Broken: The Cavanaugh Brothers

by Laura Wright

  • • •

  Jogging sucked.

  Especially when you were uncoordinated and hadn’t slept more than two hours the night before because you were amped up from the best kiss you’d ever had, and worried that the man who’d given it to you didn’t understand why you’d felt fear afterward.

  Hellooo . . . Complicated Girl Feelings 101?!?

  But there was something about punishing one’s body that killed the freaked-out-and-feeling-sorry-for-yourself blues. Everything had to be given over to breathing right and trying not to puke.

  As the sun contemplated rising in the gray sky to her left, Sheridan pushed herself onward. Town was a mere half mile away. Easy peasy. She could definitely make it. Then again, who knew? With little sleep and no breakfast, things could get ugly. She could collapse in the very center of Main Street and curl up in a sweaty, shaking ball yards away from her hotel. If that did happen, hopefully there wouldn’t be too many people witnessing it. After all, it was barely dawn. Who was up that early who wasn’t . . . you know, out working their land?

  “Hey, there,” a voice called from behind her, nearly making her stumble.

  Trying to keep her pace steady, she glanced over her shoulder. Wearing only a pair of running shorts and sneakers, his chest bare and his tattoos blazing, Cole Cavanaugh easily caught up to her, then slowed to match her pace. He was the more fearsome of the Cavanaugh brothers, with his nearly shaved white-blond hair, sleeves of ink, and the twelve-pack, or whatever the number was for the most waves of abdominal muscles a person could have.

  “I didn’t know you ran, Sheridan,” he said, his black eyes warm and interested, his breathing completely unlabored.

  “I don’t,” she managed to get out before she coughed.

  He looked appropriately concerned. “You all right?”

  “Fine. Just my lungs.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “They deflated a mile or so back.”

  He laughed. It was a nice sound. Reminded her of his brother. As if she needed any reminding.

  “They’re on the side of the road with my rapidly beating heart,” she added with a grin.

  “You’re funny.”

  Her feet were really starting to ache and she groaned without embarrassment. She desperately wanted to stop and walk the rest of the way. Hey. There was absolutely nothing wrong with walking. Best exercise there was. Of course, collapsing outside of town might be a bad idea. . . . Who knew when someone would come along to collect her body.

  “I’m heading back to town,” Cole said, interrupting her insanity. “You?”

  “That’s the plan,” she uttered through gritted teeth. Cole looked unfazed by the exercise. Maybe he could strap her to his back. Or carry her fireman-style. No, that wouldn’t be embarrassing at all. Hey, look: Isn’t that Deacon Cavanaugh’s assistant riding on his brother’s back like a monkey?

  “How’s Deacon’s ranch?” Cole asked. “Nearly finished?”

  Sheridan kind of wanted to slug him for his near-tranquil breathing. But she didn’t want to do anything that might cause him to not help her if she needed it. And besides, slugging took energy and will. She had neither.

  “We’re getting there,” she managed to say. “There’ve been a few contractor issues, but other than that we’re on schedule.”

  “Better be, right? Isn’t that where Deac and Mac are doing the deed?”

  She laughed, or tried to. It came out sounding like a wheeze. “The ceremony will be outside, but yes.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t believe Deacon’s getting hitched.”

  “Why’s that?” After working with the man for years, she’d thought the same thing, but she was curious about his brother’s position.

  Cole shrugged his powerful, inked-up shoulders as they hit the outskirts of town. “I don’t know. It isn’t because he doesn’t deserve it or that I thought he was going to be a three-piece-suit of a bachelor for the rest of his life. Just makes me feel like we’re all outgrowing our bindings, our pasts.”

  Sheridan wanted to know more, wanted to hear what his bindings were, maybe what James’s were. But she was starting to hurt in more places than just her feet. Her legs, her ass, and maybe her chest. Just as she was thinking about stopping, or lying down in the street for a quick nap—or just to get some air back in her lungs—she nearly collided with someone who was crossing the street. As she tried to sidestep, she felt Cole’s hands on her, jerking her back.

