Chapter 12
Mercy.
Chelsea curled in the crook of his arm, naked as the day she was born except for his denim work shirt, which he'd used to cover her a short while ago. Her head rested on his chest, and her fiery hair tickled his skin. Her breaths were slow and rhythmic. Waves of air rushing into her, rolling down to the furthest reaches of her lungs, pausing, and then slowly receding back out to sea as she exhaled.
He hadn't seen her this relaxed since he'd met her. Which hadn't been all that long ago. A fact that made him wince. This kind of thing wasn't like him. Outside, in front of God and everybody, and he'd done things with her he'd never done with any woman.
Outside, for heaven's sake! And though she was covered-from her shoulders to her thighs at least-he was still lying under the stars fully exposed.
He reached for his Stetson and settled it over his most vulnerable area before laying his head back down on the ground.
She sure had been something.
One of his hands came up to stroke that reddish gold hair of hers, and Garrett closed his eyes, sighing inwardly. Hell, he hadn't thought it would ever happen. Not to him. Not like this.
She stirred in his arms, and he could tell by the change in her breathing that she was awake. He kept stroking, liking the feel of the silky strands under his palm. And he rather thought she was liking it, too.
"What time is it?" she asked, her voice husky.
Garrett peered up at the stars for a second. "Almost midnight."
She sat up, his big shirt slid down her back to the ground. Her breasts moved freely and he found himself wanting her again.
Again?
Yep.
"Garrett, what are the others going to think?"
He smiled at her. "They'll probably think exactly?this."
She groaned and pulled the shirt over her again. "We'd better get back."
He frowned as she got to her feet and started pawing the ground in search of her clothes. "I kind of thought we ought to?maybe?talk first."
She located her blouse, and it seemed to him that she was real careful to keep her face averted. "About what, Garrett?"
"Well?about this. About?you know?this."
She found her jeans next and stepped into them. "This? You mean the sex?"
The way she said the word made it sound like something simple, like eating or breathing or something. It wasn't, though. Hell, Garrett's entire world had been altered here tonight. "Yeah," he said. "About the sex."
She pulled on her blouse and tossed his shirt to him. "There's nothing to talk about," she told him. "It was just sex. Gee, Garrett, you didn't think it was anything more than that, did you? I mean, I already explained it to you. I'm not going to get involved with a man. Not any man. Not ever. And just because we had a little fun tonight doesn't mean I've changed my mind about that."
He took the blow admirably, he thought. Felt an awful lot like it had landed hard, right in the solar plexus, and he did lose his breath and feel like throwing up. But he managed not to double over or gasp aloud like a fish out of water. He figured those were major coups by themselves.
This was all wrong. He knew it was all wrong on the practical plane of his mind, but the problem was, on the emotional plane of his heart, he was too busy bleeding to notice what the practical side was saying.
She'd hurt him. Taken a blade and driven it in right to the hilt, then given a little twist for good measure. She gathered up the tablecloth they'd been lying on, wadded it into a little ball and carried it back to the spot where they'd had their picnic a lifetime ago. She stuffed it into his saddlebag without pause. Garrett would have folded it with exquisite care, stroking the fabric where her body had touched it. Wondering if the material could retain some of the magic that had happened between them tonight.
But it was pretty obvious the magic was all in his head. She thought they'd had a little fun. Nothing more. And damned if he hadn't thought she was anything but that kind of woman. He'd believed her to be a lady. A wounded, frightened innocent. An injured doe he could nurture and care for and maybe, if he were lucky, make his own.
Well, he'd been a fool, then, hadn't he?
He dressed quickly, yanking his clothes on, taking his anger out on them. Then he went for the horses. They'd wandered off, but not too far. Hell, in the heights of ecstasy, he'd forgotten all about them. He doubted Chelsea had been anywhere near as moved.
