Cowgirl Crazy (#2, Cowboy Way) (27 page)

This woman didn’t have a lick of sense. She
was on death’s door in the hospital this morning, and tonight? She
was consorting with greasy wrench monkeys like they were
friends.

“
I came to save
your
crazy
ass,” she said folding her arms over her chest. She glanced at
Larry, and forced a smile. “Thanks for your help, Larry.” He walked
off and her angry gaze swung back to Ryan. She held out his keys to
him. “If you want to get out of here, get your ass in gear. If not,
I’ll get the two grand plus I just paid to spring you
back.”

Ryan snatched the keys from her. “Since when
do you have two thousand dollars? I thought you were broke,” he
asked snidely.

“
I’m a resourceful
woman
,
Ryan,” she said smartly. “I can take care of myself, and help you
when you get stupid, which is often.”

Twyla turned to push through the front door,
and Ryan followed her as she double-timed it down the steps and
strode across the lot toward his truck. He caught up to walk beside
her, and said, “I’ll drop you off at your apartment. I’ve got to
get to Houston.” They stopped at the truck, and he unlocked the
doors. When he hopped inside, Twyla was already in the passenger
seat buckling her belt. “I’m going with you,” she said firmly, and
Ryan’s hand stilled on the keys in the ignition, as his gaze flew
to her.

“
No, you’re not. You need to be in
bed taking care of yourself, or having someone take care of you.
You were in bad shape this morning.”

She looked surprised for a second. “You came
to the hospital?”

“
Your daddy didn’t tell you?” he
asked, anger tightening his chest.

“
The only thing my daddy told me
was that I was coming back home with him and mama. After I told him
that wasn’t happening, he got pissed. When he delivered my new
television as a peace offering, mama wouldn’t let him say
much.”

“
Well, I was there,” Ryan grumbled
as he cranked the truck. “And you’re going home, because you’re not
in any shape to be up on your feet.” Ryan was surprised that Twyla
had an argument with her parents. Usually when Mr. Taylor spoke, it
was law in that family. In the fourteen years he’d been around
them, he’d never heard either Zack or Twyla argue with him when he
laid down the law.

“
Ryan?” Twyla said sweetly, and he
looked over at her. “You’re gonna learn just like my daddy did this
afternoon. Nobody is telling me what to do anymore. I’ll do what I
damned well please, and go where I want. And I want to go to
Houston with you. I know you’re going because something happened
with your mother. I’m not letting you go alone. If your stepdaddy
gives you grief, I can get to your mother, where you can’t.” She
slammed her back against the seat and looked out the window. “Since
my arm is busted, I don’t have anything better to do for the next
two weeks.”

Stunned, Ryan’s head spun toward her. “What
the hell do you know about my stepfather?” he demanded.

Her eyes slid back to his. “I know that he
uses your mother as a punching bag, and you tried to stop him.
That’s why you wound up living with us.”

Ryan hadn’t ever talked to her about that
situation. Zack was the only one who knew. And he’d evidently
spread that private information to his family. Another thing he
owed his former best friend an ass whipping for. “I don’t want to
talk about it. And you’re not going with me. I can handle this
alone.”

“
What about the restraining order?
You want to end up in jail again?”

Ryan was flabbergasted. It sounded like Zack
had told Twyla everything about his family issues. Some friend he
was. “I’m not going to jail again,” he ground out as he backed the
truck out of the parking spot and slammed it into first
gear.

“
If you go there, you’ll lose your
cool and you know it. Just like you did today, especially if your
mother is in bad shape. If your stepfather is there, you’ll go to
jail just by just showing up there. I can at least help you keep
your calm, and maybe get close to your mother to see how she’s
doing, where you can’t.”

“
I don’t want your
help.”

The situation was probably ugly, and exposing
Twyla to that kind of ugly would probably scar her for life. When
that kind of ugly rubbed off on you, it never came off. It sure
hadn’t with him. His memories affected everything he did, how he
handled situations.

