Secrets and Lace (Lonely Lace #2) (3 page)

Slate pushed past the horse, his breathing ragged and he clutched his ribs. “Damn it, Robbie. I can’t take much more of you getting your ass kicked. What the hell are you doing back here?” He grabbed his brother’s shoulder and half-dragged, half-pushed him from the stall. In the open area, he released Robbie to fall to the ground and turned to lead a large black stallion into a different stall. He hunched over as he limped away.

Just simply inhaling caused a mountain of hurt. Robbie was sick of the pain… and the guilt.

His hard rasp had a harsher tone than he intended when he answered his twin. “Back there behind the horse or back here as in back on Lonely River?” He pushed himself to his knees and then used the wall to pull himself to stand.

“What?” Slate emerged from the stall and closed the partition. He swung his arm back and forth slowly like testing it for soreness. “Man, what the hell did you do? I haven’t been hurt so much in the last four years as I have in the last week or so. You better have given as good as you got.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a damn kid, Slate.” Robbie lifted his chin. It wasn’t Robbie’s fault they had some weird-ass-twin-connection where they could feel extreme pain and emotions like they were attached to each other with a cord. If Robbie got his butt handed to him, Slate would know it.

But all that aside, Slate sounded like their dad, condescending while still being loving. Slate had mastered the hard-to-find-balance long ago.

Slate turned, leaning his head back and watching Robbie from lowered eyes. “Okay, how about I treat you the way you act?”

The horses whinnied, each safe enough in the stalls, but nervous as they danced on the cement floors, taking in the tension. Thankfully Revenge was a gelding or the barn might have been trampled beneath two stallions fighting for dominance.

Tossed lightly between them, the challenge from Slate drifted on the dusty air, falling to the cement at their feet. Robbie cocked his jaw to the side, muttering. “How do you think I’m acting, big brother? Like someone swooped in, stole my girl, got her pregnant, and never said a damn thing about her living here? I know she answered the phone a few times over the years but I honestly thought you were trying to help her or something.”

No more than fifteen feet separated them but in that instant Robbie didn’t recognize Slate. They’d always looked exactly alike, but lately Robbie saw something different in the mirror when he looked at himself than what he saw in his brother. Slate didn’t have the hard line of his jaw, the deep shadows under his eyes or the cruel twist to the lips Robbie had grown used to. Slate seemed happy and calm which pushed Robbie’s irritation into the red of anger.

Settling into a comfortable stance, a move common from their youth, Slate jerked his chin upward. “Is that how you see it? That I stole your girl?” He crossed his arms, tilting his head back to watch Robbie from half-open eyes.

A chill rippled over Robbie. If he weren’t so wrapped up in the pain of his body and the ache of his heart, he’d probably pay attention to the warning in his gut, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the mirror of himself and how he’d look, if he were happy.

Guilt free.

“How do you think I see it? Have you seen her kid? He’s not very old. What’d you do, screw her as soon as I was gone?” Robbie stepped forward, fists clenched tight at his sides. He knew the accusation was crap, but he needed someone to blame for the path his life had taken and Slate was as good as any to take the heat.

Anger sculpted Slate’s face to a similar version of Robbie’s. He tilted his head. “There’s no way you can believe that little boy is mine. You forget,
brother
, we’re twins. He looks like both of us. He looks like you. And he’s almost four.”

He’d suspected it, hoped and then hoped not… but hearing Slate verbalize it shut Robbie’s mouth. He couldn’t speak as he processed the information. His son. He had a child – one who looked identical to childhood pictures of Robbie and Slate. Reality was a lot to assimilate. He’d deal with the other emotions later. Right then, he needed to do something with the taste of betrayal heavy on his tongue.

Robbie shook his head, keeping his gaze trained on Slate. “You mean you never told me? She never told me? Hell, no one from town…” He narrowed his eyes. “So this is loyalty? You know, I don’t think I would be half as pissed if you
had
knocked her up. You hid this from me. My own kid. I have a son and you didn’t tell me. What kind of a brother are you?”

