Against the Wind, Season 2, Episode 1 (Rising Storm) (3 page)

Dillon shot his brother a look. “We can move on to you and your problems, if you’d like.”

Logan held up both hands in mock surrender. “No. Bug Tate for a while, would you? We have clam chowder almost ready in the kitchen. I’ll go grab a couple of bowls.” He disappeared into the back room.

Tate scooted around a high booth, wishing he could escape into the kitchen. “How’s he doing?”

“Shitty.” Dillon hefted around the other side. “He’s angry and hurt and still won’t talk about it. Won’t even think of going to Ginny and giving her a chance to really explain. Poor kids.”

Tate reared back. “Explain? What is there to explain? She got knocked up and then lied to everyone about the father, especially Logan, who wanted nothing more than to protect her. Talk about a betrayal.”

Dillon sighed. “I get the feeling we’re not talking about Logan right now.”

Heat flashed through Tate. “No, I guess not. I had the perfect girl, one I loved, and my brother slept with her. They’re both adults, and they knew exactly what they were doing.” Not in a million years would he have expected either Hannah or Tucker to do such a thing. Sometimes he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

Logan reappeared with two steaming bowls of soup and quickly added a couple of micro-brews to the table. “Bye.” He deserted them for the back room again.

Tate looked around. At this time of day, before lunch, the pub was empty save for the two of them.

Dillon dug into his soup with a happy hum. Then he straightened. “You didn’t love her.”

Tate’s mouth gaped open. “Sure I did.”

“Humph.” Dillon downed half his beer.

“You’re not on duty, are you?” Tate groused.

“Nope.” Dillon ate more soup. “All right. Tell me what you loved about Hannah.”

Tate’s chest heated, and he ate some of the soup. “She’s perfect. Beautiful, genuine, well spoken.” In fact, she’d look great next to him on any podium.

Dillon snorted. “What else? I mean, what sets her apart from other women? What drives you crazy about her that you wouldn’t change?”

Tate frowned. “Nothing. She’s ideal.”

“Geez. She sounds like a cardboard copy of the perfect politician’s wife,” Dillon drawled. “The woman is even from an influential Storm family with an impressive pedigree.”

“Is that bad?” Tate snapped.

“No, but it sure as shit isn’t good. Where’s the excitement? The romance?”

Tate sipped the potent beer. “What are we? Sixteen?”

Dillon sighed. “No, but we’re not ninety, either. What does Hannah want in life? What’s her biggest fear? Strongest memory? Largest dream?”

Tate studied his friend. “What’s your damn point?”

Dillon shrugged. “I’m just saying that if you really loved the woman, you’d know the answers to those questions. I’m your cousin and best friend, and I know those answers about you. You want to rise to power and make changes within the political system. Your biggest fear is failure in front of everybody, and your strongest memory is of when you and Tucker got caught in that barn fire. Finally, your largest dream, one you won’t admit to anybody, is the White House.”

Tate rested his head back in the booth, his gut churning. “Okay, so you know me. Are you secretly in love with me or what?”

“Or what,” Dillon said dryly. “But I’ll bet you dollars to donuts you can’t answer those questions about Hannah. She’s a great woman, but you liked who she could be, what you could make her, and not who she really is.”

Was it true? Had Tucker seen what or who she really was? The woman was crazy about animals and she liked ranching. Two things Tate didn’t have much interest in. He turned his focus on his cousin. “What about you, buddy? You asked me to hire Joanne Alvarez for my campaign. She’s a married woman you’ve been in love with since high school. When are you going to finally make a move?”

Dillon’s expression lost all humor. “You just said it. She’s married. Besides, we’re just friends.”

“Right.” Tate scrutinized Dillon over his beer glass. “I found it odd that her asshole husband, who liked to use her as a punching bag, found the drive and energy to actually leave town. I wonder what made Hector finally get up and go?”

Dillon looked him directly in the eye. “Who cares? So long as he’s gone and doesn’t come back, I don’t think it matters why he left.”

“That’s what I figured.” Tate leaned forward. “Listen, I know I’m the last person who should be giving advice, but if she ever finds out you had something to do with her husband leaving town, and that you never told her about it, she’s going to be furious. That might be something you can’t fix.”

Dillon slowly nodded. “I know, but having her safe, alive, and hating me is better than seeing her in the ground, dead and broken. I’m at peace with that decision.”

