Bedlam

by Susanna Strom

  Instantly, Ripper was on his feet and at my side, his Colt in hand, peering at the advancing lights. “Weapons,” he ordered in a low voice.

  Our guns were always within reach; that was the way of the world nowadays. Ripper and I stood on opposite sides of the window, tracking the vehicle’s progress. It stopped in front of the house. There was just enough moonlight to pick out its shape. A pickup.

  My heart started to beat faster. Kyle had driven a pickup to Boise. He was overdue. Made sense that Kyle had returned, but I saw the shadowy forms of multiple people inside the truck’s cab.

  “Can you tell who is it?” Kenzie whispered.

  “Might be Kyle,” Ripper answered.

  Kenzie took a step toward the door. Ripper held up a hand. “I said might be Kyle. Don’t know for sure. Till we do, stay back, darlin’.”

  Both front doors of the truck swung open. Moonlight reflected off the words Valhalla Ranch painted on the door panel. A woman stepped out of the passenger side. Kyle loped around the front of the truck, kissed her, then threw open the back passenger door.

  “Well, I’ll be,” I muttered. So Kyle had brought back a woman. The man moved fast. Couldn’t wait to hear that story.

  “It’s him,” Ripper said to the others, leading the charge out the door.

  By unspoken agreement, we waited on the porch for Kyle to help his passengers out of the cab. No sense in making them skittish by having a group of strangers stampede down the steps toward them. Kyle lifted a little girl from the back. The girl looked at us, her eyes wide in a pale face. Something squirmed in her arms. A cat. All right. We could always use a mouser in the barn. Next, Kyle helped a tiny old lady climb out. She smiled and waved at us. Kyle trotted around to the far side of the truck and opened the door. A man slowly climbed out, moving like his bones hurt. Kyle stuck by his side as they came around the back of the truck. The man was unsteady on his feet, but shook off Kyle’s hand when he tried to help. Instead of stopping and standing with the other passengers, he walked straight toward the porch.

  “Sweet Jesus,” I breathed.

  The blood drained from my face, leaving my lips numb and tingly. If I hadn’t grabbed ahold of the porch rail, I’d have fallen. Soon as I caught my breath, I tripped down the stairs, my legs wobbling like a newborn foal.

  “Finn?” I lurched toward my brother. I patted his face, his arms, his chest, like my fingers had to prove that my eyes weren’t fooling me. Finally certain that he was real, I crushed him in my arms.

  He grunted. Shoot. I forgot. He’d been walking funny. I let go, but kept my hands on his shoulders, just in case he needed support.

  Kenzie had run into the house and fetched a solar lantern. The light fell across Finn’s face, and I jerked back. Somebody had beat the crap out of my little brother. His right eye was swollen clean shut. Bruises covered his face and his lip was split wide open. Finn pressed one hand against his ribs. Damn, that hug must’ve hurt him something fierce.

  “What happened to you?” I choked out.

  “I’ll tell you all about it later, big brother,” he said. “For now, all you got to know is that Kyle helped saved my ass, and he brought me home.”

  I glanced at my friend, who stood with one arm around the young woman. I mouthed my thanks. He smiled back at me.

  “Are you Bear?” the little girl piped up.

  “I am,” I answered.

  She walked up to me and held out her hand, pretty as you please. “Hi, Bear. I’m Ever van der Linden.” We shook hands, then she held up the fluffiest cat I ever seen. “This is Fitzwilliam. And that’s Mrs. B.” She pointed to the old lady, who smiled and waved again. “We’re Kyle and Finn’s friends.”

  “Happy to meet you, Ever,” I said solemnly. “If you’re Kyle and Finn’s friends, you’re my friends, too. Welcome to Valhalla.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced up at Finn. “Is that a real porch swing?”

  “Yes, it is,” he said.

  “Is it okay if I sit on it?”

  “Sure thing, sweet pea,” Finn answered.

  Ever skipped up the steps, saying hi to everyone she passed. Plopping down on the swing, she set her cat on her lap, then pushed off with her feet. “We’re going to like it here, Fitzwilliam,” she declared.

  I turned back to my brother. “Let’s get you inside and get a load off, then introduce me to your friends.”

  Finn climbed the steps on his own steam. I walked behind him, close enough to help out if he stumbled, but not so close that he’d shoo me away. Little brother is a tough son of a bitch. He marched into the house without a hitch. Dropping down onto the couch, he looked around the room. “It sure is good to be home.” He sighed. “Never thought I’d see this place again.”

