Logan had seemed surprisingly disappointed that she wasn’t joining them—enough to get Emma’s antennae twitching. Heath was enjoying his seat on the sidelines, watching their baby sister try to work out whether their older brother, who was pushing forty-one and had never had a girlfriend in his life, might have caught a case of crush.
Heath doubted it. Logan was not remotely interested in sharing his life. He was married to the ranch.
But he loved women. Lots of women, though he was discriminating in his way. He got interested all the time. He especially liked smart women, successful women, women who didn’t need him. Women who were just as happy as he was to share a few tumbles and move on.
Honor seemed to fit that bill, sure—she was sexy, smart, successful, self-sufficient. But if Logan was disappointed that she wasn’t joining them for Thanksgiving, Heath was sure it was only because he’d been hoping she’d be game for a tumble.
Because he was damn sure they hadn’t been fucking during the trial.
They had a lot to be thankful for—Heath’s very presence at the table, Gabe and the baby she was growing joining the family, that the ranch had survived their troubles. Their father made a long, poignant toast—and then turned the carving duties over to Wes.
Emma and Wes had been married for ten years. Only now had Morgan Cahill accepted him as a true member of the family.
The Cahill family was in real harmony for the first time in many years.
During their meal, Emma kept trying to toss sidelong questions and comments about Honor into the conversation, and Logan just lobbed them all right back at her. Heath thought it was nice not to be the subject of family scrutiny for once.
Emma and Gabe had put out a spread that would easily have fed a family four times their size. Most of it was their traditional Thanksgiving foods: a massive, plump-breasted turkey, gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans and bacon, cornbread, cranberry sauce. Probably the same meal millions of people across the country were eating. But this year, Gabe had offered a couple of dishes from her own history: tamales and a blazing-hot rice dish.
There was wine and bourbon and beer, and juice for the kids. And for Gabe.
And water for Heath. He’d promised Gabe he’d ease off the booze. She’d pointed out that he lost control only when he was drunk. He’d disagreed with that point. He’d thought the booze was keeping him calm, that he would have lost his shit much more quickly sober.
Then she’d told him that it made her afraid. For the baby.
So he was drinking ice water these days.
He hadn’t thought he had a problem, but it had turned out to be a lot harder than he’d expected to pass the bottle by. Especially in the evenings. And at family meals.
After his arrest, it had taken him weeks to become comfortable eating at the family table again, to stop calling up the memory of that Sunday breakfast and play the whole thing over again like a movie in his head, to stop waiting to hear the doorbell. But he finally felt normal again in the family dining room, at this familiar table, with the people he loved best in the world.
He reached over Gabe and grabbed himself another hunk of cornbread.
“Hey—is that the last one?” she asked.
Grinning, he picked her another as well.
They’d interrupted Emma and Logan bickering, and Logan jumped on the chance to get their sister off the topic of sexy lawyers. He made a not very subtle topic change. “So! Gabe! You figure out your classes yet?”
Gabe had just taken a bite of bread. Around it, she said, “I think so.” She swallowed. “There’s not that many online courses I’m interested in, but I signed up for child psych and world history.”
“Child psych, huh? Gonna experiment on the shorty? Or maybe Heath?”
Aware of the children sitting at the table, Heath made a performance of scratching his nose with his middle finger. Logan just grinned.
Gabe had had to postpone starting classes because of the trial, and Matthew’s pending arrival in the spring kept her from signing up for regular classes. She’d briefly given up the thought of college altogether, but Heath had talked her out of that. Most of the issues that had been troubling her, and him, before the Fourth of July remained true: she had given up her life and been absorbed into his, and she had little that she could claim as simply hers.
In fact, that had been even more true since the Fourth, as his troubles had consumed the entire family for months, and they were still climbing up from that dark place. Only that week had his father received back the massive bail he’d posted.
Gabe was young, so young. Heath didn’t want her to look up one day and realize that she had never had a chance to choose her own life. He’d pressed her to think about whether school was important to her, and, if it was, not to let it go.
So she was taking a couple of online classes now, and the following fall she’d go full-time. When the time came, if she wanted a four-year degree, they’d figure that out, too.
He wasn’t married to the ranch.
*****
They were sitting around the table in a daze of food consumption, nursing cups of coffee, contemplating, with some alarm, the idea of dessert. The kids had run off to watch Christmas cartoons.
Dusk had fallen, and the room was lit mainly by the candles in the centerpiece.
“I can’t do pie yet,” Gabe moaned, propping her head on her hand. “I’m going to explode.”
“Yeah,” Wes agreed. “Pie later.”
Emma stood up. “Well, let’s get this table cleared, then, and we’ll do pie before we take the kids back to the house for bedtime.”
She went to the light switch. At the same time that the overhead light came on, the doorbell rang.
Gabe jumped and let out a little scream. So did Emma, a harmony of shock.