“Shit, Dillon. You didn’t kill the asshole, did you?” Tate’s mind spun.

Dillon snorted. “Of course not.” Yet something on his face said if that had been the last way to save Joanne, he would’ve done it. “He’s out of town. That’s all.”

Tate shook his head. “Women.”

Dillon nodded as he finished his soup. “Good talk. I think we’ve covered it all for now. At least until we can escape to the cabin with a bottle or three of Jack. Plan a weekend, because we’re heading out soon. For now, are you working on your campaign?”

“Yeah, I’m handing flyers out to businesses, and then I need to get headquarters set up. We’re using a conference room in my law office—the one downstairs.” Tate shoved from the booth and placed his dishes on the bar.

“Let Logan take care of the dishes,” Dillon said, grinning.

Tate chuckled and followed his cousin outside only to stop short.

Tucker leaned back against Tate’s car, arms crossed, his jeans faded and his hat weathered. “We need to talk.”

Anger slammed into Tate, and he whirled on Dillon.

Dillon held up both hands. “Not me. I swear.”

Tucker chuckled. “Nobody called me, brother. The town isn’t big enough to hide your SUV.”

“Don’t call me
brother
, you backstabbing prick,” Tate growled, his hands curling into fists. For so many years, his brother had been his closest confidant and his best friend. When and how had they grown so far apart?

“Guys? You can’t do this in the middle of the street,” Dillon said.

“We’re not doing it anywhere else.” Tate shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t wrap them around his brother’s neck. “What the hell do you want?”

Tucker flushed. “I saw your rig and wanted to see how you were doing. I’ll even apologize for the zillionth time, if it’ll mean anything to you. Hannah and I got caught in the moment, and we should’ve done it a better way. We should’ve talked to you.”

We
. Tucker and Hannah were still a we? “So you’re still going strong?” Tate asked, his voice hoarse. He’d tried to stay away from his brother to keep from knowing that one shitty fact.

Tucker swallowed. “I don’t know exactly what we’re doing, but I care for her, Tate. The real her and not who somebody else wants her to be.”

That sounded almost exactly how Dillon had put it. What the hell? Nobody thought his feelings for Hannah had been real? “You’re my brother, Tuck. Yet you didn’t think twice, now did you?” What kind of shithead did such a thing to his own flesh and blood? Who the hell was Tucker? “I don’t even know you.” Why were they rehashing this yet again?

Tucker ripped off his brown cowboy hat and clapped it against his dusty jeans. “I did more than think twice. In fact, I thought about it all the time. Hell, I thought about
her
all the time. But I tried to stay clear of her. Then, watching you, I knew you didn’t love her. Not really.”

“Yes, I did,” Tate spat.

“No. She loves animals, you don’t. You love the limelight, she doesn’t. You want a political career, and she wants to get her hands dirty foaling a calf. This isn’t a case of opposites attract. Neither one of you is right for the other.” Tucker’s eyes burned a dark blue. “I’ve given you plenty of time to be angry at me. If you stop being pissed, you’ll see the truth.”

“The truth?” The blood rushed through Tate’s ears, heating his entire head. “Oh, I see the truth. You’re a dick, and I’ll never trust you again.”

Tucker paled. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, and don’t you forget, brother.” The words spewed out of Tate so quickly he couldn’t grasp just one. “That lying whore warmed my bed first. She’s screamed my name, and I’ve made her beg for more. In fact, you’re probably getting fifths or sixths and not even sloppy seconds.”

Tucker moved then, faster than Dillon could intercede. His right cross exploded pain through the side of Tate’s face, throwing him back against the building. He’d barely hit the brick before lunging up and tackling Tucker into the side of his truck. The metal dented with a satisfying crunch.

Tucker connected with a gut shot, and Tate retaliated with an uppercut to the jaw, flashing pain across his knuckles. Tucker’s head snapped back and smacked the truck.

“You asshole,” Tucker snapped, wrapping both arms around Tate’s midsection and crumbling the two of them to the ground.

Small stones cut into Tate’s hip.

“Knock it off,” Dillon yelled, trying to grab the backs of their shirts.

Neither man paid any attention.

Tate clipped Dillon with an elbow, but he and his brother continued to roll on the pavement, throwing punches. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed.

Agony roared through Tate, not nearly as harsh as hearing his brother and Hannah were still together. Shouldn’t the excitement of the affair have diminished?

