When It's Right (3 page)

 

Chapter 5

B
lake stepped out the front door and stood beside Bud on the porch. He surveyed the red '57 Chevy stepside truck in the driveway. He liked her taste in trucks. Old and scarred, but it had good tires. The engine purred before Gillian cut it. Definitely a good sign. She took care of her truck. With a little work and some money, she could have a killer classic.

Gillian got out of the truck, slowly, cautiously, and limped to the walkway leading to the porch. A brace covered her leg from her ankle up to her hip. A hinge on the metal bars along the sides kept her knee in a permanent slight bend that made her walk unevenly. She tried to walk on her toes, but she couldn't seem to put her weight on them, which made her hobble even more.

A little bit of a thing. What he could see of her, that is. Honey blonde hair disappeared into the back of the oversized man's jacket that engulfed her slight frame. The aviator sunglasses covered her eyes but didn't hide all of the bluish-­green bruises on her cheek and along her jaw on the left side of her face. The bastard. Look what that asshole's fist had done to her beautiful face. Every drop of sadness wrung from his soul settled in the pit of his stomach for this waif of a woman. So much so that the sorrow engulfed him in a wave that rocked him and nearly sent him to his knees.

The first glimpse of her made everything inside Blake come to attention. The damage to her face sent a flash of fury through his veins that surprised him. He banked the rage quickly enough and felt his heart warm with something he'd never felt. The damn thing wanted to jump out of his chest and drop at her small feet. What the hell was wrong with him?

His parents had been married for more than thirty-­five years, and he always thought of them as a one-­in-­a-­million kind of ­couple. They were happy together. The kind of happy that had his father whistling in the barn early in the morning and his mother smiling over the dirty dishes as she cleaned his plate. It was the kind of love that had them snuggling on the couch, catching a movie, and his father stealing a kiss. Over and over he'd heard them tell the story of how they'd met at a Fourth of July picnic. Love at first sight. Blake had always rolled his eyes.
Yeah, right.

His father had told him once that when he found the right woman, she'd stop him in his tracks. Yeah, well, he couldn't move now. He couldn't stop staring at her. Looking at Gillian, with her beaten face, the defensive edge to her posture, and the distance she kept between them, he didn't know how to begin to get her to trust him. But he already knew he'd work damn hard at it, because the compulsion to protect her overwhelmed him.

This other stuff swirling in his chest and gut, he didn't know what to make of it.

He wondered if this was how his big brother, Gabe, felt the first time he met his girl, Ella. She'd been in bad shape too, but that hadn't stopped Gabe from protecting and falling in love with her. In fact, it sparked everything.

Maybe that's all this was, his inner need to protect someone who needed protecting.

Against who? Her father is dead. You just want her.

Yep. That simple and that complicated. Because wanting her meant putting his personal and professional life with Bud and the ranch on the line. Not an option.

Gillian kept her
distance from the porch, sucked in a deep breath, and mustered up her courage. A flash of pure rage lit the younger man's eyes when she stepped closer, making them narrow on her. A split second later, his eyes went soft with something she didn't recognize but made her want to take a closer look into his tawny eyes. She'd never seen someone look at her that way. Difficult to read, she'd keep her guard up around this man.

The guy and her grandfather shared a look, then turned back to stare at her. Her grandfather wasn't smiling. He seemed to expect her to come to him.

Beyond tired, she hurt everywhere. Driving for three days had really taken the life out of her. The doctor had warned her that she needed plenty of rest and time to heal. What she needed was a fresh start.

This is your chance, Gillian. Don't mess it up
. “Hello.”

“Gillian, where have you been?” The question came out gruff and filled with rage, tinged with sympathy. She didn't know how to decipher the opposing emotions, which increased her anxiety.

Gillian opened her mouth to answer her grandfather, but for the life of her, she didn't know what to call him. She didn't know this man. She didn't remember ever meeting him. “Grandfather” seemed appropriate, because he seemed to be larger than life and had an air of confidence that could wear a title like that. Still, not her style. “Grandpa” seemed too familiar. At a complete loss, she kept her mouth shut.

