Marisol nodded, guilt sweeping her again. Here she was going on and on about the hot Irish guy who wanted her in bed, and Tara was dealing with a struggling husband, an autistic son, and a daughter who was acting out for more attention. “Is Bryce dealing with everything better?”
Tara put down her fork. “I can’t tell. I mean, on the surface, he’s all smiles and assurances. Like he is in church with the congregation.”
It seemed a minister like Bryce would be more honest with his wife, but Marisol didn’t say that. “But underneath the smiles?” She could understand hidden layers since she had so many.
Tara drew in air through her nose. “I think he’s hurting. I mean, he had this perfect idea of a family, and he can’t relate to Danny. The autism has really thrown Bryce for a loop, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s mad at God. I mean, Bryce dedicated his life to God, and then this happens, and it’s like he’s feeling betrayed.”
Marisol leaned back. “That sounds confusing on so many levels.”
“I know,” Tara whispered. “And I’m just guessing because he won’t talk to me about it. Not any of it.” Her voice shook, so she took a drink of water. “Or maybe I’m wrong and he’s in love with leprechauns or obsessing about collecting garden flamingos.” Her smile looked forced. “Who knows?”
“At least you have a huge extended family to lean on,” Marisol offered, trying to find something positive.
“Yeah, but that seems to depress Bryce even more.” Tara shook her head. “He only has his sister, and I have two protective brothers and devoted parents. My big family seems to remind him that he doesn’t have much. Although he could have all of them if he just realized it.”
“What about his family? I mean, what’s the deal there?”
Tara shook her head. “He won’t talk about it, although I know it was bad. Neither he nor Kristin will talk about their childhood or parents, and I’ve never pushed because I figured it was in the past.”
Weird. Marisol smiled softly. “Our childhood was pretty great.” She and Tara had become friends in the first grade, bonding over love of purple glitter. They’d remained friends, and when Marisol’s parents had died, Tara had been right there to help. If only Bryce would turn around and see the strength in his wife, everything would work out. “You’re a great mom, Tara.” Those kids were so lucky to have her.
Tara smiled. “Right back at ya. Ginny and Luis are fortunate to have you as their older sister, and one day when they’re all grown up, they’ll understand that as much as I do.”
A shadow fell across the table, and Celeste Salt hovered nearby wearing a pretty floral dress, wringing her hands. The soon-to-be grandmother appeared worried and like she’d had more than one sleepless night lately. “I’m so sorry to interrupt.”
Marisol’s stomach dropped, but she forced a smile and scooted over in the booth. “You could never interrupt, Celeste. Please sit down.”
Celeste swallowed and gracefully took a seat. “I hate to bother you, but I’m quite worried about Ginny.”
Marisol straightened. “Is she okay? I thought she went back to your house this morning.”
Celeste nodded and patted Marisol’s hand. “Yes, she did, and right now she’s resting. But I’m concerned about her hanging out with Logan at Murphy’s bar so late. Drunk men, cigarette smoke, and such can’t be good for the baby. Or for Ginny.”
Marisol’s head began to ache. Celeste had recently lost her son, Jacob, and his only offspring was currently gestating inside Ginny. While she had the same misgivings, the need to defend her sister rose hard and fast within her. “I understand your concern, but Ginny is a young adult with a mind of her own.”
“But she’s not being safe,” Celeste snapped. She jerked back, her eyes widening. “Oh my. I’m so very sorry for my curtness.”
Marisol grasped her hand, her temples pounding. “I know, Celeste. I really do. Jacob is gone, and the baby is coming, and I know how much you already love your grandchild. But Ginny is the baby’s mother, and while she appreciates your love and security, you have to let her live her life.”
Celeste nodded. “I know, but it’s just such a miracle. A real miracle.”
Marisol smiled and squeezed. “A baby is always a miracle, and I’m so happy that something of Jacob will live on. Let’s just relax and let Ginny find her way. She’s the only one who can.” If nothing else, Marisol could ease the way between Celeste and Ginny, even if Ginny would never fully trust Marisol.
