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“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up now!”
“Brian? What the...” He wiped the dirt from his face just in time to block a punch. His hands automatically formed fists. He resisted throwing his right at the last minute, but his shoulder momentum took him a step closer to his brother. “Cut it out or find yourself on the ground.”
“Yeah, who’s going to put me there? Oh, right, the son who’s been gone twelve years. Think you can take me with all your fancy military training?”
John couldn’t start his return home by teaching Brian a lesson. He relaxed his body enough to appear nonthreatening, but didn’t lose eye contact. Brian would always give his punches away by dropping his gaze to the ground before he swung. Better to avoid being hit than make things worse by hitting back.
“Come on, man, I just got here,” he said. Home for fifteen minutes and already he’d been slapped and eaten a face full of dirt. His lower back didn’t feel all that great, either.
“That’s the point. Dad’s stroke was over a week ago.”
“No excuses. I was on a mission and got here as soon as I could. How is he?”
“Busy saving strangers and can’t be bothered at home.” Brian grabbed a fifty-pound bag of feed, throwing it to his shoulder like a bulky pillow, then stomped toward the shed. “Go see for yourself. Alicia usually leaves him in front of the television.”
Guess it wasn’t the right time to remind his brother he’d called a couple of dozen times in the past two days. John rubbed his side, then his jaw, and dusted some of the dirt from his body. What a welcome.
“Dad?” He pushed the screen door open with the hesitation of entering the unknown. He didn’t know what to expect. Light on his feet, soundlessly moving through the kitchen and sitting room, he was afraid of what he’d find in front of the loud television.
A severe stroke ten days ago when he’d been working horses. That’s all John knew. He’d left messages on his dad’s cell, but no one had called back. His dad kept him up-to-date. Sad, but he didn’t know his brother’s number.
Bad communication skills were nothing new before he’d left for the navy. More bad habits had formed when he’d been in training and not allowed to call. Then long missions with no communication. Different time zones. Easy after that to avoid calling home by just being too busy—or pretending to be. His father had accepted the excuses. His brother had told him never to look back and meant it.
He was a different man. They both were. They had time to fix what was wrong. Later.
Right now it was about his dad—who was asleep in a wheelchair in a room that no longer resembled his mother’s favorite in the house. Full of a hospital bed, pulleys, a portable toilet and other medical stuff, everything familiar had been removed. There was a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall.
He heard the water running in the kitchen behind him and jerked around, surprised Brian had entered without making a sound.
“Dad, wake up.” Brian shoved a shoulder into John as he passed. His angry twin turned a gentle hand to touch their dad’s shoulder and not startle him awake. “John’s home.”
He understood the pain. His brother had a right to be upset, from the serious look of things. He’d been here taking care of the ranch and their dad. Alone.
The last time they’d been face-to-face, they were skinny kids eating their dad out of a ton of groceries. Identical twins who could have passed for each other—and had fooled more than a teacher or two. Not to mention the girls. There were differences now. The most obvious was their hair. His was the navy regulation, high and tight over his ears. Brian’s was longish, touching his collar.
John knew the tense jaw-clenching muscle all too well. Strange seeing what it looked like to others. Their bodies were toned from different types of exercises—his PT and Brian’s ranch work. Weird that they still looked so much alike.
“I got here as soon as I could. I had no idea,” John apologized. He would not complain about the lack of information provided by his brother. It would just upset his dad.
“That’s an understatement,” Brian mumbled.
His dad shook his head. Upset. Brian patted his shoulder. “I know, Dad. I told you I’d explain things when he got here.”
He kept his mouth shut, stunned at the fright he saw in his father’s eyes. The stroke had left him paralyzed. He couldn’t talk. Brian lifted a straw to the left side of his dad’s mouth and patiently waited, that angry gleam still in his eyes when he connected with John.
“Dad had a stroke and was lucky to survive. Recovery’s going to take a while, but he’s doing great.” He put the mug on the table. “Looks like Alicia wore you out as usual, old man. Time for a nap, right?”
Brian moved swiftly. John moved in to help but was waved off. In two shakes, J. W. Sloane was back in bed. Brian maneuvered him quickly and with the same calm ease he handled troubled animals.
“I got this. Go get cleaned up and I’ll get him settled. I’m sure you have things to explain.”
