Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel (28 page)

“Th-they h-have to let him g-go! The m-magic won’t work without B-Barry!”

T
HE
magic.

Bronte was flooded with details she’d forgotten in their efforts to find the children.

The missing mason jar.

The cocoon that Lily had watched for weeks.

When Barry had first brought Lily the container, he’d described what was occurring inside the chrysalis. Bronte clearly remembered her daughter’s reaction when Barry told her how the butterfly would emerge, having become something completely different, beautiful. Even more, Barry had spoken of the way he liked to lie in the field of poppies until the butterflies touched him and thereby imparted their magic, making him feel “new.”

Bronte realized why her daughter had been so fascinated by the cocoon, why she’d been willing to run off with Barry. Bronte was willing to bet that her daughter had begged Barry to bring her here, that she’d overruled any objection that he’d made—that she’d probably threatened to try to find the place on her own if he hadn’t brought her here himself.

All because of Lily’s desire to feel “new.”

“Stop it. Stop!” Bronte shouted.

Amazingly enough, the other occupants of the cabin grew quiet and turned to face her.

Bronte carried Lily to Jace, transferring her into his arms. As Lily gripped him tightly around the neck, Bronte turned to the sheriff. “You need to take those cuffs off.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she hurriedly continued, “This has been a misunderstanding. A mistake. These kids might have been reckless in leaving home without permission, but that’s all.”

She stepped closer to the sheriff, lowering her voice so the children couldn’t hear what she was saying. “Please, Sheriff. You know what my daughter has been through. What was . . . done to her. Please. She needs this. She needs this to heal.”

When the sheriff didn’t respond, she continued. “I’m Lily’s mother and I refuse to press any charges. In fact, I’m sure that Jace here would be more than willing to lodge a complaint for your treatment of a disabled minor.”

When the lawman remained immovable, she tried one more time. “Please. For my girl.”

The sheriff was still clearly suspicious, but he unlocked the handcuffs.

As soon as Barry was free, Lily wriggled out of Jace’s arms and ran to the far side of the room where the familiar jar sat on a chair. Inside, Bronte could see the shattered remains of the cocoon and a beautiful yellow butterfly.

Taking Barry’s hand, Lily whispered, “Show me.”

Barry grabbed his blanket from the ground and gently led Lily outside into the tall grass and wildflowers. In the past few minutes, even more sunlight had begun to spill into the clearing. When he shook out the blanket, hundreds of butterflies fluttered into the air around them, as if the flowers had taken wing.

Barry drew Lily down on the blanket.

“Open the lid. Then we have to let the butterfly come out all by itself. We don’t want to scare it.”

He set the jar in the middle of the wet grass.

“Lie down,” he whispered. “We probably look scary to the butterfly ’cause we’re so big.”

Lily did as she was told and Barry stretched out next to her. Then the two children waited, hardly breathing, as the meadow grew quiet again.

Gradually, many of the butterflies returned—drawn to the vibrant petals and the warm fingers of sunlight that were beginning to stretch down the slope. Bronte was too far away to see what was happening in the jar, but she supposed that the butterfly was testing its freedom because Lily’s face lit up in anticipation. Then, a fluttering wisp of yellow rose from the jar, hovered in the air, then hurried to disappear among the other butterflies.

A soft “oh!” escaped Lily’s lips before Barry took her hand, reminding her that she needed to be quiet.

For several long minutes, she and Barry lay still, so still, until the butterflies began to move from poppy to poppy again. At long last, a single delicate butterfly hovered over Lily’s head, then settled onto her cheek. An expression of such bliss settled onto her daughter’s face that Bronte sobbed, knowing this was what Lily had wanted—
needed
—to begin to truly heal.

In an instant, all of the anger and fear that had roiled within Bronte’s consciousness since Phillip’s arrival melted away, reminding her that she couldn’t change the past or any of its events. But she could focus on the future, on making her children feel valued and loved.

Safe.

Silently, she reached for Jace’s hand, squeezing it tightly, realizing that, like Lily, she was being offered a new beginning, a new life, a new chance at happiness. But as she turned to look at Jace, she knew all of those victories would be hollow without him.

As if sensing her thoughts, Jace tugged her closer, tucking her beneath his chin.

“I know this probably isn’t the time or the place,” he murmured. “But I love you, Bronte Cupacek. And I love your kids.”

“Same here,” she whispered.

He hugged her even closer. “I know that we’ve only
known each other a short while—and we’re going to need to take some time to make this work. But . . .”

When he paused, she smiled and looked up. “But you want to go steady?”

He chuckled softly. “What’s one step up from going steady?”

She lifted on tiptoes, saying against his lips, “Kissing friends?”

“Yeah. I’d like to be your kissing friend.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “I think you already are.” Then she pressed her lips to his.

The embrace was soft and sweet, filled with promise. But before either of them could deepen the caress, the meadow was suddenly filled with shrieks of laughter as Barry and Lily jumped to their feet and began to run willy-nilly through the poppies.

