Unbroken (13 page)

“Yeah,” she said. “I think so. I mean . . . my grandpa is resting comfortably and he might recover. So I guess that's the best it can be right now. I mean, barring a miracle. But I gave up on those a long time ago.”

“Did you?”

“Well, yeah. Some people have miracles. I had a plastic bag full of all my earthly crap, so you tell me how many miracles you'd believe in if you had that experience?” She leaned her head back against the seat. “I used to pray for a miracle. For a family. For someone to love me. My mother couldn't do it. My dad never even met me. He never wanted to. Then I came here. And I had my grandma and grandpa. That felt a lot like a miracle. But . . . miracles are supposed to be easy. And perfect. And nothing about coming to Silver Creek was easy. Not so much because they were hard, but because I was.”

“I remember. You were a scrungy, angry-looking little thing.”

“I already had two lifetimes to your one. I don't even know how we got to be friends. I was . . . well, me. And you . . . you were this sweet little virgin country boy. You reeked of wholesomeness and innocence.”

“That all changed, didn't it? Then I found out how badly life sucked too, and . . . it was just good I knew you. Because you seemed to know how to handle it already. You were just . . . unaffected by it all, and you showed me that I could deal with it.”

“That's called cynicism, Cadence. Glad I could pass some of that on to you.”

“I think I would have gotten around to it eventually, all things considered. What with losing my mom and finding out my dad was a gigantic dick.”

She let out a long breath. “We all get around to it, don't we?”

“The cynicism? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe we don't. Lark seems to have made it through unscathed. Cole even seems to have come out the other side pretty decently.”

“Ah, don't worry, Cade. I'll stay here in effed-up-ville with you. I'm comfortable here.”

“Are you?”

“Hell no, I just don't know another way to be.”

“Well, that's comforting.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I can't figure it out either, and if it seemed easy to solve for everyone but me, I'd start questioning my sanity.”

“You should anyway,” she said, propping her feet up on his dash. “Bison man. Which could also be a superhero name, by the way. The costume would probably suck.”

“You don't think it could be cool? Like a modified Batman costume? But made to look like a bison?”

“Would it have the nipples on the rubber suit, like in that one Batman movie?”

He shrugged. “If you can't show your nipples off, what's the point?”

“There's very little point at all. Your nipples are your best feature.”

And that killed the flow of conversation. Mentioning your best friend's nipples after having sex with him twelve hours earlier was, apparently, a bad move.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

They rode on in stiff, uncomfortable silence. She watched the places on the dark road his headlights lit up, keeping an eye out for deer loitering on the peripheral, getting ready to jump out in front of the truck. It was an important job. Way more important than keeping up the conversation. So there.

Cade didn't want to hit a deer tonight, she was sure of that. So she devoted her concentration to that task. And of course didn't spot a single one.

Stupid deer. They honest to goodness had no consideration for anyone else.

They turned onto the familiar dirt driveway that led down to her grandparents' house. It hit her right then how often she thought of it as her grandparents' house. And not her house. Even though she'd lived there since she was fourteen.

Something about it had always made her feel like a visitor. It wasn't her grandpa or grandma's fault. She realized—her stomach feeling unsettled as they pulled up to the front of the house—that it had something to do with her.

Something to do with her unwillingness . . . her inability . . . whatever it was . . . to believe that anything could possibly be permanent.

What a weird revelation to have today. But then, today had been weird, so why not? Why not a little deep, personal insight with her personal trauma and her oh-so-ill-advised sex? Why. The hell. Not.

Cade killed the engine and got out of the truck, and she just sat there, looking at the empty house—looking at it sitting there cold and empty.

Feeling weirdly like a stranger to it.

Maybe it was just because her body felt like a stranger to her too. And so did her feelings. Everything just felt wrong.

She waited until Cade had gone into the house, then she opened the pickup door and hopped down into the dusty driveway, big, sharp chunks of gravel shifting under her shoes.

She breathed in deep. The air smelled like the dirt they'd just kicked up driving in: exhaust from the truck, overlaid with pine. That at least felt familiar.

She walked up the steps and sat on the chair there, stretching her legs out in front of herself, trying to get a grip on her rioting emotions.

After about twenty seconds, she gave up, and she just let herself cry. She tugged her legs up and held on to them like it might help her hold herself together.

She wanted to go hug Cade again, but she was pretty sure she'd squandered that right about the time she'd undone his belt buckle last night.

She let her head fall back against the wooden chair rail with a thunk. It hurt. She deserved it. She'd screwed up her life. Well, no, life had screwed itself up, and she'd decided to go play in the shit-storm.

“Brilliant move, Amber. Brilliant move.”

Twelve

Amber woke up to the sound of boots on the front porch and
a crick in her neck. She lifted her head and winced as her vertebrae cracked.

Then her expression turned completely sour when she saw the man who belonged to the boot sounds.

“I've got a shotgun in my house and I am not afraid to use it,” she said, meeting Jim Davis's eye.

“You don't need to go making threats, darlin'.”

