Unbreakable

by Alison Kent

  “I honestly have no clue what Casper’s making from Royce.” And that was the truth. “All I did was look over the Massey paperwork.” Another truth. “And since that money’s not part of the ranch partnership, he’s not obligated to run it through me or the bank.” A final truth, though there were so many bits and pieces she was leaving out that the whole thing felt like a lie.

  “Makes sense,” Arwen said as Faith used one chip to scrape beans onto another. “But you didn’t come here to tell me about the house. Or Casper’s finances. And you said you’re not here to get drunk, but that there was something…”

  Lord, she mused, holding up a finger while she chewed. The party. Of course. “I came here to offer you a compromise.”

  Arwen frowned. “I didn’t know we had anything to compromise on.”

  “It’s about the anniversary party. I’ve found another venue,” she said, rushing on to keep Arwen from asking for details. “But Boone and I decided we want to serve barbecue, and before I ask Smokin’ Joe’s about catering, I’m here to ask you.”

  “Smokin’ Joe’s won the July Fourth cook-off.”

  “Smokin’ Joe’s isn’t owned and operated by one of my very best friends.”

  “Well, that’s certainly true.”

  “So you can work me up a quote?”

  “Sure thing. I need all the information you can give me. Date, time. How many people are you expecting? What crazy items does Boone want on the menu?”

  “I see my brother’s reputation is alive and well,” Faith said with a laugh, waiting for Arwen to find a pen and order pad to scratch out some preliminary notes. “But we’re not doing anything crazy. Except the beer, I guess. You know how my dad is about his funky little brewhouse labels.”

  “I think we’ve got plenty to make the coach happy. We’ve just taken on three new microbreweries, though the good stuff does not come cheap.”

  And Boone would know if she went over their budget. He knew beer as thoroughly as their father did. “I don’t care. Boone can get as bent out of shape as he wants to. This will be my treat. He and Daddy love comparing notes on new finds. It’ll be fun.”

  They spent the next thirty minutes discussing menu items, the meats—brisket, chicken, ribs—the sides—potato salad, cole slaw, ranch beans, Texas toast—the relishes—red onions, sliced dill pickles, cheese-stuffed and grilled jalapeños—and the desserts—chocolate pecan sheet cake, banana pudding, peach cobbler.

  “And I’d love to have fried okra for Boone, but not sure that’s feasible. It’s never as crispy reheated as when first out of the oil.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Arwen smiled as she scribbled the last note. “I love how happy you are to have him home.”

  “You think I’m happy, you should see my folks. It’s like Momma can’t wait for Sunday morning services to be over so she can hurry home and get lunch ready. I don’t remember her ever hurrying when it was just the three of us.”

  “He comes to church?”

  “He’s been a time or two, but usually he spends Sunday morning working, then the rest of the day at the house.”

  “I never did understand his leaving,” Arwen said, tapping the eraser end of the pencil on the bar. “Except for the fact that there’s not a lot of reason to stay here—unless one has a family business to keep running.”

  “And so many of the kids we went to school with do.”

  “I know. Josh has taken over the feed store. And since Dax decided to cowboy and Darcy left the family firm, Greg, the bastard son”—Arwen paused—“is now in charge of Campbell and Associates.”

  “How’s Dax dealing with the half-brother thing?”

  “It’s life. He’ll get over it.” Arwen grabbed another nacho, then asked, “Boone never had any interest in coaching football? I can see him going all Friday Night Lights.”

  “Not in coaching. Not in business.” She tried to picture her brother behind a desk or on the sidelines, and failed. “Boone loves ranching, and the Mitchells are not a ranching family. He could’ve stayed on with the Daltons, but it wasn’t the same once Dax left. Then Casper followed, and that was it. He was the only one who knew anything about how Dave wanted things done.”

  “And he was only eighteen.”

  Not even that. “He didn’t turn eighteen until late that summer. Dax and Casper were already gone, and he was seventeen, trying to run the show. The hands Dave was able to find weren’t taking orders from a kid, and it got to be too much.”

  “He never wanted to go to school?”

  Faith shook her head. “He was lost without his boys. Hard to believe, with the three of them coming from as different backgrounds as any three people could, but they were his rocks. It was like he couldn’t function in Crow Hill without them here. So he left.” She readied another loaded nacho for her mouth. “I just don’t want anything to happen to make him feel that way again.”

  “What way? Unable to function? Why would he?”

  “Maybe not unable to function, but unable to make things work.”

  “Like with the ranch.”

  “Yeah. Especially now that Casper’s so busy with the house.”

  “And with Summerlin’s horses.”

  Faith nodded, thinking that he was also busy being a surrogate father to Clay. And bedding her. “It’s not fair to Boone to have to pick up the slack.”

  “It’s not fair to Dax, either.”

  “Oh, no. Of course, not,” she said, but Arwen’s comment had her frowning. “Has Dax complained about the extra work?”

  “I’m pretty sure Dax doesn’t feel he has the right. He bailed on a lot of hours the first few weeks we were together. He said he was using his own time, but I don’t think he had any more then than Casper does now. So yeah. I’m thinking it’s Boone’s turn to do some slacking.”