Since she wasn't inclined to speak, he took the lead.

“Why didn't you fly? I told the doctor I'd pick you up at the airport. Didn't you get the money I sent?”

She raised her chin defiantly. “I got it. I can work here at the ranch, or in town. I'll make the money back and pay you as soon as I can.”

“I don't want you to pay me back. I want to know where you've been for the last six days.”

She didn't like the gruff tone and took a step back, putting more distance between them. It only made him frown more. “Um, I had to get my things from the apartment building. The money you sent . . .” She took a deep breath.
Tell the truth and get it over with.
“The money you sent, plus what I had saved, I used to pay the back rent on the apartment. The apartment that the, ah, incident happened in had some damage, and I had to pay that person for the repairs. The rest I used for gas and food to get here.”

“Do you have any left?”

“Eighty-­seven dollars and nineteen cents. It's in my purse in the truck. I'll get it for you.” She turned to fetch her purse but stopped at his command.

“No!”

She turned back and cocked her head, trying to figure out the reason for his hostility. If this is how he spoke and acted all the time, she'd leave. She couldn't spend another minute of her life constantly on guard, watching every word she said and everything she did.

“Sorry. You don't need to give me the money. I sent it for you to get here. I guess you managed that and taking care of your business back home.

“I have to say, I'm at a complete loss at your appearance. I mean, I knew he hurt you, but I never expected it to be this bad. Are you okay?”

“No,” she answered honestly.

“Why'd you kill him?” her grandfather asked.

Might as well get everything out in the open. Maybe then they could move on.

Gillian thought about the answer to that loaded question. She could give him the simple answer. Her father had been a bastard. He'd hit her. He'd come at her with a gun, crazed on methamphetamines. Instead of going with the simple, she gave him the cold, hard truth.

“When I was five, I used to think he'd come into my room and kill me one night in a drunken, doped-­up rage. By the time I was ten, there were a lot of days and nights that I thought if he hit my mother or me one more time I might just kill him. When I was fourteen, I knew I'd lay down my life if he ever crossed the line.

“He knew the line, and he crossed it. He brought the gun, not me. I did what I had to do. He had a choice. He didn't give me one.

“That man needed killing.”

She watched his face as she spoke the harsh truth. His healthy glow withered, and he aged at least twenty years in the blink of an eye. Stress and fatigue took over his features, and his eyes and jaw softened. Looking closer, dark circles marred the underside of his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well. Worry and concern filled his eyes, but she wasn't sure why.

Did he hate her for what she'd done?

Her words rang in Bud's mind. The way she said them surprised him. No anger or fury. Just a cold, honest truth that shot through him. He hadn't known what to expect. This woman standing in front of him with strength of mind and pride enough for ten ­people surprised him even more. She wasn't just any girl. She was a survivor and wouldn't suffer fools or bullies. She wasn't the little girl he'd expected. Maybe somewhere under the bravado was the soft and sweet child he'd hoped to see. On second thought, anything soft and sweet in her had probably been squashed and decimated by Ron's harsh words and mighty fists.

“I killed my father, my own flesh and blood. I understand if you don't want me here.”

He took a step toward the edge of the porch and called out to stop her from walking back to her truck and leaving. “I just wanted to know. I needed to hear the truth from you. Your mother, Erin . . .”

He hadn't said her name in years. The pain of all he'd lost, the regrets he carried like a stone in his gut, the dreams he'd had for his little girl that had left him brokenhearted when she'd thrown her life away on drugs washed through him.

“Erin had a wild streak no one could tame. She harbored unrealistic dreams of leaving this place and living a glamorous life. In high school, when her mother was ill and fighting the cancer, Erin found trouble around every turn with drinking and drugs and messing with boys. She barely managed to graduate. When she turned eighteen, it didn't take much coaxing from Ron for her to run off to the bright L.A. city lights. She left as fast as she could and never looked back. She didn't want any part of this ranch or me. She couldn't stand to watch her mother wither away and die. She wasn't strong enough to stay for her mother.

