by Ava Miles
Rye winced when she handed him a plate.
“Rye, you look green.”
“Plane didn’t agree with me,” he mumbled.
Tory pushed the plate back at him when he pushed it away. “Eat.”
Rye sighed. “Eat yourself, Doc. You look like you’re about to fall over.” His wife shoveled in an egg and ham sandwich, but only after he started eating too.
It took some encouraging, but the kids took a few more bites of their food before pushing their plates away.
After cleaning up, Rye stood. “Why don’t I go see if we can move out of this room? J.P., do you want to join me?”
Tammy watched the two men go, and Tory reached for her hand without speaking. Rye was already taking charge. Funny how it had never dawned on her to stride out of the room and demand answers.
When Rye returned, he hefted Annabelle up. “We’re cleared to go anywhere we’d like. The police are heading out and have left temporary protection for us until we hire a private security company. How about you kids go outside and let Tory and your Mama take turns pushing you on the tree swing? J.P. and I need to cut some firewood.”
Why on earth would they need firewood when it was ninety-some degrees? Tammy crossed her arms, knowing a ruse when she heard one. He knew more than he was letting on, of that she had no doubt. Well, she could steal away and grill Rye once the kids were settled outside.
“Sure,” John Parker responded.
“Will you go out with Mama?” she asked the kids, holding out her hands to them.
Rory shook his head, “No, I want to go see Bandit now.”
Rye put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll go as soon as we can. I promise, Rory.”
“He was a really brave dog last night,” Tory added, trying to smile. “He’ll be home soon, honey, good as new.”
His mouth pursed stubbornly. “It’s not true!” he yelled, his vehemence a total shock to everyone. “Nothing will ever be the same!” Then he took off running.
In her gut, Tammy knew he was right. All around her lay broken pieces, and she needed all the help she could get to put everything back together again.
Chapter 16
John Parker followed everyone out into the back of the property, eyeing the cluster of guards who looked like statues. Somehow the gardens looked like a mirage, overflowing with the promise of beauty and life. But after last night, he could feel a darker presence here, something that needed to be ripped out by the roots.
Tory had managed to coax Rory out of his tree house, where he’d hidden after fleeing outside, and the kids were playing half-heartedly on the swing, their misery obvious. They didn’t feel safe, and he didn’t know how to fix that.
Rye’s smile was tight as he murmured to the others and then walked away. When Tammy looked over at him before he turned to follow Rye, John Parker could almost feel the accusation on the tip of her tongue. Rye’s cover story about cutting logs was a bad one, of course, but he and his friend needed to speak alone. They had failed to protect her and the kids, and it was a hard blow to their manhood.
As they were walking to the woodpile, John Parker caught sight of a man in plain clothes coming toward them. It was Detective Tim Rawlings.
Rye inclined his head toward the man. “I asked the detective to meet us over here, so we wouldn’t be overheard. Tammy and the kids have been through enough.”
He nodded.
“Mr. Crenshaw, Mr. McGuiness,” the detective said when he reached them.
“Tell us what you know,” Rye said with no other preliminaries.
The middle-aged man gave them a brief overview, saying they were still investigating and had dedicated sufficient manpower to the case. The Nashville police had handled the burglaries of its country stars before, and they took it seriously. Anything else was bad for the town. Even the nearby county sheriffs were involved now.
John Parker couldn’t have been happier to hear about the effort they were putting into finding this bastard, but he hadn’t expected any less, and neither had Rye.
The detective mentioned finding footprints leading to the river; they suspected the perpetrator had come by boat since Rye’s front gate hadn’t been comprised.
John Parker glanced at the Dare River when he heard that, and instead of the joy he usually felt while fishing in it and biking and running alongside its mighty waters, all he felt was rage that someone would use it for such a nefarious purpose.
The police’s initial speculation was that the intruder was a fan because of the attention that had been paid to Rye’s studio—the thief’s point of entry—and his missing and broken awards. They inferred the thief had grown bolder when the alarm stayed off, which is why he’d crept through the house to look for more loot.
“Some over-the-top fan,” Rye muttered, kicking the woodpile hard enough to knock some of the logs to the ground. “I’ve heard about such things, but it’s never happened to me. My fans are mostly good people.”
“This guy is dangerous,” John Parker added. “It takes a mean man to kick a dog.” And that’s what worried him the most. If Tammy hadn’t gotten the children locked away, would he have hurt them too? Had he been high or drunk? God only knew.
“He’s a bastard,” Rye swore, “and I want him caught.”
“I still don’t understand why he’d go upstairs into Tammy’s room,” John Parker added.
“He probably didn’t know which bedroom was Mr. Crenshaw’s,” the detective said, his expression full of sympathy.
“Detective, please don’t stand on ceremony. Just call me Rye.”
“Fine. He might have been looking for a safe or a keepsake like a piece of clothing. It’s hard to say.”
Rye grabbed his own shirt in a fist. “He can fucking take this off my back, but he can’t go after my family.”
“Unfortunately, the man wore gloves so we don’t have any fingerprints.”
