by Karen Rock
He blew out a breath. “Who’s taking you home when you’re discharged?”
“No one.”
No one? How could she have no one? The isolation of her life hit him hard. He couldn’t stand the thought of Cassidy alone against a chaotic world, but that was how she’d preferred to live, in flux and in danger.
“Come home with me.” The impulse came to him so swiftly that the unexpected offer flew from his mouth before he had a chance to think it through.
“What? No!”
“Your parents are living with your aunt’s family in Phoenix now. They barely had room for them... If you have nowhere else to go, you can recuperate at my cabin,” he pressed, despite every instinct ordering him to shut up and leave.
Why was he intent on taking care of her? Was it out of family loyalty or something deeper? He felt guilty about her injuries and how he did her wrong. Plus, he wanted to be close when she recovered her memories. He needed to know why she was in the car with his wife and where they were going with suitcases for both stowed in the trunk.
“I don’t want your charity.”
“It’s not charity.” Daryl didn’t shrink from his responsibilities, the reason he lingered by Cassidy’s bedside, surely, and why he’d stuck by Leanne, no matter how hard she’d pushed him away. He’d always tried to be one of the good guys, careful not to end up like his incarcerated biological parents. After the Lovelands adopted him, he’d devoted his life to proving his worth, to ensuring they never regretted their decision to take him into their home. He sacrificed all for the family he owed everything to, even his heart once... He’d never told Cassidy this about himself.
“I don’t want anything from you.”
His conscience stabbed him when Cassidy looked into his eyes. He’d been anything but a “good guy” when it came to her. No wonder she wanted nothing to do with him. Understandable, but not acceptable. She needed to be cared for, the doctors said, for at least a couple of weeks. As his children’s aunt, he was honor bound to help her. “Where will you go?”
Cassidy glared up at him. “I have friends.”
“No husband? Boyfriend?” The idea of Cassidy with someone else unsettled him when he had no right to feel that way or any way about her.
“No,” she said. Terse.
A strange sense of relief washed over him. “Who are your friends, then?”
“My editor.”
“And where does she live?”
“Right now...” Cassidy’s brows knitted. “...she might be in the Hamptons with her family...or they own a yacht...or...”
“Or?”
Cassidy groaned. “I don’t know, Daryl. I’ll figure it out. I’ve somehow gotten through the last decade without you. I’ll manage on my own, though I’d like to see the kids.”
He blew out a breath. “Fine.” Maybe it’d be for the best if he let her go. Cassidy was like an earthquake, shaking up lives, upending them, and he didn’t want that when his family needed to regain its stability. “Tell me one thing. Why were you driving?”
Cassidy’s eyes widened in shock. “I was behind the wheel?”
He nodded. “It was Leanne’s Jeep. Where were you taking her?”
“Was it a white Jeep?” she gasped.
He stiffened. They’d leased the vehicle last year. Cassidy wouldn’t have seen it before. “You remember!”
Cassidy’s brow furrowed. “Just the Jeep. That’s all. And a Garth Brooks song.”
“Garth was Leanne’s—”
“Favorite singer,” Cassidy finished, visibly shaken. “But why were we together? It makes no sense!”
He gripped the bed rail and leaned forward. “Think, Cassidy... You must remember!”
“I don’t. I don’t,” Cassidy sobbed, and her tears ripped another hole in his heart.
“Mr. Loveland,” said a nurse behind him. She eased Cassidy back down to her pillow and poured her a glass of water. “I think it’s best if you leave now.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. What more was there to say? “Get well,” he choked out, then marched himself through the hospital room door, feeling as though he’d experienced another loss, crazy as the emotion was...and wrong. He’d given up on him and Cassidy long ago. They’d both gotten what they’d wanted, him a stable family and she an adventurous career. Was she happy?
Had he been happy?
And why did he care?
As she’d said, it didn’t matter.