Several cars stopped on the street, and gawkers got out.

Dillon tried again to separate them, yanking them both to their feet. Tate punched out, Tucker ducked, and Tate nailed Dillon in the nose.

Blood spurted across Dillon’s face. “Damn it,” he bellowed.

Sirens echoed in the distance, coming closer.

Tate didn’t care. He kept dodging and punching. Tucker spun a kick into his side, and he crashed into Dillon, knocking his cousin down. Seeing red, Tate jumped up and pummeled his brother in the face with a series of punches.

Tires screeched to a stop.

Bootsteps pounded.

Tucker tackled Tate again, slamming him into the pavement. Pain rippled down his back.

Then hands were everywhere, yanking them apart.

Tate struggled furiously. His hands were forced behind his back, and he was suddenly slammed over the hood of his car. He stilled.

Tucker landed next to him, face down.

Oh God. Tate turned his head to see a bleeding Dillon watching several deputies do their jobs. “Dillon?” he croaked, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Dillon shook his head and accepted a rag from a deputy. “Nothin’ I can do. I’ll call your folks to bail you out.”

Flashes popped to the right, and Tate turned to see a newspaper reporter snapping pictures. Ah, hell.

Chapter Three

Zeke Johnson kept the truck to only twenty miles over the speed limit, when all he wanted to do was gun it and get back home and away from all the damn gossips. Those damn fool boys. When the hell were either of them going to grow up?

“Slow down,” Alice murmured, her gaze on the trees whizzing by outside. “Our peaceful house isn’t going anywhere.”

“We should have left their dumb asses in jail,” he muttered. Instead, he’d bailed them out and sent them away from each other with a promise that they were gonna have a good talk and soon. For now, he needed to get his temper under control, and so did they. “A street fight. Can you believe it?”

She reached over and rubbed his arm. As usual, her touch instantly calmed him. Always had and always would. “They’re both hurting.”

“Both?” Zeke shook head. “Tate’s hurting. Tucker’s the cause.”

“Things aren’t that simple,” Alice murmured. “Tate and Hannah weren’t right for each other, and Tate was too focused on his career and grand plan to notice. Tucker noticed.”

“He shouldn’t have done what he did,” Zeke said, pulling the truck around some wild ducks waddling across the crumbling road. “If he was serious about this girl, he should’ve sat down with his brother and talked it out like men.”

“Sometimes we don’t discover the right way until we’ve already gone down the wrong path,” she murmured.

When the boys were young, they’d often duke it out and then go off happy as clams together. “Do you think the fight helped?” Zeke asked.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “For Tucker and Hannah to have a shot, Tate has to forgive them. I know Tucker, and while he’s all starry-eyed now, if his brother never relents, Tucker won’t allow himself to be happy.”

Zeke looked toward his wife, his instincts humming. “I know that tone. What are you planning?”

She sent him a brilliant smile, still taking his breath away after all these years. “Well, I was just thinking. If Tate found the right girl for him, then he’d see what love really felt like and he’d forgive his brother.”

“Oh, no.” The woman was about to matchmake, and as much as he loved her, every time she interfered in the romances of others, disaster ensued. Yet, Alice knew her sons. “Who do you have in mind?”

“I’m still working on it,” she mused. “That nice Marisol Moreno is a wonderful woman, but I think she has eyes for Patrick. Or rather, Patrick seems a little moonstruck over her, so I wouldn’t want to interfere. Don’t worry, I’ll find just the right girl.”

Zeke cleared his throat. “I’m not so convinced about Hannah for either of our sons. I mean, she dated one and slept with the other. Is that really the gal you want in our lives?”

Alice patted her gray-flecked brown hair. “I like her, and I think she could make Tucker happy. Oh, she definitely made a mistake, as did Tucker, but she’s human. The girl loves animals, so she has to be nice, right?”

Zeke reached over and took Alice’s hand, letting up on the gas. Her sweetness always warmed him.

Soon their family homestead came into view. White sprawling house, pristine blue shutters, a wraparound porch for family and friends.

They pulled into the circular driveway and his chest compressed. “Shit.” Chase Johnson, the one and only, was calmly sitting on the porch swing, his guitar case leaning against the house, his boots crossed at the ankles. His blond hair had turned gray, and new lines fanned out from his blue eyes. A scar ran along the right side of his neck from what looked like an old knife wound.