52
Dreams
Lawson’s Landing, the next night …
A baby cried. Outside. He scrambled to his feet and leaned out the window, He could just see the edge of tree where the girls were sleeping.
He frowned. What was that?
And then his eyes widened.
A coyote. It was a coyote! Aidan had shown them a picture of one in the animal book.
He pulled his body back inside, his heart beating fast.
Coyotes killed cows.
That’s why Pa was out hunting today. There were coyotes on the ranch, and Pa formed a posse to go and search for them.
“But the cotie’s here,” he whispered.
The baby cried again. Louder this time.
And his heart jumped in his chest.
His sisters were outside.
With the coyote.
He peeked out the window again.
His eyes bulged.
The coyote was carrying a baby!
“Stop!” he shouted. “Put her down!”
The coyote kept running, disappearing behind the thicket of huckleberries.
“No, no, no!”
Rafferty thundered down the stairs and out the door, racing after the coyote. “Stop! Don’t take her!” he called, repeatedly.
There! It was in the pasture.
His legs churned faster. But the coyote stayed just ahead of him.
Not again. Not again.
“Not losing Sinead. Not again,” he muttered.
The coyote turned. “You can’t stop me!” it taunted.
But it wasn’t a baby in the animal’s arms.
It was a young child with dark wispy hair.
The coyote cackled and threw the child into the air.
“Nadie!” he screamed, running toward the small form tumbling about in the air. But he lost sight of her.
One moment she was there, plummeting to the ground.
And then just gone.
“No!”
The coyote appeared before him, blocking his path to find her. He reached out and took hold of the beast.
“Where is she? Where’s Nadie? What did you do to her?” he shouted.
The animal’s head came off in their struggle.
He stared at the mask dangling in from his hand, dumbfounded.
Someone laughed. A nasty, nasty laugh.
He looked up.
Straight into cold hard eyes.
Kamila.
“She’s mine now,” the woman sneered.
Rafferty’s eyes snapped open. Darkness pressed in around him. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.
Kamila had Sinead—
No.
A dream.
Just a dream.
A fucking dream.
Nadie!
He flung the sheet aside and surged from the bed. Shaking the vestiges of the nightmare from his mind, he crossed the hallway from the bedroom he now occupied to be near the kids into Nadie’s, his eyes zeroing in on the little form under the duvet.
Breath exploded from his lungs. She was safe.
“Of course she’s safe,” he muttered.
He adjusted the bedding, tugging the cotton over her shoulders.
And couldn’t resist bending lower and placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll keep you safe, Nadiebird. Promise.”
A soft sniffle caught his attention. Rafferty frowned. It wasn’t from Sinead. He straightened and walked around the bed. Connor lay on the floor, curled into a small ball, a blanket covering his face. “Connor? What are you doing here, buddy?”
Another sniffle. “What’s wrong?” Rafferty crouched beside the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder.
The boy flinched. “Don’t be mad at me,” he whispered from under the blanket.
Rafferty’s concern deepened. “Why would I be mad at you?”
The shoulder beneath his hand shrugged.
He wracked his mind. A couple of hours ago he’d tucked the boy into his bed, and nothing had been amiss. “Did something happen? Maybe you spilled some water? Or—”
“Wet my bed,” Connor mumbled.
Oh. Oh . And yeah, there was a slight smell of urine in the air.
Connor threw back the blanket and sat up. “Please don’t send me away,” he whimpered.
There was just enough illumination from the nightlight for him to see the stark fear in Connor’s tear-brightened eyes.
He gathered the trembling boy close. “I’ll never send you away, son.”
Connor burst into tears, mumbling incoherently.
Concerned that his crying would wake Nadie, Rafferty stood, lifting the boy with him.
He hurried out into the hallway, half closing her door.
Back in his own bedroom, Rafferty sat on the edge of the bed and snapped the bedside lamp on, and gave his full attention to the weeping boy, desperate to alleviate Connor’s misery.
He might not know much about children, but the kid had been through so much in such a short period that bedwetting wasn’t a surprise.
He held Connor close and spoke in a soft but insistent voice.