Rye swore again, then asked, “So, he wasn’t stupid after all?”
“What are you going to do about the footprint you found?” John Parker asked.
“We made a plaster cast of it. Based on its size, he’s a tall man, which tracks with Ms. Hollins’ statement.”
It chilled him to the core, thinking how close she’d been to the intruder.
“This is a high priority for us, Rye,” the detective continued, “and you’re doing what you need to do by hiring additional security for the house.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Rye said. “Those kids are terrified of their own shadows now.”
Glancing over to where Tammy and Tory were taking turns pushing one of the kids on the tree swing, John Parker could see it hadn’t changed their solemn moods.
“I’ll call as soon as I have more information.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
A smile finally cracked across the man’s deadpan police face. “Call me Tim,” he said and took off.
“I need an axe,” Rye said and strode over to the shed a few yards away.
“Bring two,” John Parker called out, arranging two logs onto the stumps that acted as the chopping block. Maybe chopping firewood had started out as a cover story, but he wanted to slice things, rip things apart with his bare hands. He knew Rye felt the same way.
Helplessness. Guilt.
Even though Tammy and the kids technically weren’t his, he’d grown to think of them in that primal way—they were his to keep safe and protect. Their earlier kiss had confirmed she felt the same way about him, and while it hadn’t come with any of the romantic trappings he’d wanted to give her, the kiss had been a pact, an agreement. They were in this together, and she had finally accepted that.
Rye returned, and together they started chopping wood, swinging so hard the steel tore though the logs in one fell swoop.
They swung and kept swinging, tearing apart logs and throwing them onto the woodpile. Their shirts grew drenched with sweat, and John Parker finally tore his off, throwing it on one of the pieces of
firewood. Rye followed suit.
“This would never have happened if Bullet and Banjo had been home,” his friend finally muttered.
John Parker had wondered the same thing. “I know, and I wish they had been here too, but it’s water under the bridge now.”
Rye must have agreed because he said nothing, and both of them fell into a rhythm of cracking logs and chucking them onto the ever-growing pile.
Rye grunted, cracking another log open. “I appreciate you coming over. Staying with them. If you need to go…”
Sweat streaked his face and burned his eyes. “I’m not fucking going home now that you’re here. I’m involved.”
“Whoa! You never use the f-word.” Rye’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your problem?”
“I care about your sister,” he said in a voice reserved for a rare angry moment, gesturing with the axe toward the far end of the property where Tammy’s slight form listlessly pushed Annabelle on the swing. That sweet girl wasn’t even pumping her legs to climb higher.
“And I care about those kids too. I was here last night after they’d been through something I can’t even begin to imagine. Are you really telling me I can go home if I have something else to do? Screw that, man.”
Rye lowered his axe, resting its head on the ground. “I’m not trying to get rid of you, and I know you care about my sister. Just how much are we talking here?”
John Parker squinted in the sun. “All the way. I love her, Rye, and I know she has feelings for me too. I’ll ask you straight out. Do you have a problem with that?”
Rye rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “J.P., you’re one of my best friends, and I love you like a brother, but do you know what she’s been through? She’s vulnerable, dammit, and what happened last night will only make that worse.”
He wasn’t one to talk out of school, but he needed to make things clear. “While you’ve been gone, we’ve gotten closer, working on my gardens. Just this morning, we…well…shit…we kissed for the first time.”
“Well, now…”
“She turned to me, and she needs me. The kids need me. And I need them too. You’ll have to go back to the tour, Rye. There’s no canceling the whole thing. No crazy-ass fan should wield that kind of power.”
“I know, dammit. Tory and I already talked about it.”
“You can hire all the extra guards you want, but I’m staying with them. Here.” His heart thudded in his chest, the force of his emotions pushing it into overdrive. “I’m not leaving them alone. Not after this.”
Rye kicked at the dirt, which billowed from a lack of rain.
“You didn’t see them last night, Rye.”
“I know I didn’t, J.P.,” Rye said, throwing the axe aside, its blade biting into the earth. “How the hell do you think I feel knowing some asshole fan of mine did this? Broke into my home and threatened my family?”
He held up a hand, a peace gesture. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper. You’re not to blame here.”
His friend’s laugh was bitter. “No? That’s what Tory’s been trying to tell me. My head knows that, but it’s not working well right now. Don’t tell me you’d feel any different if the situations were reversed?”
“Hell yes, I’d feel the same. Even though Tory’s right.”
“I’m glad you want to stay with them.” He shaded his eyes with a hand and glanced over to where his family stood. “Tory said she would stay, and God knows she’s tough, but call me old-fashioned. I’m not leaving two women here alone with two young children. I don’t care how many guards Clayton is hiring.”
“Did Clayton come with you?”
“Yes, Belle thought it best. He handles security for the tour anyway, so this is right up his alley. He’s off doing what he does best. He’s going to come by later after picking Amelia Ann up from her flight. I didn’t want to send a driver. And I don’t think any of us should leave Tammy and the kids just now.”
