The Marshalls Boxed Set (Texas Heroes: The Marshalls Books 1-3)

by Jean Brashear

  She trembled violently, heaving shuddering breaths, flexing her fingers and clawing uselessly at the air.

  He lowered his voice, murmuring to her as she went rigid and silent, staring at God knew what horrors. He stroked her hair and smoothed his hands over her shoulders, crooning to her as he had on that unspeakable night. He glanced up for just a second at Josh, gesturing with his head toward the hallway, hoping Josh would understand he wanted the studio cleared before she realized how many people stared at her. The shocked stagehand backed away awkwardly.

  He waited just long enough to see Josh nod back, then turned to glare at Ben Watkins while pulling Lorie slowly into his arms. She sagged into his embrace, deep sobs wracking her in a voice so filled with pain that his own chest burned. He buried his cheek in her hair and closed his eyes as he continued to soothe her, knowing that now, more than ever before, he had to find that still place and take her there.

  Digging deep for all the calm he could muster, he held her tightly as she shuddered, as her legs trembled beneath her. He guided her quietly into the darkness, to a bench against the wall nearby. When he sat down and pulled her onto his lap, her head lifted and her stricken gaze met his. He let all the tenderness bursting from his aching heart speak for him as he held her eyes. “It’s all right, Lorie. We’ll get through this.”

  When at last the tears started rolling, he pulled her closer and rocked her gently. Finally, with a hitch in her breathing, she dropped off into an exhausted sleep.

  A movement to his right caught his eye. He spotted Josh, looking uncomfortable, with a clearly repentant Ben Watkins standing behind. Finger to his lips to request they not speak, he beckoned them closer.

  “That’s it. I’m taking her away for awhile.” He dared the director to argue.

  Ben didn’t.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Quinn smothered a smile at Grant wiggling in the airplane seat next to the window. They’d all had a late night, packing to leave. It had been particularly grueling for Lorie, who insisted upon going to the apartment to select clothing for both of them, though she remained tight-lipped and brittle the entire time. He doubted she’d slept a wink all night. He’d been sleeping on the couch, pushed close enough to hear her if she needed him. Last night, he’d heard her tossing and turning for hours.

  He sat in the middle seat, and Lorie, on the aisle, had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder. Grant was trying to be quiet, but that was a challenge for a five-year-old on an adventure.

  “Quinn!” he stage-whispered. “Look at that big wiggly line down there. What is it?”

  Quinn tried to see without disturbing Lorie, but he could only catch a corner of the window from his vantage point. Nonetheless, he knew what it was. No one ever forgot their first sight of it.

  “That’s the Mississippi River, Grant. The granddaddy of all rivers in North America. Have you heard of it?”

  Grant nodded enthusiastically. “Once my dad and my mom took me to see a play about a boy named Huck Finn, and he floated on a raft on the Mississippi. That’s it down there?”

  Quinn nodded.

  Grant seemed a little doubtful. “It’s not very big. It’s only about this far across.” He held his thumb and index finger about two inches apart.

  Quinn smiled. “Yes, but we’re several miles up in the air, so everything looks smaller down there.”

  Grant wrinkled his brow in confusion.

  Quinn tried to relate it to something Grant knew. “Like in New York—you know that if you stand in the park, you can look across the street and see the Dakota?”

  Grant nodded.

  “Think about it. Picture it in your mind, how far apart your hands would be if you tried to say how tall it is.”

  Grant squinted, then held up both hands with about two feet between them, then his eyes widened. “But it’s a lot taller than that, Quinn. When you stand in front of it, you have to lean way, way back to see the top.”

  “That’s right. Things appear different from a distance, and even huge things can look small if you’re far enough away.”

  Grant leaned against him, and Quinn ruffled the boy’s hair fondly. Grant wrapped his arms around Quinn, hugging him hard, and Quinn fought a lump in his throat.

  “Quinn?” Grant’s voice held a note of worry.

  “Hmm?”

  “Will Mom be okay in your canyons?”

