Finally Home (26 page)

“What about her?”

“Where is she while we're zip lining and parasailing and . . . whatever.”

He shrugged. “Back at the resort slugging mai tais, I suppose,” he said and laughed at her stricken expression. “I'm just kidding. We'll get her a nanny.”

Emily lowered her brows, gut clenching.

“Oh, don't look so disgusted. We'll find someone wonderful for her. Someone to handle the dirty diapers and upset tummies so we can enjoy life a little.”

“I
am
enjoying life.”

He smiled. Lifting her hands, he ran a thumb across her palm. “Your calluses suggest—”

“Would you have slept with me?”

“What?” he said and scowled at her.

“That night we . . .” She winced. It was just a kiss. She had told herself that a thousand times, but smaller things had caused castles to crumble, families to fail. “Would you have slept with me?”

“Well, no,” he said and grinned. “I mean, this place is like Grand Central Station. Where would we have gone?”

She exhaled. “So the fact that you were with Sonata wouldn't have mattered?”

“Sonata's a great girl,” he said and sobered. “She really is, but the chemistry just wasn't right. I knew that for—”

She pulled her hands out of his. “I want you to leave,” she said.

“What?”

She stepped back a pace, putting distance between them. “I'm sorry.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is my home,” she said and waved a little frantically at the space around her. “This is my family.”

He stared at her, then chuckled as he lifted a twisted dreadlock from her shoulder. “Believe me, Em. This is
not
your family.” He smiled. “I know you're nervous about leaving. Anyone with your background would be, but they're just using you here. You must be able to see that.”

“Using me for what?”

He chuffed a laugh. “Look at you. It's eight o'clock at night and you're still working like a dog.”

“I like to work.”

“You're being ridiculous.”

“I want to stay here.”

“Listen, Em, we have a deal. Let's not—”

“The deal's off!” Panic roared through her. What the hell had she been thinking? The Lazy Windmill was where peace lived, where Bliss blossomed, and hope had a chance.

“It's not—”

“Leave!” Her voice had risen a little. The tone was harsh.

“Don't get hysterical,” he said and took a step toward her.

“Mr. Barrenger . . .”

Emily jerked her gaze to the left. Casie stood in the doorway. Her expression was tense. Their eyes met for an instant before the older woman shifted her attention back to Max.

“It's been a long day,” she said.

He lowered his brows and faced her. “I'm sorry if we disturbed you. But Em and I have a few things to hash out.” Reaching out, he took her hand again, curling his fingers forcefully around hers. He was stronger than he looked. “How about we go for a drive and discuss—”

“There's nothing to discuss,” Emily said and pulled back, but he tightened his grip.

“You don't belong here.”

“You're wrong.”

His expression hardened. “Emily—”

“Get out,” Casie said.

He turned on her, smile taut. “Emily and I had a verbal agreement. Perhaps it won't hold up in court. But I can cause you a good deal of legal trouble.”

“Legal trouble?” Casie said, and laughing, raised her right hand. The pistol there gleamed in the overhead lights.

He stumbled back a pace, dropping Emily's hand as he did so. “Just a minute!”

“She asked you nicely.” Casie stepped forward.

“You're crazy.”

“That's entirely possible,” Casie said and cocked back the hammer.

The front door opened and closed. Colt's voice could be heard from the entry. “Longest damn day in the history of—” He stepped into the kitchen and stopped. “Hey, Case.”

“Hi.” Her voice was as steady as a rock, her hand the same.

“Why are you pointing a forty-five at Maxwell Barrenger's head?”

“He seems reluctant to leave Emily alone.”

“Ahh.” He stepped forward a few tentative paces. “That's unfortunate, but you probably shouldn't shoot him just the same.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it's frowned on in certain circles.”

“South Dakota operates under the castle doctrine.”

The house went silent.

Max darted his gaze from Emily to Colt. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means we can protect our homes,” Colt said, and shrugged. “I think she plans to shoot you.”

“You're
all
crazy!” Max said.

“Not
me,
” Colt argued. “But Casie does have a wild side. The quiet ones . . .” He shook his head. “You've got to watch out for them. You should see what she did to Ty's mother. It wasn't pretty.”

Max backed toward the door. Colt turned to watch him go.

“It's been a pleasure having you at—” he began, but Barrenger took that opportunity to bolt.

