Protector (The Brannock Siblings Book 4) (6 page)

They walked inside the house together and Cara was already
pacing the floors discussing her upcoming outing with a boy Liam was sure
couldn't take care of her.

"Ma, he said that he wanted to make sure I spent time
with family at the festival. That's a good thing," Cara stated, wringing
her hands together only to pause for a moment when she saw Liam in the doorway.

"Yes, love. He sounds like a good man. Family is the
most important and I've spoken with his mother before. They are good
people," his mother said while seasoning beef she would be cooking later.

Liam tried to be as casual as he could when he asked,
"What man?"

He wasn't fooling anyone if the look on Cara's face was any
indication.

"None of your business, Liam. I'll not have you chasin'
Jerry off like you did with Sam," Cara stated with a glare.

"Sam left on his own, Cara. Brian only mentioned the
shooting tournament in passing and he bolted like a rabbit."

Cara rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest
while Ma stood by the sink, chuckling. Liam could see her shoulders bouncing up
and down and if Cara looked right then, all hell would break loose.

His sister stepped forward with her hands pressed together
like a prayer. Her long brown hair was braided over one shoulder and the
freckles on her nose stood out against her pale skin. Cara was beautiful and
they all knew it. Didn't help that she took after their father with those
bright green eyes. The boys went crazy over her every chance they got and Liam
had his hands full already.

"Please, Liam. Jerry has been good to me and he really
wants my family's approval. Promise me you won't run him off and swear you will
talk to Brian."

Liam couldn't handle the look his sister was giving him. He was
always a sucker for his younger siblings. He glanced over at Fiona who was
watching the conversation carefully from the other corner of the kitchen. Fiona
smiled at him and he knew right then and there that no man would ever be good
enough for either of his sisters, but as long as they were happy, he would
behave.

"Alright, Cara. I'll mind my own business and I'll
treat Jonny with respect."

"It's Jerry."

"Right. Jerry will be welcomed and I'll make sure Brian
knows as well."

Cara watched him for a long moment, probably waiting for a
sign that he was lying or planning something diabolical that would embarrass
her. Liam let her take her time until she was satisfied and turned back to
their mother to continue the previous conversation.

Mary Brannock loved all her children, but she had a special
place in her heart for her girls. The boys just caused trouble while Cara
worshipped the ground Mary walked on. Fiona was still figuring things out, but
their mother was the one they all could count on no matter what.

"Is Maggie alright, son?" she asked. His aunts
were all the family his mother had left and they did everything they could to
take care of each other. Her sisters were a part of the Brannocks whether they
liked it or not.

"She's doing well, Ma. Has a new tenant to care for so
I imagine she'll be occupied this next month."

His mother nodded with a warm, grateful smile before giving
Cara all of her attention once more.

Liam walked to his room and sprawled out on his bed to stare
at the ceiling. Cara's mention of the festival his family attended every year
made him cringe. He'd always been there with them, but he never truly enjoyed
it. To be honest, it hadn't even crossed his mind to ever go again. He would be
there for Cara, though, and be a buffer for Jerry if he needed to.

His thoughts wandered to the woman staying at Maggie's
rental house. Would
she
be there? He was sure Maggie would suggest it to
her. If she
was
going, then he could volunteer his services to accompany
her so she wouldn't be alone.

His lips curled upward into a smile. He would have to make
sure he ran into her a couple of times before hand so she got to know him.

"That smile does not look safe, Liam."

Brian was watching him from his desk across the room. Colin
was the only child in the house with his own room since no one in their right
mind wanted to share with him.

Brian looked like their mother more than their father. He
had the same dark hair and blue eyes as Liam, but a softer look around the
edges of his face. He always stayed clean shaven and his nose was perfectly
straight since he'd never been in a fight with anyone. Brian was usually able
to talk his way around another person until they didn't even understand the
logic of why they were upset with him. He was smart
and
handsome which
their mother always said was going to be dangerous when it came to the girls.
But Brian didn't
know
he was good looking, so it was really a triple
threat.

