Brothers of Miller Ranch Box Set

by Natalie Dean

  Missy stopped her footsteps. She knew how dangerous someone in a fugue could be, and she wasn’t going to risk getting within his range. And judging by his incredibly built body, that was probably a considerable area.

  “Hey there, I know you probably can’t hear me, but I want you to know that you’re all right. You’re safe. You have nothing to worry about. I’m gonna be here, okay. Watching over you. How does that sound?”

  He didn’t respond, because of course, he couldn’t, but Missy hoped that he could feel that he wasn’t in whatever hellscape his mind was taking him off to.

  5

  Bart

  Screaming.

  Someone was screaming at him. Loud. So loud. And they wouldn’t stop, thrumming through his ears and vibrating in his skull. He hated it. It made him feel sick. He wished whoever was screaming would stop.

  There was a fire.

  Where was it?

  He didn’t know. It just was.

  He needed to find his troop. They were somewhere… weren’t they? He tried to remember, but it felt like his head was stuffed with cotton.

  Cotton that only made the screamer that much louder.

  Bart reached around for his gun, but there was no gun. Was there anything? He didn’t know. Did he? No, he didn’t. There was just smoke. And the screamer.

  And explosions.

  Bart jumped, a shout issuing from his own mouth as multiple blasts sounded all around him, sending dirt flying and shrapnel everywhere.

  No.

  No.

  This was supposed to be safe. They’d cleared the area. Weren’t they supposed to be safe?

  He cried out for any of his friends, his brothers in arms, but the only response was the screamer. He was lost. So lost. It felt as if he was never going to get out, constantly trapped in the smoke and the screaming and the nothing at all.

  But then, up ahead, seemingly impossibly far away, was the tiniest spark of light.

  A scope of an ally? A spotlight on top of a tank? It seemed… familiar. Hopeful. And it wasn’t black or smoke or screaming or scattered bodies, so he stumbled toward it.

  He reached it and was bathed for a moment in the warmth of it, gliding over his face and drowning out a little bit of the scream. But as he lifted his hand up to it, the light zoomed away, leading him further through the battle.

  Was it a battle?

  He couldn’t tell.

  Did it matter though?

  He didn’t think so.

  He kept on walking and walking until finally, he stumbled into quiet, his ears ringing from the cacophony of battle he had just run from. Looking behind him, he saw the light slowly receding, winking out like a guardian angel that had done its duty.

  How strange.

  Then, just as suddenly as he was in that world, he was out of it, his eyes fluttering open as he awoke.

  He laid there for a moment, head heavy, wondering what kind of strange nightmare he had been having when he noticed he wasn’t in his room at all. After a bit of blinking and looking around, he realized that he was on the couch in the living room of the main house and that it was way too early in the morning.

  He didn’t remember being downstairs, and he was pretty sure that his mother would never allow him to crash on the couch when he had a perfectly good bed. But if he didn’t want to get a lecture, he had better get up and get back to his room before she spotted him. It was a miracle she hadn’t already.

  Drawing the blanket around his shoulders as he sat up, he realized it wasn’t his. It could be one of his brother’s, he supposed, but it seemed to be machine-made whereas most of the blankets around the house were handmade by his mom or another family member.

  More strangeness.

  Shaking his head, Bart told himself that he probably didn’t have a running inventory of every blanket in the house in his head and shuffled to the stairs.

  It was only when his foot first touched the step that he realized his feet were not bare, which was his normal routine. Instead, strange, pink socks were on his feet, barely fitting over his ankles.

  That was… odd.

  Was it one of the many nieces running around? He’d lost track of them long ago. People just kept on having babies and reproducing like the world wasn’t a terrifying place.

  Which it was.

  Part of the reason his dreams were so bad was because they were all based on what happened in the actual world.

  The scary, cruel, unforgiving world that stole away people’s lives in the blink of an eye and let the bad guys survive when they shouldn’t.

  Shaking his head, Bart trudged himself up to bed, hoping for at least another two hours of sleep.

  That’d sure be nice. And maybe this time, he wouldn’t dream.

  6

  Missy

  Missy groaned as she stumbled into work, her back throbbing violently.

  She had stayed up way too late following Bart around, making sure that he got back in his home safely.

  It hadn’t been easy, with him almost wandering into one of the ponds and nearly walking into fences. He was one of the rare people who was significantly larger than her, and she doubted that she could manhandle him.

  But he did seem better with her there, talking to him quietly. He didn’t respond, of course, but he did stop crying, and the look on his face seemed far less tortured. Even if he didn’t respond verbally, she took that as a good sign and stayed with him until he was safe and on the porch.

  Then he had stood there for a while, just staring at the front door. Missy hadn’t been quite willing to go inside, but she did open the door for him and then put her own socks on his feet. His were muddy and covered in grass, but she figured that it was better for them to be dirty inside of socks rather than outside of them.

  “Hey, friend, don’t you want to go inside? Maybe have a little bit of a rest?” She remembered that she had been a bit uncertain about the whole thing, her eyes flicking between him and the open door.

