Son of a Gun (25 page)

Emma had already lost too many moments to waste a single one now, but how could she move on when her fear of Caudillo refused to let go of her?

* * *

DAMIEN STAYED OUTSIDE FOR at least a half hour after Tague went in. He liked the sounds on the ranch at night. The hoot of an owl. The rustling in the grass made by a family of skunks out searching for food. The croak of a bullfrog in the nearby pond. The scratching of an armadillo in the rich earth beneath the shrubs.

The only illumination in the back of the house when he finally went inside was the dim glow of the under-counter lights that they frequently left on all night. Damien walked to the counter and reached for a water glass.

“What’s wrong, Damien?”

He turned at his mother’s voice. She was sitting alone at the kitchen table.

“Nothing’s wrong. What are you doing sitting in here by yourself this late?”

“Thinking about you and the worry I read in your face. I know this has to do with Emma. It started when she arrived. Is she in some kind of trouble?”

“Nothing you don’t know about.”

“Julio’s death was ruled self-defense. But the two of you are more anxious than ever.”

She’d always been able to see through his lies. No use to try. He’d just have to soft-pedal the truth. He took his glass of water to the table and straddled a chair.

“Emma’s working through some issues from the past, but she’s making progress. I’m just trying to help her look at some options for dealing with obstacles.”

“What kind of issues?”

“An abusive relationship.”

“Is she still in danger from this man?”

“She could be. That’s why I’ve asked her to stay on here, but don’t worry. I plan to hire additional protection so none of you will be in danger.”

“I can’t imagine the man would be foolish enough to show up here with you, Tague and all the wranglers we have around. But if I can help with anything, let me know.”

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t broach the subject with Emma. If you do, she’s liable to just run away again and then she might be in real danger.”

“I’ll take my cues from you. I like Emma. She’s easy to talk to, and I love the way she’s bonded with Belle.”

“I like her, too, Mother. I like her a lot.”

He reached for a snapshot lying at his mother’s elbow and held it up so that he could see it in the dim light. “This is an old picture. Who’s that Dad’s bathing?”

“You.”

“I’m smiling big, but Dad looks like he’s in pain.”

“You’d just splashed water all over him and he was grumbling like a bear. I was laughing so hard I could barely focus the camera, but it’s always been one of my favorites.”

“Grumbling like a bear, huh? So even as a baby I had that effect on him.”

“We all had that effect on him at times.”

“But no one was as good at it as me.”

“That’s not true. Your father pushed you too hard at times, but he was always proud of you, Damien.”

The question of the birth certificate niggled Damien’s thoughts. This was probably as good a time as any to deal with it. “I have a question for you, Mother.”

“You can ask me anything.”

“Who was Damien Briggs?”

“Is this some kind of game? Because I’m not sure I’m up to a brain teaser tonight.”

“It’s not a game. When I was getting the boxes you wanted down from the attic the other day, I saw a birth certificate for a Damien Briggs. His birthday was the same as mine, but the name of the mother was Melissa Briggs.”

She winced as if he’d slapped her. “You must have read it wrong.”

“I read it exactly as it was printed. The line for the father’s name was blank.”

Carolina started to rub her arms nervously. His uneasiness swelled to a strangling knot in his gut. “I’m not really your son, am I?”

Carolina buried her face in her hands.

“I guess that’s my answer.” He started to stand up, but she grabbed his arm and held on, digging her fingernails into his flesh.

“You’re my son in every way that matters, Damien. I didn’t give birth to you, but I loved you from the first second I saw you. I built my life around you. No mother could love a biological son more than I love you. Surely you know that.”

Tears slid from her eyes and wet her cheeks. He should say something to comfort her, but those words wouldn’t come. “What happened to my real mother?”

“I’m your real mother, do you hear me, Damien? I’m your mother and always will be.”

“What happened to Melissa Briggs?”

“It was so long ago, Damien. Does it really matter now?”

“It matters to me.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to start with the beginning.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“I’ve never talked much about my family because there never seemed a reason to, but you have to know some of our background to understand my sister, Melissa.”

“Go back as far as you need to.”

“Our mother dropped us off at my grandmother’s when I was ten and Melissa was twelve. She never came back to pick us up. We learned later that she’d died of a drug overdose.”

“Where was your father?”

“I never met him, never knew his name. Mother cut us off quickly whenever either Melissa or I asked about him. Anyway, Grandma did the best she could to take care of Melissa and me, but she had no money and problems of her own.”

“What kind of problems?”

“The doctor called it chronic depression, but looking back I think there may have been a personality disorder or two in there, as well. So Melissa and I basically raised ourselves.

“Melissa had a much harder time than I did, probably because she was the oldest. Anyway, I was the student. She was the wild child. I got a scholarship to UT and earned a degree in premed. She went to New Orleans and got a job as an exotic dancer.”

