Heather's Gift (12 page)

She clicked the link back to the open channel, listening with only distant attention to the chatter between the investigators as she unsaddled her horse and led him back to the stall. She stroked the animal’s long face, staring into the quiet brown eyes as sadness filled her.

“He’s getting worse.” Brock stepped into the stables, his eyes so like Sam’s, were quiet, sad, as Heather clipped the stall door closed and turned to him. Heather watched as he moved deeper into the cool, shadowed interior. He watched her closely, his eyes contemplative, the way he held his body suggesting that he was a man on a mission that he wasn’t entirely certain of.

“We can’t allow him to go riding off by himself, Brock.” Heather shook her head, knowing Sam needed the solitude of the open land to help still the demons raging inside him. A solitude that could be fatal now.

Lora Leigh

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She remembered before, when they were called out the first time to protect Marly. Sam had often slipped from the house, hiking or riding several miles away to a sheltering, tree-shaded pond where he would often sit and just stare into the water. He hadn’t been able to do that lately, and being confined seemed to only spur his temper.

“I agree with you on that, Heather,” he sighed roughly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he watched her with a questioning expression. “I’m not asking anyone to allow it.”

He looked too much like Sam to suit her. The sharp, almost savage planes of his face reflected a quiet acceptance of the world though, rather than the careful joviality or alternate enraged grief that Sam’s could. Of all the men, Brock seemed more accepting of the past, more accepting of who they all were.

She wished she could find a measure of the confidence he carried on his shoulders. At the moment she felt lost, uncertain. She was fighting not just for her life, but for the life of a man that didn’t want to love her, even though he did.

“What?” Heather asked with a frown. Brock obviously had something on his mind, and yet was hesitant to broach the subject, whatever it might be. She had a feeling she didn’t exactly want to hear it either.

“Why hasn’t he come to you yet?” he asked her softly, his head tilting as he regarded her with a quizzical expression.

“For what?” She had a feeling she knew exactly
for what,
but she wasn’t about to let this man poke his nose in her business without a fight. He seemed to know that, too. He watched her knowingly. “You know what,” he growled. “He wants to fuck you so bad it heats the air around both of you, Heather. Don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

Heather felt a curious flutter of nerves in the pit of her stomach. There was no heavy lust in his eyes as there was in Sam’s, but there was a sense of anticipation, of waiting. He was asking about Sam, but they were both well aware of what they all expected once Sam took her.

“That’s none of your business, Brock.” She shook her head. She didn’t need the other two brothers complicating her life at this point. Her life, or her heart. He blew out a rough breath, his head turning as he stared into the shadows of the stables. His arms crossed over his chest, his hard body stiffly erect, as he seemed to be weighing what he should say. His expression was brooding, concerned, as he seemed to chose his words carefully.

“It concerns us all, Heather,” he finally said softly. “Not just me and Cade, but Marly and Sarah as well. We all love him. Seeing him like this is…” He paused reluctantly. “It’s very hard on us all.”

She could see that. Had seen it constantly. The relationship between the men was a curious one. A complete sharing, whether it was work, play or pleasure. Yet never together. For a while, she had wondered if the strange relationship they shared with Lora Leigh

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their women was due to tendencies or desires to be with each other sexually. But as she watched, dissecting events and interactions, she knew that wasn’t the case. Heather believed they would have been inclined to the relationships they now shared. The horrors and nightmares of the past had forced the need for that closer bond, despite moral convictions. The abuse and their fight to survive together had made them closer than even they knew at this point. It was a closeness that went far beyond any sense of sibling jealousy. It had forced such emotions aside, which further enabled them to the sexual extremes they now practiced.

“And I’m supposed to fix this?” she asked him finally, exasperated, just a little irritated. Suddenly, everyone was looking to her to fix the problems this family dealt with. She couldn’t see a
fix
in sight anywhere. He shifted nervously, spearing her with a look that had her taking a step back. Intense, heated, filled with conviction.

“He loves you, Heather. I know he does. And you know what that implies.”

