Faith ran off to dump her stuff in her room, and Carter walked into the kitchen to grab some bottled water for the cooler down at the office.
Grace Malory was standing at the kitchen’s island counter, beating something in a bowl with a fork.
Carter stopped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Grace swung around. Damn, she looked good. She’d lost some of her plumpness because of the injury, but she was still gorgeous, all curves and softness. She’d pulled her dark hair into a sloppy bun, and her green eyes widened when she saw him.
“I’m starting dinner. What does it look like I’m doing?”
Carter’s shyness fought his concern and anger, which in turn fought his sheer gladness to see her.
“Why?” he demanded.
Grace blinked, pretending innocence. “Well, y’all are going to want to eat something, and your mom said she could use the help getting it on the table.”
“You know what I mean.” Carter approached the counter, his hands balling. “I don’t want you to be here.”
Grace flushed but went back to whatever she was mixing. “Good thing I work for your mom then.”
Carter rested one fist on the counter. He wanted to seize hold of her, shove her into his truck, and drive her home to safety. “Last time you were in this kitchen, you got yourself shot. What the hell made you think it was okay to come back?”
“Because this is my job, and I enjoy doing it.” Grace’s gentle eyes flashed more anger than Carter had ever seen in her. “If you have a problem, take it up with Olivia. She’s the one who hired me.”
“Damn it, Grace, it isn’t safe. Until Lizzie’s found, I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
Most people Carter spoke to that way backed off rapidly. Grace glared straight at him, not moving an inch.
“What I do with my life isn’t up to you,” she said crisply. “I’m on the lookout for Lizzie—I’ll stay out of her way and call the police the instant I see her. I’m not about to let her hurt me again.”
“You don’t know her like I do. She’s crazy. I don’t want you anyplace she might find you. Which means here. So go the hell home and stay there.”
Grace firmed her lips. “No.”
“Shit.” Carter turned around and slammed his fist into the nearest wall. He’d learned to pull his punches so he wouldn’t destroy anything, but even so, pictures down the hall rattled.
“Daddy?” Faith came bounding in. “You okay? What’s wrong …” She broke off, saw Grace, and yelled. “Grace! You’re back! Woo-hoo!”
Faith was across the room, hugging Grace, who bent down to embrace her. Carter shook out his hand, fingers stinging. He saw Grace wince as Faith squeezed too tight.
“Let her go, Faith,” he said quickly. “She’s still hurt.”
Faith released Grace, abashed. “Sorry. You all right?”
“I’m fine.” Grace caught Faith’s hands. “You two can’t seal me in bubble-wrap, and I’ve healed really well. My doctors are impressed. Want to help me mix up the biscuits?”
Her smile was as sweet as ever as she spoke to Faith, but the glare she shot Carter showed that the dove had some teeth.
Faith let go of Grace’s hands and spun around the room. “Grace is back. Grace is back.” She chanted and waved her fingers in the air.
Carter gave up. He slammed out of the kitchen, forgetting about the water. He’d have to have one of his brothers or himself in that kitchen at all times, watching over Grace, and that was all there was to it.
No other way he was going to let her stay.
***
Olivia asked Grace to have dinner with them, since she’d cooked most of the meal. Grace gladly took her place at the end of the table next to Olivia, looking forward to an evening of lively conversation.
Adam and Bailey were home, finished with the movie Adam had been hired to be stunt coordinator on. It was in the can, they were celebrating, and Adam already knew it would be out in major theaters in about a year. Adam and Bailey were building a house a mile or so down the road, on a nice piece of land adjacent to the ranch. The house was mostly done, Adam and Bailey moving in, but they’d been coming to dinner at the ranch as often as they could.
Christina had driven in from town, where she and Grant now lived, to meet Grant. She and Bailey compared thickening bellies and pregnancy ups and downs. Faith listened with interest, happy to talk about the new cousins she’d have.