As she watched their innocent exuberance, Bronte laughed herself—even as her throat grew tight with joy and sorrow, hope and love. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that all of the challenges her little family had endured were completely over. She knew it would take time for Lily to come to terms with the way she’d been wounded so deeply—and Kari’s sudden sweetness could evaporate in a heartbeat.

But she also acknowledged that the Cupacek women had turned a corner. By coming to Bliss they’d found more than a refuge in her grandmother’s home. They’d found good friends, a supportive community, and . . .

Love.

Grabbing Jace’s hand, Bronte pulled him after her. “Come on!” she called out.

They ran toward the children, wanting to be included in their elaborate, nonsensical game. When Barry caught Bronte’s hand and Lily launched herself into Jace’s arms shouting, “Swing me! Swing me!” Bronte realized she’d also found the missing pieces to a new family.

Time would take care of the rest.

V
ERN’S
was absolutely rocking with the sounds of bluegrass, boisterous shouts, and conversation, and that made Bronte smile.

Elam and Prairie Dawn’s marriage had started in elegant reverence, with a beautiful autumn ceremony at Henry’s pond. The willows had been festooned with lengths of pale pink and ivory ribbons that had fluttered in the breeze, blue and pink potted hydrangeas had been scattered around the yard, and an old ribbon-bedecked buckboard rescued from the Taggart barn had become the perfect spot for gathering wedding presents—as well as serving as the couple’s “getaway” vehicle.

Since Bronte had been asked to be maid of honor, she’d had the perfect vantage point to the proceedings. First, Lily, in a sleeveless pink silk dress and ruffled skirt, scattered rose petals down an aisle formed by dozens of antique chairs gathered from the community—carved dining room sets, cane backs, ornate wicker pieces, and stately gentlemen’s seats. There were even a couple of wingbacks and settees for people like Annie who needed a softer perch. Bronte wouldn’t have
thought the idea would work, but as Barry went next, carefully holding a pillow with the rings attached, she’d realized that the variety had given the grove the look of an outdoor sitting room—warm and cozy and intimate.

Next, it had been Bronte’s turn. She’d been intensely aware of the way that Jace, who served as one of Elam’s best men, stepped forward so that he could watch her more clearly. Even now, Bronte grew hot inside at the memory of his gaze—one that was tender and passionate at the same time, his attention so keen that she’d nearly blushed.

After that, the bride had appeared in the doorway of the cabin. Helen had done herself proud by designing a gown that was the perfect combination of pioneer bride and modern romantic. The dress clung to her figure in all the right places. With an ivory satin corset and Nottingham lace chemise, it gave the appearance of being a piece of exotic Victorian lingerie before flaring out at the skirt with a flourish of silk and lace.

There was no denying the absolute joy that radiated from Elam and P.D. as they exchanged their vows. But even their first passionate kiss as man and wife hadn’t affected Bronte as much as Jace’s regard. The mixture of desire and anticipation in his silver-gray eyes had caused her heart to stutter-step in her chest.

Once their ceremony had finished, Elam and P.D. had made their way to Vern’s—with a line of cars and trucks forming a procession behind them. The restaurant had been closed for the day and the tables had been transformed with rich linens and a variety of antique bottles and containers that held more bunches of hydrangeas. By the time the guests began to appear, the band was set up and ready to go.

Now, it was clearly time to party.

As Bronte stepped into the kitchen, she was greeted with a host of amazing smells—smoked meats, baking bread, and the heavenly aroma of sugar cookies.

“Here’s the tray you needed.”

Bronte smiled at Marci, one of the new managers at Vern’s, as she accepted the heavy platter. “Thanks.”

Returning to the dining room, she wound her way through the dancers and well-wishers to the buffet table. The guests could choose from a variety of P.D.’s most popular recipes: bison burger sliders with prickly pear compote; platters of smoked turkey, ham, and salmon; miniature barbecue brisket sandwiches. There were baked beans, roasted baby potatoes, and steamed asparagus stalks in a lemon glaze. In huge baskets, Bronte had arranged mini loaves of her banana blueberry and beer breads, as well as her new specialties, citrus cranberry and blackberry cardamom muffins.

Another table had been devoted to the sweets. A delicate multilayer wedding cake—another of Helen’s creations—featured a bride lassoing the groom with a lariat and delicate hydrangea blossoms formed with gum paste. The flowers looked so real that they could have been plucked from P.D.’s bouquet. Surrounding the cake were plates of cookies—oatmeal raisin, chocolate crackle, bonbons, and sugar cookies, which had been cut and iced to reflect the Wild West Games, where Elam and P.D. had begun their romance. The kids in attendance were especially fond of the tasty horses, cowboy hats, boots, and revolvers.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” a low voice said behind her. It was followed by a strong arm around her waist. After setting the tray in an empty spot, Bronte leaned back into Jace’s embrace.

