21
Connections
The sense of dread that had taken root in his gut earlier that day lingered through dinner. Rafferty only picked at his food, eventually pushing the plate away in silent surrender. “Sorry, Ma. Just not hungry, I guess.”
And of course, the concern in her eyes only sharpened his unease. How long until his mom stopped looking at him like he was one misstep away from falling back into the wreckage of his addiction? He looked past his mother’s shoulder, out into the dark, searching for the source of his unease.
They had not seen each other since that kiss in her kitchen. It wasn’t that he was going out of his way to avoid her. It’s just that his workload was heavy, sometimes necessitating a sleepover at a line cabin. That he volunteered for the away jobs was beside the point.
But somehow, his mind always came back to her.
She was out with the kids tonight, at playoff game in a neighboring town.
He knew because Preston had asked if he wanted to come.
He’d said no, hating himself for the flicker of disappointment on the kid’s face.
But keeping his distance from Brandy-Lyn was necessary.
When he was near her, his resolve crumbled.
It just stung that her kids got caught in the fallout, too.
The clatter of silverware focused his attention on the activity around him, and he scraped his chair back, and helped clear the table.
Midway to the sink, he cried out — a jolt of shock and fear crashing over him like a wave. He lurched sideways, the pan slipping from his hands and clattering to the floor.
Bright lights cleaved the darkness ahead.
Startled cries filled his head.
Pain stabbed through his skull like a blade.
A guttural cry tore from his throat.
He dropped to his knees, breath ragged.
And then nothing.
Just … a black void.
“Raffie?”
His breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. Sweat slicked his brow. The fallen pan lay beside him, a smear of gravy spreading slowly across the linoleum.
“You okay?” Ma peered at him, her eyes darting over his features. “What happened?”
“Just …” He trailed off, shook his head. “Nothing. It was nothing.”
Something happened to Brandy-Lyn.
But he willed away the troublesome thought. It’s not like he was connected to Brandy-Lyn the way he was with his twin.
He grabbed the pan and pushed to his feet.
“You sure you’re okay?” Ma pried the pan from his trembling hands.
“Yeah. Yeah,” he repeated when the first one seemed so damned shaky.
“Well.” She sighed. “All right then. Go relax with your dad for a while. I’ll clean up.” Ma took hold of his shoulders and propelled him toward the door.
“Okay,” he mumbled.
But rather than joining his father, he moved through the mudroom, shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed a jacket, and walked out the door.
The nearby windmill groaned and gave a rhythmic clunk, clunk . Inhaling, he filled his lungs with frigid air heavy with the promise of frost.
He wished he had Brandy-Lyn’s number — why the fuck did he not have her number? — so he could settle his mind. Instead, he waited in the shadows of the trees, watching for the glimmer of headlights, indicating her safe return.
But the road leading to her cabin stayed dark.
His unease grew. And fuck, his head ached.
How long he stayed there, he couldn’t say for sure.
And when his cellphone buzzed, and Preston’s name showed, his stomach knotted.
“Preston?”
“It’s Mimi.” Her voice was barely audible over the ruckus of background noise and, fuck, sirens .
And he knew.
Just fucking knew .
Her next words were jumbled, but he caught the gist.
Brandy-Lyn and her kids had had a car accident.
“Where are you?” He was already on the move, sprinting to the carport.
“About a mile after Main Street turnoff. They’re … taking Mom to the hospital.”
“Pres and Livvie okay? You?”
“Yeah. We’re fine. But Mom … She’s bleeding. And … unconscious,” she whimpered.
Fuck. Fuck .
“Do you have a lift to the hospital?” He reached the carport and jumped into the first vehicle — Mammy’s Jeep.
“Um … Deputy Cruz’s taking us. I … I’m scared, Raff.”
He pressed the start button, thankful for Mammy’s habit of leaving the key fob in her vehicle. “Just hang in. Leaving the ranch now.”
“Okay. And … thanks, Raff.”
He backed out and skidded away. He shut his mind to “what if’s” and “should have’s”, concentrating on driving. The last thing he needed was to end up in hospital, too. Hands glued to the steering wheel, he emptied his mind and concentrated on the road ahead.
