When I Found You

by Brenda Novak

  “I’m really sorry about your father.” She craved the comfort of his touch—the feel of his hand pressed to her back, his chest solid against hers as she rested her head on his shoulder—but left the door as a barrier between them.

  “Thanks. I’ll let you go back to sleep. What time do you want to meet?”

  “This afternoon around three?”

  “Where?”

  “I’d suggest a restaurant or other neutral place, but I don’t think we want this going on in public. So...your house?”

  “Sure.”

  “No!” her mother moaned—suddenly coming back to life. “If you think I’m going to be there, I’m not. They’ll crucify me!”

  “We just want to figure out what happened,” Mack said. “If we can prove it was someone else, this whole thing will go an entirely different direction.”

  “I agree,” Natasha responded. “But I don’t think it would be smart to have her meet with you and your brothers quite yet. They’re too upset. It should be enough for them to know she’s here, in case the police find incriminating evidence.”

  “She was the last person to see him, Natasha,” Mack said.

  “That doesn’t mean she did it!” she retorted.

  “Grady and the others are going to want to hear her say it, to have her tell them exactly what happened.”

  But Anya couldn’t remember, and that meant she couldn’t even defend herself. Natasha was hoping her mother’s memory would return, or the police would find evidence that pointed to someone else. Something. And she needed to buy time to allow for that to happen. “I understand how it looks, Mack. But things aren’t always as they appear. She loves your father. I know that much.”

  He seemed torn.

  “Let the dust settle for another day or two until she can get well,” she added. “I’ll meet with your brothers today, but she’s in no shape to come along.”

  “We just want the truth.”

  “But will you believe it when you hear it? Will Grady? Innocent people go to prison all the time. Please. Tell your brothers that, for today, it’s just me.”

  When he didn’t immediately relent, she knew he thought it was a waste of time and effort, that Anya was guilty.

  She lowered her voice. “I know you care about me...in some way,” she added. “Will you get them to back off a little?”

  Closing his eyes, he blew out a breath before looking at her again. “Okay.”

  * * *

  Judging by the number of vehicles clogging the drive and lining the road in front of Mack’s house—the house along the river where she’d once lived herself—all the brothers were there. Natasha had purposely arrived a little late. She hadn’t wanted to be sitting in the living room with Grady staring daggers at her while they waited for the others to arrive.

  She didn’t have to worry about that now, but she was still nervous. It was intimidating to face so many large and in-charge men, especially when they suspected her of being disloyal to them. It didn’t help that she truly cared about them and wanted to remain part of their circle of friends, if not family.

  At least she finally felt rested, she thought, as she parked behind a dusty black 4x4 with an ATV loaded into the back. After Mack left the B and B that morning, she’d gone back to bed and slept for another three hours, until she heard her mother in the shower. At that point she knew she needed to get up to make sure Anya had something to eat before she had to leave to meet with the Amos brothers. Anya had been so sick on the drive. She was probably feeling too weak to do much for herself. And they’d missed the breakfast that was provided along with the room.

  Natasha knew she’d have to go out to get some food. She couldn’t imagine Anya would want to show her face around town for fear word of the shooting had already spread and there were other people who believed, like the Amos brothers, that she’d tried to kill J.T. The good citizens of Whiskey Creek had long looked down on her. They didn’t especially care for J.T., either, but society in general was harder on women.

  Natasha had to admit that the way Anya lived her life didn’t inspire much respect, however—which made it difficult for her, too. Because of Anya, she’d always felt as though she was considered “less than” when she’d been living in Whiskey Creek.

  Maybe that was why she’d had such a huge chip on her shoulder when she was younger, why she’d gotten tattoos even before she turned eighteen and piercings in places most well-adjusted girls did not.

  She’d had to pay a lot to have some of those tattoos removed, didn’t feel they would reflect well on her as a pediatrician. She’d let a lot of the piercings close, too.

  Her phone buzzed. Taking it from her purse, she glanced down at the text she’d received before getting out.

  Where the hell are you?

  From Grady. She drew a deep breath and, hoping the next hour wouldn’t be as rough as she expected it to be, forced herself to approach the house.

  The door swung open before she could reach the stoop. Mack had been watching for her. He gave her a sympathetic look as she drew closer, but she doubted even he understood how frightening his brothers could be. She’d always been glad to be on their side.

  This was the first time that she wasn’t.

  “You look great,” he said, his comment obviously engineered to encourage her.

  She threw back her shoulders and managed a polite smile to go with the slight dip of her head, and he stepped back so that she could walk in.

  Dylan immediately came forward to give her a hug, and she was tempted to cling to him. She felt bad about what’d happened to his father. She knew he and his brothers had been through enough where J.T. was concerned. They didn’t need this. And Dylan was truly like a big brother to her. She craved his love and approval, and she was grateful to him for taking the lead when J.T. married her mother to see that she got the care she needed. “It’s nice to see you,” he mumbled, probably oblivious to how much that hug had meant to her.

