Texas Redeemed

by Isla Bennet

  “I love them. It’s as simple and complicated as that.” He frowned, deep in thought. “I want to be in Lucy’s life, Valerie. It’s not about obligation anymore.”

  “I believe that.” This time Valerie touched him, just a brush of her fingers on the edge of his shoulder. “Would you have kept the kitten?”

  “Everyone deserves someone who cares. Even that kitten.”

  He cared. He genuinely cared about an abandoned newborn cat, and about their daughter.

  “Well, on behalf of Lucy and the kitten, thank you.”

  “I didn’t do what I did for thanks, Valerie.”

  Then what are you doing? You’re turning into this man who has an amazing heart and is perfectly fine sharing it with a cat. She didn’t know how to protect herself against this side of Peyton, against the compassionate, selfless side she didn’t know was still there.

  One thing she couldn’t do was let him get to her. It had taken too many years for her to stand on her own feet, and she wouldn’t risk being lost without this man again. The last time it had happened, she’d been eighteen and pregnant—young and disillusioned. At thirty-one, with a teenager and a ranch to handle, it would be pathetic for her to slip into the same trap.

  Because in the end, he would want to go and she’d want to stay.

  Or he would find out everything she had done, and he would lose himself first and then go, taking everything she’d fought for with him.

  “Peyton, there’s a life for you on the other side of town that’s got nothing to do with animals and filth.”

  “You’re right,” he said, and her stomach involuntarily contracted. “My grandfather’s place is immaculate, and the closest thing to an animal over there is the landscaper—according to Jasper, who calls her a Tasmanian devil.”

  They quit walking a short distance from the main house. He added, with a meaningful look directly into her dirt-smeared face, “Maybe that’s why I like coming here so much.”

  “Visiting Lucy’s one thing. But you can’t escape to me whenever you get bored with your own life.”

  He nodded slowly, but she doubted it was because he agreed with her point. “Then it’s okay for me to come to you just because I want to be with you.”

  “Peyton—”

  “As a friend.”

  The last time couple of times they’d been alone like this, they hadn’t behaved like friends. More than once she’d recognized the look he gave her as pure, savage lust. “You didn’t exactly want to settle for being friends that night at Big Bros’ Cages,” she reminded him. “But now that’s all you want? Guess the stench of sweat and horse took care of that.”

  “Valerie, when we were together on Halloween … I wanted more. I still do.”

  Her breathing quickened.

  “Friendship is what you need though. It’s what I need. But I won’t beg you for it.”

  The finality in his tone told her that was true.

  Abruptly, he turned and started toward the path around the side of the house toward the driveway. “Try the chili.”

  Valerie slipped into the house, unable to shake his offer. Friends. Being friends with him after all that had happened—after all the terrible choices she’d made—seemed out of the question. Being his friend meant letting him one step closer to her heart, right where she didn’t want him to be.

  Even after she had turned down his invitation to travel and they’d fought, she’d still considered their friendship to be solid. When he had wrecked his already spotty reputation in town, she’d become afraid for him and even a tad afraid of him. Then he’d left and stayed gone, and after Anna’s death she had trained herself to stop caring about him. She’d needed someone other than herself to hate, and the absentee father had fit the bill. Hating him hadn’t lasted though. How could she hate the man who’d been her friend, who’d given her two precious daughters?

  But she could resist loving him … as a friend and on an even deeper level than that.

  “Cuz, hope you don’t mind, but this chili is exactly what I need right now.”

  Valerie found Cordelia parked at the counter with a slab of cornbread and a bowl of chili. “Help yourself. Where’s Jack?”

  “Home. I stopped by to prove to my mother that I survived the drive, then took a detour to this food. Oh, just the thought of sleeping in a warm bed tonight … Jack’s probably already there.” She laughed and took a bite of cornbread.

  A warm bed was an inviting thought—but having a warm body waiting under the covers was even better. Upstairs, Valerie would find her bed nice and neat, and cold and empty. “Are you sure you feel all right, Cordelia?”

  “Very sure. Valerie, did people fuss over you like this when you were pregnant?”

