“August said…” She faltered under his furious expression.
“Did he also tell you when I let Aurik die, it destroyed my family?”
“Axel, you didn’t let your brother die.”
“I didn’t know how to save him. I pulled him out of the water but I didn’t do anything right. I didn’t know how to do CPR. I tried. I kept trying even as I tried to get him back to the house. I was so useless. I could have taken the class at school but I didn’t, and if I had…” He turned away from her and pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes.
“Axel, he might still have died. It was an awful tragedy. But it wasn’t your fault.” Goodness, had no one ever talked about his brother’s death with him? His parents? A school counselor? Had she ever asked him about it? Uhh…no. She wanted to kick her younger self-absorbed self.
“My mother became a zombie. She just sat and stared or stayed in bed. I tried to get her up, get her to eat, but she just…she was a ghost. And then she overdosed. That too, was an accident,” he said, his voice bitter. “But I know she didn’t want to live anymore. She wanted to be with Aurik. She kept saying she didn’t want his spirit alone and afraid lost in the oaks for all time.”
“Jesus, Axel.” Cruz stroked her palm up and down his rigid arm, trying to soothe, but she felt like he wasn’t here. His body was, but Axel was somewhere else and she had no idea how to bring him back.
“And after my mother passed a few months later, my father jumped into the bottle and never came out again. That was all on me.”
Her instinct was to utterly reject that damning accusation, but Cruz forced herself to take a calming breath so she could think of what would be the best thing to say to a man who was still grieving and racked with guilt and had no idea how to find the path out. How had she missed this side of him before? How had she let herself just see the enigmatic handsome cowboy who rode broncs and bulls, who roped and steer-wrestled, as if he had no fear?
Probably because he hadn’t had any fear.
He’d already lost everything and nothing else mattered.
And then he’d had her.
And before he opened himself up fully, she’d gotten angry and impatient and jealous based on fear with no cause and walked out on him.
“Axel,” she whispered, wanting so badly to bridge the gap between them.
He shook his head. “I won’t do that to you or Diego. I won’t fail you both. It’s better this way.”
“No, it’s not. And you haven’t failed us. You haven’t failed anyone. Never, except maybe yourself for taking on all these tragedies.”
So many! Such a burden he’d carried since he’d been a young teen.
“Not this time. But it could happen. When I saw Diego riding toward me, toward the creek that was running so high because of the recent rains, I could picture everything that could go wrong. The horse could stumble, or balk, throwing Diego. The bank could have crumbled, tossing them both into the water.”
“None of those things happened, baby.”
“Not this time. But when I was riding toward him, trying to get him to stop, I could hear the wind in the oaks moaning just like a woman crying out, and then I heard… I heard…” He stopped. “When I came home to finish raising Anders, I vowed that I would never fail another person. And I don’t want to fail you. I’ve failed everyone who loved me, who trusted me.”
“I don’t believe that,” Cruz said.
“I need you to be happy. I need you safe. Both you and Diego. So, do this for me. Live your life. Be happy.” He was in total control again. Her stubborn cowboy, determined to ride away from her.
“It’s better this way. For you to be free. Find a better man, someone who won’t fail you. Goodbye, Cruz.”
She still couldn’t believe this was happening.
“You did the right thing, seven years ago. And this is the right thing for you and Diego now.”
Cruz was stunned. Where did he get off deciding what was better for her?
“It’s better this way.” He nodded, as if the situation was satisfactorily resolved.
If he didn’t stop saying stuff like that, she was going to slug him right in his platitude-spewing mouth.
Axel looked at her one last time and then turned and walked away.
The sun that had finally broken through the cloud cover of the past couple of days seemed to echo her mood as it was swallowed up by the dark clouds billowing up from the west. Cruz watched helplessly, a thousand rebuttals racing around uselessly in her head. Axel had made up his mind, and she had no idea how to change it.
As he climbed in his truck the first crack of thunder ripped.
Chapter Thirteen
The sun had set long ago as Axel approached the gates of his ranch. He and a small team had been away several days at an auction and had sold and then purchased more horses for breeding and training. He was trying not to think too hard about the extra horse and its foal he’d bought. Hunter had given him a look. He didn’t have to explain himself to his horse trainer although Hunter and his foreman were the closest people he could consider friends. He’d let everyone else fall away.
He drove carefully over the wide cattle guard, although the trailer he had and the one Hunter was driving were top of the line and the horses were comfortable and safe. He paused at the two wolf sculptures.
August had been at him for years to give in to local legends and change the name of the ranch to Ghost Hill.
“It’s cooler,” August argued once again just before he’d left, his eyes alight with energy and life that Axel could no longer muster. “It’s a story. We can work with that. It’s the future. Marketing my wines and whatever the hell Anders is going to do next year when he comes into his share—probably bull breeding or a rodeo school or…” August waved Anders’s future away. “The point is, Shakespeare was wrong. It’s all in the name and what you do with it.”
Axel didn’t think Shakespeare had been making that particular point. It was so like August to twist facts and change history to suit himself…whereas he couldn’t seem to let history go.
