by Lora Leigh
• • •
Don’t leave me. . . . Don’t leave me. . . . Please, Momma, don’t leave me. . . .
The words were a chant in Angel’s head, a prayer she couldn’t keep from repeating. They were the same words she’d sobbed when her mother left her with her aunt the day she left.
She stared at the wall across from her, but the nightmare image of her mother’s eyes closing, the feeling that she was drifting away, was all she could see, all she could feel.
Where was Duke? She’d promised to wait for him, but she didn’t know if she could. The pain and coiling rage was tightening inside her, threatening to explode, and she couldn’t do that here. She couldn’t be weak. Not in front of so many people.
But what would she do when she couldn’t wait any longer? Would she finally just disappear inside herself where it would never hurt again? She’d done that after she’d lost Jenny, and again after Brutus, J.T.’s war dog, had died. Until the summer she turned eighteen, she’d just been hollow inside, trapped within herself. Until she’d been locked in the dark, trapped in that hospital basement, her screams echoing around her, memories pummeling her.
Memories were pummeling her now as well, raking through her soul with merciless claws.
Craig dying, blood easing from the corners of his lips. He said he was sorry for bringing her there, sorry about Jenny and Aunt Jo. But it didn’t matter that he was sorry because her momma never came to get her. If he hadn’t ever brought her to Iraq, he probably would’ve killed her momma. Because of his secrets. Because he’d lied. Either way, her momma would be dead and it would be all her fault.
She stared at the wall harder. If she concentrated hard enough, if she didn’t let herself feel too much, then the well of emotions threatening to boil over might ease for just a minute, just long enough for Duke to get to her.
As she focused on a single blemish in the wall, it disappeared, replaced by the bloodstained camo T-shirt Natches wore.
“Angel?” Natches demanded her attention, his voice soft. “Look at me.”
She forced herself to look up, to stare miserably back at the man that should hate her. She’d failed. She hadn’t protected her mother. She didn’t want to face him, to have him ask her why she hadn’t been smarter, why she hadn’t kept this from happening.
“Bliss lets me hold her when she cries,” he told her then. “That’s what dads do, you know?”
Confusion made it impossible to understand why he’d say that to her. Was it a taunt? Was this her punishment?
“Come on, baby girl. It’s okay to cry.” His arms surrounded her; his hoarse voice broke her. “It’s okay to cry right here. That’s what Dad is for. We can just cry together.”
Shudders tore through her, pulling a ragged cry from her lips.
She was only barely aware of the fact that he picked her up as he had picked Bliss up. Cradling her like she was five as he sat down, one hand pressing her head to his chest, his head lowering over hers, his other arm wrapped around her, holding her on his lap.
Like a father would hold his child.
Like Angel had never been held, never been comforted.
And his shoulders jerked; a tear fell to her arm. His tears.
And she broke.
Sobs tore from her. Twenty years of grief, loss, hope, and pain filled the desperate cries as her arms wrapped around his neck and she cried as he held her. Rocked her. That child that had forgotten how to cry, the father that would have been, and all the fear that they were losing the woman that meant so much to both of them. Mother. Wife.
And neither of them knew how they’d bear it. They didn’t know if they could bear it.
• • •
Dawg had to turn away, the tears that ran down his cheeks glimpsed only by the wife he pulled to him.
The cousin he’d once believed would never know how to be a father was surprising him again. The natural instinct Natches had with his daughter, Bliss, had made Dawg kick himself for that thought for years. But this, seeing Natches accept the child that hadn’t come from his blood but had become a child in his heart, was staggering, humbling.
Pulling a semblance of control around him, he turned back to them and strode to the chair next to his cousin. He gripped Natches’s shoulder and patted Angel’s knee, not really certain how to comfort either of them, as Christa sat next to him, always close, the strength he hadn’t realized kept him going until he’d seen Chaya clinging to life.
Rowdy sat on the other side. Ray, Rowdy’s dad, the man that took wild-assed heathen nephews to his heart so long ago, crouched in front of Natches, bad knees and all, tears running unashamedly down his lined face.
They comforted them the only way they knew how. They were there, close, willing to help them stand if they needed it. If the worst happened, Angel was still family, just as she was before. She was Chaya and Natches’s daughter and that would never change.
• • •
Chaya stared at the scene her sister had drawn her to. There, with his cousins and his uncle surrounding him, Bliss with her head on his knee, Angel cradled in his arms, the man she loved held on to the children that were so much a part of her.
Angel isn’t alone any longer now, she thought. And as Duke rushed into the room then moved more slowly to where Angel sobbed on Natches’s shoulder, his hand reached out, settled on her shoulder, and he just stood there with her.
He loved her so much. She hadn’t realized how much that Mackay loved her daughter, but she should have. She’d told Natches once, when Duke was barely fourteen, how much he reminded her of Natches.
Her Bethany, her BeeBee, and now her Angel, was finally home. She didn’t have to worry about either of her girls; they were both grounded with family.
“They’re grounded by you,” her sister said softly from where she stood next to her. “Have you seen what you needed now?”
