“Do you want to hold him?” Misty offered.
“I hate to disturb him when he’s sleeping so deeply,” Ty said.
“He’ll stay asleep,” Misty said. “Besides, I need to get up.”
Ty took a seat in the rocking chair, and Misty placed Wyatt in his arms before leaving the room.
He sat very still, studying Wyatt’s velvety, almost translucent skin and his fragile, delicate fingers. The baby had just the barest whisper of eyelashes starting to grow. Ty smiled and lowered his face to Wyatt’s, breathing in his unique scent—part baby powder, part milk, and part something that was mysterious, almost magical.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a baby around, hasn’t it?” Misty observed when she got back.
Ty nodded. “I vaguely remember when you were a baby, and I do remember Ashley, but I didn’t really care that much.”
“Well, you were thirteen,” Misty pointed out. “What thirteen-year-old boy cares very much about babies?” She groaned as she slid back into bed.
“Do you need some help?” Ty asked in concern.
“I’m okay,” Misty said, shaking her head. “In a lot more pain than I expected, but whatever. He’s worth it.” She gave her son an adoring look.
“Want some pain meds?”
“I had some not too long ago,” Misty said. “I’ll be okay.”
“Do you want him back?” Ty asked, tipping his head toward Wyatt and already feeling bereft.
“Why don’t you keep him for a minute?” Misty’s eyes flickered out the window and back to Ty. “So what are you going to do now?”
Ty settled deeper into the chair and began rocking gently. “The website is getting a couple hundred hits a day. That doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a start. And we’re thinking of doing a YouTube channel that . . .” He trailed off. The YouTube channel had been Holland’s idea. Now that she was gone, he doubted it would ever come to fruition.
Misty rolled her eyes. “Not about the foundation, you dork. I meant between you and Holland. What’s going on there?”
“Oh.” Ty cleared his throat. “Nothing, I guess. You know she left, right?”
“Duh.” Misty rolled her eyes. “She told me goodbye this morning. Why’d you let her get away?”
“Well, I . . . you know this was only temporary.”
Misty gave him a level stare. “Are you being a stubborn old donkey? And I’m saying donkey because my baby is in the room, but feel free to substitute the biblical term in your own mind.”
Ty narrowed his eyes at her. Glancing down, he ran the back of his finger over Wyatt’s silky cheek. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yeah, it is,” Misty insisted. Wyatt stirred, and she lowered her voice. “You love her, and she loves you.”
“She doesn’t love me,” Ty said. “She was only pretending.”
“I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” Misty said. “And the way she looks for you. She lights up when you come in the room. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you and if you weren’t so thick, you’d tell her so.”
Ty’s heart was racing. “But you don’t know—”
“I know all about the stupid California guy,” Misty interrupted. “Girls talk to each other, remember? Holland knows she got it wrong, knows he’s a dirt bag, and she misjudged that guy from the start. But I’m betting you didn’t really give her a chance to explain, did you?”
“I—”
But Misty was on a roll. “I love my boy more than I ever thought possible, and I wouldn’t change him for the world,” she said. “But I wish every day that I had someone to share him with—a daddy who loves him as much as I do.” Her voice caught. “I know that you’re going to help me and make being a single mom a whole lot easier for me than most. But it won’t be the same as having a husband and a father. It won’t be the same as having someone of my own to love. When you find that, you have to fight for it and protect it, because it’s precious.” As tears flowed down her cheeks, she yanked an extra baby blanket from the stack at the edge of the bed. “Sorry, postpartum or something,” she mumbled, burying her face in the blanket.
When Misty finally dropped the blanket, her eyes were steely. “I’m an emotional mess, but that doesn’t mean what I said isn’t true,” she said with a small smile. “She loves you.”
Ty sat quietly, stunned. Holland loved him?
He stayed until Wyatt woke up, hungry as usual. Giving the baby back to Misty, he left, closing the door behind him so she could have some privacy.
He wandered into his bedroom, a place he hadn’t really been for two weeks, not since Holland had come. He’d popped in for clothes or a few items he needed, but mostly he’d left it to her.
The room smelled faintly of Holland’s crisp, oceany perfume. The bed was neatly made, and his T-shirt quilt was folded at the bottom. The weight in his stomach was like a brick. He missed her already.
So what was he going to do about it? Misty’s words echoed in his brain. Love was precious, and no matter what else, he knew he loved Holland. He couldn’t just let her slip away. He glanced at the alarm clock on the orange crate nightstand. Her flight didn’t leave for at least another hour. Maybe there was hope.
Ty was reaching for his phone when he heard the door downstairs bang open and Ashley shouting.
* * *
Holland hugged Ellen goodbye and lugged her bag into the airport. She checked in and took a seat near the windows to wait. She’d come early, figuring it would be easier to wait here than at the house.
Her eyes burned, and her throat was tight. Saying goodbye to everyone had been hard, especially to Misty. For all their promises to keep in touch, Holland knew it probably wouldn’t happen. There would be texts and emails for a few weeks or maybe even months, but those would taper off as they each became immersed in their own lives—Misty with her child, Holland back in LA with her career. There would be updates once in a while, but even those would fade eventually. Maybe someday she’d open her email to a wedding announcement and learn Misty had found her happily ever after.