  “Oops,” a woman called out, doing a bit of her own stumbling. She righted herself quickly and looked at each of them in turn. “Sorry about that.”

  “You weren’t looking where you were going,” Cole scolded in a voice completely unlike the one he’d used with Sheridan only a few moments ago.

  The town veterinarian, Grace Hunter, ignored him and focused on Sheridan. “Again, I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

  “And I was desperate for a reason to stop,” Sheridan said, leaning over and putting her hands on her legs. “So, bless you.”

  The woman laughed.

  “Lesson number one in running, Sheridan,” Cole said, his tone remaining ice-cold. “It’s important to keep your eyes open and your guard up so you can see a problem coming.”

  Sheridan glanced up just in time to see two pink patches warm Grace’s cheeks. “I need to get to the clinic.” She gave Sheridan a tight-lipped smile and continued on her way.

  The anger’s flowing freely around here, Sheridan thought, unfolding her body so she was mostly standing straight again. Holding her side, she started walking in the direction of her hotel. Instead of getting back to his running, Cole did the same.

  “Please don’t feel obligated to walk with me,” she said. “Especially at this snail’s pace. I’m sure I’ll get back to my hotel. It might be around dinnertime, but I’ll get there.”

  He laughed, his eyes now clear of the bitterness from a moment ago.

  “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Cavanaugh,” Sheridan began. “I know this situation with Dr. Hunter and her father has got to be difficult.”

  “Cole,” he said. “Please. I’m so far from a Mr. Cavanaugh it’s laughable.”

  She smiled up at him through her pain and nodded. “All right.”

  “I know you were at the Bull’s Eye when she came to the table, talking about her daddy, claiming he had a diary that could name my sister’s killer. But did Deacon or James tell you how she ain’t talking about it anymore? How she won’t let us see the man? How she tells us it was just his rattled, sick mind, his medication that made him claim those things?” His jaw tightened.

  Sheridan’s pulse quickened again, and it wasn’t because of the run. “I didn’t know all of that, no.”

  He looked at her, brow lifted. “What would you do?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I mean, how would you handle something like that—someone like that. A person who you’re sure knows more than she’s saying? Someone who’s covering up the truth to protect a man who might just hold the key to an unsolved murder?” He swallowed hard. “To a truth you were never sure you wanted to hear, but now can’t get out of your mind for anything?”

  Honestly, she couldn’t imagine. The pain of losing a sibling had to be devastating, but not knowing what happened to her or who took her life? That had to be hell on earth.

  She treaded carefully. She was still a little surprised that he’d shared so much with her. After all, they were basically strangers. Then again, she wanted to help.

  “Have you talked with Dr. Hunter?” she asked as they headed up Main.

  “Deacon and James have. They got nowhere.”

  “But not you?”

  He eyed her. “I’m what some might refer to as a ‘loose cannon,’ Sheridan. Deac and James, they have control over their tempers. I know my limits, and what’ll push me o
ver them.” He dropped his chin. “Outside of the ring anyway.”

  Yes, she’d heard something about his history with fighting. Underground mostly, and for huge purses. But she believed he was training for some kind of mainstream fight these days.

  “I think you might surprise yourself,” she told him. “Especially if you’re vulnerable.”

  His lip curled just a hair. “How do you mean?”

  “Tell her about your sister. Tell her some of your best memories. Make it personal.”

  “Why?”

  “All everyone’s focused on is the crime.” She shrugged. “Maybe someone needs to focus on Cass.”

  For a moment, it looked as though he might combust—from grief, anger . . . she wasn’t sure. But after a moment or two, he sighed out a curse and uttered, “I’ll think about it.”

  When they reached the sidewalk in front of her hotel, Sheridan turned to him. “This is me. Thanks for the company.”

  He nodded, gave her a tight smile. “Thanks for the advice.” He glanced down the street. “I think I’m going to go again.”

  “Another run?” she exclaimed. She said it so loudly and sounded so shocked, he laughed.

