Oh no. He wanted to reach out, touch her hand.
“The worst part about the entire attack was the day he packed his duffel bag and walked out of my life.”
“Walked out?”
“Yeah, I know that sounds harsh, but that’s what it felt like. He emailed, sometimes, and came to my high school graduation, but really, he simply faded away, busy with his deployments and saving the world or whatever he did. And I realized…you can only count on what you make. What you do. Because people will leave you.”
“Not me.”
He didn’t know why the words came out, but he’d never meant anything more in his entire life. A tenor of heat consumed him, and he sat up. “Not me, Kelsey. Have you not met me? I’m the guy who sticks around. Who keeps his promises—or tries with everything inside him to. I show up. And I stick around. You can count on me.”
She was consuming his words, her eyes in his, and he couldn’t help it—he reached out to her and pulled her over to himself on the sofa.
He couldn’t believe it when she surrendered, sitting on his lap and sliding into his arms.
“Kelsey. I made you a promise back in Texas, and I intend to keep it.”
“You did? What—”
“I won’t let you fall. That I’m going to get you out of this.”
She drew in a breath, the hope back in her eyes. Then she leaned down and kissed him.
And as much as he’d dreamed about it, the fact she’d made the first move told him that this time, please, there wouldn’t be panic, running, or God help him, tears.
He hoped.
So he let her be in control, let her caress his face with her thumb, let her explore, taste him, let her be the one to wrap her arms around him, sink into his embrace.
The warmth of her touch enveloped him, and he purposely kept his hands on her back, not moving her down onto the sofa, not deepening their kiss.
But it cost him, his breath coming hard when she leaned back.
Met his eyes.
“Safe is a good thing, you know.”
He frowned.
“And so is Nice.”
He nodded. Maybe.
Especially since she was bending to kiss him again. He was leaning in to meet her when—
“Hey, Knox—oh, whoops! Sorry!”
He leaned back and caught Tate turning in the threshold, his back to them, hand over his eyes.
“What?” Knox growled.
Kelsey made to scramble from his lap, but he touched her hand.
“Stay?”
She smiled at him, and Tate had better have a very good reason—
“I have some news.” Tate turned and cast a look at Kelsey, who had settled back into Knox’s embrace.
A beat. Huh. “And?”
He considered Knox a moment, then held up his phone. “AJ texted.”
Oh, uh…
“AJ Russell? Kelsey said softly.
“You know him?” Knox said.
She nodded. “He sent me flowers. Even showed up once at the rehab center, but Ham made him leave. He was pretty upset about what his brother had done to me.”
Knox glanced at Tate, but the man showed nothing of remorse for nearly breaking the man’s fingers. His mouth tightened.
“Just say it, Tate.”
“Vince Russell is dead. His body was found this morning in the Bronx River.”
Kelsey stilled. “Really?”
“Really, Kels. It’s over.”
She looked at Knox, her eyes shiny, her breath starting to shudder.
“C’mere,” he said softly and reached for her, pulling her close, her body shaking against him. “You’re all right. You’re going to be all right.” Then he looked up at Tate. “It’s time for you to leave, bro.”
Tate closed the door behind him.
And Knox held Kelsey to himself as she dissolved into wracking, relieved sobs against his chest.
10
The morning dawned bold and bright, the sky striated with lavender and gold, the clouds over the snowcapped blue mountains tufted pink, just like every other day in Montana.
But today wasn’t every other day. And neither had been yesterday, or the day before.
Today, Kelsey woke with her nightmares declared dead, the strings that held her to fear snipped.
She lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Four days after the news of Russell’s death, Kelsey should be happy.
And not just with the news of Russell’s death, but she could still feel Knox’s arms wrapped around her last night, taste him on her lips, smell the cottony, cowboy redolence of him on her skin.
They had a routine, of sorts. She and Glo spent the days helping his mother as she prepared for her birthday weekend. Yesterday, they’d made pies. The day before, enough cookies to feed a couple hockey teams. They spent two afternoons prepping the garden, replanting the pots and window boxes, and even feeding the baby goats, which Glo had developed a particular craziness for.