  Kenzie took Ripper’s hand and walked over to Kyle and his pretty friend, who stood together next to the fireplace. “You were gone so long,” Kenzie cried, throwing her arms around him. “I was afraid something happened to you.”

  “Looks like something did happen to him,” Ripper observed, glancing at the young woman.

  Kyle returned the hug, then slung his arm around his companion. “Ripper, Kenzie, this is Sunny,” Kyle said.

  “Jake’s sister Sunny?” Kenzie exclaimed. “I met you last Easter.”

  Last Easter, when Kenzie and Kyle were dating. This could be all kinds of awkward, but Sunny just smiled. “Nice to see you again, Kenzie. And it’s nice to meet you, Ripper.”

  I sat down next to Finn while everybody introduced themselves to Sunny and Mrs. B., who had claimed a spot in the rocking chair and appropriated the fancy cat from Ever.

  Hector ambled into the room and trotted right over to Kyle’s side, who dropped down into a squat and hugged the dog. One hand on Hector’s collar, Kyle pointed at the fluffy cat. “Hector, meet Fitzwilliam.”

  The cat sat up and lifted one paw, a clear warning of trouble if the German shepherd got too close. It didn’t hiss or howl—it didn’t look one bit scared—but the cat meant business. Hector swung his head around and fixed mournful eyes on Ripper. If a dog could look betrayed, Hector did.

  “It’s gonna be all right, Hector.” Ripper laid a hand on his dog’s head.

  “I’m sure that in no time they’ll be the best of friends,” Mrs. B. said. “Isn’t that right, Fitzwilliam?”

  The cat coughed like he was hawking up a furball.

  This was going to be all kinds of fun.

  I looked back at Finn. “Seriously, brother,” I said in a voice that wouldn’t carry. “Are you all right?”

  Finn shook his head, looking like he was at a loss for words. “Got so much to tell you, Bear, and so many questions of my own about what went down here. But we got time to catch up. What you need to know now is that a war’s heading our way, and there’s no way we can steer clear of it.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Sunny

  One week later

  “Fitzwilliam Darcy does not sleep in a barn,” Mrs. B. said emphatically. She sat up straight in the rocking chair, her erect posture telegraphing her serious intent.

  Bear scratched his head. “Well, ma’am. I don’t see how it can hurt a cat to sleep in a barn at night. He could make himself useful hunting mice.”

  “Are you familiar with the Bible, Bear?” Mrs. B. inquired.

  “I don’t quite see the—”

  “The Book of Matthew. ‘Consider the lilies of the field, they neither toil nor spin.’ Think of Fitzwilliam as a feline lily of the field.”

  “I don’t rightly think—”

  Mrs. B. patted his hand and smiled sweetly up at him. “Fitzwilliam isn’t a mouser. His only job is to provide an old woman with company during her declining years.”

  I suppressed a groan. The woman was shameless.

  “Fitzwilliam is my best friend,” Ever added, looking up from the picture of a chicken that she was coloring. “He sleeps next to me at night. If I have a scary dream, I hug him.”

  Bear knew when he was beat. “Yes, ma
’am. It was just an idea.” He retreated to the front porch, where Kyle and Ripper were drinking beer—a once a week treat—and shooting the breeze.

  “Really, Mrs. B.,“ I said. “Keeping you company during your declining years? Don’t you think you’re laying it on a little thick?”

  She blinked, her eyes wide and innocent. “I’m merely helping the dear boy see reason.”

  Nyx snorted and took a sip of her beer.

  “Can I have a taste?” Ever asked, reaching for the bottle.

  She sat across the art table from Nyx, who’d graciously agreed to share the space with the little girl. The two of them had taken to traipsing across the property together. Nyx would draw a black-and-white picture of whatever struck Ever’s fancy, and Ever would later sit at the table and color the image.

  Nyx snatched up the bottle and placed it out of reach. “Mitts off the beer, pip-squeak.”

  Ever giggled and returned to her coloring. Kenzie and Hannah padded barefoot into the living room. After dinner, they’d warmed water and helped each other wash their hair, which now lay damp against their shoulders.

  “Spa night,” Kenzie announced, holding up a basket. “Who wants to paint their toenails?”