“Says the man on my porch at”—she squinted at the gilt edge of sunlight around the mountains—“about six a.m. for the second time in a week. A man who, I believe, was told to stay away.”

“Heard your grandpa was sick.”

“Thought you'd come try to take advantage of me while I was vulnerable? Oh, you're right. I don't have any reason to worry.” She stood up. “Actually, I damn well don't, because I don't do vulnerable. But you know what I do? Target practice. Get the hell off my porch.”

“Where's your man?”

“Probably sleeping. But I don't see what he has to do with this. This isn't his house. It's not his porch. And it's not his ass in danger of getting peppered with buckshot.”

“Take it easy, little lady,” he said.

“I know you did not just ‘little lady' me, you asshole.”

“With your grandfather out of commission for Lord knows how long, you're going to want to think about my offer. Your position with the bank is looking pretty tenuous, and I talked to my contact there. If I push hard enough, foreclosure might become an issue for you.”

“I know there's a process for that, dumbass. They can't just take my house.”

“Oh, sure, maybe not. But things happen with paperwork all the time. Mistakes are made. Protocol is broken. Don't you read the news?”

“Get off my porch,” she said.

The door behind her swung open and a shirtless Cade came storming out. “What do you want, Davis?”

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked.

Cade flicked Amber a glance, then turned the full force of his rage-filled expression onto Davis. “Are you here for anything more than a cordial visit? Because if this is still about selling, the answer is still no. This is turning into a bad Western movie over here.”

“I was just telling Ms. Jameson here that I have contacts at the bank.”

“Real interesting. So do I. I'm a Mitchell. Our blood is in the woodwork of this town. And I'm going down today with a big payment on the mortgage and a business plan. I'd say if you want to pull weight with the bank, go ahead and give it a try. But you won't get anywhere.”

“I'll take that bet, Mitchell. Count on it.” Davis tipped his hat and turned on his boot heel, walking back down the steps and to his truck.

“I don't know how I slept through the truck engine,” she said. “I'm not sure how I managed to sleep out here, actually. It's frigging cold.”

“You slept out here
all
night
?” he asked.

“I didn't mean to, but yeah. Also, I hate that he takes you so much more seriously than he does me. You come out here all macho and grrr and he backs well off. I threatened to shoot him!”

“But you wouldn't.”

She snorted. “You don't think I would, Mitchell? Have you met me?”

“Well, it would take a serious offense. I'd turn his face to pulp with my fist for a lot less.”

“I just resent the fact that your involvement is needed. He's a villain and a sexist.”

Cade laughed. “Couldn't that all fall under one heading?”

“Your point is taken.” She arched her back, listening to more bones pop. “I think I'm getting old. Sleeping in odd positions didn't used to hurt this bad.”

“Why were you on the porch? You know I would never . . . You know I wouldn't force myself on you, right? I get that what happened on the table yesterday was abrupt, but you seemed like you wanted it and—”

“Oh . . . shit. Cade. No, of course I know you would never hurt me! Good Lord, man. I've spent more nights drunk and generally out of my gourd with you than I can count. And you've never once touched me, or tried anything with me at all. I'm the one who pushed things the other night, okay?”

“But yesterday . . .”

“I wanted it. I hope that was clear by my ecstatic yessing. It's not that. I'm not afraid of you. I was . . . I was just sad. So I sat down out here for a while because . . . I liked the way it smelled.”

“You liked the way it smelled?” he asked, his brow arching slightly.

“Yeah. Best smell in the world.” Except for Cade's skin. And she'd decided against smelling him again, so the great outdoors had won.

“What about it?” he asked.

“It's home, Mitchell,” she said—such a permanent word. One she felt slightly phony using. One that made her ache. “Don't you smell that?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I don't give a lot of thought to home.”

“Because you've always had one.”

“Because the one I had was too hard to live in sometimes,” he said, his voice rough. “Because I like being on the road better. The smell I like is the arena dirt.”

“Arena dirt?”

“Yeah. It has a smell to it. When it's laid down, and after the horses and bulls have been kicking it up. The air gets all thick and heavy from the sweat and adrenaline, the dust that's kicked up. That's home to me. And I don't have it anymore.”

“I'm sorry, Cade.”

“Why are we all melancholy this morning?” he asked.

“Uh . . . because there's not much else to be lately? Because your leg is busted and my family is busted?”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he said.

“As if you needed it.”

“Not at this hour of the day.”

“Hurts in the morning?”

“Yeah. Particularly after . . .” He cleared his throat.

“Sorry.” She winced.

“No, don't be sorry.”

“Is this ever going to not be weird?” she asked. “Are we ever going to not be weird now?”

“I imagine the weird will go away. We had sex for what? Ten minutes? We've been friends for sixteen years?”

“Something like that. On all counts. I didn't time the, uh . . . you know.”

“That means all the years of . . . well, not normal, per se, but of . . . typical friendship we've had, will have to win in the end.”

“You're an optimist, Cade. I didn't realize.”

“Neither did I. So, you're a cynic. What do you think?”

She put her hand on her chin and tapped her fingers. “I think we're doomed to drown in the weird awkwardness, but that's just my theory.”

