by Lora Leigh
Her once vibrant will had disguised the delicacy of her build somehow, because she now looked frail, fragile, as she lay beneath the hospital sheet.
Her once golden brown hair looked darker, her face pale beneath the light, dark shadows giving her eyes a bruised appearance.
Angel approached the bed slowly, lips trembling, fighting not to cry as relief poured through her at the sight of her mother’s chest rising and falling slowly. Her hand lifted from her side as though to touch Chaya’s, then fell back in place, her fingers trembling.
She was only barely aware of Natches moving to the opposite side of the bed, his hand clasping his wife’s as it lay at her side.
“Hey, baby, you awake?” he asked, his voice rough, low. “I brought someone to see you.” Reaching out with his other hand he pushed back the hair that fell over her brow, his fingers lingering to stroke down the side of her face.
“She’s sleeping. Leave her alone,” Angel whispered, glaring at Natches. “Let her sleep already.”
His lips quirked into a grin. “Know how Duke is always telling you to stop thinking so hard?” he asked. “It’s because sometimes, those around you can actually feel the gears rolling in your head. I can feel the gears rolling in her head. Don’t you? She’s there. It just takes her a minute, that’s all.”
That sense she sometimes got of certain people, Angel realized. She could stare at them and sometimes she knew before they opened their lips if it would be the truth or a lie.
It never failed that if she concentrated hard enough, others around her could sense her tension as well, though. Like Duke. Sometimes Tracker and Chance could as well.
“She does that, too?” she whispered, staring back at him, suddenly inordinately pleased that she shared that with her mother.
“It’s what makes her such an intuitive interrogator,” he told her, stroking Chaya’s arm. “She said that about you once. That she could look at you and feel you thinking. Feel the gears rolling in your head and the lies ready to spill from your lips.” He grinned back at her. “It made her crazy, too.”
“I should have told her sooner.” She’d never forgive herself for that. “I should have come to her when I first remembered, but she wouldn’t have liked me then, Natches. Even I didn’t like me.”
She cursed worse than a sailor on leave, drank too much, smoked too often. Even Tracker and Chance hadn’t known what to do with her or about her.
“She would have loved you first, straightened you out second,” he assured her. “She does that, you know? She has a way of convincing those she loves to love her back, and to want nothing more than to please her.”
“That was all I wanted when I was little.” She could hear her laughter drifting through her head, her mother’s love, even when she messed up, and her determination to find a way to do better.
“You were her light when I met her.” Natches’s voice was reverent. “While she was in the hospital in Iraq, we made plans for me to come to Canada to meet you. Then she learned she’d lost you, and she lost herself, too. She never let you go, Angel. In her heart, you were always alive.”
Chaya’s eyes lifted slowly, blinked, then focused in on Angel as she stood by the bed.
Angel stared down at her mother, wishing she knew what the other woman was thinking, feeling. Pain clouded her mother’s brown eyes and drew a slight furrow to her brow. She looked groggy, and Angel knew why.
“I hate those drugs when Ethan pumps them in me,” she told her mother softly. “Makes me feel all wacky. Like I don’t know if I’m really real or not.”
Her mother’s face softened, though the drowsiness remained.
Angel licked her dry lips, fighting her tears and the complete horror she felt that she’d nearly lost the mother she hadn’t even had a chance to get to know.
“Hey, Mom.” Bliss moved in closer to her father. “I told Dad you were going to wake up. Now don’t try to talk to me, or I’ll fuss at you.” Her youngest daughter grinned mischievously. “You just lie there and let us spread the love for a while.”
Emotion filled Chaya’s face, her eyes. Her fingers moved against Natches’s as he gripped them and brought them to his lips.
They drifted down again, that drowsiness pulling her back, Angel knew all too well.
“You should tell her about Duke asking you to let him marry Angel, Dad,” Bliss suggested playfully. “I thought he was so cute.”
He had been cute, Angel admitted silently.
