Retaliate

by Kristin Harte

  The wood floors of her kitchen gleamed beneath my feet, and the cream-colored cabinets practically sparkled. All looking the same as when I’d first moved in to this house as a preteen girl with a chip on my shoulder from too many years in foster care. But the spot that had always called to me, the one I had loved from the second I’d seen it, was the window seat. Big and deep, that padded nook was one I could curl up in for hours on an overcast day like this one, tea in one hand, book in the other. All things I’d learned to love because of spending time with my grandmother, Miss “don’t call me Missy or Melissa, it’s just Miss” Hansen.

  But I wasn’t sitting today, wasn’t reading either. I was preparing to grieve the one person in this world who had ever truly cared about me…well, the only one I hadn’t destroyed.

  As the water heated, I pulled my beloved tarot deck from my pocket. The one Miss had bought me at a strange little store in Rock Falls, long since closed. The deck had fallen into our cart twice, had practically burned my hand the first time I’d touched it. All things Miss had said indicated we were meant to be together.

  The deck never left my side, had been my constant companion for almost two decades. The cards had stood the test of time, though—no fading or rips, just a slight patina from so much use and a softness to the edges that spoke of being shuffled and pulled too many times to count.

  More habitual than intentional, I shuffled the cards, spinning and weaving the deck in my hands until it finally felt right. Felt like it was ready for me. I flipped the top card over. A heart pierced by three swords floated in the middle, the background showing a gray and rainy sky. Simple, easy to understand—the three of swords meant a grim moment in time and brought with it grief and sorrow.

  I’d pulled it nearly every day since I’d left Justice all those years ago.

  “The cards never lie,” I whispered, telling myself the same thing I told all my customers. The ones who came to me with big smiles and anxious eyes. The ones hoping to be told something positive, something they could look forward to. I never read them the three of swords—never told them what that card meant if it appeared for them. I let them have their hopeful future, instead. But me? I knew too much. There was no hiding from what I’d been through…and what was coming my way.

  With shaky hands and a sick stomach, I slid the card into the pile and tucked the deck back into my pocket. Better not to think about it any more than I had to.

  When the kettle whistled, I grabbed the little tin of spearmint tea off the counter. Almost empty—it had been full when I’d arrived, which meant my tea obsession had gotten a little out of hand. I had a second container, but at the rate I was going, that’d be gone in a matter of days. Easy fix in Vegas, where I could have almost anything I desired shipped right to me. Out here in Justice? Up on Widow’s Ridge? That wasn’t happening. Even the post office, where I normally would have sent a package, wasn’t an option. If word got out that I was back, if certain people figured out I was home… Well, that would end badly. For all of us, but especially me. And I simply didn’t have it in me to lose my only family and deal with past mistakes.

  One heartbreak at a time.

  Water in my cup and tea steeping, I headed back to the little bedroom on the east side of the house. Miss had always liked waking up with the sun rising over the mountain. She used to say the golden light warming her skin was much like the kiss of a lover so early in the day. I used to blush and grow embarrassed by that sort of talk, but I’d grown up as we were all supposed to do. I’d learned that her words were not sexual in nature but intimate.

  I’d grown to love that first kiss of light almost as much as she had since that was the only time I allowed myself to remember what it felt like to wake up warm, loved, and in the arms of a man my heart beat for. I gave myself those few minutes every day to remember, and then I would slam the door on those memories and get back to reality. Wishes and dreams and regrets would never pay the bills, and being sorry didn’t guarantee forgiveness.

  As I walked through the door and saw Miss lying in the bed, my current reality hit me so hard, I nearly lost my breath. Pale and weak, frail in appearance, Miss stole every ounce of my attention. Shallow breaths caused the sheet to move, but otherwise, she lay still. Almost silent. Almost gone. The end was close—I could feel the cold tentacles of death creeping closer with every moment. Could sense her ferocious spirit leaving, her presence fading from the world we knew as the end approached. I doubted she had more than a morning or two left on this earth.

  “Hey, Miss.” I settled into the chair beside her bed and reached for her hand. Needing to savor our connection while I could. “I’m running low on my tea. I’m sure you know how much of a tragedy that is for me.”

  No answer, no response—not that I’d expected one. She’d slipped into what I could only assume was a coma early that morning. I’d already called hospice to come help me with final care, but they didn’t have anyone in the area at the moment, so it was just Miss and me. Exactly as it had been for so many years. Before I’d screwed up too big to stay in Justice and deal with the fallout from my actions.

  “I’d have some sent to me, but then I’d need to go to the post office. I don’t think letting people know I’m back would be a good idea right now.” I glanced down into my tea, watching the leaves float, wondering what I’d see once they settled. Terrified to find out. “Remember the summer you taught me to read tea leaves? You said I needed to know more than the cards, so you made that my project while I didn’t have school. We sat outside every day for hours, drinking tea and waiting for the future to show itself.” I blew on my cup, the golden ripples agitating the leaves on the bottom. Moving them around. Changing the future for just a moment before the dark spots settled once more. “I didn’t even like tea then, but you didn’t care. You just kept trying new ones until we found one I could tolerate.”