“I heard from her a handful of times that first year. Then, nothing. Ron controlled her. He didn't want me to find them and made sure I didn't the few times I tried to track them down. I didn't know about you until you were three. I tried to get in touch with you after your mother died, but Ron had already taken you away again. I didn't know your situation,” he said miserably.

“How could you? My father was a master at working ­people and the system. He hated Montana. He always said that living on a ranch was too much work. That man did as little as possible as often as he could. He spent his life for the last twenty years tending bar in seedy dives and selling drugs. Within a month of them arriving in L.A., she was pregnant with me. They worked their way up the state and landed in the Bay Area. We moved around San Francisco and the surrounding areas. She was a drunk, a drug addict, and sometimes a whore. He didn't seem to mind any of those things so long as he got his cut. If he didn't, he made sure she didn't forget to pay up.” She shrugged. What more was there to say?

Her grandfather's eyes filled with sorrow. Numb to her own feelings about her parents, she forgot that her grandfather remembered her mother as someone different. Maybe a happier, friendlier, the-­world-­is-­full-­of-­possibilities-­for-­her kind of person. The someone she must have been at one time for him to show such grief.

“You must have had so many hopes and dreams for her.” The way she did for Justin's future. “I'm sorry to be so callous. I never meant to . . .”

“You spoke your mind and the truth of your life and hers.”

Gillian let the dead rest and started to tell him about herself. “I spent a lot of time at school and in the library.”
Better to come home late, lessen the opportunity for someone to notice you. A better chance they'd be passed out drunk and stoned.
She kept that to herself. Better to stick to herself than her parents' fucked-­up lives. “I made good grades and graduated top of my class in high school. I've worked all kinds of jobs. I'm good with my hands. I learn things quickly. If you show me what you want me to do around here, I'll work hard and earn my keep.”

“Will you stay? Please.”

“That depends. Are you responsible for that animal?” She cocked her head toward the sick and hurt horse in the nearest corral and tried to fight the clench in her heart every time she looked at him.

“He's mine,” Bud answered.

Gillian cast them both a disgusted look and turned her back on them, but hesitated to walk back to her truck and leave. If her grandfather had hurt that horse, she needed a plan to get the hell out of here, now, but she didn't have anywhere else to go. With little more than eighty dollars, she'd never make it more than a few days. She'd never even get out of the state. Too damn cold to sleep in the truck again. She'd need to find a shelter.

Blake caught her hesitation and indecision and knew exactly where this conversation derailed. “He didn't hurt that horse. He saved him from the son of a bitch who neglected and hurt him. Bud wouldn't hurt a horse. No one on this ranch would hurt them. I'm trying to nurse him back to health.”

He spoke to her back, but she listened, even if her gaze remained on Boots. Blake knew how she felt. Seeing that poor thing broke his heart, too. He imagined she saw herself in the horse.

“She thinks I hurt that horse,” Bud whispered, disbelief in his words.

“She just wants to know if she's going to be safe here,” Blake whispered back. “If she thinks you hurt that horse, it isn't a far leap for her to think you'd treat her the same. Give her a minute to work it out. I don't imagine she's ever felt safe. Anywhere.”

And that stabbed him in the heart and made him ache. He tried to swallow his emotions. Something about Gillian had his feelings rising to the surface, when he'd had them buried for a good long time. A very new sensation. He wasn't sure he liked this turn of events.

“She'll damn well be safe here. I won't have her thinking otherwise.”

“Telling her that and making her believe it are two very different things. She's been taught not to trust and not to let her guard down.”

They both jumped at the sound of soft crying coming from the truck. Gillian took off and hobbled around the truck just as a small, brown-­haired boy popped up into view.