Pieces of Sky

by Warner, Kaki

  “Brady suffering?” Jack laughed bitterly. “The only thing Brady suffers over is this ranch. We’re just here to strengthen his hold on it.”

  She slapped him. “You selfish fool! He does it for you!”

  Eyes round with astonishment, Jack gaped at her, one hand against his face.

  But once unleashed, her fury couldn’t be checked. “Brady has given everything for his family. Are you so blinded by your petty resentments you can’t see that? Would you prefer that he dump it all onto your shoulders? Would that ease your envy?” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “If you think to step into your brother’s shoes, Jack, you had best grow up!”

  Jack’s eyes seemed to catch fire. But before he could speak, Hank reached between them and pushed her pointing finger aside. “He didn’t mean it that way,” he said in a placating tone that did little to cool Jessica’s ire. “Did you, Jack?”

  Jack glared at her for a moment. Then muttering under his breath, he looked away. “I want no part of this goddamned ranch. I never have and never will.”

  “You have made that abundantly clear.”

  “Thank God somebody sees that.”

  She sighed, her own anger fading. In so many ways, Jack was an innocent. Irrepressible and openhearted, he viewed life in the simple, clearly defined terms of a man who has never had to look too deeply into the darkness of his own heart. It saddened her to see some of that innocence stripped away, but it saddened her more that it prevented him from seeing the terrible choices his brother had had to make.

  “Imagine yourself in Sam’s place, Jack,” she said in a calmer tone. “Imagine what he suffered. Then ask yourself who in all the world would have the courage and strength to give you release from such pain. Answer that before you judge your brother.”

  She watched him wrestle with it, and knew that acceptance would come slowly, and forgiveness perhaps not at all. But at least now he might see Brady’s side of it.

  Jack dragged a hand through his sandy hair in a gesture so like that of his big brother, it tugged at her heart. “How could he do it, Jessica? That’s what I don’t understand.”

  “How could he not?” Lifting a hand, she laid her palm against the cheek that still bore the mark of her fingers. “He loved him, Jack. As he loves you and Hank. Right or wrong, give him that, at least. He doesn’t deserve your hate.”

  Looking into those Wedgewood blue eyes, she caught a glimpse of the boy Jack had been, as well as the man he struggled to become. The juxtaposition of the two made her smile. Letting her hand fall back to her side, she tried for a lighter note. “If you think it troublesome being his little brother, think how difficult it must be to be him. He’s much harder on himself.”

  “Younger brother,” he corrected. “And he deserves to be harder on himself. He makes more mistakes.” He rubbed a hand against his jaw. “Brady said you had a temper. I guess I should thank you for not using your fist. Or your umbrella.”

  “You’re not nearly as aggravating.”

  “Christ, I hope not.” He sighed heavily, looking less angry than resigned. “I don’t hate him, Jessica. I never hated him. I just don’t understand him.”

  She shrugged. “He’s a complicated man. But a good one. And fiercely protective of those he loves.”

  “He’s not the only one.” He rubbed his jaw again. A sly grin deepened the web of squint lines fanning out from the corners of eyes. “Marry him. Please. Maybe he’ll quit riding me if he can ride—”

  “Shut up, Jack.” Hank shoved him toward the door.

  “I’m just saying the man could use a—”

  The second shove sent him staggering into the hall. Laughter floated back as Jack continued on toward the kitchen.

  Hank loomed over her, color inching up his neck. “Sorry about that.”

  “About what?” she asked, hoping her own blush wasn’t as apparent as his.

  He studied her, his sharp brown eyes missing nothing. She imagined she saw approval reflected there, even friendship. Hard to tell under all that hair.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “For not using my umbrella?” She wondered if she’d ever seen Hank smile.

  “For trying to talk sense into him. Sometimes Jack’s temper gets away from him.”

  “Fortunately mine doesn’t.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “You are.”

  “I’ll stop.” He studied his overlarge feet for a moment then looked up, his face expressionless but his brown eyes twinkling. “You needn’t be afraid of him.”

