Chapter 9
Pixie followed him to the door, but didn’t scoff until he’d stepped out. Lock him out? Not likely.
Andy clung to her leg, but at least Shayna had quieted. Cuddling the little girl was something she could grow used to doing.
Sniffling, Andy said, “Fend,” with his bottom lip stuck out and big tears welling in his eyes.
“Shh, sweetheart, he’ll be right back.” Pixie heard Brogan’s calm, quiet voice ordering Ruthie to leave, and then she heard the woman’s snarled demands. Every word dripped hate.
Shayna yawned and turned her face against Pixie’s shoulder.
Smiling down at Andy, she asked, “Will you get Shayna’s blanket? I bet she’d like that.”
Given a purpose, he pivoted and ran to get it, but also grabbed the small stuffed animal. “My baby.”
“Yes, your baby cried, didn’t she? Babies do that sometimes.”
As he ran back, the argument outside grew more heated—at least on Ruthie’s side.
“Thank you, Andy.” Pixie tucked the lightweight blanket around the baby and used one corner to partially cover her eyes. “You’re such a good helper.”
He made grabby gestures with his hands.
“You want me to hold you?” She wasn’t sure how she’d manage that.
“My baby.”
“Oh.” Despite the nasty scene happening outside her door, her mouth twitched. “How about I hold the baby for now, and you can hold her in a little bit?” Without a thought, she kissed the baby’s smooth, sweet-smelling forehead. “Shayna is falling asleep. Do you think you can whisper?”
Putting a finger to his mouth, Andy said, “Shh.”
“Yes, perfect. Thank you, sweetheart. We’re going to be very, very quiet, okay?”
From outside, she heard, “Goddamn it, you will listen to me!”
Pixie cracked the door open and saw that Brogan had moved away from the entrance, probably in an attempt to shield the kids from the shouting. Arms crossed and feet braced apart, he looked every bit the warrior protecting his ground.
Ruthie stood several feet in front of him on the gravel driveway.
Still in a controlled tone, Brogan said, “I imagine all of Bramble has heard you.”
Ruthie took a step forward, but when Brogan didn’t so much as flinch, she stopped again. “You don’t even care, do you? You’re such a coldhearted bastard, nothing touches you.”
Brogan didn’t reply.
To call him a bastard was an awful insult. Pixie badly wanted to go to him, to show Ruthie that she was on his side, but she didn’t dare.
He was no longer a little boy. He was a man, and Pixie had full confidence that he could handle even Ruthie’s obnoxious taunts.
Fortunately, Andy had wandered back to the blanket that Shayna had been on, crouched down, and was going through the diaper bag again.
Seeing that as her only chance, Pixie opened the door a little more so she could better witness what was happening. There was no way Andy could slip out past her, and neither Brogan nor Ruthie noticed her.
Jutting up her chin, Ruthie said, “Your father is sick.”
“He drinks too much. Nothing I can do about it.”
Infuriated by that reply, Ruthie kicked gravel in his direction. “Do you even care if he dies?”
“Is he dying?” Brogan asked with mild curiosity.
“Yes!”
Pixie froze.
Brogan didn’t. “What hospital is he in?”
“Like I’d tell you.”
“You’re here—so if he’s dying, who’s with him now?”
Impotent fury balled Ruthie’s hands and she glared. “He needs a safe place to recover, but you want to kick him out on the street. I had to come to try to reason with you.”
“I haven’t spoken to him in years. Wherever he is, it has nothing to do with me.”
“It does! You know he’s comfortable in that house. It’s the only roof he’s got right now. He’s too sick to work. So if he leaves there, where is he supposed to go?”
“Again, not my problem—but you’re saying you’ve been told to get out of Connie’s house?”
It was clear to Pixie that he knew nothing about it.
“Bills have to be paid.” Ruthie sounded petulant now.
“You were supposed to forward all of Connie’s mail to Erin. She hasn’t sent me anything, so I’m guessing you didn’t do that?”
“I don’t deal with that uppity bitch. Besides, it’s the tax bill and more. Are you saying you’d pay them?”
Brogan considered her. “How much more?”
“We have to be out in a week.”
“Wait.” Brogan unfolded his arms, his tone incredulous as he asked, “You’re being evicted?” A short disbelieving laugh huffed out of him. “More than the taxes. So, what else? Gas, electric, insurance?”
Ruthie stiffened.
With a snort, he asked, “Garbage pickup?”
“It’s not our house! It’s yours.”
He ran a hand over his face. “You and Brian are living there.”
“We were taking care of the baby. We should have been paid and we weren’t.”
“Taking care of her?” Anger propelled him forward. “You neglected her.”
“It didn’t hurt her to cry a little! Connie spoiled her.”
From the front porch, Pixie saw the cords in Brogan’s neck tighten.