“Mr. Loveland!” The nurse caught up to him as he passed the utility room door. “Cassidy has retrograde amnesia. The trauma of the accident caused her to lose her memory of events immediately before and after it.”
“Will she get them back?”
The nurse shrugged. “Head injuries are unpredictable. Only time will tell.”
He nodded his thanks and strode out into a day so cheery he wanted to punch the sun in its bright yellow face.
Time would tell...
So far, it’d only revealed that his past feelings for Cassidy remained, despite every effort to erase her from his memory and heart.
If only there was amnesia for that.
CHAPTER THREE
A WEEK LATER, Daryl passed his sister, Sierra, a pan filled with frozen mice through a raptor enclosure’s slot. The morning was bright, the late September air crisp with a hint of hickory smoke wafting from her wildlife veterinary practice’s woodstove flue. It was the kind of day that made you breathe deep, smile for no reason and feel glad to be alive. Or it should.
Since losing his wife, Daryl had been sleepwalking through a twilight of grief, regret and confusion. He needed closure, answers, stability and peace, none of which seemed possible—at least in the short term. Careful not to agitate the sick bald eagle inside the structure, he inched back. “How long have you had this one?”
“Eleven days.” Sierra lightly pressed the top of its beak with one hand to distract the large bird while feeling beneath its breast feathers. “You’re such a pretty thing,” she cooed softly. “And you’re gaining weight.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Daryl recalled the forceps she’d asked him to bring when he’d phoned to say he’d be stopping by this morning. He crept to the chicken wire door and dropped them through. Funny how he didn’t blink an eye when squaring off against a bucking mustang or a raging bull, yet birds strong enough to sever a finger in one bite put the fear of God in him. Not his sister, though. She’d been rescuing animals all her life, from a fallen nest beside their bedroom window when they were kids, to big game like raptors, elk and bears in her sought-after practice.
“Lead poisoning.” In an experienced move, Sierra scooped up the eagle and, cradling it against her side, grasped its bone-crushing talons with one hand. “Shh...” she breathed when the predator wriggled in her arms, then settled.
She grabbed a large syringe filled with a thick brown mixture and gently tapped its beak until it opened. “There you go.” She pushed the plunger to release the fluid into its mouth. “You’re taking your medicine so well.”
“Where was he found?”
“It’s a she.” Sierra set the majestic, white-headed bird back on a low perch and, with slow, deliberate movements, picked up the forceps and pail. “Jed Swanton spotted it beneath some cottonwoods on his ranch. When he checked the next day, it was still there, so he called me. I didn’t think she’d make it, she was so weak, but I’m feeling a little optimistic since she tried to bite me earlier. I hate when they don’t try to bite.”
Daryl shook his head at the crazy logic of his animal-loving sister. The only female in a family of five brothers, she kept him, Maverick, Cole, Heath and Travis in line as easily and effortlessly as she managed this dangerous bird of prey.
Using the tongs, Sierra picked up one mouse after the other and fed each to the bird, sometimes wiggling it when the e
agle didn’t clamp down.
“How do you know it’s lead poisoning?” Daryl asked once she’d fed it the last mouse and felt beneath its neck.
“You’ve got a good crop in there,” she murmured to the bird before turning to Daryl. “Absence of any injuries. No nearby power lines or roads.”
“What are the symptoms of lead poisoning?”
Once she secured the enclosure entrance behind her, she set down the empty pail, planted her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him. “Cut the crud, Daryl. You didn’t drive all the way out here just to talk about lead poisoning.”
He lifted his hat, resettled it on his head and cupped the brim. “Can’t a brother help his sister once in a while? Plus, I wanted to tell you Pa got a letter from Neil’s lawyer,” he added, referring to a stranger claiming to be their half uncle and eligible to inherit half of Loveland Ranch.
“Yeah. Two weeks ago.”
“Just wanted to keep you up to date.”