  “No.” Her uncle hadn’t cared to find her after he’d kicked her out. She’d ended up working as a library page in San Antonio, where no one knew her or cared enough to try. The only other person in town who’d known about her pregnancy had been Jasper, who’d found out when she’d come to the Turners’ mansion to find Peyton gone and had gotten sick right on the pristine foyer floor. Jasper hadn’t fussed but had done what she’d asked of him: he’d kept quiet.

  Without Peyton around, she had wanted to raise her daughters alone—without the Turner name and expectations … without being under Nathaniel’s disappointed and disapproving eye.

  “Well, let me tell you this,” Cordelia said. “The fussing thing is aggravating. So, I take it Mister Mom has left.”

  Valerie lifted a brow. “I don’t think Peyton would appreciate that endearment.”

  “Probably not. But my mother filled me in on everything, and I have to say, I hope Jack’ll step up for this baby the way Peyton’s doing for Luce. Cooking, picking her up from school, homework duty, the works. He even handled a load of laundry.”

  “Whose laundry?” Valerie had an unpleasant image of Peyton sorting through her undies and encountering one of her thongs.

  “His,” Dinah answered, joining Cordelia at the counter. Concern touched her face as she gave her daughter a swift once-over. “The other day he pitched in mucking out stalls and had an unfortunate tumble.”

  Cordelia froze with chunk of cornbread halfway to her mouth. “You mean he fell in a pile of horse shit.”

  “I think that’s what she means,” Valerie interrupted, but a laugh was working its way to the surface.

  “The boy said he’d had worse experiences, but he didn’t object to borrowing Jack’s clothes—even though he was swimming in them.”

  Peyton and Jack were about the same height, but Jack had a sturdy bulk to him.

  “Wow.” Cordelia lifted her water glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to life on a ranch.”

  Valerie remembered a time when Peyton would come over to help her finish chores so she’d have time to hang out in town, or just because he didn’t find it fair that she had to spend sunup to sundown working to please her uncle. Peyton mucking out horse stalls was a taste of the old him.

  Dinah excused herself for the evening, leaving Valerie and Cordelia to divvy up the chili. Valerie wanted only one serving and put the rest in containers for her cousin to take home. At the counter, they ate in silence, trying to ignore that they both looked like hot messes and smelled even worse.

  “So Peyton’s decided he wants to be my friend.”

  Cordelia licked her spoon and slyly replied, “Friend, huh.”

  “Not that kind of friend. Not the let’s-get-naked-together kind of friend.”

  “Have you ever had one of those?”

  Valerie almost choked on her chili. She took a gulp of water. “Um, no.”

  “I have. It’s a lot of fun.” She grinned. “Ask Jack yourself.”

  “You mean Jack was your sex buddy? Doesn’t marrying the guy defeat the purpose of having a sex buddy, Cordelia?”

  “Guess so. Jack and I figured out we had as much fun together fully clothed as we did naked. And here we are.” She turned on her stool to face Valerie. “Lev
el with me. Are you worried about this friendship ending up in sex and complicating everything?”

  “It’s the friendship that’s complicated. Sex alone would be easier to handle.” It was true. Giving him just her body with no strings attached meant that she could keep her heart out of it.

  “So you think he says he wants to be friends, but what he really wants is sex.”

  “Less is at stake if that’s the case.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Sorry, Val, but you keep acting like the man’s enemy territory, and I don’t get it. All I know is his mother did a number on him, he didn’t take it well, you guys had it out, he later got himself put in jail and then left town. Am I missing anything?”

  Oh, yeah. The story behind the story, Valerie wanted to say. She couldn’t expect her cousin to understand that making the wrong choice where Peyton was concerned could devastate her. She couldn’t let herself love—or fall in love—with him. And for his own sake, she couldn’t let him love her. He didn’t even know her … didn’t know what she was capable of. “That’s the gist of it.”

  “It’s ancient history.”

  “What’s the point in building something with a man who’ll probably just pick up and leave again? He just now, tonight, said that he wants to be a father to Lucy. What if he sleeps on it and changes his mind come morning?”