“I don't like your theory.”

“It's just a theory. Maybe we'll get un-weird.”

“I'm going with that.”

“Cool. So, what about this bank run?”

“I can't make it for a while. It's early, you know? I had to get up early to save your little butt, do you recall?”

“It didn't need saving.”

“Whatever. Either way, I'm up.”

“Also, my butt is not little.”

He stared at her, hard, tension suddenly visible from his jaw down his neck. “I have noticed that, actually.”

She blinked and tried to ignore the heat in her cheeks. “Well, yeah. I'm sure. So the bank?”

“Do you work today?”

“No, this is my unofficial weekend.”

“Hospital, breakfast and then the bank with me. What do you think?”

She took a deep breath. They could do this. It wouldn't be weird. They would spend tons of time together until everything felt good and normal again. That made perfect sense. “I think it sounds great.”

*   *   *

By the time they made it to the bank, Cade noticed people
in town were being increasingly odd. Someone had actually congratulated them when they'd left the diner, and by the time they were done at the bank and had moved on to the mercantile to place an order for fencing, they'd gotten congratulated four times.

“What the actual hell?” Cade asked.

“People are excited about your bison?” Amber asked, shrugging.

“I somehow don't think that's it.”

“What else could it be?”

Then they bumped right into Delia, Amber's boss.

“Amber!” Delia shrieked, pulling her into a bosomy hug. “Congratulations.”

“Hi,” Amber said, giving Cade a sideways glance.

It was almost funny to Cade, because he knew Amber was about as huggable as a cactus on most occasions. And the fact that she was currently being squeezed like a very reluctant cat was amusing.

But he was back to the being concerned about why.

Then Delia smiled at him, her dimples deepening before she grabbed him too and pulled him into a squishy hug. “Both of you! Keeping secrets.”

“Uh . . .” Cade looked at Amber, who was staring at him with wide, blank eyes. “Well, you know. Sometimes things are better when they're secret.”

Logically, he knew he was not being congratulated for his performance on the kitchen table yesterday morning. But it was the only thing he could think of.

“I know, I know.” Delia grabbed Amber's left hand. “Where's your ring?”

“Ring?”

Delia gave her a look that plainly said,
I do not suffer fools
, then continued, “Well, Jamie from the bank came into the diner today and she was talking about how Cade came in and paid all the missed payments on your grandpa's mortgage and got a small-business loan because he's revamping the ranch.”

“What? Isn't that confidential information?”

Delia waved a hand. “What happens in the diner stays in the diner.”

“We're not in the diner now,” Cade muttered.

“I just didn't realize things had gotten official between you two.”

“Who said they had?” Amber asked.

“Amber, come on now. A man doesn't take on a project like that unless he's making things permanent. Anyway, I'd heard that you moved in last week, Mr. Mitchell. Ain't you a dark horse?”

Cade cleared his throat. “We were as surprised as anyone.”

Delia winked. “Keep me posted. See you tomorrow, Amber. And you better have yourself a ring.”

Delia opened the door back onto the main street, the bell above swinging back and forth, signaling her exit with a cheery sound, which was about right for the older woman.

“A ring?” Amber said, rounding on him.

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands. “I didn't say anything. You know how people are.”

“So they just assume we're getting married?”

“Congratulations,” John said, walking into the room and behind the counter. “I hear you're getting married.”

Amber stared at him, slack-jawed.

“Yeah,” Cade said, not in the mood to dispute it. Why? They were living together. They were doing so in hopes of discouraging Davis from harassing her, so what was the point of denying this particular part of the rumor. “No date set though.”

Amber sputtered.

“Go look at aprons, baby,” he said.

She growled. “I might go look at castration implements if you keep that up.”

“It's kind of funny,” he whispered.

Her dark eyes narrowed. “Your funny bone is broken.”

“You need anything, Cade?” John asked.

“Fencing. I've got everything written down here.” Cade pulled a folded piece of yellow legal pad paper out of his pocket and handed it to John, who read it and nodded.

“Got to special order.”

“I know. But I've got some time.”

“So,” John said, heading back behind the counter and taking his position behind the computer, his focus on the screen, “how are you related to Nicole Peterson?”

Cade about choked. “What?”

“Nicole Peterson. She's been in a couple of times. Last time, she mentioned you were related.”

“What'd she say?” Cade asked, feeling cagey. And grumpy. This was the other complication with Nicole Peterson being here. All those secrets he'd spent all those years protecting the Mitchell family legacy were going to shatter all over everything.

Everyone in town knew the Mitchells. And now everyone would know that they were really dysfunctional and screwed up, and not at all the perfect family that people had always believed they were.

And then . . . well, then what had been the point of any of it? Of keeping quiet all that time. Thinking about his mom and dad and feeling sick. Feeling like he knew the worst thing in the world but that his life depended on keeping it to himself.

At least, life as he knew it.

He'd distanced himself from Cole, from Lark, from everyone but Amber, in the interest of keeping it quiet.

And now . . . everyone would just know. Everyone would know that his mother had been cheated on. That her husband hadn't loved her enough to keep it in his pants.