Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel (8 page)

The thought that she and Jace . . . that if they were together . . .
together
together . . .

A blazing heat seeped up her neck and into her face, raging so powerfully that she thought her hair might begin to smolder at the roots. But that was nothing compared to the warmth that pooled much lower . . .

No.
No.

She couldn’t allow herself to think about Jace that way. Not when her life was already more complicated than she could ever imagine. She had the immediate worries surrounding her grandmother’s recovery and all of the challenges that went with it: getting the house ready, conferring with doctors and nurses, juggling the continual trips to the hospital. Then Monday, after putting off most of the details for a week, she needed to enroll her kids in school, set up a local bank account, and begin looking for a job. Once all that had been handled, she would tackle the more far-reaching concerns that would begin to appear once her daughters began asking the inevitable questions: Where’s Daddy? When are we going back to Boston? Why did you divorce him?

Why?

She still didn’t know how much she should tell them. Was it better to be completely honest?

Or preserve the illusion that she had manufactured for the past few years?

P.D. jerked Bronte from her thoughts with a hand on her arm.

“Are you all right?” P.D. asked, her fingers squeezing reassuringly through the thickness of Jace’s jacket.

Bronte nodded, forcibly pulling her lips into a smile even as her eyes filled with tears.

No. Not now.

But P.D. didn’t even wait for a response. Instead, she pulled Bronte into a hug that smelled of lemons and spices. “Shh. You don’t have to tell me anything,” P.D. whispered. “You’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you? That’s why you came to Bliss. But what you’d hoped was a haven has probably been equally challenging.”

P.D. drew back and Bronte opened her mouth, ready to deny that anything was wrong—just as she’d done a million times before. But when she met P.D.’s gaze, she saw that she was sharing this experience with a kindred spirit. Somehow, somewhere, P.D. had known pain, and the woman instinctively understood, even without an explanation.

Obviously sensing that Bronte wasn’t ready to share, she wrapped Bronte’s arm around the crook of her elbow.

“You’ve come to the right place, Bronte,” she murmured. “Believe it or not, you’re also mixed up with the right family.”

“P.D.! Bronte!” Barry dodged into the doorway of the barn. In his wake, like a shadow, was Lily. She was jumping up and down excitedly—and the sheer joy on her face took Bronte’s breath away.

“Mommy, hurry! The baby horse is coming!”

They picked up their pace, but Barry and Lily weren’t satisfied. They met them halfway and grabbed their hands, pulling them into the barn and down a long center aisle that was lined on either side with individual stalls. They had almost reached the end of the enormous building when the children stopped and guided them to the gate where Kari stood leaning over the top rail, filming the events with her iPod.

Inside a large horse paced nervously in the straw while
Jace and another man—Elam, she supposed—waited on the fringes, ready to step in if their help was needed.

“Elam, this is Bronte Cupacek,” P.D. said. “She’s come to live with Annie.”

Elam was slightly shorter than Jace, his coloring darker, his body lean and muscular. Bronte could see the similarity in their bone structure, but while Elam’s features were all planes and angles, Jace’s were even sharper, more defined.

The horse was breathing heavily, weaving softly as if to ease its pain. When it turned, Bronte could see that the hooves of the foal had already emerged.

“We’ve got a new mother,” Elam said, “so she’s nervous.”

As if sensing that the time had come for her baby to be born, the mare lowered herself onto the straw. Jace and Elam took their positions to help. Thankfully, the horse had situated itself in such a way that Lily and Barry still had a view of the events, or Bronte was sure that the two of them would have climbed into the stall.

Bronte’s attention was drawn away from the impending birth to the three youngsters who watched with rapt attention. As if sensing that Lily couldn’t completely see, Barry boosted her up so that she could stand on one of the rungs of the gate. Then he placed a hand at her shoulder to steady her. On the other side, Kari stepped closer, giving her sister unconscious support.

