“Yes.”
There was no mistaking his male pride that she’d given him her honest, full answer. Heat cascaded through Kira and she moved her palm against his chest. “I wish . . . I wish I knew where this was going, Garret.”
“Trust me, Kira,” He looked deeply into her upturned face, seeing the fear alongside her arousal. “I won’t rush you. We’ll talk. We’ll go at the pace you want.”
She licked her lower lip and gave a jerky nod. “Yes . . . thank you . . . I just need time.”
So did he, but Garret didn’t go in that direction. To do so would be to open himself up, to own the fact that he’d loved her for nearly four years. He was sure Kira would be totally stunned, maybe shocked, to hear that. Instead, he leaned down, placed a light kiss on her wrinkled brow and then opened his arms to release her. Garret didn’t want to, but under the circumstances, it was the wisest thing to do. If she would guide him, let him know how far or fast to go, it was more than he had hoped for. Clearly she wanted him. Garret didn’t know who wanted the other more; there was such a savage, intense hunger thrumming through his taut, aching body.
“Come on,” he urged her gently, cupping her elbow. “Let’s get this tree to the truck. We’ve got some serious decorating ahead of us this afternoon.”
She smiled tentatively and took huge steps through the deep snow back to the tree on the bank. “Could we go into town on the way back to the ranch? I’d like to stop at the stationery store to buy some construction paper. It won’t cost much and it will make the tree look so pretty.”
“Anything you want,” Garret promised. He released her elbow and leaned down, picking up the tree trunk between his hands. “You follow behind me.” Because he knew her left hand was weaker than her right and he didn’t want her falling again trying to haul the tree by herself.
“Okay,” she agreed.
Garret could hardly contain himself, wanting to roar to the world that Kira was willing to explore what they had together. As he dragged the tree through the deep snow, he was grinning. He couldn’t help it; hope soaring through him, lifting him, making him nearly dizzy with the possibility that finally—God, finally—there was a door open between them. That he had a chance to woo her, show her that he loved her, that his kisses weren’t about just sex, but about something so deep and vulnerable, that his heart and whole life were focused upon it.
There were so many obstacles in the way, and as Garret hauled the tree down the slight slope to the truck, he didn’t try to kid himself. Kira had PTSD like he did. Was it possible for a relationship between them to develop with all their symptoms playing hell on them every hour of every day? He knew as he hefted the tree into the truck bed, shaking out the snow from the thick branches, that he needed to communicate with Kira as never before. But one look into her eyes, dancing with such happiness, and Garret was a goner. She’d liked that kiss as much as he had. There was something solid between them . . .
As he opened the door for Kira and helped her in, Garret melted at the smile she gave him. All of a sudden his anxiety turned molten and joy flowed powerfully through him. He closed the door, walking around the front of the truck, not even feeling his boots hit the icy road. The day might be snowy and gray, but inside his heart the sun was shining bright and bold. Climbing in, he started the truck and drove carefully down the long road that led back to the ranch. He’d drop the tree off at the house and then they’d go into town and Kira could get her construction paper.
Garret felt as if his whole world had magically shifted as he drove to the ranch. If this was what love released felt like, he wanted it, wanted to absorb it like the starving beggar he was. Wanted to reach out and grip Kira’s gloved hand, though Garret stopped himself. He could see her profile, saw her thinking. He’d promised not to press her and he had to hold to his word. She had kissed him in return and the taste of her on his mouth made him want her so damn bad he could hardly think straight.
Christmas this year was going to be better than last, he thought. Shay had gone to great lengths to make him, Noah and Harper feel welcome at her ranch. And now this Christmas had brought him a gift from the past: It had brought Kira back into his life when he thought he’d lost her forever. Garret didn’t know what kind of providence was at work, but he was damned grateful it was happening to him.