His heart lurched when he noticed the flashing emergency lights, and he slowed as the Jeep’s headlamps lit the accident scene, Kings Auto in the process of hauling the battered Yukon onto the flatbed trailer. Nausea welled up, but he swallowed the bile down.
Brandy-Lyn had to be okay. He wouldn’t accept another outcome.
Right. Like that worked for you before.
As he entered the emergency department, the sharp scent of bleach halted him in his tracks, tumbling him back to the last time he set foot in a hospital — the day he gave permission for the machines keeping his wife alive to be switched off.
He had vowed never to set foot in another hospital.
Rafferty fought off the potentially debilitating memory, took a deep breath, and looked around and spotted a familiar face. “Kurt,” he called out, hurrying to his brother-in-law. Two additional law enforcement officers were with him.
Kurt looked up in surprise. “Rafferty. What are—?”
“Where can I find Brandy-Lyn? Her kids?”
“Brandy-Lyn?”
“Brandy-Lyn Powers. There was an accident?”
“I know who you’re talking about. Why are you looking for her?”
“Mimi called me,” he snapped, still scanning the area beyond the man, looking for the trio.
“Mimi?”
“Amelia. Her eldest,” he bit out. “Never mind. I’ll find someone who works here.”
He turned away, but Kurt caught up to him, stepping in front of him. “Why did Amelia call you?”
A harried woman in a white dress with a nametag pinned to her collar walked by. He stretched his arm out, stopping her. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Brandy-Lyn Powers? She was brought in a while ago.”
The woman gave him a sympathetic look. “Not sure, hon. You’ll need to ask at the desk.”
Kurt spoke. “It’s okay, Steph. I know. I’ll take him through.”
She nodded, saying, “Sure thing, Sheriff,” as she hurried along.
“They’ve taken Brandy to radiology for an MRI. Her kids—”
His heart skipped a beat. “MRI?” Grabbing Kurt’s arm, he croaked out, “Fuck, Kurt, how bad is she?”
“Brandy sustained a head injury and regained consciousness in the ambulance. She’s lucid, but the doc ordered a precautionary scan. They are keeping her overnight for observation.”
Relief coursed through him. “The kids?”
“Mere bruising. Shock.”
And frightened, no doubt. Those kids adored their mother. “How did the accident happen?”
“An animal darted across the road, Amelia swerved and lost control on the slick road. Vehicle toppled over. Poor kid’s cut up about it.” His brother-in-law shot him a quizzical look. “Is there something going on between you and Brandy?”
“No.” Liar, liar.
“Then why are you here?”
“Fuck, man. What’s with the interrogation? Like I said, Amelia called me. We live on the same ranch. I see them daily. We’re friends . I do have those, you know,” he barked. “Not everyone thinks my mere presence will corrupt them.”
“Whoa, man. Take it easy. She’s Sullivan’s ex … that’s just weird.”
Rafferty spun to face Kurt and slapped a hand to the man’s chest. “Let me remind you of the seventeen-year gap between you and my baby sister? And that you—” He abruptly cut off, noticing the curious looks from the passing couple.
Kurt gave him a wry smile. “Point taken.” And nodded to the doorway just ahead. “That’s her room. Kids are waiting for her. And you, it seems.” The man turned around and walked back down the corridor.
Rafferty moved toward the open door.
“Screw you, Dad,” a shrill voice yelled.
One he recognized.
Olivia.
He hurried down the corridor as she continued her rant. “I thought you should know. But I see how it is. Pres is right. You really don’t give a shit.” Olivia looked up as he walked in, her eyes widening. “Never mind. Rafferty is here. At least he cares. Have a nice life with your new family.”
A body slammed into him from the side. “You’re here,” Amelia cried out.
His arm automatically closed around her, hugging her close.
“It’s my fault Mom’s hurt,” she wailed, shoving her face into his chest.
Smoothing his hands over her back, he whispered, “Hush, now, Mimi. It was an accident.” He met Preston’s gaze over Amelia’s head, naked relief on the young boy’s face. And he stretched out an arm. “Come here, bud.”
The boy rushed over, and Rafferty pulled him in, too.
Olivia shuffled closer, squeezing in between her siblings.
Rafferty closed his eyes and rested his chin on Olivia’s head, their trust in him baffling.