Bronte was struck by the kindnesses being exchanged—and the simple sweetness nearly brought her to her knees. The truth hit her with the suddenness of a blow to her heart. She’d been trying to shield her children from the ugliness that had been brewing in Boston, but she could see now that her efforts had been in vain. As much as she’d tried to protect them from Phillip’s transition from Jekyll to an unrecognizable Hyde, as much as she’d battled to keep their home life structured and safe, as much as she’d made excuses and tried to explain that “Daddy was sick . . .”

Her children had lived through every sordid, degrading, soul-sucking experience.

Dear sweet heaven, why had she waited so long to break away?

But even as the thought drummed into her head, she knew the answer. She’d stayed until she couldn’t stay any longer. She’d stayed out of guilt, duty, and loyalty. She’d stayed under the misguided hope that he would change, that he’d wake up to what he was doing to himself and to them and he would return to the man he’d once been—even though she wasn’t sure if such a thing was even possible.

She’d stayed until she hadn’t dared to stay any longer.

As her children watched wide-eyed as life was being created in front of them—
life—
Bronte knew that she’d made the right decision in leaving. She’d made an even better choice by deciding to stay in Bliss. Kari and Lily were her only priorities now, and she would do everything she could to make up for the darkness that had surrounded them for so long.

“Look, Mommy,
look!
” Lily cried out.

Shaken from the morass of her thoughts, Bronte stepped forward to slide her arms around Lily’s waist. In the stall, she saw Jace gently pulling at the long gangly legs of the foal, while Elam stood ready to aid the delivery of the head. Then, as if eager to greet the world, the tiny horse slipped free to its tail. Jace helped to ease the rest of the foal out while Elam helped the baby to break free of the placenta.

The animal shivered, bracing its legs in front of it as it seemed to absorb the weight of its own head. Wide-eyed, it blinked at the world around it. Sensing the hard work was done, the mare rolled to her feet, staggering slightly, then turned to sniff and nudge at the miniature version of herself.

While Elam and Jace tended to the afterbirth and tidying up the stall, mother and baby got to know one another. Soon, under the encouragement of the larger animal looming over it, the foal attempted to rise on wobbly legs. Elam and Jace remained on the fringes, not wanting to interfere with the bonding process taking place in front of their very eyes. Again and again, the tiny horse tried to stand, relying on its mother’s gentle encouragement, until finally, it braced its
legs in a slightly comical, wide-spread stance that Bronte wouldn’t have thought would hold it upright. But it managed to stay there. Then, with a shake of its tail, the foal seemed to proclaim,
Ta-da!

When Jace and Elam headed to the gate, Bronte lifted Lily down so the men could slip back into the main aisle of the barn.

“What is it, Jace?” Barry asked.

“A colt,” Elam said as he and his brother moved to a utility sink near the far wall and began to wash their hands. “You’ll have to start thinking of a name, Barry.”

“What about Captain Kirk?”

Elam laughed, reaching for a paper towel from a dispenser hooked onto the wall. After drying his hands and throwing the towel away in a nearby bin, he slapped his little brother on the back. “We might need to think on that. He’s a thoroughbred quarter horse, remember? So we have to register his name.”

“We could register Captain Kirk.”

Elam ruffled Barry’s hair. “I think it’s already been taken.”

Barry looked disappointed, but not for long. “I’m cold. Can we have some hot chocolate? With marshmallows?”

Bronte quickly inserted, “I think it’s time I got the girls out of your hair.”

Barry’s brow puckered. “No one but Elam’s been touching my hair.”

“She means that it’s close to bedtime and Lily needs to get her pajamas on,” Jace said as he finished washing up and they headed back toward the door. Elam and P.D. remained behind, leaning against the gate, talking lowly.

“She could borrow some of mine.”

As she stepped outside, Bronte glanced back in time to find Elam and P.D. locked in a passionate embrace.

Bronte felt a surge of longing rush through her body. Dimly, she remembered what it felt like to be held, to be kissed, but it had been so long ago, and she’d been so young. She’d barely been out of high school when she’d met Phillip—and maybe she’d been too naïve to handle the
challenges to follow. Phillip had been nearly twelve years her senior. He was already established as a young, hotshot orthopedic surgeon. He had money, success, and drive.

