The Trouble With Cowboys (19 page)
Rachel’s gaze settled on Tommy. Her expression softened. “No. This is good, what you’ve done. Jenna would’ve crashed the car if she’d driven us here. I appreciate you stepping up.”
“Not a problem. Glad I was there.”
“Why were you at our house, anyway?”
“I needed to talk to Amy. Still do, but it can wait until a better time.”
Rachel’s mouth screwed up. “You hurt her last night. Pretty badly. She didn’t give me the details, but she never was good at hiding her feelings. Did you come over this morning to apologize?”
His heart sank at the confirmation that he’d caused her pain. Almost seemed inevitable after the chain of boneheaded decisions he’d made the night before, starting with the way he’d ignored his conscience and kept their date in the first place. He needed to apologize and explain as best he could, but he certainly wasn’t going to bring Rachel into the loop before he squared things with Amy.
“Think I’ll wait and talk to Amy first.”
“When you and I talked on Sunday, you promised me you wouldn’t hurt her. And that’s the first thing you did.”
“The circumstances changed, okay? And really, it’s none of your business.”
“When someone hurts my sister, I make it my business.”
Kellan crinkled his eyebrows in an
oh, please
look. He felt his hackles stir, his defenses gearing up for battle. “You know what? I don’t care what you say, you’re as nosy and gossipy as everyone else in this town. This is the second time you’ve tried to put yourself in the middle of our relationship. If Amy wants you to know what’s going on, she’ll tell you.”
oh, please
look. He felt his hackles stir, his defenses gearing up for battle. “You know what? I don’t care what you say, you’re as nosy and gossipy as everyone else in this town. This is the second time you’ve tried to put yourself in the middle of our relationship. If Amy wants you to know what’s going on, she’ll tell you.”
They glared at each other until Kellan broke away, a little ashamed for snapping at someone whose mom was suffering a life-threatening health scare a few rooms over.
“You think I’m being pushy.” She picked at a splash of mud on her jeans. “But Jenna and Tommy and Amy are my only family. I’m going to protect them no matter what.”
“I respect that about you. I do. All I can tell you right now is that I’m going to do the best I can for Amy. You’ll have to trust me.”
“Why would I trust you?”
He squinted up at the florescent lights. “That’s a good question. One I hope time will answer.”
She snorted. “Wait and see—my least favorite phrase in the English language.”
He smiled, a peace offering. “You want me to say it in Spanish?”
“Nice try.”
“Is Amy okay?” he asked. “I mean, with your mom. Is she coping? I haven’t seen her since we got to the hospital.”
“She’s hanging in there, but she can’t hardly tear her eyes away from Mom, like she might disappear or something. One thing about Amy is she’s tougher than she looks. And she’s definitely tougher than she thinks she is.”
“You’re right about that.” He’d only known her for a week, but in that time, she’d proven herself to be one of the strongest, most resilient people he’d ever known. Rachel got up to leave, but Kellan stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Listen, you’re going to think this is the pot calling the kettle black, but I have to ask you something.”
She settled into the chair. “Shoot.”
“What’s going on with you and Vaughn?”
Her spine stiffened and her expression grew defensive. “And you accused me of inserting myself into other people’s business?”
“Like I said, pot and kettle. So . . . what happened between you two?”
She found a splash of mud on her forearm to pick at, and took to bouncing her leg. “What did Vaughn tell you?”
“He didn’t tell me anything.” Not true, but he was a smart enough man not to tell her that Vaughn didn’t seem to care for her. “It’s just that, the other day, after you left, he was agitated. He had the urge to take up smoking again.”
Her bouncing leg stilled. “He’d stopped?”
Interesting. “Eleven months ago.”
She swallowed, her stare growing more vacant. Then she seemed to shake herself awake. “Good for him. For his health, I mean.”
With an observant eye on her, he fleshed out the details. “He never said what prompted him to quit. The decision seemed to come out of the blue. But once he made the choice, he was all in. He stopped cold-turkey and was impossible to be around for a month or so. He yelled a lot and moped around. Lisa Binderman swore he was going through the classic symptoms of heartbreak.”
“Heartbreak?”
Kellan didn’t miss the catch in her whispered word. “You know, because he ended his relationship with nicotine. Anyway, after a time, he started smiling again, cracking jokes. Got back to his old self. But it took a while. Smoking really had a hold on him.” Narrowing his eyes at her, he decided to take a calculated risk. “But when he saw you on Sunday, something inside him seemed to snap. He got that same damaged look in his eyes as he had after he quit smoking. Why do you suppose that is, Rachel?”