  Ever shot up out of her seat. “I do.”

  “I’m good,” Nyx said, wiggling bare toes adorned with black polish. “I did mine yesterday.”

  Of course she did. It might be the end of the world, but Nyx always sported perfect makeup and polish. She must have laid in a supply of that purple-burgundy hair dye, too, because I saw no sign of her natural color at her roots.

  Mrs. B. sighed and held up her hands. “I’m afraid my fingers are too stiff tonight to paint my toenails.”

  “I’ll do it for you,” Kenzie offered before I could. She set the basket of pedicure supplies on Mrs. B.’s lap. “Pick out the color you want while I go get a towel.”

  Mrs. B. selected a vivid pink—no surprise there—then passed the basket off to Hannah and Ever, who dumped the bottles onto the rug and pawed through the pile, exclaiming over the colors. Hannah selected a turquoise polish. Ever lined ten bottles up in a row. “I want one of each,” she declared. “Like a rainbow.”

  “Okay, kiddo. Let’s do you first,” Hannah said, laughing.

  I picked out a shimmery lavender polish and took a spot on the floor next to Ever and Hannah to paint my nails.

  Kenzie sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the rocker and spread a towel over a pillow on her lap. She slipped off Mrs. B.’s shoes and gently lifted her feet onto the pillow. “Has the arthritis spread to your toes?” she asked.

  “Thankfully, no. Only my fingers so far.”

  Kenzie massaged Mrs. B.’s arch. “You know, I’ve learned a lot about foot rubs from Ripper. The man is very good with his hands.”

  Mrs. B. lifted her brows. “Yes, dear, I imagine he is.”

  Instead of blushing, Kenzie threw back her head and laughed. With both hands, she rubbed circles against the sole of Mrs. B.’s foot. Mrs. B. sighed happily and leaned back against the chair.

  “I’ve always had a soft spot for men who look like big, scary bruisers,” Mrs. B. continued. “Like your Ripper and my Jack. Tough exterior, heart of gold.”

  “Well… in all honesty… sometimes Ripper can be a big, scary bruiser,” Kenzie said.

  “But never with you?” Mrs. B. asked.

  “That’s right. Never with me.” She flashed a smile. “Except when I want him to be.” Kenzie carefully set Mrs. B.’s foot on the pillow, picked up the other one, and began massaging it.

  “What did Ripper do before the pandemic, dear?”

  Kenzie was silent for a moment, seemingly intent on her task. “He served in the army, and later he was in a motorcycle club. The Janissaries.”

  “Ripper was a biker?” Mrs. B. exclaimed. “I’ve read romance novels about some truly yummy bikers.”

  Nyx choked on her beer.

  “You read motorcycle club romances?” Kenzie asked.

  “Oh, yes. I read everything. Do you like romance novels?”

  Kenzie nodded. “I have quite a collection.”

  Mrs. B. patted Kenzie’s shoulder. “I knew we were going to be great friends.”

  Kenzie was finishing painting Mrs. B.’s toenails when Finn, Sahdev, and Levi came in from a game of horseshoes, Hector on their heels.

  The German shepherd stared at his sheepskin rug. Fitzwilliam was curled up in the middle, napping. All eyes followed Hector as he trudged across the room to his bed. He whined. Fitzwilliam slept on, or ignored the dog, which I wouldn’t put past the supercilious feline. With a long-suffering sigh, Hector carefully positioned himself around the sleeping cat, hugging the perimeter of his sheepskin rug.

  “See, the best of friends,” Mrs. B. said with a delighted smile.

  Kyle, Bear, and Ripper wandered in from the porch. Kyle dropped down on the carpet next to me.

  He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles, then pointed at my freshly painted toenails. “Pretty.” He slung an arm around my shoulders and drew me to his side. “With so many of us living here now, we should look for another couch,” he suggested, glancing around the crowded room.

  “Good idea,” Ripper agreed. “You wanna take the truck tomorrow and hunt one down with me?”

  “It’s a plan,” Kyle said.

  We hung out until the sun slipped below the horizon, and Mrs. B. dozed in the rocking chair. When Ever started to yawn, Hannah offered to tuck her into bed and to read a few chapters of Beezus and Ramona to the girl. Kenzie stood up and gave an exaggerated yawn.

  “Take me to bed, Mr. Solis.”

