The Montana McKennas Five-Book Box Set, page 7
***
By the time Brody caught a flight from Chicago to Bozeman and rented a Toyota Highlander, it was after six o’clock in the evening before he reached Livingston Memorial Hospital. He found his sister Mercer in the Intensive Care waiting room.
“Mercer.”
The nineteen-year-old girl turned when he called her name. “Brody!”
He reached his sister in two strides, and they embraced as only siblings do when faced with a tragedy. Finally, he moved her to arms’ length and stared down at her tear-streaked face. She had his same dark, blond hair and blue eyes. Not the dark, brooding good looks of James’s other children by his first marriage.
“Where’s Mom?”
“In ICU with James.” Mercer inclined her head to the swinging hospital doors. “She hasn’t left his side.”
Brody swallowed hard at the thought of his mother’s anguish. “What happened?”
“He was out working the cattle. Nothing unusual about that. We think his horse got spooked.” Mercer rubbed her reddened nose with the back of her hand and stepped away from Brody’s grip. “Anyway, he fell and hit his head. Parker found him and brought him in. Daddy’s been in a coma ever since.”
“Damn!”
Brody removed his ball cap and scraped his fingers through his hair. He felt gritty and dirty from his long trip and the shock of earlier in the day. Now this.
James McKenna had been a good stepfather. The man had raised him from the time he and Brody’s mother married. Brody had been about ten then. That was twenty years ago. Mercer had been born nine months after the wedding. He’d helped raise his little half-sister until he went off rodeoing.
“Is Parker here?” Brody asked, letting out a slow breath to release the tension in his body.
Mercer shook her head. “He’s at the ranch. You know him. It’s calving time and he doesn’t trust anyone to watch over things.”
Sounded like Parker. Proud. Control freak. James McKenna’s firstborn. They’d never gotten along. Parker saw Brody as an interloper, and in a way he and his mother were. The ranch land had belonged to the first wife, Claire Parker McKenna. It was Parker and his sister Callie’s land. The dude ranch part was just an afterthought.
“Callie is on her way,” she continued. “She had to fly from New York City.” A sob throbbed in Mercer’s voice. “Oh, Brody. What if Daddy doesn’t make it? He’s sixty-eight. His body may not heal as well as when he was younger.”
Brody took Mercer in his arms again and hugged her. “He’ll be okay, kid,” he whispered into her hair. Cowboys were tough—at least physically. Brody wasn’t so sure about his emotional state at the moment. He did know he’d done the right thing back there in Chicago. A thing, in retrospect, that needed doing for a long time.
“I’ve had several bouts of concussions in my career,” Brody said, hoping to ease Mercer’s pain. “I’ve had my ACL repaired. I’ve broken more arms and dislocated more shoulders than I care to remember. Look at me. I’m fit as a fiddle.”
Mercer pushed him away. “You’re more than thirty years younger.”
Brody shrugged. He couldn’t deny her that. And it was getting harder every year to come back from injuries.
“Can I see James?”
“He’s allowed two visitors at a time,” Mercer told him. “Mom’s in there. She wants to see you.”
Ball cap in hand, Brody walked through the swinging doors and a nurse showed him to a room surrounded by glass. His mom was sitting in a straight-backed chair next to the hospital bed. She was holding James’ hand.
“Mom?”
“Brody.” Liz stood. “You’re home!”
They hugged, and Liz held on to him, as if he were her only hope. Brody felt her tears on his shoulder. He felt tension ease from her body, if only a little.
After a while they broke apart and went to stand next to James’ bed. His stepfather looked ghostly white. Tubes snaked in and out of his body. An intubation tube was inserted in his windpipe. James wasn’t even breathing on his own.
“Damn.” Brody muttered softly.
“I know, dear.” Liz caught his arm and held onto it.
“What do the doctors say?”
“They don’t know. There’s been bleeding in his brain.” She leaned against his shoulder. “They say it’s up to James.”
