Unbroken (4 page)

He laughed. “Nobody wants to hear me sing. Ever.”

“I've heard it. If you recall, I've been around you when you were so drunk you could hardly stand, much less navel-gaze. But dear Lord, you can certainly sing Tim McGraw when you're drunk. Or at least you think you can.”

“You're very lucky to have been present at a limited-edition Cade Mitchell concert.”

“I raised my lighter in salute.”

“Was it that long ago? Back in our lighter days?”

“Yeah, I think you were like eighteen. We went down to the tracks that ran by the river and smoked until we reeked, then busted out the cheap beer you stole off your dad.”

They both knew just when that had been. When his mom died. She remembered it a lot better than she wanted to. The accident that had ripped through his family and torn at Cade in ways that no one else would ever know.

Cade's guilt wasn't like anyone else's. Because Cade was the one who knew about the affair his father had been having. The affair that had resulted in a child.

And he'd kept it secret. Then it was too late to decide to tell. Too late to right any wrongs, if his decision had been wrong.

That day she'd held Cade Mitchell while he cried. A lanky, skinny kid who'd been there for her when she'd needed him most, broken and bleeding his pain all over her shirt as he cried like a little boy who would never hug his mother again.

Which is exactly what he'd been.

And then they'd sat on dark, coarse sand littered with round rocks, washed smooth by the water, filling the air with enough secondhand smoke to cover up the damp, earthy smells of the riverbank. After that there had been a lot of drinking on Cade's part.

More tears.

Then the singing. And laughing. And they'd both just lain there until it was dark. Until the dampness from the sand sank through to their clothes.

Not the best memory. Except it was the perfect example for just how solid their friendship was. It wasn't a friendship forged in good times. It was a friendship made from loneliness and pain so deep, they never shared them with anyone else.

The kind of friendship that meant you could sit at a kitchen table and eat meatloaf out of a casserole dish together and never think anything was weird about it.

“I remember that,” he said, his voice rough, and she knew he'd just shared in the whole memory.

“I'm shocked. Completely shocked that you remember it. You were hammered.”

“Parts of it are fuzzy.”

“I'm sure. Actually, it seems to me like your entire senior year should be fuzzy.”

“How's yours?” he asked.

“Parts of high school I wish like hell were a lot fuzzier.”

“Such as?”

She made a face. “Such as Mike, the jackass from the bar. I wish I didn't remember what he looked like without clothes.”

“In contrast, I'm sure he cherishes the image of you naked,” Cade said, his smile turning wicked.

For some reason, hearing Cade say the word “naked” in reference to her body made her feel hot. And her throat felt tight. And she felt . . . sticky.

She looked down into the casserole dish and cleared her throat. Meatloaf would provide clarity. It was homey. And well-behaved. Much like she was. Seeing as she was reformed and all, and not looking to get . . . unreformed.

She took another bite and found it did help to make her throat feel less tight.

“Well,” she said, talking around her bite, “obviously he has some issues with those memories.”

“And now he'll hopefully remember to keep his mouth shut,” Cade said, lifting his fist and drawing his fingers over his knuckles.

“See?” she asked, this little show making her feel decidedly less warm. “Superman stance. Cade Mitchell to the rescue.”

“It's better than just ignoring your plight.”

“Fair point,” she said, raising her fork and waving it in his direction. “But you don't need to fix everything in my life.”

He grabbed her fork and tugged it out of her hand, his smile positively naughty now. “Okay.”

“You have my fork.”

“Not my problem. I don't have to fix it.”

“I'll get another one out of the drawer. Because I am my own savior, asshole.”

“Go on, save yourself.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and went and retrieved another fork from the silverware drawer. “See? I have saved myself from abject fork poverty.”

“Inspiring. When they make the Lifetime movie I hope it stars someone good.”

“
A Paucity of Forks: The Amber Jameson Story
.”

“You're so brave.”

“I am,” she said, sitting back down across from him and letting the silence settle between them.