His shoulders stiffened, his biceps bunched.
Through his teeth, he said, “You can’t spoil an infant—” He broke off with a shake of his head.
“I’m not discussing Shayna with you. There’s no point to it.
I have her and you’re never getting her back. ”
“Court might see it otherwise,” she said with shrewd manipulation.
“Give it up, Ruth. I’m not playing your game.”
That really seemed to set her off. “I go by Ruthie, and you damn well know it!”
“Call yourself whatever you want. Make any threat you want. It won’t change the outcome. No one is paying you a dime.”
“You owe me!”
“If you get kicked out, it’s not my doing. Not yet anyway. I’d planned to settle that mess later, after the summer. Sounds like bill collectors will take care of it for me.”
“Then you’ll lose out, too!”
He lifted one shoulder, as if he really didn’t care.
Pixie thought about everything she’d just heard.
Brogan had sidestepped other issues to put Connie’s wishes first. He’d brought Shayna to introduce her to Andy in the hope that she could form a bond with her brother.
Dealing with the legalities—and Brogan’s absentee father and detestable stepmother—had taken a back seat to doing what was right for his sister and niece.
To Pixie, even without his military service, Brogan was a hero through and through.
Ruthie dug in. “You want to hang out in this hick town and pretend to be a father? Have at it. But you could make it easier on yourself if you’ll just do what it takes to keep your father right where he is. Then I’ll leave you be.”
For the first time, Brogan lost his detachment. “You aren’t listening, Ruth. You’ll get nothing from me. Ever.”
No man should have to tolerate Ruthie’s nonsense after her abuse—that she expected money from Brogan was outrageous.
“You bastard,” Ruthie whispered. “If your daddy dies, you don’t even care, do you? That’s what you’re telling me?”
The rigidity in Brogan’s back and neck proved he did care, but caring had never done him any good. Not with them. With Pixie and Andy, he’d find total acceptance. She’d see to it.
“He washed his hands of me long ago,” Brogan said, his tone carefully neutral. “What he does, how he chooses to waste his life, is his business. It has nothing to do with me. Now leave and don’t come back.”
Just then, Andy almost got past her. Pixie caught him at the last second and held on. “Andy,” she whispered. “We have to stay right here.”
“Fend?” Andy called out.
Brogan looked up and spotted them. His frown deepened.
Ruthie used his moment of distraction to grab up a handful of rough gravel from the driveway. Mouth twisted and eyes mean, she hurled it at Brogan. The rocks hit his shoulder and back. One struck the side of his head.
Pixie gasped, taking a step back with Andy and Shayna, an instinctive reaction to danger.
Brogan didn’t flinch, but he did move to block her and the babies. “Inside, Pixie.”
A kaleidoscope of impotent rage whirled through her. If it weren’t for the children, Pixie would gladly put herself in front of Brogan. By God, he deserved protection, too. Instead, he stood there, stoic as Ruthie found a larger chunk of gravel, and then an actual rock.
Without looking back at her, Brogan said, “I need you to go inside now.”
What Brogan would do, she couldn’t imagine, but Andy definitely didn’t need to see it, and she wouldn’t risk Shayna’s getting hurt.
She said to Ruthie, “You’re evil,” before urging Andy into the house. He didn’t want to go. In a rare defiant mood, her son struggled against her hold.
“Andy Nolan, stop it right now.”
He might not have heard her over Ruthie’s shouting, ugly words about Brogan getting his whole team killed. She threw more rocks, doing her best to egg him on.
Then another car, this one familiar, screeched to a stop on the street right in front of her house. The passenger door of the silver Lexus SUV opened, and as Marlow came barreling around the hood, the headlights highlighted her wrath.
Cort jumped out of the driver’s seat, shouting, “Damn it, Marlow!” as he jogged after her.
Marlow stormed forward, right up to Ruthie to demand, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Immediately, Cort was there beside her, strong and steady, ready to intercede if necessary, but as usual, giving Marlow her space.
Pixie stopped struggling with Andy and instead stood her ground. She maintained her hold on him, but she no longer felt threatened.
Cort and Marlow were here.
Brogan stared at them both, his confounded expression almost funny.
Drawing her first easy breath since Ruthie’s arrival, Pixie called out, “Hello, you two.” Squealing in excitement, Andy almost got away from her again. She held on, quietly reassuring him.
If anything, Ruthie got even more obnoxious—and she still had a rock in her hand. “Who the hell are you?”
Uh-oh. Pixie’s eyes widened.
With one big step, Marlow was in Ruthie’s space, backing her up with a glare and a quietly stated, “I am Marlow Easton. You are a vile trespasser, and I strongly, very strongly, suggest you get in your car and leave the premises immediately.”
Ruthie frowned and opened her mouth.
“Immediately.”