The girls went crazy anytime he smiled and still, he shied
away from most of them.

"Anything I should know before all hell breaks
loose?" Brian added with a mirthless laugh.

Liam gave his brother a half shrug and moved his eyes back
to the cracked ceiling.

Brian let it go. "Is Cara still blatherin' about
Jerry?"

"She is."

"And we are supposed to behave, I take it?"

"We are," Liam replied.

"I guess it's about that time. We should probably be
kind, but not let the bugger get away with anything."

Liam smirked and turned his head to face Brian again.
"Of course not."

Brian shrugged and turned back to his book. "It's no
fun if we can't at least
try
to run them off."

"Aye," Liam smiled. "You are right about
that."

"Someone better let Colin know."

The smile on Liam's face stretched wider and he could barely
contain the laughter at the thought of what Colin already had planned. "He'll
figure it out on his own."

Isabelle

You would think waking up in another country would feel
different. That perhaps it would give you a good reason to forget your troubles
back home and just live in the moment. The problem is that your dreams don't
know that. They don't realize you are somewhere different and they don't let
you forget.

That first moment Isabelle woke up in that small house in
Rathnew, Wicklow, Ireland, she didn't really know where she was. No one ever
truly knows where they are that first second they wake up, almost as if your
subconscious is still in dreamland. You could be anywhere. People have come
back to consciousness in places they had never seen before and some people
never sleep in the same place twice. But no matter where you are, that split
second of wondering is always there. Until you open your eyes and take in your
surroundings, your mind is in limbo.

Isabelle would have rather stayed in limbo. Waking up in
Ireland meant the beginning of the countdown to when she would have to return
to her family and Christopher.

Four weeks away.

No, thirty days. That sounded much better. Much longer.

She stretched her legs and rolled towards the only window in
her new bedroom. Dawn was minutes away and she didn't want to waste a minute of
the day thinking about what time it was back home. She had the whole day to
herself and most of the next. She made her phone call to him when she first
arrived at the house, wanting to get it over with and lie down after the hours
of travel. The calling card he had given her would be plenty for the entire
month. She didn't plan on spending much time speaking on the phone with him
anyway.

It had been a long time since Isabelle was on a plane let
alone for that many hours. Not only did she not sleep, except for the last two
hours of the flight, but she got well and truly drunk. It didn't help that the
fancy dressed stewardess in first class saw her pain the very second she got
onboard. Or maybe it
did
help. She'd kept the drinks coming and didn't
ask any questions, all while keeping the other passengers from bothering
Isabelle.

It was a peaceful flight and for each additional mile she
put between her and Christopher, she felt lighter, free. The more she drank,
the more she noticed about herself and not just mentally. Her outfit was abysmal.
Her mother forced her to follow the rules society had placed on travel and she
dressed a step below what she would wear to church. She was uncomfortable and
it just wasn't her.

In the fog of drunkenness, Isabelle's thoughts had strayed
to her suitcase somewhere beneath her feet. There were only a few things she brought
that she actually chose for herself. Things she'd collected over the years that
were hers. Her choice. Hers. The rest of her belongings were things that had
been forced on her. Clothes she hated wearing and makeup she wanted to light on
fire. With the help of a little whiskey, she decided right then and there to
throw it all away. She wasn't going to let her parents or Christopher taint
this month of freedom anymore than they already would. If she wore the same few
outfits the whole time, she would still be happy.

Twenty nine days left.

That is all the time she had before she took the flight that
would bring her miles closer to the man that would destroy her. She needed to
think of a way out.

Her mind wandered to all the moments she missed in the
beginning, before Christopher lost his facade and well before her parents set
their marriage in stone in their minds.

His frequent phone calls and secret meetings. The time he
spent in the bathroom of a restaurant only to come back out looking like he'd
consumed thirty cups of coffee. The sheltered kind of woman that she was,
didn't think twice about those types of things.

But Isabelle didn't need to take long to figure it out. She
saw it for her own eyes. That's when everything came crashing down around her.

