by Brenda Novak
Natasha could hardly fault her for feeling that way. Wouldn’t any woman? “You know her?”
“Of course. She’s been hanging out with some of our friends the past few months.” She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “Now I know why she’s been showing up so often.”
“What’s her last name?”
“Vogler.”
“Was this Stephanie Vogler the cause of most of the fights between you? Recently, I mean?”
Anya punched her pillow and rested her head on it again. “No. He doesn’t love her, even if she thinks he does. The only woman J.T. has ever really loved is his dead wife. Every time he gets a little liquor in him, he starts up about her. No one could ever make him as happy as she did. Blah, blah, blah. Definitely not what I ever wanted to hear. He compared us all the time, and, of course, I always fell short.” She shot Natasha a sulky look. “He wouldn’t have liked it if I did something like that to him—made him feel as though he wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough. He was damn lucky to have me. Who else would put up with him?”
Natasha’s phone rang but Natasha was trying to pass a slower-moving semi and couldn’t take her eyes from the road.
“It’s Mack,” Anya announced.
Natasha managed to cut back into traffic and held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
“No, don’t answer it,” her mother said, suddenly in a panic. “Stop the car. I have to get out.”
“I can’t stop here,” Natasha said. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going back to Whiskey Creek. It was a mistake to let you talk me into this. You said you would stand by me. You said you would protect me.”
Her phone stopped ringing. “I said I’d do what I could as long as you were innocent,” Natasha clarified.
Her mother reached for the door handle as though she’d leap out, and Natasha nearly crashed trying to stop her. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, shaking from the adrenaline when she finally managed to pull the car safely to one side.
Anya was rattled, too. “I’m scared,” she admitted, her eyes filling with tears.
Natasha didn’t know what to do. Should she keep pushing her mother to return? Or give up and see what happened? She loved Mack. She loved his brothers, too. But this was her mother. All they’d ever really had was each other. Sure, most of Anya’s problems were her own fault. If she lived a different life, she could change her circumstances. Instead, she was her own worst enemy and didn’t seem to know how to change that.
Natasha could both hear and feel the semis whizzing past them on her left. The blast of wind that came off each one rocked her smaller Jetta, keeping her on edge. “We can go to Whiskey Creek and hope that will mitigate some of their anger, get them to listen to us and reserve judgment until J.T. comes around or the police can do an in-depth investigation. Or we can go back to my house.”
“Let’s go back to your house,” she said immediately.
“Okay, but if we do that, it’ll really piss them off. And if they dig in and decide to come after you...well, I wouldn’t bet against them, Mom. You know how capable they are. Not only that, but you wouldn’t be able to stay with me. As I said, they’ll look there first. And I couldn’t go with you, wherever you go. I wouldn’t even be able to talk to you on the phone. Or send you money. Because the police would be able to track all that. I have Lucas to think about. I can’t allow this or anything else to negatively impact his life. I have to keep my house, my job, remain stable as much as possible.”
“You want me to go back to Whiskey Creek.”
“I don’t know what I want at this point. I’m scared of making the wrong decision. But I won’t be responsible for dragging you back in case it is a mistake.” She drew a deep breath. “Only you know whether you shot J.T. What do you want to do?”
“That’s the problem,” Anya said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know whether I shot him. I only know that I never intended to shoot him, that it never even crossed my mind. Surely that means something, doesn’t it?”
Sadly, it wouldn’t mean a lot if J.T. died and they couldn’t come up with another suspect. Instead of answering, Natasha reached over to squeeze her mother’s hand. “I know this isn’t easy, but...what’s it going to be?”
* * *
Mack was sitting in the hospital waiting room with his brothers and their wives when Natasha’s text came in. J.T. had developed what the doctor called atelectasis—essentially his lung had collapsed again and there was some fluid buildup between the lung tissues and the chest wall. As a result, he was back in surgery, and they were all waiting to hear how it went.
No one had much to say. They were too morose after being up most of the night and working at the shop all day, and they were upset that J.T. had suffered a relapse. That it still wasn’t clear whether he’d live or die made them even angrier with Anya—and Natasha, too, since they felt she wasn’t being as forthcoming with them as she should be.
“Natasha and Anya are on their way,” he said to the room at large, since he and his family were the only ones there, and breathed a sigh of relief that she’d finally responded to him. Just a few minutes earlier, Grady had been stalking around the room, cursing Anya’s name, and he’d been complaining about Natasha, too, getting everyone riled up.
Mack believed that being able to talk to Anya in person and figure out what had happened might help, even if Anya was to blame for the shooting. His brothers craved justice. Knowing that she was no longer running away, that she would be held responsible for what she’d done, should bring them some relief and get them to calm down.
Mack wanted justice, too. He’d never liked Anya, had been angry with her for not taking better care of her daughter starting way back at the very beginning. But he worried about how hard it would be on Natasha to see the only family she had, besides Lucas, go to prison. She’d already been through so much, especially this year.
Grady had finally sat down, but his head snapped up as soon as Mack made the announcement. “How do you know?” he asked.