“The Lazy,” Colt finished and turned back toward the women.

Emily swallowed. Casie lowered the pistol.

“Case,” Colt said, and stepping forward, eased the gun from her fingers. “If you're going to shoot someone, you should probably use real bullets. These mounted shooting blanks aren't very effective.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said, and turning toward Emily, took a deep breath. “What's going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Outside, an engine roared to life. Tires squealed on the gravel drive.

“Max Barrenger is an—” She paused. “He's not good enough to peel your carrots, Em. Why were you interested in him?”

Emily swallowed. “He's wealthy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And handsome.”

Casie shrugged.

“And you know I've always been attracted to . . .” She paused, mind spinning, nerves cranked up tight. “It's Alexander.”

They stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. And maybe she had. Maybe she finally and truly had.

“Lincoln Alexander? Our guest?” Casie guessed.

She jerked a nod.

“What about him?”

“I lied.”

They waited in silence.

“I knew him from . . . from before.”

“And?” Colt shifted his weight. His scowl had returned.

“We just called him Linc. When I was . . .” She closed her eyes for a second. “I used to . . . I lived on the streets for a while.”

“Okay.”

“Linc took me in. I thought he was an okay guy. But he . . .” She exhaled. “He's really smart. Could orchestrate . . .” She shook her head. “There was a bunch of us. Half dozen at least. We were panhandlers.” She felt a muscle twitch in her cheek. “Thieves. I wanted to get out for months, but he . . . he's very persuasive.”

“I'll call the sheriff,” Colt said and stepped toward the phone, but she grabbed his arm.

“No. Please. I . . .” Fear had turned to bitter terror. “I couldn't stand to lose . . . I know I don't deserve her.” She tightened her fingers in his sleeve. “I know I don't deserve any of this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was a criminal,” she said. “I'd go to jail, too.”

Colt let his shoulders drop and glanced toward Casie. “You got something with a little more firepower than that thing?” he asked, indicating the pistol.

Casie shifted her attention to Emily. Her focus felt dark and heavy.

“Case?” Colt said.

She turned her gaze reluctantly back to him. “Let's not do anything rash,” she said.

He raised his brows as he motioned toward the pistol. “Are you kidding me?”

“I never meant to put anyone in danger.” Emily inhaled, lifted her chin, faced the firing squad. “I should leave,” she said and stepped toward the stairway.

“What?” Casie asked.

“What!” Colt snapped.

“He's just here because of me.” Her throat felt tight, her legs rubbery. “Me and the baby.”

“I'll get the rifle,” Casie said and Colt nodded.

CHAPTER 28

C
hristmas Eve day dawned cold and silent. Every bush was frosted white, every branch rimed with crystal.

Sophie had returned to her room after morning chores and remained there still, though it was well past noon. Ty hadn't shown his face since the previous day. Colt, however, had stayed the night. To make sure Lincoln Alexander, or whatever his name was, didn't return, he'd said. He had stepped outside hours earlier. Either he was cleaning the cattle pens or he was patrolling the perimeter like an overzealous cattle dog.

Even Emily, usually so hopelessly optimistic, looked grim as she stirred the contents of a battered steel pot.

“Why don't you take a nap while Bliss is still content,” Casie said. From the living room, the baby cooed quietly. “Don't worry about meals today.”

“It's just soup,” Emily said, and crushing a bit of dried something in her hands, added it to the steaming contents. “But it's done.”

The stairs creaked under Casie's footsteps.

Sophie was still locked away in her bedroom. “Dinner's ready.” Silence met the announcement. “I can bring something up, if you—” she began, but the door opened in a moment. Sophie's eyes looked tired, but dry. Her mouth was pursed in her signature sign of anger.

“How are you doing?” Casie asked.

“Fine,” she said and moved toward the stairs.

The girl's attack on Ty ate at Casie, but it seemed like a less-than-perfect time to bring it up.

Back in the kitchen, Emily was dishing soup into oversized mugs.

Sophie glanced at the table. Her lips twitched. Her complexion was pale. “Where is everyone?”

“Lincoln had to . . .” Casie paused. No good could come of spilling Em's secrets of the night before. “Lincoln left last night,” she said simply.

“How about . . .” Sophie paused. Her eyes looked bruised. “Everyone else?”

