinkle of laughter around back. He hurried around the house then came to a full stop.
She was watering the plants, and BFA, the cat that had saved her life was batting at the flowers and lapping at the water as it came out of the can. Kia was throwing a ball for Triton and laughing deeply at the antics of the cat. Then before his unbelieving eyes, she picked him up and held him aloft, and she kissed him on his head. He nuzzled against her chin, then wiggled to get down. There was only so much he could take, Cowboy suspected.
Jesus. She was beautiful.
She turned her head and the laughter faded from her face. There were mottled bruises on both cheeks with a shiner of a black eye. The marks on her slender throat and arm were still there and if he could go back in time, he would have taken that damn shot and put that miserable monster down.
She stood on the top stair of the arch filled with blooming honeysuckle, framed in pink and red blossoms.
“So this is where you have your secret fairy garden?” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m going to miss it.” She took a step down.
“You’re moving?”
“Yeah, three horses, one dog and one ornery cat.” BFA yowled. “Okay, a reformed ornery cat.” He yowled again. “All right, I did get carried away—semi-reformed.”