  “Yeah.”

  “How long was your first one?”

  “Only ten miles.”

  Her brows lifted, and just that tiny movement made her muscles ache. “Impressive. And kind of insane.”

  Cole gave her an absolutely wicked grin. “That’s me. Insane and impressive.”

  Sheridan broke into a trickle of unabashed laughter. That is, until she heard a male voice rumble with irritation behind her, “Up early, and getting sweaty with my little brother, Miss O’Neil?”

  Seven

  James understood that the jealousy rushing through his blood was complete bullshit and yet he couldn’t stop himself. He just didn’t like anyone making Sheridan laugh. Even his little brother.

  “You’re up early, James,” Cole pointed out.

  “Grabbing some coffee,” he explained, his voice tight with tension. “Elena wasn’t around when I stopped by the house.” He turned from Cole to Sheridan. She looked hot, sweaty, tired, and sexy. She was wearing tight black exercise pants and a navy blue jogging bra. She was definitely a lean woman; he hadn’t been kidding about that. But in that outfit, you could see plain and simple how ample her assets were. His hands twitched. Cole could see her too.

  “You two workout buddies now?” he asked, sounding exactly like what he was—a jealous jackass.

  Clearly Sheridan thought so too because not only did she ignore his question, but she looked behind her at the door to the hotel.

  “Excuse me,” she said, giving him a tight smile. “I have a busy day.” She waved at Cole. “Good luck with the run.”

  Feeling like a damn lech, James watched her walk away, his body reacting to every stride in those tight black pants. The woman had the sexiest ass on the planet. A fact he knew he’d never be able to expunge from his memory.

  “Maybe you need to do something about that, J.”

  Cole’s words brought James’s head around. He blinked a couple times to refocus. “About what?”

  “The drool running down your chin,” Cole said, deadpan.

  Instinctively, James brought his hand to his mouth, then when he realized he was being played, dropped it and narrowed his eyes on his little brother. “What are you doing here?”

  Cole laughed. “In River Black or in like a metaphysical sense?”

  “Why are you with Sheridan?” James clarified with irritation.

  “Ahhh,” Cole said. Then shrugged. “We went running together.”

  James’s heart dropped like a stone. “What?”

  “Jeez.” Cole laughed. “Take it easy. I was kidding. We met up on the road.”

  “Like that?” James asked, knocking his chin in the direction of Cole’s chest.

  Glancing down, the man asked, “You mean without my shirt?”

  “Not everybody needs to see your ink, Cole,” James ground out.

  “Maybe not,” he agreed. “But they want to.” Once again he started laughing. “Look, brother. We just jogged and talked. That’s it.”

  “She say anything about me?”

  “Nope.” Cole looked at him oddly, maybe like he thought James was losing it. And hell, maybe he was.

  He didn’t know if that made him relieved or pissed off. It should be the former.

  “You know you could just ask her out,” Cole suggested.

  He pretended not to understand. “Who?”

  Cole ignored him. “It’s pretty simple. You like her and she likes you. God knows why she does. I know you have those eyes and all the horse-whisperer mystery shit going on, but you acted like a real jerk back there.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Horse-whisperer mystery? Really?”

  Cole shrugged. “I’m just guessing that’s why a chick might be into you.”

  “And it’s not simple, by the way. She’s Deacon’s assistant.”

  “So what?”

  James waited for a couple people to walk by before he responded. “You’re only saying that because you have no boundaries.”

  “Very true.” Cole bent down to tie his shoelace. “And you know, maybe you’re right about her being on Deac’s payroll and that’s inappropriate and everything. But just because you can’t have her, and that pisses you off, doesn’t give you an excuse to be a dick to her.”

  “I wasn’t a dick.”

  He stood up again. “Okay, sunshine. I got to go.”

  Christ, had he been a dick? He hadn’t wanted to come across that way. Maybe aloof or cool. Something that kept distance between them.