Tyler and Ross had also come, the carefree bachelors not too carefree to appreciate a good meal. Tyler had started enclosing the rooms above the old garage—a carriage house a hundred years ago—for himself, but the project wasn’t finished. For now, he rented a place in town near Ross’s and managed to be around for meals. They’d come to celebrate Grace’s recovery, and eat her great food, Tyler said, raising a fork to her.
The only one not speaking, eating his dinner in silence, was Carter.
Grace understood why he was angry—to him, she was putting herself deliberately in harm’s way—but on the other hand, it was Grace’s life. She refused to let fear dictate it.
She admitted she’d been very nervous today, especially anytime someone had come to the kitchen door, and had flashed back to gazing down the gun’s dark barrel, hearing the roar, smelling the gunpowder, then the terrible weakness in her body as she’d fallen.
But Grace reasoned that if she stuck it out here, in the very spot she’d been shot, she’d learn not to be afraid. The alternative was fear so great she’d hide in her house the rest of her life. Besides, as she’d started chopping, mixing, marinating, roasting, and baking today, her sense of belonging to this place had come back.
“… because we missed the first one,” Faith was saying, then. “Grace?” She waved her hand in Grace’s direction. “Hello?”
Grace jerked her attention back to the present, noting in passing that the bristles on Carter’s jaw burned gold in the lamplight, and his jagged lightning tatts were stark against his forearms.
“What?” she asked Faith. “Sorry, didn’t hear you.”
“Would you make another cake?” Faith asked. “With you being in the hospital and my mom running around, we cancelled my birthday party. But now that things have settled down, we’ve scheduled it again for this coming Friday.”
“Great,” Grace babbled. “Sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Carter looked up and caught Grace’s gaze. From the flash in his hazel eyes, he did not think it was a good idea, but she saw that he was going to let it happen anyway. She was glad of that. His daughter only turned nine once.
The conversation then revolved around Faith’s party, the meal continuing with much laughter and good-natured argument.
Grace was helping Olivia clear away, ignoring Olivia’s protests, when Carter’s cell phone rang. The Campbells had a no-phones, no-texting rule when they ate dinner together, but Carter had taken to leaving his phone on all the time since Lizzie had appeared again. No one admonished him.
Carter frowned at his phone’s screen, then stepped out onto the wraparound porch to take the call.
Grace heard his voice rise in anger, and she set down the plates, slipped out the side door, and lingered in the shadows to listen.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Carter blazed. “There’s no way—absolutely no way—she can think about having custody. She’s a crazy, drug-addled, murderous bitch, and my daughter’s going nowhere near her.”
Chapter Four
Carter’s chest was tight, threatening to choke off his breath, like it had when he’d seen Grace bloody on the kitchen floor.
The calm voice of his lawyer came through the phone. “She’s been spending this last month in a clinic, voluntarily, to prove she’s clean. She’s been off all substances for about three years now, she claims. She’s got a couple of lawyers on her side, paid for by her wealthy parents, trying to prove she’s ready to be a mom.”
“Billy, she shot a woman. In my kitchen. In broad dayl
ight—came here raging she was going to take Faith away. How is that woman fit to have custody of a nine-year-old girl?”
Billy Emmons, who’d been working for Carter since Carter had hired him to ensure he had legal custody of Faith back when he was eighteen, had become a friend. He’d advised Carter and the Campbells on legal matters concerning the ranch, their shows, liabilities, and all the crap Carter had to worry about running a business.
Billy could celebrate at the town’s bar with the best of them, but when it came to his job, he was stone-cold sober and wicked smart.
Billy said, “She’s claiming it was self-defense. That Grace tried to stop her coming in the house and attacked her.”
“What the fuck?” Carter yelled. “Grace attacked her? Grace Malory wouldn’t attack a fly. She’s the sweetest woman in the world.”
“Lizzie is saying Grace was afraid she’d come to hurt Faith, and Lizzie was afraid Grace would hurt her. A big misunderstanding, Lizzie is claiming. She’s ready to apologize, make reparations, and start again. She has a job in Austin, is living with her rich and well-respected parents in their very large mansion on the river, when they’re not in their very large luxury apartment in Houston, and she wants to be Faith’s mom.”
