Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel (14 page)

Maybe it was time to put the old ghosts to rest and come to terms with the person he’d left behind when he’d returned home from Europe.

Even as the thought appeared, Jace knew that such a confrontation wouldn’t come tonight. Not when he was bone tired and rattled from his conversation with Barry.

But soon.

A
week later, Bronte was already regretting the pact she’d made with Jace. After he’d called to explain the confrontation he’d had with Barry, they’d both agreed that they wouldn’t see each other for a while.

Bronte had hoped that some “alone time” with her girls would help them adjust to all of the changes they’d experienced. She’d been under no illusions that Kari and Lily would wake up and accept the decision she’d made to divorce their father. But she’d thought that once they’d been enrolled in school and unpacked their bags, they would feel reassured by having a familiar routine, bedrooms of their own, and their belongings nearby.

So far, her predictions hadn’t proven to be true. Kari seemed to have adapted to her new school without any problems. Maybe it was because she was a social animal, and being set adrift in a sea of strangers was preferable to being marooned at Annie’s without any contact with kids her own age. Or maybe it was the fact that a few of the teenagers who now invited her to join them at lunch or after-school activities had been among the volunteers to help fix up Annie’s house.

Even so, as soon as Kari returned home, it was as if a switch had been hit. Her smile would fade and her chin would adopt a defiant tilt. She went out of her way to stomp around the house, muttering under her breath. In typical teenage fashion, whatever Bronte said was W-R-O-N-G. If Bronte said it was a warm day, Kari insisted it was freezing. If Bronte complimented Kari’s outfit, her daughter would change. She argued about the food they ate, the television they watched, the trips to the hospital, and the limitations of living in the country—until Bronte’s nerves were raw from the constant negativity.

On the other hand, Bronte would have done anything if Lily had shown even a spark of anger. Instead, her daughter seemed to have shrunk inside herself. Unlike her older sister, being enrolled in the local elementary school hadn’t helped matters. The classes were bursting at the seams while a newer, larger building was under construction—which meant that she was one of nearly forty kids in her room. Bronte was worried that, with Lily’s innate shyness, her daughter was doing her best to fade into the background. Her teacher, Mr. Benson, had already called to ask if Lily had any “developmental or socializing challenges” since Lily refused to participate in class.

Even worse, Lily’s depression seemed to be deepening—to a point where Lily would disappear into the tree house each day after school. She wouldn’t come down unless absolutely compelled to do so. Her appetite had disappeared and she slept fitfully each night. Bronte tried fixing her favorite foods, playing with her, joining her in the tree house, even allowing Lily to sleep with her part of the night. But nothing she did seemed to ease Lily’s sadness. Only Barry seemed to have the magic touch. Whenever he came to visit, she seemed diverted enough to smile.

All in all, Bronte was sure she was a shoe-in for World’s Worst Mother. More than anything, she longed to talk to someone about Lily. Her grandmother improved more each day, but she was still on a ventilator. There was no one in
Boston that she could call. Although she and Jace continued to text one another at night, it was clear that Jace was trying to keep things “friendly.” Besides, Bronte didn’t want to scare the man off with her family’s mounting tensions.

At the sound of hoof beats on the lane leading up to the house, Bronte’s heart seemed to lurch in her chest. But it wasn’t Jace who galloped into the yard. It was Barry.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she grabbed a paper sack that she’d filled with pouches of applesauce, small bags of carrots and celery, packets of animal crackers, and a pair of miniature bottles of milk.

Pushing through the screen door, Bronte called out, “Hello, Barry! How was school today?”

“We made piñatas out of balloons and newspapers,” he reported enthusiastically. He swung out of the saddle and carefully tied the reins to the stoop railing.

“That sounds fun. I bet Lily wishes they’d done the same thing in her class.” Bronte looked up at the spot where Lily had sunk cross-legged onto the floor of the tree house. There was no response. “Lily’s been working hard on decorating her room. You’ll have to have her show it to you.”

