Branded as Trouble (31 page)

Branded As Trouble

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I’m not the only one who jumps to conclusions, Colt.”

He said, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

She countered with, “No, you tell me
I’m
wrong.”

A standstill.

Jesus. He had to get out of here. Now. He shuffled to the door, everything inside him heavy as lead. Like dead weight, which fit since he felt dead inside.

“That’s it? You’re just leaving?”

For now. “Yep.”

“Great. So what happens now?”

“I don’t know. I need time to think.”

“But—”

“I gave you time to get your head on straight, more than once in this relationship, I expect the same courtesy from you.”

“Fine.” She pushed off from the wall. “But I sure hope you don’t plan on finding a bottle to help you pass the time while you’re off
thinking
.”

And he thought he’d felt sick before. “Spoken like a true A.A.

sponsor. Thank you for the support.”

“Shit. Colt, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it came out, I just can’t think… Fuck. I can’t believe this is happening and I know I’m doing this all wrong.”

Yes, you are
.

“I’m just frustrated and you know how I get and say such stupid impulsive things—”

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“No, I don’t know. Because I thought I knew you, India. And I thought you were one of the few who knew me. But I guess I was wrong about that too.”

Colt didn’t look back as he left.

Go after him. You need him. You love him. Weren’t you
mustering up the guts to tell him how you felt? How can you let him
walk away?

Let him go. You don’t need him, especially after his
hypocritical behavior. He jumped to his own set of conclusions
without letting you explain.

India sank to the floor and wept, knowing it was pointless, knowing it’d make her feel worse. She was so numb in body and mind and spirit, she couldn’t even move. She couldn’t even crawl to her bed. She just laid on the floor, curled in a ball, and cried. And cried. Big sobs. Hiccupping sobs. Silence as tears streamed down her face.

What had she done?

What had he done?

She’d never wanted a drink so badly in her life. Or to smoke a big, fat joint. Or to down a bottle of sleeping pills so she could sleep the day away.

Her mind flitted between all the choices, in greedy glee, the old voices and vices taunting her.
You’ve been good for so long, don’t
you deserve to cut loose? Just once? No one will ever know. Surely
one wouldn’t hurt you.

One what?

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One of anything. Pick. There are so many choices.

But what if I get caught?

By who? Could your life honestly get any worse?

No.

YES.
Another voice piped in.
Don’t let eight years of sobriety
go down the drain because of an eight-minute fight. Do something
besides sit around and give your demons control. Take a walk. Talk
to someone.

The only person India wanted to talk to was Colt.

Screw him. It’s his fault you’re in this state anyway. Get in
your car and drive to the package store. No one will know. Don’t
you miss it? Don’t you remember? The tart taste of white wine on
your lips? The bubbly feeling of beer on your tongue? The fiery
burn of tequila sliding down your throat?

India’s mouth watered.

A mental snort sounded as voice number two reappeared.
You
might as well throw yourself down the stairs. Drinking again is
suicide. You know that. Colt is not to blame. And if you use him as
an excuse for a relapse, you’ll never have the chance to repair this
misstep in your relationship, because part of you will always fault
him, even when it’s not true nor his fault. You’re stronger than this.

Goddammit, she
was
stronger than this. But she didn’t have the strength to ride out the voices alone. She needed help.

Wasn’t that what she always reminded fledgling A.A.

members? No one is ever cured of alcoholism. Some days are easy; some days are hard. No matter if you’ve been sober a week or two decades, there’s no shame in asking for help when you need it.

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There wasn’t. But there’d be a whole lot of shame if she gave in to temptation.

India rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. Squinted at it mostly, because her eyes were so swollen and bleary from crying.

She suffered from the mother of all headaches. Her mouth was as dry as the Wyoming prairie. She was exhausted. Heartsick. Her body hurt. Her mind was scrambled. But she knew if she laid there wallowing in self-pity another second she’d never get up. Or she’d give in.

One step at a time.

She slowly pushed to her feet. Shuffled into the kitchen.