  “With pleasure, Mrs. Solis.” Instead of accepting the hand she held out, Ripper bent forward and threw Kenzie over his shoulder. She yelped and wriggled. Clamping his hand across her thighs, he met my startled expression with a grin before striding out of the room.

  “Mrs. B.” Finn touched her shoulder. “Folks are heading to bed. How about I walk you to your room?”

  Mrs. B.’s eyes fluttered open and she looked confused for a few seconds, then her disorientation cleared and she smiled at Finn. I half expected her to refuse his overture—the way she’d rejected Marcus Havoc’s similar offer—but this time she smiled and took his arm. “I’m happy to see chivalry isn’t dead. Good night, dear ones.” She blew Kyle and me a kiss and waved at Bear. Pausing at the doorway, she nodded to Nyx, who had resumed her drawing, and to Sahdev and Levi, who were setting up the Parcheesi board.

  “Take me to bed, Mr. Chamberlain.” I appropriated Kenzie’s line.

  “With pleasure, Miss McAllister.” Kyle hopped up and pulled me to my feet. He may have borrowed Ripper’s response, but instead of tossing me over his shoulder like a caveman, he swept me up into his arms. Definitely more my style.

  Kyle took a lantern from a hook on the wall and carried me down the hallway toward our room. Finn’s parents had added a wing to the old family ranch and rented out vacation rooms to people who wanted to experience life on a working ranch. The extra bedrooms came in handy now with twelve of us in the house.

  Our room wasn’t as spacious as the guest suite at the Allsop estate, but what it lacked in luxury it more than made up for in coziness and comfort. The creamy yellow paint glowed in the lantern light. A queen-sized maple bed topped with a beautiful hand-stitched quilt occupied one wall. A maple dresser and overstuffed chair took up the other. For the chilly nights to come, a colorful Pendleton blanket was folded over the back of the chair. An old-fashioned braided rag rug covered the floor. Framed photographs of Valhalla in the late 1800s dotted the walls. Over the dresser hung a photo of Finn and Bear’s Norwegian-born great-great-grandparents, Erick and Borghild, a handsome couple standing proudly on the porch of their American home.

  “I love this place,” I said as Kyle deposited me on the floor. “This room. This ranch. These people.” Kyle set the lantern on the dresser and locked the door. Two steps brought him to my side. He slid his hands around my hi
ps and tugged me close. “But most of all,” I whispered, “I love you, Kyle Chamberlain.”

  No painful memories haunted his eyes as he gazed down at me. No ghosts from his past lingered on the outskirts of his consciousness. At least not tonight. Kyle was happy and at peace. He was all mine. He traced the outline of my lips, his expression unutterably tender.

  “And I love you, Sunny McAllister.”

  It had been less than two weeks since Kyle and I first made love, but I’d already discovered that sex wore many faces. Sometimes it was frenzied and animalistic, leaving me wrecked, just the way Kyle had promised. Sometimes it was giggly and slaphappy. Sometimes lazy and languid. Tonight, I sensed, it would be something new.

  Kyle retrieved a condom from the nightstand drawer and tossed it onto the bed. He loosened the tie at the neckline of my peasant top, his nimble fingers pushing aside the gauzy fabric to expose my throat. He pressed a line of soft kisses across my collarbone, then he pulled the blouse off over my head. Fingertips skimmed over my shoulders and down to my wrists. Lifting my hand, he kissed my upturned palm.

  He dropped down on his knees and worked the button on my jeans, his eyes locked on mine and filled with unguarded emotion, his heart laid bare. For a few seconds, I could scarcely breathe. I closed my eyes and sent a prayer of thanks to the universe. The cocky, charismatic teenage boy I’d fantasized about for years—my unattainable crush—had grown into this brave, compassionate, sexy man. And he loved me. Sometimes dreams came true. Even now.

  I opened my eyes. His hands were warm against my skin as he dragged my jeans down my legs. One by one, he lifted my feet, then tossed the jeans aside. He slipped his fingers into the sides of my panties and slowly pushed them down to the floor. Kyle undid the front clasp of my bra and slid the straps down my arms. It fell to the rug, and I stood nude before him except for the gold charm bracelet that once again encircled my wrist.

  Kyle sat back on his heels, his eyes gleaming. “You are so beautiful, Sunshine,” he breathed.

  I felt beautiful. Adored. His dream come true, too.