  She understood Dylan had also just set a precedent for how the others were to treat her and was grateful for that, too. They all looked up to him. Mack hadn’t hugged her when she came in, but they’d been so intimate with each other they were afraid to touch in front of his family for fear they’d somehow be exposed.

  Aaron and Rod followed Dylan’s lead, and their wives gave her a quick embrace, too. She felt no animosity coming from any of them. But it was different with Grady. He sat in his recliner watching what was going on with a scornful expression, as if he was thinking, I knew the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree.

  “Have a seat.” Mack gestured at a chair that had been placed in the middle of the room, which made her self-conscious, but he pulled his own chair close, and she trusted him as much as she trusted anyone that he wouldn’t let this get out of hand.

  “Thanks for coming to town,” Dylan said. “And for bringing your mother.”

  “Of course. I can’t tell you how bad I feel about what’s happened.”

  “Not bad enough to return my calls, evidently,” Grady said.

  “Grady,” Dylan said, and she noticed Mack’s heightened awareness, how stiff he was beside her, the stony expression that came over his face whenever he looked at that particular brother.

  “So what’s your mother’s story?” Grady asked, ignoring them.

  She began to dig at her cuticles again, which hurt, but it gave her something to do with her hands. She felt so damn awkward, so unprepared to create the kind of excuses she knew her mother needed. “She says she found J.T. after he’d been shot, when she got back from running an errand. She saw all the blood, found the gun lying on the floor and picked it up, unable to believe what she was seeing, and—”

  “Nice,” Grady broke in.

  They all looked over at him expectantly.

  “That’s a great excuse for why the police will find h
er prints on the gun,” he explained.

  She realized that her mother touching that gun wasn’t a good thing, that it actually supported what they believed more than what she was trying to believe, even while she was saying it. But she was staying as close to the story her mother had given her as possible. “It’s—it’s conceivable that someone would really act that way. You wouldn’t be thinking of evidence and fingerprints and all of that when you come upon a...a loved one in that condition.”

  “Of course,” he said facetiously and made a rolling motion with his hand—a gesture for her to continue.

  She tried to ignore him so that this meeting wouldn’t go from bad to worse. “Then, when she realized what’d happened, and that it was real, she—”

  “Didn’t call the police?” Grady inserted.

  Natasha met his chilling gaze. “She did call.”

  “Only to get an ambulance.”

  “Right,” she admitted.

  “And left before they could even get there,” Grady said. “That’s how concerned she was about Dad’s life. Even if this story you’re giving us were true, Natasha, even if she did only come upon Dad and wasn’t the one to shoot him, she left the man she supposedly loves lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood and ran off to your house.”

  “Grady, lay off, okay?” Mack growled. “You’re not making this any easier.”

  “Why should I make it easy for her to lie to us? Pretend I’m fool enough to believe this crap?” He came to his feet, and Mack shot up at the same time.

  “You need to remember who you’re talking to, that’s all,” Mack said.

  Grady’s chin jutted forward. “Oh yeah, I forgot,” he said, still facetious. “We’re supposed to swallow this bullshit—let her mother murder our father—because you’ve fallen for our own stepsister!”

  Mack launched himself at Grady, knocking over a chair in the process. India screamed for her husband to stop the fight as Mack took Grady to the floor, and Cheyenne and Presley scrambled to get out of the way.

  “Mack, no!” Natasha cried. The last thing she wanted to do was come between him and his brothers. She knew how much they meant to him.

  She would’ve tried to break it up herself, but Dylan and Aaron beat her to it. Fortunately, they pulled Mack and Grady apart before they could seriously hurt each other.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you two?” Dylan snapped. “I will not have you making things worse right now. Grady, you have to pull your shit together.”

  “What are you talking about? He came at me!” Grady’s clothes were wrinkled from the brief scuffle and there was a trickle of blood rolling from his nose, which he wiped away with an air of impatience as he shot Mack a menacing look.

  “You provoked him,” Aaron said. “You were trying to provoke him.”

  “You’re telling me you two believe this garbage?” Grady gestured at Natasha, making her feel even more self-conscious. “You believe, even though Anya was the last person to see Dad, the gun has her fingerprints all over it and she fled the scene, that it could be anyone else?”

  In spite of Grady’s accusations, Natasha was so concerned about Mack she couldn’t help looking over at him, scanning his body with her eyes for injuries. Fortunately, he seemed less hurt than Grady did.

  Aaron scowled. “It doesn’t matter what we believe. We’re dealing with someone we care about here. We need to remember that. Besides, Natasha’s trying to help us. She’s not the one who did it.”

  “She’s not trying to help us,” Grady argued. “She’s protecting the person who shot him. And what are the police doing about it? Nothing! They don’t give a damn about Dad. None of you do, either.” He glared at Mack. “You ever come at me again and—”

  “What?” Mack tried to get free, to take it up with him again, but Aaron held him tight. “You’ll do what?”

  “I’ll kick your ass, that’s what.”

  “Try it, and you’ll get your own ass handed to you,” Mack said.