But Bronte had since learned that there were more important qualities to be found in a companion.

“Please, Jace. I’ll give Emily my Hulk pajamas. Let her stay for a sleepover.”

Jace laughed, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t think your clothes would fit her, Barry.” He looked over the top of Barry’s head to regard Bronte with warm, silver-blue eyes. “But if you asked nice, I bet Bronte would let Lily and Kari stay for a cup of cocoa. After all, we’ve got to watch the movie Kari was making and give her a chance to post it on Facebook before she leaves the Wi-Fi signal.”

Bronte opened her mouth to refuse, but when she found both of her children regarding her with hopeful expressions, she immediately melted into a big puddle of mommy indulgence.

“I could use a cup of hot chocolate myself,” she said.

The children whooped and ran toward the house.

J
ACE
glanced down at Bronte, finding a curious expression on her face.

“You okay?” he asked, wondering why, more than anything, he wanted to wipe away the crease of concern that marred her brow.

She appeared dazed—as if her thoughts had been a million miles away. Then, a soft smile began in her eyes, spreading out to lift her lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Somehow, he sensed there was a wealth of meaning behind her statement that he didn’t understand. But then, the crease disappeared altogether.

“Actually, I think I’m great,” she said softly. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

Her shoulders lifted, and damned if he didn’t love the way she looked in his jacket, like a little girl.

No. Not a girl.

She might be slight and slim, but there was no disguising her very womanly shape—even when it was drowned in his Carhartt.

“That was . . . beautiful. I’m glad my children were able to see it.”

Their steps slowed, then stopped altogether.

Jace felt a slow satisfaction settle through his body. “It never gets old. Each birth is an occasion.”

“You’re a lucky man.”

Jace was pretty sure she was right because the cool breeze was teasing her hair and moonlight kissed her brow, the slender length of her nose, and those lips. She had great lips, full and kissable.

What the hell.

But even as he told himself to slam on the emotional brakes, he knew it was too late. Bronte Cupacek was like no woman he’d ever met—soft, tender, sweet. But there was more to his attraction than that. Yes, his brothers would probably accuse him of being drawn to her because of her vulnerability—and maybe that was true. But he sensed that her troubles had tested her to her very core, and she’d endured it all. Because there was a quiet strength to her manner. One that intrigued him.

Unbidden, he lifted a hand, pushing back one of the dark strands of hair that had escaped the ponytail at her nape. But even after the piece had been tucked behind her ear, he continued to touch her temple, her cheek, the slim column of her neck.

“I can’t stop, Bronte,” he whispered, even though he suspected that she already knew.

He spread his fingers wide, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips, once, twice.

“I keep telling myself that you’re married—”

“I’m not married. The divorce was official months ago. The marriage . . . a long, long time ago. And the last of the papers were mailed earlier tonight.” The words were whispered—and he sensed that something had happened in the last couple of days to make her believe them. There was no hesitancy in her tone as there had been the last time she’d spoken of her relationship with her children’s father.

“Tell me if you want me to quit,” Jace murmured, even as he bent down and prayed that she wouldn’t.

“I don’t want you to . . . quit.”

She smiled and he was lost—lost in her smile, lost in the sweet scent of her hair and the velvety texture of her skin. Then his lips touched hers.

She tasted of cranberries and sunshine, her mouth soft and full. But he didn’t want to frighten her off. So he sipped and tested, reveling in the way that she leaned into him, one hand bracing on his chest—right at the spot where his heart had begun to knock at his sternum.

Still framing her face with one hand, he slid the other around her waist, noting that she was still so thin, almost fragile in his arms. Parting his legs slightly, he drew her against him, wanting to pull her into the safety of his arms, wanting to wash away her worries, if only for a few moments of pleasure.

When she seemed to melt against him, he couldn’t help himself. His tongue bid entrance and was immediately received. Deepening the caress, he tasted her softness, her sweetness even as her own hands swept around his waist and she hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. Then, they were straining toward one another, hard to soft, male to female.