A prime example was how he’d tried to handle
Twyla, and screwed everything up by overreacting when he found her
working at that bar. If Ryan hadn’t known exactly the kind of men
that frequented those kind of places, men like his stepfather who
thought of women as objects there only for pleasure and service,
and remembered the consequences of a woman hooking up with a man
like that, Ryan might not have reacted so badly. But he knew too
well. And his mother did too, because that’s where she’d met his
stepfather, while she was working at one of those places because it
was good, easy money.

Because Ryan had those experiences, he would
probably react the same way the next time too, and Twyla would get
pissed at him again. It was just a part of him now, so that was yet
another reason he was no good for the woman sitting beside him.
Never would be.

“
And I didn’t want your help
either,” Twyla said softly, dropping her hand on his arm. “But
because you cared about me, you came when you thought I was in
trouble. The way you went about helping was all wrong, but you
tried. I appreciate that, and now it’s my turn to help you.” She
squeezed his forearm, and the warmth of her palm seeped into his
body to melt some of the coldness. The fact that she was speaking
now without anger in her tone made him feel better too. Maybe she
was on her way to forgiving him for being such an ass in how he
went about trying to help her. “It’s what families do for each
other, Ryan. Let me help you.”

Well, her family wasn’t his anymore, but at
least he hadn’t lost the most important member. Twyla was still in
his court. Evidently she still cared about him. If he refused her
help, that could change. “Okay, thank you.”

Besides, having Twyla there with him might
make the fact that he was sure his mother was dead this time easier
to bear. At least maybe he wouldn’t feel as alone as he thought he
would when he lost the last relative he had in the
world.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

Ryan squeezed Twyla’s hand so tight he knew he
had to be restricting the blood flow to her fingers, but he
couldn’t turn loose. Thank God, he’d brought her with him, or he’d
probably be going off the deep end right now. His heart was
squeezed just as tightly in his chest by fear, as he waited for the
Chaplain to come into the family conference room at the hospital
where they’d been led when Ryan announced himself at the reception
desk downstairs.

He closed his eyes and sent up a silent
prayer.
Lord, if she’s with you, she’s probably better off. If
she’s not, please help her have the strength to leave that bastard.
If he killed her, please help me put justice in your hands, and not
kill him myself.

The door opened and Ryan’s eyes flew up.
Twyla’s thumb stroked the area between his thumb and forefinger
soothingly, as a man dressed in black except for a white tab color,
with peaceful blue eyes walked into the room holding a folder. He
smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, as he sat down in the chair
beside him. Before he even opened his mouth, Ryan knew. His heart
knew, his soul knew. Hell before he even walked into this room, the
hospital, he knew.

Why was it a shock then when the words rolled
out of the man’s mouth, warbled and as if in slow motion? “I’m so
sorry, son. Your mother went to be with the Lord this morning.
She’s at peace now.” He put his hand over Ryan’s other hand that
rested on his knee.

The words finally registered in Ryan’s brain,
and a rumble started in his chest. He felt strange. Numb, not in
control of his body. His legs started shaking first, then his
torso, and finally his arms. That feeling worked up to his face,
and a roar exploded from him that had to be heard down the hall. He
squeezed his eyes tight, and bore down against the incredible pain
that shot through his chest. His heart felt like it was splitting
in two.

As hard as he’d tried, Ryan had failed to save
her. He could barely breathe, and was fighting hard to hold back
another roar. Instead he felt wet heat track down his face in a
torrent, and turned his head to the side, sucking in shallow
breaths trying to get back his control. It was Twyla’s hand that
gripped his tightly now, her soothing words he heard as she stroked
his hair, his face. Her voice choked up, trembling, she said,
“Ryan, let it out, baby. I’m here for you. I’m so sorry.” She
kissed his cheek, then his temple, and he turned his face toward
her.

