Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel (23 page)

“Bodey?” Jace called out as he ran toward his truck.

“Already on it, Jace!”

Before Elam could catch him, Jace was in his vehicle and speeding after Phillip.

Bodey began punching numbers into his phone and running toward his pickup. “This is Bodey Taggart. I need to report that a man named Phillip Cupacek is heading toward the old highway in a green late-model sedan, license plate . . .”

The rest of his words were drowned by the roar of his engine.

Elam was already jogging backward to join Bodey. “P.D., I’ve got to—”

“Go, go!”

Soon, Bodey’s truck disappeared into a cloud of dust as well, leaving a trembling, unsettled silence fractured only by Lily’s sobbing. Bronte buried her face in her daughter’s hair, crooning to her in the same way that she’d done when her daughter had skinned her knees. But this was worse, so much worse.

How? How could this have happened?

And why hadn’t she known? What kind of mother was she that she hadn’t pieced together the clues before now?

She started when a pair of arms slid around her.

“Don’t blame yourself, Bronte. You couldn’t have guessed. Not without more information,” P.D. murmured.

“But . . .”

“It’s what happens now that matters.”

Stricken, Bronte met P.D.’s gaze, drawing strength from the mix of emotions she saw there.

“I-I don’t know what to do. I need to . . . to . . .”

P.D. squeezed her shoulders. “You simply need to hold her, love her. Helen is contacting the crisis center to find out who can help you and Lily, and I’ll take care of Kari and Barry. You’re not alone in this. We’re here for you.”

Bronte nodded, hugging Lily even tighter.

“Jace—”

“Elam and Bodey will catch up with him.”

“I don’t want him to get hurt chasing Phillip.”

P.D.’s lips twitched. “Trust me. If he manages to force Phillip to pull over, it won’t be Jace that you need to worry about.”

J
ACE
wasn’t sure what had prompted him to jump into his truck and follow the bastard. He only knew that after what he’d heard—after what Lily must have experienced—he had to do something. Since Lily needed her mother and the soothing influences of the female members of her family, he figured it was his job to make sure that the worthless piece of shit who dared to call himself a father didn’t get away scot-free.

He drove without conscious thought, catching sight of the sedan as it headed south and away from town, thank goodness. Phillip Cupacek had to be going sixty on a road with a limit of forty. Punching his own accelerator, Jace eased closer. He’d love nothing more than to ram straight into the car’s back bumper and force the prick off the road before he left another innocent bystander in his wake. But Jace was pretty sure that his brothers would have called the authorities, and Jace wasn’t about to do anything that could cause Bronte any more distress.

He was washed with another wave of fury when he realized what Bronte must have been dealing with for years—the
lies, the selfishness, and the hurt. He could see now why she’d seemed so small and fragile when she’d first come to Bliss. Escaping the wild manipulations of an addict must have been like abandoning a war zone. Jace was proud of her—so damned proud of the way she’d become so independent and strong. It humbled him to think that after everything Bronte had experienced, she was willing to trust Jace at all.

But he wondered if her girls would ever be able to do the same. Especially Lily. She’d been betrayed by her own father and his business partner. A man considered to be a trusted family friend. Jace prayed that, somehow, she could learn to understand that she didn’t need to fear Jace or his brothers.

Shit.

He forced his attention back to the car ahead. Phillip was weaving erratically over the center line. There was a sharp curve ahead as the road followed the bend of the creek. Beyond it was a narrow bridge. If another car came from the opposite direction, Phillip could hit someone head-on.

Too late, Jace saw a semi with a cattle trailer turning onto the highway from a side road. There was no way that the Peterbilt and Phillip would be able to make it across the bridge at the same time. Rather than slowing down, Phillip moved even faster into the turn, clearly wanting to outrun the larger vehicle, but he wasn’t going to make it. The semi was already crawling onto the bridge, beginning to gain speed as the driver worked his way through the gears. With a trailer filled with livestock, the unknown driver wasn’t going to make any sudden stops.

Too late, Phillip must have realized the same thing. He slammed on the brakes, swerving to avoid the bridge supports and the blocked lane. His tires caught the gravel on the side of the road and he was skidding out of control, flipping once, twice, before heading down the embankment into the creek.