She slid him a side-eye, silently communicating she wasn’t buying whatever he was selling, and led the way to her office. It was a rustic building with natural pine siding, green shutters and window boxes that, in the summer, overflowed with pink, white and red geraniums. The second story housed Sierra’s new apartment.
“I brought you some hay bales and corn stalks.” Autumn was Sierra’s favorite season, and she decorated every inch of her practice with Indian corn, overstuffed scarecrows, carved pumpkins and potted mums.
“Thanks.” The screen door creaked as she pulled it open and stepped inside the dim interior of a spacious kitchen.
An oversize stainless-steel sink broke up a tiled countertop littered with cooking and veterinary instruments, baking ingredients and medical tinctures, ceramic cats and a real calico curled in a pool of sunshine. Magnets held dosage charts, wildlife population maps and cheesy animal-sayings posters to a refrigerator as likely to hold baby raccoon formula as it was to contain milk. The room was cluttered and homey and welcoming like his sister. It even smelled like Sierra—of fresh flowers, the outdoors and a faint trace of cinnamon and vanilla, ingredients she favored when indulging her second passion: baking.
Daryl flicked on the lights, crossed to the round antique table she’d refinished and dropped into a spindle-backed chair.
“How about some coffee?” Sierra thrust a glass pot under the faucet and twisted it on.
“I can’t stay long.”
“Sure.” She elongated the word, calling him out as only a sister could. “How strong do you want it? Chuck Norris or Thor?”
“How about Chuck Norris as Thor?”
“That bad, huh?” She popped the top off a canister and added an extra, heaping scoop to the coffee machine the way he liked. No one knew him better than Sierra...no one but...
...Cassidy. Despite his determination not to think of her, his mind had turned her way all week. Between bouts of grief that wrung him inside out and left him sleepless and struggling to smile for his children, he worried about her recovery. Had she finalized plans for her discharge? According to her visiting parents, whom he’d called earlier, she’d leave the hospital this afternoon. He needed to make sure she was cared for.
Sierra turned on the machine, grabbed a container of homemade chocolate chip cookies and sat beside him. She nudged the treats his way. “How are you doing?”
He shrugged, bit into a cookie and chewed the crispy thin sweet in lieu of an answer.
Sierra twisted her fine blond hair into a long rope. “How are the kids?” she asked around the elastic band clamped between her teeth.
A ball formed in his throat. “Emma’s afraid to go to sleep by herself and I caught Noah looking up pictures of dead bodies on my phone.”
“You don’t have it password protected?” Her hands stilled midway through twisting the band around her hair.
“He remembered I’d set it to ‘Beuford,’ but I’ve changed it.” Daryl swallowed down the lump, recalling the horror, the profound sadness, the confusion he’d felt in discovering his little boy looking at graphic images. “They’re trying to make sense of everything.”
“What have you told them?” The coffee maker spat out a few drops before sending a stream of pungent brew into the carafe.
“Their mother’s gone to heaven.”
“That’s it?” The elastic band snapped in half.
He spread his hands. “What else can I say?”
“They must want to know what happened.”
Emotions weighed down his tongue. He flipped over a couple of cookies and assessed the number of chips until his blurred vision cleared enough to pick one.
“Have you spoken to Cassidy?” Sierra’s voice dipped at the name his family had assiduously avoided using.
He nodded, chewing so hard his teeth banged together.
“And...” When he didn’t answer, Sierra shoved back her chair, stomped to the now quiet coffee maker and grabbed two mugs hanging above her sink. “Lord,” she said to the ceiling. “Give me the patience to deal with another tight-lipped Loveland man.”
“I’m not tight-lipped, I’m confused!” he blurted, and the pressure in his chest eased the tiniest bit at the confession. He didn’t have the situation under control yet, hadn’t stabilized his family again. And it scared the hell out of him.
“Glory hallelujah.” Sierra filled the mugs, then placed one before him. “He speaks. What did Cassidy say?”
