Masters of the Shadowlands 8 - If only (37 page)

Sure she knew how good she was, but her Doms didn’t. Not that they’d given her a chance to explain, the jerks, but…

“I’ll stop,” she said. She pulled away and faced them, feeling a tug of loss for her work. She’d wanted to be hero. To do something special. Worthy. “I’ll give you my files. And I won’t do any more hacking.”

At one time, Galen had been able to make his expression unreadable, but either he’d lost the ability or her gaze was keener. She saw how his relief cleared some of the pain lurking in the shadows of his eyes.

Now that she knew what haunted him, maybe she could help.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Vance asked.

She wanted to hug him for just being his wonderful reasonable self. His steadiness balanced Galen. Okay, he balanced her too. And right now, she very badly wanted to see him smile. See them both smile.

Wrinkling her nose, she gave them her cutest pout. “If quitting is what it takes to keep you two safe, I guess that’s what I need to do.”

Galen rubbed his hands over his face as if to move on. “Keep
us
safe?” he asked in disbelief. When he glanced at Vance, his eyes held the amusement she loved to see.

“I like being safe.” Vance touched the tip of her nose. “I think we should take her up on her offer.”

“Well. Thank you, pet.” Galen nodded at the boxes on the bed. “Why don’t we load those into your car? We have rooms at the hotel in town. The one hotel. We can go back there and talk.”

“But—” She was done packing. No need to stay here. “Okay. But talk about what?”

Vance took her shoulders. “Don’t you want to stay with us?”

Stay?

Vance was frowning, and the expression on Galen’s face probably mirrored her own—indecision, worry. “I… Let’s talk at the hotel.”

She heard the heavy thud of her father’s boots on the stairs and a rap on the door. “Sally, Tate’s having us there for supper. The men are invited, as well. We leave in fifteen minutes.”

Great
. A horribly uncomfortable meal at her brother’s. Could she refuse? No, it might—probably would—be the last time she’d ever see them. Why the realization should make her heart hurt, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if there’d been any love there. Ever. She looked at the men. “Do you two mind?”

Vance’s mouth was set in a line. “You’re sure not going there without us.”

Galen nodded. “Let’s load up your car first so you don’t need to return here.”

God, she really did love them, and how scary was that?

* * * *

Leaving their vehicles—the Feds’ rental, her rental, and her father’s truck, Sally followed the three men up to her brother’s house, escorted by an elderly yellow lab and an energetic Australian shepherd.

Before reaching the porch, Sally looked around. Their grandparents had owned the place, but they’d died when she was little and, although her father planted the fields, he’d let the farmhouse and barn deteriorate.

Tate had put everything back into perfect condition, and the old two-story clapboard was a pristine white with navy-blue shutters and trim. The barn had been painted the traditional red-brown. The eight-foot spirea bushes that lined the gravel road to cut down the noise and dust were pruned. And to her surprise, pink petunias lined the concrete sidewalk.

Since when had Tate planted pretty flowers? Or owned dogs, for that matter?

Probably alerted by the barking Aussie, her brother came down the porch steps, sidestepping the dogs. He was clean shaven, brown hair cut short, wearing jeans and a Willie Nelson T-shirt. “Sally. It’s good to see you.”

The welcome in his voice and his smile made her stare. “Uh. And you.” Flustered, she turned and pointed to each man in turn. “Vance Buchanan, Galen Kouros. Guys, this is my brother, Tate Hart.”

Tate’s eyes narrowed as he looked over her scruffy, bruised men…and he could probably see Galen’s weapon under his open leather jacket.

Off to one side, her father watched with his usual frown.

As the men performed a guy handshaking ritual, Sally noticed more changes. A small bike with training wheels and a bright red trike were parked by the porch. A football lay near an overturned dollhouse, where dolls were scattered around like victims in a war.

Tate hadn’t had children three years ago…had he?

“They’re here!” The childish scream came from one of the two children tearing out the front door. A boy, perhaps around eight, was followed by a slightly younger girl. Both blond and blue-eyed. Maybe not Tate’s then.

“C’mere, you two.” Tate motioned. The boy stepped up to his right.

The girl pressed against his left side and studied Vance and Galen warily. Her attention turned to Sally. She beamed. “You’re Daddy’s sister.”