  Quinn could wish the boy were not so perceptive. “Yeah, Grant, I’ll make sure she is. We both will. And Tía Consuela will help us.”

  “She’s your aunt?”

  “My great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister.”

  “And Josh’s, too?”

  “Yes. At least when he’s behaving.”

  The child’s eyes popped wide. “But when he’s not? ’Cause you know Josh likes to fool around.”

  Quinn ruffled his hair again. “I was just kidding. She belongs to Josh, too.”

  “That’s good. Josh is lucky.” Then he thought for a second. “Is she really old?”

  Quinn couldn’t hold back his smile. “Better not let her hear you say that. She can run rings around both of us.”

  Grant giggled at the image. The sparkle in his eyes warmed Quinn’s heart. “Does she make you cookies and stuff, like Jeremy’s grandma?”

  “She used to. I have to talk pretty hard to get them nowadays. But she likes little boys a lot, so she might make you some.”

  “She does? Boys like me?”

  “Oh, yeah. Especially like you.” Thinking of how much she would adore this child brought another smile to Quinn’s face. She’d despaired of either him or Josh giving her babies to spoil, and with Clarissa gone…

  “You look sad. Are you worried that maybe we’ll be too much trouble?”

  Quinn decided the truth was the best option to calm Grant’s fears. “Not one bit. I’m really glad you’re coming home with me. I was just thinking about how much I miss my sister.”

  “The one who died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Josh told me he was sad, and that you were really sad, too, because you tried to help her but you couldn’t.”

  The sharp blade of his old, unwelcome guilt slid under Quinn’s defenses, but before he could respond, Grant spoke up again.

  “But he told me you should quit feeling like it was your fault. He said even the Super Cowboy can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.” Grant patted him on the hand, gazing earnestly into his eyes. “Don’t worry, Quinn. I bet your sister knew you would help her if you could. I bet she’s sorry she didn’t let you.”

  The child’s innocent trust nearly undid him. Grant knelt in his seat and laid his head on Quinn’s shoulder. Quinn leaned his cheek against the boy’s hair and took the comfort offered.

  Lorie looked around her as they drove from the Amarillo airport. Everywhere she looked it, Texas was flat, flat, flat. They’d been traveling this way for what felt like forever. They’d stopped for lunch, and the people had been friendly and warm, but she’d had a scare for a minute in the restaurant when Legends came on the TV above the cash register. She’d heard the waitresses clucking over ‘that poor little Alexandra’ and had frozen. She’d been grateful for Quinn’s caution to avoid dressing as she normally did and instead dress simply and for comfort. Between her blue jeans and her hair French-braided back from her face, no one seemed to recognize that she and ‘Alexandra’ were one and the same.

  The furtive star look, complete with dark glasses, would have been completely out of place here, and it was critical that she not leave tracks behind her. So far, the simple look seemed to be working.

  Surely he couldn’t find her here, at the back of beyond. Please, Colello, find him before I have to go back, she prayed. A razor’s edge of fear slid along her spine. She swallowed back her nausea as memories threatened. She gripped her hands together tightly, starting when she heard Quinn’s voice.

  “Lorie?” He reached across the console of his Explorer and stroked one hand down her a
rm.

  Grateful for the interruption, she clasped his hand, rolling her neck to relieve the tension.

  “Can’t you sleep?”

  She shook her head. “I slept on the plane.”

  “But you hardly caught a wink last night,” he reminded her gently. “Why don’t you put the seat back and try for a nap? Grant’s out cold.”

  She glanced through the space between the seats, the sight of Grant’s tousled dark hair bringing a smile to her lips. He slept with the innocence of children, dropping off in seconds. How she would like to be able to do the same.

  But whatever innocence she’d had died one dark night on a long cherrywood table.

  “I always…I always believed there was some good in everyone.” She raised her gaze to look at him. “But that’s not true, is it?”

  He brought her fingers to his lips, and she wished with all her heart that he could cast away the darkness holding a death-grip on her soul.