He paused the truck and looked up at the ranch. This was home, but it felt like a prison. He had turned it into a prison for himself.
He saw Hunter pull his rig onto the ranch property behind him. He’d think something was wrong. He’d be too polite to say anything, but Hunter had to have noticed the difference in him these past few days at the auction. Normally Axel was energized by the animals, the bargaining, the chance to unwind and shoot the breeze with other ranchers, most of whom he’d known for years.
This time, everything was flat.
His fault. He’d felt he’d done the right thing giving Cruz space—permanent space. He’d survived so much loss—his grandfather, his brother, his mother, his father, Cruz years ago. What was one more?
For once he’d done the right thing.
Only it gave him no satisfaction.
He felt hollow.
But he had his ranch. His brothers. The animals and the people who depended on him.
He shifted to drive and continued. And if he hesitated a little at the right fork that led to the house that had started to feel like a home again when Cruz and Diego had been there, he hoped it didn’t show. Resolutely he turned left. He’d settle the animals, and then settle himself back down in his bunkhouse.
An hour later, he walked through a final check of the new horses. He’d sent Hunter home. He liked to walk around the stable before bed. He knew he should probably eat something, but it seemed too much trouble.
Axel stopped at the stall where he’d put the butterscotch-colored champion quarter horse and her foal. They were both beautiful horses. Strong. Intelligent. He hadn’t been in the market for them, but he’d seen the foal, and it had reminded him of Misty River, and then he’d talked to the breeder and convinced him to also sell the dam—for a hell of a lot more money than he had paid for a horse. He hadn’t let on an emotional attachment, but Misty River had an amazing pe
digree and she had more foals in her future.
“Champion barrel racer,” the breeder had said, slapping him on the back. “Bought her off a cute, but broken-hearted former barrel-racing med student ’bout seven years back. My daughter competed with her in high school then went to college and found books and boys. Started breeding Misty River. Not really sure I want to let her go.”
But he had. For a dumb-ass price like Axel was an ignorant greenhorn. He’d bargained a bit, but they’d both known which way it was going to go.
So now what? He had Cruz’s horse but no Cruz.
A foal for Diego to start training but no Diego.
Totally unlike him. He never bought animals for the ranch that would have no purpose.
Unheard of for him. He planned everything out.
He huffed out a breath. The foal was curious, approaching him. Misty River hung back, clearly suspicious.
“Me too,” he murmured.
He hardly knew himself anymore. He was usually extremely decisive. But his thoughts about Cruz were all over the place. Should he try to win her back, not letting the near miss spook him? Or should he suck it up and stop torturing himself thinking about her and what might have been? Stop remembering how she felt in his arms. How she smelled. What it was like to wake up next to her wrapped around his body, her hair everywhere.
And if that was his play, why the hell had he bought her horse?
Sure he could gift it to her when she had a place of her own, but that could be years away—miles away.
He scratched the foal between its pert, silky ears.
It was time to move on. He mentally prodded himself and taking one last look around, he switched off the main light to the stable and rolled the door shut and locked it.
It was time to put one last coat of varnish on the table he’d repaired for Cruz and then he’d drop it off at the hospital for her later in the week. And that would be that.
The end.
*
Cruz saw the lights of the two long trailers rumble down to the stables and she nearly grabbed her denim jacket and took off after them. But August said Hunter was with Axel, and she didn’t need an audience when she told him what she thought of his plan to permanently quit each other.
She’d stewed and paced practically the entire night after he’d broken up with her, thinking about what she wanted and what she should say. She’d had a plan by dawn, but when she’d driven to the ranch later that night, she’d learned that Axel was away for two or three days.
He had texted, checking to see if Diego was well.
She’d answered oh-so-politely.
Then she’d thought of all the things she wanted to say after her shift at work was over. So she’d driven out to the ranch again, this time with Diego for a visit. They’d swum and had dinner with Catalina and August and August had urged her to stay.
“I don’t want to stalk him,” she’d murmured, realizing that she kind of was already.
“He needs to be stalked and to have his ass kicked,” August had replied.
And so she’d been staying at the ranch. Three days and three nights, driving Diego to school, working, running errands and coming back at night to an empty bed and more and more questions. Cruz was a woman of action. Dwelling and thinking too much was definitely taking its toll on her nerves.
She and Catalina were cleaning up the kitchen while August was teaching Diego poker. “How about crazy eights?” she’d called out and both August and Catalina had snorted their opinion of that.
That’s when she saw the trailer lights.
“Do you mind if I go down there in a while?” Cruz asked Catalina.
“Give him an hour to get the horses settled and to send the crew home. Then I’ll make sure Diego gets to bed and get everything ready for tomorrow. Because I don’t want to see your moping mug until tomorrow morning.”
“We’re just going to talk.” Cruz felt like she was crawling out of her skin with impatience.
“Axel sucks at talking,” August had chimed in. “He goes all silent and remote. Action’s better.”
“Especially if you use a two-by-four,” Catalina had added.