Dropping her hand from the bed rail to her side, the feel of the knife still strapped to her thigh drew her attention.
She didn’t know what to do, what to say. She could feel herself trembling, her chest tightening, and she couldn’t make sense of the chaos battling inside her.
Her mother’s eyes opened again, slowly, her gaze finding Angel.
“You were so little,” Chaya whispered, tears glittering in her eyes as Angel felt panic building inside her.
No. Her mother couldn’t cry.
“She still looks pretty short to me, babe,” Natches said, his voice soft as Angel fought to speak around the lump in her throat. “No more than a li’l bit.”
A little bit. It was something she’d heard him call Bliss and her cousins more than once. It was a term of affection. One she hadn’t expected, but one she held to her.
“You made me cookies. It was the only thing you could cook without burning the house down.” That was one of her favorite memories, though it was more knowledge than memory. “Peanut butter. Bliss says they’re her favorite, too.”
Chaya’s face softened further, the hand nearest Angel lifting weakly, reaching out.
“Momma.” Trembling, Angel reached for her hand, forgetting about the knife she held in a death grip until it was in her way.
Taking her mother’s hand, she wrapped it around the sheathed blade.
“You gave me the knife, remember?” she said as surprise registered on her mother’s face. “You sewed the pocket on my teddy bear so I could hide it there.”
Chaya’s lips trembled and a tear eased from the corner of one eye.
“No. No, please don’t cry.” Angel was shaking, trembling so hard her voice shook with it now. “Please don’t cry. I’m good. It’s kept me safe, just as you said it would. It’s yours again now.”
Emotion was swamping her. Years of holding everything back and now, to be confronted with a lifetime of dreams, of hopes, and of fears. It was too much.
“Yours.” Chaya pushed the knife back into her hand. “Always meant to be yours.” Her breathing was ragged.
Angel looked up at Natches worriedly. This couldn’t be good for her mother. Too much emotion. And if her momma started crying, then it would hurt her chest.
“I should let you rest. . . .” It was too soon for this. It couldn’t be good for her mother’s recovery.
Chaya’s fingers tightened on hers. Not a lot, but enough to jerk the emotional bonds tighter and hold her in place.
“Had to protect you.” Sorrow glittered in her mother’s too bright eyes. “You wouldn’t hide. . . . Had to keep you safe. . . .”
Tracker had once said Angel didn’t know the meaning of the word “hide,” let alone “caution” or “defeat.”
“I understand,” she assured her mother. “I hate it. I’ll yell over it later. But I understand.”
Chaya’s fingers clenched and unclenched weakly against Angel’s before she looked at her husband and youngest daughter.
“Keep them safe. . . .” she breathed. “For me.”
Pure love filled his face and burned in his fierce emerald eyes. Even after sixteen years of marriage and what had to be a fiery relationship considering the type of man he was, he wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to his wife.
“That’s a two-person job, Chay,” he said gently. “And she’s not used to ha
Worry shadowed Chaya’s expression, a weak moan passing her dry lips. “Natches, please . . .”
“Get better, Chay.” His voice firmed, his expression tightening with pure challenge. “I can’t do it alone. And she’s your daughter, honey. Just imagine how stubborn she is.” The imperceptible wink he gave his wife softened the determination in his expression, but only marginally.
“You need to rest,” Angel told her again, worried about the paleness of her face, the trembling of her lips. “I’ll come back later. I promise.”
Angel eased her hand from her mother’s, then leaned closer and kissed her brow.
“Angel.” Chaya breathed out her name, love filling her weak voice. “My baby. I love you. I have always loved you.”
Another tear eased from her mother’s eyes and ran slowly down her cheek.
“I always knew that.” Angel nodded, realizing that the knowledge of that love had always sustained her. “And I’ve always loved you. Always.”
She rushed from the room to Duke as he stood outside the door. And he was waiting for her, his arms enfolding her, his strength and his warmth sinking into her.
“Come on, you two,” Bliss announced as she pushed through the door. “I’m hungry. Can we please find some food? I’m a teenager. I need energy.”
