Never Let You Down: The Connaghers, Book 4

A breath of a second chance can bring a slow-burning flame roaring back to life.

The Connaghers, Book 4

Virginia, Matriarch of the Texas Connaghers, has been alone twelve years since the great love of her life passed away. Tyrell loved her sadist’s heavy hand and the hard inner core she’s dared not show anyone since.

She lives in the past, clinging to all those memories except one. The one she’s determinedly blocked out of her heart and mind for nearly forty years. The one time she was
almost
unfaithful to her then-fiancé with her best friend, Jebadiah Garrett.

That was a long time ago. They both married and moved on. She has three adult children settling down with their own families. Besides, it was just a kiss. One kiss.

One unforgettable kiss that brought Jebadiah to his knees at her feet.

Now he’s back in town and determined to finally, once and for all, tell her how much he’s loved her all these years. Or, even better,
show
her by going to his knees once more. If she’ll only give him the chance.

Warning: Friends to lovers, older characters with a second chance at love, and a hard-as-nails matriarch who finally succumbs to a forty-year-old unrequited love

Never Let You Down

Joely Sue Burkhart

Dedication

For my beloved Sis.

Chapter One

Rocking in her chair on the front porch, Virginia Connagher watched the sun set as she’d done every night for nearly forty years, ever since she and Tyrell had first bought this ranch. It’d been a rough mess of two hundred acres and a tiny, barely livable shack, with falling down fences and more weeds and cactus than pasture. A lifetime of sweat, tears and blood had turned this land into her dream—one of the finest stables in all of Texas. Her show horses were well sought after and one had won a gold in the Olympics just last year. And it didn’t mean a damned thing.

Not without him.

Pink darkened to violet and stars dotted the velvet canvas. A whippoorwill called from one of the black gum trees he’d planted alongside the driveway when they’d first moved out here. She loved the birds’ calls…and yet hated them too. He’d always loved those damned noisy birds.

“This always was your favorite time of day.”

She turned her head, shocked to see him sitting beside her in the matched mate to her chair. Dusty, stained cowboy hat tipped back on his head, sun-lined face, eyes so blue and brilliant it hurt to look into them, and big Texas mustache. He wore faded denim from head to toe and worn boots that had seen better days, the same thing he’d worn just about every single day of his life. She could even smell his Stetson cologne, the only thing he’d ever worn, along with the ever-present scent of leather that hung about him. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting.” His slow, easy drawl made her throat tighten, her eyes filling up with tears. “Thought it was past time.”

“You died twelve years ago.”

He tipped his hat back farther and gave her a solemn nod. “I sure did, Princess.”

He hadn’t called her that in…she couldn’t even remember how long. Early in their courtship he’d called her a snooty princess and the name had stuck. She’d called him a rodeo bum. Then they’d married and had a wonderful life together. Until it all ended. “You never came to see me before.”

“You wouldn’t let me. You’re a hard woman, Virginia. Besides, you didn’t need me then.”

She stared at him, gripping the arms of her chair so hard her fingers ached. He’d always done this. Infuriated her to the point she wanted to lay into him with her fists, her hairbrush, a crop, anything she had at hand. “I didn’t need you,” she repeated slowly, carefully enunciating each word. “When you left me alone to raise our children. When I had to organize your funeral. When I’ve been alone all these years. Yet now you decide to mosey back into my life? What on earth for?”

He reached up and pulled a hand-rolled cigarette out of his hatband. He didn’t light it, only held it in his mouth. Somehow over the years, she’d learned to understand him just as clearly even though he was talking around the cigarette butt in his mouth. He’d never smoked inside the house. Only here, on the porch, or out on the range once or twice a day. Yet lung cancer had still mowed him down in his prime. “You’ve been alone too long.”

She let out a harsh laugh that jarred her ears. “Don’t tell me you’ve come back from the grave to tell me I need to move on and find a new man.”

“You’re too much woman to be alone. It ain’t right.”

“No, I’ll tell you what ain’t right. You leaving us. Me having to bury you in your wedding suit.” The memory of how fake and stiff he’d looked in his coffin made her bury her face in her hands. “It wasn’t right, Ty. I should have buried you in jeans like the boys wanted. But I just wasn’t myself and Miss Belle said you didn’t care one way or the other. I hated seeing you in that suit. It should have had only good memories.”

He gently pried her fingers away from her face and lifted her right hand to his mouth. The cigarette was gone, probably tucked back in his hat for safekeeping. Funny, she’d forgotten how much his mustache tickled. She’d cursed that thing, complained how the whiskers had poked her nose when he kissed her, but now…
I’d give anything to feel those damned whiskers against my cheek again.