  So many good memories. So many bad ones too. Because the summer Miss taught me to read the shapes and patterns left behind in the leaves was the same one I met the Kennard boys. When I met Bishop.

  I looked up, unable not to notice the picture on the bookshelf across from the bed. Over a decade before, Miss had framed a silly shot of Bishop and me hugging before the homecoming dance my senior year. She’d never taken it down. Not even when I’d asked her to. Not even when I’d cried and begged and threatened never to come back to Justice if I had to see it. As always, Miss had known best—the picture that had at one time sliced through my chest and made me bleed now gave me comfort. Something I so desperately needed.

  “I guess I could have a shipment sent to the mill. I could call him and ask if anyone there would mind. I bet Alder would make sure anything we sent there got to us.” Alder, the oldest Kennard brother. Not Bishop. I had a feeling if Bishop saw my name on a package, he’d throw the box in the trash, and I’d deserve that for what I did to him. Which was why I’d never looked back once I’d left Justice…until last week.

  But I’d only come home for one reason—to take care of Miss in her final days. The cancer eating away at her brain and bones had taken its time showing up, but once it had, the end seemed to appear out of nowhere. And just like the life I’d been living for the past fourteen years, all hope had been exhausted with a single doctor’s appointment. Her oncologist had told her there was no more he could do, no more options for treatment or care—it was time to get her affairs in order and say goodbye.

  Miss had headed straight home and called me to let me know the end was coming, something I’d already seen in the cards I pulled every day. Something I’d been preparing for since the day she’d called to tell me they’d found a shadow on an X-ray. Something I’d been dreading and trying so very hard not to think about.

  That last phone call—when she’d said she didn’t want to die alone, that it was time for me to come home—had been the only thing that could have gotten me to come back. I’d refused to miss her final days or to leave her to pass without someone by her side. So I’d
come home, and I’d hunkered down in her house to wait for the end.

  It wouldn’t be long.

  But the house was too quiet without her, a fact that I’d been trying to remedy by filling the silence with my own voice. The reason I’d been going through so much tea, to be honest. My throat was rough from so much use, my voice raspy. Speaking on stage for hours every night had nothing on telling her all about my life away from Justice. Admitting every secret and failure and success. Distracting us both from the inevitable, or so I hoped.

  I took a sip of my tea, enjoying the warm mintiness on my throat, before I launched into more stories. “Where were we before I went to the kitchen? Oh, right. The night I nearly fell off the stage at Caesar's during a show.” I sat back, almost laughing at the memory of the stage lights blinding me to the point of having no idea where I was.

  Being a Vegas medium and psychic was a cool gig—one I’d worked hard at over the past decade or so. From reading tarot on the Strip to small, intimate group sessions in cafes, to selling out the theaters inside the casinos—I’d worked my way up from nothing to a level of success most people with my talent never saw. But as in any sort of show business, there were always issues. And that night, the issue had been a faulty programming note that sent the spotlight straight at my face instead of onto the floor.

  I spent the better part of the afternoon sipping my tea as I regaled an unresponsive Miss with stories of accidents and mishaps, readings gone wrong and the ones that had gone too right for even me to believe. And through it all, I watched the leaves in my cup rise and settle, seeing the shapes appear that I knew would be there no matter how many times I disturbed them. The ones that spoke of loss and pain. Of death.

  “I never did fit there,” I whispered as the sun began to fade. My tea had long gone cold and a sharp pain had developed in my hips from sitting too long, but I didn’t want to leave her side. I would never forgive myself if I let her die alone. And I already carried enough guilt.

  “Vegas, I mean. I love the city, but it’s never felt like home.” I glanced at the homecoming picture of Bishop and me again, at my smile and the joy that radiated from the two of us. At the way his arms held me close with an obvious intimacy that came from truly knowing someone. From trusting them. I hadn’t deserved his trust.

  “I never got over leaving you,” I said, staring at Bishop…talking to Miss. I never got over leaving either of them or the town I’d grown to love so much. The one home I’d ever had. I doubted I ever would, either. But the past was done, and there was no fixing the things I’d broken. The things I’d left behind without so much as a goodbye.

  As I sat there staring at the pictures, a knock on the door echoed through the house. The sound both calmed me and ratcheted up my anxiety—company had finally come. I set down my teacup and leaned over Miss to kiss her cheek.

  “That’s probably the hospice nurse. I’ll be right back.”

  My heart ached to leave her even for a minute, but I needed help. Anyone else in town would have called a Kennard. From what I understood, Alder ran the place just the way his father had before him. Supportive, succinct, and only slightly overbearing—the Kennard way.

  I’d called a stranger.

  A fact that ate at me the closer I came to letting this unknown person into the house. It seemed so wrong to call outsiders instead of the family who’d always been so good to the residents of Justice, but I couldn’t bear to do it. So I’d dialed an unknown number instead and requested an outsider come to the house to help me get through these final hours with Miss. I’d figured anything was better than nothing in moments like these, knowing I might end up regretting that decision when this was all said and done. But the call had been made, and the person was at the door. There was no more time to waffle over my decision.