  “Of Jack? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Of Brady. He might seem a bit gruff but he’s—”

  “A puff pastry. Soft as warm pudding. I know.” She waved a hand in dismissal of such an absurd notion. “Other than when I, um, accidentally struck him with my parasol, I have never been afraid of Brady.” Not really.

  “Good.” He grinned.

  It rocked her back on her heels. Even half hidden by the beard, it was astonishing. Beatific. Brady without the devilry, Jack without the lechery. It was, simply put, the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. Oh my. On behalf of the fragile hearts of women everywhere, Jessica offered silent thanks for the concealing beard, for without it, dear Hank would leave a trail of heartache in his wake. Mercy, what beautiful children these brothers would sire.

  “Then marry him,” he said, wrenching her out of her daze. “He needs someone who’ll go at him with an umbrella from time to time.” And before she could regain her senses, he ducked his head and stepped inside.

  Bemused, she stared after him. Marry him. As if she hadn’t said the same thing to herself countless times over the last three weeks. As if it were that simple.

  Shaking her head, she turned back to the rocker. As she did, her eye caught movement. Glancing over, she saw Brady in the shadowed opening of the barn, watching her.

  How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

  She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell by the set of his body what he was thinking. But she could feel his intent in the almost tangible change in the air . . . as if his arms closed around her . . . as if his thoughts seeped into her mind.

  She stared back, unable to move, unwilling to break the hold of those eyes.

  Her heart began to thrum. Her blood slowed, thickened in her veins.

  Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the barn, leaving her alone with her doubts once more.

  BRADY COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT HE’D JUST WITNESSED. JESSICA, defending him, taking on Jack. For him. How could she push him away one day, then jump to his defense the next? It didn’t make sense. She didn’t make sense. She was driving him insane.

  Muttering and cursing, he paced the darkened barn.

  Ever since that scene at the river three weeks ago he had avoided her, giving her the time she said she needed, trying not to mess up things worse than he already had. Every day he stayed busy from dawn to dusk, trying not to think about her. Every night he fell into bed so exhausted his mind could hardly form a thought. And every morning he awoke, aching from sweaty dreams of firm-bodied women with long red hair who shrank from his touch.

  And now she was defending him?

  What the hell did that mean?

  From a shadowed stall, he watched her settle in the rocker. He thought about going over there and sitting down beside her and taking her hand in his. But he knew if he did and she rejected him again, it would damn near kill him.

  No. He’d wait. As long as it took, he’d wait for her to make the next move. And if she didn’t, well . . . he’d wait some more. Sonofabitch. He wished he had it in him to beat a woman.

  Twenty

  “HE WANTS ME TO COME!” ELENA RUSHED INTO THE KITCHEN waving a crumpled telegram. “He thinks he can help me.”

  Jessica looked up from a mountain of potato peelings. Consuelo turned from the pot of beef stew she stirred on the
stove. The brothers had ridden in a while ago and they anticipated a full table at dinner. It had been over a week since they had all shared a meal together and Jessica missed their boisterous company, the rumble of their voices, the way they filled the room with their male energy.

  She also missed seeing Brady at the other end of the long table, and that subtle but undeniable thread of tension that danced along her nerves whenever he was near.

  Elena sank into a chair at the kitchen table, wisps of black hair fluttering around her flushed face. “He writes that because the surgery is untried, he will not make me pay. That is good, yes?”

  “Indeed.” Jessica smiled, delighted for her friend despite the unease building in her mind.

  Elena’s expressive eyes brightened with sudden moisture. “It is truly going to happen. I did not think . . .” Her voice faltered. Then she laughed and pushed herself to her feet. “I must tell Brady. Do you know if he is here?”

  “The three of them went to the river to wash. Will you tell Jack as well?”

  “Brady will tell him after I leave. Have you decided what you will do?”