Oh thank, God, she was there for him, he
thought, as he turned to her and pulled her into his arms, her
warmth comforting, her whispered words soothing, as she cried with
him. Ryan buried his face in her shoulder, sucking from her
strength, because he needed it. If he let her go, he felt like he’d
probably shatter into a million pieces. Twyla’s arms were the only
thing holding those pieces together right then.

The priest’s hand dropped on his shoulder and
squeezed. “I know you’ll help your sister through this,” the priest
said.

Twyla squeezed Ryan tight once more then
leaned away and kissed him, before she slid her arm around his
shoulders as he turned back toward the clergyman. He sucked a few
gulping breaths, then blew the last one out. “This isn’t my sister,
sir. Twyla is ah, my…friend.” Twyla’s fingers dug into his
shoulder, and Ryan put his hand on her knee.

Twyla never had been his sister. He’d been
stupid to ever pretend that he felt that way about her. She was a
lot of things to him, his friend, his lover and his rock. But she
had never been his sister, or anything close to it. Twyla had
always been there for him, even when he treated her like crap. He
didn’t deserve her. Had never done anything to deserve her. He
loved her, but considering her family’s hatred of him now, he could
never tell her. He wasn’t going to make her choose between her
family and him. And right now, he had more than enough to deal
with.

The priest looked confused for a minute, then
cleared his throat. “I wasn’t talking about Twyla, son. I was
talking about Mary, your sister.”

Ryan swallowed hard, and shook his head trying
to clear it. He knew there was some kind of communication gap going
on between him and the kind, older man. Maybe he was going senile
or something, or misunderstood the situation. He had Ryan confused
with someone else.

“
Sir, Ryan doesn’t have a sister,”
Twyla finally supplied, and squeezed his shoulder again.

“
I’m afraid he does. Mary is with
the Department of Family Services, since your stepfather is in jail
pending his murder trial. They asked me to find out what you’d like
to do.”

“
Do?” Ryan finally croaked, his
brain stuck in neutral.

“
Yes, do you want her to go into
foster care, or are you going to assume responsibility for her
upbringing now?”

Ryan’s blood drained down to his toes as he
looked at Twyla. Her face was white too, and she looked as stunned
as he felt, but he gathered up his senses. “She’s coming with me,
of course,” he said rawly. Good God, he had a sister he had never
met. “Um, how old is she?” When it came out, the question sounded
dumb to him too.

The priest’s wiry gray brows lifted, and he
smiled. A real smile, one that lit up his eyes so they twinkled.
“Why Miss Mary is twelve. She had her birthday two weeks ago
according to her. And she got a pony named Boney from her mother,
because that’s how he looked when she got him.”

Ryan did some mental math. It had been twelve
years since he’d seen his mother. She hadn’t looked pregnant then,
but she had to have been. With what the priest just said, she
must’ve been about three months along. And that bastard had beat
her then too. Pregnant with his child. Rage carried every drop of
blood in his body to his head and it felt like it would explode. He
was on the verge of exploding. Going to that jail, dragging that
bastard out of that cell and saving the taxpayers a lot of money.
But Twyla squeezed his arm, and Ryan managed to contain himself.
“Where, um, do they live?” he asked.

“
You don’t know?” the pastor asked
kindly.

“
No sir, it’s a long story, but I
haven’t seen my mother in over twelve years.”

The priest’s smile faded, and his eyes filled
with anger. “Your stepfather?”

“
Yes, sir,” Ryan replied with a
heavy sigh.

“
I’m a Christian, but I think that
man needs a pound of what he did to your mother for so many years,
before he’s put to death. The devil will be glad to meet him, that
is for certain. And I know the Good Lord isn’t going to let him
escape the swift sword of justice for what he did.”

Anger shot back up to his throat to choke him,
but Ryan forced it down. He had to know, because his prayer from
earlier wasn’t going to cover it, if it were the case. He would go
straight down to that jail and drag the bastard out and kill him.
“Did he hit, Mary?”