“Colt should be in soon,” Casie said, and knew she was avoiding the subject. “He's—”

“If you want Ty around, you should quit publicly humiliating him,” Emily said.

Casie held her breath. Looking from one combatant to the other, she waited for Sophie to explode, but the girl's voice was low when she finally spoke.

“He might as well know the truth now.”

Emily faced her square on. “What truth's that?”

The girl shrugged as she slipped into the nearest chair. “I'm a . . .” She paused and pursed her lips again as if to control her ire. “He's got to learn not to trust people.”

“Sophie—” Casie began, but Emily interrupted.

“No, she's right.” Her expression was tired, resigned. “Relationships never work out.”

“That's not true.”

“Yeah?” Emily said. Both girls were staring at her with varying degrees of disdain and hope. “Name one that has.”

Casie flinched. Emily's traitorous thoughts weren't far from her own, but it was her responsibility to give them hope. Yet, suddenly, she couldn't think of a single working relationship.

“See?” Emily said. “It's not even worth trying to work things out when—”

“My parents,” Casie said.

There was a moment's hesitation and then both girls snorted.

“Okay, they weren't perfect, but I think . . .” A dozen memories of angry confrontations roared through Casie's mind. But the distress caused by those conflicts had faded somewhere along the way, making the arguments seem dim and her own reaction to them rather infantile. Life wasn't idyllic, after all. People yelled and whined and pouted and moved on. It was human nature. She didn't have to like it. “I know they cared about each other. Dad—”

“Oh please . . .” Emily's tone was disgusted as she took fresh rolls from the oven. “You're so weirded out by your parents' relationship, you throw away love with both hands.”

“That's not true.”

“Are you messing with me?” she asked, facing Casie like an angry pugilist. “Colt works like a field slave around here and you don't give him the time of—”

“I know you care about Mr. Dickenson,” Casie said, cutting in before the girl felt the need to revisit every menial task Colt had undertaken in the past six months. “And I'm glad you do. But he's not the kind to settle down on—”

Emily snorted.

Casie tightened her fists. “I realize you think you understand him. But I've known him a lot longer than you have, and he's not the sort of guy to spend day after day milking goats and changing diapers.”

“What do you think he's
been
doing?”

“I . . .” Casie began, but just then the doorbell rang. They held their collective breath as someone stepped inside.

“Anybody home?” Cindy Dickenson's voice was clear and cheery.

Casie flipped her gaze from one girl to the next, silently debating whether Colt's mother could have heard their conversation.

“Yeah,” Emily said and hurried toward the entryway. “Come in.”

In a second, Cindy Dickenson entered the kitchen carrying a covered casserole dish.

She glanced at the faces around her. Unless she had all the intuition of a brick, she could probably sense the angst. “I know Emily's the best cook in the world,” she said without preamble, “but I had to get this out of the house and I thought maybe you could use it.”

Emily rushed forward to relieve the older woman of her burden. “That's really nice of you,” she said, and setting the dish on the table, removed the foil cover. Inside, baked lasagna still bubbled with melding layers of cheese and noodles. “But why couldn't
you
use it?”

“Because she likes to torture me,” Monty said and trundled in, carrying a covered tray. “Afternoon, ladies.”

“Hello, Mr. Dickenson.” Casie felt her face heat. What were the chances that their conversation had gone unheard?

“Maybe your wife's just trying to keep you around for a while,” Emily suggested, addressing Monty. “Lasagna isn't exactly fat free.”

He shook his head. “She's mean-spirited, is what she is.”

Cindy turned toward him with a scowl. “If I'm mean-spirited, you're weak-willed.”

Casie winced.

“Listen, woman, I've busted my hump for you and the kids for—” he began, then stopped abruptly. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I'm fine,” his wife said, but she was gripping the edge of the table with plump fingers gone pale at the tips.

“Here, sit down,” Monty insisted, and taking her arm in a firm grip, turned her toward the nearest chair.

She put a hand on his arm, steadying herself. Their eyes met, his worried, hers soft. “I'm okay now,” she said.

“Are you sure?” His voice was no more than a low rumble of worry. His eyes were intense, absolutely focused, as if nothing else in the world mattered a whit.

“Of course, I'm sure. It's nothing,” she said.

“Do you want me to carry you to the truck?” he asked and curved a protective arm around her shoulders.

She tsked, color returning to her cheeks like a flood. “Don't be silly.”

