Undeterred (The Bradshaw Brothers)

Chapter 1

Deidre

THIS IS ALL my fault.

If I’d been a better mother—more present, less focused on my career—maybe my sons would be sitting around the table I spent hours preparing, eating turkey and dressing. Maybe we would be celebrating the holiday together. Maybe they would have been happily paired up, building families of their own.

Maybe my house would be full of chaos and love instead of empty and silent.

“Why don’t you come sit down, sweetheart?” Ted rests one hand on my lower back. Normally, his touch would soothe me. Ease my stress and my worries. I might have been the one in the public eye all these years, but he’s been the one holding me up. Supporting me.

Loving me. Without him I would be nothing.

I thought my boys would see what we have and want it for themselves. That they would chase love as doggedly as they chase success. That building our family would be as important to them as it is to their father and me.

It appears I was wrong.

I turn to my husband. “Am I a bad mother?”

His head tips back enough I know he’s surprised by my question. “No. You love those boys unconditionally.”

“That’s not what I asked.” I do love my sons unconditionally. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t fail them. “I asked if I’m a bad mother.”

“Of course not.” Ted steps in front of me, blocking my view of the melting candles, cold food, and wilting centerpieces. “You’ve given them an exceptional life, DeeDee. Made sure they’ve had every opportunity to thrive.”

I want to believe him. Want to keep telling myself I did all the right things. Made all the right choices. But standing here in my empty house on Thanksgiving, it’s hard to deny I failed in at least some capacity.

“Then why aren’t they here?” I don’t ask for much. Do my best to let my sons live their lives. But maybe that’s yet another mistake. Maybe I gave them too much freedom growing up. Didn’t stress the importance of family. The value of having people supporting you. People to support.

“They’re busy, sweetheart. They probably just got tied up with work and lost track of time.” Ted continues attempting to placate me.

He’s always been the calm to my storm. The anchor of my ship. But who is anchoring my sons? No one. All they care about is work. Their business. Making more money. Expanding.

Not a single one of them has settled down. Got married. Created a family.

And I’m starting to think the fault for that lies at my feet.

“This is because they saw me always working.” I told myself it was okay because I could work while mothering them. That even if there were photographers and producers observing, I was still being a parent. I was still present.

But I was lying to myself. I showed them nothing was sacred. That family moments were also business moments. That every part of their lives should be mined for opportunity.

Did it make them successful as hell? In a financial sense, yes.

Personally? Absolutely not.

“You were working for us. You built an empire showing people how to improve their lives. How to find enjoyment in everything.” Ted brings his hands to my face, cradling my cheeks in his rough palms. “You are an incredible woman and you raised incredible sons.”

Incredible isn’t the word I would use to describe them—or me—in this moment.

I snort because there’s no way I can laugh right now, even bitterly. “Incredible sons who ignore their parents on Thanksgiving.”

“They’re not ignoring us, DeeDee.” Ted shrugs, like this genuinely doesn’t matter. “They just forgot is all.”

Somehow, that’s worse. Worse that they care so little about anything outside of their work that they don’t even notice it’s a damn holiday.

A holiday I explicitly reminded them of yesterday.

“I’m going to go find them.” I step away from my husband, scowling at what should have been a beautiful dinner as I pass. “I need to figure out how to fix this before it’s too late and they all end up miserable and alone.”

I won’t argue that having a career is important. I’m so proud of the way my sons came together to build McKinley Security Systems into the thriving business it is.

But all the success in the world doesn’t mean shit when you’re staring down all the empty seats at your Thanksgiving table.

Ted knows me well enough that he doesn’t try to stop me when I stalk to the mud room to pull on my boots. Just trails along, watching as I yank my favorite pair of waterproof Hunters over my calves.

When I grab my slicker, he angles a brow. “Are you really going out in this?”

“Yup.” I zip the lined jacket up to my chin and lift the hood into place. “I’ll be back.” I manage a smile. “Don’t eat all the turkey while I’m gone.”

