Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Faith's Birthday Texas Sheet Cake
Books by Jennifer Ashley on Kindle
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
Grace Malory opened the oven door, filling the large kitchen at the Campbells’ ranch with the warm aroma of chocolate cake.
She worked alone in the kitchen today, so she heard no applause, no cheers of appreciation. Her nose, though, told her that the cake had come out just fine.
Grabbing potholders, Grace lifted the cake from the oven and set it on waiting cooling racks on the counter. She turned off the heat, threw down the potholders, and breathed a sigh of relief.
This cake needed to be perfect. It was for Faith’s birthday tomorrow—Grace had volunteered to make all the goodies for her party, including a special cake that would hold nine candles.
Faith had requested a Texas sheet cake … “The kind with chocolate frosting,” Faith had said, wrinkling her fine-boned nose. “Not the frosting with all the nuts in it. Please?”
“Of course, sweetie,” Grace had said. “It’s your birthday. You can have what you want.”
Faith was in a no nuts in anything phase. No raisins either. Faith liked to eat both of those, but not mixed in with her cakes, cookies, pies, or brownies. “I like nuts in the shells, and raisins in the box,” Faith had declared.
“As God intended,” her father, Carter had rumbled in response. Faith had laughed in delight, and Grace had looked on, her heart flip-flopping.
Grace leaned down to inhale the cake’s fragrance, once more satisfied. It unnerved her that it was Carter’s praise she imagined when the finished, decorated masterpiece was laid before Faith and her friends tomorrow. Carter so rarely gave his approval to anyone but his daughter that winning some from him would be all the sweeter.
Grace knew full well that she wanted Carter to look at her for more reasons than the triumph of pleasing a hard-to-please man. She wanted his intense hazel-eyed gaze on her, while he gave her his slow nod.
To hell with it. She just wanted to be in the same room with the man, no matter what he said or did. Pathetic.
Grace slammed open her notebook, flipping to the sheet-cake frosting recipe she’d perfected for Faith. Her recipe notebook was thick with cakes, cookies, and pastries of all kinds, which she’d created and mastered when she’d planned to open a restaurant with another chef she’d been dating, who’d turned out to be a crook. All Grace’s hopes and dreams had flown when the man had disappeared in the night with all the funds, after Grace had made a down payment on the restaurant and co-signed for a startup loan.
She’d been shocked, betrayed, grieved, financially devastated, and just plain mad. Being all-around cook to a local ranching family wasn’t her end goal, but when Grant, the second oldest Campbell brother, had suggested it, Grace leapt at the chance.
Because I need the money, Grace had told herself. She was stuck paying back the loans the con man had left her with. And something to do to take my mind off things.
Bull. She’d jumped at the offer to work here so she’d have an excuse to be near Carter Sullivan, the Campbells’ adopted brother. She’d been gone on him since she’d first seen him years ago at school when he’d been the cool kid, untouchable and mysterious.
At first, Grace had thought her crush had stemmed from the fact that Carter was forbidden fruit, but over the years, she’d changed her mind. She simply liked him, everything about him—from his Houston drawl, to his long silences, to his hard face and the tatts that laced down his arms. And, all right, his hot body and great ass.
But the man never noticed her.
A thump on the kitchen door broke Grace out of her contemplation. She’d been staring at the recipe while she daydreamed about Carter, not seeing a word of it.
No one was home at the Campbell house—the family was out and about doing various things that took them to the far corners of River County, and Faith was at school. It was a fine September day, with a blue arch of sky and floating white clouds, warm but not too hot.
The guys—and a few gals—who worked down in the stables rarely came to the house, calling on the phone when they needed something. But maybe they’d smelled baking and come looking for something to eat. They knew Grace liked feeding people.
Grace closed her notebook and moved across the kitchen floor to the little alcove that led to the back door.
“Grace’s Kitchen,” she sang as she flung the door open. “How can I help…?”
Her words died as she took in the woman on the doorstep. Grace had no idea who she was, and Grace knew everyone in Riverbend.
The woman was on the small side, about an inch shorter than Grace, and very slender. She wore stained jeans and a black, close-fitting tank top with wide shoulder straps, and carried a leather jacket slung over one arm.
Her hair was short and spiky, dyed a flat, soot black. She wore no makeup on her pale face, the lines about her eyes incongruous with her apparent youth. She had lines around her mouth too, and a pinched look that Grace thought came from certain types of addictive drugs.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said, the politeness she’d learned at her mother’s knee coming to her rescue. “Were you looking for someone?”
The woman already made her uncomfortable, but Grace refused to let herself judge too quickly. She might simply have gotten lost on the back highways that crisscrossed Hill Country, and need directions.
The woman looked Grace up and down with hard, light brown eyes. Grace did not know her, yet there was something familiar about those eyes, in the shape of them and the way they narrowed.
“Who are you?” the woman snapped. Her voice was gravelly, too deep for such a young throat.
“I’m the cook,” Grace said. “I work here.” Normally, Grace was far friendlier, offering her name and her life story to anyone she met, but her instincts were telling her to be reticent.
“Carter still live here?”