“I still can, you know,” he said. A spark of devilishness shone in his deep-water eyes.

“You think I don't know that?” Blushing, she slipped her arm through his as they turned to go.

They walked out side by side. His eyes were for her alone. He murmured something too quiet for the girls to hear, but his wife chuckled softly and swatted his arm with her free hand.

The threesome in the kitchen stood immobilized for the count of five, then turned like automatons to fiddle with nothing in particular. Bliss made quiet baby noises from the living room, but otherwise the house was absolutely silent until Colt Dickenson stepped inside. The collar of his canvas coat was popped up against the dark skin of his throat. “What did my folks want?” he asked.

The women turned as one to stare at him.

“What?” he asked.

Emily blinked and turned away, hiding her face as she tossed rolls into a basket.

Sophie pursed her lips and spooned up a bit of soup.

“What's going on?” Colt asked, tone dubious.

“Nothing,” Casie said but her voice sounded strained even to herself. She cleared her throat and cut into the lasagna. “Your mom just dropped this off.”

He nodded. “She feeling okay?”

“I think she was a little dizzy.”

His worried expression was reminiscent of his father's. “She's going in for another battery of tests after the first of the year.”

“I'm sorry,” Casie said, and despite the passing of years, remembered her own mother's medical battles with a pang of guilt-riddled sorrow. “That's got to be hard for her.”

“It's worse for Dad.” Hanging up his coat, he stepped fully into the kitchen. “Sometimes I catch him staring at her like she's made of glass.”

He slipped into a chair. Dinner was a quiet affair. Afterward, Sophie cleared the dishes as Emily ran water into the sink.

“Oh sh—” She gritted her teeth, dreadlocks bouncing. “Shoot!” she said.

Casie glanced up from storing the remaining lasagna. “What's wrong?”

“Drain's clogged again.”

“I'll take care of it,” she said and hurried to fetch the plunger, but when she returned Colt tried to take it from her hands. “I can do it.”

“So can I,” he countered.

“Go . . .” She shook her head, feeling oddly manic. “Watch television or something.”

“That's a good idea,” he said. “I think I'll catch up on my soaps while you do all the manual labor.”

“I don't do all the—”

“Oh, for Pete's sake!” Emily snapped. “Let him take care of the drain.”

They turned to her in tandem surprise, then zipped their gazes toward each other and away.

“Okay,” Casie said, and clearing her throat, relinquished the plunger.

“I'm sorry,” Emily said and turned to rest her hands on the edge of the counter.

“You all right?” Colt asked.

“Sure. I'm fine,” she said and formed another stack of dirty dishes.

Colt raised his brows. Casie shrugged, uncertain.

Bliss squawked from her bassinet.

“I'll get her,” Sophie said and hurried from the room.

“I'm sorry about Barrenger,” Colt said and pushed the plunger into the sink drain.

Emily shrugged.

“Looks like it's really stuck this time,” he said and pushed his sleeves up dark-skinned forearms.

Casie forced herself to turn away. So what if he was still here, still hanging around, still helping out? It didn't mean anything. He had to be
somewhere
between rodeo queens.

“Maybe we should think about replacing the trap underneath,” he suggested.

“Don't worry about it,” Casie said and turned to watch as he relinquished the plunger and unbuttoned his shirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Beside her, Emily was absolutely silent.

He hung the garment over the back of a nearby chair. Dark biceps bunched beneath the sleeves of his white T-shirt. He glanced at her. “I'm getting kinda hot.”

She felt a little flushed herself. “You don't . . . you don't have to do this,” she reminded him, but her voice sounded faint.

“Don't think this is altruistic. Em promised to make rosettes. I'm afraid she'll back out if the sink doesn't work,” he said and returned to his task with renewed vigor. His forearms knotted like vibrant roots. His biceps bunched as he leaned into the job, and the muscles in his back bulged, straining against the wear-softened fabric of his shirt.

“Holy crap,” Sophie rasped, returning to the kitchen. Casie managed to pull her gaze from Colt long enough to glance in her direction. The girl's lips were parted slightly as she watched Colt work. Em's expression was just as enraptured.

“Right now I think you're the dumbest woman I've ever met,” she breathed.

Casie shifted her attention to Bliss. But she found no support there; the baby's eyes were wide, and a tiny dollop of drool was just slipping from her cupid's-bow lips.