Instinctively knowing that he had to take things slow, Jace reluctantly drew back, resting his forehead against hers as they both gasped for breath. Somehow, he’d lost his hat. But even though he was manic about keeping it off the ground, he didn’t even bother to look for it. Instead, he tried to think of something to say—knowing that Bodey would have a smooth line that would be appropriate for the situation. But since he couldn’t think of anything, he remained silent, absorbing the warmth of her body, watching the tic of her pulse as it fluttered against her temple.

It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours when she finally took a step back. He let her go only because he feared that if he didn’t, she would flee.

“I, uh . . . I . . .”

Obviously, she couldn’t think of anything to say either, and for some reason, he found the fact incredibly endearing.

Nodding toward the house, he said, “Let’s get you warmed up with some hot chocolate before you head home.”

He didn’t mention their kiss—even though it had been a great kiss as kisses went. A part of him wanted to crow from the rooftops that they’d finally succumbed to the temptation that had simmered between them for days, but he resisted the urge.

Instead, he took her hand and laced their fingers together. Then, spying his hat in the grass, he scooped it up and planted it on his head before escorting her into the warmth of the house.

*   *   *

FROM
his vantage point on the service road, Bodey offered a low whistle.

“So that’s the way the wind blows,” he murmured.

His arm was draped over Ceci Kroener’s shoulder, where it had been for the last hour while they’d talked and kissed beneath a row of towering poplars.

“I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions yet,” Ceci said. “From what I’ve heard, they’ve known each other for over six months, and Jace has been slow to do anything but watch her three children at night.”

“I see the grapevine has been hard at work,” Bodey said ruefully, instantly catching the inaccuracies in her statement. Ceci, who worked at one of the local beauty shops, had her pulse squarely on the town gossip, but as usual, the stories were exaggerated with each telling.

“Even so, I wouldn’t trust what you’ve heard. Bronte has only been in town a little over a week, she and Jace did
not
know each other beforehand, and the woman has
two
children, not three. You can’t blame the man for taking things slow.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Remember our first weeks?”

He loved the way her cheeks flushed with color. He knew what she was thinking. Unlike most of the girls he’d dated, Ceci had played hard to get at first. She’d said he was the kind of guy who couldn’t maintain a relationship for more
than a month, so why should she have anything to do with him? But, even though her estimation of his staying power was completely correct, Bodey had changed her mind about indulging in a quick, passionate fling within a couple of dates. After that, they’d hooked up anytime they could.

“That was different,” Ceci argued.

“In what way?”

She grimaced, admitting, “I knew the first second I saw you that I’d have a hard time keeping my hands off you.”

“I
was
irresistible,” Bodey drawled.

Ceci elbowed him hard enough in the stomach that his breath escaped in a comical “
oof!
”

She shot him a pithy look. “Somehow, I doubt a woman who has traveled cross-country from Boston with everything she owns in her van is in an emotional place where she would tumble headlong into a romance. And there are children involved.”

“Wow. On that point, the grapevine is being more accurate than usual. Her girls seem nice enough.”

“I’m not just talking about the girls.”

Bodey met her gaze, realizing that Ceci was also talking about Barry. “My brother isn’t that big a deal. Elam has already made it clear to Jace that Barry can live with him. If Jace wanted, Barry and I could even move to the Little House and I could take care of him.”

Ceci rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t keep a hamster alive, Bodey. Besides, Barry is used to Jace being in the parental role. Your baby brother loves spending time with you—he’d love living with you. But I think he would soon begin to pine for Jace if he weren’t around.”

“Hell, the tongues must have been wagging like crazy at the Kut ‘N Kurl.”

But Bodey had to concede that she was right. Bodey was Barry’s buddy and Elam’s role was what it had always been—that of a big brother. But Jace . . . he straddled the line between brother and parent.

“I’m still rooting for them,” Bodey said, his lips against
her ear. “Jace deserves someone special in his life.” He tightened his arms even more. “Someone who will tempt him the way you tempt me.”