“Yes,” Grace said slowly. Lying would do no good—the woman could ask anyone in town that question and get the same answer. “But he’s not home. Can I tell him who stopped by?”
“You his wife?” The woman gave her a surly stare.
“No.” Grace’s wariness grew, straining her politeness. “As I said, I cook for the family. They’re out today, but if you want to leave a message, I’ll see that they get it.”
“Where’s the girl?”
Grace blinked. “Girl?”
“He named her Faith. Dumb-ass named her that to get back at me.”
Grace blinked a few more times, then she remembered where she’d seen eyes that shape, a mirror of the expression in them.
Holy shit, she was Lizzie Fredrickson. Faith’s mother.
“Um,” Grace said, finding her voice. “She’s not here.”
“Where the hell is she then?” The voice was harsh, filled with volumes of rage.
Nine years ago, this woman had come to the house, shoved a bundle into Carter’s arms, and taken off down the road. The bundle had contained a newborn baby, screaming with fear at the enormity of the world.
Carter had been in complete shock, but once he’d realized the bab
y was indeed his, he’d devoted himself fiercely to taking care of her.
And now Lizzie had come back, asking for Faith.
Grace’s own anger grew. She’d watched how Carter had struggled, still a kid himself at eighteen, to be a father, and a good one. He’d given up a lot to make sure Faith was taken care of, kept safe, loved. He’d been a damn good dad, while this woman had utterly abandoned Faith.
“You gone deaf?” the woman barked. “Where is my daughter? I want her.”
Grace remained silent, her fury mounting. Damned if she would send this woman to a school full of kids to pull Faith out and take her God knew where. Carter needed to know Lizzie was back in town, needed to know now.
“How about if I get Carter on the phone?” Grace asked, striving to maintain an even tone. “You can talk to him about this.”
“Like hell.” The woman dropped the leather jacket, pulling a black pistol from its folds.
Grace found herself looking into the round barrel of a gun as flat black as the woman’s hair. Her mouth went paper dry, her voice dying into a tiny squeak. Fear she’d never known wedged in her throat, all from a hunk of metal with a hole in it pointed at her heart.
“Where is my daughter? Tell me now, bitch.”
Nothing came from Grace’s mouth. If she’d been hesitant about sending this woman to Faith’s school before, she certainly wasn’t going to let her go down there with a gun.
“I said now.”
Lizzie didn’t raise her voice—no chance of the guys down the hill in the stables hearing—but the words were final.
“Let me call Carter,” Grace said quickly. She needed to hear his voice—not only that, Carter would call Ross, his deputy brother. “You two need to work this out.”
The gun didn’t waver, but Lizzie sneered. “Figures he’d go for a snotty little soft girl like you.”
“You need to leave.” Grace firmed her voice, like she did when her two older brothers got too bossy and obnoxious. What she wouldn’t give for a chance visit from Kyle or Ray now.
“Not until you tell me where Faith is. I want my kid.”
Grace would never reveal where Faith was—and anyway, what kind of woman wouldn’t understand that on a school day, during the school year, her daughter would be in a classroom? But Lizzie wasn’t from Riverbend, wouldn’t know that kids around here went to the elementary school in White Fork, the next town down the highway. Lizzie knew Carter from his gang days in Houston.
The silence went on too long. Grace saw the tightening of Lizzie’s eyes, of her finger on the trigger.
In that split second, Grace dove behind the kitchen door, but not fast enough.
The roar of the shot exploded in Grace’s ears, blotting out all other sound. Then came the bright smell of blood to overpower the warm, chocolate-cake scent of the kitchen. Grace fell to the floor, her legs no longer working.
The last thing she saw of Lizzie was the woman turning and running, a black flash in the bright sunshine. Grace heard shouting from the men at the stables, the neighing of startled horses.
Grace’s limp fingers closed around the cell phone in her apron pocket. Her hand was bloody, the red obscuring her contact list, so annoying. She managed to touch her thumb to the name Carter. Her ears still ringing from the shot, she could barely hear him answer in his rumbling, beloved voice.
“Carter,” she whispered. “Faith …”
Whatever happened after that was a blank.
Chapter Two
“Grace?” Carter Sullivan stopped in the middle of a cow pasture, his feet squishing in mud. The ranch owner he’d been speaking to about their next show looked annoyed, but Carter had recognized the ringtone of Grace Malory’s number. He’d always answer that call.
“Carter?” The word was almost too faint to be heard.
“Grace?” Carter turned aside. “What’s wrong? Is Faith okay?”
“Faith …”
It was a shallow whisper, but the one word sent cold, hard fear through Carter’s body.
The signal cut out, and Grace’s voice was gone. Damn it all to hell.
Carter started running for his truck, ignoring the rancher’s Now, where the heck are you going? Carter’s blood was like ice as he yanked open the door of his big 250 and leapt inside.
As he started the truck, he slammed his thumb on the number for Ross, his baby brother, now a River County deputy sheriff.
“Ross—get to the ranch. Right now. Something’s wrong.”
Carter heard Ross try to answer, but he tossed the phone to the passenger seat and tore away from the side of the road where he’d parked. It was fifty miles back to Riverbend, and Carter put his foot down. Any cop who wanted to stop him could just chase him.