He walked the horses back to the pond, saddled Paint up for Chelsea and quickly did the same with Duke. When he went to help her climb on, it was to see her swing herself into that saddle all on her own. Quick learner, he thought. Damn her. She hadn't learned half-enough. Garrett swung onto his own horse and dug his heels in. It was only as Duke leaped into a gallop that Garrett caught hold of his temper and throttled it until it cooled. He couldn't run ahead and leave Chelsea to play catch-up. Cold as she might be, Vincent de Lorean was still after her. He reined Duke to a halt and waited. When Chelsea rode up beside him, he started off again, at a walk this time.
But nothing could make him look at her. Or talk to her. Not now. If he so much as opened his mouth, he was going to make a blubbering fool out of himself by telling her what had happened to him tonight. And she'd probably laugh at him. Hell, the way she acted, it was easy to imagine she'd had plenty of sex, with plenty of men. Men she hadn't cared for any more than she cared for Garrett. She probably thought he was just a big, dumb cowboy. He probably thought she was right. He must be pretty dumb to let himself fall so hard.
If Garrett so much as looked at her, she'd lose it. She knew she would. If he said a word, those gut-wrenching sobs she was battling would break loose and tear her apart.
She'd never dreamed she could trust any man enough to do?what they'd done. She'd never believed herself capable of letting herself be utterly free and unreserved in a man's arms. But she had been just that with Garrett. And it was only possible because of his exquisite tenderness, the caring in his eyes when he looked at her, the gentleness of his every touch.
There would never be another man like him.
She hoped to God little Ethan would try to emulate the big, gentle man who was going to raise him. It was the right decision. It was what Michele had wanted, what she'd known all along. Her sister must have sensed how perfect Garrett would be for Ethan. Somehow, she'd known.
Chelsea was no good for him, because she was too filled with anger. Only the anger had changed now. It had eased and softened. It was no longer the futile raging of an abused child against an omnipotent parent.
This was different. Not wild and undirected anymore. She knew Vincent de Lorean had murdered her sister. But that wasn't why she had to kill him. The need for revenge had somehow lost its force. Or maybe she'd just lost her taste for it.
No. Her reasons now were utterly different. Ethan. Little Ethan would never be safe until Vincent de Lorean was out of the picture, eliminated from the baby's life. It had to happen. If it didn't, Ethan might grow up the way Michele and Chelsea had. Oh, not the poverty. De Lorean was a wealthy man, Chelsea knew that.
But the abuse. The lack of love. The broken heart. She couldn't let that happen.
And as long as de Lorean lived, no one who cared for Ethan would be safe from his wrath. Not Chelsea, even if she took the baby and ran away and hid. Not Garrett. Not any of the Brands. De Lorean would extract his own kind of vengeance on every one of them. And that would destroy them. All of them.
It was up to Chelsea. This was her ball game, and she was calling the shots. By herself. Just the way it had always been.
The horses stopped in front of the house, and she slipped down. Garrett took the reins from her without a single word and headed out toward the pasture where the other horses grazed. Chelsea watched him go, blinking back tears. Then she went inside and directly up to Garrett's room.
The house had a still, eerie feeling that told her everyone inside was asleep. Garrett would be a while coming back inside. He'd rub those horses down an
d hang the saddles and bridles along the split-rail fence, where the few others that had survived the fire were already hanging. He'd go out to that big barrel Wes had filled with grain from the feed store, and he'd scoop some out and feed the horses. Then he'd check their watering trough to be sure it was filled.
He'd take care of everything, Garrett would. He'd take care of her, too, if she'd let him. Just the way Mom always had. And he'd probably get himself killed the way she had, too.
Chelsea opened Garrett's nightstand drawer and took out his revolver. As an afterthought, she grabbed a box of bullets. Then she slipped out of the room and across the hall, ducking into the guest room she'd begun to think of as her own. Well, hers and Ethan's. She tucked the gun and bullets into her purse before turning to the cradle. She stood staring down at the sleeping angel inside. Her fingers stroked his satiny dark hair, and a single tear dropped from her cheek to dampen Ethan's. "I love you, baby," she whispered. "And I'm gonna make this world safe for you. I promise. You're never gonna go through what your Mamma and I did. You'll be raised with love. You'll have a real family just like I promised you, Ethan. Right here."
