18. Owen
CHAPTER 18
Owen
T he air around the ranch thickens more every day. Brock throws himself full-time into the administration position that Emerson abandoned, snapping at everyone who asks him the smallest question.
I try to make myself scarce around the office, particularly when Brock is focused on something important.
I also avoid the stables and barns, where Toby is acting like a complete asshole.
Things go from bad to worse when one of our longtime clients calls to move her horses.
Brock fumes over dinner, his tongs poking furiously at the steaks on the barbecue. “We’re fucking cursed!” he growls. “This whole ranch.”
Toby pops open his third beer in an hour, and I smother the urge to comment on it, my head starting to pound.
“The only reason she’s moving the horses is because she’s relocating out of state,” I tell him reasonably. “It’s not a curse.”
“It sure as hell feels like a curse,” he hisses. “First this shit with Emerson and now?—”
“Don’t bring up that woman’s name around here!” Toby slurs.
I eye him and glance at Brock. He’s had more than the beers I counted, apparently.
I lean forward in my lawn chair. “Have any of you heard from her this week?”
“What did I just say?” Toby shrieks, slamming the bottle down on the table. “I don’t want to talk about her!”
“Then go inside and sleep it off until dinner’s ready!” I growl, my own patience wearing thin. “You’ve had enough to drink as it is.”
He gawks at me. “You’re not my dad, you know? None of you are!”
He stands and stumbles sideways making his way toward the house, but I don’t bother to help him. I almost hope he falls face-first into a wall. If I’m being honest, I’m still a little pissed off at him for how he reacted to Emerson.
He’s probably the reason she left without at least talking to us.
Brock watches our younger brother stumble into the house with a shake of his head. “He’s losing control. One of these days, he’s going to hurt himself.”
“He’s a grown-ass man,” I snap. “It’s about time he starts behaving like one.”
Surprised, Brock looks at me and flips the steaks on the grill before closing the lid of the barbecue and joining me at the table.
He studies me silently for a minute. “But you know he’s not really a grown-ass man, not really,” he drawls slowly. “Not in the same way we are.”
I grit my teeth and suck in a breath.
“And part of that is our fault,” Brock adds quietly. “He was so emotional after mom died, and instead of allowing him to face the consequences of his mistakes, we’ve been cleaning up his messes for years.”
Shame washes through me as I realize how right my brother is.
“When she was around, he was a completely different person,” he explains to me. “She never let him shirk his responsibilities. She held him accountable for everything he promised to do. And the thing is, he actually respected that. He’d follow through when she asked. It was like her presence gave him something worth being responsible for.”
“He was better with her around,” I agree stiffly, shoving Emerson out of my mind. “But it doesn’t change the fact that she lied to us all, Brock.”
He stands and retreats to the barbecue without answering.
“Does it?” I ask. And deep down, I want him to disagree, to tell me that we can forgive her.
“You should go check on him,” he tells me. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
I’m not hungry, and I really don’t feel like fighting with Toby, but I do what he asks anyway.
Heading in the side door, I find Toby sprawled on the couch in the living room, staring at the ceiling, but not passed out.
“Come and eat,” I tell him gruffly.
“I didn’t mean to scare her off,” he moans.
I grunt. “Toby, you’re drunk.”
He sits upright and stares at me with bloodshot eyes. “Yeah,” he concedes with his boyish honesty. “But I still didn’t mean to scare her off. Why hasn’t she called us, Owen? Doesn’t she want us to know the baby? Does she think I’ll make a bad father?”
Groaning, I reach down and pull him upright. “I don’t know,” I answer. “And we haven’t called her either, since that morning.”
He stands up abruptly. “We should!”
I help him back outside, where Brock sets the table under the wisteria growing alongside the house.
“Right now!” Toby is still determined. “Brock, we need to call Emerson!”
I roll my eyes and plop him down on the nearest chair.
“I won’t be doing that,” Brock replies dryly. But as he says it, I catch the gleam of desire in his eyes.
He wants to call her. Should we call her?
“We need to accept that she’s trouble,” Brock mumbles. There’s not even a hint of conviction in his voice. He doesn’t believe a single word of what he just said. “A girl like that…”
“Is carrying our baby,” I cut him off, refusing to embrace this charade anymore. We’re all hurting without her. “She can’t be in a good place, the way she left things.”
“She chose to leave things like this,” Brock reminds me.
“Because of—” I stop myself from blaming Toby. “Emotions were running high that night. And none of us tried to make it right afterward.”
“The phone works both ways,” Brock insists.
I stare at him balefully as he reaches for a steak. Toby looks between us like he’s watching a tennis match. Brock just wants me to convince him. He’s looking for absolution, for the push.
But I’m not sure I can give it to him, because I don’t know if I trust Emerson either.
Why hadn’t she just told us the truth at the hospital?
It’s the same question I’d asked myself at least a hundred times over the past week. And the fact that she still hasn’t called speaks volumes to her state of mind now, too.
“Where do you think she’s staying?” Toby asks. “I tried to find her on social media.”
I look at my youngest brother. “Toby…”
“What?” he grumbles, stabbing his fork into a steak from the serving plate. “I didn’t find her.”
