Texas Hope: Sweetgrass Springs Stories (Texas Heroes Book 16) (17 page)

Penny snickered. “Why am I not surprised that Abby is leading the pack? Did she ask you for a puppy, Daddy?”

Jackson was shaking his head. “If you’d seen the haircut she gave that poor doll, you’d know why I feel pretty safe. Anyway, she and Beth are each getting a new pet for their birthday. They just don’t know it yet.”

“Two puppies?”

“Um, no. Bethie wants a kitten. And Abby actually requested a snake, but Veronica put her foot down.”

Steph chuckled then. “Every time I think I’ve wrapped my mind around the lone wolf billionaire being a daddy to three kids, you still manage to surprise me.” She glanced at him. “In a million years, I would never have predicted you’d settle into domesticity so well.”

“Vee is the love of my life. I waited a long time for her,” he said simply.

His sister laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re an amazing dad.”

He glanced down. “Does that mean you’re going to make Bridger a father anytime soon?” When she got a funny look in her eye, he stared. “You are. You’re pregnant.”

She glanced back at Steph. “We’re not telling anyone yet. Please.”

Steph mimed zipping her lips.

“That’s awesome, Penny. You’re going to be a great mom,” Jackson said. “I bet Bridger’s crazy happy.”

“He wants at least six.”

Jackson snickered. “And what did you say?”

“I said my big brother—all four minutes’ worth—better start a daycare for the company. Because I am not staying home and playing hausfrau.”

He eyed her stilettos, her ever-present bluetooth. “I’m pretty sure Bridger never assumed you would.”

“Just because he sweet-talked me away from the city, then built me a house on a hill doesn’t mean I’m letting him add that white picket fence.” She glanced up. “Unless you don’t need my help anymore.”

“You’re kidding, right? I’ll hire your personal nanny and a chef, if you want. I’m not giving up my chief operating officer. Anyway, we already provide daycare in Seattle. We just haven’t lured anyone with kids down here yet.”

At that moment, Arnie’s voice emerged over the air. “Vinny Mattucci will trade Facebook setup for home-cooked meals. You know about Facebook, Harley?”

“Only that my wife spends way too much time playing games on it. Jewel this and Farm that. Woman could be making better use of her time,” he grumbled.

“You aren’t already in enough trouble?”

“There’s no such thing as enough trouble where my Melba is concerned,” Harley said darkly.

“Well, folks, on that cheery note, we’ll bid farewell until tomorrow’s broadcast. This is Arnie Howard and Harley Sykes on KSST, the voice of Sweetgrass Springs, saying keep those bargains coming.”

“Can’t wait for tomorrow’s broadcast.” Steph grinned.

“Harley hasn’t gone home yet,” Jackson chuckled. “Arnie may be broadcasting alone.”

Sophia stared into the moonlight from her perch on the window seat in her bedroom.

Gordon didn’t blame her, Michael had said. He had always been such a fair man. Even when he was his angriest at her, he hadn’t been cruel. His implacable stance with Ian had nearly broken her, yes. The hours of her journey away from Sweetgrass and her life there were a dark, dark path her mind had shied away from, instinctively knowing that if she did anything else but focus on getting back to San Francisco, one mile, then the next, she would have done something desperate as despair overwhelmed her.

The Sophia of now couldn’t seem to fit in those shoes, couldn’t inhabit that desperately lonely and terrified mind. All her nerves had been on the outside, she’d felt, yet inside she’d been dead, so very dead for so long after she left.

If she’d let thoughts of either of them in, especially Ian, she would have taken her life, she’d been that distraught.

How deeply she’d buried everything. What the animal brain would do to survive.

For months, she knew, her family had worried over her. The only time she’d roused herself was to stop her father from going after Gordon to wrest Ian away from him. She’d come out of the wool blanket of depression only long enough to fight like a tigress for her boy’s welfare.

Ian, like his father, belonged on that land. Needed the roots of his ancestors.

To forestall her father had required dire threats. However deeply she mourned her child’s absence, she couldn’t compound what she’d done to him by tearing him away from the safety of Sweetgrass Springs, not even to save her own sanity.

So she’d roused herself to fight her father, in order to protect her child.

And the man she would never stop loving, however unsuited they were.

Barely had she frightened her father enough to make him back off. For more months than she could remember, she’d only existed, lost in the comforting blanket of limbo where she didn’t feel, didn’t want, didn’t smile. She barely ate. Slept a lifetime’s worth, even as she pretended that she cared whether she lived or died.

Then one day she’d met Allan, and he’d saved her life.

If only she could have loved him as he deserved from the very first.

Only when Michael was born had she truly come alive again. Her baby…

Baby
. Her hand went to her throat. Ian was going to have a child. Once he felt the power of that love, would it only harden his heart against her?

He would never falter—she knew that about the boy, and Michael had confirmed it about the man. Ian would never lose himself, would never fail those he loved.

And he would never forgive her, she had to accept that. He was right not to.

She still couldn’t forgive herself for choosing to live over choosing to stay.

Even as she struggled to accept the newly-resurrected hope that hearing about Ian stirred, she understood that she had no right to his forgiveness. She could, however, give him a piece of his past, no strings attached, that he might appreciate with his strong sense of roots. Or if he would not give her even that, perhaps his wife would appreciate the gesture.

