The Lost Sheenan's Bride (Taming of the Sheenans Book 6)

by Jane Porter

  The sound of a brittle twig snapping made her turn. Glancing behind her, she spotted Shane walking towards her. He’d cleaned the blood off his face but his nose looked thick—possibly broken—and his lower lip was swollen. Bruises were forming. He’d probably soon be sporting one, if not two, black eyes.

  She inhaled sharply, battling her disappointment. “That was stupid,” she said, as he joined her at the railing.

  “I don’t like fighting,” he said quietly, stroking the horse’s nose, scratching behind the ears. “But I’m not going to roll over, either.”

  “What did the fight accomplish?”

  “He knows where I stand. I know where he stands.”

  “Are you moving out by next Sunday?”

  “No.”

  She shot him a swift glance. “That’s asking for trouble.”

  “He’s asking for trouble. I have a legal right to be here. My lease is valid until mid-March.”

  She sighed. “So what happens next Sunday?”

  Shane shrugged. “I don’t know. I won’t be here. I’ll be over at Flathead Lake.”

  “So you’re still going?”

  “Of course I’m going. I’ve a book to write and people to interview and Trey Sheenan doesn’t scare me.”

  She studied him intently. He looked like hell but he acted as if that fight was nothing. “What does scare you?” she asked softly.

  He didn’t answer for a long moment and then his broad shoulders shifted. “Losing my self-respect. I can’t do that. I don’t need money. I don’t care about fame. I’m not interested in awards. But I can’t lose my self-respect. As a kid bouncing from institution to institution, it was all I had. And it’s still all I have, because the rest of it is just window dressing.”

  Jet’s gaze skimmed his swollen lower lip, and then up over his bruised nose, and then higher to his fierce dark eyes. “You do have very nice window dressing.”

  His hard jaw eased. His lips twisted slightly. “Don’t make me smile. It hurts.”

  “I don’t know whether I should hit you, or hug you.”

  “Hug me. I’ve been hit enough today.”

  His tone was mocking and yet she saw the weariness in his eyes and felt the wistfulness underlying his words. He’d spent his life proving to himself and others that he needed no one. It wasn’t working though, was it? Because no man—or woman—was an island. People needed people. People needed love.

  Carefully, she went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, aware of the blows he’d taken to his chest and torso, aware from the way he inhaled sharply that there might be a bruised or broken rib.

  “I wish you’d had a family,” she whispered, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “I wish you’d had a mom and dad to cherish you and spoil you and make you feel safe.”

  He stiffened a little but she ignored his silent protest.

  “Every child deserves love, and you deserved far more than you got,” she added.

  “I survived,” he answered gruffly. “And I’m doing alright.”

  She tipped her head back to look him in the eye. “Yes, you did, and yes you are, but I still can want more for you. I’m allowed to want more. You can’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel. There are no rules when it comes to feelings.”

  “No?”

  She smiled faintly at his rueful expression. “No.”

  An emotion passed over his face, something that darkened his eyes for a moment, casting shadows that she couldn’t read, but then it was gone. “I’m not good with feelings.” His voice was pitched low. He sounded as if it was a confession…something to be ashamed of.

  “That’s okay.” She smiled up at him. “You’re in luck. I have plenty of experience with them, and more emotions than most women.”

  “That’s lucky?”

  She rose up on tiptoe and gently kissed his bruised and swollen mouth. “Yes.”

  One of his hands slid into her hair and then smoothed it from her face. His thumb stroked her cheek, and then strummed across her lips. “This is not going to end well, you know. There is no way this will end well. Not for either of us.”

  She frowned, not understanding. “In terms of what?”

  “Any of it. All of it. You’re just going to get hurt, and I don’t want you hurt.”

  Her chest squeezed and her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t like the sound of that. She didn’t want to be hurt. She wasn’t ready to be hurt. But she also wasn’t ready to walk away from him.

  Jet forced a mocking smile. “You’re not going to fall in love with me and marry me and give me a dozen babies that I can raise on our dairy farm?”

