One eyebrow rose sharply. “He said that?”
“Something like that.” She couldn’t hold back her smile.
“Sure.” But he was smiling again, too. “Chad always cut through the bullsh—Uh, stuff.” He winced. “I keep forgetting about the girls.”
That was the thing about Kyle that kept Skylar off-balance. He was censoring his language for her daughters—aware enough to take their impressionable little minds into consideration—without being asked. It mattered, even though they were sound asleep.
That belly-tightening thing was happening again. The unnerving warmth, too. She drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them, and rested her chin on her knees. It didn’t help. Sure, he seemed perfect—especially after everything he’d done. But he wasn’t perfect—no one was. Maybe she should focus on his flaws over his many, many assets... If she could find something, anything, about him that would dim his appeal, that was a good thing. As it was, she found everything about Kyle Mitchell a little too appealing.
“What?” he asked.
I’m staring. At him. She shook her head.
“That’s some look.” He frowned.
“No.” She shook her head, her nerves stretched taut. “I... It’s late and I’m beat.” True, but not exactly a brilliant diversion.
“Okay.” He glanced at his watch. “You want first watch?”
She should argue. Mya wasn’t his responsibility.
“Or second?” He was watching her. “You can’t stay up all night, Skylar. And if you try to and then fall asleep, you’ll kick yourself. If we split this up, we’ll both get at least three hours.”
He sounded so rational. Like sitting up by her daughter’s bedside wasn’t the least bit out of the ordinary. “Are you—”
“I’m sure,” he cut her off. “First or second watch?”
She glanced at Mya. She was tired but there was no way she’d sleep—not yet. “First.”
He nodded. “I’m gonna shower.” He grabbed the canvas backpack he’d carried in and headed for the bathroom.
Jet, who’d been lying between the portable crib and the girls’ bed, lifted his head and stared at the closed door.
“He’ll be right back,” she said, smiling as his ears drooped and his tail started wagging. She uncurled from the chair and held her hand out. “You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you?”
Jet stood and hurried to her chair, leaning against it and staring up at her.
“You knew my Chad.” She ran her hand over the dog’s head. “And he loved you.” Knowing Chad had something to love and comfort him had eased some of her worry. “Thank you for taking care of him. You and Kyle.”
Jet rested his chin in her lap, his tail still thumping and his eyes closing as she continued to stroke his head over and over.
“And thank you for looking out for Mya today.” She rubbed behind Jet’s ears as she spoke.
Jet yawned, stretched, and flopped out on the floor by her chair.
“You’ve earned a good night’s sleep, too.” She rested her head on the back of the chair, turning her attention to Mya. Sleeping. Breathing easy. Relaxed.
The bathroom door opened, and Kyle came out. He wore some gray cotton athletic shorts and a white undershirt—entirely acceptable attire. And yet, to Skylar, the cotton clung and hugged the angles and ridges of Kyle in an entirely unacceptable way.
“You’ve made a friend.” He nodded at Jet, then ran a towel over his close-cropped hair.
She nodded, not quite capable of speech. Because, really, the white cotton undershirt was basically molded to Kyle’s chest. That is some chest. A chest she was not going to stare at. No staring at any part of Kyle from now on. Her gaze returned to Mya and she swallowed. “He’s the sweetest dog.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Kyle hang the towel over the rod in the closet before flopping onto the bed. If she turned her head to the left, she’d get quite an eyeful of Kyle Mitchell. But she wasn’t going to turn her head. She was going to watch Mya.
For two hours and fifty-seven minutes, she watched Mya breathe. Every few minutes, she’d lay her hand on her daughter’s chest or feel her face for any hint of fever. And when that was done, she’d relax a bit—soothed by peace and quiet—plus Kyle’s occasional snore.
Two hours and fifty-eight minutes later, Kyle yawned, rubbed his hands over his face, and sat up. “We good?” he whispered, yawning again.
She nodded.
“Give me five minutes.” He stood, headed into the bathroom, and returned minutes later, patting his face. He looked wide awake. “Cold water.”
“That explains it.” She was not feeling wide awake. She could only imagine what she looked like. She changed into her worn white cotton nightie, washed her face, and hurried from the bathroom to the bed.
He chuckled softly. “You good?”
She yawned. “Yes.” It hadn’t occurred to her to go to the other side of the bed. She’d been too tired to think about anything but sleep... But now that she’d burrowed in, she realized she wasn’t just wrapped up in sheets and comforters, she was wrapped up in Kyle. The pillow beneath her head was very definitely, and most pleasantly, Kyle scented. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed the way she’d turned into the pillow. Hopefully. Her gaze darted his way...
He’d seen it. But she wasn’t sure what to make of his expression. The way his jaw was locked. The slightest flare of his nostrils. It had the stomach-tightening, warm tingly thing kicking into overdrive.
“Get some sleep, Skylar.” Kyle’s voice was low. “I’ll keep her safe. I promise you.”
She nodded—Mya would be fine. Her heart was clipping along at an unnaturally fast pace not because she was worried about Kyle watching over Mya—she knew he’d keep them safe. No, her heart was reacting to Kyle. And there was nothing safe about it.