“I know life is very scary for you, Connor. Losing your mom, leaving your home, your friends , flying to a new place … those are a lot of huge changes. Big enough to scare even an adult. But Connor, there is one thing you must never fear” — he framed the boy’s face with his hands and waited for the teary gaze to meet his — “and that is that I will never send you away. Never . I promise. You’re mine now. My son.”
Connor blinked a couple of times before he looked away. “But I’m not your son,” he whispered. “Not really.”
Rafferty jerked; the boy’s words a dose of icy water, chilling his body.
Connor continued, “Mom said my r-real father was a very, very b-bad man and if he ever f-found us, he’d t-take and h-hurt u-us—” He started crying in earnest again.
Rafferty’s heart shattered. Just simply shattered. “Oh, Connor. You’re safe here. I promise.” He tightened his hold on the trembling boy.
And he felt a spurt of anger toward Selena.
Why had the woman placed such an awful burden on her son?
Connor wrenched his body back and scrambled to the floor. “But what if he finds us?” he yelled. “What if he comes with big guns and shoots you and Nadie and Grandma and Grandpa and—”
Rafferty grabbed hold of Connor’s arms to stop them flailing about. “That’s not going to happen,” he stated.
“How do you know? Huh?”
Because I killed the man. “I just know. Okay?”
Connor shoved his head back and looked Rafferty square in the eyes, fear replaced by bravado. “Mom said I’m a big boy and can handle the truth.”
Ah, Selena. He’s only six . Just a little boy.
A weighty weariness settled over Rafferty. “He’s dead, Connor,” he admitted, exhaling. “Miguel Oliveira, your biological father, is dead.”
Connor narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin. “How do you know?” he challenged, repeating the same words from earlier.
“Because I was there when he died.”
I watched him bleed out from wounds I gave him.
Connor tilted his head, studying Rafferty with quiet intensity.
Please don’t ask why I was there.
Then.
“Good,” Connor whispered. “Now he can’t hurt us.”
*
Rafferty moved quietly around the room that had once been his and Sully’s.
The furniture from his childhood had been replaced by pieces from Connor’s room back in Clearbrook.
The moving truck had arrived only hours before they did, but his family had worked fast — unpacking, arranging, making sure the kids would arrive to something familiar.
Pulling the damp sheets from the mattress, the scent hit him — ammonia and shame — and he winced for Connor, heart aching.
Fear did this. Not laziness. Not immaturity. Fear .
He bundled the sheets and soiled pajamas under his arm and left, pausing in the doorway to the bedroom that had been his parents’ until Pa’s accident, staring at the sleeping Connor stretched out on the wide bed.
He watched the soft rise and fall of Connor’s chest, the small hand still clutching the edge of the blanket like a lifeline.
How many nights had the kid lain awake, worrying about his father coming for him and his little sister.
Only six years old.
And already carrying scars that would shape the rest of his life.
Rafferty scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion dragging at his bones. But it wasn’t just fatigue — it was the weight of all he carried, and all he’d taken on.
Connor’s mine. Not by blood. But by every damn choice that matters.
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep again, Rafferty made his way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
What he really wanted was to slip into bed beside Brandy-Lyn, wrap her in his arms, and forget the world for a few hours.
But he had responsibilities under this roof.
He’d hate for either kid to wake up and find him gone.
And yet you’re about to head to South America on another mission for revenge.
One you might not come back from.
The thought stopped him cold.
Connor and Nadie needed him.
Here .
He sank into a kitchen chair, elbows on the table, head in his hands.
He couldn’t leave them.
Not now, not so soon after they’d lost their mom.
Not ever.
And, with a jolt, he realized something else.
He didn’t want to go charging off to Brazil, chasing ghosts.
He wanted his life here.
Brandy-Lyn.
Her kids.
Connor and Nadie.
He wanted a future.
A family.
Going after Kamila would cost him everything.
Make no mistake — she needed to be stopped, brought to justice.
But it didn’t have to be his kind of justice.
There’d been a time when consequences hadn’t mattered to him. When he hadn’t cared what lines he crossed.
But now … now he had too much to lose.