  Cole was just about to bolt when he stopped. “Hey, I forgot to tell you, we ran into the vet. Like literally. She and Sheridan nearly gave each other matching concussions.”

  The puzzling and frustrating Dr. Hunter. James had left her half a dozen messages in the past two days. All of which had been ignored. So while Deacon was pulling up the ex-sheriff’s financial records from his office in Dallas, James was searching the Internet for all care facilities within a hundred-mile radius. So far, he’d found six. None of which housed a Peter Hunter. “Did she say anything?”

  Cole shook his head. “But your girl was trying to convince me I should take a turn talking to her.”

  “Sheridan’s not my girl.”

  “Would you have a problem if I made her my girl?” Cole asked, deadpan.

  Heat rushed into James’s chest, and his head was suddenly filled with buzzing. “Are you trying to piss me off, little brother?”

  “Yes, I think so.” A giant grin broke out on the fighter’s face. He wiggled his eyebrows at James.

  “Idiot.” James gave him a reluctant smile, then jerked his head in the direction of the street. “Get out of here.”

  Without another word, James turned and headed for Marabelle’s, leaving his brother and the man’s diabolical laughter behind.

  • • •

  “Okay, one last time and just to be clear,” Sheridan warned, “I’m no fashionista.”

  “Not required,” Mac called out from behind the closed bathroom door that was attached to the large master suite inside the Triple C’s main house. “You do have nice taste though. And I’m pretty certain that if I look hideous, you’ll tell me.” She opened the door a crack and stuck her head out. “Right?”

  Sheridan grinned at the woman who had a nervous smile and two or three dirt streaks from working cattle earlier on her face. “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, then,” Mac said on a dramatic exhale. “Here goes.” She opened the door completely and revealed both herself and the Triple C’s housekeeper—and temporary dresser—Elena, who was standing behind her looking wistful and misty-eyed. “This is number one.”

 
Seated on a leather chair near an unlit fireplace, Sheridan took in the woman who was walking toward her. Her thick brown hair was piled on top of her head in a loose bun, and her blue eyes were filled with hope and anxiety as she stopped in the center of the room, her back to the freestanding full-length mirror. The dress she had on was a brilliant white satin with intricate lace and beading. It seemed to cover nearly every inch of her, but when she turned around in a circle, a panel of nearly see-through lace displayed her tanned back to perfection. It was beautiful and elegant, and reminded Sheridan of something a member of the royal family would wear.

  “So . . . ?” Mac said, turning back to regard Sheridan.

  “Before I give you my opinion,” Sheridan began, “let me ask you something. Can you see yourself walking down the aisle toward Mr. Cava—,” she paused and checked herself. “Can you see yourself walking toward Deacon in this dress? Can you imagine dancing with him in this dress? Does it feel comfortable or confining? Does it feel like—”

  “You hate it,” Mac broke in with her singular brand of candor.

  Sheridan laughed. “I don’t hate it. I actually think it’s beautiful. It’s just not right for you.”

  Her blue eyes no longer anxious, but direct, Mac cocked one hip and regarded her. “Sheridan, honey, you don’t have to ask me anything, all right? This is a yes-or-no proposition. Ugly or stunning. Love it or hate it.”

  “I was going for diplomatic and supportive,” Sheridan called as Mac disappeared behind the door again.

  “I don’t need any of that horseshit,” Mac called back.

  Sheridan laughed again and shook her head. This was going to be a process. But clearly not a boring one. Boring wasn’t possible when Mackenzie Byrd was around. It was one of the many reasons Sheridan liked the woman. She’d never met anyone who both told it like it was and allowed others to see her vulnerability. It was a striking and brave combination.

  The next dress was infinitely better. It fit her perfectly, and was cut off the shoulder. With all the work she did on the ranch and all the time she spent outside, Mackenzie had a gorgeous tan and a killer body, and the white satin mermaid-style gown showed that off to perfection. But even so, when she paraded herself in front of Sheridan this time, the executive assistant gave it to her like she’d wanted—no punches pulled.