His mind moved to her journal, a journey of sketches and information about her three years with the A team. He wondered what she had written about him. He didn’t have the courage to ask such a thing, knowing her journal was a private, intimate part of herself. Maybe someday she would share it with him. He’d seen what she’d written about their captain. Her feelings. And Garret wondered what feelings she’d had toward him those years they’d spent together in Afghanistan. For now, as Garret slowly drove the truck toward the group of houses, he was more than satisfied. Their kiss this time had been fragile, exploratory and tender; it was as if they were reintroducing themselves to each other. It took everything Garret had to sit still, focus on driving, not give out a loud, triumphant whoop of joy.
Chapter Eighteen
Kira tried to gird herself for what was going to happen up at Reese and Shay’s home. It was December 23 and the morning was sunny, a blindingly bright blue sky outside the kitchen window. She heard Garret walk in and turned. His face was grim-looking.
“You don’t think this is going to work, do you?” He was dressed in a bright red flannel shirt, jeans and boots. They’d just eaten their breakfast and she was cleaning up in the kitchen.
“What? An intervention with Crawford? Hell no,” Garret muttered, coming over to the sink and pouring himself another cup of coffee. “Want some more?” he asked, holding up the pot in her direction.
“No, thanks. My stomach’s tied in knots. I’ve never attended an alcoholic intervention before.”
Garret snorted and sipped the coffee as he stood near Kira. “It only works if the alcoholic wants to make changes in his life. Crawford doesn’t.”
She frowned, drying her hands on a towel. “You’d think that after you found the guy selling him the whiskey and his stash was cut off he’d get it.”
“Yeah, well, since he’s been cut off, Crawford has been anything but cooperative.” He gave her a significant look. “I know you keep telling me he’s still nice to you, but I have a hard time believing it, Kira.”
She knew he was worried. “Ray hasn’t changed. He’s still short on words, always grumpy, but he’s never tried to touch me again or curse me out.”
“That’s because he’s getting stronger every day and he thinks he’s going to eventually get his ranch back. He’s playing a waiting game with all of us.”
“Shay thinks the intervention will work. With all of us at her house with Ray, confronting him about it, she hopes it will help him stop drinking.”
Shaking his head, Garret said, “Ray might be cut off for now from his liquor, but that doesn’t mean he won’t go out and buy it himself once he’s ambulatory again. That day is coming, Kira. I promise you that. He has no intention of stopping his drinking. He’s a carbon copy of my old man.”
She took in a deep breath. Two days ago, trimming their small tree and putting it in the corner of the living room, had seemed like a miracle compared to the seriousness of today. “I wish . . . I wish this was better timed. It’s Christmas.”
“Reese is pushing hard for this intervention. He sees what it’s doing to Shay and he wants to put an end to it one way or another. He’s tired of seeing his wife hurt daily by Ray.”
“I know.”
“Reese loves Shay and he’s protective of her. I don’t blame him. I’d be doing the same thing if I were in his shoes.”
“But what does Reese hope to accomplish with a family intervention if he doesn’t think Ray will try to quit?”
“That Ray will get the hell off the property. He wants him gone and, again, Kira, I don’t blame Reese. Legally, he can’t force him off the ranch. But he can make it so damned miserable for Crawford to remain
that he leaves on his own accord. Reese isn’t doing this for himself; he’s doing it to help protect Shay. I’ve seen her going down little by little ever since Ray has been living on the ranch.”
“Yes,” she admitted softly, turning, arms across her chest as she leaned against the counter. “I try to be a good friend to her, Garret. She’s so twisted up inside because he’s her father and yet, at the same time, he’s slowly killing her.” She opened her hands. “Well, maybe not killing her in a physical sense, but she’s depressed. I can see it more and more every day.”
“So does Reese. He’s going to defend Shay and this is his way of doing it. Shay wasn’t sure about the intervention, but he’s made it happen.”
“Do you think Shay realizes her father is a lost cause?”
“I think she does,” Garret said, scowling. “When you’re the kid of an alcoholic, the connections between parent and child get screwed up. And with Crawford having a stroke, that’s convoluted Shay’s world tenfold. She’s in denial because of guilt.”
“You can’t divorce your parents.”
He shook his head. “I sure as hell divorced myself from Cal. I knew he was toxic and I didn’t want him poisoning my life in any way, shape or form after I turned eighteen.”