Angel couldn’t help but laugh. Pulling her sister close for a hug, she knew finally she had hope.
No, not finally. She’d always had hope; it had just taken Duke to remind her of that, and to give her a reason to reach out for it. For her dreams.
• • •
Natches turned his gaze back to Chaya’s, her hand still clasped in his, his battle to hold back his tears hard fought.
There hadn’t been many times in his life when he’d actually cried since he was too young to remember. He’d shed tears with Chaya the day she watched that hotel explode with her daughter inside. Holding her, rocking her, loving her, those tears had fallen.
The birth of their daughter. God, he’d had to go hide that night when he’d actually lost the battle with the silent sobs that had welled from inside him.
And when he’d held Chaya, her blood staining the grass in their backyard, certain he was going to lose her, his sobs hadn’t been quiet. They’d torn from his soul, shook his body, and spilled as unashamed as a child’s.
Now, watching the tears dampen her face, her eyes filled with so much hope, he found himself close to losing the battle again.
“Remember the first time you met her, you said she had too many secrets and too much pain?” he asked her as he dried her tears with his free hand. “And I agreed, and said she reminded me of someone else who once watched the world the same way?”
Her lips trembled and more tears fell. “I was cruel to her. . . .”
“You were scared. And you knew she was hiding things from you that were far too important to remain hidden. Logic said it wasn’t possible, but you knew, inside, and you weren’t going to tolerate her silence.”
“My baby . . .” Her breathing hitched on a smothered sob. “She’s too stubborn.”
He snickered at her, causing her to frown, causing a bit of fire to burn in her pretty brown eyes.
“She’s your daughter.” His brow arched. “You couldn’t deny it if you wanted to. And from what Duke says, she might be a little better with that knife than you are now.”
“Trying to piss me off . . .” she accused him with a little sigh.
“I succeeded.” He flashed her a grin, the one he knew she secretly loved, though she often chided him for it.
“I love you . . . so much. . . .” Her words caught him off guard. “With all my soul . . .”
Hell, there went that fucking tear.
Sniffing, he turned his head, wiped it away discreetly, then turned back to her. And she knew. The knowledge of what he’d done was there in her soft brown eyes, in the love that filled her pale face.
“You’re my soul,” he told her simply. “All that I am is in you, Chaya. Without you . . .” He inhaled sharply. “Fuck!”
“Bad word,” she murmured, her eyes drifting closed, but her lips were soft with the beginning of a smile. “My naughty dream . . .”
She drifted away, the weakness, the pain medication slipping past that incredible will she possessed.
She should be dead.
How many times had Doc Marlin and the surgeon, Ben Hart, repeated that phrase?
Ben had been amazed she’d even made it to Lexington, let alone through the first hour of surgery, swearing that if it hadn’t been for Ethan’s quick thinking, she would have been gone before Life Flight made it to the house.
They’d lost her on the table twice, but each time, she’d come back, struggling to remain, too damned stubborn to give up, and he thanked God for that.
Still holding her hand he laid his forehead against it and let the tears that wouldn’t stay contained free.
He wouldn’t be able to go on without her, and he knew it.
If he had to, he’d try, for Bliss’s sake, but he wouldn’t be able to bear it for long. Life without her wouldn’t be worth living.
“Shh . . .” The soft sound had a smile touching his lips, despite the emotion pouring through him.
Lifting his head, he wasn’t ashamed for her to see the tears. There was no part of him she didn’t know about, nothing inside him that she wasn’t aware of.
Her eyes were barely open. She was more asleep than awake.
“I’m okay,” she slurred. “I promise, wild man. I’m okay. . . .”
Then her lashes drifted closed again, her breathing deepened, and he knew she’d slipped into the healing sleep she needed.
She’d kick his ass later for ordering the doctor to increase the pain medication. But he couldn’t bear the pain in her eyes, the knowledge that he hadn’t protected her. That he’d let some bastard sneak up and knife him, causing him to be too late to keep her from taking that bullet.