  Jessica shrugged, still mired in the uncertainty that had plagued her since that day at the creek. “When does the doctor want you to come?”

  “Soon. He wishes me to leave the first of the month if that is possible.”

  Two weeks. Jessica sank into a chair at the table.

  Elena went to the door, then paused. “Have you told Brady you might go with me?”

  Feeling as if time were rushing away from her, Jessica clenched her hands tightly in her lap as if by sheer will she could hold it in check. “No.” Two weeks.

  “Then I will say nothing.” Elena left.

  Jessica looked up to find Consuelo studying her, her dark eyes troubled, her expression sad.

  Suddenly too restless to sit, she rose from her chair. She hesitated, driven to move but no destination in mind. Then she realized where she wanted to go. After telling Consuelo not to wait dinner and asking if she would listen for Adrian, she slipped out the door and headed up the hill.

  It was another lovely evening, and she marveled at each poignant detail, fearing her time to enjoy it might be drawing to an end. Everything was so beautiful—the glowing sunset, the heady scent of roses, the bright splashes of color from the myriad tiny blooms that had burst out after a short afternoon rainstorm several days ago. How had she ever thought this country a barren wasteland?

  The mesquite tree whispered in welcome as she stepped through the iron gate. She looked around in surprise, noting that someone had scythed the weeds and straightened the tilted tombstones. There was even a small stone bench in the corner beside the Wilkins family graves. But the most shocking change of all was the new stone marker on Victoria’s grave.

  She moved closer, trying to read the inscription through a sudden blur of tears.VICTORIA THORNTON.

  BELOVED DAUGHTER OF JESSICA ABIGAIL REBECCA.

  SHE SOARS WITH ANGELS.

  Beside the date were two carved winged cherubs.

  Her legs gave way and she sank onto the bench, so moved she couldn’t keep the tears at bay.

  He did this. For her. For Victoria. Dropping her head into her hands, she wept, her heart so filled with joy and love and grief it seemed to fill the hollow of her chest.

  How can I leave this place . . . this tiny grave? How can I leave a man who would do this?

  Later, after that painful rush of emotion had passed and the sun had faded to a distant glow behind jagged peaks, she heard the creak of the gate. She looked up to see Brady walking toward her. It sent a shock of awareness through her, awakening that heady breathless feeling that always sent her thoughts into flight. Tears rose again. But for a wholly different reason.

  He stopped on the other side of the tiny grave and studied her, his hands thrust into the front pockets of his trousers, his eyes shadowed by the fall of damp, wind-tousled hair. If he noticed she’d been crying, he said nothing. “You shouldn’t be alone this far from the house.”

  She let her gaze drift over him, felt again that low clenching within her own body. She recognized it now as desire. But she knew that somewhere within it, like a snake coiled in the grass, was fear. Would the two always be entwined in her mind?

  Pushing that disturbing image aside, she nodded toward the headstone. “You did this?”

  His eyes slid away. “I guess I should have checked with you first.”

  “No. It’s beautiful, Brady. Perfect. It means more than I can say.”

  He nodded and rocked on his heels. “We missed you at supper.”

  She gathered herself to rise. “I suppose I should get back. Adrian—”

  “Consuelo’s got him,” he cut in. “Parading him through the cabins like a blue ribbon calf.”

  “Oh. Well.” She sat back, idly smoothing her skirts as a silence weighted by too many unspoken words hung in the air between them. From somewhere down the hill came the solitary call of a whippoorwill. It awakened such an answering loneliness within her heart, for a moment it hurt to breathe.

  She studied him from beneath her lashes. Did he feel it, too, that emptiness where laughter used to be? Did it bother him that they had moved so far apart they seemed unable to even talk to each other?

  He stared down the valley, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond her vision. What did he see, to bring such a haunted look to his face?

  “Have you ever thought of leaving?” she asked on impulse.

  “Leave? RosaRoja?”

  “It’s only dirt.”

  “Dirt bought with Wilkins blood. But yeah. I’ve thought of leaving. Many times.”