Things hadn’t changed; his brother issued orders for him to follow. And just like every day of his life, he followed orders well. Stowing his gear back in a room that hadn’t changed except for the layers of dust, he wondered if the day would ever come where he’d be deciding his own fate.
Chapter Two
“Hey, beautiful.”
“Mommy! Mommy! Look, I’m a princess.”
Alicia Ann Adams watched her four-year-old daughter run across the playroom, dodging toys and playmates. Her yellow sunflower dress had a purple stain on the front—most likely grape jam from a snack. She lifted her over the gate guard in her day-care room to squeeze her close. “What did you do today?”
“We painted and dressed up. I was a princess and gots to wear the crown all the time.”
“Well, that was appropriate for my very own Princess Lauren. Did you put your toys away?”
“The other girls are still playing with everything, Alicia. Don’t worry about it this time.”
She put Lauren down, dreading the next part of the conversation. “Go pick up a bit, sweetie. I need to talk with Miss Mary.”
“Is something wrong?” asked the woman responsible for her daughter’s daily care.
Mary Fitz had owned and run the day care forever. Alicia had stayed here before starting kindergarten, and had worked here in high school. There was nowhere else she wanted her daughter to stay. Which made not being able to pay Mary all the more difficult.
“I’m afraid tomorrow’s our last day. It isn’t fair to ask you to let Lauren stay when I can’t pay you, Mary.” What was she going to do? She couldn’t take Lauren with her to her clients’ homes, and she had to work.
“Nonsense. I’ve told you before just pay me when you can. I trust you. I know what you’re going through. Working on your own to spend more time with your daughter is admirable, dear. Starting this place wasn’t easy, either. Everyone thought I was a crazy widow. So don’t fret. She’s safe here.” Mary turned back to the children. “Lauren, time to go, sweetheart.”
Alicia was going to cry. She hadn’t been able to think of Dwayne without all the problems he’d left when he’d died four years ago. Leaving her with a newborn and without a will had created chaos in a once-happy life. Those thoughts seemed utterly ridiculous compared to his death. Nevertheless, they were true.
The tears were building, so she pressed the palms of her hands to her closed eyes, attempting to stop the waterworks. Mary had saved her life. Again.
“It won’t be too long. I have to drive a bit farther, but there are two more patients in Sanger.”
“It’s really not a problem, Alicia. I’m glad to help.” She lifted Lauren over the doorway gate. “She had so much fun playing princess today. Such an imagination. Keep the crown, sweetie.”
“Say bye-bye to Miss Mary.” They both waved to one of the nicest people left in their lives. “See you tomorrow.”
Unfortunately, she wasn’t branching out on her own willingly like Mary thought. She’d been forced to resign from the Denton hospital.
After years with a spotless record, her patients’ exit questionnaires were suddenly full of mysterious complaints. Complaints that had all begun at the same time Dwayne’s trust fund was frozen and her mother-in-law sought control.
Coincidence?
And then an anonymous caller said they’d witnessed her selling drugs. Anonymous? Not hardly. It has to be Shauna.
She’d never believed anyone could be that cruel. Especially family. She didn’t want to believe Shauna, her mother-in-law, was responsible for the loss of her job at Denton Regional. But if she hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have known about Alicia’s dismissal and wouldn’t have filed for custody of Lauren the same day.
Ugh. I certainly wish I wasn’t forced to refer to her as my mother-in-law.
Dwayne had never called Shauna Weber his stepmother. She was the same age and had even gone on a couple of dates with him their junior year. She’d married a man two years younger only four months after Dwayne’s father had died.
Think about the extra time you have with Lauren today.
With only a couple of home clients on her Monday schedule, she should be rejoicing about the light load and playing with her daughter. But a light load meant light money. Next on her list was to speak with her landlord. He’d be upset splitting the rent again, but her paychecks just weren’t large enough for her to get a couple of weeks ahead.
A real shame they couldn’t head straight to the park, but it was 107 degrees outside. Almost as hot in the car, even with the AC on high. Store first, then dinner, then a cooler playtime on the swings before her bath.
It was hard to enjoy anything. She was still shaking. Money—or the lack of it—always got her this way. Then throw in what happened with Johnny and she was a nervous wreck.
How in the world had she ever thought she could welcome him home? She could still feel the sting of that slap on her hands. Feel the strength in his arms around her waist. Feel the tingle down her spine from kissing him.
She glanced in the rearview mirror to watch Lauren playing in her car seat.