So she mounted the stairs to the attic where a small box was tucked inside an antique trunk that had belonged to her great-grandmother.

Her heart was pounding as she made her way to the deepest corner of the attic and knelt before the trunk. She let her palms rest on the curved lid of the trunk that had accompanied her grandmother all the way from France to America to meet her intended groom. That thought only made her feel more ashamed. Her great-grandmother hadn’t even known the man she would marry, yet she’d found it within herself to stay. Life could not have been easy, yet she’d endured as Sophia had not. She’d raised five children and loved her husband well, to all accounts.

Enough. It’s done. There’s no going back.

She lifted the lid, batting away depthless remorse as she cleared cobwebs from the handle. The smell of mothballs and lavender sachets greeted her. She dug down beneath aging linens and clothing until her fingers brushed the wooden box carved by her great-grandfather for his wife. It had been passed down from daughter to daughter until it came to rest with Sophia when she first married.

It was all she’d taken with her when she’d left Sweetgrass.

She dusted off the lid and slowly opened the soft brass clasp.

Memories assaulted her.

The simple gold band that had been all Gordon could afford and all she’d sworn she’d wanted.

The handkerchief she’d carried at their wedding.

A little wooden bird Gordon had carved for her over one winter.

Then she spied the locket, and her heart seized with unbearable sweetness and longing. She opened it carefully.

Inside was just as she remembered: a photo of Ian as a toddler and a lock of his baby hair, as perfectly preserved as the day she’d snipped it when she’d given him his first haircut, tears in her eyes over the loss of his beautiful curls.

He’s a boy, sweetheart. We’ll have to buy him hair ribbons soon, otherwise
. Gordon had held her and comforted her, rubbing her back after it was over and an eager toddler clung to his father’s long legs, begging to be picked up. “Mommy?” he’d questioned.

She’d crouched before him and found a smile. “Mommy’s just being silly, honey.” Then she’d hugged him until he’d squirmed to be set free. “Ride horse?” he’d asked his father, ever the horseman, even then.

“Your mama loves you so much, son.” Gordon’s kind eyes had smiled at her, and he’d gathered her close, kissing her until she’d calmed.

She’d clung as long as Ian had let them, but all too soon Gordon had taken him off to ride before him as they worked the cattle. She’d watched them off, not yet understanding that the ache in her heart wasn’t going to vanish but rather, would grow.

A few days later, Gordon had shown up with this locket. She’d worn it every day until she’d left and all the way back to the San Francisco home that was never again home.

She’d cried for days, one hand wrapped around that locket, until the day that her grandmother had come to visit and told her she would never heal until she put them in the past.

“Oh, Ian,” she said now.

But she’d thought about her own survival too much and Ian’s too little.

Nothing would make right what she’d done.

Ava was back. The young abs god was back. Laken glanced around the gym as she ran on the treadmill. Everything was as it should be.

Her shoulders sank. Everything was crap. Days had passed without one word from Michael.
The next move is yours
.

Yes, it was. Damn him. And she didn’t know what to do.

She always knew what to do.

One weekend, Laken. Please. Come see Ajax if you won’t come see me.

She wanted her puppy back, and the blasted man had stolen him from her.

So not true. She stumbled, caught herself on the handrail before she went flying off the stupid machine. She couldn’t even call to check on her dog—and oh, how smug Michael would be to hear her call him that—because she wasn’t speaking to Michael, not after his outburst.

I have never in my life spoken to anyone like that
. She could still see his shattered expression.

Wasn’t that just one more mark of how bad she was for him? Yes, she knew where the fault lay. Michael was never hard to get along with. He was practically a saint.

I’m not going to stop loving you
.

How could he possibly love her? Everyone knew she was a stone bitch. She was good at being one. No one messed with her because of it. She won cases because she ground down the opposition. She called the shots with the men she met because of it.

“It’s not the machine’s fault, you know.” Ava appeared beside the treadmill. “But I’m thinking you’d better get off before you do some serious damage to yourself.”

“I don’t want to.” Even she could hear the pouty two-year-old in her voice.

“Laken,” Ava said softly. “Turn off the treadmill. Talk to me.”

Laken reached to up the speed instead, but—

She couldn’t seem to see the controls for the film. Damn the man. He’d made her cry.

What is so worthless about my heart that you won’t even give us a chance?

She brushed at her cheeks and sniffed back her runny nose until she could see to jam the stop button. She had to grab on to keep from falling.

She found herself being led like a child back to the locker room, settled on the bench. Ava clasped her hand. “Laken, talk to me. Tell me what hurts.”

“I hate love.” She buried her face in her hands. “I refuse to be in love with that man.”

Ava’s hand stroked her back. “What do you want to do?”

“Forget I ever met him.”

“Poor kiddo. Nothing can make a person more miserable than love.”

Her head whipped around. “And why is that? Why would anyone want to feel this way, huh? Explain to me where there is any sense at all in experiencing this, this—” She rubbed the heel of her hand over her heart. “I hate Michael, that smug son of a bitch.”

Ava only smiled. “You don’t. And he’s not smug.”

“He would be if he knew how miserable I am,” Laken responded irritably. “I’m not telling him.” Her eyes fastened on Ava’s again. “We make no sense. There is absolutely nothing about us that works. I’ll get over it. I will.” Her eyes went to slits. “Stop smiling indulgently at me.”