She knew there were chances for her to get out, but her fear
of what would happen to not only her, but her parents, won out over her fear of
a future with the man. Now she felt almost deserving of what was to come. Her
weakness is what determined the consequence, but she just couldn't bring
herself to accept it.

The sounds of morning reached in through the window and
Isabelle could already feel the peace seeping into her pores. Sunlight filtered
in and the warm rays heated her skin as she watched the light spread over the
lush green fields off in the distance.

This was true beauty. Watching a sunrise touch every inch of
life and feeling the wonder of it, the magic of it. She would choose this over
everything else if she could.

She was suddenly anxious to get up and start exploring. On.
Her. Own. No one to tell her what to wear, what to see, how to act. No one to
remind her that her time as Isabelle Moore was coming to an end. No one giving
her secret looks that reminded her of the danger she was facing.

She climbed out of bed and stripped down to her underwear as
she headed across the room towards her still unopened suitcase. It hadn't taken
her long to fall asleep as soon as she saw every inch of the house. Margaret showed
her everything there was to see along with an accounting of the history of each
nook and cranny. Isabelle still wasn't sure what the woman said half the time
and she couldn't bring herself to ask Margaret to slow down when she spoke. Her
accent was so thick and Isabelle worried that she would make herself look like
a fool if she didn't pay closer attention.

The name, Liam, popped up often in their conversation and
Isabelle would need to remember that he was the man to go to if anything broke
or if there were any problems with the house or gardens. Margaret also made it
a point to inform her that she lived close by and ran a small restaurant only a
mile down the road. She was welcome to stop by anytime she wanted to have a
bite to eat.

Also, basics would be provided once a week and if there were
any specific items she would require, to let Margaret know and she would make
sure Isabelle had them.

Isabelle didn't want this. This reeked of Christopher just
like the endless amount of traveler's checks had reeked of her father, but
there was no other way when it came to her stay in the house. Not unless she
got a job and did it all herself. She'd given the checks to the first person
she came in contact with once she entered the Dublin airport. They would have
more use of her father's money than she would. Money she didn't think he could
afford to spend.

She only had a month and she was going to do whatever the
hell she wanted in that time without feeling indebted to anyone but herself.

She caught her reflection in the mirror as she dragged her
suitcase to the bed. She was much too skinny and her ribs were prominent
through her skin. Never in her life had Isabelle ever been this tiny, this
gaunt, the very image of someone else.

"Time to get her back, Iz," she whispered to
herself.

Her suitcase was empty within minutes. Half of her
belongings were in a corner on the floor, ready to shred or burn if she needed
to. The other half was laid out before her and she quickly decided on the sun
dress her mother hated. It was something she'd only worn once when she first
made the purchase and it was quickly stored in the back of her closet so it
wouldn't be discarded. She had waited so long and hoped it still fit.

Isabelle pulled the light yellow fabric over her head and
let the soft material caress her skin.
Lordy!
she thought to herself. It
felt good to do something no one approved of.

She smiled and turned to the mirror. It was baggier than she
remembered, but it would work just right for her day. She pinned only a part of
her dark hair up, letting a few strands frame her face, then she turned back to
the bed where her bag of makeup sat like a disease. She didn't want to touch
it.

"I don't have to."

She swept the bag off the bed and smiled when it thumped to
the floor and items scattered and rolled underneath the bed.

"Oops."

That is exactly where it would stay for the next twenty nine
days.

The rest of her clothing went straight to the closet and she
slid on a pair of her favorite shoes that would be comfortable for a long walk.
This month would be the last time she would get to dress herself and she felt
like a child all over again. What adult doesn't get to dress themselves? It was
ridiculous.

"I'll dress however the hell I want and there isn't a
damn thing you will be able to do about it, Christopher," she grumbled and
wished she hadn't spoken his name out loud. The conversation from the day
before came tumbling back into her mind and she cringed.

Christopher had given her a surprise and it was going to
take everything she had to not cry like the child she no longer was.