Or Ty had. He was busy with the foundation, and his growing confidence would likely help him fend off any more gold-diggers. But he wouldn’t stay single for long. He’d be cautious, but eventually he’d meet someone he could trust. Someone who could make his eyes gleam with laughter and burn with desire. Someone who could help him with his work and take care of him just as fervently as he would take care of her.
Pain ripped through Holland. She didn’t want Ty to find someone; she wanted him to find her. She wanted to be the one sitting across from him every day in the little butterscotch house, planning the foundation’s next steps. She wanted to be the one to ignite the spark in his eyes. Would he listen if she tried to explain what had happened? Or was his pride so hurt that it was over?
Holland turned to look out the south windows in the direction of the farm. She saw the smoke, black and thick, curling into the azure sky.
She gasped and took off running, ignoring the cry from the gate agent. Down the hall with its stone and exposed timbers and through the doors. She looked around frantically, as if a cab would somehow materialize or Ellen had, for some unknown reason, decided to wait. But there was nothing.
Fear trickled down her spine. The smoke was coming from the Epperson farm, she knew it. Hands shaking, she fumbled for her phone before realizing she didn’t know who to call. Someone had undoubtedly already alerted the fire department, and she would only be in the way if she tried to call the family. But she couldn’t just sit here doing nothing.
A battered pickup truck pulled up to the curb, and an older couple got out. The man unloaded a bag from the back of the truck, deposited it on the sidewalk, and wrapped his wife in an embrace. “I’ll be back to pick you up on Sunday night,” he said, giving her a final kiss.
The woman went toward the airport and the man began climbing back into the cab of his truck.
“Wait!” Holland raced toward him. He stop
ped and gave her a puzzled look. “I need to get out there; could you give me a ride?” She pointed in the direction of the smoke.
The man’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you so much,” Holland gasped with relief.
The drive seemed to take forever. Thankfully, the old man did not try to make conversation; he merely followed her directions. At one point, he pulled to the side of the road as a fire truck came speeding by, followed by an ambulance, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Holland’s heart was in her throat.
As they got closer, she realized the fire was coming from the new house still under construction on the other end of the property.
“Stop here, please,” Holland said, and the old man brought the truck to a halt in front of the farmhouse.
She pulled a twenty from her wallet and held it out, but he waved it away. “I don’t want your money. Is there anything else I can do?”
Holland shook her head. “Thank you so much.” She didn’t wait to hear his reply but turned and ran toward the house.
“Ty!” She burst through the doors.
“Holland?” Misty hurried around the corner, clutching Wyatt to her chest. Her face was pale and etched with worry.
Holland wrapped them both in a hug. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure. We saw the smoke and everyone went over there to see if they could put it out.” She stomped her foot, and Wyatt stirred in her arms. “Stupid idiots! Why can’t they just leave us alone?”
“I don’t know.” Holland sighed deeply. It could be an accident, but given everything that had happened, she knew it was unlikely. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just wish there was something more I could do than sit here waiting.” Misty sighed. “I need to change Wyatt’s diaper—be right back.”
Holland nodded, and as Misty went upstairs, she stepped onto the front porch, watching the smoke column, eyes straining as if she could somehow see what was going on. Was the smoke thinning? It was hard to tell.
She got out her phone again and pulled up Ty’s number, but hesitated over the call button. He was certainly in the middle of everything; she didn’t want to bother him. If only she could know he was okay.
If she ran across the fields, she could be there in five minutes.
Holland went back inside, intending to let Misty know where she was going, but the words stuck in her throat at the sight of a man coming in through the sliding door. He was silhouetted against the bright light, but she knew it wasn’t Ty or Blaine—wrong shape. Then the man stepped further into the room, and Holland’s stomach clenched.
It was Chet Coleman. His lip curled in a sneer when he saw her. “Where’s my son?”
“Lock the door, Misty!” Holland screamed. She spun and rushed up the stairs toward Misty and Wyatt. She made it halfway before Chet caught her, grabbing her ankle and pulling her down. Frantically, she spun and kicked at him with her free leg but missed. Chet yanked her ankle, and Holland gasped as the back of her head caught the edge of the step, sending stars slamming in front of her eyes. Dimly, she heard Misty screaming.
Holland threw her arms out trying stop the slide as Chet pulled her down the stairs; but she couldn’t stop. Her back scraped against each step as she bounced downward. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Chet dropped her ankle. “Leave them alone,” she pleaded. “She didn’t do anything to you.”
“You stay out of this,” Chet snarled. “I want my money, and I want my son.”
He turned toward the stairs again, and Holland didn’t stop to think. She pulled herself up and launched herself at him, slamming into his broad back. Her arms locked around his neck and she dug her knees into his spine.
Chet grunted and jerked his shoulders, throwing her off as easily as if she’d been a child. Holland fell into the glass-topped side table, which shattered around her. She lay dazed amidst the broken glass.