His voice carried a hard, knowing edge. He wasn’t about to let her skirt around the involvement with the family should she accept the relationship with Sam. Damned men. The Augusts had to be the most contrary, stubborn, hard to get along with males it had ever been her misfortune to meet up with.

“So you’re what, going to try to get your piece of ass now?” she bit out, frowning back at him. These men tried her patience in more ways than one, but this one, on the heels of his twin, was too much for even her normally strong nerves. He grimaced impatiently.

“Don’t be a fool, Heather,” he growled, disgust marking his voice, surprising her by the vehemence in his tone. “This isn’t about getting a piece of anything. It’s about Sam. It’s about stilling the anger growing inside him before it destroys him.”

“Dammit, Brock, only Sam can do that.” Heather shook her head, surprised, and not for the first time, over the brothers’ insistence on stilling Sam’s anger, and in the process, the healing. “He has a right to be angry. A right to hate everything that has happened and is happening now. You can’t expect him to joke his way through this.”

“Listen to me, dammit,” he growled, his own anger surfacing then, surprising her. She had rarely seen Brock angry. “You don’t want Sam like this, Heather. None of us do. It won’t solve anything. It will do nothing but destroy him.”

Taken aback by the surprising display, Heather could only watch, her eyes narrowed, suspicion beating a warning tattoo within her chest.

“Or heal him,” she offered quietly. “Why don’t you want Sam upset, Brock? Aren’t you upset? Are you taking this stalker thing without a worry or a shred of anger?”

His lips thinned, the muscle at the side of his cheek throbbing as he obviously fought his own sense of helpless frustration.

“Listen to me, Heather. There are things you don’t understand here. Things you don’t want to understand and you sure as hell don’t want Sam thinking about.”

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“And I’m supposed to stop him, how?” She shook her head, spreading her hands out before him as she watched him with angry frustration. “Am I supposed to fuck him to keep him from thinking?”

“If you have to,” he growled, then more softly. “If you love him, Heather, like I think you do, then whatever it takes should be all that matters.”

The welling sense of fear rising inside her couldn’t be ignored.

“What are you not telling me, Brock?” She crossed her arms over her breasts, watching him impatiently, angrily.

He looked away, and Heather could have sworn she caught a flash of guilt in his gaze.

“Nothing that would help you,” he finally sighed.

“Right now, anything would help. Sam doesn’t want me…”

“That’s bullshit.” His hand sliced through the air impatiently. “Sam wants you until he can’t walk for the hard-on he’s packin’. This has nothing to do with lust, Heather, and everything to do with his feelings toward you.”

“I can’t make him come to my bed, Brock,” she sighed wearily. “And I’ll be damned if I’ll try.”

“Heather…”

“Brock, enough.” The lengthening shadow of Sam’s broad form entered the stable entrance.

Heather’s head whipped to the side, her eyes widening at the hard, cold edge to Sam’s voice. Brock whipped around, his body suddenly defensive, prepared.

“Sam.” Brock shook his head again.

“I don’t need your protection any more than I need Cade’s.” Sam’s voice was low, thick, with a white-hot throb of rage. “Nor do I need you pimping for me.”

Heather winced. “Takes a whore for a pimp to work, Sam. You’re not just insulting your brother here.”

His gaze speared toward her, and though she couldn’t see his eyes for the piercing sunlight behind him, she could feel the intensity in them. For a moment she regretted drawing his attention to her.

“Get serious,” he growled, though the restraint in his voice caused her to wince.

“We’re worried, Sam…” Brock began.

“Brock, let it rest…” Heather interrupted him, knowing he would try to smooth the event over, to ease Sam’s anger.

“Goddammit, I’m not a fucking bone for you two to fight over,” he snarled, moving into the barn. “What do you want, Brock? A nice little joke, how about another prank?

Let’s pretend the world is fine when we fucking know better.”

Throttled rage, agony, need. They all reflected in his voice. Heather’s heart broke as she watched him and as she glanced at Brock, she knew his was as well. Sam’s Lora Leigh

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expression was dark, his face lined with both his fury and his pain. And Heather had a terrible, wrenching feeling that when it all spewed to the surface, none of them would be left unscathed.