“Let’s just leave this in her hands.” Brock’s voice carries a newfound confidence, though tinged with sadness. “If she wanted us in the baby’s life, she knows where to find us.”
“Eventually, I suppose we’ll get an order for child support too,” he adds as an afterthought.
I’m disheartened to imagine that might be the last we’ll hear of Emerson and her child.
* * *
My heart isn’t into the rodeo at all. We’re here to sell horses, and Toby is here to perform.
Everything reminds me of Emerson now. Her suggestions for maximizing our sponsorship opportunities transformed our booth at the event. It looks more professional and inviting than ever before—all thanks to her ideas.
Toby’s riding at noon and three today, which means I can’t even duck out early. It’s going to be a long day.
Families tromp by our booth in matching hats and spurs.
“You coming to the dance later, Toby?” a blonde asks me with a suggestive wink.
“I’m Owen,” I correct her.
Her smile broadens. “Even better. I’d love to see if you’re any different in bed than Toby.”
In the past, I might have taken her up on that offer.
Not today. I no longer have a thing for blondes… only redheads.
Toby appears at my side, and I turn away from the woman to face my brother. He appears mildly panicked. When Toby doesn’t acknowledge the blonde still eyeing us both hungrily, she wanders off, leaving us alone.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Emerson’s friend is here.”
I stare at him blankly. “Who?”
“The one who came to visit the ranch. Mae.”
My pulse speeds up, and my head whips around to look for her, even though I don’t have the faintest idea what she looks like. I hadn’t met her on the day she arrived. “Is Emerson here too?”
Toby shakes his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”
“Did she see you? Did you speak to her?”
He shakes his head again, and disappointment strikes me.
I doubt Mae’s here because of anything to do with Emerson. “Well, half of central Texas is here. So what?”
My brother’s face tells me he was hoping to see her, too. I place a hand on his shoulder. “Toby…”
“Maybe it’s a sign,” he mutters.
I’d laugh if he didn’t seem so serious.
“Since when do you believe in signs?”
“Since everything is going to shit because Emerson’s gone.”
I feel like he’s being a bit dramatic, but I understand his sentiments.
“Tell you what,” I propose. “Let’s go find her and see if she knows how Emerson’s doing.”
His face brightens at the prospect. “Won’t that seem sneaky?” he asks with concern. “Approaching her friend to get information about her?”
He might have a point, but I don’t care. Like Brock had done the other night, I’m looking for absolution in seeking out Emerson, too.
“Where did you see her?”
He leads me toward the funnel cake stand as the rodeo arena fills with more bodies.
Brock is milling around somewhere, too, but I don’t look for him. I don’t want him to quash our plans.
A tiny blonde stands in front of a “Guess Your Weight” game with a man by her side.
“That’s her,” Toby tells me, nudging me in the ribs.
“Stop that,” I grumble, swatting him away. “Go talk to her.”
“You go talk to her.”
Dubiously, I stare at him. “She knows you!”
He returns my look. “Do you really think she can tell us apart?”
I snort. “Fuck. You’re right.”
Sauntering forward, Toby is on my heels. This is probably a bad idea, but I can’t help myself. I need to know how Emerson is doing.
“Pardon me?”
The couple turns, and Mae’s eyes widen in recognition.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she breathes. “Toby Collins.”
“Uh, no. I’m Owen.” I thrust my thumb out and nod toward my brother. “That’s Toby.”
He waves half-heartedly behind me, and she smirks. Her companion narrows his eyes at us, stepping closer protectively.
“This is my husband, Deputy Will Dupuis,” she informs us.
I stick out my hand cordially. “Owen Collins.”
Taken aback by my geniality, Will accepts it begrudgingly and takes Toby’s proffered palm, too.
“You’re a little ways from home,” I comment, looking casually behind her.
The crowds of laughing people don’t show the face I’m hoping to see, and Mae immediately picks up on it.
“Emmy’s not here if that’s who you’re looking for,” Mae tells me flatly.
“Oh no?” I say. “Is she in Austin?”
Will and Mae eye one another. “Yes,” Mae drawls. “Has she not been in touch with you?”
“No,” Toby says. “We’re worried about her. Is she staying with you?”
“She moved back home with her mom and stepdad,” Will blurts out.
Mae gives him a scathing look, but the admission makes my blood run cold.
“She did?” I rasp. “Why?”
As soon as I say it, I feel like an idiot.
Mae glowers at me. “Why?” she repeats. “Where else was she supposed to go? She has no job and nowhere to live.”
“She could have stayed with us,” Will interjects quickly, but his wife gives him another look, which stops him from talking again.
I imagine how desperate and alone she must have felt to move back in with her parents, and my heart aches for her.
“Anyway, good to see you,” Mae chirps sarcastically, tugging on her husband’s arm. “Good luck with your life.”
They disappear into the crowd, leaving Toby and me staring after them. The massive digital clock in the arena catches my eye in the distance, and I collect myself.
“You need to get going,” I tell my brother. “You’re riding soon.”
“We need to—” Toby starts to say.
“Never mind that now,” I tell him flatly. “Go. We will fix this. We can’t do anything now, but we will make this right.”
Toby drags his feet as he turns away, shoulders slumped in silent protest.