She slid him a gentle look. “But Shay’s predicament is different. She’s trying to save the ranch in spite of Ray. Yet she’s connected to him emotionally and legally. It’s messy, Garret.”
“Yeah, it is. I was talking to Reese about it yesterday. He knows it can backfire on them. If Ray decides to stay anyway, it just makes things worse for Shay because after the intervention, he’ll know his ability to get whiskey is going to be gone forever. He’ll know we’re on to him and that as long as he can’t drive himself into Wind River, he can’t buy liquor. Ray knows we’re all actively trying to make him stop. And I’m sure it’s pissing the hell out of him.” Garret gave her a worried look. “And when we go to that intervention, you let me handle him if he comes at you. Okay?”
“Thanks. I’m feeling really vulnerable about this whole thing, if you want the truth. Ray knows I’m the one who found the bottle. He doesn’t know the extent of what I’ve done yet, and when he does, I’m sure he’s going to focus his anger on me. From his viewpoint, it will be my fault that this has happened.”
“For sure he’s going to try to make you his whipping post, but I won’t let him.”
Kira felt Garret’s dogged shielding of her far more strongly than ever before. She saw it in his narrowed eyes and heard it in his tight, low voice. There were a lot of emotions in his expression. She released her arms and turned, walking over to him. It was the first time she’d touched him since their kiss getting the Christmas tree on that snowy slope. Reaching up, sliding her hand up his jaw, feeling the sandpapery quality of his flesh beneath her fingertips, she whispered, “You have no idea how glad I am you’re here at my side.” She saw the look in his dark eyes change as she made contact with him. Giving him a small smile of appreciation, Kira backed away. She wanted to kiss him, but his cup of coffee was between them, and besides, the intervention was going to take place in half an hour. “Thank you, Garret, for all you do to help me.”
“I have your back, Kira. You’ve always known that.”
Her skin riffled at his thick, low comment. She felt his care, that protective sense wrapping around her even though he’d made no move to physically embrace her. “Yes.” She gave him a look and said, “I’m afraid. I hate this kind of angry, tense confrontation. I always have. With my PTSD, my anxiety is already climbing.” She shrugged. “I feel like I’m going into a firefight, pure and simple.”
He eased away from the counter and set down the mug on it. “Come here,” he growled, stepping toward her, opening his arms.
Kira came. She desperately wanted to feel safe in a highly unsafe time for her. Blindly, she turned, moving into Garret’s arms, sliding hers around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. Closing her eyes, she sighed as his arms wrapped comfortingly around her. She stood with him, her body against his. She was half his size, and he felt like a mountain of warm male flesh protecting her when she really needed it. Kira felt him kiss the top of her head and she nuzzled into his soft, flannel shirt, hearing the slow thud of his heart beneath her ear. All her razor-sharp anxiety began to dissolve. And when Garret moved his large hand gently across her tight shoulders, she quivered with need. Kira was so hungry for his next touch, his next embrace. She’d had to hold herself in check since the kiss on the hill.
“It’s going to be all right,” Garret said against her ear. “We’ll get through this combat together, Kira, like we have everything else.”
His words were barely above a rumble and the sound of his deep voice flowed sweetly through her, erasing all the tension and anxiety inside her. Kira tightened her arms around him, feeling his hand move slowly up and down her back. Garret’s touch felt so good and she absorbed it hungrily, needing him more than ever, afraid of the coming meeting.
“I worry,” she muffled against his chest, her eyes tightly closed.
“About what?”
“That—that I might get fired. Ray could turn this around, Garret. He could accuse me of being the reason for this intervention.”
“He can try,” Garret soothed, kissing her hair again, moving his hand down her back, “but it won’t work. Reese will see through it in a heartbeat.”
“But Shay might not. I know she’s tied in knots and so confused about her father and her own identity. I don’t think she’d willingly believe him that it’s my fault, but I worry . . .”
Garret squeezed her gently and said, “It’s not going to happen. Yes, Shay has a lot of trouble disconnecting herself from her father, but she’s smart enough not to blame you for it.” He smiled a little, resting his cheek against her hair. “You’re such a worrywart, Ms. Duval. Who knew?”