Brody rallied for his mom. “James is tough. He’ll pull through, Mom.”
“I wish I believed that.”
He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? Sometimes there were no words of comfort. People had to suck it up and find resolve within themselves.
Brody let out a frustrated breath. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Liz turned her gaze up to him, her blue eyes wide with anxiety. “Go watch over the guest ranch. Parker is taking care of his end, but I worry about the guests. There’s not enough help. Stephanie’s watching the shop and taking reservations. We have a new chef this season. I don’t know how he’s going to do.”
“Sure, Mom. I can do that for you.”
“Will you, son? Do you have time off from competition?”
“I’ll take time.”
After all, they were a family, and families pulled together.
For the first time, he felt needed by all the McKennas. Maybe he was finally beginning to belong.
His mother’s words replayed in his head only after he’d started south on Highway 89 toward the ranch.
“Stephanie’s watching the shop and taking reservations.”
His shoulders tightened. He stared ahead at the on-coming, bright headlights and the long stretches of black road.
Stephanie. Good God. Was she working at the ranch? If she was there, did that mean her daughter was with her?
The daughter Stef made him give up when he chose rodeoing over marriage and family?
Chapter Three
Brody was coming home.
Stef gulped down a big breath and forced herself to remain calm. Mercer’s text said Brody was on his way and asked if Stef would meet him at the lodge and find him a room. Mercer had been too young to understand Stef’s history with Brody. She didn’t know Olivia was Brody’s daughter. No one knew except James and Liz. And Brody, of course.
But he’d never even seen his daughter. She’d forced him to choose between her and the rodeo, never suspecting the lure of that lifestyle—money and fame—could prove so attractive. She’d thought he loved her so much he would choose her. But he hadn’t. Brody had wanted to be a champion bull rider, and he’d made his dream come true. He was a popular star on the PBR circuit. It was rumored he kept a girl in every city. More than that, she’d heard he’d earned a million dollars many times over.
Stef had stuck to her guns and hadn’t come crying to him for help even when times were tough. When he chose rodeoing, her knees had buckled, but she’d managed to shout out dramatically, “Then never come back! I’m better off without you!”
She’d made it on her own. She hadn’t needed Brody. Not even once. An unbidden memory of him walking away from her all those long years ago surfaced and she blinked rapidly.
Now was not the time to second guess herself. She had been better off. And Mr. Big Name Rodeo Star better not forget it.
She pulled on her boots and then tugged a sweatshirt over her head then opened the door to Livy’s room. Her daughter was sitting in bed reading from her iPad. She looked up when Stef stuck in her head.
“I’ve got to go up to the lodge,” she said. “A new guest is coming in tonight. Stay in the cabin, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mom,” Livy replied with a smile. “Don’t forget to take your flashlight.”
Livy was like that—thoughtful and cautious. Stef had raised her right, thanks to her dad’s help and Aunt Imelda. And no thanks to Brody. If there was some way to keep him away from Livy while he was here, she’d do it. He didn’t deserve anything as fine as her little girl.
Stef closed the door of the two-bedroom cabin that had once been her father’s. Like all the buildings at the guest ranch, it was made of logs and very rustic, fitting its Western setting perfectly. When her dad died, James and Liz had asked her to stay on and help them run the ranch. With both Brody and Callie gone, there was more work than they could handle. That had been fine with Stef. She loved the freshness of living out here after being in a big city for several years. She loved the silence too, and the way the stars filled the sky with pinpricks of light. In Montana, she felt on top of the world. High on life. Ready to conquer anything that came her way.
Except Brody.
Did he know she’d be here? Had Mercer told him?
Her nerves jangled as Stef crossed the grounds, shining the flashlight in her path all the way. She flicked off the flashlight when she reached the well-lit porch. Counting the cars parked outside, she knew Brody had not yet arrived, so she went inside the great room where a couple of guests sat sipping wine near the fireplace. She nodded at them and made her way to the kitchen. There she fixed a pot of coffee. It was a habit learned from her dad. All cowboys liked hot coffee. Maybe Brody wouldn’t be so different.