  “You have abandonment issues.”

  “What?”

  “Abandonment issues. You have ’em.” Cordelia stood and started collecting the leftovers Valerie had packed up in plastic containers. “But we’ll talk about all that another time. I’ve gotta pee and wash the stink of animal off me.” And in less than a minute she was out the door.

  Count on Cordelia to diagnose someone with screwy emotional wiring and then take off. Valerie didn’t mind. The conversation was veering in a direction she didn’t want to go anyway. But since when did being cautious and wanting stability point to “abandonment issues”?

  After turning off the lights downstairs, she drew a bath and got so comfortable in the hot water and bubbles that she almost fell asleep in the tub. When she finally dragged herself out of the water, she took a moment to moisturize her face—a necessity after being out in the elements for a week—and pulled on a pair of lounge pants and an oversized shirt.

  She stepped into the bedroom expecting to find it quiet and empty. Instead she found Lucy on the bed clad in pajamas, whispering to the contents of a crate.

  “Is the kitten in there?”

  “Yes. I named him Bowie.”

  “After David?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Lucy set the crate in the middle of the bed and scooted beneath the quilt and down comforter. “Is it fine if we sleep in here with you? Vet Boone said the kitten needs to be extra warm. Humans are warm, so if Bowie sleeps in here, he’ll be okay. So can we stay?”

  Lucy could throw tantrums and break rules, but her loving nature shined. “You can stay. But tomorrow I’ll set up a place for him in your room.”

  “Thanks. Mom, I don’t get why Pisces rejected Bowie. She just kicked him out of her family, like he’s not her baby.”

  Pisces had abandoned her kitten. Valerie wondered what psychobabble her cousin would say lurked beneath the cat’s surface. “It happens. Sometimes being left behind helps someone find better circumstances.” When her parents had died, she’d ended up with an uncle who’d emotionally rejected her—but then she’d found Peyton. “I’m glad Bowie found you.”

  “Me, too, Mom.”

  Valerie slipped under the covers into the sliver of space Lucy and Bowie’s crate left for her. Tonight the bed was crowded and warm. For that, she was grateful.

  THE WAREHOUSE DISTRICT was deserted this time of night—just the atmosphere Peyton was looking for as he pushed through the heavy grimy-glassed door of the Bull’s-Eye Tavern. Country music and the stench of cigarette smoke, sweat and liquor assaulted him. The place, dominated by a well-used pool table, had a concrete floor and was full of dark corners. A couple occupied one of those cobwebbed corners, the woman holding the man’s cowboy hat as they kissed.

  He hadn’t been ready to return to his grandfather’s house after leaving the ranch. The mansion that he’d once called home was starting to feel as unfamiliar as every foreign country he’d set foot in. He felt more at home at Battle Creek than at the place where he’d grown up.

  Pulling his gaze from the couple that was giving the other scatter of patrons a free show, Peyton went to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender, who said he heard too much gossip on a nightly basis to bother taking any of it to heart, welcomed him back to town with a free Coors lager. Peyton slapped a twenty-dollar tip onto the peanut-shell-littered counter and turned the bottle up without preamble, wanting the drink to kill the intensifying urge to get back in his SUV and return to Battle Creek … to Valerie.

  Did she actually think he didn’t want her? Was he that good at controlling what he felt?

  They’d stood there outside, alone, and he’d been slammed with the desire to cover her mouth with his. But he couldn’t force himself to isolate sex from everything else he’d begun to want from her. Friendship. Trust.

  “Gonna need another?” Two-Bit Tony asked, tugging a rag from his shoulder and wiping down the bar.

  Eyeing the bottle that was now three-quarters empty, Peyton shook his head.

  “What ’bout you?” The bartender hitched his chin at a man at the end of the bar, who hovered over a shot of bourbon.

  “Absolutely.” The man downed the contents of the glass, then slid it across the bar. The fresh-looking scars on his knuckles and the scratch beside his pointed nose indicated he’d been in a recent fight. He pulled a wallet from his leather jacket and flicked a few bills onto the counter.