Mack couldn’t help feeling some irritation that Grady was the first to pounce on his statement. “I just heard from Natasha.”
“They’re coming here—to the hospital?” he asked eagerly.
“I don’t know. Her message says they’re at a rest stop on Interstate 5 and will arrive in a couple of hours.”
Grady came to his feet again. “Tell her to text me as soon as she gets in. I want to talk to her.”
“I don’t want you anywhere near her,” Mack said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“What?” Grady cried.
Lifting his chin, Mack spoke more firmly. “I said I’ll take care of it.”
“I didn’t ask you to take care of it,” Grady retorted, raising his voice despite the fact that they were in a hospital and there were doctors and nurses striding up and down the hallway outside, as well as patients in nearby rooms. “I’ll take care of it. Who appointed you official liaison with our stepsister, anyway?”
Grady was purposely trying to provoke him with that sister comment. “She isn’t our stepsister, and you know it.” His own voice sounded more steel-like than he’d intended, but he wasn’t going to put up with Grady doing anything where Natasha was concerned, and he figured Grady might as well know it.
“Not anymore,” Grady said. “But she was, whether you like it or not. She was our stepsister when we met her, and that’s why we let her and her crappy mother move in and tried to help them. And Dad being shot is the thanks we get.”
“Grady!” Dylan snapped.
“What?” Grady whipped around to face their oldest brother.
“We’re all pretty pissed off—but we’re mad at Anya, not Natasha, okay? And definitely not Mack. Let’s keep some perspective on this.”
Grady jabbed a finger toward Ma
ck as he appealed to Rod, Aaron and the women in the room. “You know how he feels about her. You all know, right? He’s in love with her. He’s admitted as much to me. If we allow him to handle this, he’ll probably let Anya drive right on out of here or try to protect her along with Natasha.”
Mack felt his hands curl into fists as he stood. “What the fuck, Grady!”
Dylan scrambled to get between them, one palm pushed toward Grady and one toward Mack. “That’s enough. We don’t need this bullshit right now.”
Mack glared at Grady and Grady glared back at him.
“Did you hear me?” Dylan said when neither of them spoke.
“You always take his side,” Grady snapped and stalked out of the room.
Mack thought Dylan might go after him, but he didn’t. With a tired shake of his head, their oldest brother sank back into his seat, and Cheyenne took his hand. Maybe, like Mack, Dylan was irritated by the way Grady had suddenly become their father’s greatest champion. Normally, Grady was just as annoyed with J.T. as the rest of them.
The doctor filled the doorway, still wearing scrubs. “I was able to repair your father’s lung,” he said with a reassuring smile. “He’s in recovery, but we’ll be moving him to ICU shortly, where we can continue to keep a close watch on him.”
“Can we see him?” Cheyenne asked.
“I think it would be better if you came back in the morning.”
Mack was slightly grateful for the reprieve. He was hoping to grab a couple of hours of sleep before Natasha arrived. He wasn’t sure where she’d be staying. Anya never had any money; she didn’t get much from disability in the first place, and what she did get she spent on drugs. There was J.T.’s house, of course, but he couldn’t believe they’d go there. No one had even been by to clean up the blood. They’d been dealing with too many other things. There were a couple of bed-and-breakfasts in the area, but Natasha hadn’t even had enough room on her debit card to rent a moving van.
He’d left her five hundred dollars, though. Maybe that was what she was using for gas and would use to get a motel, too.
He hoped she’d feel comfortable doing that. He wanted to offer up his place, but he knew she couldn’t bring her mother to his house, not with the way Grady was behaving.
Be careful on the drive, and let me know as soon as you get here, okay?
He waited while his brothers and their wives gathered their stuff to leave, but he got no response, and when he looked up, Dylan was standing over him. “Don’t let Grady get to you.”
Mack felt like the baby of the family again for the first time in a long while. He laughed in spite of all the tension. “I’m fine, Dyl. Don’t worry about me.”
“I think—” Dylan started, but Aaron, Presley, Rod and his wife, India, interrupted him by calling out a final goodbye, and Dylan stopped to wave at them. Mack waved, too, before Dylan finished by saying, “I think Grady’s still waiting for our father to be a father, if you know what I mean. If Dad dies, it takes that possibility away from him.”
“Dad’s never going to act like a normal dad,” Mack said. “Surely Grady knows that by now.”
“Our brains may tell us one thing. But sometimes our hearts... Well, maybe it’s easier for you to give up on that dream than it is for him.” He squeezed Mack’s shoulder. “Tell Natasha that—” he hesitated as he considered the message he wanted Mack to relay “—that we know none of this is her fault.”
“I will,” Mack said.
Dylan and Cheyenne told him to get some sleep and walked out, leaving Mack in the waiting room alone. He was tempted to call Natasha, but he knew she wouldn’t pick up. He’d tried calling earlier. She probably didn’t want to talk to him in front of her mother. He was about to text her again to ask where she was planning on staying when he realized that he could easily solve that problem for her.