  “Yet you don’t.”

  He gave an odd, harsh laugh. “I don’t know how.” Lifting one broad hand, he gestured toward the valley and the peaks rising behind it. “This is all I know. All I am.” He let his hand fall back to his side. “Me and the ranch, we’re two parts of a whole, one part fitting the other.”

  And the circle is complete. She felt a stab of sadness, realizing people would always come second in his heart. “How fortunate you are to have everything you want.”

  “Do I?” He tilted his head, as if that might make it easier to see her face in the fading light. “Do I have everything I want?”

  She stared back, held captive by the intensity of his beautiful eyes.

  Then a horse nickered, breaking the bond. He turned, posture tense. She watched him scan the barn, the house, the outbuildings. Apparently seeing nothing to cause alarm, his body relaxed.

  Always on guard, never at peace. But who guards you, Brady?

  “Did you talk to Elena?” she asked after a lengthy silence.

  He nodded, his attention focused on the cottonwoods by the creek.

  “Isn’t it wonderful news?”

  “It is. Although I’m not sure I like her traveling all that way on her own.”

  “Perhaps I’ll go with her.” She regretted the words as soon as she heard them. Why had she said such a thing when she hadn’t even made the decision?

  He went utterly still. Slowly his head turned toward her. “To San Francisco?”

  She shrugged and wiped her palms on her skirt, fearful of what she might have set in motion with her foolish prattle. “It’s a big city. I thought there might be a market for my hats there. Enough to support Adrian and myself.”

  “I see.” The clipped tone told her he was angry.

  Which spurred her to greater folly. “But then I thought . . . how can I leave this place? My daughter is buried here. I have friends here, people I . . . care about. I can’t leave.” Ninny. Even to her own ear, it sound like gibberish. When would she learn to shut her mouth?

  A pause. “So you’re staying?”

  “Yes—no. I’m not sure.” She realized she gripped her hands so tightly her nails had left crescent-shaped marks in her skin. “After what happened, I wasn’t sure if I should.”

  “Do you want to stay?”

  She force
d herself to look at him. He was frowning—not surprising insomuch as she was babbling like a witless fool. “Do you want me to stay? I mean, after I, well—I wasn’t sure if—”

  “Christ!”

  She blinked in surprise as he clasped hands to his temples and almost shouted, “You’re killing me!” He stalked away, whirled, covered the distance back in two long strides, and before Jessica realized his intent, he grabbed her by the shoulders, yanked her off the bench, and kissed her.

  It was unlike any kiss he’d given her before. No gentle coaxing this time, but an assault on her senses—a demand—so filled with need, it overrode reason and even fear.

  The female within her responded. She leaned into him, desperate to breathe him in, to feel his big body against hers, to surrender to the power of his touch.

  He pulled back, breathing hard through clenched teeth. “How can you walk away from that?” he demanded harshly, his fingers biting into her shoulders.

  Before she could answer, he thrust her away. “Damnit, Jessica.” Dragging his hands through his hair, he stalked a tight circle. “I can’t do this anymore.” He slowed to a stop. Hands falling to his hips, he stared up at the fading sky as if asking for patience, help, deliverance.

  From her?

  “Jessica, I can’t spend the rest of my life holding hands on the porch,” he said, his voice sounding harsher than he intended. “I can’t be around you and not want more.” Even now, the need to touch her was like a fire inside him. Why was she making such a simple thing so complicated?

  Say something! he wanted to shout.

  But she just stared at him, one hand pressed to her mouth.

  Her silence defeated him. He didn’t know what else to do, what she wanted from him. He’d shown her in every way he knew that she could trust him. If that wasn’t enough, words wouldn’t help. He sighed, too weary to fight it anymore. “It’s getting dark. We’d best head back while we can see where we’re stepping.”

  She nodded, still so rattled she couldn’t marshal her thoughts. She had no idea what had just happened or what it meant. But she felt a terrible emptiness spreading inside.