Minutes ticked by as she sat at the kitchen table and sipped her coffee. The caffeine removed all desire for the good night’s sleep she’d been craving. Her nerves were on guard, making her body tremble with a raw energy akin to fear.
Did she fear Brody? Hell, she feared no man. She needed no man.
But if she was honest with herself, she feared his reaction to Olivia. Livy didn’t know Brody was her dad. She’d never asked who was, and Stef had never told. That was the first thing she’d tell him too. Keep your big mouth shut. He’d be gone in a few days, and he didn’t need to leave another broken heart behind.
Stef held the stoneware mug up to her lips again but didn’t drink. The shakiness in her hands wasn’t a good sign. The weight in her chest wasn’t either. She set the mug down on the tabletop and swallowed. She was afraid of Brody.
She was afraid of what he’d think of her. Now. Ten years later. After all the high living and fancy women he’d been through.
Why did it matter? She’d been defiant then and was defiant today. But she cared about him, dammit. A girl never got over her first true love.
Yet, carrying that torch was stupid. She’d told herself that many times. It was dumb to love a man who didn’t return that love. Dumb and destructive. She’d tried hard to get over Brody. It just hadn’t worked, and she knew it.
Hearing the crunch of tires on the gravel outside, Stef raised her head.
Brody was home.
Her daddy often used a quote from John Wayne. Stef had told it to Livy when her daughter was afraid to try something new. Tonight she needed it herself.
Courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway.
Time to saddle up. Time to go meet Brody.
***
Brody dropped his duffle bag by the front door. He stood a moment, drawing in deep breaths of wood smoke and the scent from the pine paneling, and surveyed the brightly lit great room.
Wooden beams supported high ceilings sprinkled with skylights. A stone fireplace centered on one wall of the room was flanked by a worn leather sofa and cozy upholstered chairs. Above the fireplace mantle, trophy antlers and a moose head hung on the stone. The other side of the room near the kitchen contained round dining tables for guests and a long, wooden bar surrounded by stools shaped like English saddles. The room looked just as homey and inviting as it had two years ago when he’d come home for Christmas.
A man and a woman rose from their seats near the fireplace, guests obviously, and nodded at him as they walked past to go upstairs to their rooms. He sensed romance in the air and didn’t need to be psychic to know what they’d be doing as soon as they shut their bedroom door.
“Good evening, Brody.”
His gaze jerked up. Stef stood at the door to the kitchen haloed by the kitchen light. She wore blue jeans and boots and a thick, gray sweatshirt. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face and hung down her back in a long ponytail. Her eyes were as big and bright as he remembered, but there was thoughtfulness in them now, and maturity he’d never seen.
Of course, he hadn’t seen her for ten years. She’d dumped him then. Told him to get the hell out of her life. That had been his plan all along. He didn’t deny bull riding had been his life. But he’d been a kid too. A kid with big plans.
“It’s good to see you, Stephanie.”
“I’m sorry about the circumstances,” she said coming toward him.
Brody inclined his head. “I stopped by the hospital.”
“How’s James doing?”
She was near him now. He saw her face was tanned from the sun. She wore no makeup and smelled of fresh Montana breezes.
He shook his head. “I don’t think there’s any change. He’s still in a coma in ICU.”
Stef’s eyes narrowed and shook her head. “God, I hate that for Liz and Mercer. For all of you guys.”
“Yeah, it’s rough.” He looked down at his shoes, surprised by the churning in his stomach.
“Would you like some coffee? I made a pot.”
Brody glanced up. “Sure. I’d appreciate it. And maybe something to eat?”
She gave him a brief smile. “I guess they don’t serve dinner on airplanes anymore.”
“Hard to come by,” he acknowledged and followed Stef as she led the way to the kitchen.