“Miss Belle’s always right, don’t you know that yet? I didn’t care one way or the other. All I want you to remember about me is this.”

His palm on hers, big and strong and rough. He’d worked as a ranch hand all his life, when he wasn’t rodeoing. He’d busted just about every bone in his body, including his skull, and tore up his hands doing hard work under the unforgiving Texan sun. She gripped his calloused hand tighter, desperate to keep him with her. “How could I ever find another man who moved me like you still do?”

“He’s there. You just have to open your eyes.”

“I don’t want no one else.”

He brushed his mouth against her knuckles again, deliberately tickling her skin with a wicked, knowing glint in his eyes. “You will, if you let yourself think about it. I know you too well, Virginia Connagher. If you set your mind against a thing, you’ll never surrender the fight, come hell or high water. I hate seeing my woman so down on love when I know exactly how warm and loving you can be. How passionate.”

“You said I’m a hard woman, and you’re right. I don’t think I could ever let anyone in again. I never wanted anyone like I wanted you.”

He nodded solemnly. “That’s why I’ve come to help you see the way. I love you too much to watch you hurt alone any longer.”

Hurt alone.
Those words stung, sinking deep beneath her skin to pierce her heart. She wanted to avert her face and keep the desperation and hunger hidden away, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He might fade away and she’d never see him again, not until she met St. Peter at the pearly gates. “There’s no other way, Ty, and you know—”

“I know,” he broke in, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “You’ve been hurting alone. I don’t like it. Not at all. Virginia Connagher shouldn’t ever hurt alone.” He squeezed her hand hard enough that the fine bones began to grind together. It made her blood thicken with the sweet memory of their shared secrets. How he’d been able to feed that hungry side of her that feasted on pain. “Not my Princess.”

“I don’t want to forget you.” It came out plaintive, making her wince, because she hated nothing more than being weak.

He laughed, a dark chuckle, his breath hot and moist in her ear. “You’ll never forget me, Princess. But that don’t mean you can’t take another man in my absence.”

Something shook her whole body. Lightning arced through her mind, making her twitch uncontrollably.

“Ty…”

Darkness swallowed her. She lost the sensation of his hand on hers. She couldn’t see him any longer, though the scent of leather was so strong she could almost swear she’d buried her face against his chest. “I won’t let you down, darlin’, even in this. I’ll always love you. Now it’s time to give another man the chance to love you too.”

Voices crashed and rattled inside her. Lights streamed by, like she was flying. So fast.

“Female, fifty-six years old, broken arm, severe concussion.” Hands probed her stomach, sending her gasping up in an arching cry. “Probable internal injuries.”

She opened her mouth to ask what had happened, but her brain didn’t want to work. Nothing hurt, not really. That was probably a very bad sign. The scent of leather still lingered. She closed her eyes, trying to hold on to him, but already his image had faded in her mind. The brightness of his eyes had dimmed, the edges fuzzed and softened by time. She started crying and she didn’t care who saw. “Ty.”

“Mama!” Her daughter, Vicki, suddenly appeared, her face white, her eyes huge and dark with fear. “What happened?”

“We lost her pulse for a minute or so, but she’s back with us now.” One of the nurses grabbed Vicki’s arm, holding her back from following into the next room. Lights blazed everywhere, too bright, too painful.

“Mama!” Vicki cried out. “Victor’s on his way! I’ll call Conn too. Don’t worry about a thing!”

Virginia tried to turn and see her daughter, to find out what had happened, but someone put something over her mouth and she slid into nothingness where not even a sweet dream of Ty could find her.

One week later

Virginia paused at the bottom of the porch steps and looked up at the front door.
It might as well be ten miles away.
“Whose idiotic idea was it to put in so many steps?”

“That would be yours,” her oldest son, Victor, said with a smile. “You wanted to have a good view. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” she snapped. “I’ve got a busted-up arm and some stitches, but I didn’t lose my ever-loving mind. Just my spleen.”

“Well you did have a concussion.” He wasn’t intimidated by her temper, because he had the same biting disposition. “I’m just checking to make sure.”

She sighed and leaned on him harder. “I’m sorry, son. I don’t mean to bark at you like a mean old junkyard dog.”

He wrapped his arm gingerly around her waist, mindful of her stitches. “I know, Mama. If you’d take the pain medication…”

“I hate feeling like my head’s stuffed with cotton.” She managed the first two steps and then had to pause a minute. Her head swam and her knees trembled. “Damn my fool pride. All right, son…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence because he was already sweeping her up against his chest. Luckily he didn’t say
I told you so
.