For those fifty miles Carter ran through scenarios in his head. Faith, hurt at school, so bad Grace couldn’t find the words to tell him. Or maybe Mom had picked up Faith, and they’d had an accident. Or maybe … hell he didn’t know.
He tried to get Grace on the phone again as he drove, but couldn’t raise her. The fifth time he heard Grace’s chirpy greeting—Hi, it’s Grace. Leave a message, and I’ll get right back to you—he threw the phone to the floor and left it there.
Circle C Ranch loomed up on the left, off the road that led north to Riverbend. Carter spun his truck onto the drive, churning up dirt and mud from yesterday’s rain.
Never had the half-mile loop that led to the stables and house seemed so long, so twisting. Dust rose in the truck’s wake, a breeze blowing the dirt forward, so Carter drove in a cloud.
The scene at the house did nothing to calm him. County sheriff’s cars were everywhere, along with a fire truck and the smaller red truck of paramedics, plus an ambulance at the back door of the house, where the kitchen lay.
Carter shoved his way past the cops, firemen, paramedics. The River County sheriff, Hennessy, was there, Ross with him.
Ross tried to get in Carter’s way. “We have it under control, bro. Faith’s at the office—we got her before there was any trouble.”
“Faith …?” Carter’s thoughts rearranged themselves. “What the fuck happened? Where’s Grace?”
Ross, Carter’s favorite brother, would never lie to him, but Carter saw that right now he wanted to. “Grace is hurt … They’re working on it. Carter …”
Carter bodily stood Ross aside, dimly grateful that Ross let him, and stormed into the kitchen.
Grace lay on a stretcher in the middle of the blood-stained tile floor. Paramedics were holding up various bags, tubes protruding from them into Grace’s arms.
She lay very still, blood all over her stomach, her face a terrible white. Holy fucking shit.
Carter had watched people die from gunshot wounds, and they’d had the same pallor, the same wasted look as Grace did now. Paramedics had tried to help them too, and then pronounced them DOA at the hospital.
Carter made it to Grace’s side and lifted her hand, her fingers ice cold. Grace breathed, but shallowly.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Carter said.
The gentleness of his voice startled even himself. Grace’s eyes flicked open. Her pupils were pinpricks, the green of her irises watery.
“I’m sorry. Tried to stop her …”
“Stop who? Grace!” Carter’s voice rose as Grace’s eyes fluttered closed. “Come on, sweetie. Hang on.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his hands tightening around Grace’s. “Don’t leave me, sugar.”
The paramedic, a guy Carter had known for years, signaled to his partner to help him raise the stretcher. If they heard Carter’s plea, they gave no indication. “We have to take her, Sullivan.”
Carter stepped back and let them go, his chest tight. He walked numbly after the stretcher as Grace was wheeled out of the house to the open doors of the ambulance. The paramedics quickly and competently slid her inside, one jumping in with her.
Carter did not want those doors to close and shut him out. He started to follow, but the paramedic he knew gave him a sharp lo
ok and shake of his head.
Carter was about to shove him aside and tell him to go to hell but at the same time a shrill voice floated up the hill from the stables.
“Daddy! Tell them to let me outta here!”
Faith. Carter’s heart tore as he automatically turned at his daughter’s cry. Before he could look back, the doors of the ambulance slammed and the vehicle rolled away. Sirens split the air, and the ambulance roared down the drive, rushing to save Grace’s life.
Carter watched the ambulance go for half a second then turned and started at a run down the hill to the office at the stables.
Ross caught up to him. “Faith’s all right. Don’t look like that, Carter. We got her.”
Carter didn’t have the breath to answer. The two deputies that guarded the office door gave Carter sympathetic nods as they stepped aside for him.
Faith looked fine, whole, mad, impatient, and worried. “Daddy!”
Carter swept her into his arms, hugged her tight. He swung to Ross, still holding Faith, and found his voice. “Grace was shot. You tell me what the fuck happened right now.”
Usually, Carter tried to keep his language under control around Faith, but at the moment, his mouth saying what his mouth was gonna say.
Faith answered before Ross could. “It was my mom,” she said quietly. “She came back.”
Carter stopped dead. “What’s that, baby?”
Faith’s face was pale, her eyes large but holding determination not to break down. “It was my mom. She came to the house, and she shot Grace.”
Red rage blurred Carter’s vision. The image of Faith’s mother, Elizabeth Fredrickson—Lizzie—rose before him. He’d met her when they were kids—she thirteen to his eleven. She’d been small, sassy, and fascinating, with her dyed black hair and almost sand-colored eyes, and Carter had fallen hard. Later, after he’d been adopted by the Campbells, he’d met up with Lizzie by chance when he’d gone with Adam and Grant on a business trip to Houston.
This time he’d been seventeen, she nineteen, and they’d begun a turbulent relationship, which he’d kept quiet from the Campbells. Carter had learned fast that Lizzie was unstable, had a fiery temper, was in and out of drug rehab, and also had a string of other boyfriends, all of whom had threatened to kill Carter.