Celeste’s chin firmed, and her shoulders went back. She studied both women. Finally, she pushed from the booth. “You’re so very right. Thank you. Bye, Tara.” She turned and walked toward the door.
“Whew,” Tara whispered. “You handled that perfectly.”
Man, she hoped so. “Remember when our biggest problem was what shoes to wear to school?” Marisol asked.
“Or what notebook to buy for which class?” Tara returned, her eyes sparkling. “Yeah. I totally remember.”
“Me too,” Marisol said slowly, glancing out the window just as Patrick and his older brother strode by, talking and walking with ease. Her heart hurt, and her stomach clenched. “I miss the good old days.”
CHAPTER 6
Tara Douglas left the unsettling lunch with her best friend and wandered down Third Street toward the Lutheran church, smiling and nodding at people she passed. Her family had been ranching on land near Storm for almost two centuries, and she knew almost everybody. These were her people and her home, and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Her mind wandered as she relaxed, and she naturally turned left to walk a couple of blocks to the cemetery. The sun shone down, glimmering off headstones and giving a sense of tranquility to the sprawling area.
She’d never been afraid of the graveyard. For some reason, she’d always found comfort among the dead resting peacefully.
It was the living who weren’t at rest.
A shadow, cast long by the Texas sun, caught her eye.
Bryce.
He stood, hands in pockets, staring down at a fresh grave. Dark jeans covered his legs down to boots, and an older golf shirt showed he’d been working at the gazebo earlier to help in preparations. He was usually in slacks and a button-down shirt, and she liked seeing him in casual wear.
He hadn’t been casual in way too long.
The sun glinted off his reddish hair, giving him the look of a wayward Highlander. Her own true romance hero…sans the kilt. A frown drew his eyebrows together, yet other than the facial movement, he didn’t seem to breathe, so intense was he staring at the grave marker.
Not for a second had she thought to find him there, but maybe she was meant to. Alone among the dead, maybe they could finally talk about the living. About their marriage. But she was smart, she understood people, and she knew that pushing was a bad idea. So she wouldn’t push. She took a deep breath and walked onto the grass and between headstones until reaching his side. When had she started steeling herself to talk to her own husband and the father of her two children?
Her lip started to sting from her biting it, so she stopped. “Bryce?”
He jerked and then glanced her way. “Tara.” He looked around and then back at her. At one time, he would’ve reached to tug her into his side. Today he left his hands in his pockets, seeming so much farther than a few feet away. “What are you doing here?”
She looked toward Jacob Salt’s gravestone. “I had lunch with Marisol and then went for a walk.” Jacob had been young and had died so tragically in a car accident with Ginny Moreno. “What are you doing here?”
Bryce shrugged. “I’m not sure. We finished pounding nails into the gazebo, and I figured I’d head over and check on Jacob. The kid had his entire life ahead of him.” Pain and bewilderment echoed in his tone.
“I know.” Tara hesitated in reaching out to her husband. An invisible wall, one that shimmered with an ache she could actually feel, stood between them.
He blinked. “Where are
the kids?”
She cleared her throat. “My mom is watching them.” She loved her kids, but it was nice to get out on her own once in a while. Having grown-up time with Marisol had been as much for her benefit as for her friend’s. They were both struggling, and they needed each other.
Bryce lowered his chin. “That’s a lot for Alice to handle. Danny was out of control more than usual this morning.”
Actually, it was their seven-year-old, Carol, who seemed out of control. Danny was autistic, and Carol seemed to be acting out because her brother was getting more attention. “My mom can handle the kids, Bryce. She’s the elementary school principal and has seen it all.”
He shook his head. “We have our own family.”
Yeah, but it wasn’t like he was home right now with the kids, was he? Tara dug deep for patience. “They’re family, too, and they’re your family now, if you’d just let them in.”