“How should I know what’s going through his head?”
“Something tells me you do.”
She turned her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “And if I told you it was none of your business?”
“Then I’d say, when someone hurts my family, I make it my business.”
“Touché.”
“Look, I’ve known Vaughn for twelve years and other than the month he quit smoking, he’s never gone to such a dark place in his head as he did when he saw you. I don’t like having one of my best friends upset.”
Sniffing, Rachel stood. Discomfort rippled over her features. “I’m sorry I upset him. I’ll have to work harder to avoid him in the future.”
Whoa, there.
What in the hell happened between them? Something major, that much was clear. Because now Rachel was looking like Vaughn had the other day—restless and bitter and full of private pain. He snagged her hand. “Hey, did Vaughn hurt you?”
What in the hell happened between them? Something major, that much was clear. Because now Rachel was looking like Vaughn had the other day—restless and bitter and full of private pain. He snagged her hand. “Hey, did Vaughn hurt you?”
She wrenched away from his grip. “Yes, he did. But I hurt him too. And that’s all you need to know.”
She strode away, the ICU doors flapping closed behind her.
Chapter 12
Amy must have drifted to sleep while Kellan drove to Catcher Creek because she roused when the car paused at the base of the highway off-ramp to find her cheek pressed against the cold window. Then a picture of her mom, frail and unconscious, buffeted by tubes and wires and machines, pierced her haze of drowsiness. Sorrow, colder than the window, seeped into her system.
Then guilt arrived, trotting out to sit on her heart, threatening to crush her. She’d wished for her mom to die. Sitting vigil at her mom’s bedside, she’d prayed—spoken directly to God—about allowing her mom to leave this world for the next, for Him to have mercy on her and let her die. What a horrible daughter she must be to think such thoughts.
She resisted further movement, feigning sleep. She needed this quiet time to sift through her memories of the day. A blanket draped over her midsection and legs kept her warm enough to stave off shivering. She fingered the material. Kellan’s suit jacket. A sweet gesture, kind and chivalrous. As he always was. Except when he admitted his mistake in bringing her to his house. Except when she laid her heart on the line and he reminded her that all he wanted was a one-night stand.
She moved her partially closed eyes to the left. The clock read eleven-fifteen. They’d remained at the hospital until Mom was stable enough to move to the stroke unit on the seventh floor. The whole time, Amy longed for Kellan’s reassuring presence, the strength of his embrace . . . and hated herself for wanting him despite everything. Jenna brought reports of his goodness to Mom’s room, gushing about how sweet he looked holding Tommy as he slept, and how much of a lifesaver he was to care for her son so she could focus on Mom.
She angled her head to watch him. He drove left-handed, with his right elbow resting on the center console. Though his face was little more than a silhouette in the darkness, she could make out the chiseled plane of his cheeks, the dark dusting of stubble over his square jaw, his expression of concentration.
Allowing her heavy eyelids to flutter shut before he felt her staring, she smoothed a hand over the silky fabric lining the interior of Kellan’s suit jacket. Why had he been standing outside her house that morning? Dressed in a suit like a door-to-door salesman. No, the suit reminded her more of the clothing the
Chef Showdown
producers wore—crafted of high-end fabric, beautifully tailored. Was her mind playing tricks on her or had she actually caught a glimpse of a black leather briefcase on the porch?
Chef Showdown
producers wore—crafted of high-end fabric, beautifully tailored. Was her mind playing tricks on her or had she actually caught a glimpse of a black leather briefcase on the porch?
He’d seemed so straightforward at first glance last weekend at the Quick Stand. A local good ol’ boy, with the wardrobe and the physique of one too. He owned and operated a ranch, and kept the schedule to prove it. Early to rise, early to bed, with lots of hard labor in between. But every time she’d seen him since church on Sunday, he appeared less like a cowboy. More city-dwelling and sophisticated. More complex.
She cracked her eyelids open again and studied him, her instincts on alert. Where was his tie? Doffed for comfort? The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to expose his forearms. His face gave nothing away except a hint of his fatigue, but Amy’s instincts wouldn’t shut up. She had no evidence to support her theory, and could easily blame her fatigue for her paranoia, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Kellan was more than he seemed. That he was concealing a crucial piece of himself. Like Brock McKenna.