  She didn’t know what she expected but it wasn’t the slow, long, tender kiss, a kiss that seemed to draw the air from her lungs, even as he melted her bones and thoughts and every bit of resistance.

  “You’re everything I want,” he said against her mouth, “but everything I don’t deserve.” And then he carefully peeled her away from him and stepped back. “Let’s get your jacket. We need to get you home. I am sure your Sheenans will have something to say to you for being here today.”

  Her heart fell, taking her stomach with it. She hunched her shoulders as she walked next to him back towards the house. “I’m not afraid of them,” she said as they neared the back porch.

  And it was true. She wasn’t scared. She was upset because she was troubled. She liked Shane so much. She was more than a little bit attached. And she couldn’t accept that there was no future. Why couldn’t there be a future? Why couldn’t they work? Because the Sheenans said so? Or because there was something else?

  “Are you married?” Jet asked abruptly.

  He snorted. “No.”

  “Engaged?”

  “No.”

  “Dating anyone?”

  “No. There’s just you.”

  “Good.” She faced him on the porch. “Because I like you. I really do. And I don’t even know what that means, but it’s silly to say this won’t work or it’s going to end badly when we’re still just figuring stuff out.” It was icy cold and the wind whipped past them, grabbing at her hair. Jet folded her arms over her chest, suppressing a shiver. “So don’t be such a pessimist. Let’s give it a chance. What do we have to lose?”

  “I write nonfiction, babe, not romances,” he answered, and yet he was smiling at her and his expression was amused.

  He was so gorgeous when he smiled at her like that. Even with the bruises and the cuts and funny bump in the bridge of his nose.

  She reached up to lightly stroke his nose. “Did you break it?”

  “Probably.” He must have noticed her stricken expression. “It’s not the first time. It’ll heal.”

  “Your poor face.”

  “Good thing I’m not a model.”

  She couldn’t look away from his warm, dark eyes and the crooked tilt of his lips. He was such a strong, intelligent man and yet beneath the tough veneer, she could see the boy in him…the child that lurked in every adult. She had to swallow hard to keep the emotion from her voice. She was so close to tears. She didn’t even know why.

  “If you can wait until Friday, I’ll go with you to Polson as soon as I’m done teaching. It’s a three day weekend, which would give you time for research.”

  He didn’t immediately reply. She searched his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking. “Friday dismissal is at two-forty,” she added. “I could leave straight after. What do you think?”

  “And Harley?” he asked gruffly.

  She smashed the stab of guilt. “I’ll sort that out. She’s my sister.”

  Monday morning Shane woke up to find Trey Sheenan back on his doorstep. Or Trey’s own doorstep, if he wanted to be literal.

  Trey had a yellow and purple eye, and mottling around the jaw, but stood tall, his expression revealing nothing. “Maybe we’re not being fair,” he said bluntly, by way of greeting. “Maybe we’re assuming you understand how it works here in this part of the world. But we’re
a small community. Close-knit. We’ve known each other practically since birth. Bad things don’t happen here, not like what went down on the Douglas ranch.”

  Shane opened the door wider. “Want to come in? I’ve just made a pot of coffee.”

  “I’ll take a cup. Black.”

  Shane led the way to the kitchen. Trey didn’t speak until Shane had filled him a mug and pushed it across the battered, pine table.

  “I attended the funeral for that family.” Trey’s deep voice was low, measured. “Everyone attended the funeral services. The front of St. James was lined with the five coffins. Five hearses out front. Six pallbearers per casket, thirty total. All these men and boys in black suits, most wearing their fancy dress cowboy boots, because the Douglases were ranchers. Rory was front and center, leading the way, on his mom’s casket.” His voice cracked and he ground his jaw tight, looked away.

  For a minute the kitchen was silent. There was no way Shane would speak. He waited.

