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“Why can’t you just go away?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t. “And how did you know?”
The wind, strong and from the north, whipped at her hair, blowing it across her face. She pushed it back with her hand and gave the man next to her, who towered over her by nearly a foot, an angry glare. Not because he was a bad person, but because he was always there. Always catching her at her worst, when she felt weak and vulnerable. He’d been in the waiting room the night Jamie was born. He’d been there when Jamie had the croup. He was always there. Like he thought they needed him.
He’d brought groceries, bought Christmas presents, provided hay for their cattle. He was kind. Or guilty. Maybe he was both. She didn’t know and she really didn’t have the time or energy to figure him out.
She did know he wasn’t the least bit fazed by her attempt to push him away. “I heard the call on the scanner. And I can’t go because I’m carrying Jamie. And she happens to think I’m amazing.”
He smiled down at her and added a wink that made her roll her eyes.
“That makes two of you,” Emma quipped, barely hiding a smile as she averted her gaze from the too-sure-of-himself rancher with his Texas drawl, sun-browned skin and sandy curls.
He laughed off the comment. “Yep, me and Jamie, we think I’m pretty amazing.”
“It’s time for you to cut the strings and realize I don’t need you, Daron. I’m not your problem. You don’t owe us anything. We’re taking care of ourselves.”
His smile faded and he glanced away, his gray eyes looking a lot like the clouds rolling over the horizon. “I’m here. Like it or not.”
“I think you’re upset that you’re here instead of Andy. You are upset every time you take a breath. You have to let it go.”
“He was a friend.”
She looked at Jamie, then shook her head. “I’m not doing this again. We can’t go back. I can’t help you soothe your guilt. You have to let go.”
“Your granddad ran a tractor off the road. He was fiddling with his stereo. He said they need to play more Merle and less of this stuff they call country these days. All of the good ones are dying off, he said.”
Emma brushed a hand across her cheek, not wanting to think about the good ones dying off or songs about who would take their place. “I’ll take care of it.”
“There’s damage to the tractor.”
“Okay, thank you. You can go.”
Daron remained next to her, matching his giant steps to her smaller ones. “Your granddad let his insurance lapse. It hasn’t been paid in two months.”
Emma sighed. “Could this get any better?”
It would get better, though. She knew in time they’d work through this. Jamie would be healthy and Emma would be able to work full-time. Things always got better. Sometimes they just had to get worse first.
“They mentioned having him evaluated.” Daron reached to open the door for her. “They think it’s time he gave up his license.”
“Of course they do. But he’s only eighty and he’s usually careful.” She held her arms out to her daughter, but Jamie ignored her, preferring instead to rest her head on Daron’s shoulder. “We have to go now, sweetie.”
“I’ll go in with you.” He glanced down at the child in his arms, her blond curls framing her face. Put a hand to her cheek as if he knew the routine. “Is she sick?”
Emma briefly closed her eyes, because for a brief moment she’d forgotten what Lily told her. “She has a virus.”
And then she took her daughter and walked through the open door, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. When she got to the desk where an officer was doing paperwork, Daron was still behind her.
“Can I help you?” The officer, his name tag told her his name was Benjamin Jacobs, looked past her to Daron.
“I’m Emma Shaw. My grandfather, Art Lewis...”
The officer grinned and held up a hand. “We know Art. He’s in the back entertaining the guys with stories of the trouble he got into when he was overseas during the Korean War. We’ll get him processed and you can take him home.”
He hit the intercom and told someone in the back that Art’s granddaughter was there to get him.
“Do you have the name of the person he hit? I’m under the impression there are damages and Art’s insurance has lapsed?”
“It’s taken care of.” The officer went on with his paperwork.
“It can’t be taken care of. He doesn’t have insurance. If you’ll give me the name, I’ll handle it. Or will we see them in court?”
“They didn’t press charges.”
She spun around to face Daron. He had taken a step back, but he was still close enough to poke a finger into his chest. “I said stop.”
“Stop what?”
“How many times have I told you—you don’t have to rescue us. We’re fine.”
He held both hands up in surrender. “I know you are.”
A door behind them opened and closed with a click. She glanced back and saw her grandfather with the police chief. He’d lost weight and his overalls hung a little loose. He was wearing slippers instead of his farm boots. She drew in a breath, aching because he was getting older. Why had she thought he’d be with her forever, always picking up the pieces and keeping her safe?