Heath’s stomach seemed to lurch into his throat and then drop. It was crazy—he had nothing more to fear. Denham Whitt was facing trial for Black’s murder now. Jared Devlin had confessed to killing Black under contract with Whitt. Wes had gotten the story right, almost point by point.
Catherine Spelling had been questioned but not formally charged. She was providing evidence against Whitt as well. They had the real murderer. They knew the true story.
Heath had nothing to fear.
And yet the meal he’d just enjoyed curdled at once.
“I’ll go,” Logan said, after a stunned moment. Even his voice quavered.
“No,” Heath said. “I’ll go.”
Gabe clutched his hand. He smiled and lifted their hands, kissing hers. “It’s okay, little one. We’re okay now.”
He wanted so badly to believe that.
He left his family sitting at the remnants of their Thanksgiving feast and went to answer the front door.
Catherine Spelling stood alone outside it. In the month since the end of his trial, he’d not seen her even once. It had been months since he’d spoken a word to her.
Heath had expected the Sheriff. He didn’t know whether to feel relief or not.
“Catherine.”
She cleared her throat. “Heath. I’m sorry to bother you on Thanksgiving. I hope I’m not interrupting your meal.”
Still deeply wary, Heath didn’t assure her that their meal had ended. “What do you want?”
“I…I’d like to talk. Can I…can I come in?”
He’d sensed members of his family coming up behind him; now his father pulled him aside and stepped forward. “Friend or foe, Catherine?”
“That’s why I’m here. Friend, I hope.”
“Then come in.”
“No.” Heath said, putting out his hand to stop her from stepping up on the threshold. He turned and saw Gabe, lingering back, eyes wide. “C’mere, Gabe. It’s okay.”
The other members of his family stepped out of the way, and she came to him. When he had hold of her hand, he faced Catherine again. “You are not welcome in this house until you’ve apologized to Gabe and she says you’re welcome.”
“Heath…” Gabe muttered, pulling on her hand. He held fast. There were some things that couldn’t simply be locked away.
Catherine had gone pale, but then she took a deep breath and stood up straight. “I came to apologize to Heath, but he’s right. I owe you an apology as well. I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I know what kind of man Richard Cross is, and I know you told the truth. I should have turned him away years ago. Instead, I let my business rely more and more on him until I was afraid I couldn’t lose him and stay open, and I let him do whatever he wanted. I’m sorry.”
Heath could feel Gabe’s hand shaking in his, but no one else would have known of her turmoil. She stood still and firm. After a moment’s consideration, she nodded. “Okay. I accept your apology.” With a quick glance up at him, and getting his nod, she added, “You can come in.”
*****
“Why apologize now? What’s your angle? We all know you got one.” Logan took a swallow of his bourbon before handing Catherine a glass of her own.
“No angle. It’s not easy for me to apologize.” Except for a long blink, she ignored Logan’s snort at that. “But it’s Thanksgiving, and it’s been weighing on me.” She sipped at her drink.
“Well, Miss Catherine,” their father put in. “Logan’s not being a gentleman, but he’s not asking bad questions. I gotta say I’m wondering the same thing. You were cleared of breaking any laws helping Denny, but the Moondancer’s still closed. You’re in trouble.”
Catherine focused on her drink.
“Christ,” Heath said, getting it. “You want money. You’ve got to be kidding.”
She looked up. “It’s not just about me. I employed a lot of people. Town people—who are out of work now, at the holidays.”
“Do you know how much that trial cost my family? And you could have stopped it.”
“I didn’t know for sure what happened. I know you got your bail money back.”
Heath stood up. “Get the hell out of this house.”
“Heath,” Gabe said, her voice low. She’d been sitting beside him with one arm around her belly and the other hand around her throat. “There are a lot of people out of work. Ellen’s out of work.”
“Ellen will always be taken care of, honey, you know that,” their father assured her. “We owe her a great debt.”
“I know, but…” she shrugged.
“You’re right. Sit down, son. Let’s hear Catherine’s proposal.”
Heath sat. “I thought Whitt paid you off.”
“Not a lump sum. He paid bills as they were due. That stopped when he was arrested and his accounts were frozen. I’m not asking for a loan. I’m…” She paused, clearly preparing to say something difficult. “I’m asking for a partner.”
Heath laughed. “No. Christ, no.”
“When the ranch is running, it makes good money. It has a great reputation. I have a great reputation—I did, anyway. It runs at capacity most of the year. It brings money into Jasper Ridge. It brings jobs. I’m not the only one hurting with it closed.”
“I got no interest in being your silent partner, Catherine.”
“I know, Morgan. I’m not asking for a silent partner. I need someone present at the ranch. Someone people trust. Right now, that’s not me. I need an active partner. A…an equal partner.” She looked downright ill.
Heath laughed again. “We all have our own shit to do.”
“I could do it,” Wes said. “Logan’s got the Twisted C. I’m mostly excess baggage here. I could run the Moondancer.”
“No,” Heath and Emma said at the same time.
“Why not? Heath, you’re angry, and I understand, but it doesn’t change my mind. Ems, you know damn well I’m not needed here.”