  “I don’t think Boone knows how to slack.”

  “Hmm. Does he ever see anyone? Date?”

  “Date? Not that I know of. Does he see anyone? I couldn’t say.”

  “I’m guessing he does something about sex.”

  “He’s a man so I’m guessing he does, but he’s my brother first, and I really don’t want to go there.”

  Arwen laughed. “You know who’d be perfect for him. Everly.”

  “Really?” Faith asked as she drained her glass. “I thought you were going to say Kendall.”

  “Hmm.”

  Faith waggled a finger. “Uh-uh. No matchmaking.”

  But Arwen ignored her. “Will they all be at the party?”

  “Boone will be, but the guest list is mostly my folks’ friends.”

  “If I’m going to do the catering, I will need help…”

  “You have Luck and the others,” Faith said, though she loved the idea of Kendall and Everly being there with her. And matchmaking or not, she didn’t think either of them had met Boone…

  “I do,” Arwen said, taking away Faith’s empty glass. “But I’m all about two birds and one stone. Or in this case, two girls flying free and one very hard man.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “I GOT AN UNEXPECTED phone call today,” Casper said, watching for a hint of guilt, or at least curiosity, in Faith’s expression.

  She was too busy looking at the pages of the Cruz Cleaning invoice spread across the bleached-within-an-inch-of-its-life kitchen island to look up. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He’d been on his way to Mulberry Street to pick up the bill left there by Alberto Cruz when he’d seen her car at the Hellcat Saloon. Since she was the one wielding the Ebenezer Scrooge pen, he’d called, inviting her to make the trip with him.

  She was obviously still under the influence of what she’d described as a fish bowl of a margarita. Either that, or she couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to him when there were dollar signs swimming in front of her eyes.

  He tried again. “They left a voice mail.”

  “Who?”

  Jesus. “Someone at the Texas Historical Commission.”
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br />   “Interesting,” she said, running a finger along a line item and screwing her mouth to the side.

  He didn’t know if she was talking about what he’d said or what she was looking at. “What’s most interesting is that they had my phone number.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m figuring you gave it to them.”

  That finally brought her head up. Her brow knitted into a frown as she considered him. “What?”

  Jesus H. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

  “You got a call from the Texas Historical Commission. And you think I gave them your phone number.”

  “Did you?”

  “I did not.”

  “Well, hell.”

  “What did they want?” she asked, folding up the bill from the cleaning service, returning it to its envelope, then stuffing it into her purse.

  “To talk to me about the house. To come see it. To find out what I know about its history so they can start digging for whatever documents will prove what I say.” Not that he’d said anything. And he sure had nothing to prove.

  “What did you tell them?” she asked, pushing her hair from her face and staring up at him as if she’d never seen him before.

  Jesus H. Christ. “Are you sure you only had one margarita?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. What did you tell them?”

  He pushed away from the island, crossed to the sink to stare out the window at the yard. It was nothing but dirt, but it had been cleared of all debris and detritus. He didn’t think he’d ever seen it look so empty. “I haven’t called them back.”

  “But you will, yes?”

  He turned around, hooked his palms over the lip of the sink at his sides, and leaned into it. “I’m not having one of those ugly brown historical markers posted out front.”

  “Why not?” she asked, crossing her arms. “It’s an amazing honor. You own a piece of Texas history.”

  Lot of good it was doing him. “I don’t want a bunch of yahoos stopping by to gawk.”

  “It’s not like they’ll be coming inside.”

  “You say that now, but just wait.”

  “You know,” she said, finally grinning. “You could be singlehandedly responsible for a huge bump in Crow Hill’s economy. Visitors filling up on gas at Bandy’s. Stopping for snacks at Nathan’s. Dropping by the Blackbird for lunch. Touring the Lange’s winery.”

  Ah, but that’s where she was wrong. “Not singlehandedly. This wouldn’t be happening without you.”

  She shrugged it off. “Something no one will ever need to know.”

  “I know. And it bugs the crap outta me.”

  “Why?” she asked, frowning.

  “I’ve seen the bills. I know what you’re putting into this place.”

  “So?”

  “The money. Where’d you get it?” he asked, because that was what was bugging him most of all.

  She crossed to the old six-burner stove Massey Construction would be hauling off next week and picked up one of the broken grates. “That’s my business.”

  “We’re in this business together. Fifty-fifty, remember?”

  “The business of putting your house back together,” she said, dropping the grate back in place. It clanked, and the clank echoed, and then she said, “Not the business of my bank account.”

  Casper was quiet for a long moment, wanting to let it go but unable to. The woman was an enigma, straight-laced yet bound in secrets, and he couldn’t figure her out. “I don’t think you earn enough to have put aside that much in savings. And you don’t seem like the type to have taken a risk on the market, even when the market wasn’t shit.”

  She said nothing, just made her slow way around the kitchen, which was now empty of trash.

  “And if it was an inheritance, I’d think Boone would’ve come into some money, too, and I know that didn’t happen unless he’s holding out on me and Dax.”