“Granddad, what in the world?” She hiked her daughter up on her hip and closed the distance between herself and her grandfather. “Are you okay?”
He scratched the gray whiskers on his chin. “Well, I reckon I am. What are you here for?”
“I came to get you. They said you were in a wreck.”
He tickled Jamie and smiled at Emma. “Oh, I wasn’t in a wreck. It was a misunderstanding. I’m sorry for worrying you, kiddo.”
“I’m...” She swallowed the argument because it would do no good. And she pushed aside her fear for her aging grandfather. “I’m sure it will be okay.”
Jamie’s arms tightened around her neck as a violent episode of coughing racked her small body. Emma buried her face in her daughter’s hair, close to her ear, and whispered for her to take a slow breath. When she looked up, Daron watched with questions in his thick-lashed eyes. He towered over her, all broad-shouldered and strong, ready to help.
There were days when she wanted to give in and let him be the hero he wanted to be.
Not today. Today she wanted to go home, help her child breathe a little easier and make sure her grandfather was okay.
“Is she okay?” Daron asked as she shifted Jamie to her other hip and pulled the hood of her jacket over her head.
“She’s fine. And thank you. For being here.”
“Emma, if you need anything...”
“I know.”
She took her grandfather by the arm and walked him out of the police station. Daron didn’t follow this time. She resisted the temptation to glance back, to see if he stood in the doorway watching.
* * *
Daron told himself to let it go. He knew that Emma was holding on to her pride by a thread that was coming unraveled fast. But he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t watch her struggle to keep afloat knowing that he was partly responsible for her struggle.
Emma didn’t want him in her life. He wanted to say he wasn’t interested in being in her life. But he guessed if he was going to be honest, he’d admit that he was attached to her, to Art and to Jamie.
There was something about their little family. They didn’t have much. He’d noticed a tarp on the roof, meaning it probably leaked. Her truck tires were worn slick. They were content with that little farmhouse, the small plot of ground they owned and the few head of cattle they ran.
Content. He sighed. It had been a long time since he knew the meaning of the word.
From the window of the police station he watched as they all climbed into her truck. She leaned to buckle Jamie into the car seat. Art said something and she shook her head, but then smiled and touched his weathered cheek.
The cop said something to him about rain. Daron nodded and headed out the door. The cop had been right. The rain was coming down in sheets. He hunkered into his jacket as he hurried to his truck. Once inside he cranked the heat and turned the wipers on high. It was cold for December in Texas Hill Country.
He headed in the direction of Martin’s Crossing, and the strip mall where he and his friends Lucy Palermo and Boone Wilder had their office. Since returning from Afghanistan the three had opened a bodyguard business. It kept them busy, supplying protection and security for politicians, businessmen and anyone else who might need and be able to afford their services.
Things had changed since Boone married Kayla Stanford, half sister of the Martins of Martin’s Crossing. Boone was building a house. Daron was still crashing at the RV on the Wilder ranch.
Lucy remained the same. She was still a loner. She was still hiding things that might be buried deep, keeping her tied up in the past.
Daron was still reliving that moment when he saw his friend Andy die, caught in the blast of an IED. He remembered the face of the kid who had led them all, knowingly or unknowingly, into danger.
Just a week before that explosion, Andy had learned that Emma was pregnant. He’d shown all the guys the ultrasound picture of the baby, the tiny dot he’d claimed would be his son. Andy had divorced Emma, not realizing she was pregnant. And she’d let him go, he said, because she wouldn’t force a guy to stay in her life.
Daron had made a promise to his dying friend that he’d check on Emma, make sure she and the baby were okay.
Daron had kept that promise. But after more than three years, maybe it was time to walk away.
Chapter Three (#ulink_34ba0845-5c0e-58f5-86cb-e7ea551b9732)
Emma came in from the barn on Thursday morning to find her granddad in the kitchen making up a cold remedy concoction that smelled a little bit like mint and a whole lot like something he’d cleaned out of the corral. He held the cup up, his grin a little lopsided beneath his shaggy mustache. His overalls, loose over an old cotton T-shirt, reminded her he’d lost weight recently. But he was still her granddad, her hero. She wanted him to live forever.
From the bedroom she could hear Jamie coughing. “I’m going to call the doctor.”