  Natasha couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d never seen Mack like this. He was always even-tempered, congenial, fun-loving—the true baby of the family and everyone’s favorite. But they were all stressed, upset, frazzled.

  Grady laughed without mirth and flung a hand at them all. “I’m done with this meeting. I already know all I need to know,” he said and stalked out the door.

  Natasha briefly covered her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said when she dropped her hand. “That’s all I can say. I have to listen to my mother, hear her side and make sure she’s really to blame. She has no one else. And I don’t want to be responsible for sending her to prison for the rest of her life if she’s telling the truth. I just—” she drew a steadying breath “—we need some time. I know how this looks. I know you don’t believe her. I admit that even I’m not convinced. But, please, ask yourself, ‘What if?’ She’s a human being, after all. Can’t we at least give the police the time they need to do their jobs?”

  Mack was still breathing heavily, but she could tell it wasn’t from exertion. He was furious. “Of course we can,” he said, speaking for them all. “We don’t have the right to do anything to her, anyway. It’s up to the police to perform the investigation, collect the evidence and arrest her, if it comes to that.”

  Natasha nodded. “Okay. And just so you know—” she shifted her gaze from one to the next so they would all understand how sincere she was “—I get that she’ll need to be punished if she did it. I’m not trying to stand in the way of that. I would never try to protect someone from the consequences of their actions—not when it’s this serious—even out of love. I just hope she’s not guilty and that, if we give this a little time, we’ll find some proof of that.”

  “Dad might even come around,” Rod said.

  “Yes.” She grabbed on to the small lifeline he’d thrown her. “I’m counting on that. I really hope he’ll be okay, and that he’ll be able to tell us his side of things soon.”

  Cheyenne gave her a warm smile. “I know this is hard for you,” she said. “But we’ll get through it.”

  “Hopefully without tearing the family apart,” Rod added dryly, tossing a remonstrative look at Mack.

  “He was the one who was out of line,” Mack said.

  India frowned. “He’s struggling, Mack.”

  “We all are,” Mack said. “That doesn’t give him the right to treat Natasha the way he did.”

  Dylan shoved his hands in his pockets. “I agree. But we’re all going to need to exercise some restraint over the next few days.”

  Natasha felt weak, drained. “I’d better go,” she said. “Thanks for...for trying not to pass judgment on my mother too soon, in spite of...in spite of how it appears.”

  They said goodbye and Mack followed her out. “Are you okay?” he murmured, closing the door behind them as they stepped out onto the porch.

  “I’m fine. Just...please, don’t fight with Grady. Not on my account. I know how much you love him.”

  “And how do I feel about you?” he asked, lowering his voice.

  She wanted to reach out and smooth down his hair, which was standing up after his tussle with Grady, but sighed instead. “I don’t know. I know you don’t want to love me, even if you do—and that can be the same as not loving me at all. You’ve already proved that.”

  Twenty-Four

  Grady was at the hospital when Mack arrived. Mack found him sitting with his head in his hands next to their father’s bed in the small, cramped room of the ICU. When his brother realized he was no longer alone, he sat up and gave Mack a dirty look. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “You obviously care more about Natasha and Anya than you do Dad.”

  Or me. Was that what he wanted to say but wouldn’t?

  Normally, Mack didn’t have any trouble getting along with Grady. A small argument might flare up now and then
over who went grocery shopping last, or who mowed the lawn or did the dishes, but that was about as bad as it got. They had a good life, and they knew it. It was a big house, there was plenty of room for both of them, they had a successful business, and since they were both single, they often hung out together even after work. All without a problem. So Mack couldn’t figure out why Grady was suddenly acting like an ass.

  Trying to take into account what India had said earlier—that Grady was “struggling”—Mack suppressed his own temper and spoke in a low, even tone. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Go ahead and talk,” he grumbled.

  Grady’s eyes were bloodshot, and he hadn’t shaved. Mack didn’t think he’d even showered. “Not here.” Their father didn’t seem to be conscious, but Mack wanted some privacy, just in case J.T. could hear what was going on around him.

  Grady hesitated as though he might refuse but finally lumbered to his feet and followed Mack down the hall.

  “What’s going on with you?” Mack demanded as soon as they reached the waiting room, which was, thankfully, empty.

  “What do you mean?” Grady asked. “You know what’s going on with me. Dad’s probably going to die because we were nice enough to accept Anya and Natasha into our lives. Had we not done that, Anya probably would’ve followed her daughter to LA after the divorce. Instead, she stayed here because she knows we care about Natasha, that we have an ongoing relationship with her, and that makes her feel as though she can claim us as family, too. And we don’t need either of them around. We’ve got enough dysfunctional shit going on with Dad as it is.”

  Mack blinked at him. Grady was blaming the shooting on the fact that they’d taken an interest in Natasha’s well-being when she was in high school? That was such an outlandish stretch! “Are you listening to yourself right now? You’re not making any sense. Natasha’s been gone for thirteen years. She’s been back to visit periodically, but...we’ve hardly done anything for her in all of that time. She was married for six of those years.”