Her straight talking always made Cruz laugh. She was dying to find out more of her history with August, but since she didn’t want anyone prying into her feelings about Axel—even her bestie, Shell—she kept her questions to herself.
“You’re going to change, aren’t you?” Catalina demanded.
“What? Why?” Cruz looked down at her light blue tank and faded and ripped jeans.
“Seriously? The man’s been on the road for four days staring at horse parts and jawing with a bunch of other men. He’s tired and probably needs a shower. And he’ll be hungry, so bring him some dinner. I’ll pack it up for you. You need to look like you made an effort. Wear something he can unbutton or fantasize about catching a peek through. Do you have a tank that has buttons or bows?”
“What are you doing, pimping her out?” August limped into the kitchen to grab a couple of sparkling waters and make a bowl of popcorn.
“Just helping out my girl.”
“Where are my bows or buttons or shirt gaps I’m supposed to try to peer through?” he demanded. “Ever heard of #MeToo?”
“I’m not trying to get you into bed.” Catalina threw the wet dishrag she’d been wiping down the countertop with, and it landed on top of August’s head.
He removed it and grinned. “Yet.” He tossed the dishrag through the door to the laundry room. He rubbed his hands together. “But I am looking forward to it. Maybe a shopping trip is in order, ladies.”
Cruz looked down at her clothes. She’d dressed for making dinner and checking homework after an early evening swim. But when she’d seen the trailer lights, all she could think about was seeing Axel again.
“That’s not needed,” Catalina said. “You get what you get,” she said not meeting August’s gaze.
“I’m just saying, you should practice what you preach.”
The last of his teasing was drowned out by the furious popping of the corn and then the ding of the microwave.
“Go with my blessing to seduce my brother out of his self-flagellating funk,” August said. “You will probably need that two-by-four.”
Cruz glanced out the window and saw one of the trailers driving away to be parked in the equipment shed. She felt her nerves kick up.
“Okay,” she whispered. She could do this.
*
Axel had a towel wrapped around his waist and was using another to dry his hair, even as water dripped down his shoulders to his chest. He was long overdue for a haircut. He prowled barefoot across the wide-planked wood floor of his remodeled bunkhouse, wondered what Cruz was doing. He needed to charge his phone. Maybe he should text her. But what would he say? What could he say?
I miss you.
I need you.
I bought Misty River.
Come home.
The sharp knock on his door sounded aggressive. He frowned, wondered if something was wrong in the stables or in the pastures. Or maybe August had come out of his castle to give him more unwanted advice. He swung the door open and forgot how to breathe.
Cruz stood there, beautiful in banged-up jeans and a light blue tank that slid a little off one shoulder. Was she wearing a bra? Her hair was down. He forced himself to look into her eyes.
She held something in both hands that smelled delicious.
“Catalina thought you’d be hungry.” Cruz pushed past him into the bunkhouse. “But I want to talk first.”
Talk?
“Nothing you can…” he said, his voice heavy with regret.
“I want to talk. You listen. Get dressed first.”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Clothes would make this easier. Her aggression and barely leashed energy jacked him up and he was already hard. It was impossible to hide that in a towel.
He went to the antique birch wardrobe that was from his grandfather’s time and dragg
ed out a clean pair of jeans and a western shirt. All his boxers were already in the washing machine. He’d been too preoccupied with Cruz the past week to think about mundane things like laundry.
Cruz had put the container of food on the table and brewed coffee. She turned and watched him, arms crossed, black eyes snapping.
Without calculating the consequences, he dropped the towel on the bed and the one around his waist on the floor. He heard her sharp intake of breath from across the room, but she didn’t look away.
This was definitely a game he could play.
It was a way to seize some control when his emotions swung around, making him feel dizzy. He buttoned his jeans leaving the top two unbuttoned and shrugged into his shirt leaving that hanging open.
*
“You eat?” he asked.
“I’m too riled up,” she said. “Catalina sent enough, but I’ve got too much inside to fit in anything else.”
He nodded. Toed out a chair.
“Sit a spell?”
“You might want to.”
“Why are you angry? I’m just trying to do what’s best…”
“That’s just it,” she interrupted. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.”
“Like you decided what was best for me seven years ago?”
Ouch. “Direct hit,” she muttered. “But see, that’s just it. I’m on to you. I was protecting myself seven years ago. You’d said you didn’t see yourself settling down, having a family. You said you weren’t interested in any of that.”
His expression didn’t change, but a muscle ticked in his jaw.
“And I wanted those things. I wanted a husband and kids and a home. I wanted a family. I wanted to belong. I’ve spent my whole life not belonging to anyone, to anywhere. And I felt like I had that with you.”
She held his look, mentally daring him to contradict her. To tell her that she hadn’t mattered, that he hadn’t felt the same.
“I always felt weighed down by the ranch, by my sense of place,” he admitted. “But never by you. You made me feel connected, happy, unlike anything I’d ever felt before or since.”
Some of her tension eased. That was a place to build up from.
A Son for the Texas Cowboy Page 18