“Aw, hell,” Jace muttered, bringing his own truck to a more controlled stop next to the spot where the skid marks disappeared off the side of the road. Behind him, he heard the semi’s air brakes whining as the driver attempted to stop
on the opposite shoulder. Grabbing his phone, Jace called the county dispatcher to report the accident and request an ambulance, then jumped out of the truck, grabbing his medical kit from the back.

His boots sent a shower of gravel down the embankment as he scrambled toward the spot where the sedan had landed, inexplicably, right side up. The hood was dented and askew, the driver’s-side door was a mangled heap of metal in the middle of the creek, and Phillip was nowhere to be seen.

“Damnit,” Jace muttered to himself. How had the bastard managed to escape a rollover and still have the strength to run?

But then, Jace heard a low moan. Veering toward the sound, he saw a pair of battered trainers poking out of the matted underbrush.

Altering his path, Jace waded through the weeds to the spot where Phillip lay, stunned but conscious. Dried blood caked his face from where Jace had punched him, but there were newer streaks and smears from a gash on his forehead and a dozen smaller cuts and abrasions all over his face.

Phillip looked up, a flare of relief touching his eyes, then a hint of panic when he recognized Jace.

“I should leave you here to the buzzards,” Jace growled. But he moved forward, crouching in the grass and opening his kit.

Phillip tried to rear back, but hissed and became still again, his eyes squeezing shut. He panted softly and Jace figured the man had broken ribs to add to his other injuries.

“Jace!”

He recognized Bodey’s voice and quickly shouted in return, “Down here!”

From above, he heard his brother skidding down the slope, so Jace leaned down toward Phillip.

“You’re a lucky man, Cupacek. If you weren’t injured and bleeding, I’d probably beat the shit out of you myself.” Knowing his time was limited, Jace leaned closer, his voice adopting an ominous, steely thread. “But if you ever do anything—anything at all—to hurt Bronte or her girls
again . . . I will kill you. Then I’ll put your body somewhere even the buzzards won’t be able to find you.”

Again, Phillip’s eyes widened and he began to tremble violently. But this time it wasn’t just from his injuries and the need for a fix.

*   *   *

BRONTE
added a notation to the margins on the latest poem she’d written, then looked up, her gaze scanning the yard and the lane again. It was growing late and Kari hadn’t arrived home from school yet. Since getting her phone, she’d been so good about telling Bronte if she was going somewhere, but today, there’d been no word.

Sighing, Bronte shoved her notebook back into her bag, knowing that she wouldn’t be writing any more today. Not when her nerves were jangling and an aura of dread seemed to hang over everything she did.

The days since Phillip’s appearance had begun to run together for Bronte. At P.D.’s insistence, she hadn’t gone to work but spent her time at home, tending to her grandmother and Lily, and trying to patch up the recent damage that Phillip had flung their way.

There were interviews with the police, calls with her lawyers, appointments with a pediatrician, counselor, and other crisis professionals. Through it all, Bronte was never alone. Either P.D. or Helen or one of Annie’s friends would arrive to offer whatever support she needed. Her freezer mysteriously filled with casseroles, and if she arrived home late, there would be one waiting in the oven.

With only two weeks of school left, Bronte spoke to Lily’s principal and teacher and arranged for her daughter to receive her lessons through a “homebound” instructor, who visited Lily every other day. Bronte didn’t know if the lessons were of much use since Lily had sunk back into the same silent depression that had plagued her for weeks. The only difference was that Bronte knew the cause.

No, that wasn’t the only difference.

Lily was also refusing to see Barry.

Bronte knew that Lily’s self-imposed silence was devastating to Barry. P.D. had told her that Jace had tried to explain the situation to him. But each time the boy rode to the house after school and Bronte was forced to turn him away, it was clear that he didn’t understand. He only wanted to help. He promised that he wouldn’t even talk to Lily; he’d merely hold her hand.

More than anything, Bronte wished her daughter would talk to Barry. Maybe he could do something for Lily to ease her pain.

But then, Bronte supposed she wasn’t being much better than Lily. Several times, Jace had tried to call or text, but Bronte hadn’t answered. Not when, in one awful day, her husband had completely shaken the foundations of her new life. She was no longer confident about her ability to make proper decisions. Where mere days ago, she’d been sure that coming to Bliss, beginning a new life, and becoming involved with Jace had all been positive events, now she wondered if she’d tried to do too much, experience too much, when she should have been focusing on her daughters.