“The kind that doesn’t abandon his responsibilities and doesn’t go back on his word. Acts like an adult.” The pissed-off look on Slate’s features couldn’t hope to match the fury inside Robbie.

Enough. Robbie wiped that damn smugness from his brother’s mouth with a solid fist to the gut. The extra pain from Slate’s injury on top of Robbie’s already bruised ribs pulled him back a moment. He paused, but he’d learned a thing or two since heading out on his own. He didn’t have more than a brief second to attack again. He jumped forward and slam! his knuckles made a solid connection with Slate’s jaw. The connection held more satisfaction than anything he’d done in the last four years.

Robbie ignored the answering throb in his own chin. Sometimes feeling the physical pain that Slate felt had a benefit. If it hurt Robbie, then it was hurting Slate more. Satisfaction made a lot of pain worthwhile.

No energy left for another attack, Robbie rushed backward, ready for whatever Slate would throw at him. True to history, Slate crashed into Robbie’s middle, wrapping his arms around his waist and hurtling them both to the ground.

Breath knocked out of him, Robbie paused to gather his bearings. He wasn’t going down without kicking Slate’s ass enough they’d both have bruises. But he couldn’t get his good arm from Slate’s hold and his bad shoulder kept him from doing much of anything with his freed hand. He flailed it wildly, hoping to do some kind of damage.

They grunted and growled as they rolled on the floor. Thuds and knocks as the horses stomped their feet mixed with the rustles and muttered expletives from the men.

No matter what, Robbie wasn’t going to let Slate live it down. He’d been betrayed in the worst way. And his damn twin – his other half, for hell’s sake – had broken years and years of trust.

It didn’t matter how many hits Robbie got in, Slate had wounded him incomparably.

Slate had won.

Chapter 5

“Mommy? Mommy?” Mac’s small voice reached Amelia as she fully pushed open the solid oak door to her room.

She crossed the thick carpet to his bedside and bent over the tired boy. “Yes, baby? What’s the matter?”

Rubbing his eyes, he yawned. “I’m not tired. Is Uncle Slate home yet?”

“Oh, you’re not tired, huh? Can you at least have quiet time for me? I’m going to help Doctor O’Donald with dinner. You can come out, if you just absolutely cannot sleep, okay?” Logic with a near-four-year-old might not work, but hopefully he wouldn’t understand that she was trying to get him to sleep for just a little bit. Although why she wanted him to sleep so close to bedtime was just a testament to how shaken up she was over her encounters with Robbie.

“Okay, I’ll try.” His sweet smile didn’t fool Amelia.

She watched him for a moment, marveling at his innocent beauty. She held out her arms. “Alright, come give your mother a hug. You don’t have to stay in bed, but you’re taking it easy until bath time.” She wagged her finger when he pulled back from her embrace. “No getting out of it, okay?”

He nodded, his smile bright.

“Come on. Let’s go help your doctor.” Amelia helped him from the wooden twin bed and held his hand as they ambled to the kitchen.

At the doorway, Mac pulled his mom back and down to whisper in her ear. “I don’t think she’s
my
doctor, Mommy. I think she’s Uncle Slate’s.” He giggled and pointed his small finger at Becky bustling between the island cutting board and the stove.

Amelia chuckled with him. Becky fit in with Slate once they’d stopped fighting the pull. But they were just starting to date, wanting to work on things before making any rash decisions or commitments. Amelia hadn’t seen anything so cute in a while. That fact brought out the bitterness of being alone, especially with Robbie so close.

Becky glanced up, smiling at Mac but speaking to Amelia. “Okay, so what’s with the hot brother?”

Her comment made Amelia laugh. “You’re biased.”