What had he said to her the night before, in his bedroom as Amy scrounged on the floor for her discarded clothes?
This isn’t the way I envisioned telling you the truth about me—about my other business connection in Quay County and the conflict of interest.
This isn’t the way I envisioned telling you the truth about me—about my other business connection in Quay County and the conflict of interest.
What other business?
At the time, she was too humiliated by her wanton behavior to listen. But now, she wanted to know. Had her manipulations at the hands of Brock McKenna left her looking for betrayal where none existed . . . or was Kellan hiding something?
The car slowed, then turned. The road grew bumpy. They’d arrived at Sorentino Farm. The sound of movement from the backseat told her Jenna and Rachel were stirring, probably jostled awake by the change in terrain. Amy stretched and straightened. In her periphery, she saw Kellan’s gaze dart to her, his brows pinched in concern.
She didn’t acknowledge him, knowing her eyes would give away her tumult of emotions. Her body felt electric, alive. Angry. She wanted answers. And so help her, Kellan wasn’t leaving her property until she got some.
He pulled to a stop in front of the big house, angling it so the headlights illuminated the porch, and shifted into park with the engine running. He opened Rachel’s door and offered her his hand. Amy twisted in her seat and squeezed Jenna’s hand. “Get some rest, sis. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Jenna yawned. “Not too early. Maybe Tommy’ll let me sleep until seven or so.”
“That would be awfully considerate of him.”
Amy’s door opened. Cold night air whooshed over her. She stared up at Kellan, who regarded her solemnly and offered his hand. She hung his jacket over his fingers as though it were a coat hook and stood. “You’re going to drive Jenna and Tommy home?”
“Yeah. I’ll walk back for my truck.”
“I’ll be waiting. We need to talk.”
A flash of surprise crossed his features before disappearing, replaced by resolve. “Not tonight. You need to rest. And I do too. It’s been a long, draining day for all of us.”
Nice try.
She brushed past him toward the house.
She brushed past him toward the house.
“Good night, Amy,” he said quietly.
She paused, one foot on the stairs, her gaze settling on the elegant black leather briefcase tucked on the floor near the porch swing. “Take Jenna and Tommy home. I’ll be waiting.”
The screen door banged shut behind Rachel. The porch light flickered on. The shadows on the porch shifted as Kellan swung Jenna’s car around and drove away. Amy propped the screen door open with her shoulder. Rachel had left a trail of lights on for her, leading to the second floor.
“I’m going to watch the stars for a bit, see if I can screw my head on straight before I try to sleep,” she hollered at the staircase.
Rachel’s head poked over the railing. “Don’t push Kellan tonight. He did us a big favor, driving us to the hospital and keeping an eye on Tommy.”
With a plastic smile, Amy shut the front door on Little Miss Bossypants. She settled onto the porch’s bench swing and hauled the heavy briefcase onto her lap. Her palms slid over the cold, smooth leather.
This isn’t the way I envisioned telling you the truth about me.
Her thumbs settled on the latches. Time to open it and discover Kellan’s secrets. Then again, perhaps he’d come to her farm that morning with a Slipping Rock beef supply contract. If so, then violating his privacy would be a huge mistake. But she didn’t think today’s surprise visit had been about beef, not with the designer suit and tie. And yet, he’d driven his beater truck. The pricey briefcase and truck didn’t line up. A flick of her thumbs pushed the latches open. The sound cracked in the silent night. A fist through the darkness.
Rancher Kellan or Businessman Kellan. Worn-out Cowboy Boots verses Polished Loafers. Who was he?
She sounded as paranoid as her mom on one of her bend-ers. Another flick of her thumbs resealed the case. She hugged it to her chest. Papers inside shifted, along with the clink of pens sliding and resettling. Rocking the swing with the heel of her boot, she waited, staring at the outlines of distant mountain ridges framed against the moonlit sky. The winter air numbed her fingers and ears.
The crunch of boots on gravel preceded Kellan’s arrival. Amy’s heart rate picked up. Locking her fingers together to steady them, she blanked her expression and watched Kellan approach.
He stopped at the base of the stairs, his dark eyes intense on her, toggling from her face to the briefcase, then back. The line of his lips straightened and thinned. His cheek rippled, like he’d clamped his teeth together. “Did you look inside?”
“No.” But now she wished she had.