Even more unsettling was the fact that Jace had been witness to the very worst that her life had to offer. And even though she hadn’t planned on keeping anything a secret from him, she had thought she could make those revelations on her own time and in her own way.

Which left her feeling emotionally naked and unsure of herself. She wasn’t sure she was ready to discover Jace’s reaction to everything he’d learned about her. She didn’t think that she could bear it if he thought less of her. Even though there was a part of her that whispered she should call things off with Jace—or at least cool things down—she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t know how she would carry on if he wasn’t out there, waiting in the wings.

*   *   *

IT
was getting dark when Jace pulled the empty feed wagon to a halt next to the shed and jumped from the cab of the Case 290 tractor. As he strode toward the house, he noted
that there weren’t any lights on in the Big House—not that he’d expected any. Bodey had gone on the road early that morning, beginning his season of competitive cow cutting. When Barry had come home dejected after another failed attempt to see Lily after school, Elam had invited him to stay overnight at his cabin.

Which left Jace alone.

He ruefully shook his head. Two months ago, he’d bemoaned the fact that he never had any time to himself. He’d thought that some solitude and self-indulgence would solve all of his problems.

Now he was beginning to realize that his analysis of the problem had been fairly shallow. Instead of looking to the roots of his discontent, he had erroneously decided that, in order to be happy, he needed to return to one of the happiest periods of his life.

Despite his reasons for leaving home and escaping to Europe, it truly had been an adventure. Not only because he’d traveled to exotic locations, eaten new foods, and saturated himself with art and culture, but it had also been a time of self-discovery. He’d learned the length and breadth of his endurance, emotionally and physically. He’d tested his abilities to solve problems and organize creative solutions. He’d been hyperaware of every moment because he didn’t want to waste a single experience.

In the process, he’d discovered that there was a season to every exploit in life. By the end of the two years, he’d known that it was time to come home. Time to begin a new adventure: returning to his birthplace to perfect his role as a rancher and a son.

But even as that decision had been made, Fate had other ideas. His parents and little sister had been killed, his youngest brother injured, and Elam . . .

Well, Elam had been flung into his own brand of hell.

Somehow, they’d all managed to fight their way back to a form of happiness again. For a time, the ranch responsibilities had been enough for Jace. He’d been content. He’d
been challenged. Only in the last year or two had the dissatisfaction begun to grow.

Looking back on it now, Jace realized that part of his problem had come from ignoring the fact that work would never be enough.

His brother Elam was a physical man. He loved running, shooting, and working out. After joining P.D. for last year’s Wild West Games, it was clear that he’d like to try his hand at winning again.

Bodey lived to compete—cow cutting, Single Action Shooting Society, even women.

Jace . . .

Well, Jace needed to create—whether it was the perfect field of corn, or an iron sculpture. Now that he’d allowed his artistic nature free rein again, he was discovering that it gave him a new way of viewing his surroundings, infusing everything he did with a measure of joy.

But even that wouldn’t have been enough if Bronte hadn’t walked into his life.

It wasn’t until he’d met her that he’d realized that his unhappiness had begun when Elam and P.D. had become a couple. Subconsciously, he’d begun to long for that same kind of connection, that sharing of minds and emotions and bodies. He didn’t want to play the field, didn’t want to be lined up, didn’t want to do the bar scene.

He wanted to belong.

He’d had a taste of that with Bronte. He still longed for that with Bronte.

But he was out of his depth here. He didn’t want to push her—and he certainly didn’t want to scare off her children. He just needed her to know that he was here for her.

“Mr. Taggart?”

As if summoned from his own imagination, Jace thought he heard a familiar voice. But when he glanced up, it wasn’t Bronte who sat on the shadowy porch swing. It was Kari.

“Kari,” he said softly, stopping when he saw the way she gripped her arms in front of her. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, then bit her lip. In that unconscious gesture, she looked so much like a younger version of Bronte that his heart twisted in his chest.

“How’s Lily?”

She lifted her shoulder in a shrug.

“Is Annie doing okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. They’ve got a physical therapist coming to help her learn how to get around.”

Jace stopped, not wanting to crowd Kari by getting too close. Her tension was palpable even from several feet away.

“How about your mom?”

“She’s . . .” Kari rolled her eyes, but for once, the gesture wasn’t one of teenage pique, but more a quick self-reflection. “I don’t know.”