Poured herself a glass of water. Once she’d accomplished those simple tasks, she was ready for the hard one. She scrolled through the contact list on her cell phone. When his number flashed, she selected it and hit dial. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey Bert. It’s India. No, I’m not doing so good. Yeah, I realized I’m not invincible. Do you have time to talk to me? Face-to-face?” The tears came again. “Thank you. Come on up, the door is unlocked. I’ll put on the coffee.”

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Colt’s head spun every which way. When he parked in front of his empty house, he realized it was the last place he wanted to be.

Running wouldn’t fix anything, but time away might give him a different perspective.

He called Cam and left a message. “I’m droppin’ off the grid for a couple days, bro. Don’t round up a search party for me, I’ll be fine. And if anyone in our family asks, let ’em know I ain’t on a three-day bender. Later.”

Next he called Chassie’s. “Hey Trev. How’s Chass? Yeah, well you knew she was ornery when you married her. It’s funny that it takes both you guys to handle her. Look, I’m leavin’ for a couple days and I wondered if you and Ed would keep an eye on my place?

Nothin’s wrong.” Colt sighed. “That ain’t entirely true. Just some shit I need to sort out on my own. I appreciate the offer. You guys are great. Thanks.”

Food packed, gear packed. Two rods, one tackle box, zero cell phone.

When things got tough…the tough went fishin’.

Lorelei James

Two days later…

India burst into Dewey’s when she noticed the sheriff’s department cruiser parked in front. She stalked over to Cam, who was sitting at his usual space in the back booth. “Tell me where he is.”

“Who? Colt? I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious, India. He left me a message saying he was leaving for a few days, and not to worry because he wasn’t on a bender.”

India winced.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Domini didn’t tell you?” After India talked to Bert, she’d called Domini. Usually India relied on Skylar for personal problems, but she was dealing with two sick babies and an equipment breakdown at the factory. The last thing Skylar needed was more stress.

So India had sobbed on Domini’s shoulder for half the damn night. In addition to being a great listener, Domini gave practical advice. Which was why India had allowed a cooling off period before she set about making things right…only to realize Colt had all but disappeared.

“No, I haven’t talked to Domini, besides when she swings by to refill my coffee. She’s been a little busy around here.”

“Why? Did Cat take off again?”

“Huh-uh. Cat got fired.”

“What! When?”

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Cam beckoned her closer. “You didn’t hear this from me. But after Domini’s, ah, talk with you the other night, she was furious.

She got Macie and Velma on a conference call and gave them what-for. Said she was sick of covering for Cat’s incompetence and sick of not being able to keep employees because no one wanted to work for, or with, Cat.”

“Holy crap. What’d Macie say? She and Cat are old friends, aren’t they?”

“
Were
friends. Evidently Cat said some crappy things when she was in Canyon River and Macie was already upset. Coupled with the fact sweet Domini tossed out the ultimatum of keeping Cat and losing her, they fired Cat. Domini is the new manager.” Cam grinned. “I’m so damn proud of her. I knew there was fire beneath that ice.”

“I’ll congratulate her later.” Her eyes searched Cam’s face for clues. “So you really don’t know where Colt went?”

“Nope.”

“I’m worried about him. Really worried.” She held up a hand.

“Not that he’s crawled inside a bottle, but I hate thinking he’s hurting alone.”

“Me too.” Cam considered her over his coffee cup. “Did you cause that hurt?”

India looked him straight in the eye. “Yep. I’m not proud of it.

But since I caused the hurt, I intend to heal it.”

“I think you already have.”

That was a weird statement. “So what’s your advice?”

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“Talk to my mother. She may have an idea of where he’s gone off to. But don’t call her,” he warned. “Face to face is always best with her.”

“Thank you.”

Right. Talk to Carolyn McKay. Their last conversation had gone so well. But this wasn’t about Carolyn. This was about Colt.

He was all that mattered.

She closed the shop and drove out to the McKay homestead.