She couldn't let go of this. Not ever. This house. This life. This friend.

She'd lost her grandmother already, one of the cornerstones of her existence. And she knew she didn't have that many years left with her grandpa.

When they were gone, this house and Cade would be all that was left. And she would do everything in her power to make sure she kept both of them.

*   *   *

Cade whistled as he walked up to Amber's front door, her
keys in hand. He'd popped into the diner for lunch again, just to make sure that Davis wasn't back skulking around, and she'd sent him on a mission to bring her grandpa some pulled pork and slaw.

He knocked twice and then unlocked the door, pushing it open and heading inside. “Ray?” he called.

“Is that the Mitchell boy?” Cade heard Ray's voice coming from the direction of the living room. Cade would always be the Mitchell boy to Ray. He'd been around since he was sixteen, and at first Ray and Ava had been understandably wary of the young guy sticking so close to their granddaughter. But at some point, they both accepted the extremely platonic and protective nature of his relationship with Amber.

“Yep,” he said. “It's the Mitchell boy, and I brought food from Amber.”

He heard the sound of Ray's recliner as the old man put the footrest down.

“No need to get up, Ray,” Cade said. “I'm a full-service deliveryman. It's coming up. Along with a beer, if you're interested.”

“Abso-damn-lutely” was the reply.

“Hang tight.” Cade went into the kitchen that was nearly as familiar as his own and got a plate and a bottle of beer. Then he popped the beer top on the counter and headed to the living room.

Ray had the TV on mute, and he was settled in the orange recliner he spent a good portion of every day in. He'd owned that thing since Cade and Amber were in high school. Cade imagined that, like most of the things in this house, Ray didn't see the use in parting with it unless it was completely nonfunctional.

If it was still repairable, either with tools or duct tape, it didn't leave the house.

There was a knock on the front door, and Cade set the food and drink on the table beside the chair. “I'll get that,” he said.

He turned, walked to the entryway and jerked the door open, freezing when he saw Jim Davis standing there on the step.

Davis frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I spend a lot of time here,” Cade said. “I think, actually, that I'm the one who should be asking what
you're
doing here.”

“Can I come in?”

“Why?”

“I want to speak to Ray. Last I checked, it was his name on the mortgage documents.”

“His and Amber's.” Cade crossed his arms. “And Amber said she didn't want to talk to you about this.”

“Well, she's not the only one who gets a say, and that's a fact. I want to talk to Ray.”

“If this property ever goes up for sale, you'll know by the sign at the end of the driveway, and you can pick up a flyer like everyone else.”

“I don't really see how this concerns you.”

“You don't?” Cade asked, and for a second, he didn't either, so it was difficult to say exactly where he was going with all of this. He had no legal claim on anything. No call to kick him off the property. He wasn't Amber's family, or her husband or her lover. He was her friend, and he had nothing to back up what he was saying.

But he knew he didn't like Jim Davis being here, even if he didn't know quite why it bothered him so much.

And he knew he didn't want him coming back. Not while Ray was here alone. Not while Amber was here alone.

But he had no idea what he was supposed to do about that. How he would protect them both if Jim wanted to come again. And again and again. Because in Cade's mind, it was all starting to look a little bit like harassment.

The words that came out next came without him thinking at all. “I'm moving in soon. Which means there really isn't a hope of you buying it.”

“She sold to you?” he asked.

“No,” Cade said, trying to sort through the different solutions wiggling around in his brain, trying to figure out just where he'd been going with it. He knew that he wanted Jim to understand the fact that if Cade had to, he'd stand in the gap. Between him and Ray. Between him and Amber. Ownership, someone like Jim would understand. Proprietary, male, territorial, chest-beating, that's-my-woman stuff.

“Because, Amber's mine,” he said, the words almost a growl. And that much he knew was true. She'd been his from the moment he'd first seen her in the halls at school, and every day since. She had been there for every bad thing. And he would damn sure be here for this, even if it wasn't a big deal. Even if the kick in his gut that made him feel so uneasy about all this was an overreaction, he would just make sure. Because he had to. That made thinking of the rest of the sentence easy. “I'm her boyfriend, and I'm moving in with her.”