The stitches at his side were barely felt. The knife had missed anything vital, but he’d bled like a stuck pig and been so damned weak he’d stumbled to the house rather than running as he’d fought to do.
Touching her cheek gently he let the tears fall, unashamed and filled with every hope and prayer he could come up with to send to the heavens.
“And I love you, my heart,” he murmured. “More than words could ever say, I love you.”
EPILOGUE
It was nearly a week later before Chaya came out of ICU. She was still weak but progressing nicely, the doctors promised them. They expected a full recovery, though the scar her mother would carry just beneath her heart, where the bullet had pierced her body, would forever be a reminder of how close she’d come to dying, and they were still uncertain why.
Leaving her mother’s hospital room with Duke and Natches, Angel was making a mental note to ask Tracker about that when her foster brother, along with Dawg and Rowdy, stepped from the waiting room to meet them.
“Problems?” Natches asked, moving alongside her as Duke’s hand tightened at her hip.
It was enough to make her want to roll her eyes. She had a feeling it was a problem she’d be dealing with as long as there was a Mackay around, though. They were far too protective at times.
“Not sure,” Dawg drawled, his expression brooding. “We have company, though.”
He turned back to the private waiting room and they followed him in, stopping when the small family awaiting them turned to face them.
“Grecia, look how pretty she has become,” Solange Davinov exclaimed as Angel’s eyes widened at the sight of the delicate Frenchwoman Grecia had married and left his home country for. “I told you she would be a beauty, did I not?”
Solange was the beauty. At five foot six, fine boned, and dressed in dark blue silk slacks and a gray silk blouse paired with gray heels, she looked cool and sophisticated. Her shoulder-length strawberry blond hair was twisted into a graceful chignon, her wide gray eyes set in delicate, graceful features.
Beside her, tall and regal, Grecia Davinov watched them with a heavy expression, his dark brown gaze direct. He stood head and shoulders above his wife, his thick dark blond hair still cut to an almost-military length, displaying his still-handsome features. With them were Solange’s daughter from her first marriage and the young man Bliss was so enamored of, Nickolai Brannigan Davinov.
“She is even more lovely now than ever,” Grecia agreed, his expression approving as it went over her. “I am only sorry that we must see her again in such circumstances.” He turned to Natches. “Mr. Mackay, I wish there was some way to show the depth of my regret for your wife’s injuries. Had I even suspected this would happen, I would have never sent Bran to stay with my good friend Lucas. I would have found another way to ensure his safety, I assure you.”
“It would be nice to know exactly why it happened.” Natches’s tone wasn’t exactly friendly.
Grecia sighed heavily.
“Is Mrs. Mackay recovering?” Bran asked, his looks promising to mature to closely resemble those of his father, though his height was nearly there already.
His eyes were a deep hazel brown, gleaming with hints of green as he stared at Natches despite the hard look Natches shot him.
“She’s recovering,” he answered the younger man. “No thanks to any of you.” He turned back to the father. “Want to explain to me what the hell happened?”
“It was my fault, Mr. Mackay.” Bran stepped forward, his shoulders back, his jaw clenched. “When Viktor found me at the marina we argued in the parking lot. He thought I should return to Russia with him and force Father to reinstate him into the family. We were arguing in Russian, but Bliss heard us.” He pushed his fingers through his longer blond hair in frustration, a grimace twisting his expression. “When I assured him she didn’t speak Russian and that she would tell no one of our meeting, he . . .” Bran frowned, his jaw working for a moment. “Bliss is a good kid.” He stared back at Natches somberly. “A nice girl. But Viktor thought there was more when there wasn’t.” He grimaced again, his lips thinning for a moment. “He tried to kidnap her, thinking he could force me to do as he wanted. When my uncle and cousin were killed at the house where they thought she’d been taken, he didn’t care if she could be used against me or not. For him and Ilya, it became vengeance then.”
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