Tate a daddy? Sally gave herself a mental shake, grinned, and held her hand out. “That’s right. I’m Sally. Who are you guys?”

The boy took her hand. “I’m Dylan, and she’s Emma. Do you really live in Florida?”

“I do. I’m—” She was interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“Tate, don’t keep them standing out there. Bring them in.” With coloring that matched the children’s, a woman in a V-necked silky red top and blue jeans stood on the porch. She gave Tate a frown and waved at the group. “We have beer and wine and pop. Come on in.”

“Beer sounds good,” Vance said, hooking an arm around Sally. “And something smells delicious.”

“Leigh Anne is a great cook,” Tate said. He waved them up the steps, dodged the stream of children and dogs, and followed with their father.

It was a welcoming house. The living room held comfortable-looking, worn couches and chairs in dark greens, a large-screen television, and toys spilling from a wooden trunk. The woman led the way through and into the dining room. “Since the food’s all ready to go, why don’t you go ahead and be seated. And what would you like to drink?” She rolled her eyes. “I forgot—I’m Leigh Anne.”

Tate entered the room in time to hear her, and he laughed.

Laughed.

Sally barely managed to close her mouth. As he started another round of introductions, she watched. Since when had Tate been so…relaxed? Nice? She wanted to poke the guy and ask what he’d done with her real brother.

Drink orders were taken, and the men opted for beer, except for Galen, who requested wine.

Sally grinned at him and whispered, “Wussy.”

“That’s me.” He tangled his hand in her hair—a Dom’s ready-made leash—and tugged her closer. “I’ve missed your mouth,” he murmured, bent closer, and whispered, “And I intend to use it later tonight.”

The ruthless grip on her hair and the promise in his black eyes sent heat stampeding through her veins. She might tease him about being unmacho, but no one ever doubted he had far more testosterone than was good for a man. She swallowed hard and whispered the only answer possible, “Yes,
Sir
.”

“Good enough.” A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth as he released her.

The jerk. With just a few words, he had her body humming with arousal. As she considered kicking him, she caught a wink from Vance and a frown from her brother.

Right. She turned and followed Leigh Anne into the kitchen. Feminist or not, a woman always offered her assistance to another woman, especially if needing to escape from the men. “Hey, can I help?”

“Of course. How about you get the beer from the fridge while I open the wine.” She gave Sally a half smile. “Your father doesn’t believe in predinner conversation, so we’re skipping that part.”

Just as well. She couldn’t think of anything to talk about anyway. Sally pulled out three beers for the men and one for herself. “Your children are adorable.”

Leigh Anne’s powder-blue eyes danced with good humor. She was probably about Tate’s age, so several years older than Sally, and comfortable with herself. Her clothes fit her curvy body, and her makeup was muted. She wore a man’s watch on her wrist and hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. How could Sally not like her? “The munchkins might be adorable, but you can figure on being grilled tonight. They’re very curious about you.”

“Ah, right.”
The feeling is mutual. Like where did Tate find such a nice woman?

Setting glasses on two trays, Leigh Anne gave her a perceptive smile. “Tate hopes you’ll stay for a bit after Hugh leaves. To talk and do some catching up.”

“Ah…” Talk to Tate? That would be a first. As if he had ever wanted to talk with her… “I don’t think—”

Out of her buried past, a memory bubbled to the surface.
“Faster, horsy, faster.”
Sally’d been perched on Tate’s shoulders, using his shaggy hair for reins.
Squealing with laughter as he bounced her and trotted in circles.

Shaken, she pulled in a slow breath. How had she forgotten that, at one time, he’d been her adored big brother, right up until her mother died? Her refusal trailed off, and she nodded instead.

Leigh Anne’s smile turned full wattage. “Good. That’s good. Now we just have to survive a dinner with your crabby father.” She winked at Sally, picked up her tray, and led the way to the dining room.

Her brother sat at one end of the table. Her father had the children beside him on one side; on the other, Vance and Galen had left a chair empty between them.

Sally circled the long oval table, handing out the drinks on her tray.

“Thank you.” Vance took his beer and said quietly, “You make a gorgeous barmaid. Z taught you well.”

“Why, thank you.” She leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Trainees get to play after finishing their shift, right? Do I get a scene later?”