She bent low and gently kissed his pudgy cheek. Then she turned back to the bed and sat down, pulled out a notepad and pencil from the stand beside it and began her note to Garrett.
"I have to leave," she wrote, struggling because her hands were shaking and because she couldn't say the things she was longing to tell him. If she did, he'd come after her. He'd never stop until he found her.
"I have a life to get back to. And I know Ethan will be better off here with you than he could ever be with me. Don't try to find me. I'm going to change my name and start over somewhere fresh, where de Lorean can never find me. Thanks for the laughs. Chelsea."
She'd like to add a warning about Lash because she'd finally remembered why the name de Lorean had sounded familiar to her when Garrett had first mentioned it. But that might give too much away. She'd just handle Lash the way she did everything else. Alone.
She dug out the slip of paper he'd dropped, unfolded it again, staring at the name and address, memorizing it Vincent de Lorean. 705 Fairview. Ellis, Texas. She hadn't known this name when she'd found the note. And then she'd tucked it away and forgotten about it. But now?.
She sat very still and quiet, waiting for the sound of Garrett's tired footfalls on the stairs. His steps paused outside her door?briefly. And then moved on, over to his own room. Hinges creaked. The door closed. Bed-springs squeaked. Two boots thudded to the hardwood floor. She waited longer. And still longer. And then, carrying her shoes and her bag, she slipped down the stairs.
Lash answered the door wearing a pair of white boxers and a frown. Bleary, pale blue eyes and tousled brown hair completed the look, and he stared at her, shaking his head. "What do you want?"
"I want you to get out of town," Chelsea said, thinking that she sounded like an old spaghetti Western.
"Huh?"
"I know about your connection to de Lorean," she went on. For emphasis she handed him the slip of paper. "You dropped this the other day."
He took it from her, blinked down at it and came more fully awake. His eyes sharpened as they scanned her face. "Why didn't you just hand it over to the Brand brothers?"
"Because they'd have probably killed you. They'd probably assume, as I do, that you were behind that stampede. And the fire in the stable. My guess is that you're just hanging around, doing de Lorean's bidding and waiting for the chance to kidnap a helpless baby. Hell, I oughtta kill you myself."
"Now wait a minute. You don't know-"
"I know plenty. I know if I tell Garrett about you, your hide will end up nailed to the barn wall. Or at least sitting in the town jail. So you get out of town. Tonight. If I see you again, I'll tell him everything."
His blue eyes narrowed, and he glanced past her at the car that sat alongside the curb. "How come you're out at this time of night alone?"
"None of your business."
"Where are you going, Chelsea?"
"I told you-"
His hand shot up fast, gripping her arm as if to haul her inside. Panic gripped her, especially since she knew this creep worked for a killer. She brought her knee up hard and fast into his groin, and he grunted at the impact, stumbled away from her and doubled over. His face turned six shades of purple as he gasped and swore. But still he forced himself to straighten up and take an unsteady step toward her.
Until he saw the gun in her wavering hand, pointing dead center at his leanly muscled chest.
"Damn it straight to hell, what are you-"
"Shut up!"
He shut up.
"Now just step back inside and stay there. I mean it. If you so much as poke your head out the door, I'll-"
"I get the idea."
"And you be gone from Quinn by morning, Lash. You be gone or I'll be back."
"How am I s'posed to leave town if I can't poke my head out the-"
"Shut up!"
He lifted his hands and shoulders in compliance and stepped away from the door. Chelsea backed all the way to the car, got inside and shot away into the night.
There. Safe. She'd done it. She didn't think Lash whatever-his-name-was would dare show his pretty face on the Texas Brand again. Once she accomplished her mission, Chelsea would call or send a note telling Garrett of Lash's duplicity, just in case. But if she'd told Garrett now, he'd have known she was leaving and tried to stop her.
Garrett lay on his bed feeling sorry for himself for a very short time. Then he gave himself a mental kick in the seat of the pants. Because the whole time he'd been lying there, he'd been remembering every single second of his time with Chelsea tonight, and one instant kept coming back to him. That second he'd held her to him and pushed himself inside her. That incredible feeling of completion, of union, of rightness.