In the evenings, while Glo and Tate squared off with a board game, she snuck into the den with Knox. He would turn on an old episode of Bonanza or Gunsmoke, neither of them interested in watching.
They would talk about the day, her life on a farm in Minnesota before the tragedy, and his growing-up years on the ranch. And somewhere in there she’d end up on the sofa in his arms, tucked tight against the curve of his body, her head on his bicep.
He took his time kissing her, his fingers wrapped between hers. Warm, lingering, deep kisses, the kind that confirmed that she was, indeed, safe.
No running necessary.
And then, when she thought she might lose her mind, he’d tuck her back against him, drape one muscled arm over her, his breathing in sync with hers until she fell off to sleep, his whiskers against her skin stirring up a desire in her that she hadn’t ever thought possible.
In fact, with Knox, she began to tiptoe into the realm of too much glorious, unexpected possibility.
She could blame him for this crazy thinking. He’d started it last night when he’d helped her onto the back of his horse, where she could put her arms around his trim waist, cuddling up close to that wide back, and trotted her out to the perch overlooking the waterfall.
The sunset had glinted copper off the distant rush of water, the sky mottled with amber and gold. They’d dismounted and walked out to the benches. There, they’d sat, her back against his chest. He’d tucked her into his embrace and just let her listen.
Listen to the rush of the wind, the rise of cicadas into the evening, listen to her heartbeat slowing, her own thoughts unwinding.
“There’s a little cave behind the falls,” Knox said in her ear, his late-afternoon whiskers brushing her neck. “It always reminds me of that scene in The Last of the Mohicans when the hero, Hawkeye, is being chased by the Huron warriors. He and Cora, the heroine, are trapped on this ledge behind the falls. He tells her he’ll rescue her and dives over the edge.”
“‘You stay alive, no matter what occurs! I will find you! No matter how long it takes, no matter how far. I will find you!’” She had lifted her head, turned to meet his eyes. “One of my favorite movie lines.”
He made a sound, searched her eyes. “I would, you know.”
“What?”
“Find you.”
“And then what?” Her own gaze had landed on his lips.
He said nothing, but a small smile tweaked his face. “I guess I would bring you home.”
Home.
The world filtered through her, and she gave a sad smile. “I don’t have—”
“Yeah, you do. If you want it.”
She turned in his arms and looked up at him. She must have worn surprise in her eyes because he nodded. “I know it’s soon, and fast, but…” He looked away from her, back to the waterfall. “My mother told you that I dreamed of being a professional bull rider. She left out the fact that I was good at it. I’d won a junior national championship and had big dreams of winning the PBR. I saw myself being a champion, a star
…someone who could outshine my bigger-than-life big brother.” He’d given a small, humorless chuckle. “Then Dad died, and it all crashed down. I’d made a promise to my dad to take care of the place after Reuben left—and when Dad died, I had to step up to that promise.”
She’d touched a hand to his chest, under his flannel shirt, felt the heartbeat there. Steady. Dependable.
“I turned the ranch finances around, started our bucking bull line, and yes, we are very successful, but…I felt suffocated.” He turned his gaze on her. “Until you showed up. Until I started to see the ranch through your eyes. This is a safe place. A place to dig in roots and stop running. A place to grow a future.”
“Have a happily ever after,” she said quietly, almost trying the words out, and they tugged a smile from his mouth.
“Sort of like a country song.” Then he’d touched her chin and kissed her, such an achingly sweet touch she couldn’t help but wonder…What if?
She could stay. Be happy.
If she were honest, she was tired. And not just from the gigs and endless travel, but…from waking every day afraid. Fear did that—made a person exhausted. And edgy and demanding and even controlling. Fear kept her from freedom. From life.
She wanted to be free. Truly free, even from the ghosts. And maybe she could do that here.
With Knox.
Now, she turned over in her bed, staring out the window. What if I stayed?
After all, she had no bus, no more gigs, her band was scattered.
And she’d begun to truly sleep, the nightmares receding.
So then, what was her problem that a knot still coiled, deep inside?