Right from the start they had accepted him, never once looking at him with suspicion in their eyes.
He hugged them harder, grateful they had escaped serious injury.
When had the three of them become so precious to him?
Let me never do something to break that underserved but precious trust.
“Your mom’s gonna be just fine,” he murmured, breathing deeply. Which was a mistake, as a faint coppery odor reached him.
Blood.
Brandy-Lyn’s blood?
Or theirs?
He pulled back, his stare moving over the trio. Preston was still in his muddy gear, the girls in jeans and sweaters. “Are you guys hurt? Bleeding anywhere?”
Preston rubbed across his chest and collar bone. “Just bruised. From the seatbelt.”
“Me, too,” Olivia added.
“The side airbag on the passenger seat didn’t work.” Amelia started weeping again. “That’s w-why Mom h-hit her h-head so hard.”
Placing his fingers below her chin, Rafferty lifted her face. “It is not your fault, love.” She sported several rust-colored smudges. He fought not to react, knowing the origin of the blood. Brandy-Lyn.
Her eyes swam with tears. “Mom didn’t want me to drive, but I begged. And now…” She trailed off, her lower lip trembling again.
“Does she blame you?”
Amelia looked away, wiping under her eyes. “N-no.”
He noticed further stains around her cuticles and in the folds of her hands.
“But there was so much blood,” Amelia continued, “And Mom took forever to wake up.”
They must’ve been petrified, alone in the dark, their mom unconscious and bleeding, waiting for help to arrive. Rafferty wanted to pull them in again and take away the awful memory that would stick with them for a lifetime.
But he couldn’t.
All he could do was be there for them and help them get through it. “Accidents happen, darlin’.” And didn’t that platitude sound so trite, yet it was the truth.
She scowled at him. “You don’t understand. I asked to drive.”
“I get that, Amelia. You think it’s your fault. But—”
“It was my fault,” she wailed, beating her fists into his chest.
He grabbed hold of her hands and held them tightly against his body as he whispered fiercely, “Hear me, Amelia. You swerved for an animal . That is human instinct. Maybe a more experienced driver would not have swerved. Maybe. You don’t know.
The important thing is — your mom woke up.
She doesn’t blame you. Sheriff Wheeler doesn’t blame you.
” He glanced at her siblings. “Do either of you blame your sister?”
Olivia placed her arm around Amelia’s back. “I don’t blame you, Mimi.”
Preston put his hand on her shoulder. “Me neither,” he whispered.
Stooping slightly, he peered intently into Amelia’s eyes. “See? The accident was horrible, Mimi, and very scary. I don’t dispute that. But it’s over. Your mom’s gonna be fine.”
Please, God, let her be fine.
“And y’all are fine. That’s what’s important. Yes?”
She blinked several times, then nodded.
“There you go.” He pulled her in for a quick hug and dropped a kiss on her hair. “Now,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders, “I suggest you go to the bathroom and wash your face. You’ll feel heaps better afterward.”
“Okay.” Shoulders slumped, she shuffled across the floor.
His heart ached for her. Turning to Olivia, he softly urged, “Go help your sister, Livvie.”
Once Oliva closed the bathroom door behind them, Rafferty turned to Preston. “It’s okay not to be okay.”
The boy nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m … okay.” He gave a gruff laugh. “Now. Thanks for coming, Raff.”
“Anytime.” He stepped closer and scrutinized the boy. Except Preston wasn’t a boy anymore. The accident had stolen something from him. “And I mean it, bud. You need me, you call. No hesitation. Hear?”
Preston’s Adams apple bobbed several times. “I hear you,” he croaked. “Th-thanks.”
Gripping the back of Preston’s neck, he pulled the boy-man closer, pressing a brief, but firm kiss to his forehead.
And that’s when the teenager cracked, harsh sobs tearing through his lanky frame. “I th-thought M-mom d-died.”
His own nose burning from emotion, Rafferty maintained his hold on Preston until the boy stopped crying.
“Sorry,” Preston said, rubbing his face with his bent arm.
“Never apologize for how you feel, bud.”
Time passed slowly while they waited. The girls huddled on the bed. Preston slouched on the visitor’s chair. Rafferty paced.
And then she arrived.