“I like having you here, close.”
He smiled and picked up his wife’s hand. “Moondancer’s not that far off.”
“I guess…” Emma conceded.
“It’s not a bad idea, Dad.” Logan had been sitting quietly, his brow furrowed. Heath felt a sharp blade of anger. No one seemed to be on his side here. Not even Gabe.
Which meant that he was being unreasonable. But fuck! Catherine? A partnership?
When his father sat forward, Heath knew that he’d made up his mind. “Controlling interest. No less than fifty-one percent. Market value, not a penny more. Current market value. And Wes runs the property. You’re his second.”
Catherine shook her head. “I built the Moondancer up from the ground.”
“And drove it right back down into it. You have my terms.”
She stared into her half-finished glass of bourbon. Then, without looking up, she nodded.
“Good, then,” their father said. “I’ll have our lawyer work up the papers.”
*****
Heath didn’t sleep much that night. He’d been finding sleep elusive most nights anyway, without the help of his buddy Jim Beam. He spent big chunks of his night hours sitting up against the headboard and reading on a tablet, with the screen as dim as possible. He preferred to read actual books, but the light bothered Gabe.
On Thanksgiving night, he was doing little more than staring at the tablet while his mind whirred. Anger and resentment churned through his blood, with nowhere to go. Everybody was right—going in on the Moondancer helped Jasper Ridge, and it was a good investment. It could help recoup the money they’d spent on his trial. They’d likely never get the woodland back from the Feds, and they’d never mine that gold, but with the Moondancer, the ranch could be strong again and all but invulnerable. Controlling interest would keep Catherine at heel, so his trust issues should have been assuaged.
But he wanted her to suffer. He did not accept her apology. She’d hurt Gabe, and him, and nearly torn the town apart.
He was a vengeful son of a bitch.
Beside him, Gabe moaned and muttered in her sleep. “No—what—no, stop!”
He knew what she was dreaming. Setting aside the tablet, and his thoughts of the Moondancer, he shifted down on the bed and curled his arm over her. “Shhh, little one,” he breathed at her ear.
Sometimes, if he caught her at the right time, he could settle her back into deeper sleep, but this time, she flinched at his touch and twisted. “Stop! Stop!”
She went stiff and stopped breathing. He knew this, too. “Gabe! Gabe, wake up!”
Her eyes flew open, wide and stunned but unseeing. After a too-long, too-frozen pause, she took in a loud breath and was awake. He hated that moment when she didn’t breathe.
As soon as she was oriented, she relaxed and smiled sheepishly at him. “Sorry, sorry. Did I wake you?”
He settled her on his chest and pressed his lips to her temple. “No. I was reading.”
“What are you reading?”
“Blood Meridian.”
“Again?”
He chuckled. “I like it. I’m worried, Gabe. I don’t like that dream.”
“It’s not my favorite, either. But I’m okay.”
He wondered if that was really true. A thought had been brewing at the back of his head for a while, and he decided to throw it out and see how she’d react. “I have a thought about something I’d like to do before the baby comes. After the holidays. I’d like to take a trip.”
She looked up at him. “Like a vacation? But you’re reopening the shop after the holidays.”
“I can put that off another week or two. What do you think?”
“Sure. That sounds…that sounds nice. I’d have to bring my laptop and do my class stuff. You have somewhere in mind? The beach, maybe? I’ve never been to the beach.”
She was happy at the thought of a vacation, and Heath nearly lost his nerve. “I was thinking Santa Fe.”
Her expression dimmed instantly, and she pushed up from his chest and sat up. “No. Why—why would you even…no.”
He sat up, too, and wrapped his hand around her arm. “You know everything about me, from the time of my birth. I know almost nothing about you before what your fathe
r did.”
“You think you don’t know me?” She tried to free her arm, but he held on.
“No, Gabe. That’s not what I meant. I feel like I’ve always known you. But every time I get a little piece of a story about how you grew up, I realize how little I know of that story.”
Her frown deepened, but she stopped trying to pull away. “I don’t want to remember. It’s all ruined now by what he did.”
“Maybe that’s because you’ve turned your back. The dream is happening more often. Maybe you need to reclaim the life you had, take it back from what your father did.”
“And you think going back there will do that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe…I just know I want to be with you when you try.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Wow. They painted it.” Gabe ducked her head and looked out the window at the house Heath had just parked the rental car in front of. Beige stucco with a flat roof.
Most of Santa Fe seemed to be stucco and flat-roofed. It wasn’t much of a town, in Heath’s estimation. Boise was a lot bigger.
This neighborhood wasn’t much, either. Scrubby yards and older-model cars and trucks. On the poorer edge of working class.
“It used to be kind of orange. And they took down the big tree.” She sat back and stared out the windshield, rubbing her hand over her belly.
Heath reached over and squeezed her knee. “You want to knock, see if—”
“No. It’s not my house.”
Somewhere (Sawtooth Mountains Stories Book 1) Page 30