  With his black tee shirt and frayed jeans, and even with the barbed-wire tattoo banded around the biceps of one arm, he was easy to overlook. The collar-length dark brown hair and beard could’ve hidden his facial features—which he was clearly trying to accomplish, with his shoulders hunched and his chin lowered. But his olive-green eyes were familiar even though Peyton knew in his gut their paths had never crossed.

  He looked too much like Cordelia to not be Chase Jordan.

  “And keep ’em coming.” The man lifted the fresh glass in a mock salute. “Not nearly drunk enough.”

  Peyton considered his options. It was apparent that neither Dinah nor Cordelia were aware that Chase wasn’t MIA after all—he was right under their noses, drinking himself into oblivion in a hole-in-the-wall bar. But if the man whose last known location was Afghanistan had found his way to Texas, it wasn’t likely that he hadn’t come for a reason.

  It also wasn’t likely that the reason was to drain Two-Bit Tony’s entire stock of hard liquor—which he appeared to be on his way toward accomplishing.

  A trio of perfumed young women sashayed to the bar, and Peyton relinquished his stool, beer still in hand, and approached Chase—who’d been too focused on the women to notice right away.

  “How many of those have you knocked back?” Peyton set his beer on the counter beside Chase’s now-empty shot glass.

  Fatigue ghosted Chase’s face, but he automatically sprang, as agile as a lynx, from his stool, ready for—if not craving—another fight. A silver ID tag swung on a chain around his neck. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Hey, hey!” Tony hollered, drawing interested glances from several patrons.

  Tamping down the instinct to give Chase the fight he was asking for, Peyton lifted his palms. “I’m a friend of your family, Jordan.”

  Chase’s eyes, no longer so similar to Cordelia’s when lit with alcohol-induced aggression, narrowed. “Name. Quick.”

  “Peyton Turner. I was … uh … close to Valerie when she was coming up.”

  “Yeah. Close enough to plant a couple of babies in her belly. Delia told me about you.”

  A muscle twitched in Peyton’s jaw, which he ignored. “And Dinah told me about you. Excep
t she left out the small detail that you’re a dick-head.”

  Chase grunted a humorless laugh. “You don’t know me—and I want to keep it that way.” He brushed past him and headed to the dartboard with what Peyton knew from experience was a drunken swagger—barely able to stand on his own but too proud even through the haze of booze to lean on anything or anyone for support. A man in a hunting vest just finishing his game plucked the darts from the beaten board, gave Chase a doubtful once-over and surrendered the darts with a sarcastic, “Good luck with that, sir.”

  “Dinah misses you,” Peyton told Chase. And there it was, just the slightest trace of hurt and regret on the man’s face. “How long have you been in town?”

  Chase threw a dart with lethal force, but his aim was off and he missed his mark. Nearly missed the board, in fact.

  A shit-faced drunk man and darts weren’t a good combination.

  “Where are you staying, Chase? I’ll drive you.”

  “Go to hell.” There went another dart, lodging into the edge of the board. “Just ’cause you slept with my cousin doesn’t make you my keeper. Who’re you to tell me what to do?”

  He had a point there. Chase wasn’t his responsibility. Night Sky was a close-knit town if he’d ever seen one, and in general valued community more than some, but who was to say that anyone would intervene for Chase’s benefit and ensure that he didn’t get into a senseless fight or behind the wheel of a car? In either scenario he could potentially wind up in jail or in a ditch.

  Along the way there had been people who’d been Peyton’s “keepers,” even when he’d fought their efforts: his grandmother; Chief Hyatt, who’d given him another shot to get it right; his friend and colleague, Malcolm … and Valerie. Always Valerie. He was one fortunate, and thankful, bastard. Paying it forward was necessary out of respect to Dinah, who was clearly a mother who loved her children. That was something Peyton admired.

  “Sometimes, in the end, a family that gives a damn is all a man’s going to have left.” Peyton held out his hand for the rest of the darts. “And he’s lucky if he even ends up with that.”