“Thanks, I was excited to help.”

“I know. Come on.”

Jace took her hand and led her to the dance floor. The band had begun to play a slow country-western ballad and Jace maneuvered them near the edge, away from the crush of people headed for the buffet table and the other swaying couples. He settled one hand in the small of her back and took hers with the other.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look?”

He had, but Bronte didn’t mind if he was repeating himself. Country living hadn’t given her many opportunities to dress to the nines, but today she
felt
beautiful, too. Not just because of the pale blue sheath and her upswept hair, but
because of the light shining from Jace’s eyes. She never grew tired of that look—a mixture of tenderness, wonder, and passion.

“You’re creating quite the stir yourself.”

It was true. She’d caught more than one woman offering him a lingering glance, but Jace seemed oblivious to the attention.

Which made Bronte feel even more loved.

Jace leaned down, murmuring next to her ear. “This is a fulfillment of one of my fantasies.”

Bronte looked at him with raised brows. Over the past five months, the two of them had explored plenty of Bronte’s requests.

“Really? How?”

“I’ve always wanted to dance with you. But with the summer rush, we never managed to get to Vern’s when the band was playing.”

She smiled. “Then I’m glad you finally got your wish.”

They rocked together, moving only enough for their embrace to be considered dancing.

“I’ve got one more fantasy to fulfill today, if you’re agreeable.”

“Mmm. Name it.”

His lips moved to her ear, his breath teasing the tendrils next to her temple.

“I meant to do this later, after all the fuss with Elam and P.D. is over—and I don’t want to horn in on their day—but maybe we can keep this between us until the newlyweds make their getaway . . .”

He loosened his hold to pull away ever so slightly and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a ring. Bronte gasped when she saw that it had been fashioned of gold. A ruby lay in the center of what looked like a poppy, and hovering on either side were stylized butterflies.

“Did you design this?” she asked, stunned at the delicate beauty.

He nodded.

“But my birthday isn’t for another month.”

Jace’s smile was slow and sweet. “It’s not a birthday present.”

Her brow puckered in confusion.

“Will you marry me, Bronte? Will you be my forever kissing friend and wife? Will you let me share a lifetime loving your girls, and will you enjoy a lifetime loving Barry?”

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she refused to spoil the moment, so she smiled instead. Even so, her voice was husky when she said, “Yes. I would love to be your forever kissing friend and wife, and I would absolutely love to blend our families into one.”

She held out her left hand. His fingers shook slightly as he slid the ring in place.

Bronte laughed. “Were you worried I’d say no?”

“A little.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure that you were ready to even think about . . . I don’t know . . . dealing with the whole marriage thing yet.”

Bronte lifted on tiptoe, hugging him tightly around the neck. “With you, I’m ready to take on anything the world might throw our way.”

“Just so you know . . . I’m not rushing you into anything. You can set the date as far away as you want. Months. Years.”

He looked so anxious that Bronte laughed, pressing her lips to his yet again. “Maybe months, definitely not years. So shut up and dance with me, Jace.”

*   *   *

FROM
a table on the opposite end of the room, Lily watched Bronte and Jace melt into one another’s arms.

“They’re kissin’ again,” Barry said matter-of-factly.

“They do that a lot,” Lily agreed.

“Yeah, but this time it’s a special kiss.”

Lily squinted, studying her mother and Jace more carefully. “Looks like the same kinda kiss they always have.”

“Uh-uh. Look. She’s wearin’ the butterfly ring.”

From this far away, Lily couldn’t see it too well, but every now and then, she caught a flash of red on her mother’s hand.

“What’s a butterfly ring?”

“Jace showed it to me when it was a bunch of swirly lines on a piece of paper. Then, he took it to this guy in Logan, who made it into a ring. Jace said the ring meant that he and Bronte were going to be forever kissing friends but I had to keep it a secret.”

“What does that mean? Forever kissing friends?”

“It means you get to come live in my house and have the room next door to mine. You’ll be my sister, even though Jace says you’re really gonna be my . . . meece? An’ I get t’ be your uncle.”

“You can’t be my uncle. You aren’t old.”

“That’s what I said!” Barry agreed emphatically. “So’s Jace told me I could call you my sister.” He snorted. “That’s kinda dumb, cuz I’ve already been calling you my sister.”

“When?”

“That’s what the word Emily means. Everybody thought I was mixin’ you up with my twin, Emily.” He rolled his eyes. “They shoulda known that when I call you Emily, I’m calling you my sister. I’ve known forever that you were my sister.”

“Oh.” Lily digested that thought, wondering why it gave her a warm feeling in her chest. But then, she always felt warm and safe around Barry. “So what do I call you if you’re my brother?”

Barry laughed as if she’d asked the silliest question in the world. Taking another bite of his sandwich, he chewed, then simply proclaimed, “You keep callin’ me
Barry.”