  “I think there is good in most people,” he began. “But my years as a cop taught me that, hard as you might look for explanations, some people are just twisted, through and through.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then shifted back to the road. “And sometimes good people, through no fault of their own, get hurt by these sick SOBs.”

  She thought about that. Thought about all the time she’d spent, wondering why this had happened to her. Was it her vanity at fault, as this man, this Karl Marsden had said? She’d always been pretty, from babyhood on. She’d learned early in her life that her looks gave her an advantage, and she’d made use of it.

  Not to hurt anyone, never. Unless you counted boys who’d asked her out when she didn’t want to accept. But even then, she’d gone out with more than one guy because she didn’t have the heart to say no.

  The lesson she’d learned was more that being pretty made people want to like you, if you weren’t arrogant about it. Teachers loved her right off the bat; she only had to follow it up with being a good student to have their whole-hearted support.

  If you weren’t stuck up about it, other girls would like you, too. Everyone wanted to be around a winner, and pretty girls were considered winners.

  And boys…well, she’d never had trouble having dates because she’d been careful not to be distant. She genuinely liked people, so it wasn’t difficult.

  So where had she slipped off the track? When had being pretty turned into a profession, instead of just an asset?

  Had she ever dreamed being pretty would lead to such pain?

  She laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, never letting go of Quinn’s hand.

  She was tired…so very, very tired.

  Quinn’s heart tore at the sight of her. Soul-weary, that’s how she looked. Anger raced through him, tightening his grip on her hand. He tamped it down. She needed to relax, badly. His tension would only make hers worse.

  He would have his chance at that creep, if there was any justice in the world. But right now, Lorie needed to heal. That had to be his only focus, creating an environment in which she could heal and grow strong once again.

  Less than an hour to go. Soon, he would be able to show her the places where he’d done his own healing. He couldn’t help a smile at the thought of his great-aunt, waiting for them. When he’d called her last night to ask her to make sure the extra rooms in his cabin were ready, she’d clucked her tongue at him, a smile in her voice.

  “And didn’t I tell you that you were given these powers for a reason? This woman and her child—their lives are bound up with yours. Your visions are not evil, Emilito. Your dreams led you to this woman, and your powers will lead you to your destiny. Bring her here, Quinn Emilio. I will not be the one to help her, but I am happy to do what I can. It is you, mijo, who will do the healing. You and what lies inside her.”

  He didn’t know what to make of his great-aunt’s contentions, but he knew this: these vistas had been a source of strength for him, and he would do everything within his power to see that Lorie drew from them, as well.

  To see that she grew strong and sparkled once more. Excitement stirred within him as he thought of returning to a place he loved so much. He was eager to share it with her.

  When he saw her eyelids flutter, he spoke her name. She turned her head to him and through the weariness, he saw embers of desire. An answering passion swept through him at the sight. Those embers could be fanned into flame when the time was right. He’d let her set the pace, but when the time came, he’d be ready.

  He’d always been good at building fires.

  He nodded toward the front of the car. “Look up ahead. There’s the canyons.”

  The wonder on her features was reward enough. “Where did they come from? We were in the middle of the flatlands a few minutes ago!”

  “All of this, including the plains, was once an ocean. A surprise, aren’t they? And it only gets better.” He felt like a kid at Christmas, only the joy was magnified by giving a gift, instead of receiving one.

  His reward came in the relaxing of her features, the sparkle of wonder in her eyes as they traveled at the edge of the Caprock, the red fluted skirts of the canyons spreading before them.

  He heard Grant from behind him. “Wow, Quinn, this is cool!”

  Lorie’s delighted laugh was more precious than gold.

  Lorie marveled at the sight of Quinn’s canyon, though he’d laughed and said only part of it was his. Still, now and forever, that’s how she’d think of this magical place.

  Quinn’s canyon.

  They turned off the road and followed a smaller one to a huge metal gate which Quinn taught Grant how to hold open as they drove through. The sight of her son’s proud face, pleased as punch to be allowed to close it by himself, brought a lump to her throat.