  Trey continued. “McKenna wasn’t my McKenna back then. She was just a little girl…skinny, with red hair. Her aunt Karen had to hold her up. Quinn wasn’t there; he was still in the hospital in ICU, fighting for his life.” He paused. “I knew Rory from school…sports and amateur rodeo events. He was good. I was better. But he could stay out of trouble and I couldn’t.”

  He paused again. “The loss of that family changed everything for everyone. It left a mark on Marietta…and it made an even stronger impression on me.” His head lifted and he looked Shane in the eye. “I should have been there that day. I should have had my hunting rifle, or my dad’s pistol. I should have been there to help them. Protect them. Mrs. Douglas and all those little ones…they were so defenseless, especially after the attackers took out Mr. Douglas. The rest of the family had no way to defend themselves. The investigation reported that the Douglas family didn’t even own a single gun.”

  “Attackers,” Shane said quietly. “You think there was more than one?”

  Trey shrugged. “I don’t see how one person could have taken such complete control…it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Unless Mr. Douglas surrendered to protect the others.”

  “The investigation seemed to think that.”

  “From the reports I’ve read, I’d agree,” Shane said.

  Trey made a rough sound. “Todd—McKenna’s father—was not a fighter. I wouldn’t call him a pacifist, but he and Grace, McKenna’s mom, were very strong Christians and they believed in the power of prayer. They believed God would protect them.” He closed his eyes and drew a breath, and when he opened his eyes again his expression was fierce. Gritty. “It makes me so angry still. It’s not easy to talk about, because it makes me feel disloyal to my wife. But you’re here in this area. We’re set back in the hills. It’s isolated. Each rancher can be a mile or more from the nearest neighbor. You have to be smart. You have to have a plan in times of crisis, and while I respect Todd’s kindness—he was known as a very patient, and generous man—he should have been prepared. He should have done more to defend his family.”

  “You think he should have fought back.”

  “I know he should have. And I’m not saying he did nothing, but it wasn’t enough. Clearly, it wasn’t enough. Knowing Todd, he probably tried to reason with the attacker, or attackers, first, but once he was incapacitated, the rest of the family was screwed.”

  “Why didn’t they have dogs? I thought every ranch has a couple.”

  “They had two until just before the assault. Goldie, the older lab, died of old age, a couple weeks before, and the younger dog, Silver, a three-year-old German shepard, was hit by a car just a few days before the accident.”

  Shane frowned. That hadn’t been in any of the reports he’d read. “Did one of the boys run over the dog by accident?”

  “No. They found Silver lying by the side of the easement road. Silver was Quinn’s dog. He was devastated.”

  “The easement road. Isn’t that the one that cuts across your property?”

  “Yes. But we never go down that way. My dad didn’t have any problems with the Douglases, but he wasn’t very social and he discouraged us from being overly friendly, so we grew up knowing that the easement road was for access to their ranch, not for us.”

  “And you all listened?”

  “It was that or get some quality time with his belt. Or fist.”

  Shane studied Trey. “He was tough.”

  “He didn’t suffer fools. And I don’t say this to McKenna, but what happened on the Douglas ranch would never have happened here. You didn’t cross my dad. If he suspected someone of lying to him, or doing something behind his back, he’d take you out, fast. And then ask questions later.”

  “Did that ever backfire?”

  “Absolutely. But it meant he was the last man standing.”

  Shane’s lips quirked. “You’ve learned that one well, haven’t you?”

  Trey shrugged. “I’m going to protect my wife and son until the day I die.”

  “And your dad. He didn’t have any beef with the Douglases?”

  “No. If anything he was protective of them. They were good people. Too religious for his liking but they always treated Mom well. Mom and Mrs. Douglas were once quite friendly. One summer they went every night together to the revival, and then the next summer they started going, and then after once or twice, Mom wouldn’t go back. Mrs. Douglas was a little confused, but Mom was adamant. She’d had enough.”

  “The revival’s the traveling church headed up by Pastor Newsome?”