It had been a major mistake kissing him. Really kissing him. Add a shot of guilt and disloyalty to her deceased husband, and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. If Johnny didn’t know how she felt about his return before—he did now. Well, there was always the possibility he might be as thickheaded as when he’d left. Was he the only thing she could think about?
“Great. Just great. I was not supposed to kiss him. Ugh.”
“Like a princess kisses a frog, Mommy?”
“Just like that, sweetie. Mommy did kiss a frog today, but he didn’t turn into a prince. What do you want for dinner?” Think about the park. And ice cream. Real ice cream from the Creamery. That would be nice. Getting cool. Don’t think about the money or Johnny Sloane.
“Chicken nuggets.”
“You want those every night.” She laughed at the nightly conversation.
It was definitely hard not to think about how great her high school boyfriend had looked. And felt. He’d been a solid rock under her hands. Why it seemed he was taller than Brian, she didn’t understand, but it did. Not once, for as long as she’d known the Sloane brothers, had she been attracted to Brian. They’d never been able to fool her like they had so many of their teachers and friends.
Nope, she could always tell them apart.
She liked how John’s hair was short over his ears, but not cropped completely down to the skin like it had been the last time she’d seen him. He looked fantastic. Strong. Sturdy. Like a man. She’d been thinking about him all day and had to stop.
It was Lauren time.
“I like nuggets. McDonald’s nuggets.” Her daughter giggled again.
Probably the dinner menu on those rare visits alone with a babysitter—without her mother-in-law’s supervision. She turned into the store parking lot.
“How ’bout chicken nuggets from scratch? We have lots of time today, but first a stop at the store.”
It didn’t take long to get down the street to the grocery. She parked by the far basket return, always protecting her father’s Camaro from dings and scratches. “Looks like you’ll get to ride in your favorite play shopping cart. There aren’t too many people here.”
“Can we get real chocolate milk?”
“We have the stuff at home to mix it up.”
“But Grandpa Weber’s gots real chocolate milk straight from the cows,” her daughter whined, sounding just like Shauna. How was that possible at the age of four? And she wasn’t even blood related.
“Honey, it doesn’t come that way.” She was forever correcting the things Shauna’s husband, Patrick, assured Lauren were true.
Alicia went to the passenger side to get Lauren. Cool-looking cars were absolutely not family cars. She pulled down the front seat and removed the shoulder restraints from Lauren, who waved to someone passing by.
“Hi,” Lauren said.
Shoved just as she’d lifted Lauren, they both fell into the car. Her feet were kicked from under her. She couldn’t stand.
“Somebody help!”
Thick material was yanked over her head, smelling like a burlap feed sack. She couldn’t see. The pressure in her back grew sharp, like a knee. It moved to her neck. Someone forced her face into the hot leather. Lauren screamed behind her, kicking her side as she was dragged from the car.
They were taking her baby!
“Stop hurting my mommy,” Lauren screamed.
“What do you want?”
Pushing. Shaking. Choking her from behind. She couldn’t move. Dear Lord in heaven, please send someone to help me.
“Mommy!”
“Shh,” a deep voice said.
Lauren continued a muffled scream.
“Please don’t...don’t hurt her. It’ll be okay, baby.”
“Shut up,” a second gravelly voice whispered close to her ear. Her hands were quickly taped behind her.
“Don’t do this. Please,” she pleaded.
Shoved into the back floorboard, her boots removed, her ankles taped. She heard the lock being pushed down. The door slammed. The windows had been up. The keys were in her pocket. It was a scorching triple-digit day outside, but she was not going to die!
They’d kidnapped her little girl.
She felt the adrenaline rush through her body, but still couldn’t tear the tape from her hands. She closed her eyes from the grain dust and shifted closer to the window. Then kicked and kicked some more. But the bastards had pulled off her boots and left her with only socks. Her heels couldn’t touch the glass, just her toes. It was doubtful she could break the glass, but someone would hear the pounding.
Someone would see her. They’d call the police. They could break the window and get her out. Something. Something fast so they’d find Lauren.
Who could do this? She’d never give up until she found her daughter.
Sweat beaded over her face, making it itch. It was hard to breathe without inhaling the feed dust left in the sack. She choked, coughed, gagged. All the while twisting and using the carpet to slowly work the suffocating material from the bottom part of her face.
Kick. Keep kicking.
Don’t stop.
“Don’t. Give. Up. On me. Baby!”
Kick.