Chaya nodded slowly. She had. She had needed to know her babies were safe, that they were okay.
“It’s time to go then. Come on, Chay. Stop being a wuss,” Jo-Ellen chided her gently.
“Stop being so bossy,” Chaya ordered. “We were never close enough for that.”
“We weren’t,” her sister agreed. “But our babies were, Chay. Our babies were.”
• • •
Exhausted from the tears and emotion, Angel sat against Duke later, wrapped in his warmth as Natches and Bliss sat on the other side of her. Her gaze flicked to the clock on the wall. It had been so long since her mother had gone into surgery. So many hours without word. Could a body actually sustain that long?
“The doctor’s coming out,” Doogan announced from the waiting room entrance.
Natches was on his feet instantly, one hand enfolding Bliss’s, the other catching Angel’s wrist and pulling her to her feet.
“Wait.” She tugged on the hold. She didn’t know if she could do this.
“We face this together,” Natches told her, his voice hardening. “As a family.”
Family.
With Duke on one side, a father she had no idea how to deal with on the other, and dozens of other Mackays, in-laws and outlaws, surrounding them, they met the surgeon and Ethan at the door.
Their faces were exhausted. Ethan looked haggard.
“Natches.” The surgeon stepped to him, his blue eyes weary. “Before I begin, she made it through surgery. She’s in ICU for now, but we’re optimistic. She’s alive. We work from there.”
She was alive.
That was all that mattered. She was alive.
TWENTY-TWO
Two days later
Angel woke in Duke’s arms, the warmth and strength that surrounded her sinking all the way to her soul.
She was content, she realized.
No, she was more than content; she was happy. She was fully happy, something she’d never known before, som
ething she’d never imagined she’d have a chance to know.
Would she have known this without Duke?
She wouldn’t have, she didn’t believe. She would have died in a no-name country and she would have never known what could have been or how happy she could be.
“You think too hard, baby,” he drawled, his voice sleep-drowsy and sexy. “I should spank you for waking me.”
She smiled at the threat. “Keep threatening to spank me, Duke, and I’m going to end up spanking you.”
He chuckled. “Hmm, I go first.”
Rolling to his side, those gorgeous too-thick lashes opened just enough to allow a glimpse of mossy green eyes and male hunger.
“I’ll be happy to spank you first,” she assured him, twining her arms around his neck as his head lowered, his lips brushing against hers as laughter rumbled in his chest.
“I doubt that’s going to happen, darlin’,” he assured her. “At least not without a hell of a lot of convincing. For a hell of a long time,” he tacked on.
She smiled against his lips.
“Marry me, Angel.”
Her eyes jerked open in shock.
Pulling his arm from beneath his pillow, he picked up her hand and slid the most beautiful diamond she’d ever seen over her finger.
“I’m tired of carrying it around,” he told her. “I told Uncle Charlie I was marrying you three years ago and he gave me his mother’s engagement ring for you. Marry me, Angel.”
Marry him? Wake up with him every morning? Lie down beside him every night?
“Really? You’re serious?” She was almost too scared to believe, to accept that it could be real.
“Honey, I’m so serious my dick’s hard,” he groaned, with feeling even.
He sounded so serious it took a minute to really grasp what he’d said.
She couldn’t help but laugh.
Staring up at him, seeing the complete sincerity in his face, she erupted again.
“You freak,” she gasped. “Your dick is always hard.”
“Just for you,” he assured her with a mocking frown. “And I’m so serious, it’s harder.”
To prove his point he slid between her legs, the broad head meeting the slick flesh between her thighs.
“And you’re wet,” he groaned. “Slick and hot. Say yes so we can celebrate.”
And she wanted to say yes. She wanted to say yes so bad she could barely stand it.
“I can’t,” she moaned, pleasure racing through her. “I can’t say yes yet.”
“What?” He stilled, staring down at her in surprise. “Why? Of course you can.”
“No. Not yet.” She almost laughed again at his expression of offended male pride. “You have to ask my father for my hand first.” Now didn’t that statement sound strange as hell.
He blinked once. “You mean J.T., right?”
“Duke.” She pouted. “Dad would be so disappointed.” It was all she could do not to laugh at him again.
“I’m going to have erectile dysfunction,” he whispered. “I know I am.”
Angel rolled her eyes. “You already have erectile dysfunction. You’re always erect. That has to be some kind of dysfunction.”
“You are a cruel woman,” he informed her piteously.
But he was moving against her, pushing inside her.
Angel’s breath caught. Heat began sizzling over her body, the blood racing hard and fast through her veins as he took her by slow degrees. Forging inside her, retreating, impaling her further, he stole her senses as he’d already stolen her heart.
“Oh, baby,” he whispered against her lips, his breathing growing heavier, his muscles tightening as he worked the heavy length of his cock inside her. “You feel so good. So perfect.”
Vocal and expressive, the words sent a glow of added pleasure, like a ribbon wrapping around her soul, warming every part of her.