Art pushed the cup into her hand. “Give her a sip of this. It’ll help that cough.”
She held the brew to her nose. “Art, what in the world is in this?”
“Mint to clear up her cough, some spices from the cabinet and a little cayenne.”
“We can’t give her this. She’ll choke.”
His mustache twitched. “It always worked for you.”
“No, it didn’t. I poured it out and then made a face so you would think it worked.”
“And here I thought I’d invented a cold cure.”
She set the cup down and gave him a tight hug. “You cured a lot of things, Granddad. Like loneliness and broken hearts. But you can’t cure that cough. You can’t cure her. And I know you want to.”
His blue eyes watered. With a hand that trembled a bit more than it had a year ago, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. “I’d give this farm to cure her.”
“I know you would. So would I.” Emma brushed a hand down his arm, then turned her attention to the kitchen cabinet, intent on finding the right cough medicine and the inhaler that would clear her daughter’s lungs.
But the asthma and the cold were the least of their problems.
The coughing started up again. She hurried down the hall to the room she shared with her daughter. The teenage posters of Emma’s high school years had been taken off the walls and replaced with pictures of kittens and puppies. The twin beds were covered with quilts that Art’s wife, a grandmother Emma had never known, had made.
Jamie was curled on her side, her blue eyes seeking Emma as she walked through the door. She’d seemed to be getting over this virus, but last night she’d taken a turn for the worse. Emma had known they would be seeing the doctor today.
“Hey, kiddo, need something for that cough?”
Jamie sniffled and rubbed her blanket against her face. Her cheeks were red and her eyes watery. Emma had given her something for the fever before she went out to the barn an hour ago. A hand to her daughter’s forehead proved that this time a dose of over-the-counter fever reducer wasn’t going to cut it. She leaned to kiss Jamie’s cheek and managed a reassuring smile.
“We’re going to get you dressed and take you to the doctor, okay?”
Jamie nodded and crawled into Emma’s lap. Emma brushed a hand through the silky curls.
“Mama,” Jamie cried, her voice weak.
“I know, honey. Sit up and take this medicine, and then I’ll call Duke and tell him I won’t be in today.”
“Everything okay in here?” Art’s gruff but tender voice called from the doorway.
Emma glanced back over her shoulder. “We’re good. But we’re going to take a drive in to town to see Dr. Ted. You want to go?”
“Nah, I’ll stay here. But if you need anything, you call and I’ll head to town straightaway.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine. I think we just need something stronger than what I can buy at the pharmacy.”
“That would be my guess.” Her granddad stepped into the room, his smile tender for his great-granddaughter. “Ladybug, you need to get better so we can start learning to ride that pony of yours.”
Jamie smiled a weak little smile, but her eyes lit up. “Blacky.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. He’s a pretty little pony.” Art brushed a hand through her hair. “Now, you be a good girl for your mommy and I’ll make chicken noodle soup for you for dinner. They say that’s a good cure for a cold. Better than my tea, I’ve been told.”
Jamie grinned and the tension surrounding Emma’s heart eased just a bit. “We’ll be home soon, Art. Don’t try to fix that tractor by yourself. We’ll work on it together. If it has to wait until tomorrow, that’s fine.”
Art frowned. “Now, don’t go getting sassy with me. I’ve been working on tractors since before you were born. I’m old, but I’m not feeble or ready for the rest home just yet.”
“I agree, but there is no use getting hurt.”
“No, there isn’t. But you don’t need to worry about me.” He gave her a quick hug. “Go call the doctor.”
An hour later Emma was carrying Jamie through the Braswell Hospital toward the pediatric unit, where Dr. Ted assured her they had a bed waiting. He wanted to put Jamie on intravenous antibiotics and to run some tests. In Emma’s arms, Jamie felt too light, too small to be facing something so overwhelming.
Emma felt so alone. She suddenly wanted her granddad there with her. Then she started thinking about Daron McKay, and how he’d been watching over them for the past three years. Right now she wouldn’t even complain about him being where he wasn’t invited. Because never in her life had she felt so alone. And never had she wanted company more than she did at that moment.
As she approached the nurses’ station, a somewhat familiar face stepped out from behind the desk. Samantha Martin, now Jenkins, smiled at the two of them. Duke’s younger sister had a friendly openness about her. She’d married a couple of years ago, and from the tiny bump near her waistline, it appeared she might be expecting.