He watched a wistful smile spread over her face. One that wasn’t completely happy. Then Ceci sighed and met his gaze head-on.

“Come on, Bodey. Now you’re trying too hard.” She offered him a crooked grin. “We both know that, for the past week, we’ve been slipping into ‘friend’ mode.”

Bodey opened his mouth to insist she was wrong, that he still counted the hours until he could be with her.

But staring down into a gaze that was a mixture of compassion and regret, he realized that Jace wasn’t the only Taggart who’d been discussed at the shampoo sinks.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered under his breath. In an instant, his posture sagged and the arm around Ceci’s shoulders became that of a brother.

Ceci patted him on the thigh. “Don’t worry about it, Bodey. We had a good run—longer than most girls you’ve dated.”

Embarrassed, Bodey rubbed at the spot between his brows. “Look, I didn’t start dating you with some kind of expiration date in mind.”

“I know.”

“Truth be told, I’d love to have someone steady in my life. Like Elam has P.D. But I can’t seem to . . . sustain a relationship.”

“I know.” Ceci grinned. “Cheer up. Now you can play the field again.”

Yeah. Whoop-ee.

Normally, Bodey didn’t let his fickleness bother him. He was still young and sowing some wild oats. But seeing Jace and Bronte kissing in the darkness had brought out all sorts of feelings of inadequacy. Bodey loved women—he loved everything about them. He simply didn’t seem to have the right genes to give him some sticking power. And after Elam and P.D.’s courtship had shown him how a real relationship should work . . .

He was beginning to think that something inside of him, some emotional means of bonding with a woman, was broken.

“I think you’d better take me home,” Ceci said.

Bodey opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. Ceci was right—and Bodey owed it to her not to try to draw things out when she was clearly ready to move on.

*   *   *

IF
Jace had thought that the rest of the evening would match the magic of his first kiss with Bronte Cupacek, he was sadly mistaken. As soon as they walked through the door, Kari looked up from her mug, caught their linked hands, and scowled.

Suddenly, it was as if a bomb of chaos detonated. Kari jumped to her feet, shouting, “Is this why we came here from Boston? So you could cheat on Daddy?”

Lily, who’d been carrying her hot cocoa from the microwave to the table, lost her grip. The mug crashed to the floor, shattering, and splattering her legs with the scalding liquid. She began to sob, piteously, huge tears rolling down her cheeks. When Barry tried to move to comfort her, she screamed, “Get away from me. Get away from me!
Get away from me!
”

Jace watched the blood drain from Bronte’s face. She staggered slightly, snatching her hand away from his, and rushed toward Lily. Grabbing a dishcloth from the counter, she tried to clean up the mess, but Lily dodged away from her, running outside.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Kari said, her voice dripping with vitriol. “You’ve ruined everything! We never should have come here. Never!”

She ran out of the room behind her sister, slamming the door behind her. Barry tried to follow them, but Jace caught him around the waist. “No, Barry!”

“I have to go find Emily,” he sobbed, huge tears running down his cheeks. “She’s sad. She needs me.”

“They need their mom, Barry.”

Barry turned to Bronte, and before Jace could stop him,
he said, “You’re mean. Why did you make Emily cry? Why did you come here if you were going to make her cry?”

He ripped free from Jace’s grip, this time running through the kitchen and into the family room.

Bronte stood gripping the dish towel, her eyes sparkling with tears. But as the swinging door slapped into place, she knelt to wipe up the spilled cocoa.

“No, Bronte. I can get that.” Jace moved to pull her up, but she shook her head, carefully mopping up every drop. Then, after gathering the broken pieces of the mug in her hand, she set the cloth in the sink with more care than it deserved and threw the crockery into the garbage.

“Thank you, Jace. For taking care of my children these past few nights.”

Then, before he could say anything more, she shrugged out of his jacket and walked outside, intent on finding her girls.

*   *   *

BRONTE
lay curled in a near fetal position in her grandmother’s bed. Her head pounded and her eyes were swollen and sore from crying. But worst of all, her heart ached in tandem with her children’s.