  A mile or so down the road, they stopped before a neat little stucco house whose yard overflowed with flowers. Window boxes held geraniums and marigolds. Tall hollyhocks lined one side of the picket fence. A garden stood off to the side.

  The look of the house made her eyes feel happy.

  At the gate stood a tiny old woman, her carriage straight and proud. As they pulled up closer, Lorie saw the piercing gaze of an eagle set in the face of someone who obviously loved Quinn deeply.

  She alighted from the SUV and turned to help Grant out. Her son charged ahead and ran to the gate where Quinn’s tall frame had all but swallowed up the small, regal woman. Grant ran through the open gate and skidded to a stop, wrapping his arm around Quinn’s leg.

  “Who have we here?” The voice Lorie heard made something ease inside her. Serenity was there, deep and sure, along with great compassion. She stopped a few steps away, content just to hear Quinn’s great-aunt speak.

  “I’m Grant Chandler. Are you Quinn’s aunt?”

  “Sí, pequeño, I am. I am very pleased you have come to see me.” She held out her arms and Grant stepped close, wrapping his own around her. One slender hand stroked his hair as she patted his back with the other.

  Tears shimmered in Lorie’s eyes. A grandmother figure was something Grant had missed, but even if he hadn’t, she knew somehow this woman would be special to him.

  She had to listen closely to hear his next words.

  “Did you know that I knew Quinn was a hero? I dreamed about him.” He leaned his head back to look at her.

  “No, Quinn did not tell me that.” His great-aunt glanced quickly at Quinn. “Were they pleasant dreams?”

  Grant shook his head. “No, they were scary, until the Super Cowboy came and saved me.” He regarded at her shyly. “Do you think that’s a silly name, Super Cowboy? Jeremy says it sounds silly.”

  “Is Jeremy your friend?”

  Grant nodded.

  “Do you suppose Jeremy says that because he wishes he had his own Super Cowboy?”

  Grant reacted as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Do you think so?”

  “Ah, yes, híjito. Your dreams are very special, as is the proud name you gave to m
y nephew. I think it very possible that Jeremy feels envy that you have such dreams.” She glanced at Quinn. “And that you have such a champion.”

  Grant hugged her again. “I wasn’t scared anymore after Quinn came into my dreams.” He turned as if remembering her for the first time. “Mom?”

  But Quinn had already come to lead her forward. She found herself eager now, rather than nervous.

  As she crossed the last few steps, Grant moved to the side. The old woman raised her wise brown eyes to Lorie’s and lifted her hands to frame Lorie’s face.

  When Quinn’s great-aunt touched her, Lorie felt a peace as old as these canyons descend upon her. Consuela closed her eyes and murmured too softly for Lorie to understand, but she closed her eyes instinctively, feeling as if she were being prayed over. When she felt the touch of the old woman’s thumb on her forehead, making the sign of the cross, for the first time in her life, Lorie understood the meaning of blessing.

  A warm strength flowed through her, and she lowered her head, receiving Tía Consuela’s kiss upon her cheek.

  “Welcome to a place of healing, Lorie Chandler. Be safe and grow strong here.”

  Tears from deep in her soul rolled heedlessly down Lorie’s cheeks. She stood quietly, soaking in the blessing of Consuela’s healing touch.

  “Quinn! Quinn! Where’s Wind Dancer?” Grant’s excitement spilled in a torrent of words and movement. He fairly danced his way across the yard, looking for the horse.

  Quinn was torn. He knew Grant’s eagerness to meet his horse, but he wanted to watch Lorie’s reaction to his home first. It was foolish to care if she liked his place, but nonetheless…

  He cared.

  “He should be out in the pasture grazing. We’ll go find him in a little while. Come help me unload the truck first.”

  Grant ran back as quickly as he had darted away. “Okay. I’m really strong, you know. Let me carry something real big.”

  Lorie turned around to smile at Grant’s boast, and Quinn’s heart warmed as he saw the glow lighting those blue eyes.

  “It’s beautiful here. I’ve never seen anything like it.”