Jim drew back, obviously shocked by the revelation.

Cade heard the crunch of gravel and the sound of a truck engine, and he looked over Jim's shoulder to see Amber's truck rolling up to the house; then he heard the sound of Ray's armchair.

Oh, dammit all to hell.

“What's going on?” Ray asked, coming into the entryway. “And who's this? Who's moving in?”

“Sorry, Ray,” Cade said. He had to brazen it out now. Shit. “We didn't have time to talk to you about it yet.”

“You're planning on living in sin here with my granddaughter. And me?”

“Not sin, per se. Depends on your particular . . . definition of . . . This isn't the ideal moment to reveal all of that,” Cade said. “And I meant to tell you differently.”

“What's going on here?” Amber was standing at the bottom of the porch looking confused and angry and ready to jump on Jim Davis and take his throat out with her teeth.

“I was just here to speak to your grandfather,” Jim said. “He's a grown man, and I don't think it's fair for you to be keeping business matters from him.”

“You don't have a business matter with us, Mr. Davis,” she said tightly.

“I just told him as much,” Cade said, standing firm in the door.

“And he mentioned some other things too,” Ray said from behind Cade. “Why didn't you tell me you were moving in together?”

Four

Amber felt like she had stepped into some alternate
, testosterone-fueled universe. From the man on her porch to the man at her door, and the older man behind him, she could feel the masculine indignation in the air.

And then her grandpa was talking about . . . someone moving in?

“This man,” she said, pointing at Jim Davis, “is a stranger. He is not moving in here.” She wondered if somehow her grandpa had gotten some of the things Jim had said about buying the place twisted.

“Not him. The Mitchell boy.”

She blinked.

Jim Davis turned to face her. “Apparently I can't buy because the almighty Cade Mitchell is moving in and taking control of your life? Didn't realize she was yours.” He directed the last part at Cade.

That she was . . . his? That she was Cade's? Cade was moving in?

She caught Cade's eye and his expression stopped any words that were tempted to escape. Obviously she was supposed to roll with this. Cade was in Superman posture, whether he wanted to admit it or not, and her grandpa looked . . . Well, she wasn't really sure what to call the expression on his face. And Jim Davis looked pissed.

Frankly, she wanted to keep him looking pissed. Because since he was the enemy, him being angry had to be good for her.

“Yeah,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “Cade is my boyfriend. And he's moving in. To share my room and put his toothbrush on my sink.”

Just saying those words made her stomach knot up, and she had no freaking idea why. Except that she'd never shared a sink with anyone. She'd never even shared a bed with anyone, in the stay-all-night-and-cuddle-me sense. She'd had sex, sure, but in the we're-young-and-horny-and-you're-desperate-and-I'm-emotionally-unstable way.

But that was a far cry from toothbrush cohabitation. And with Cade, no less.

“So . . .” Cade said. “As you can see, things are settled here. And there are no financial issues. And you dare come around again, it's me you're going to be dealing with.”

“Well, and me,” Amber said, shooting Cade a dirty look. “I'm not . . . moving out when you move in.”

Cade ignored her and turned to face Davis again. “As I said, you'll be speaking to me next time you come by. So if I were you, I'd skip it. I could damn sure beat your ass on the circuit, and I'll beat it here too.”

“Seems to me,” Ray said, stepping past Cade and onto the porch, “that you're bothering my granddaughter. And . . . Cade,” her grandfather said, stumbling over Cade's name, “and as they both live here—or are about to—seems like you might be trespassing. And I'd hate to have to call the authorities. But I will, son, make no mistake.”

Jim backed away from the door. “Now, there's no need to start calling the authorities. All of this is simply being blown out of proportion. I'm not a danger to anyone; I'm just a businessman. And a very interested buyer. So if y'all change your minds”—he shrugged—“I'm not going anywhere for quite a while.”