* * *
Kyle stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. Between this heightened awareness he had with Skylar and the nightmare waiting for him when he did doze off, sleep had been patchy at best. He couldn’t do a thing about the nightmare—there was no getting rid of it. But he could try harder to fight what was happening with Skylar. She was Chad’s wife. Chad, his best friend. The one he’d left to die alone... That, right there, should bring all thoughts of touching and kissing Skylar to a complete stop.
No such luck.
Kyle kept his eyes on the road, his fingers tapping out the beat of the music playing softly through the truck speakers. Until he’d spied the thirty-miles-to-Granite-Falls sign, he hadn’t realized just how concerned he was about his homecoming. Not that he was going to let on that he was concerned, of course. So far, the girls—and Skylar—seemed excited about reaching their destination. He’d been doing everything he could to keep that excitement front and center.
All through breakfast, he’d shared stories about growing up on the ranch. It’d been a solid reminder of how idyllic his childhood had been. As he told them about bottle-feeding a stray calf and climbing hay bales and picking peaches right off the tree to eat and playing in the creek behind the house, skipping rocks and counting turtles, he felt a tug deep in his chest. He was going home. For Mya’s sake, he spoke slowly, acting things out, even using pen and paper to draw pictures for her. She liked that best of all, laughing at his sorry attempt at a turtle.
They’d packed up, picked up Mya’s medicine and headed down I35 then over to highway 281, which was a straight shot to Granite Falls.
“It’s so green,” Skylar said for the fiftieth time. “And all the flowers.”
“They must have had a wet fall and winter to get the wildflowers blooming like this.” He was pleased Skylar and the girls were seeing his home at its best. Either side of the highway was lined with waving bluebonnets, dancing black-eyed Susans, and the vibrant red, orange, and yellow blooms of the Firewheel. “Nothing like seeing the wildflowers in
full bloom. I’m partial but, to me, there’s no place prettier.”
Skylar smiled at him. “I bet it’s good to be home?”
He nodded. It would be. His conversation with Hayden had been short and to the point but, luckily, there’d been no hint of animosity. If anything. Hayden had seemed legitimately pleased to hear from him. It gave him hope that Skylar was right. Once he’d apologized for being a stubborn-ass kid, he and Hayden might be able to start fresh.
He passed the exit for Granite Falls, drove a few more miles, then off onto the farm-to-market road that led to the ranch.
“How long has it been?” Skylar asked. “Since you were home last, I mean?”
He paused, racking his brain. “At least...four years.” He frowned. “Too long.” He glanced her way. He’d chosen not to see his family while she’d lost hers.
Skylar was studying him, without judgment—more considering than anything else. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know. Even if it’s just talking. I’m a good listener.”
He smiled. “I appreciate that.” And he did, too. Between the falling-out with his brothers and then Chad’s death, it had been hard to open up to people. Easier to stand on his own two feet. But Skylar’s offer felt different. “Ditto. If you ever need a sounding board, I mean.”
Skylar nodded.
“Are we there, Momma?” Brynn asked from the backseat. “We home?”
Kyle chuckled. “Almost...” He stretched out his words, the gate to the ranch in sight. “Almost...” He turned, the gravel crunching under his tires. “Now.”
“Now?” Brynn repeated, clapping her hands. “We here!”
Kyle nodded. “All the way down the bumpy road. Tell me when you see a house.” It might have been his imagination but Skylar seemed to sit up, too. Nervous or excited? He wasn’t sure. But a sideways glance showed her hands clasped, tightly, in her lap. He understood. Oh, so well. He was thankful for the girls then—thankful he had little eyes watching and taking cues from him.
In the rearview mirror, he saw Brynn leaning one way then the next, staring out the windows with wide eyes and an equally wide smile. He saw the house first, but he waited.
Brynn’s inhale and squeal, followed by her cheery, “I see it! I see it! I see it, Kyle!” She was clapping. “Mya.” She patted her sister’s arm. “Look.” She pointed out the window.
Mya nodded as she stared, wide-eyed, at the house.
“It’s... That is your home?” Skylar asked, a mix of shock and apprehension. She cleared her throat. “It’s much larger than I’d imagined.”
It was impossible for him to see it as anything other than his childhood home. He supposed it was large but the previous generation of Mitchells tended to have lots of children. His parents stopped at three. At the moment, he was thankful for the extra room. Losing the bunkhouse made housing options for Skylar and the girls tricky, but his place should work. It was rustic, no denying, but still a step up from where they were coming from. If Skylar wasn’t agreeable to it, then they had the option of staying here.
“I should have told you earlier but I didn’t want to upset you or make you change your mind about coming. Hayden told me the bunkhouse was lost to a tornado. There’s plenty of room so you don’t need to worry about a thing, I promise.” He smiled at her, hurrying on to add, “My home is away from the main house. It’s pretty cool—one of the original structures on the ranch. They call them dogtrot, or breezeway houses. It’s been built onto, of course, so there’s plumbing and electric and all the modern amenities of home. No outhouses required.”
“I see what you did there, Kyle, but you didn’t distract me.” Skylar’s gaze fixed on him, a tiny crease forming between her brows. “Your house?”