“Oh yeah, sweetheart.” A crease appeared in his cheek, and his wicked gaze set her pulse to hammering. But when he added, “You have a lot to answer for, after all,” she almost dropped her tray.

Seriously? They’d punish her, just because she disobeyed their order to stay in her room, left without permission, and forced them to track her down? Didn’t they have any sense of humor at all?

Unfortunately, the threat had her libido sitting up like a well-trained poodle begging for treats. With an effort, she conjured an insulted scowl before escaping back into the kitchen.

Once she and Leigh Anne had brought out milk for the children, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, rolls, corn, and a large salad, they took their seats. Tate offered a quiet prayer, which startled Sally. When her mother died, so had religion in their house.

Conversation was general, a catching up on the years that had passed. Leigh Anne told how she’d met Tate on the Fourth of July. Emma had become hysterical at the loud fireworks, and Tate had come to the rescue. “He was so sweet,” Leigh Anne said, giving him a loving smile.

Sweet? Tate? Sally frowned. Not in her experience. But, come to think of it, he’d been wildly popular in school and a good friend to his buddies. Just not to her. She hadn’t even gotten a wedding invitation. “And then you married?”

Tate toasted his wife with his beer. “Yep. We were married by a justice of the peace with a couple of friends to witness. No party.”

“Shoot, we either did it with no one or would have to invite the whole town.” Leigh Anne gave her guests a wry smile. “My first wedding was huge and expensive and obviously didn’t bestow any special magic.”

Sally bit her lip, feeling unwelcome tears sting her eyes. Why would she feel relieved Tate hadn’t left her off his invitation list? Shoot, they didn’t even talk. Breathing slowly, she got her emotions tucked back down where they belonged before looking up.

He was watching her with a small, concerned smile.

So was Vance, who patted her knee.

After a keen glance, Galen turned the subject to the gangs moving into Des Moines.

During dessert, Sally asked for news about her classmates. Leigh Anne and Tate probably knew all the town gossip.

Several had married. A couple of the guys were serving overseas.

“Last winter, Clare—I think she was a year behind you—died in a car accident,” Tate said. “She left two children and a husband behind.”

Sally’s father looked up from his plate and gave her a cold stare. “Clare probably had a selfish brat who demanded something, or she’d never have been on the road.” His unexpected attack slapped the table into silence.

Guilt rolled over Sally like a winter fog.

Wide-eyed, Emma pulled her hand back from the basket of dinner rolls.

No, that wasn’t right. Sally rose and handed the little girl a roll. “It’s okay, baby. He didn’t mean you.”

Without a word, Vance slung his arm behind Sally, pulling her chair close enough she could feel the reassurance of his body along her side.

Galen leaned back, lazily swirling his wine in the glass as he asked in his blunt New England voice, “You obviously meant those words for your daughter. What exactly did Sally ask her mother for?”

“A new dress.” Her father’s mouth twisted. “Couldn’t be happy with what she had. Wanted something special for a party. And even though I’d said no more money for clothes, her mother drove her to town.”

“Well, no wonder you treat her like a criminal.” The diamond edge of Galen’s voice could cut through metal. “A little girl asked her mama for a party dress? Get out the handcuffs, Vance. Haul her to jail.”

Her father jerked back as if he’d been punched. “Now listen—”

“We should draft a law,” Galen said. “Make it a crime for a child to ask for clothes.”

As Sally struggled against dark memories and self-reproach, his words took a while to sink in. She stared at him. “What?”

Vance huffed a laugh. “Won’t work, pard. I have sisters, cousins, nieces, and nephews, and they’ve asked for new clothes about every other day from preschool through college. Although one nephew didn’t—he wanted video games.”

Galen’s brows drew together. “That’s even worse.”

Sally closed her mouth as the Doms’ cold logic broke through. The shadows around her lightened as she remembered the essay she’d written for Galen. As she saw her father’s actions through the men’s critical eyes.

Seriously? Treat a child like a criminal for wanting a dress? She thought of her friends’ children, how they’d ask for things—and beg if they didn’t get the answer they wanted. They were normal kids.

“Oh dear.” Leigh Anne widened her eyes. “I’m afraid Emma and Dylan will be the first to be arrested.”