  The man’s head tilted toward her, and for a moment it seemed like he actually saw her, but then he shivered, and she went into mom mode.

  “Here, take this.” She had draped her blanket over his broad shoulders and gave him the slightest pat on the back. She knew that being so close to him was dangerous, but she couldn’t help it. He reminded her of some of her animals at their worst, scared and shivering and worried about each shadow that flitted across their path.

  He’d finally gone in, and she’d hurried home to slip into bed somewhere around three a.m., only to wake up bright and early to get to work on time.

  So now she was mucking out a stall and feeling exhausted in every fiber of her being. Even with her bath the previous day and all the relaxation over the weekend, her body was super mad at her for shorting herself on sleep.

  But still, it was worth it. Or at least she thought so. She couldn’t help but wonder how hard it had to be for the guy, and how bad his symptoms were if he was sleepwalking a whole year after getting back.

  Was he getting treatment? Was his family even aware of how serious his issues were? She didn’t know, but she didn’t think she should tattle on him yet. What if that got him in more trouble?

  It was all sticky and confusing in her mind. Missy couldn’t help but think back to her father, who was traumatized by watching her mother die in front of him. He’d never gotten treated, and it had definitely ruined his life and troubled hers. She didn’t want this Miller brother to go through that, but she wasn’t sure where the boundaries were considering she’d only been working there for about a week.

  Besides, if she let on that she knew about him, she would have to explain how she knew about it, and that would open its own can of worms. What if his family reacted poorly? Maybe even institutionalized him? One could never know with rich folk. They were like an entirely different species to Missy, with her family having gone from middle class down to just below the poverty line as her father sunk deeper and deeper into his drinking.

 
“Hey, you okay there?” one of the other muckrakers asked, concern on his features. “You seem like you’re coming down with somethin’.”

  “Just some insomnia,” Missy said with a sigh, flashing him a weak grin. “Didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.”

  “Ah, that’s a real bummer.” The man smiled and handed her the massive water canteen he had resting on a table beside him. “Why don’t you take a break and go fill these up for a bit? Maybe some fresh air and sunlight will give ya a little extra pep to get through the day.”

  “Thanks,” she said, wiping her brow and chucking her gloves off to grab his canteen and her own. She collected the other workers’ near-empty water containers as well and headed toward the food cabin, where she knew there was plenty of ice that would fit into the narrow necks of all their drinks.

  She really liked it at the Ranch, even if it was unusual to be surrounded by such nice people. And they really were nice. They watched out for each other; they laughed and joked. Everyone made her feel welcome. These were good people. She could probably trust them.

  She splashed cold water on her face once she reached the sink in the food cabin, images flashing behind her closed eyes. It was the Miller brother who dominated most of them, and she took in all the details that her mind picked up. The sharp edge of his chin, his strong cheekbones, his thick hair. The scar.

  And the tears.

  Wet and torturous, streaming down that handsome, scared face. She didn’t know him, but she hated the thought of anyone feeling like that. Especially anyone whose family was so nice to her and completely turning her life around by giving her a job that she didn’t even have to apply for.

  Maybe she should tell someone. Sure, she had worked with a vet and was really good with animals, and she liked to care for people—sometimes to a fault—but that didn’t mean that she should go about making decisions for this man’s health.

  She sighed, finishing with her task and heading back to the barn. All this thinking just made her that much more tired.

  Maybe she’d come to a decision after she got a full night’s sleep.

  7

  Bart

  Crack!

  The satisfying sound of wood splitting filled the air, and Bart allowed himself a small smile. He may not be very useful lately, but he could cut wood like nobody else’s business.

  Maybe it was the productivity that spoke to him. Maybe it was the manual labor. Maybe it was just exercising and doing things with his own two hands that helped his family.

  Or maybe it was just—

  Footsteps sounded behind him and alarm shot straight up his spine. Danger! Where were his weapons? What were his options? How could he let someone sneak up on him when he knew never to leave his back unguarded!

  He whirled, heart thundering. All he could see was red, terror telling him that he was weak. That he was stupid. That he was going to get himself killed because—

  “Bart?”

  The alarmed cry gave him pause, and a beat later he recognized that exact tone.

  Ma.

  Safety.

  He was home.

  The ax fell from his hands and his vision cleared, leaving him to look at the wonderful woman who now had tears in her eyes.

  “Oh Ma…” he whispered, his heart squeezing in an entirely new way. He shouldn’t be here. On the Ranch. He was just causing trouble. More trouble than he was worth. He was intrinsically broken, and they would all be better if they tossed him in a cell and threw away the key.

  “I’m sorry for startling you,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and moving on like everything was all right.

  But it wasn’t all right, couldn’t she see that? He was supposed to be some big, strong man, and here he was, jumping at shadows and threatening the ones he loved. “Don’t say sorry,” he heard himself growl. “It’s my fault. Ma, I think—”

  “Let’s not start with that again,” she said, cutting him off before he could even get started. “I think though, perhaps your biweekly therapy might be better as a weekly appointment.”

  Therapy. Sure.