  She shot him a glance. “Boone would never do that.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I’m pretty sure you didn’t inherit your fortune.”

  “It wasn’t an inheritance. And it’s not a fortune.”

  Then they had different ideas of what made one. “You’re writing four- and five-figure checks like picking up a penny from the pavement.”

  “Then it’s a wee little bitty one,” she said, holding a thumb and index finger a half-inch apart.

  “If that’s the case, it shouldn’t be such a big deal to tell me about it,” he said, and then he waited, because he was all out of arguments and wasting his time.

  She circled the kitchen island, braced her forearms against it on the opposite side, and looked across the room at him. “What are you doing about Clay?”

  And here we go with the change of subject. “What about Clay?”

  “Have you let the authorities in New Mexico know he’s here and safe?”

  “Not yet,” he said, holding her gaze.

  A dark brow went up. “Why not?”

  “I still need to talk to Greg.”

  “Greg Barrett?”

  He nodded. “I want to know what options are out there.”

  “Options for what? And why not Darcy?”

  “Options for Clay. And because I don’t want her involved. She’s Dax’s sister.” He huffed and crossed his arms. “I know how sisters worry about the trouble their brothers get into.”

  She stuck out her tongue at that. “Are you thinking of having Clay stay here? Permanently?”

  “I don’t know. Would it be so bad if he did?”

  “Would he live with you? In the house?”

  “I live at the ranch. And there’s plenty of room for him there. Plenty of chores, too.”

  “Hold on.” She lifted a finger. “I’ll get back to Clay in a minute.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said, but it was a pipe dream like most of his others.

  “After all the work and money we’re putting into this place, you’re not going to live here?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because…Look at it, Casper. Why wouldn’t you want to live here?”

  He didn’t need to look at it. He knew every square inch by heart. “It’s a near thirty-minute drive to the ranch. I work at the ranch. Living there means I roll out of bed and into the barn or onto a horse. It’s easy. The house there is comfortable. This place…” He knocked his knuckles against the countertop beside him that was chipped and cracked and ready to be replaced. “This place is going to be too much. I’d have to worry about what I might carry in on the soles of my boots.”

  “You leave your boots on the back porch of the ranch house now. I’ve seen them out there. I’ve smelled them out there.”

  His boots were only part of it. “If I live here, I have to pay more for gas for my truck. And there’s no way I can afford to cool this place. Even if I broke horses for the rest of my life.”

  “You don’t have to break them now. I’m paying for the house.”

  “I’m paying to feed and clothe a fourteen-year-old boy.”

  “That’s temporary.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” he said, defensiveness seeping into his words.

  She straightened and crossed her arms, mirroring him. The kitchen island was a sea between them. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

  “I don’t know that I am. Not yet. But I do know I’m not going to just throw him back to the wolves if there’s something better for him out there.”

  “You think that something better is you?” she asked, her voice soft, but still doubting, as if she didn’t believe he could be a parent. Didn’t believe in him.

  He took a deep breath, scrubbed at his face. “I said I don’t know. I haven’t had a lot of time to let it settle. Or to see how he fits in.”

  “If you’re thinking about custody, it can’t be about him fitting in. It has to be about him. Period. He’s not a toy. Or a dog. You can’t change your mind and ask for a refund.”

  “You don’t think I know that?�
� he yelled, his voice echoing, coming back, repeating in his ears. “And I would never change my mind about a dog.”

  “Good. Because even if he’ll be a legal adult in four years, if you take him on now, if you give him what no one else will, the ties you make will last a lifetime.”

  He didn’t need to hear this. He couldn’t think for the hard knot in his throat choking him. He didn’t know shit about being a father figure, but he did know he couldn’t turn his back on this boy.

  “Are we done here?”

  “With some things, yeah.”

  God fucking damn. He pointed a finger at her. “You keep hassling me about Clay, I’ll keep digging for the truth about your money.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  This woman. She, not a heart attack, not any bucking bronc or bull, was going to send him to an early grave.

  “Are you going to drive me back for my car?” she asked, reaching for her purse.

  “I could. Or we could stay here,” he said, done arguing, done thinking, done digging into her truth and his soul.

  “Here?”

  He came to her, hooked an arm around her neck, and brought her close. “A lot more private than the ranch.”

  “A lot less comfortable, too.”

  “Maybe. But I’ve never done it in my own house,” he said, dropping his gaze to the front of her blouse and the army of buttons keeping her safe. “Wouldn’t take us but a couple of weeks to christen all the rooms.”

  “A couple of weeks?” She blew out a skeptical breath. “You can go that many times a night?”

  “I say you try me.”

  “That may work in your fantasy, but not in my reality. I wouldn’t be able to walk. I might not even be able to sit.”

  He moved his fingers to the first of the buttons. “That leaves flat on your back, my favorite position. Except for being flat on mine.”

  “I thought your favorite position was any way you could get it.”

  “And here I didn’t think you knew me at all.”

  “I know you better than you realize.”

  “That so,” he said, freeing more of her buttons and slipping a hand into the cup of her bra.