The coffee was as hot as he liked. She made him a ham sandwich from dinner leftovers and sat down across from him at the table while he ate.
He didn’t know what to say to her. Somehow making small talk seemed so irrelevant that he couldn’t even form the first word. There was just too much ugliness between them. He hadn’t forgotten, and he doubted she had either. Maybe his and Stef’s last meeting was just too big to step past.
He just ate in silence while surreptitiously watching Stef run her fingertip around the rim of her coffee mug. She looked good. Real good. The ten years he’d been gone was just a blink of time for all the change it had wrought in her.
He jumped when she finally spoke. “The lodge is full and so are all the guest cabins. I’ll have to put you up in the bunkhouse. For the night, at least. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Good enough for me. I’m not picky.”
She regarded him quickly. “I didn’t know what you were expecting.”
Ouch. That one hurt. He didn’t think of himself as any different from the cowboy who left the ranch years ago, but he guessed others did. Brody wiped his mouth on a paper napkin. “I need to turn in. It’s been a long day.” That was the understatement of the year. He scooted back his chair and picked up his empty plate and coffee mug.
“Leave them,” she said sharply.
“I can take them to the sink.”
“Leave them, if you please.”
Her tone was firm. Her jaw set. Brody set the plate and mug down back on the table.
“I can clean up after myself,” he said, annoyed by her strange attitude.
Stef stood up. She wasn’t tall, but neither was he, so she looked him almost in the eye. “She doesn’t know who you are, Brody. That you’re her father, I mean.”
So, it wasn’t about dirty dishes. He straightened his shoulders and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“I want to keep it that way,” she said.
“Well, sure.” It wasn’t as if he wanted to be a kid’s father.
“You won’t be here long enough for her to get used to you. It’s better that she doesn’t even know.”
He shifted his stance, feeling his body temperature rising with the irritation he felt. “Mom asked me to keep an eye on the guest ranch.”
She lifted her chin. “You won’t have to keep an eye on it forever. Either James will get better and things will return to normal, or, well, things won’t.”
“That’s an optimistic attitude.”
Stef planted her hands on the tabletop and leaned into him. “She’s my daughter, Brody. I’ve raised her. So help me God, if you do anything to let her know you’re her irresponsible, skirt-chasing father, I’ll string you up by the balls.”
“I’ve no intention of telling her anything. Hell, Stef, I didn’t even know you were living here.”
“Good.” She straightened up and softened just a bit, her eyes looking weepy. “I don’t want her hurt, Brody.”
“I wouldn’t hurt her.”
“You wouldn’t mean to, but you’ve always had a disregard for other people’s feelings. I want to be sure you don’t inadvertently harm my daughter.”
There it was again—my daughter. Stef was starting to rub him the wrong way. If he recalled, it took two to tango.
“I get the message,” he said curtly. He’d taken just about enough from women today. “I’m going to turn in.”
“You remember the way?”
“Of course, I remember the way. I lived here.”
“That was a long time ago.” She shrugged and picked up his empty plate. “Things change.”
Chapter Four
“Wake up, man.”
Brody felt the sharp poke in his ribs from what could only be a pair of well-worn leather boots. He grunted and looked over his shoulder.
“Hank,” he groaned, glancing up. “What time is it?”
“Six o’clock, you shit head. What in the hell are you doing here?”
Brody rubbed his eyes and rolled to a sitting position on the side of the bunk bed, a single frame with a mattress as hard as a dirt arena floor after being thrown from a bull. The aroma of good, strong coffee brewing assailed his senses.
“I’m here because of James,” he answered his friend and head wrangler at the ranch.
“I know that.” Hank motioned as if to dismiss his reply as obvious. “What are you doing in my bunkhouse?”
“Stephanie Chambers sent me down her for the night. Said there weren’t any rooms available.”
“Why in the hell didn’t she send you to the big house?” Hank asked. “With James in the hospital and Liz with him, surely there’s room for you there.”
