30. Adrift From My Anchor
ADRIFT FROM MY ANCHOR
brAXTON
A flash of yellow catches my eye. Blond hair whips out into the Texas wind as Emberleigh walks away from the barn, thumbs moving over the phone in her hands, bag slung over her shoulder.
Why the hell is she wandering around in this heat? And, secondly, why is she wandering around here at all?
This isn’t her home. She certainly wasn’t invited. In fact, I’ve been crystal clear about wanting her gone.
Then again, she can’t very well leave with her car blocked in.
That’s on me. She shouldn’t blame me, though.
I saw the car seat in the back of her SUV and could only think that she would kidnap Colt and make off in the night.
It might’ve been a knee-jerk reaction, but it wasn’t an unwise one with all I have on the line.
I should probably just remove the baby seat and plant that ridiculous car back in front of my house. Shit, I could leave it running and usher her out, hoping she gets the fucking hint that she is not welcome here.
There’s too much to do for me to be worried about her with Colt. There’s way too much I could screw up on by being distracted by the blonde in way too-short shorts out on my ranch. Is she in flip-flops? That’s seriously stupid.
“Cyler, I need to go handle some things. Can you take Colt to Bright and tell her I’ll be back in less than thirty?”
“Uh, boss. I don’t know anything about babies.”
“You don’t have to nurse him. Just leave him in the carrier and tell Bright I’ll be right back.”
I don’t wait for his response. I need to get this shit done, once and for all.
Opening the office door, I damn near bump into two men, both in law enforcement uniforms. One examines me with a resigned look on his face. The other removes his wide-brimmed hat and twirls it around an open palm while looking out across the ranch.
“Braxton Ranger?”
“Yes. Who’s asking?
“You’ve been served.” Deputy one drops an envelope into my hand before grabbing the brim of his hat and tipping it down to me with a quick nod of his head.
His second in command dons his, and they turn for the truck behind them clearly marked with ‘County Constable’ across the doors.
“Pardon me,” I call out to their retreating backs. “What’s this about?”
“All there in the papers, sir,” the first responds, before climbing into the truck and driving away.
I throw open the door to my house and stalk inside, slamming the door behind me, and warning myself to stay calm. I’m rarely this angry. Fuck angry. I’m livid. Who the fuck does this girl think she is?
“What the fuck did you do?” My voice is vibrating with rage and it comes out as little more than a whisper. The hold I have on my temper is frayed and unraveling quickly.
I stare down into gray-blue eyes that finally register some fear. I doubt that look is remorse.
About damn time.
I wait and wait some more, but when she says nothing, I continue.
“What the fuck did you do?” I enunciate every word, each getting louder than the one before.
I release my fists and shake out my hands, only to have them curl again at my sides, as my breathing heaves in my chest
“I just got fucking served on my ranch. I can only assume it was on behalf of the attorney for the spoiled brat who thinks she will take my son—my son—not hers. Mine! I’d love to think you aren’t that petty or stupid, but obviously you are.”
“Wait just one damn minute.”
“Bitch, don’t you dare.”
“Colt doesn’t deserve you. No! You don’t deserve Colt.”
I stare, trying to give nothing away. Not wanting her to be right. Not caring that she is. Because this shit just went nuclear.
“At least you’re lucky that Emerson isn’t alive to watch you decimate what’s left of her memory.”
That must hit home, because Emberleigh’s face crumbles.
I stalk off down the hall, doubling back when I realize that my spare room—the one I use for storage—now boasts a modern queen-size bed set with pale pink linens.
And lamps.
And a fucking rug.
I don’t ask. I can see now that when she told me this morning she’d make my life a living hell if I didn’t placate her, I shouldn’t’ve baited her, should not have taken her on, should’ve remembered I am David to her father’s Goliath.
I can see the evidence in front of me that she is one to never be trifled with.
I will lose it if I have to engage with her right now, and, since I can’t afford a mistake, I lift my gaze to meet hers and simply narrow my eyes, shaking my head before stalking out of the house, muttering under my breath, “Poor Emerson,” as I go.
I knew the moment I heard about Colt that he would be safe, that he would be protected, that I’d lay down my life for him if needed.
When I saw his face, I doubled down. There is no doubt Colt will be loved, cherished, adored even.
No doubt he will be celebrated and wholly welcome.
My son will have a great life, despite losing his mom, despite our rocky start.
But for his sake, for the sake of his dead mother, for the precious boy who’s been through too much at just six months old… for that boy, I will fight the world.
And I’ll be the last one standing when this is over.
Emberleigh
You’re lucky that Emerson isn’t alive to watch you decimate what’s left of her memory.
Curled on the floor of Braxton Ranger’s bathroom, I hold my knees to my chest and fight to control the sobs that wrack my body.
Gasping for air during a panic attack was not what I expected when I woke up this morning.
Neither was the vomiting. I almost wish my retching heaves would return to drown out the wails that echo from the cold hard tiles.
My stomach is empty. What little breakfast I made for myself this morning came up the moment he left the house.
What a perfectly landed barb. The fact that I couldn’t swallow, much less speak, is proof.
The blood running like ice in my veins froze me in place.
I did everything I could to hold back my scream—and only because I knew this would be the result.
Body wracking and heaving, throat barely opening enough to suck down air.
My heart is breaking over and over again.
Poor Emerson. How can he say that? Poor Emerson?
It should’ve been poor Emberleigh.
I’m still here.
My sister. My best friend. My twin.
Literally, my other half is gone.
Less than a week ago and I’m still here.
I’m supposed to put on a brave face and just move on. I’m supposed to grieve and just let her go?
I have a fierce heart and while I’ve affixed a confident, brave look on my face, my soul is decimated. My emotions are heightened. Every emotion… Sadness. Anger. Fear.
Utter lost-ness. Adrift from my anchor.
We weren’t without our faults. No sisters are. We were yin and yang; her black to my white. Or vice versa, depending on the day.
No one could anger me like Em could. That shithead Braxton sure is trying though. But he doesn’t come close. With one-hundred-percent certainty, I can say that prize belonged to Emerson. But it was Emerson who could soothe me, calm me, and make me rational. It was Emerson who kept me afloat.
She was my missing puzzle piece.
She is my missing piece.
Her memory is why I’m here.
Her life.
Her son.
That precious boy has my DNA. Again, literally.
And he is all I have left of her. He is my everything.
And while Braxton Ranger might hate me, I love Emerson… or loved Emerson, if I can stand to think of her in past tense. What’s left of her is Colt Emerick Ranger. She should’ve given him Carrington. I begged her to give him Carrington.
But, just like me, her stubborn streak appeared and she insisted Ranger be put on the birth certificate. It’s not even legal in Texas, at least, not without the father’s permission, which she did not have.
She never said why. She had no intention of asking for child support. She didn’t want his involvement. Why announce to the world that someone you banged for one night should have half of your child? Colt was hers. He was mine.
And because of her stubborn refusal to be reasonable, I’m in this situation.
The keening wail surprises me. It surprises me more that it escapes from me. How the hell am I supposed to survive without her?
Not poor Emerson.
Loved Emerson.
Cherished Emerson.
My Emerson.