“Who the hell would give her a job? She’s got a record. The police would be alerted—they’ve been looking for her.”
“Her father knows a lot of people. Don’t bellow at me, Carter. I’m just relaying the information. I won’t let anyone take Faith away from you, believe me.”
Carter tried to gulp a breath, to calm down, but he could barely see. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks for telling me.”
“Get ahold of yourself and take a walk or something,” Billy said. “Nothing will happen tonight. I’ll pull together everything I can. We’ll fight this.”
“You’re damn right we will.”
“She won’t win,” Billy said with confidence. “You and your family have been taking care of Faith just fine for nine years. Don’t worry.”
“Sure. Why would I worry?”
Carter had grown up in foster care, had been a member of a pretty violent gang in Houston, hadn’t exactly been an angel even under Olivia’s care in Riverbend. He didn’t have a record as an adult, but his juvenile file was fat. Juvie records were sealed, but people like judges had long memories, and child care social workers had longer ones. By tradition, mothers were granted custody more often than fathers. Mothers had to be pretty incompetent to lose it.
Lizzie was completely incompetent, Carter knew, but she was wily. If she’d convinced lawyers she was fine, recovered, reintegrated, a sad, regretful young woman who only wanted to be reunited with her daughter, there was something to worry about.
“Thanks for calling, Billy,” Carter said, working to keep his voice level. “You do what you need to, and we’ll meet. Come to the ranch?”
“You come to my office,” Billy said. “I’ll fix you an appointment for eleven in the morning. We need to make this formal and official.”
“Got it,” Carter said. Billy was going to take no chances, cut no corners. “Night.”
Billy said his good-nights, gave his well wishes to the family, and they hung up.
Carter swung around, knowing someone was in the shadows. His pulse quieted down when he saw it was Grace, then sped again, because it was Grace.
“Sweetest woman in the world?” Grace asked. “Aw, thanks Carter.”
Carter swallowed in his dry throat. “She’s saying you attacked her. Lizzie, I mean. That she shot you in self-defense.”
Grace’s faint laugh held a tremor. “Well, she didn’t. I remember everything. I’ll testify to that.”
Carter took a step toward her. In the moonlight, she was beautiful, her dark hair glistening, green eyes soft. “I don’t want you caught up in all this.”
“Too late. I am caught up. I don’t blame you at all for what happened—I blame Lizzie. The woman pointed a gun at me and pulled the trigger!” Grace’s amusement was gone, anger sharpening her voice. “Trust me, I want her to pay for that. And I don’t want Faith anywhere near her.”
She’d heard the entire conversation, Carter realized. No doubt the whole family had. He hadn’t exactly kept his voice down.
“I have good people on it,” Carter said. “I’m hoping we’ll get this fixed without you having to get involved.”
“I’m already involved,” Grace pointed out. “I’m a witness. And a victim. I have lawyers too, and you can’t stop me—or my brothers—from going after Lizzie for what she did to me. It’s not just about you and Faith.”
“I know.” Carter was busy saying the wrong things to her, like he always did. “What I mean is, I don’t want her getting you into trouble. You don’t need to be hurt more by my screwed-up life.”
“Well, you’re real nice to be concerned about me.” Grace’s determination showed in her eyes, her clenched hands. “I’m going to help you on this, Carter, whether you like it or not. Anything you need, I’m ready to do. Anything. You got that? I love Faith too.”
“Yeah. Got it.” Carter heard the words come out hard and snapped off. Why the hell couldn’t he ever say what he meant around Grace? “Thank you, Grace. Really.”
Grace waited a moment, probably for him to put his foot into the expression of gratitude and ruin it. Then she let out a breath. “You just call me when you need my side of the story. Anytime, all right?”
“Sure.” Carter cleared his throat, but made himself stay silent. Standing around bleating too many thank yous would be just as bad as yelling at her.