Vicki rushed ahead, shifting an armload of flowers around so she could open the door. “Mama, how many times do we have to tell you to lock the door? It isn’t safe way out here in the country.”

“I never…”

“If she’d locked the door, then I would have had to break it down.”

At that voice, Virginia groaned and pressed her face against her son’s shoulder. “Who called Miss Belle?”

“Nobody had to call me, silly girl. Bring her into her bedroom. We’ve gotten everything ready.”

“But—”

Virginia might have been matriarch of the Texas Connaghers, but Miss Belle ruled them all even from six hundred miles north. Trying not to grumble at people who obviously loved her, Virginia let them tuck her into bed instead of the couch. At least they propped her up with pillows so she could visit a while. Vicki hovered, Victor and Conn hugged and pounded each other on the back like they were trying to kill each other, while Miss Belle sat at Virginia’s dressing table like a queen. Or at least a movie star from the fifties, which she was. But Miss Belle was also her mother, which she usually seemed to deliberately forget.

She’d never liked to be called anything but Miss Belle.

She wore a gorgeous cream-colored dress covered with delicate pink roses, either a retro hourglass style or, more likely, something she really had worn forty or fifty years ago. When Virginia had been a child, Miss Belle’s hair had been a vibrant red, but it’d softened over the years to pinkish peaches and cream. Of course Miss Belle wore a wide-brimmed straw hat dotted with pink and cream roses to match her dress.

A proper lady would sooner go without underwear, which is probably why Miss Belle had despaired of ever turning her daughter into a proper lady.

Conn finally quit hugging on his brother long enough to give his Mama a proper kiss. She didn’t see him nearly as often as she wanted now that he was a professor in Missouri, but at least he was close enough to keep an eye on Miss Belle, who was nearly eighty. “We would have been down sooner but Vicki assured us you were out of danger and that you’d rather see us at home instead of the hospital.”

“Definitely.” She patted his cheek, pleased at the soft light in his eyes. Conn had always been her poet son, and emotion and angst sometimes hit him hard. Finding the love of his life had taken the hard edges out of his eyes.
He can be hard when he needs to be, but he’ll never be mean like Victor. Or me.
“By us do you mean you brought Rae too?”

“I sure did, even though I had to threaten to tie her up so she didn’t try to jump out of the car as we got close to the Texas line.” Conn laughed and from the glint in his eye, she thought he might very well mean it. “She’s in the kitchen with Shiloh.”

“Thank God,” Virginia muttered. “I’d rather go back to the hospital than eat Miss Belle’s cooking.”

“Miss Belle’s cooking would put us all in the hospital,” Conn joked.

“I’ve taught Rae Lynn everything she knows about cooking.” Miss Belle sniffed and removed her hat, then her pretty lace gloves. “She just happens to execute better than I.”

Conn snickered and ran his finger across his neck in the universal death gesture. Victor laughed and even Miss Belle had to smile at their antics. It was hard to believe her sons were both well into their thirties. Seeing them laughing and so happy made tears pool in Virginia’s eyes.

Good God, I’m turning into a weepy sap.
She busied herself adjusting the sling supporting her left arm, propping up the heavy cast with a pillow. She still didn’t remember much about the accident, but they’d told her a drunk driver had T-boned her car on the way to the grocery store. At least when she drank too much she had the common sense to stay the hell home. She’d been real lucky. Her arm had been pinned in the wreckage and she’d almost lost it.

At least it wasn’t my right arm. I can still write and I won’t have to depend on grueling physical therapy to bring my strength back.

Her mind flinched away from that nugget, refusing to dwell on the reason she needed strength in her right arm. She hadn’t had a reason to keep her shoulder and arm loose and strong for quite some time.

Thinking about that only brought her back to Ty and that incredible dream. It’d been so real. His scent of leather, the roughness of his palm, even the tickling of his mustache. Could she make up little details like that in a dream?

“You know that wasn’t any old dream,” Miss Belle said in a low voice as she sat on the edge of the bed. “He’s been worried about you a long time.”

Virginia concentrated on the cast, absently scratching her fingers beneath the edge. Miss Belle swore she still talked to Colonel Healy, her husband who’d been dead nigh on thirty years. She’d always thought her mother was crazy—everybody did.
But now I’m talking to my dead husband too.

“He said you’re always right.”

Miss Belle laughed and it sounded genuine, not girly and deliberately silly like she usually did to fool people into thinking she had a few screws loose. She wanted people to think she was just a crazy old lady. Forty years ago, she’d pretended to be an airhead actress without a thought in her pretty little head. Whether she was playing poker or dabbling in politics or playing amateur sleuth, she managed to fool most people so well that they never knew what hit them while she skipped off into the sunset.