She would have attributed it to the unknown bomber of their bus—except for the call from Deputy Sam Brooks, who told her that the arson investigators ruled the fire an accident. The old propane tank had been jarred loose from under the stove, probably for some time, and a smoldering cigarette thrown nearby had ignited it.
An accident.
So, really. Breathe, Kelsey.
She threw off the covers, grabbed her clothes, took a shower, and came down for breakfast.
Knox was gone, as usual, up early for chores. Tate, too, who’d taken to helping him ride fence or haul feed out to the far pastures, just until the grass turned green and rich for foraging.
Gerri stood at the counter in the kitchen, wearing a checkered blue apron, her hair back in a headband, rolling out bread dough. And beside her, tossing flour onto the dough, stood a woman with dark hair tied back into a messy bun. She wore a gold-and-maroon UM Griz shirt and a pair of yoga pants and possessed blue eyes and the same intense, probing gaze of a Marshall.
“Hey,” she said, looking up and wiping flour from her hands. “You must be one of the famous singers Ma keeps bragging about.”
Kelsey gave a laugh. “I don’t think so. We’re more like the homeless waifs she’s taken in. But we can sing for our supper.”
“I’ll look forward to that.” She came around the counter. “I’m Ruby Jane.” Went to hold out her hand, then pulled it back. “Sorry. I arrived just in time to make cinnamon rolls.”
“And I arrived in time to eat them.”
A deep voice, even deeper laughter, the kind that rumbled through a woman’s body. She turned, half expecting Knox, and startled at— “Wyatt Marshall, goaltender for the Blue Ox—?”
He had shoulder-length dark hair still wet from a morning shower and tucked behind his ears to fall in unruly tangles. A smattering of dark whiskers, and whiskey-brown eyes that looked her over, a tug at his mouth. “Yeah. Actually. How did you—?”
“I’ve been watching your games for the better part of two weeks,” she said as he walked toward her. Bare feet, low-hanging faded jeans, an open denim shirt to a sculpted chest. The saunter of an athlete, or maybe the cockiness was simply embedded in the genes of the Marshall men. He was taller than Knox, but his muscles had nothing on Knox, whose weren’t honed by the gym but by the hard work of everyday life.
“A fan,” Wyatt said, coming up to her and sliding onto a stool. “I like it.”
“Maybe you could explain how the Oilers’ right wing slapped in two goals last week. Taking a little nap there between the posts?” She winked, but Wyatt’s grin faded.
“Listen—”
“Calm down, Wyatt, and button your shirt,” Gerri said. “This isn’t a locker room. Kelsey, honey, do you want some coffee?”
Kelsey slid onto the stool next to him. “I can’t believe I slept so long. I didn’t even hear you guys come in.”
“We got here late last night. Wyatt picked me up at the airport in Helena, and we drove over. I saw my room was occupied, so I slept in the den,” Ruby Jane said. “Although I had to kick out Knox.”
Yeah, he’d been asleep when Kelsey had sneaked away last night, although the sight of his eyelashes soft against his cheeks, his strong face in repose made her want to stay.
Oh, she’d wanted to stay.
The thought swept her up as Gerri handed her a cup of coffee and nudged a bowl of popovers her direction. She handed Wyatt a cup of coffee too.
Wyatt helped himself to a popover, grabbed some honey, and filled the pastry. “Ma, no one cooks like you.”
Gerri grinned. “I know they’re your favorite, Wy.”
What would it be like to have a family like this? People who felt as comfortable with each other as they did in their own skin?
“Is Ford going to make it?” Ruby Jane asked. “I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks.”
“I don’t know,” Gerri said. “You never know when Ford will turn up. I can’t keep track of him.”
“What about Reuben?” Ruby Jane asked.
“Tate and Knox are down at the airstrip right now. Gilly is flying them in for the weekend.”
“Oh, fancy, his own private pilot,” Wyatt said, waving his hands.