The silence hung between them for a moment, but it was more comfortable now that they’d spoken their minds. “I agree with you about not leaving the women alone with the kids,” John Parker said at last. “It’s not sexist. They’ll be more comfortable with someone they know. The guards are fine—”
“But they’re not one of us. Amelia Ann will probably want to come live here,” Rye finally said, breaking the silence. “But I want her to stay where she is. God knows that girl is happier than two frogs in a Louisiana swamp. I’m not messing with that.”
John Parker leveled another log in two. “That sounds smart.”
“Daddy’s going to want to stay too, but I’ll save his pride by reminding him that he has a law practice to run, and that we can count on you.”
“You know you can.”
Rye clapped him on the back. “Good, now I need to hit something again.”
As his friend swung the axe through the air, John Parker turned to glance back at Tammy and the kids. They’d left the swing and all of them were sitting on a red picnic blanket Tory had laid out under the giant oak tree. The first pocket of peace rolled over him, knowing he was going to be here for them.
Nothing was going to keep him away.
Chapter 17
Daddy arrived shortly before noon, looking like a well-used blanket—a little rough around the edges, but comforting. Tammy buried her head in his neck as he hugged her, inhaling the pine and leather of his cologne. He held her longer than usual and rubbed her back like she was still a little child.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Daddy.”
He kissed her hair and leaned back, keeping his arms around her. “How are the kids?”
“Scared.”
The kids were watching The Little Mermaid, and it was telling that they didn’t run over and grab their granddaddy.
“You’ve cut your hair,” he said, fingering the tips. “I like it.”
And what an event she’d made of the simple change. Now it seemed the silliest thing in the world after last night.
When Annabelle and Rory slowly got to their feet, like they were afraid to take a step without help, she held out her hands. “Come and see your granddaddy. I bet he could use a hug after his long drive.”
He opened his arms to them. “Come here, my little dear hearts.”
The kids finally ran over and grabbed his legs, clinging, tears starting to stream down Annabelle’s face. He reached down and touched her hair and then sat on the floor and pulled both kids onto his lap.
It was a surprise to see him on the ground, something the dignified Hampton Hollins would never have done before his wake up call of a heart attack.
Tammy jumped when hands settled on her shoulders, and she wondered when she’d stop being so fidgety. She looked back to see Rye behind her, his hair damp from the shower. He and John Parker had been filthy when they finally stopped chopping wood.
John Parker had gone home for a shower and clothes, and even now, she was angry at them for shutting her out of the conversation they’d had with that plainclothes man she suspected knew something about the burglary. They’d been talking about her, she knew, and what had happened. And once again, she had felt like the men in her life were closing her out, treating her like some delicate wallflower.
“Daddy,” Rye said, crouching beside the trio on the floor to give his father a half hug. “Come here, princess. Let’s get Granddaddy off the floor. Plenty of chairs around here.”
Annabelle started sucking her thumb when Rye picked her up. She hadn’t done that since they’d first left home a year ago. The act chilled Tammy, and she rubbed her arms.
“Granddaddy, there was a bad man here,” Rory told him as they both stood. “He hurt Bandit.”
“I heard that, son. But your mama and you and Annabelle were real brave.” He ruffled her son’s hair. “I hear Bandit was a downright hero, and that he’ll be back soon, right as rain. It’s a special dog who protects his owner, Rory. Don’t forget that.”
“Of course he’d protect me, Granddaddy. He’s my frie
nd.”
For her son, it was that simple, and she leaned over and kissed him on top of the head.
Tory slid an arm around Rye’s waist. “Why don’t you come and help me prepare lunch? Hampton, join us in the kitchen. I bet you’d like a cool drink after your drive.”
They all shared a glance, and there it was again: Tammy was being shut out from the “adults’” conversation.
“Sure, honey,” Rye said.
“Tammy, can we get you something?” Tory asked.
Rory and Annabelle reached for her and led her back to the couch, their hands gripping hers like they feared she’d leave them. It was hard, balancing the need to comfort them and the desire to be in the thick of the discussion that so inherently involved her.
“Perhaps some water.” Her throat was as dry as a dustbin. “And some orange juice for the kids.”
She stewed for all of two minutes, wondering what they were discussing, but the new Tammy wasn’t the type to sit silently while her decisions were made for her, so she kissed the kids and told them she’d be right back. Annabelle clung again, but she quieted when Rory took her hand. Marching into the kitchen, she found Rye pouring orange juice into a princess glass for Annabelle and a race-car glass for Rory.
“I should have put in a panic room,” he was telling Tory and Daddy. “The builder suggested it when we were designing this place, but I laughed in his face. Now this. What the hell was I thinking?”
Tammy couldn’t stand to see him like this. “Stop this,” she demanded, striding across the kitchen toward him. “Stop this right now. You didn’t know when you built this house that you’d have a family living here some day. I don’t want you to feel guilty about the break-in, Rye.”
His jaw clenched. “I can’t help it. When I think about what might have happened.”
“I know,” she said and pulled him in for a hug. His arms tightened around her, and for a moment, they just rocked each other. Over his shoulder, she could see Tory wiping tears from her eyes. Daddy pulled her against him for comfort, his eyes wet as well.