How far away are you now? He sent her that message, and while he was waiting for her response, he switched over to the internet.
He’d just finished what he was doing when he got her reply.
No clue. We’re in the middle of God knows where. Had to pull over. I don’t think my mother feels good.
Physically or mentally?
Both. The trauma and fear of this whole thing combined with withdrawal or a virus or something. She’s slept almost since she arrived. Just waiting for her to come out of the bathroom so we can get back on the road.
Okay. Take it easy. There’s no rush. But when you do get here, I got you a room at Little Mary’s—Eve Harmon’s B&B downtown.
You didn’t have to do that.
But this way he’d know right where to find her. It’s all handled, he wrote back. See you soon.
Twenty-Three
It was so late by the time Natasha arrived in Whiskey Creek that she didn’t call Mack. She didn’t want to wake him at nearly four in the morning. Besides that, she was ready to drop—couldn’t handle anything else, not without first getting some sleep.
Her mother had gotten so sick on the drive they’d been stranded at a gas station somewhere along the highway for several hours. By the time Anya quit throwing up and had recovered enough to continue on, Natasha wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her eyes open long enough to finish the drive.
She took a NoDoz just to be safe and couldn’t believe it when they finally pulled into the small gravel lot outside Little Mary’s.
After dragging her luggage inside, she rang the bell at the front desk to get the key to their room.
It took several minutes for the night manager to appear. Natasha felt mildly guilty for making life more difficult for whoever this was, but the woman who greeted them didn’t seem to be bothered by the disruption. As a matter of fact, she spoke almost too loudly and too cheerfully for Natasha’s current frame of mind.
Natasha remembered Eve Harmon, the owner, who was now married and going by a different name. But she didn’t recognize Eve’s manager. Apparently, she’d been gone from Whiskey Creek for too long.
She got the key and managed to wrangle their luggage up the stairs. Of course their room would be on the second floor of a nineteenth-century Victorian that had no elevator, she thought, as her mother followed, zombielike, without even trying to help.
They both dropped into bed the second they got inside the room. Natasha didn’t even bother to remove her clothes. She remembered being grateful for the fresh scent of lavender and the crisp cotton sheets right before she lost consciousness. Then she didn’t so much as roll over, not until she heard someone banging on the door.
Assuming it was the maid attempting to get in to clean the room, she yelled to come back later and pulled the pillow over her head to block out the light streaming in from the window, but Mack’s voice cut through the fog in her head.
“It’s me.”
Her mother didn’t stir. Anya could sleep through Armageddon. So Natasha forced herself to get up, shoved her tangled hair out of her face and shuffled to the door.
Cracking it open an inch or so, she peered warily out at the man she loved so much it hurt. “Hey.”
His eyebrows came together in apparent concern. “You okay?”
“Barely.” She cleared her throat to rid her voice of the rasp. “It was a rough night—the longest drive of my life. Is J.T. still...? Er...how is he?”
“Haven’t been able to talk to him yet. His lung collapsed again last night, and he had to go back in for surgery, but I’m hoping he’ll be able to recover now that it’s fixed.”
“I hope the same.” She wished she could talk to J.T.’s doctor so she could gain a better understanding of what J.T. was facing and whether or not he’d survive. “What time is it?”
“Ten. What time did you get in?”
“Not until four. My mom got sick and couldn’t quit throwing up.”
“I’m sorry about that. I tried to let you slee
p as long as possible, but I was afraid Grady would find you and...” He didn’t finish that thought.
“And?”
“He’s being an ass,” he explained. “Dylan decided to close the shop today, so I know he’s not at work, and yet, when I woke up, he was gone.”
“You think he’s looking for me.”
“He’s looking for your mother more than you, but...yeah. Or he’s at the hospital. I decided to come over here first, just in case.”
Of course it would be Grady who’d be the angriest among the brothers. He’d never been as accepting of her as the rest of them. Whatever friendship or love, if she could call it that, he’d offered had been somewhat grudging, although he seemed to like and accept her better at some points than others. “You told him I was bringing Mom back?”
“I told everyone last night when your text came in. I thought it might help them calm down to know your mother’s not running away from this.”
Still groggy, Natasha rubbed her face. “I can’t really think right now. Let’s set up a meeting with everyone for later, after I get some more sleep.”
He tried to peer over her head. “Where’s Lucas? Do you want me to take him with me?”
“Ace has him for the week.”
“You took him to LA after how Ace has been acting? When he wouldn’t even come out and pick him up for the weekend?”
“Ace and his parents came to get him as soon as you left. Within hours, as a matter of fact.”
Mack frowned. “He’s mad about the paternity test.”
“Furious,” she agreed. “But I have bigger things to worry about right now. At least I know my son’s safe.”
“He’d better be,” Mack said. “Luke told me all his father does is game.”
“That’s true, but his parents are very responsible, and they’re the ones who’re probably watching Luke.”
Mack looked tired and stressed himself. She could tell he wanted to say something to her—something he ultimately decided not to say.