Brock raked his fingers through his hair as he glanced at her. Heather could only shake her head. She wasn’t about to help him. Sooner or later they would have to realize that Sam no longer needed their protection, all he needed was their support.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” She headed for the entrance.

“Fuck that. Who do you think I came back for?” Sam caught her arm as she made to move past him. “You, Heather, not my interfering brother.”

“Sam.” Brock stepped forward as though in protection. Heather watched as Sam’s head whipped around, his expression harsh, defined by the years of pain they had all suffered.

“You’re upset. You should calm down…”

The smile that crossed Sam’s face did little to still the nervous tremor that fluttered through Heather’s body.

“Do you think I would hurt her, Brock?” His voice was silky smooth, but they all heard the undercurrent that ripped beneath it. He was pushing his brother, and Heather wondered why.

“Would you, Sam?” Brock asked him quietly.

Sam shook his head. As Heather watched, the anger drained away and bleak sadness replaced it. She could see the sense of betrayal in his expression, his knowledge that for some reason, he wasn’t trusted.

“I’ve never put so much as a bruise on Marly and Sarah, Brock. Never. Why the hell would you think I would hurt Heather?”

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Chapter Seventeen

“Fuck.” Brock’s face twisted with his own pain, the curse slipping past his lips with a tone laced heavily with self-disgust. “Hell, Sam, I know you won’t hurt her physically. It’s not her body I’m worried about. Dammit, you shouldn’t make her cry either. That’s just as bad.”

Sam watched his brother, seeing the truth, the fact that Brock knew he would never truly hurt Heather. For a moment, everything in his body had twisted in agony, and he smelled the blood, the death, and he wondered… He shook his head, trying to shake away the dark pain along with it. The women were all that mattered. Their laughter, their happiness. Their happiness fed Cade’s and Brock’s, and in a way, his own. Their tears made the demons rise, snapping with hungry jaws and rapacious teeth in the form of nightmares that none of them could escape.

He drew in a deep breath, ignoring Heather’s incredulous expression at Brock’s explanation. She didn’t understand, and he wondered how Marly and Sarah could.

“Sarah’s looking for you,” Sam finally sighed, weary to the bone, filled with such a mix of emotions that making heads or tails of them was impossible right now. His twin shifted, glancing at Heather as though trying to convey a message. Pacify Sam. Protect Sam. He knew it by heart, and it grated at his pride now, as it never had before.

“Go, Brock,” he bit out. “Don’t piss me off any more than I am already. Please.”

Brock cursed. A mumbled sound, all the more violent for the fact that it was so quiet. He stalked from the barn, much as Sam knew he had done himself earlier, leaving him alone with Heather.

He turned to her, watching her quietly as she stood beneath his narrowed stare. She gazed back at him directly, never flinching. Her green eyes were dark with sadness…sadness for him. He breathed in roughly. As much as he wanted her laughter and her happiness, he’d be damned if it wouldn’t make him feel like a fraud right now. Cade and Brock needed it. To see Sarah and Marly truly happy made them happy. It lifted their hearts, and in some degree eased the shadows that haunted their gazes. For Sam, he had eased his demons in the happiness of his brothers, and for a very brief time had thought he could reach for his own with this woman.

“Have they always been so overprotective?” she finally asked him quietly, tucking her hands nervously into her back pockets.

The shirt stretched across the full mounds of her breasts, making his hands itch to touch them. The hard-on he had had earlier hadn’t even had time to abate when he’d Lora Leigh

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heard Brock was headed for the stables and he had to go back. Now, it pounded beneath his jeans with an imperative demand that made him damned near crazy.

“Yeah,” he finally answered her, fighting for control.

“Hard to deal with, isn’t it?” She tilted her head watching him, trying to understand him.

Damn her, he didn’t want or need her understanding.

“Are you coming back to the house?” he finally asked, ignoring her question. She leaned back against the frame of a stall, regarding him with that look. The one that said she knew, that she cared. Damn her to hell, he didn’t want this.