“I have some extra tractors if she needs ’em.”

Bronte laughed. “Why don’t you ask? She picked one of Annie’s pretty quilts to put on her bed. It’s covered in flowers and butterflies. That should work with tractors, don’t you think?”

Barry’s brow creased in a frown. “No. She needs cowboys and cows if she’s got butterflies.”

His pronouncement was filled with conviction and punctuated with a decisive nod, so Bronte didn’t bother to ask him to explain. Clearly, Barry knew what was best.

She handed him the sack and he started to move to the tree, but she stopped him with, “Hey, Barry?”

He turned, his brows disappearing beneath the shock of hair that hung over his forehead. “Yeah?”

“Do you suppose it would be okay for me to meet with Jace, just for a few minutes, as long as the girls know?”
Bronte didn’t know what possessed her to even ask. She was already in Mom Purgatory for perceived indiscretions. She would be crazy to incite even more emotional outbursts.

But as she gazed up at her daughter, Bronte realized that right now, she needed some help. Judging by the kind young man that Barry had become, Jace was no amateur in the art of child rearing.

“Can I keep coming to see Lily after school?”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “We love having you. You’re a really good friend to Lily. She would be disappointed if you didn’t come play. Seems like the only time I see her smile anymore is when you come to visit.”

“Don’t make her mad, okay?”

Bronte prayed such a feat was possible. Kari would be angry—but lately, Kari wore her anger like a badge of honor. Lily, on the other hand . . .

Lily was sad. Incredibly sad. But Bronte couldn’t get her to talk enough to determine what upset her the most—the divorce, the move, or the fact that Bronte had been seen holding Jace’s hand. Whatever the cause, it was clear that Bronte needed some outside help. Maybe with his EMT training or his own experiences with Barry, Jace could give her the name of a good pediatrician or a counselor.

*   *   *

BARELY
a week had passed since the night on the hill, and Jace found himself wishing that he hadn’t agreed to stay away from Bronte. Now that he’d truly tasted her, caressed her, felt her come in his arms, he was like a starving man longing for a meal. There wasn’t an hour that went by that he didn’t find his thoughts wandering toward her and the passion she’d displayed in his arms.

His distraction was unfortunately evident in his work. His brothers were giving him hell about his absentmindedness—and even the hired men were eyeing him with amusement. Try as he might, Jace couldn’t seem to rein in his thoughts and concentrate on preparing fields and drilling corn. As
soon as he climbed into the cab of the tractor or his pickup, his thoughts headed down the road to Annie’s house.

It wasn’t as if they’d stopped all contact between them. At odd times throughout the day, when Jace couldn’t stand it another second, he would send Bronte a text. She was always quick to respond. He knew that she’d managed to get the girls enrolled in the local schools and that she’d begun working with P.D.’s current baker to learn the ropes at Vern’s. He heard about each visit to the hospital and Annie’s progress and setbacks throughout the week, as well as all of the sorting and cleaning that had been going on in the house.

But those sporadic contacts made him long to touch her even more.

This morning, Jace’s tension had ratcheted up since he’d known that Bronte would be doing all the baking on her own at Vern’s. Knowing how nervous she’d been about going solo, he went through the morning growling at whoever dared to cross his path until Elam stomped away from him, jammed his hat on his head, and muttered, “For hell’s sake, Jace, call the woman and put us out of our misery.”

So, with an eye on the clock, Jace waited until he was sure that she would be done with her shift at Vern’s but still had a good hour before the bus would appear with her kids.

She answered on the first ring. “Hi.”

“How was your first day baking on your own?”

Her laughter skittered over his spine like the caress of her fingers.

“Great! At first I was worried I’d made a mistake and have to remake something—P.D. has equipment in her kitchen that looks like it’s straight out of NASA control. But once I got going, I was fine. Marta did a good job of getting me used to everything.”

“What did you make?”