Laughing a little, Kira clung to him, never wanting this moment to end. Garret’s arms were strong but not crushing. She loved his cheek against her hair, loved the intimacy that just naturally sprang up between them. “I guess I am a worrywart,” she admitted, a hesitant smile pulling at her mouth. “It feels so good to be held, Garret. Thank you.”
“Any time you want to be held, you come to me,” he rasped, moving his hand in a slow circle across her back. “Anytime . . .”
* * *
Ray Crawford sat in a chair in the middle of the trestle table. At one end was Reese and at the other was Shay. Garret sat opposite of Ray, with Kira at his side. Noah and Harper sat on either side of Ray. Beneath the table, Kira reached out and gripped Garret’s hand. It told him so much about her blossoming trust in him and he gently curved his fingers around her small hand, giving her what he hoped was enough strength to get through this confrontation.
The tension in the kitchen was palpable. Shay was pale, her eyes dark and worried. Reese, on the other hand, looked like hard stone, implacable resolve in his eyes. Garret had no problem holding Crawford’s angry gaze as he looked at his daughter and then at Reese.
“What the hell is this all about?” he demanded. Garret felt Kira tense at the man’s angry voice. He kept his hand firm around hers.
“This is an intervention,” Shay began in a low tone. She placed her palms flat on the table. “You told all of us when you came to the Bar C that you’d stopped drinking. We know you’ve been paying a young man to buy you whiskey on a weekly basis.”
“What?” he snarled, glaring at her. “That’s pure bullshit!”
“No,” Reese said in a low, controlled voice, “it’s not, Ray.”
Ray glared at him. “You have no proof!”
Shay brought out several photos from the file beneath her hand. “Look at these, Father. You tell me if we’re making this up.” She slid them toward Ray.
Garret felt pleasure as Crawford’s eyes widened for a moment as he saw the photos of the whiskey bottle he hid in his dresser drawer.
“What the hell!” he expl
oded, standing up. “That house is mine! It’s private! Who’s been snooping around without my permission?” And then his lip lifted as his gaze swung to Kira. “It was you!”
Garret felt Kira go into battle mode. Every muscle in her body tensed. His hand tightened. “Stand down, Crawford,” he snarled. “And sit the hell down. You yell at Kira one more time and you’ll deal with me. Now sit,” Garret ordered, holding the man’s black glare.
Reese pushed the photos closer to Crawford. “This isn’t about Kira. The fact is that you’ve lied to all of us. You’re drinking; the smell is all around you. Your breath, Ray, is what tipped us off. Kira washes and folds your clothes and puts them away for you. She couldn’t help but run into that whiskey bottle you had hidden in your dresser drawer. You didn’t think she would find it?”
Ray sat down, wiping his mouth, looking at the photos Reese pushed at him.
Garret sat tensely, feeling Kira shaking. It wasn’t obvious, but she’d leaned just a little against him and he could feel it. Dammit! He wanted to get her out of this confrontation. It took everything in him to control himself, not to curve his hand into a fist and nail Crawford in the face for yelling at her. He slid her a look, seeing she was as pale as Shay. He wished neither woman had to undergo this kind of battle.
Reese went on. “This is an intervention, Ray. That means that the whole family, everyone on the Bar C, knows you have an alcohol issue. Your doctors have already told you that you’ll get cirrhosis of the liver. If you keep drinking, you’re going to cut off your life by twenty years. Your daughter loves you and the rest of us want the best for you, which means you have to stop drinking. We care enough about you to talk openly to you about it. We want to find ways to support you and help you stop drinking.”
Garret gave Reese a helluva lot of credit: The man was genuinely sincere, holding Crawford’s gaze, his voice low and filled with emotion.
Garret didn’t care about the bastard. He’d had eighteen years of an alcoholic shoved down his throat, watched it kill his mother, so he had no compassion for Crawford at all. Garret felt like a wild dog wanting to rip a man’s throat out and kill him because he was killing his family with his decisions. Just as Cal had killed him and his mother.
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