He turned on his heel and walked out to his truck, having the ever-loving gall to tip his hat at her as he got in, then gunned the engine and started to back out of the driveway.

And that left the three of them standing there. Not having a clue about what to say. She looked at Cade, then at her grandpa, who was looking at Cade, who was looking at her.

“I—” she started, then the words just sort of died. The look on her grandpa's face wasn't angry. It was something else, and she couldn't even place it.

“So when are you moving in?” he asked Cade.

“I don't exactly have an exact date. Exactly.”

Never,
she screamed inside her head.
Never!
But Cade wasn't saying never. He wasn't correcting things at all.

He was still going with it. Like it was a thing. A thing that was happening. And her mouth still wasn't working, and her brain was sort of out of sync with everything and all she could do was manage another vague “I . . .”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Ray said. “This place has gone to seed. Honest to God, I haven't known what to do about it. But if you have some ideas . . . it's all yours. I'm sure you can make it produce again. Lord knows Amber's been stressed about money.”

“I could do something on the property, Grandpa,” she said.

“It's not the kind of thing women like to do.”

“Bull! Grandma did tons of things around the ranch.”

“Yes, she did. But it was never her full-time work. Are you going to tell me that's what you want to do? Find a way to make this place successful again on your own and manage a crew? I'm not going to turn over ownership to him, but the control of what happens with the fields that are just empty now? Hell yeah, I'll give that to him. I don't know what else to do, Amber, and if you do, then say so.”

“I . . . I don't have ideas.”

“And we don't have the means to do anything.”

Cade was looking abashed at least. Like an abashed, meddling asshole, but abashed nonetheless, and it pleased Amber to a degree. “Whatever I can do to help,” he said, “I will.”

“You can start with some-a the junk that needs fixing around here,” Ray said.

“Of course,” Cade said.

“And you”—her grandpa directed his focus onto her—“you said you didn't have time for a boyfriend.” He walked down the stairs and toward her, and all she could do was look at him. “I'm glad you weren't telling the truth this time,” he said. “Because I worry an awful lot, you know. About what will happen to you when I'm gone. About you not having anyone to take care of you.”

She started to say that she would take care of herself. It was what she'd done for the first fourteen years of her life, after all.

But the words stuck in her throat. Because yes, she had taken care of herself for the first fourteen years of her life. And it had been horrible.

Yes, she took care of herself now, in many ways. And her grandpa. But she wasn't alone. He was here. He loved her. He made this house a home, gave it a heartbeat, and a sweet kind of comfort. And when he was gone, the warmth would be too. Her grandma was already gone, and when her grandpa went . . . there would be her.

And it would be just like going back to that place. That dark, horrible place she'd lived in, where everything had been so lonely. And unless she was on something or in someone's arms, she'd had trouble breathing, because outside of all that, outside of being drunk or high or having sex, there had been nothing good. There had been no one.

She never wanted to go back to that, and she wasn't sure she had a choice. Sure, she had a choice in how she handled it. Because she was a thirty-year-old woman and she didn't have to handle her pain that way. Not anymore.

But that didn't mean the pain wouldn't exist.

That was what kept the words—those very important words of denial—from coming out of her mouth.

“She won't be alone,” Cade said, walking out onto the porch. “She'll always have a place with my family. With me.”

She didn't doubt those words. They were like balm to her soul. Except . . . well, except part of her did doubt them. Not Cade's belief in them, because she was certain he believed in them one hundred percent.

Her doubt stemmed from the fact that he would replace her in his life someday. He would get married. And he would have a wife, and fat babies, and he wouldn't need her around. More than that, his wife probably wouldn't want her around, because, based on past experience with Cade's girlfriends, non-related-female friends didn't usually go over well.

And if not for that reason, simply because he wouldn't have time for her anymore.

This was one long line of depressing thought.

“The water heater is old,” her grandpa said. “If you use it all up every morning in the shower I'm not going to be happy. Now, I need to go back in and sit.”