Each slow thrust was the ultimate caress, stroking over flesh more sensitive than ever and rushing through her senses faster than ever before.
“I love you.” Her arms tightened around him, her hips moving beneath his, lifting closer.
Those strong, powerful thrusts quickened, pushing her closer to the edge of ecstasy.
She could feel the static fingers of sensation racing through her. They tightened with each deep penetration, each stroke of heat and pleasure. Her hands tightened at his shoulders, nails pricking his flesh. Her neck arched for the heated, desperate kisses he spread down it.
Sensation upon sensation until she felt herself coming apart beneath him, felt her soul flying, colliding with his and exploding in showers of rich, vivid emotion.
In that moment Angel knew she was home. Right here in Duke’s arms.
She was home.
• • •
Arriving at the hospital several hours later, she and Duke stepped into the waiting room to find J.T., Mara, Tracker, and Chance talking with Natches. The Calloways had shown up in Somerset at midnight the night Chaya had been shot, then headed straight for Lexington and, like Angel and Duke, they hadn’t left the hospital until late the night before.
Moving to them Angel hugged J.T. and Mara, then the foster brothers she’d fought with for so long. Turning to Natches, she saw his gaze drop to her hand and that little flash of disappointment in his gaze before he could hide it.
“You’re just in time,” he told her. “She regained consciousness about an hour or so ago while I was with her. They’re letting the three of us in to see her in about thirty minutes.”
She couldn’t speak. Angel felt her throat close with emotion, and fought to simply breathe.
“She’s going to pull through this,” he promised, pulling her in for a hug. “We’re going to get her through it.”
She nodded against his shoulder, holding tight.
“And she’ll want to see that ring,” he told her softly.
“I haven’t said yes yet,” she admitted, pulling back to look up at him with a smile. “I told him he had to ask my father first. So be gentle.”
He grunted at the request, but that shadow of disappointment was gone and the kiss he pressed to her forehead reminded her more eloquently than words that this man had accepted her as his own.
Behind her Duke was muttering something about fathers, but he didn’t sound too put out.
“You say something, Duke?” Natches asked, narrowing his eyes as Angel stepped back.
• • •
This is bullshit, Duke thought in frustration, until he glimpsed that little flash of vulnerability in Angel’s gaze.
Well, hell.
He rubbed at the back of his neck. If this was what she needed, then he guessed he could do it. Couldn’t be any worse than when he’d asked Tracker. Right?
The hell it couldn’t. But it was for Angel.
“Natches.” He cleared his throat. “Could we talk for a minute?” He even asked politely.
Natches stared at him for a few long seconds before turning to Angel and Bliss. “Why don’t the two of you go over there with Kelly and Christa?” he suggested. “Let me and Duke talk for a minute.”
Angel shot him an encouraging smile, then moved away with her sister, though she did look back just as Dawg and Rowdy moved in and hid him from her gaze. The smiles on their faces could best be described as evil.
Duke drew in a hard breath.
“I asked Tracker two years ago, but Angel reminded me this morning that she has a father now,” he told Natches, putting on his best manners. “I apologize for forgetting that, but I’d like your permission to marry your daughter.”
He expected the normal Mackay hard time, but all three men went completely solemn instead.
Natches cleared his throat and blinked quickly. Hell, if that bastard started crying, Duke swore he was going to knock his ass out b
efore he made a fool of both of them.
“I’ve not had a chance to get to know her yet,” Natches said, inhaling roughly. “I was hoping for a chance to do that.”
Okay, it wasn’t “no” exactly.
“She wants to wait until her mother’s stronger.” He nodded, remembering their conversation after their shower. “And I know she wants a wedding. That takes a while to plan, I’ve been told. Besides, once we marry we’re moving to the farm. Maybe raise a few cows. A few babies.” All parents wanted grandkids. Right?
“She won’t be fighting again?” That was definitely an edge of hope in Natches’s voice.
“No, sir,” he stated emphatically. “And that’s a promise from her. She stops fighting and I give her a home and babies. Sounded like a deal to me.”
A grin edged Natches’s lips as Rowdy and Dawg both looked at their younger cousin and gave a slight nod.
“A year,” Natches demanded. “A year and she stays at our home. Chaya needs time with her, Duke. Let her have a year.”
“As long as I can stay with her,” he demanded. “You don’t want to separate us, Natches. She tends to get into trouble.”
Amusement gleamed in Natches’s gaze as Rowdy and Dawg grimaced at the statement.
“So J.T., Mara, and Tracker have been telling us.” Natches rubbed at the back of his neck while sneaking a look at his new daughter before turning back to Duke. “If she’s anything like her mother, then keeping her out of trouble is going to be a full-time job.”
“One I look forward to,” Duke assured him, watching as his fiancée showed off her new ring, her face flushed with pleasure.
Hell, she made his dick so damned hard.
• • •
The curtains were pulled around the small cubicle, the dimly lit area meant to be comforting, Angel was certain. Machines hummed and beeped and the sight of her mother on the narrow hospital bed, attached to those machines, stole her breath.
She appeared to be asleep.