He was moving her things into his home.

Well,
some
of her things. The rest was just stuff she
didn't care about and she prayed that he wouldn't toss out anything that held
meaning. She was going to be living with him the very day she returned to the
states. She wouldn't be returning to her parent's home, she would be returning
to
him.

"Your parents decided this month negated any conditions
they may have had before. I'll get to keep an eye on you, now," he'd said
caustically.

She felt her stomach roll and took a deep breath, willing away
the future that she was doomed to live.

Call it fate.

Call it destiny.

Either way, it was complete and utter bullshit.

She didn't even bother asking how he manipulated her parents
into agreeing with that ridiculous idea. She already knew their hands were
tied.

She slowly descended the stairs and looked around the house.
It was the exact kind of house she pictured when she first thought of Ireland.
Simple and aged and the very idea of freedom. It was cozy and warm, yet open
enough to feel like you weren't cramped into a corner. The floor creaked in the
kitchen and living area... well, it pretty much creaked everywhere and the
sound was like music to Isabelle's ears.

The open living room was furnished with a sofa and a hand
carved chair, both facing the small fireplace. The mantel was made of stones, a
few being loose and wobbling when she'd inspected it the day before. She would
need to figure out how to start a fire.

She tapped her chin, wondering how to do it without burning
the whole house down. She would have to ask Margaret.

The living room funneled into a small kitchen, a dining
table at the center surrounded by four hand carved chairs. She recalled
Margaret mentioning that her late husband had made them himself.

There was a small study adjacent to the living room and the
stairs right next to that, led up to three bedrooms.

Margaret said she wanted the house to be a small Bed &
Breakfast for a few guests at a time and it certainly had the potential.
However, she was still waiting on more tenants and seemed hopeful.

Isabelle crossed her fingers that it would happen for her.
Margaret seemed like an honest, hard working woman. She deserved success in
this small piece of heaven.

"With how much yer payin' for the month, I just might
make it," Margaret had mumbled the day before in her lilting accent.

Isabelle could only imagine how much her father and
Christopher had paid and wondered if part of that price was keeping an eye on
her.

She straightened her shoulders, determined to keep those
thoughts far away, and skipped through the kitchen and out the back door. She
admired the gardens the day before and felt peace sitting out there hearing the
wind and birds. She decided to walk through them once more before making her
way to Margaret's shop and getting something to eat.

Her thoughts strayed to her Aunt Neddy and what she would
think if Isabelle asked her for help. Of course her aunt wouldn't refuse her,
but it would definitely put Neddy in a very awkward position with her sister.
The two rarely spoke and when they did, it was about something they completely
disagreed on. She couldn't remember the exact day that the sisters stopped
speaking to each other, but she remembered the argument beforehand.

Neddy looked like she was going to rip her own sister into a
million pieces. They always fought, but never like that. Neddy was outgoing and
independent, while Isabelle's mother was a slave to the world she had lived in
for most of her life.

It made Isabelle sad to think that her own mother was
blinded to the needs of her child. That her priorities were so skewed, she
would trust a man in the middle of a business deal. A man she only knew
because
of that business.

Isabelle knew better than to trust what was happening at
face value. She knew there was more to the transaction than they were letting
on, but she couldn't be sure how exactly it affected her parents, yet. Or why
Christopher was the only one that could save them.

Something he tried to convince her was a noble sacrifice,
but she called complete bullshit.

Isabelle sat in the middle of the gardens, tall bright red
Lilies to one side of her and various colors of Roses to the other side. The
floral scents surrounded her and she breathed deep as a light breeze swept them
all up together. She could swear she saw a spot in the back with nothing but
Chrysanthemums and wished she had one of these gardens at home.

I'll make one of my own,
she promised herself.
Soon.

The sun warmed the light breeze that brushed over her skin
and her eyelids drooped. She thought about what she wanted for her life, what
she wanted for her own children and how much she didn't want Christopher to be
their father. How much she didn't want Christopher to be anything at all to
her.