But gradually, he realized those feelings were only his own-she'd reacted a little differently. She'd been real enthusiastic before he entered her. And seconds afterward, she'd been as into it as he had. But at that moment in between, there'd been the slightest hint of resistance. She'd stiffened a little. Her fingernails had dug into his skin, and she'd bit her lip. And he'd felt something.
Something?.
Garrett sat up in bed, blinking. Couldn't have been that, though. Couldn't have been?.
Frowning, he got up and trotted down the stairs again. He'd tossed the saddlebags into the corner after unpacking them earlier and dumping the leftover food into ol' Blue's dish. The tablecloth lay atop the garbage pail, where Garrett had thrown it in an act of sheer, foolish pride. He reached for it now, held it up by two corners and let it fall open.
He saw the small red stain that told him all he needed to know. He'd been Chelsea Brennan's first lover. She'd trusted him that much. And there was no way in hell she felt as casual about what had happened tonight as she was pretending to feel.
Garrett dropped the tablecloth again and started up the stairs. But when he got to Chelsea's room, she wasn't there. His heart slowly broke, and the only thing that kept it from shattering completely was the happy gurgle coming from the cradle beside her bed.
"Bubba?"
"Dadadadadadadada," the little squirt sang, and his arms began to flail in time with his music.
The relief that surged through Garrett was tinged with bitter sadness. Thank the good Lord Chelsea hadn't taken this child away from him. But God, what it must have done to her to leave him behind.
Garrett went to the cradle and bent over it, reaching down to check the diaper and stroke the silky fuzz that passed for Bubba's hair. Ethan blinked slowly, his eyes still sleepy, but he smiled a little bit all the same. Gently, Garrett turned him over so he lay on his tummy, and then he ran his hand in the slow, clockwise circles that he knew the boy loved. His palm skimmed the baby's back over and over, and those heavy eyes fell closed more often between peeks at Garrett.
Without stopping, Garrett reached for the sheet of paper Chelsea had left on h
er pillow. Then he sank onto the edge of the bed, still rubbing that little back and wondering now why the action was as soothing to him as it seemed to be for Bubba. He leaned back against the headboard, reading her callous goodbye. A note that said nothing. Not one damn thing he needed to hear. Like how she felt about what had happened between them. Like why she'd so willingly given him something as precious as her virginity, and why she hadn't told him, and whether she had ever really felt a damned thing for him at all.
A soft sigh from Bubba, and Garrett looked at the sleeping child.
Must have felt something for you, Garrett. She left Bubba with you. That's two priceless gifts in under a day.
He scowled, swinging his head back to the note. He was indulging in wishful thinking. She didn't feel a thing for him. Or for Bubba. If she had, she'd have stuck around and fought for them.
That's right, she would. Chelsea Brennan isn't the kind of woman to give anything up without a fight.
Which kind of added to the theory that she didn't give a rat's-
His head snapped around when he heard tires rolling over the well-worn driveway. Headlights moved across the window, and Garrett was halfway down the stairs before he gave himself a chance to wonder if it was really her. Dammit, he hadn't ought to be sitting around feeling sorry for himself. He ought to be worried. He'd let her out of his sight. Out there alone, she'd be a walking target for Vincent de Lorean and his squadron of goons. Thank God she'd changed her mind and come back. Thank God.
Garrett skidded to a stop in the kitchen. The face peering through the window at him was not Chelsea's. Lash. And damned if his normally full load of calm didn't look a brick or two shy.
Fighting to keep the disappointment from showing on his face, Garrett opened the door. "What the hell brings you clear out here this time of night?"
Lash licked his lips. "Trouble, Garrett. And I'm sore afraid it's trouble with a capital C."
"A capital?." Garrett's brows came down fast. "Chelsea?"
Lash nodded slowly. "Do me a favor and listen to the whole thing before you break my face, okay, big fella?"
Light footsteps on the stairs. A soft voice. "Garrett, you down here? I thought I heard-"
"What whole thing?" Garrett asked, ignoring Jessi.