He shrugged his shoulders forward.
Enough of that. Tara patted his arm. “Bryce? At some point, you’re going to have to talk to me, you know.”
He turned, his blue eyes focusing on her. Really focusing on her for the first time in so long. “I, ah. I know.”
She smiled, the tension leaving her body. He was finally seeing her. Hope unfurled in her abdomen, and she tugged his arm until his hand freed. “Good.” Taking his hand, she settled into his side and let him retreat for now. “What’s on your agenda today, Pastor Douglas?”
He gave a half-smile. “We’re supposed to start planning out the booths for the festival. Do you have time to design a corner or two?”
She nodded and followed him between the graves and onto the sidewalk. “I have a little time.” For the moment, as they walked back to the park, she could almost believe everything was going to be all right. Glancing up at the blue sky and then toward the lake, she pushed down a frown.
Gray clouds, the dark and rolling kind, were heading their way.
* * * *
Patrick Murphy strode alongside his older brother after having grabbed a pizza for lunch. They’d talked about the bar, their parents, and the Founders’ Day events. Dillon was on duty, but not much was going on in the town, so he’d been able to stay through a dessert of cinnamon sticks. As was typical, they’d fought over the last one. Patrick thought that one had tasted the best of them all—or maybe it was just the thrill of a victory.
Now they headed down Second Street toward Storm Oak and the gazebo to see how the various repairs and cleanup in preparation for the upcoming celebration were going, their strides about even since they’d reached the same six-foot plus height in high school.
“Mom wants me to talk to you about Marisol,” Dillon said, his lips turning in a grimace, his boots clomping on the concrete.
Patrick tripped and then caught himself. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Dillon’s long stride didn’t slow. Today he wore faded jeans, a black button-down shirt, and a badge and gun at his hip. Even the black cowboy hat on his head made him look like a Texas lawman from years ago. “So I’m talking.”
Patrick snorted and shoved up the sleeves of his T-shirt. “You are such a dork.”
“You’re the dork,” Dillon returned without heat as he waved to a couple of football players on the opposite sidewalk. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I like her, she likes me, but she won’t take a chance.” Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets. He wanted to be frustrated, but he could always see both sides of any issue, and he understood her position and need to protect herself.
Dillon cleared his throat. “Mom was, ah, worried about the way you looked at Dakota Alvarez last night.”
Patrick jerked his head. “What? That’s crazy.”
“Is it?” Dillon murmured. “I mean, that’s a girl who needs saving. Marisol works herself to death and needs saving. You, my brother, are a guy who tries to save everybody.”
Heat burned to the tips of Patrick’s ears. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Really? Come on, Patrick. I grew up with you and every dog, chicken, bird, and injured cat you brought home. And kids. Kids who needed food or just warmth.”
Well, crap. He wasn’t some do-gooder trying to save the world. It’s just if a bird had a broken wing, he’d taken it home to heal. “I have no interest in Dakota and just felt sorry for her. The only person who can save her is, well, her.” He shook his head and knew he shouldn’t mention that it was Dillon’s fault Dakota was so upset about her father deserting her. “Marisol is different. I have feelings for her, and I want to be with her. Not save her.” Of course, if he was with her, he could certainly lighten her burden.
“Uh huh,” Dillon said as they crossed by the savings and loan. “If you say so.”
Temper, rare and unexpected, roared through Patrick. “Look who’s talking,” he muttered.
“Huh?”
“Joanne Alvarez? You know, the woman whose husband you ran out of town. Who’s really trying to be a savior here?” Patrick asked.
Dillon winced. “Shut up.”
“You shut up,” Patrick returned in true brotherly style.
Dillon sighed. “Listen. I know I’m the last guy in the world who should give dating advice, but at some point, you have to shit or get off the pot.”
Patrick shook his head. “Am I having bowel problems in this scenario?”