Her bravado faded a bit when Carson McKay greeted her on the front steps. “Mornin’, India. Something I can do for you?”

How had she not noticed Colt was the spitting image of his father? In another thirty odd years, Colt would look exactly like this man. Handsome. Regal. She couldn’t wait to watch the transformation take place as she and Colt grew old together.

The truth of that statement pumped up her courage to meet that suspicious blue gaze—so much like Colt’s—dead on.

“Yes, Carson, there is something you can do for me. I need to talk to your wife.”

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“I’m thinkin’ about getting a dog.”

His horse, Laramie, snorted.

“I’m serious. Maybe a blue heeler. He’d keep you in line.”

Laramie snorted again.

Colt laughed. “Then again, I probably wouldn’t have any better luck keepin’ a dog in line, than I do keepin’ anything else in my life in line. ’Cept maybe for this fishin’ line.” He chuckled again. “A great joke lost on a horse.”

If he didn’t know better, Colt would swear Laramie rolled his eyes.

He shifted on the log. Time to move. His ass was sore. He tugged on the fishing line. Nothing. He walked over to where he’d ground-tied Laramie. “You ready to hit the trail?”

After hiding out at his favorite fishing hole for three days, Colt was ready to head home. The pine-covered hills on either side of the small pond, and the rock cliff on the backside, made this site inaccessible, except on foot or horseback.

Few people were aware of this slice of paradise. The terrain was too dangerous for livestock, which also meant nothing worth selling would grow on it. Wasn’t like the sage, rocks, cactus, and
Lorelei James

scrub pines were unique. Yet, for some reason, those elements served to hide this area well.

He and Dag had discovered this place one year when they’d drifted off West land. They’d likened themselves to Lewis and Clark—explorers, discoverers, adventurers. Every year after that, they’d load up the horses, basic supplies and spend a couple days roughing it. Fishing. Bullshitting. Planning. Later in their teen years, they drank like fish as they fished, bullshitted, and bragged about their future plans.

Dag had dreams of becoming a rodeo star. Living in California.

Colt was one of the few who hadn’t laughed at Dag or his dreams because Dag might actually get to live his fantasy. Whereas Colt knew he’d never have that choice. He’d live on the McKay Ranch for the rest of his life.

Thinking back on those times, Colt realized he’d been happy in that knowledge. That surety. He didn’t have to choose a career; his heritage had chosen it for him.

So when had that security become a bad thing? When had he started resenting all he had? All he was? He wished he could pinpoint the exact moment. Attribute his sour attitude to an event, or a slight, or an epiphany. But he couldn’t. He’d just woken up one day, and his first thought wasn’t,
I’d better get cracking
,
I have a lot
to do
, it was,
Fuck this
.
When the hell did I sign on for manual
labor, every goddamn day for the rest of my life? When did I decide
I didn’t want to travel and see the world, but I want to view it only
from Sundance, Wyoming?

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He hadn’t. And it’d been the first time Colt felt he hadn’t been given a choice. So he’d acted out. Not as a ten-year-old boy, but as a twenty-something man. Drinking, fighting. Resentful of his heritage. Resentful of his family. Feeling…inferior. To Cord, who’d had a kid. To Colby, who’d had a rodeo career. To Cam, who’d been a soldier and a hero. To Carter, who’d gone to college. To his sister, Keely, the precious, precocious, beloved baby girl. To his father, who’d seemed to prefer all his brothers to him.

No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.

Easy to hear; hard to believe. All that counseling in rehab made a big deal about turning points. Colt experienced more than a few in his life. Some good, some bad, and he’d reached another one last night. A major one.

As he’d laid on his bedroll looking at the gorgeous display of stars, listening to the coyotes’ mournful howl, the small animals rustling the underbrush, watching the antelope cautiously approaching the water’s edge, he had that moment of clarity: he was exactly where he wanted to be. He always had been. He was living the life he’d forgotten he’d wanted. Now he needed India in that life on a permanent basis.