“Yeah, he looks familiar.” Becky winked, offering a chunk of French bread to Mac when he came close enough to reach her. “Come here, you. Want to watch magic?” He nodded and she picked him up and placed him on the counter. “This is how you make amazing sauce. The secret is a third cup of sugar per fourteen ounces of tomato sauce. Just be careful. If you mess with this ratio, you’ll end up with something gross.” She squeezed him in a side hug. “You’ll understand when you’re bigger.”

“So… did he say anything?” Amelia poured water into a cup and sipped as if she didn’t really care what the answer was. But she was dying for some gossip, anything that would give away how Robbie actually felt. Like she was in junior high all over again. 

Becky pursed her lips and stirred the red, aromatic sauce on the stove. “Nothing about you, Ames. I’m sorry. I could’ve asked but… that’s not the direction the conversation was headed.” She filled a pot with water and set it on a new burner. “Can’t you talk to him about it? I’d think that would be easiest.”

Amelia shook her head. “No. Not Robbie. The easiest thing with him is to let him run out of steam.” She picked at the cuticle of her thumb. “It’s taken him four years to run out of steam on this one.” But he seemed just as pissed, like he’d returned ready to fight. She flicked her fingers into the air and looked to the ground. “Enough about Robbie. Did you talk to Ronan?”

Bringing the water to a boil, Becky broke the long linguine noodles into the pot and met Amelia’s eyes. “I’m not going to lie. Ronan is hell-bent on getting revenge. He’s pissed that he can’t have Mac and he’s even more determined to prove that your and Robbie’s marriage isn’t legitimate. He wants those mineral rights, if he can’t have your son.” She worded things in a way Mac wouldn’t understand, but still, the meaning was clear.

Give into Ronan or lose everything for Slate, Becky, and Mac. 

Slate’s plan to marry Becky while he pretended to be Robbie has been a precaution. On public record, Mac had a legitimate father. He’d kept the James last name because Amelia had wanted something in common with him and different last names made her very uncomfortable. Even though she’d been married, legally in the eyes of the courts, she knew in her heart it wasn’t a true marriage. But regardless of the names, she’d been more than tempted to take Slate up on his offer and had actually cried through the entire brief ceremony. Everyone else acknowledged the marriage as legal – even though they considered her a whore for having Mac before. Amelia couldn’t figure out why Ronan wouldn’t accept it and leave them all alone.

Maybe Robbie’s return would be just enough to convince Ronan.

Becky surveyed the pots and pans bubbling away. “Okay, enough gloomy-gus talk, right, Mac?” She ruffled his thick dark hair. “Let me dish this into a pan to bake and then I would love to see if Slate is here. I need to say hi.” She winked at the boy who blinked both eyes hard in an imitation of her wink.

Amelia reached for his hand and together they watched the comforting movements of a woman who knew what she was doing in the kitchen.

A few moments later, Becky wiped her hands on the checkered towel. “Let’s go. You think he’s in the barn?”

“Uncle Slate always takes care of his animals before himself. It’s the way of the cowboy.” Mac puffed his small chest out. “Cowboys love their animals.”

Amelia chuckled. “Come on, mini-cowboy.”

The temperature had dropped enough Amelia regretted not grabbing a jacket. Mac’s strong tug on her fingers kept her from turning back into the warm house. Robbie wasn’t in sight, why chance running into him in what was technically more his home than hers? Amelia didn’t have enough energy to cope with another run-in.

Becky grabbed Mac’s other hand and swung him between her and Amelia as they walked across the drive to the barn.

Mac let go of their hands and grasped the long handle to the barn door. He pushed it open.

Becky gasped, rushing forward but careful to move Mac out of the way before plowing inside.

Amelia crouched beside Mac just inside the door, pulling him into her arms. The door shut, locking them all inside to witness the fight.

Slate and Robbie rolled around on the normally spotless floor, hay and water spread about in their path. The only two horses in the pens neighed and whinnied, nervously blowing air. Thuds from fists and muffled horseshoes on straw-strewn cement were hard to differentiate.

Arms tight around her son, Amelia shushed him… or herself. She didn’t know which.