  Yeah, it had helped him a lot when he first came home. Back then, both time and his memories were a slipshod of confusion and unease. He had been fine for a day or two, but then suddenly everything had crumbled all around him and the night terrors had started.

  He’d been more dangerous back then, even attacking one of his brothers. They’d managed to restrain him and get him to a hospital that helped bring him out of his fugue and treat the injuries he had given himself in his rampage. But once he was cleared, they had taken him to a VA facility that was supposed to help with his issues.

  He wished they would have just dumped him there and forgotten about him, but his Ma stayed the entire time, with his brothers and Pa visiting often. They apparently had their own classes at the VA, to learn about him. What to do when he was in a state, how to avoid certain triggers, and what to do with the ones that couldn’t be avoided. It made Bart feel like some sort of baby that they had to attend special lectures to learn how to raise him.

  It was infuriating, and at the same time it was comforting. Above all, it was embarrassing. It was a lot of things. Although Bart’s memory was hazy, he remembered once how independent and intrepid he had been. An all-American boy.

  Now he didn’t even feel like a man.

  Slowly, his mother raised her arms in a non-threatening gesture, then stepped forward. He knew what she was doing and allowed her to hug him.

  “My boy, my sweet boy. It’s okay. You don’t have to carry this all on your shoulders.”

  But he wasn’t carrying it. He was sagging under all the weight, feeling like he was drowning in things that weren’t even really there.

  He allowed himself to relax into the hug ever so slightly, letting himself feel the comfort that he didn’t deserve. “Am I ever going to be better?” he heard himself rasp.

  Sure, he’d heard about PTSD before, but it was like a boogeyman. Something that couldn’t touch him. He had thought he was too strong, too level headed and equipped for all of that. And now that he was standing in the center of it, trying to navigate toward whatever “normal” was, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever been strong at all.

  “You will, Bartie, I promise.” She pulled away gently but took his hands in hers. “Why don’t we go for a walk? Soothe our nerves a little?”

  He almost wanted to say no so that he could go barricade himself in his room and sulk for a while. But even through everything clouding his head, he always knew that he was a mama’s boy, so he felt himself nod before his mind even caught up.

  “Sure. That sounds nice.”

  She linked her arm in his and they got to walking. Bart didn’t understand how she could be so calm with someone who had just raised an ax to her, but he probably would never understand his Ma. She was some sort of saintly paragon that was too good for his basic understanding of the world.

  Or at least something like that.

  They strolled along, arm in arm, and Bart let himself soak in the nostalgia. It was a bittersweet sort of torture to see all the places that used to bring him so much happiness. There were the hay bales that he and his brothers would pile up into irresponsibly high piles and monkey around on. There were the ponds that they would swim in when the summers were achingly hot. The birthing pens.

  So many memories. Echoes of joy and ease that he never felt nowadays.

  He tried to focus on the crunch of grass under his feet and the sounds of the animals and the day to day work that went into running the farm. Those were safe noises. Things that had never been touched by the world that had gobbled him up and spat him out.

  He heard a loud meow and looked to the sound. There, sitting on the fence post, was one of the cats who hung around. A friendlier one, the tabby looked to him expectantly.

  Smiling slightly, he crossed to it and gave it a good scratch behind the ears.

  “Hey there, guy. I normally don’t see you
here by the barn.”

  The cat purred, wrapping his tail around the man’s wrist, before deciding he had enough petting. He jumped down gracefully and walked toward the barn. Bart watched him saunter off like the cat knew the meaning of life.

  Bart was all set to return to his walk with his mother when he heard a sweet sort of cooing. Then someone walked out of one of the stalls in the barn, crouching down in the open center aisle to give the tabby even more affection.

  Unlike with Bart, the cat lingered for more than five seconds, winding around the person’s feet, rubbing his cheeks against their jeans.

  “All right, I gotta go do some work. We’ll talk later,” the figure said, unfurling to reveal one tall and… solid woman.

  She had long, blond hair in a ponytail, her tanned skin dappled with sweat. Dirt was covering a lot of her, but her bright red lips and ruddy cheeks were visible even from where he was.

  The woman didn’t seem to notice him, turning to pick up a pitchfork and haul another load of hay and manure. With her body turned to the side, he got to see the, uh, impressive conundrum of ideas she was.

  Her arms were strong, the muscles rippling with each jab of her fork. Her shoulders were broad, and her movements spoke of someone who was confident and sure. She was like an Amazon, and she reminded him of several women soldiers he had known.

  But then there was a softness to her. Her hips were wide, and there was a curviness to her body that gave her a feminine allure. And above her waist… well, it was easy to tell why she needed the multiple bra straps that were digging into her shoulders under her tank top.

  She was basically the epitome of a bombshell, and Bart was sure that if he had a cousin who looked like that, he would have heard about it.

  But then, just as he was staring, her eyes flicked over to him, as if she felt his gaze. Bart blushed a bit and raised a hand to wave, figuring that he could play it off as just a friendly family member saying hi to a new worker, but the moment their line of sight matched up, her eyes flew wide and she dropped her pitchfork.