“Not much.” He held up a hand to stop whatever words puffed out Sierra’s cheeks. “She’s got temporary memory loss from the accident. Last she recalls, she was in the Philippines.”
Sierra blinked at him over the rim of her raised mug. “She doesn’t remember coming to the States? The accident?”
“Her last memory is Leanne’s number appearing on her cell phone screen.”
“Why would Leanne call her...of all people?”
He shook his head, withholding the detail of the suitcases in the Jeep. “Maybe she wanted to reconcile with her sister?”
And leave me...and the kids.
“Wouldn’t she have told you?”
“We haven’t—hadn’t—been talking much,” he confessed, his voice thick.
Sierra gripped his hand. “Were you planning on a divorce?”
He snatched it away. “No!”
“She’d been acting so distant. I worried she was planning to start a new life.”
“Well, she wasn’t,” he said, brusquely, then downed a long gulp of bitter coffee.
Sierra held up a hand. “Okay. Okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Daryl hung his head and his fingers tightened around the mug handle. Deep breath in. Suck-it-up and face-the-music breath out. He’d come to Sierra to talk, not deny. “You’re right. Leanne wasn’t happy, although she hadn’t said anything about leaving me.”
“Leanne loved you.”
“I thought she did.”
“I’d never seen a happier bride the day you married.” Sierra paused. “Or a more miserable groom.”
His head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“I know you, Daryl. I know your real smile versus the one you wear when your church lady fan club corners you at a social. You didn’t want to marry Leanne in the first place.”
“Yes, I did. She was pregnant with Emma. And I like the church ladies.”
“You were doing your duty.”
“And that was wrong?”
“No. But you weren’t happy.”
“I was doing the right thing, which is more important.”
Sierra groaned. “Your halo’s showing again.”
“Cowboys wear Stetsons, not halos, darlin’.”
“You’ve got yours tucked under it, then. Seriously, Daryl. You make the rest of us look bad.”
“‘Let sinners b
e consumed from the earth. And let the wicked be no more,’” he quoted, mimicking their minister’s sanctimonious voice.
“Amen.” Sierra shot him a lopsided smile. “Good thing you came to us, Daryl, to save us from our wicked ways.”
“I do my best, though it’s no easy feat,” he drawled. “Speaking of honorable deeds, I’m thinking of bringing Cassidy home to recuperate.”
Sierra’s eyes bulged. “You can’t do that.”
“She has nowhere else to go.”
“A world traveler like her? She must have friends everywhere.”
“Not according to her folks.”
“You’ve got enough to focus on with the kids. The last thing you need is Cassidy complicating your life.”
“I owe it to her.” After his betrayal, the least he could do was give her space to heal, physically and emotionally, before seeking answers about the crash.
“There’s the real reason.” Sierra drummed her fingers on her leg. “You feel guilty.”
“Shouldn’t I?” Since visiting Cassidy, remorse and guilt consumed him, nearly as powerful as his mourning. “We’d dated through college and I’d proposed to her. Next thing she knows, I took up with her sister.”
Sierra shook her head. “That’s a little oversimplified, don’t you think? You talked about marriage and moving home together after graduation. You even had the engagement ring I helped you pick out—the one she’d admired in a magazine. She shot you down, so you moved on.”
“She asked for time to think,” he countered, reliving the moment when his dreams of starting a life with Cassidy went up in flames. “A national magazine had hired her to cover the conflict in Bosnia, her dream assignment, and she wanted to try it before committing to me.”
“Why am I only hearing this now? And couldn’t she have had both? Career and marriage?”
Daryl brushed cookie crumbs into a napkin, crumpled it into a ball and crossed to the waste basket. “She wanted to photograph wars.” He stepped on the lever to lift the lid and tossed out the paper. “That meant travel, danger, chaos.”
“But you majored in photography and journalism, too. Couldn’t you have gone with her? Traveled together?”