He nodded and took the stairs two at a time. Perching on the far edge of the bench, he eased the case from her lap and set it on the floor, out of her reach.
Amy gnawed her bottom lip, working up the nerve to begin the interrogation. “Why did you come to my house this morning?”
“You’ve been through enough today. Can’t we save this for tomorrow? Get some sleep?”
“I’m going to the hospital tomorrow. So we’ll talk about this now. Why did you come to my house, when last night you didn’t want anything more to do with me?”
He shifted his weight more fully onto the swing and propped his elbows on his knees, head in hands. Amy counted stars, giving him time to work up to an explanation. Clearly, it was going to be a doozy.
“I grew up in Henderson Mill, Florida, Calhoun County,” he said, leaning back. “Me, my mom and dad, and my brother, Jake.”
Okay. “What are you getting at? I want to know about this morning.”
“This is part of it—how I grew up, my family. You need to understand.”
He seemed tormented, as though he were confessing to dark secrets or sins. She had no idea how stories of his childhood related to their discussion, but she’d indulge him to a point. “All right. Is your family still in Florida?”
“No . . . I don’t know . . . I’ll get to that. My mom worked the evening shift at the local grocery store. She was like a ghost. We felt her presence in the house, found evidence, but didn’t see much of her. Most of the time it was only Jake and me, and my dad in the evenings. He was the one who made us dinner, tucked us in bed most nights. We did all right for three guys until he decided it was more fun to be high than deal with his real life.”
“Sounds like my dad, more or less. Did your dad have a job?”
“He worked at a silkscreen factory. By high school, I looked for any excuse not to be at home. It was so depressing, seeing my dad half baked. My mom, too, on her days off.”
Amy shoved her hands in her pockets, lest she reach out to comfort him like she wanted to. “So what did you do to fill the time? Wander the streets? Stay with friends?”
“Football.”
She visualized a younger version of Kellan, beefed up in football gear, looking tough. “Bet you were the star quarterback. Girls probably threw themselves at you on a regular basis.”
He cracked a halfhearted smile. “They might’ve, if I’d stuck with it. I only played my freshman and sophomore years. Never got a chance to be the star quarterback, though I dreamed about it every night.”
“Were you injured?”
“No. We moved school districts, Jake and me. After that, there wasn’t any money for football.” He paused, his eyes distant and sorrowful. With a slow exhalation, he raked his fingers through his hair. “When I was sixteen, the summer before my junior year, my parents were arrested.”
That was not at all the direction of the story Amy had anticipated. “Arrested?”
“For embezzling money from the grocery store Mom worked at. They were convicted on multiple counts, with a fifteen-year sentence each.”
“Oh my God.”
He leapt to his feet and walked to the rail. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what? Like I care?”
He whirled to face her. “No, like it’s so shocking. Like it’s the first time in the history of the world people got arrested for being greedy and stupid. Stuff like that happens all the time. Greed’s not a new sin.”
Amy nodded. He didn’t want pity. She collected herself before asking, “What about the instant mashed potatoes you love because they remind you of growing up? When you told me that, I assumed you had a great childhood.”
“I like remembering that part. When I was young and sometimes my dad would let me cook. I was so proud to help. The potatoes were one of the few foods I knew how to fix. Besides opening a can. And I felt like a man, like Dad trusted me to be safe around the boiling water, even though I was only six or seven. I think about it now and he was probably high. Or drunk.”
That’s how Amy learned to cook. When her mom was too depressed to leave her room, and her dad was nowhere to be found, Amy took charge of the meals. The kitchen was the one place where she had control of the outcome. “What happened to you and your brother after they went to jail?”
“Jake and I entered the foster care system, but there weren’t many placement options for teenage brothers. We ended up in a boy’s home the next county over.”
“And when you were eighteen, you left.”
He turned to the rail, hunching into his arms. “When I was eighteen, I left.”
“And Jake?”
“When he was eighteen, he left, too. He’s a cop in L.A. A damned good one, as far as I can tell. We aren’t close.” His tone was laced with regret.
“Why not?”
Kellan shook his head. “He hated me for leaving. He took it personally, like I was abandoning him. And you know what? He was right. It was a shitty thing for me to do.”
She joined him at the rail, not so close that she brushed his sleeve with her arm, but near enough to feel his heat and wish she were at liberty to lean into it. “You were only eighteen. It wasn’t fair for him to put that burden on you.”
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