"That for the past few months, I've been-technically speaking, at least-employed by Vincent de Lorean. But it isn't what it-"
Garrett's big fist connected soundly with most of the front portion of Lash's face. Bone crunched. Blood spurted. Jessi screamed. Lash sort of bounced off the door behind him into Garrett's chest, then slumped to the floor.
Stampeding feet crashed down the stairs at Jessi's scream. Wes bounded to her side, his bowie in his hand and fire in his onyx eyes, while Elliot stood at the bottom of the stairs looking around and blinking in confusion.
Jessi lunged into the kitchen and fell to her knees beside the incapacitated Lash, though with all that blood, Garrett wondered if she even knew who he was. She was crying and swearing, using words Garrett didn't know she even knew. And most of them were aimed at him. She stomped away, but he knew she'd be back.
Lash didn't so much as wiggle.
"You kill him?" Wes asked, looking down at the mess at Garrett's feet as he slid the bowie back into his boot.
"Not yet."
Wes frowned hard and poked Lash in the ribs with the toe of one boot. No response. He looked up at Garrett again. "You sure?"
"I'm sure. Look, he's breathin.'"
Wes stared for a minute. "How can you tell with all that blood?"
"I can tell."
"Get the hell away from him, the both of you!" Jessi shouted, shoving through them and dropping down beside Lash again. You'd have thought he was one of her brothers the way she was acting. She started dabbing the blood away from his nose and lips with a wet cloth. She'd brought bandages and various ointments back with her, too. Looked like she intended to doctor him up thoroughly.
Garrett glanced at the inert man once more, shook his head and stepped toward the table and out of Jessi's way.
Wes joined him, fixing a pot of coffee to brew as Garrett sat down. "So what happened to your infamous, endless, unshakable temper, big brother?"
"I lost it."
Wes set the carafe under the basket and flipped the On button. "Why?"
"He said he'd been working for de Lorean."
Wes nodded, sending a glance toward the stranger when he moaned softly. "You suspected that all along, though. Shouldn't have come as such a surprise."
"Chelsea's missing, Wes. She just took off tonight. Left a note. I got no idea where the hell she is-"
"So you took it out on Lash, huh?"
Garrett watched as Jessi cleaned the blood away, revealing a split lip and a nose that was probably broken, judging from the odd angle of it.
"I shouldn't have hit him that hard."
'"Cause he didn't deserve it?"
"Hell, no. 'Cause I have a feeling he might know where Chelsea is. Now I can't even ask him until he comes around."
"Oh." Wes pulled the half-filled pot out from under the drip and shoved a cup under there to catch the still-brewing coffee while he filled two others. Then he yanked the third cup away and shoved the pot back underneath, all without spilling a drop. "We gotta get one of those new ones that stops dripping when you move the pot," he muttered, handing Garrett a cup. He took a seat and joined Garrett in watching their little sister work her veterinary wonders on a horse's backside.
"You think she's sweet on him, Wes?" Garrett asked.
"Who, Jessi? Nah. No way in hell." Wes watched her hand stroke Lash's hair away from his forehead. "Besides, if he ever laid a finger on her.-"
"Yeah," Garrett agreed, rubbing his slightly sore knuckles absently. "Me, too."
Elliot stood in the doorway, looking from Jessi and Lash to Garrett and Wes, and shaking his head.
"You mind going back up and guarding little Bubba?" Garrett asked him. "I don't like him being alone, under the circumstances."
Elliot swallowed audibly and nodded toward the man on the floor. "What about him?"
"I want to talk to him. Soon as he comes around."
"You?uh?." Elliot shifted his feet. "You aren't gonna hit him again, are you?"
"I'll make sure he doesn't hit him again, Elliot," Wes assured his younger brother.
"Hell, Wes, your temper is ten times worse than Garrett's!"
"Yeah, but it isn't my ladylove who's run off. So I'm not as likely to lose it with Lash."
Elliot looked around slowly, taking it all in. Finally, he nodded and turned to head upstairs to the baby's room.