Christmas At Cade Ranch. Karen RockЧитать онлайн книгу.
could they protect her—and Javi—from herself?
It was a constant gnawing fear.
One she bore alone.
But how strong could one person be?
Why didn’t you ever tell them about us? she silently asked Jesse, her eyes on the sky, her leaden heart at her feet. Why didn’t you come back for us? Were you ashamed? Incapable? Afraid?
She wished she and Javi could settle here, but Jesse’s tragedy was also her tragedy. His addiction story hers. Shared history. She could never be someone else, someone worthy of being Javi’s mother, around a family who’d already lost a drug-abusing son, people who knew who she really was, who she might turn into if she wasn’t careful.
At a light cough, she jumped. A dark figure detached itself from the shadows, and she stumbled back, panic scrambling over her skin. A newel post stopped her flight. When she spun around, a firm hand landed on her upper arm and checked her momentum.
“It’s me. James.”
His rich baritone cut through her flustered fog. James. One of Jesse’s older brothers. The strict, reserved one. He hadn’t said much earlier as she and Joy had slapped sandwiches together to feed the rest of the boisterous Cade clan. In fact, he hadn’t spoken at all. As he ate, he’d simply watched while his siblings peppered her with questions. They’d seemed to accept her and Javi immediately. James, however, had held back, his shuttered expression hard to read.
It’d made her nervous.
He made her nervous.
Her past experience with controlling men like her father had taught her to be wary of them as triggers for her addiction.
She shivered and crossed her arms. You’re free now, she reminded herself, firmly. Javi got you sober. No more worrying.
Right?
Her recent nightmare, however, told another tale.
And now she stood alone with James in the dead of night. Anxious awareness zipped along her nerve endings.
“What—what are you doing out here?” she gasped, her words full of air and apprehension.
Moon rays illuminated the tall, rangy man. He had wide shoulders, a slightly crooked nose and incredibly long eyelashes that would have made a handsome man look effeminate. Instead, they made this rugged cowboy a tiny bit beautiful. His full lips twisted. “I live here.”
She checked her eye roll. “Right. Well. Night.” She turned to leave but his voice stopped her.
“Tell me about Jesse.”
“What do you mean?”
“The stuff you left out earlier because Javi was listening. Why didn’t Jesse tell us about you?” He leaned against the railing, folded his arms on his chest and peered down at her from his great height. She could make out the pronounced curve of his biceps beneath his white thermal shirtsleeves. He looked strong. A man used to getting what he wanted... And now he wanted her to talk about a time she’d rather forget.
Not happening.
Thinking, talking, reliving her darkest hours was like walking backward on broken glass, each word drawing blood.
She licked dry lips. “I don’t know why he kept us a secret.”
You threw him out... Told him never to contact you again until he was sure he was completely sober...heartless woman...
“Jesse loved children.”
Not Javi...not more than drugs, anyway, and the pain of that thought pierced her side. “Jesse’s not here to explain himself. There’s nothing more I can tell you.”
“Or nothing more that you want to tell me.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, stung by his answer. It struck too close to the truth.
“I’ve been called a lot of names in my life.” He squinted at her. “Fool isn’t one of them.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That you’re hiding something.” He leaned a hand on the newel post behind her, his proximity hemming her in. She ducked from beneath his arm and spoke over her shoulder, avoiding him, just as she dodged all confrontations. Physically remove yourself from bad situations, her rehab counselor had told her, before you explore other ways to escape.
She’d hung on to those words all these years. They were some of the rare bits of sobriety advice she’d received, given she’d never attended any NA meetings. Without childcare, she’d struggled to go. Besides, she’d told herself she didn’t need extra help when she only had to look at her child to know why she had to stay sober. “I’d better go in.”
“Please stay.”
“No, really, I—”
“Humor me. You are under my roof...”
She bristled at his tone, recalling it from her youth, the oppressive sound of her father. She’d checked out of her prison-like, motherless childhood the only way she thought she could, starting with prescription pills a school friend promised would take everything away, including a painful sports injury. It’d seemed innocent at first. Fun. Rebellious without causing any real trouble. Who didn’t have pills in their bathroom cabinets? And the painkillers had taken away everything...including herself. When her need to stay numb had gotten too expensive, she’d turned to heroin, a cheaper, deadlier fix.
“This is Joy’s home,” she protested to James, projecting calmness despite the pressure building inside.
“I run the place, and I’m part owner with my brothers and sister.”
“Joy invited me. I’m her guest.”
“And how did that happen?” He lifted one of his thick, slanted eyebrows.
“I lost my wallet. Otherwise we’d be in Oregon.”
“You didn’t plan on meeting the rest of us? Even for your son’s sake?” Suspicion edged his voice.
“No. It’s just that I...we didn’t have time.”
“Right. The tickets to Portland.” The way he drew out the city’s name made it sound like a fictitious place, a destination she’d fabricated. “Who do you know there?”
“That’s none of your business,” she murmured through rigid lips. The wind picked up and fluttered strands of hair in her face. She shoved them behind her ears.
“It is, if it involves a relation of mine.”
“Javi’s your nephew,” she gasped. So now he didn’t believe Javi was Jesse’s son? Fury corroded her tongue. She hated feeling backed into a corner. Trapped like she had been during her childhood.
“I only have your word for it.” His sober voice descended on her, as heavy as a gavel.
“And his birth certificate.”
“And where’s that?”
“My wallet.”
“The one that’s missing...” He cocked his head, studying her.
“I’m leaving.”
He held out a hand. “You misunderstand me.” Something about the plea in his voice halted her feet. She’d heard it before, in her own head, that same desire for someone to understand her. “I don’t know you, where you come from or who your people are. Since Jesse’s murder, I don’t trust strangers.”
Her eyes met his, and she gnawed on her lower lip, thinking fast. She wasn’t about to talk about who her people were. Bringing up her father was another trigger, and she wouldn’t compound this tense moment by invoking his name. “I’m just passing through,” she said, knowing it sounded weak. But it was the best she could do.
He