“Who happens to be his fiancée and his jump plane pilot,” Ruby Jane said. She was taking the cinnamon roll dough from her mother as she cut them and put them into a round pan. “We really need to pin them down on a wedding date. Three years is simply too long to date.” She looked at Kelsey and winked, as if she knew what she might be referring to.
She’d never had a boyfriend…ever. She didn’t know what to call Knox.
In her mind, four days felt like a lifetime.
And crazy fast for her to feel so connected, so…
She sighed.
“Do you think Coco…” Wyatt shook his head. “Never mind.”
And just like that, all the air sucked out of the room, Gerri focusing on her rolled dough, Ruby Jane looking up, something of sadness in her face. “Wyatt—”
“It’s no big deal. She’s got a different life now. It’s good.” He smiled—something so forced it pained even Kelsey—slid off the stool and walked over to the coffee pot.
Ruby Jane leaned over, and said, sotto voce, “Coco’s name is really Katya—her mother was a family friend who passed away a few years ago. Coco lived with us for four years, and Wyatt sorta—”
“I’m standing right here,” Wyatt said, turning to lean a hip on the counter, bringing the coffee cup to his lips. “Coco and I were good friends, nothing more.”
Ruby Jane rolled her eyes.
“I just worry about her.”
“She left shortly after Orrin died, although she came back about a year later for a week or so to see us. Wyatt came home for that weekend. You remember that, right Wyatt?”
He nodded, a strange emotion flashing in his eyes. It vanished as Gerri continued.
“We haven’t heard from her except for once—a post card from Russia a year ago.”
“It’s like she got sucked back into the Cold War,” Wyatt said. “My coach is trying to get a game with one of the Russian teams, sort of an exhibition, and it’s like we’re asking them to defect.” He lifted a shoulder. “A couple more degrees and we’ll be back in the Cold War and she’ll disappear into the Siberian tundra. We need to find h
er and bring her home.”
Something about the earnestness of his words tugged at Kelsey’s heart. She’d bet they’d been more than ‘good friends’. The poor man carried a flame for this woman, even now.
“Thank you, Wyatt, for that political downer,” Ruby Jane said. She finished packing the tin with dough balls. “The fact is, Katya is an American, too.” She picked up the tin and carried it to the oven. “Her mom married a Russian while she was a foreign exchange student in college and she stayed in Russia. They separated, and her mother moved back to Geraldine, bringing Katya with her.”
She set the timer on the oven. “And don’t believe for a second that Wyatt considered them just friends. There’s a reason we don’t let him out in the barn alone with a girl.”
“Hey! Everyone is overreacting.”
Ruby Jane returned to the counter and pulled out another round tin. “Ford found Wyatt and Coco in a clench in the barn right before Wyatt went to play for the Minnesota Blue Ox junior team.”
“She wasn’t my sister or anything. Sheesh. Everybody overreacts.” Wyatt stalked away toward the den.
Gerri turned to Ruby Jane, bending over laughing, her eyes shining, her floury hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
The gesture stirred up a bittersweet memory, one camped out in Kelsey’s subconscious so long she hardly remembered it.
Christmas baking, age thirteen. She and Mom in the kitchen cutting out cookies. The movie White Christmas playing in the background, the snow piling against the windows.
Her throat tightened, and she forced a smile. “Wyatt sounds like he’s not quite over her.”
“No, sadly, he’s holding pretty tight to that old flame,” Ruby Jane said. “Poor guy. I don’t think Coco liked him as much as he liked her. But Wyatt is…a charmer. And Coco had a lot of wounds back then that she was covering up. Wyatt was just a Band-Aid.”
“We all have our Band-Aids, don’t we?” Gerri said, lifting her apron to wipe her eyes. “Coco was an eighteen-year-old girl who’d lost her mother at fourteen. That’s a rough time to lose a parent. You’re going through puberty and you have this terrible mix of emotions, and then suddenly, you lose everything? She just couldn’t grapple with it all. I don’t blame her for trying to stop the bleeding any way she could. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You put on a Band-Aid, but you don’t really deal with the infection inside. You don’t really dig down, clean it out, deal with the pain, and heal. And after a while, the Band-Aid just feels normal.”
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