  Trey’s head inclined. “Dad was not a fan. He didn’t trust the minister’s motives. Thought the minister was more interested in the prettier ladies in the congregation than the older ones, or the unattractive ones.”

  Shane’s gut tightened. “Your mom being one,” he said carefully, not liking the uneasy feeling he’d gotten.

  “And Mrs. Douglas being another.” Trey hesitated. “McKenna is almost the spitting image of her mom.”

  “Did everyone in Marietta attend the summer revival?”

  “No. There were a lot of people who were quite unhappy that the minister set up his tent here each summer. I never went. Dad wouldn’t let Mom take us. He said the minister was after one thing—pretty young women without a brain.”

  “Your mom was stupid?”

  “No. Just lonely.”

  Shane didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t. It made him feel as if he’d chomped on shards of glass. “Why did your dad think the pastor targeted the young, pretty women?”

  “Dad thought the minister was trying to get them to part with purses and their panties.” A dull red flush colored Trey’s high hard cheekbones. “Dad said as much to Mom, right around the time she stopped going to the services. But Mrs. Douglas continued to attend, right up until the day she was killed.”

  Shane forced his thoughts away from his mother, not wanting to think of her now, not wanting to think of Bill Sheenan speaking so rudely to her. Treating her with contempt and disdain. “The murders at the Douglas ranch took place while the revival was in Paradise Valley.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did people talk about that?”

  “There was a lot of finger-pointing. But the minister—Newsome—he was in the middle of a prayer meeting when it happened, and Mrs. Douglas was planning on going to the evening worship service that night. She’d just put dinner on the table when the assault began.”

  Shane drank his coffee. Not because he was thirsty but because he needed something to do to hide his revulsion. He hated this story. He hated this book. It was beyond tragic. It was pointless…meaningless… just endless suffering and grief. He shouldn’t have ever started it. If he could go back eighteen months and undo the contract and return the advance and stop the research, he would.

  But he couldn’t go back. He was here, in the thick of it, and there was no standing still. Life did not stand still. He’d committed to this path, and all he could do was go forward. “Do you r
emember your mother, and how she reacted to the news of the Douglas murders?”

  Trey set his cup down hard on the table and crossed the kitchen to the mudroom. He disappeared inside a moment, checked a shelf that looked as if it was about to fall off the wall and then turned around. “She said it could have been her.”

  It was hard to swallow. Shane’s mouth tasted sour. “Because the ranches were so close?”

  “Because Grace Douglas took the brunt of the attack. She was hurt so much worse than the others. My mother—” Trey broke off, shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I shouldn’t say more. This can’t go in your book. None of this should go in your book.”

  “Why not? What is it that everyone is hiding? Because something isn’t adding up. You’ve come here, been open with me, so I’m going to tell you that my gut says the Sheenans aren’t protecting McKenna, as much as protecting themselves.” He saw Trey stiffen, and a startled look in his eyes, before his expression hardened, shuttering.

  Shane didn’t let it stop him. If Trey was going to throw another punch, so be it. “You know your family,” he added. “You know what happened, but there’s more to this story. You and I both know that. I’m sure you’re aware of the investigation. It was mismanaged from the beginning.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “There was a big story in your Copper Mountain Courier the summer of 1997 about the problems in the investigation. Missing pages. Tampered evidence.”

  “Didn’t pay any attention to it. I was just eighteen.”

  “But you were dating McKenna then.”

  “Yeah, I was eighteen, and my mom had just died. Hard to pay attention to the Courier when you’re burying your mom.” Trey walked past Shane to exit the kitchen. He stepped through the hall and into the dining room and stopped at the head of the table.

  Shane stood behind him, seeing what Trey was seeing.

  Wallpaper. Curtains. A framed landscape featuring Paradise Valley.

  The bulletin boards were gone. The books were gone. The dining room table had been returned to the middle of the room, and chairs lined the table, just as they once had. The only sign that Shane still worked in there was his laptop at the foot of the table and a tidy pile of folders with a notebook on top.