“Easy stuff, since it was my first day in charge. A banana blueberry loaf, an artisan bread with spinach and feta cheese, and P.D.’s beer bread.” Again, she laughed. “I opened more bottles of beer in one morning than I’ve opened
in my life! Then I rounded out the day by making chocolate chip cookies the size of a saucer.”

“And . . . do you like your new job?”

“Yeah.” The word emerged in a sigh of pure pleasure. “The rest of the staff has been great.” There was a pause, then, “Where are you?”

He felt a prickling of awareness at the mere question. “I’m loading the corn drill down by angle field.”

“Translation, please.”

This time it was his turn to laugh. “Why?”

“I want to meet you.”

“I thought we weren’t going to see each other for a while.” He forced himself to remind her of their pact, even though a jolt of heat had gone straight to his groin.

“Yeah, but I talked it over with Barry, then mentioned to the kids that I needed to have a quick conversation with you today.”

“How did they take it?”

“Kari rolled her eyes and made a rude noise. Lily . . .” She sighed. “Well, Lily is part of the reason why I want to talk to you.” Jace heard the thread of concern in her voice. “Do you have a minute? The girls won’t be home for more than an hour. And I have cookies,” she added temptingly.

“Well, if you have cookies,” he teased, wondering what it was about Bronte that lifted his mood simply with the sound of her voice. “Behind Annie’s house, next to the creek, there’s an old service road. Follow it about a mile until you come to the gate. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay, but make it ten. I’m still in town.”

“Ten it is.”

Jace finished filling the bins with seed, then glanced at his phone. He had enough time. Jogging to the end of the field where he’d parked his truck, he climbed inside, his tires spitting dirt and gravel as he raced to the far end of the canal road where the tilled earth butted up against one of the prime pastures used to hold the mares and their colts. Stopping at the water trough, he opened the spigot of a pump drilled deep into the earth and waited for the fresh, clean
water to begin gurgling out. Quickly, he washed his hands, then splashed more water on his face and the back of his neck. Then he climbed in his truck again, and spun toward the track that led to the service road.

He arrived only minutes later, but Bronte’s familiar van was already parked on the other side of the gate. As soon as he pulled to a stop, she stepped from the driver’s side.

She was dressed simply—a pair of faded jeans and a pale blue shirt. But the sight of her was enough to cause his heart to knock against his chest and his blood to flow like slow, hot molasses through his veins. As he dropped from the truck, he surreptitiously adjusted himself, already hardening at the mere thought of being closer to her again. Holy hell, what she did to him. Just the memory of her exploding against him in hedonistic joy could get him going.

“Hey, there.”

She sauntered toward him, her hips swaying in unconscious pronouncement of her femininity. As Jace climbed over the gate, she held a white paper sack aloft as well as a plastic bottle of milk.

“I brought you an after-school snack—or whatever it is you ranchers have at about this time of day.”

As soon as she was close enough, Jace snagged her around the waist.

“How about we call it a ‘quickie.’” The words burst from his lips without thinking and Jace could have kicked himself. Damn, damn, damn. He was trying to be cool about things. The last thing he wanted to do was rush Bronte or make her feel pressured. But even though her cheeks flamed, her smile was mischievous.

“Somehow, I don’t think our first time will be all that quick.”

Will be.

He wrapped his arms even more tightly around her back, letting her know the effect she had on him. He felt, rather than heard, the way her breath hitched. Then she draped her wrists around his neck, the bottle of milk resting coolly between his shoulder blades. But even the chilly plastic
couldn’t draw his attention away from the softness of her body or the beauty of her smile.

Then she was lifting on tiptoe for his kiss and he willingly met her halfway, his mouth crashing over hers, immediately bidding entrance.

She sighed, opening her lips, and he felt her moan against him.

Hungrily, he swept inside, tasting her natural sweetness as well as a faint hint of chocolate and vanilla. His hands swept over her hips, her rear, knowing that this was what he had been longing for all week. Her passion, her unfettered enthusiasm, her innate femininity.