Chet’s face took on an ugly sneer, and he pulled a pistol from the waistband of his baggy gym shorts. “You should have stayed out of it,” he said, waving the pistol at her.
Holland froze, her eyes trained on the barrel of the gun, the black hole where a bullet could end her life.
“Chet!” Misty was at the top of the stairs, Wyatt wailing in her arms. “Leave her alone, Chet,” she cried.
Chet’s eyes went flat, and he turned, moving the gun barrel away from Holland’s face. “Give me my son,” he said, low and menacing.
“No.” Misty’s voice shook. “Go away and leave us alone.”
Holland lay very still, eyes scanning the floor . . . Where was her phone? She’d been holding it right before she saw Chet come in. She had to find it; she had to call Ty.
“I was tricked,” Chet snarled. “Your brother tricked me.”
Tears were running down Misty’s pale face as she clutched Wyatt to her chest. “Just go away, please,” she whispered. “You don’t want to do this; you don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“You’re mine, and that baby is mine,” Chet said. “If your brother wants you back, he’s going to have to pay up—way more than last time.”
He started toward the stairs just as Holland’s fingers curled around a piece of broken glass from the table. She lunged at Chet, slicing forward with the broken glass as quickly as she could. She felt it hit something as the glass turned warm and wet, and the pain racing up her arm took her breath away.
Chet screamed and jerked around, his face a mask of hate that seemed to have lost all resemblance to a human being. Holland felt his hands closing around her throat. He was yelling something ugly, but everything was fuzzy, and she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Somewhere far away, Misty was screaming.
Holland’s hands were slick as she grappled with the fingers at her throat, trying frantically to pry them free. It was no use, she was dying. Black haze flooded her vision.
There was a grunt and the clenching pressure around her throat was gone. Holland had a glimpse of Ty looming above her, his face dark with fury.
She gave a shudder, and the darkness closed in.
* * *
“Holland?”
There was something about the voice, like a warm blanket that she wanted to pull tighter around her shoulders. Her eyes were too heavy—opening them was too hard. All she wanted was the blanket, that soft, warm voice that somehow made everything okay.
“Holland? Can you hear me? You need to open your eyes, love. Please?”
She moaned and forced her eyelids open. They weighed a ton, like she was wearing lead mascara.
Ty’s face was inches from hers, his eyes clouded with pain and concern. In a split second everything came back.
“Misty?” Holland’s voice came out as a raspy whisper. She tried to move her head and found she couldn’t. Around her, the room buzzed with activity, shadows racing along her periphery.
“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” Ty said quickly. “You’re in a neck brace and strapped to a backboard. The EMTs are taking you to the hospital.”
“Misty?” Holland tried again.
“She and Wyatt are fine,” Ty said. He reached out to brush a strand of Holland’s hair back from her face. “You’re pretty banged up. We’ll known more once you’ve had some tests. But there’s bruising around your neck; the paramedics think you probably have a broken rib or two.” He hesitated. “And you have some pretty deep cuts to your fingers. You might need surgery.”
She tried to raise her hand, but couldn’t with the straps in place.
“They’ve given you some morphine for the pain, and we’re just about ready to roll out.” Tears stood in Ty’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, love. I should never have let you go.”
“Not your fault,” Holland rasped.
“Mr. Epperson, we’re ready to go,” a disembodied voice said somewhere near Holland’s right ear.
Ty nodded. “I’ll be with you the whole time, okay?” he promised.
“Okay.” She focused on his bro
wn eyes, wanting to say more. She murmured something, or tried to, but gave in to the morphine, letting it pull her down into the darkness again. Only this time it wasn’t a panicked, terror-soaked nightmare of Chet’s choking fingers. It was the sweet, comforting darkness of a deep sleep and the promise of Ty’s arms.
13
Ty stood in the florist’s shop staring at the humongous bouquet of roses on the counter. He really should have considered how he’d hold the flowers on the drive to the hospital. He’d just paid for them, but now what?
“I don’t suppose you have a van?” he asked the pimply-faced teenager behind the counter.
“Yes sir, when would you like them delivered?” the boy said quickly.
“Right now. Can you follow me there?” Ty asked.
“Let me check.” The boy ducked into a nearby office, and there was a murmured conversation. Nadine, the store owner, came out, tucking her straggling blond hair back into her bun.
“You need these delivered?” she asked with a small, knowing smile.
Ty grinned sheepishly. When he’d ordered a bouquet of five dozen roses, he hadn’t really realized quite how big it would be. The vase was the size of a bucket. But they sure did smell good.
“Yeah, I guess I do,” he said. “But can you come now? I kind of want to surprise her with them.” It was no good waiting for the flowers to be delivered to Holland’s hospital room. He wanted to walk in with them—all part of the effect.
See? He was learning all kinds of things about image.
Nadine returned his smile and reached into the pocket of her apron for her keys. “You got it. I’ll be right behind you.”
They reached the hospital thirty minutes later, and Ty took the flowers from the florist. He handed her a fifty. “Thanks so much.”
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Epperson.” Nadine smiled and gave him a little wave as she left.
The Lucky Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance) Page 9