I know he’d come with me if I asked, but this is my mess. I’m the one who turned Deidre Bradshaw into a household name. I’m the one who used family pictures and private moments to sell cookbooks and magazines. I’m the one who made my boys think work should infiltrate your whole life.

Now I’m gonna be the one to make sure it doesn’t end up being all they have.

Whistling between my fingers, I call my partner in crime from where he’s been stationed under the table, waiting for handouts. “Come on, Gunnar. Let’s go for a ride.” I hear my labrador’s nails fighting for traction across the wood floors as he races my way.

At least someone’s excited to spend the day with me.

I give Ted a quick kiss—and a little butt grope—before grabbing the keys to my favorite side-by-side, and ducking out into the cold and rain.

Thankfully, twenty years ago when Ted and I built this place, we had enough foresight to situate the house in a way that would make it easy to expand, so there’s now a covered breezeway keeping the bulk of the elements off me as I walk to the detached garage housing the vehicles we use to get around the three-hundred acre property.

Gunner goes straight for the one I prefer, dancing around beside it as he waits for me to catch up. Most of our UTVs are open air, but this one has an enclosed cab. It also has heated seats and an HVAC system, making it perfect for cold, rainy days like today.

After letting Gunnar in on his side, I take my place behind the wheel, opening the overhead door before starting the engine.

Pulling out, I pause, trying to decide where to go first. Each of my sons has built a place of their own on the property, turning it into something of a family compound.

Not that it matters since I clearly didn’t instill the importance of family into them.

Yet.

In the end, I decide to tackle the boys in the order of closeness, so I aim for Tobias’s place first, venturing out into the elements. He’s the middle of my sons, and one of only two who’s ever come close to finding what their father and I share.

Unfortunately, a lack of foresight and immaturity led him to fuck the whole thing up.

Maybe I should’ve stepped in back then. Focused more on teaching at least one of my sons the importance of connection. The importance of companionship.

The importance of love. That it’s worth fighting for. Sacrificing for.

Waiting for.

I sit a little straighter in my seat, gripping the wheel as determination sets in. “It’s not too late.”

I’ve never been afraid of hard work and I’ve never accepted defeat. I’m sure as heck not going to start now. Not when something so important is on the line.

Nothing is going to get in my—

One of my back tires loses traction, making the UTV slip a little. I ease off the gas, but it seems to continue struggling for grip.

I squint into the mirrors, trying to find the issue. Normally it would be easy to see what’s going on, but the fully-enclosed cab and the rain streaking down the windows block my view of what’s beneath and around me.

Opening the door, I peek out to find what seems to be perfectly passable ground. It’s a little sloppy, but it appears stable enough I shouldn’t be having problems.

I give the UTV a little gas, expecting to easily continue on my way since it looks like I’m beyond the slick spot that tripped me up.

I must hit it harder than I mean to, because the UTV lurches forward, finding enough grip to get moving again. Unfortunately, the process flings a splatter of freezing mud through the gap in the door.

Right into my face.

I sit, eyes squeezed shut, trying to process what in the hell just happened.

Reaching up, I swipe the filth from my eyes, doing my best to flip it outside instead of in. I tentatively bring the tips of one finger to my nose, taking a sniff to make sure it really is mud.

And not horse shit.

Thankfully, it smells like earth and not the inside of a mare, so I don’t feel as inclined to turn around. But I’m not sure I would have gone back even if it was manure.

These boys need to understand how serious this is and nothing says serious like your mother showing up on your doorstep on Thanksgiving, covered in crap.

I lean a little more out the open door so I can spit, making sure I don’t ingest any of what’s caking my face, just in case I misidentified it.

As I’m bent over, Gunner starts to bark behind me, losing his mind over something he’s staring at through my door. I glare at him over one shoulder, giving him my best threatening mom voice when I say, “Don’t you dare. I swear to God, I’ll never give you another treat ag—”

I knew it was coming, but I still yelp when the lab bounds over me, taking off through the rain.

If this is a sign, I’m ignoring it. Slamming my door closed, I turn off the path to follow Gunner.

Because I’m going to find my dog and then I’m going to hunt down each of my sons so I can figure out how to fix whatever I broke in them.