  I hurried through the dark halls to the front door, trying hard to ignore how lifeless and empty the house felt. How dead already without Miss laughing and yelling through the old rooms. But it would come to life once more. I’d sell it—hopefully find a young family to move in and enjoy the odd details and funky little rooms. Maybe there’d be kids running through the halls again or a swing set outside. That would be nice. To know the life I should have built with Bishop would finally come to pass for someone else.

  Someone who would hopefully cling to the gifts given to them instead of throwing them away.

  And me? I’d end up alone in the desert with my thousands of fans and no real friends. No family either. Exactly as I deserved.

  Chapter Three

  Bishop

  There was a reason I didn’t drink on work nights anymore, and that reason had caused an ache in my head that had plagued me all damn day.

  “How you doing, boss?” Gage said as he strolled into my office. The bastard had a smile on his face and looked as if he’d gotten a solid night’s sleep instead of just a handful of hours. Playing off my hangover was going to take more energy than I probably had, but I’d try.

  “Good, just going over some notes. You get everything squared away on the skidder?”

  The skidder was a machine we used to pull the trees from where they fell to where we’d delimb, cut, and extract them. We’d gotten a call from the Hansen jobsite that the thing had stopped working, and his mechanic on site couldn’t fix it. Gage had run out to Widow’s Ridge to see what he could do.

  “Yeah. Damn thing hung up dragging a log up the ridge because of the angle. We had to move it to a new location to ease the strain.”

  I’d kill for something that would ease the strain in my head. “Good, good. What else you got for me?”

  “Someone in town has requested hospice care.”

  Not what I had expected him to say. Ever. “Why would you know this?”

  He raised a bushy eyebrow at me. “I know people.”

  “You’ve lived here like five minutes, and you know people? As in, better than I do?” So maybe he’d lived in Justice for five years, not minutes. Same thing around here.

  Gage sat back and gave me a cocky sort of smile, barely moving the dark forest of hair on his face. “I can’t help it if I like to make sure everything runs smooth around here. It’s sort of why you hired me.”

  Technically, we’d hired him as a mechanic for our machines. True, he’d had no experience with the skidders, loaders, or delimbers we used in our operation, but that hadn’t mattered. Gage could fix anything, and he’d been a loyal and trusted friend in my SEAL unit. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d never held a chainsaw or a wrench—when I left the SEALs, I brought him with me.

  “Who’s the patient?” I asked, thinking over all the residents of Justice who might need end-of-life care. The list was pretty damn short.

  “Doesn’t say, but they gave me the location.”

  “Where?”

  Gage frowned again, and my stomach turned. The feeling of something not good coming my way slammed over me and held me in its cold, hard grip as I waited for him to say the words.

  “Widow’s Ridge.”

  Every bit of air left my lungs, all my blood pooling in my shoes. Only one residence was left up that way—the Hansen place, which meant Miss was sick.

  Miss Hansen had been a staple in our town when I’d been a kid. Strong, loud, and fiery, the older woman had commanded attention whenever she’d walked in a room. Rumor had it she practiced witchcraft out on that ridge all by herself, but I’d known better. Because just as I was starting my senior year of high school, Miss Hansen found out she had a granddaughter, and my life had changed forever.

  Anabeth Monroe—born to Miss Hansen’s late daughter—had spent most of her childhood in foster care, having no idea there was family out there who would have happily taken her in. By the time Miss had found out she even existed, Anabeth had been through the system enough to have walls a mile thick around her.

  I’d spent two years busting those fuckers down. I’d spent another two falling in love with the red-haired woman with the vibrant smile and almost prete
rnatural ability to know what I was thinking.

  I’d spent the last almost fifteen avoiding any mention or memory of her.

  “I knew Miss was sick, but I didn’t think it’d gotten bad enough for all that.” I stared down at the desktop, thoughts of summers in the forest and red hair sprawled out on the grass inundating me and making my head pound even harder. Fuck, that girl always did have the worst timing.

  “Something you want to tell me about this lady? Every time her name is brought up, you get a weird look on your face. Weirder than your normal face.”

  I huffed a pained sort of laugh. “That’s not Miss—she’s amazing.”

  “Rumor around town is that she’s a witch.”

  So he’d heard the same thing that had been flying around since I’d been a kid. Funny how those whispered lies tended to stick. “Nah, at least, not like you’re thinking. She’s more of a spiritualist.” My throat tightened and the words felt stuck as I added, “I dated her granddaughter.”

  “Okay.” Gage sat still and calm, silent. Watching me with those dark eyes as if he could see into my soul and pluck out all my secrets. I’d never told him about Anabeth, never admitted how much she’d destroyed me. Hell, I’d never told anyone. Alder knew a little because he’d been the one to pick me up out of the gutter, but that was it. And I wasn’t ready to go back down that road just yet.

  “Your friend tell you who called in for assistance?” Because if Anabeth was back in town, I needed to get the fuck out before I fell right back into that old trap.

  Gage waited, still watching me, but I didn’t fall for that tactic. He could sit like a statue all fucking day—I wasn’t opening my mouth.