“But you didn’t become a doctor.”

“No. I became a mother.”

“And Melissa?”

“Got mixed up with the wrong crowd in New Orleans. I was preparing to start med school when I got word that she and her boyfriend had been shot while robbing a liquor store. The cops found you in the backseat of the getaway car. You were four weeks old at the time, about the same age as Belle is now.”

“So you and Dad adopted me?”

“Hugh wasn’t in the picture then. I went to the funeral and the social worker laid you in my arms. I’ll never forget that moment. It was like you crawled inside my heart. You were as much a part of me as the blood that ran through my veins. You still are, Damien.”

“A part of you, maybe, but I’m not Hugh’s flesh and blood. He was stuck with me to marry you.”

“That’s not true, Damien, and don’t call your father Hugh. He was your daddy. He’s the one who was determined you not know that you were adopted because he never wanted you to feel different from your brothers. You were our son in his mind.”

“I’m not a Lambert.”

“You’re every bit as much a part of this family as Tague and Durk.”

“You should have told me the truth. You should have told me long before now.”

“Your father and I may have made a mistake in judgment, son, but not with our hearts. We always gave you all the love we had to give. If that’s not enough, I don’t know what else to say.”

Neither did Damien. He was numb…staggered…empty inside.

All his life he’d been a Lambert.

All his life had been a lie.

He walked away without saying a word, knowing his mother was hurting and unable to offer her anything. His muscles ached from a debilitating fatigue he hadn’t noticed earlier. But instead of going to his room, he found himself at Emma’s door.

He knocked once and then stepped inside. She was stretched out between the sheets, but she sat up when he entered. The room was dark, but silvery moonlight caressed her face, making her look like an angelic illusion.

“I didn’t know you’d already gone to bed.”

But she took one look at him and then opened her arms and beckoned him inside.

Chapter Fourteen

Only then did he come to his senses and pull away. It was not the time for this. Not yet. Not when he was dealing with his own frustrations and her life was in turmoil.

“You look upset,” Emma said. “It’s Caudillo, isn’t it? What now?”

“It’s nothing to do with Caudillo,” he said, wondering why he’d come in here in the first place. She certainly didn’t need to wrestle with his problems.

“Sit down.” She patted the side of the bed next to her.

He sat, but couldn’t bring himself to meet her penetrating gaze.

“I just came in to say good-night, but I don’t want to wake Belle.”

“You’re a poor liar, Damien. What happened? And don’t worry. As long as we keep our voices low, we won’t wake Belle. Fortunately, she’s not a light sleeper.”

“Family problems. No use for you to get involved.”

“So my problems are an open book but yours are off-limits?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Sharing gut-wrenching emotions had never come easy for him. But instead of leaving, he lay down beside her, put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

“I level with you,” Emma said. “I feel a bit betrayed when you don’t do the same with me.”

Betrayed. That was exactly how he felt. Only, the betrayers had been the people he trusted most in the world.

“Okay,” he said. “But remember, you asked for it.” He repeated what he’d just heard from his mother, while he did his dead-level best to keep his anger and frustration in check. Emma listened without interruption until he grew quiet again.

“I can see how finding out you were adopted at this late date would be a shock,” she offered.

“Shock is an understatement. I’ve gone through the first thirty years of my life believing I’m a Lambert. But I’m not.”

“What are you talking about? They adopted you. Of course you’re a Lambert.”

“Legally, but being a Lambert means more than that. It’s a bloodline. It’s traditions and land and houses passed down through generations.”

“It’s being a member of the Lambert family,” Emma said. “Your mother’s a good example. Carolina isn’t a Lambert by blood, yet she’s the heart of the Lambert clan. You don’t have to be in this house but a few minutes to realize that.”

“That’s different. Mother’s practically a saint. I’m…I’m the son of a couple who were killed while robbing a liquor store.”

“So? You just told me that Carolina’s mother died of a drug overdose. I haven’t noticed Carolina sniffing any white powder. Like you said, she’s practically a saint.”

“You don’t get it, Emma. I’m not who I thought I was. Tague and Durk are Lamberts. I’m the cheap imitation.”

“Nothing about you is cheap, Damien.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not exactly. Are you telling me that if by some weird stretch of the imagination you and I got married and adopted Belle, she wouldn’t be a Lambert? She’d be kicked out of the traditions and not allowed to do things like wear your mother’s wedding dress or inherit Sybil’s wig?”

“She can’t inherit the wig. It’s going to the grave with Aunt Sybil. But you know that Belle would become an integral part of the family. She practically is already.”

“Exactly.”

“
Not
exactly. The truth is there was always a wedge between Hugh and me. He was harder on me than he ever was on Durk or Tague. I didn’t understand it growing up, but it makes sense now. Hugh never saw me as his son.”