He turned and walked slowly back up the stairs.

Leaving nothing between Amber and Cade but the yawning expanse of porch and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“So . . . well,” she said. “That was . . . why the hell did you end up lying about that?”

He walked down the steps, casting the house a backward glance.

“Oh, he can't hear,” she said. “He can hardly hear it when you knock on the damn door. What just happened?”

“Davis showed up, and he made it real clear that he means to harass you into giving him his way. And if he has to go through Ray to do it, he will. I happened to be here, and so I helped in the only way I could think to help.”

“The only way you could think to help was to lie about us moving in together? Is this how you offer help to everyone?”

“No. You're a special case.”

“Well, what the hell do I do now? Grandpa thinks you're moving in. And moreover . . . he's happy about it. Davis thinks you're moving in, and if he comes back, then . . .”

“Then he better find me here. Look, we can be adult about this and figure it out.”

“Are you going to live with me until my grandfather dies?”

“No . . .”

“Then what's the point?”

“I'll fix some things. I'll stay until Davis leaves you alone. It's not going to be that hard.”

“Except he's not going to expect to have us sleeping in twin beds like Lucy and Ricky,” she said.

“No. But he's not going to come into your room either, is he?”

“No.”

“I can probably get by mainly sleeping in a guest bedroom. Your grandfather doesn't do much in any room but the living room and his room, right?”

“Yes.”

“He sleeps at the opposite end of the house. It will be fine. I bet he'd even prefer it if he knew I was sleeping in the guest room,” Cade said.

Amber let out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a gargle. “Sure, he'd like that, but he's not an idiot, Cade. He knows that if you move in, you move in for one thing.”

“Give me your wisdom on that subject, Amber.”

“You move in for companionship, and late-night movies and warm fuzzy feelings.
Not.
You move in for sex, jackass, and you know that as well as I do.”

“I have had sex plenty of times, and never once had to move in for it. Hell, I've barely ever had to stay the night for it.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don't see the point either. Getting laid doesn't have much to do with cohabitation in my mind.”

Cade arched a brow, a questioning look on his face. Yeah, fine, let him question. Her sex life was dormant, and by virtue of the fact that Cade was normally around, he was probably pretty sure he knew that. But let him wonder.

“But,” she continued, “moving in provides full access to the nooky. And even my grandpa knows that.”

“What happened to old-fashioned values?” Cade asked.

“Which old-fashioned values are you after? The kind that saw brothels opened in the main strip of town? The old-fashioned values of Henry the Eighth? King Solomon and the concubines, perhaps?”

“Point taken. People and sex, right?”

She snorted. “Yeah. People are having the sex, now and always.” She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the weird, tense feeling in her chest. “So, anyway, this is weird.”

“It doesn't have to be weird.”

“It doesn't? My best friend is going to be living with me, whilst pretending to be sleeping with me. Shenanigans, Cade. Shenanigans.”

“I'll also be fixing up the place for your grandpa. That's helpful, right?”

“What about Elk Haven? And Cole?”

“I don't really care about that right now. It's not like I get paid hourly to work there. I get a portion of the profits that are brought in because I own part of it. And because I invested a certain amount of my earnings and my settlement money into the place. I can take some time off.” He cleared his throat. “You may also be interested to learn that I did some smart investing.”

“You did investments?”

“Yeah, I have a friend who is into that stuff.”

“Not me, obviously.”

“I have more than one friend.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you?”

“You don't know everything about me. I met people while traveling. Anyway, I've made a little bit. And I have . . . Your grandpa wants something done with the ranch and I do have some ideas about what I might like to do.”

“Really?” she asked, crossing her arms under her breasts.

“Yeah. You know about them. You encouraged me to talk to Cole about the bison thing. And . . . now that I think about it . . . this really is perfect. Whether I'm here or not, this could be where I base my operation from.”

“You want to put buffalo in my field?”

“Bison. I mean, the start-up isn't cheap, but I do have the money. I could re-fence everything, we could buy a certain number of animals.”