A pickup’s headlights slashed the darkness, a truck purring to a halt in the drive. Grace stepped to the porch rail and waved.
“There’s Ray. I have to go. Good night, Carter.”
“Night.” Carter said.
She hesitated, touched by moonlight and the yellow of the truck’s headlamps. Grace looked like an angel, but also solid and down-to-earth—a real woman, one Carter wanted to take into his arms and warm with his lips. He wanted to cup the curve of her breasts, pull her bare body against his, find out what it was like to be inside her.
He was angry, afraid of losing Faith, and a fucked-up mess, the last kind of man a debutante like Grace needed in her life.
Grace met his gaze for a long moment, her lips parted, as though she wouldn’t mind if he gave her a good-night kiss.
Had to be his horny imagination. Grace’s mouth closed, quirking into a half smile, and she gave him a nod. “Good night.”
She tripped down the porch stairs just as Ray was getting out of the truck, probably to see what was keeping her.
Ray raised his hand in perfunctory greeting. “Carter.”
“Ray,” Carter grunted in return.
Grace flashed a full smile at Carter as her brother opened the pickup’s door for her and boosted her inside.
Then Grace pulled the door shut, closing herself off from Carter. Ray returned to the driver’s seat, and the truck rolled away. The crunching of gravel under the truck’s tires was both familiar and sad, the sound of someone driving away, out of Carter’s life.
***
Grace answered the phone the next morning as she readied herself to go back to Circle C.
“I represent Ms. Elizabeth Fredrickson,” a steady female voice said on the other end of the line. “She’s expressed a wish to meet with you, in the presence of your lawyer and local law enforcement, to express her apologies for any harm she might have caused you.”
Grace stood a moment, blinking. “Is this for real?”
“Ms. Fredrickson is willing to turn herself in, to explain what happened. She wants to make sure you are all right, and is prepared to make recompense.”
Grace went into another long silence. She thought about the overheard conversation Carter had had with his lawyer last night. Apparently, Lizzie was going to fight very hard for Faith.
Why? Grace wondered. Why wait this long? Why this sudden turnaround?
Gr
ace had grown up trying to believe in the best in everyone, but she knew from experience that some people, like her ex-boyfriend who’d run off with all her money, were excellent con artists. She’d learned to be wary.
“I think,” she said, “that I should speak to my lawyer before I agree to anything.”
“Of course,” the woman on the other end said. “It’s entirely up to you. My client and I will be at the courthouse in Fredericksburg. You can be in touch with me at this number, and here is where you can check my credentials.”
The woman gave Grace another number, of a law firm in Austin. Grace thanked her neutrally and hung up.
“What’s up?” Kyle asked, coming through the kitchen.
Grace never kept anything from her brothers. She spilled she’d gleaned from Carter’s phone call last night, and then told him what the lawyer she’d just spoken to had said.
Kyle bristled. “That’s it. You are not going to the Campbells’ place ever again.”
Grace gave him a look of annoyance as she lifted her purse to her shoulder. “I’m a grown woman, Kyle. My doctors have cleared me for driving, and I’ll go wherever I want to.”
“All right, all right.” Kyle moved aside—barely—while Grace grabbed her keys. “But you know what I think.”
“We all know what you think, Kyle.”
Kyle walked her out of the house to her small car. “Can I be the protective big brother and encourage you not to come face to face with the woman who shot you?”
“Yes.” Grace winced, her injury suddenly aching. “But to tell the truth, I’m curious about what she has to say.”
“Best not to know, maybe. If she talks to you, she might be able to trap you into something, like confessing you attacked her or something stupid like that. I never met her, but from what I hear, she’s a piece of work.”
“Poor Faith,” Grace said in sympathy. “To have a mother like that, and then to have everyone against your mother. I can’t imagine something so awful.”
“Faith’s pretty smart,” Kyle said. “And resilient. Plus she’s got a lot of good people to take care of her.”
“She’s nine years old. She’s going to end up pushed and pulled, and that is so unfair to her.”