He nodded. “My place is like an old-time duplex. I’ll keep to my side—you won’t even know I’m there.” Which was a bit of an exaggeration.
“I didn’t mean that.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think we’d be taking up space in your home. I’d imagine you’d like some peace and quiet and privacy and—”
“Skylar,” he interrupted. “I’ll have my own room. That’s more privacy than I’ve had in a few years.” He grinned. “Besides. You might need an extra hand now and then.” He broke off, realizing his mistake the minute her jaw locked up. “If you’re okay with that?” He hoped like hell he’d smoothed things over. “Hayden says there’s room in the big house.”
The crease between her brows deepened.
“I should have told you.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Yes, you should have...” Her sigh was resigned. “But I think I understand why you didn’t. I accept your apology—as long as you don’t keep anything else from me. Deal?”
“Deal.” But it took effort to say the word. He was already keeping something from her and he was pretty sure knowing he’d played a part in Chad’s death wasn’t something she could forgive. And even if he was going to tell her, he wouldn’t do it now. She and the girls deserved to settle in before he pulled the rug out from under her again. He swallowed hard. “You pick where you want to stay, Skylar. It’s up to you.” He peered at the girls in his rearview mirror. “But if you stay at the big house, I’ll be bored with all my peace and quiet and privacy and come looking for some company.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Well, hanging out with my girls will definitely keep you from being bored.”
He chuckled, relieved. In the last couple of days, a bond had been forged between the two of them and, now that he was parking in front of his family home, he was surprised how reassuring it was to have her at his side.
“Breathe,” she said, patting his hand. “They’re your family. Whatever happened is in the past. You have a chance at a fresh start here, Kyle.”
He caught her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. As brief as the touch was, it left a thousand tiny prickles playing along the end of every nerve. “We both have a chance.”
She swallowed, her big brown eyes locked with his, as she nodded. “Thanks to you.”
He blew out a long slow breath, hoping to chase off the electric current running along his hand and the knot rising up in his throat—a knot that grew rock-hard the moment the front door opened. All at once, his mother, brother, and a woman who had to be his brother’s wife, Lizzie, were on the front porch. The urge to bail out of his truck and hug his mother and brother close was damn near overpowering. He’d been through some shit. Some ugly, nasty, burned-into-his-brain things he’d come to terms with. It had been this—the fear of losing his family—that he’d never been able to accept. After all the ugly, nasty things, he knew how dark and lonely life could be. That wasn’t the life he wanted.
“Welcome home,” Skylar said, resting her hand on his forearm. “They look happy to see you.” She paused. “You look happy to see them.”
“I am.” But he couldn’t move. He could only sit and stare.
If Greer hadn’t erupted into a mass of tears and wailing, he’d probably have remained rooted in his seat, worrying over what to say and do. Little Greer to the rescue. He was out of the truck, opening the back door, and unbuckling Greer before he’d thought to let Skylar handle it. In a way, soothing Greer would soothe him. Besides, nothing galvanized a group of adults like a baby needing comfort.
“Oh, poor darling thing.” His mother was instantly at his side. She stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad you’re home, son. So glad. Now let’s get this little sweetheart taken care of, shall we?”
“Thanks, Mom.” He smiled down at her. She looked just the same as he’d pictured her. All smiles, bright eyes, and warmth. “It’s good to be home.” And it was, so much that his chest grew heavy and ached all at once. He shifted Greer, still crying, so that she was upright against his shoulder—patting her back with a steady rhythm—the way he’d seen Skylar do.
“Who is this tiny thing?” his mother asked, immediately transfixed by Greer.
“This is Greer,” he said, holding the baby so his mother could see her. “She’s the youngest. Brynn and Mya are in the...”
“Right here.” Skylar stood, holding on to her girls’ hands. “This is Mya.” She wiggled Mya’s arm. “She’s deaf and learning sign language so we do a lot of charades. And this is Brynn.”
“That’s me. I hear,” Brynn said. “And I can talk.”
“And you’re all adorable. Just adorable.” His mother was all smiles. “You must be Skylar?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Skylar let go of Brynn and held out her hand. “Skylar Davis.”
“Jan Mitchell. Please, call me Jan.” His mother shook her hand. “It’s so good to meet you and your girls, Skylar. This is my son Hayden and his wife, Lizzie.” She smiled. “And Weston, who’s turning two next week, will be up from his nap soon. He will be so happy to have some playmates.”
Kyle watched Skylar and the girls—not wanting the reunion with his brother to be a big deal. In a way, he wished they’d had a chance to get all the awkwardness out of the way without an audience.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Lizzie said, her gaze bouncing his way. “You, too, Kyle.” She had no qualms closing the distance and hugging him and Greer. “It’s good that you’re home.”
He chuckled.
“Hayden’s been pretty nervous,” Lizzie whispered, then stepped back. “Can I help with anything? Or anyone?”
But Kyle, still bouncing Greer, was looking at his big brother. Hayden? Nervous? About what? He was the one who’d messed things up, not Hayden. He was the one who’d pushed back, no matter what Hayden said or did. Why was Hayden having such a hard time making eye contact and looking so uncomfortable?
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