“God.” Dillon took off his hat and hit his leg with it. “You are so dense. What I mean is that you and Marisol either have to make a go of it or you need to move on. Find somebody to get serious with and give Mom some damn grandkids. She’s done waiting.”
“You give her grandkids,” Patrick hissed, forcing a smile for Celeste Salt as she walked by wearing a dress with a bunch of flowers on it and looking like she was heading to church a couple of days early. “Wait a sec. If Ginny and Logan work out, she’s having a kid. Mom will be a grandma. Problem solved.”
Dillon glanced over his shoulder until Celeste was out of earshot. “You really think those two are going to work out? Ginny and Logan?”
“Sure. Why not?” Patrick hunched his shoulders. There were so many reasons why not, he felt like an idiot even asking the question. But he had his younger brother’s back, and if Logan wanted Ginny, Patrick hoped to hell they got a happy ending.
“There are secrets and tragedies in that girl’s eyes,” Dillon said slowly. “She’s not my business, but our brother is, and he has enough problems.” Logan had recently returned from Afghanistan, and he definitely wasn’t the same carefree guy who’d left town a few years ago. “I know sometimes he goes for a run in the middle of the night just to avoid sleeping.”
Yeah, after midnight on a day last week, Patrick had been on a call to a small house fire, and he’d seen Logan in jogging clothes, watching the happenings. “Maybe he needs to run for a while.”
“Maybe. But he’s trying to save that girl when he should be saving himself.”
Patrick stepped over a puddle. “Perhaps they can save each other.”
“I hope so.”
Patrick nodded as the reality of their lives smacked him between the eyes. “You know, it’s a wonder Mom and Pops don’t drink. A lot.”
Dillon scoffed. “They own a pub. Of course they drink a lot. Can you blame them?”
Patrick grinned. “Pops drinks. Mom meddles.”
“Both vices,” Dillon said, digging an elbow into his ribs. “What am I supposed to report back to Mom about you?”
That was a fair question and one he’d been asking himself a lot lately. He’d wanted to give Marisol time to trust him and see that they would work out, but after he’d kissed her now a couple of times, it was becoming agony to be around her. “Do you have to report back?”
“Of course. You know Mom. What should I tell her?”
“That I’m going to either fish or cut bait,” Patrick returned, using a much nicer metaphor than his brother had. It was time to force Marisol to m
ake a decision, and he’d live with whatever decision she made. But he hoped, against all logic, that she’d choose to jump into the fire with him. Because she was a sweet woman who could use a little saving, and he was just the guy for the job.
They reached the gazebo, and he stopped short at seeing the woman of the conversation just arriving by the gazebo, immediately giving directions to a group of high schoolers. She wore cute Capris and a shimmery blouse, looking fresh and lovely.
She was so pretty with her black hair and even darker eyes. Every time he saw her, he took a sucker punch to the gut.
Dillon stopped next to him. “Man, you have droopy love eyes.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. He’d never lied to his brother and saw no reason to start now.
She pointed to something on top of the gazebo, and several of the kids nodded, keeping their gaze on her. Even the goofy high school boys paid attention to her, seeing something special.
Patrick’s shoulders went back. His brother was right.
It was time to start a future…or get his heart broken. Either way, he was done waiting.
CHAPTER 7
After a long day of preparing for the festival and then working her bakery, Marisol handed over the box of cupcakes to Celeste, careful not to smudge the glass countertop. The room was empty save for the two of them, and darkness was beginning to fall outside. “These are Ginny’s favorite.”
Celeste smiled and gingerly reached for the box. “Thanks so much. I’m hoping she spends some time at home tonight.” A flush worked its way up Celeste’s fine cheekbones. “I mean, at our house. Your house is still her home. I mean—”
“It’s okay,” Marisol said quietly, wiping her hands on her apron. “I know what you mean.” And Celeste was home all day, so she could take better care of Ginny during the pregnancy. Of course, Ginny was off with Logan more often than not now. “How are you and Travis doing?”
Take the Storm: Episode 6 Page 5