Chapter One
She cradled the soft blue blanket in her arms, gazing down at her son. The medical team had done all they could to save him. He looked like a sleeping angel, just two days old.
“We’re sorry, Bryar. Sometimes these things…” the doctor’s voice trailed off.
She heard the doctor describe her baby's death, but nothing really sank in. Her mind felt chaotic. She ought to be grieving, weeping—anything—but instead, there was a hollow emptiness in her chest where there had been joy and happiness. Her thoughts raced for explanations beyond a complication. Was her love for Puma Steel a reason for her suffering? Her father’s harsh words echoed in her mind: “The Steels will only bring pain and misfortune to this family.”
“I’ll leave you two alone. Take a moment to say your goodbyes.” Dr. Vanpool patted Puma’s shoulder before leaving the hospital room.
She barely heard the doctor excuse himself. Nothing made sense to her. She couldn’t comprehend that her baby, born healthy—a boy who looked perfectly shaped—had taken his last breath because his lungs were weak. She’d never see him grow up, witness all the firsts, or hear him say “mama.”
She looked at Puma. He’d been strong for her.
“How?” the word fell off her trembling lips.
“I don’t know.” Puma threaded his fingers through Bryar’s hair. “We’ll get through this. We will.”
“Where the hell is she?” came the bellowing sound of her father’s voice outside in the hospital corridor.
“Sir, you can’t go in there,” a nurse chased him into the room, looking at Bryar in apology.
Rory, six-foot-three, two hundred pounds, always did have a way of barreling his way into every situation. “I’m here to see my daughter!”
“It’s okay,” Brya told the young nurse.
“What the hell?” Puma muttered as he stood. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked tired—older than twenty.
Both men alone were a force to be reckoned with, but together, they were like two titans ready for battle.
Puma’s jaw was set, and his fists were clenched at his sides. He’d never been one to back down from anything or anyone. When they had run off and eloped, he’d stayed by her side as they broke the news to her father. Rory had been livid, as she’d expected, but she’d never believed he would demand that she annul the marriage or he’d never speak to her again.
She’d never stood up to her father until that day. Very few people did, outside of Bryar’s mother. “I invited them,” she whispered to Puma.
Was it hurt or disappointment that crossed Puma’s expression? Or pain?
Bryar woke with a startle. Sweat dampened her skin, and her heart raced.
The same dream haunted her sleep nearly every night.
She blinked and tried to come to her senses.
Pushing back the covers, she got up and entered the bathroom, splashing her face with cold water.
Her son—she and Puma’s son—would have been ten now.
She wondered what he would look like. He’d probably have his father’s dark hair and grin, and her blue eyes. Would he be into sports like Puma? Or would he have been an artist? The next da Vinci? Or van Gogh? Maybe he would have wanted to be a rancher when he grew up.
They would never know.
She touched the locket on her neck. Inside, she kept a lock of her son’s hair. He’d been born with a head full.
Bryar got dressed and went downstairs, discovering her father already in the kitchen making himself breakfast. “Do you want me to take care of that for you?” she offered.
“Nah,” he muttered.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a banana from the bowl in the center of the table. “I’m taking the van to Derry’s this morning.”
Rory groaned. “He doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”
“One, Derry is a great mechanic. Two, he’s my friend.” She peeled her banana but suddenly didn’t have an appetite.
“Great mechanics can fix vehicles. He’s like the government. All are bottom feeders.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Daddy?” She forced herself to take one bite of the fruit and dropped it into the trashcan.
“I suppose I’m feeling a bit pissed this morning,” he said, shaking his head. “This wheelchair is beginning to feel like a life sentence.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard. The doctor said it’ll take some time.”
He turned away from her. “Yeah, I guess so.”
She felt more was happening with her father, but she had things to check off her to-do list. “We will talk when I get back this evening. I need to drop the van off before heading to the bar to open. Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. You go on.”
She kissed his cheek, grabbing her purse and keys on the way to the door.
“Yoo-hoo! Miss Bryar!” called a sing-song voice from the neighboring yard. Mrs. Tripp was watering the plants that hung from every available spot on her porch railing.
She forced a wave and a smile, although Bryar wasn’t up to hearing about the nephew Mrs. Tripp had been wanting to fix Bryar up with. “Good morning, Mrs. Tripp. Your plants are looking lovely.”
“Thanks, honey.” Her cheeks flamed as brightly as her red-dyed hair. “I think it’s wonderful about your father. I’m sure it’s a relief to both of you.”
“Sorry, but I think I must be missing something?”
“I’m talking about his recovery. Getting up out of that wheelchair is a triumph.”
Bryar blinked. “I’m afraid we’re not quite there yet, but he’s ready.”
Mrs. Tripp lowered the watering jug, looking confused. “I swore I saw him standing in the kitchen window this morning.” She waved a diamond-studded hand, dismissing her thought. “It’s official. I need new glasses. Have you thought any more about meeting my nephew—”
“I’m sorry to cut you short Mrs. Tripp but I gotta run. It was nice talking to you,” Bryar said and hurried to the van.
She cranked the engine and just like clockwork, the van backfired.
Mrs. Tripp nearly jumped out of her colorful robe, shaking her head in disapproval.
Bryar gave her a wave of apology.
If she didn’t get the van fixed soon, she’d have everyone in town hating her.