Outlaw Cowboy (10 page)

“Steph needs what?”

“What do you care?” She wasn't going to believe it. Not ever again. Whatever idiocy that had lived in her heart last night was dead, and it would stay dead forever.

“This has nothing to do with whether or not I care.”

He said it so gently she had to punch him again. And again.

“Go on and get it out of your system.”

“Oh, fuck off, you self-absorbed asshole.”

“I don't have a choice,” he ground out.

“My. Ass.” The panic and the tears were catching up with her; the wave of righteous anger could stem them for only so long. She wouldn't cry in front of him. She wouldn't give him one glimpse at the soft underbelly he seemed to see so easily.

She wouldn't give him jack shit.

“I'm not leaving.”

He sighed, pressing fingers to his temples. “I will forcibly remove you if I have to. I cannot have you here.”

She tried to think. To come up with a plan. She needed shelter while she tried to find a way to get Steph out. There were no other options she could think of. The old Paulle place had been her first choice, but apparently people were living in it now. There was nowhere else to go.

“You can have a day or two, but—”

“You really don't think I'll go to the police?”

His jaw went hard. “You do know I saved your life that night?”

“And because of you, I had to leave. I had to leave my sisters there to be beaten and starved and worked to the bone by that
man
. I have spent every hour, every dime trying to get them out without him hurting them any more than he already had. I have nothing because I have given
everything
to get them out.”

“Delia—”

“So there is nowhere else for me to go. I will not leave. Not until I can get Steph out of there. She is
sixteen
. She deserves a real life, and I will not leave her to suffer two more years of…God only knows what he's done to her. I already have to live with those sixteen years of not being able to do anything.” Her voice wavered, but she would not. She would not waver. “I will not live with another on my conscience.”

She didn't want to read the expression on his face, so she turned away, her hands still in fists, her breath still ragged, but she was filled with purpose and determination. He could not kick her out. He
would not
kick her out.

“Delia.”

She tensed against the softness and gentle bafflement in his voice. Fuck his gentleness. Fuck it to hell and back.

And then she straightened as the realization struck her. Here was a man who loved his sister, whose sister had kept his sorry ass out of more trouble than he probably deserved. A man who wouldn't even explain how Summer was related to him, he was that protective of her.

She'd found it. His weakness. It wasn't going to the police—which she couldn't do anyway. It was going after
his
family the way her own father had gone after
hers
.

She turned to face him and smiled. Any gentleness in his expression disappeared. He had to know what her smile meant.

“You know what? I don't have to go to the police at all.” Statute of limitations didn't matter. Not really. Town reputation might not even matter. She'd been going about this all wrong. She hadn't been ruthless enough. Her fault for being blinded by his gentleness and kindness. Not again. “I bet Mel and Summer would love to know the kind of pain you can inflict.”

Everything about him went flat and hard. Good.
Good.

“You think my sisters would care that I hurt a man because he had a gun to your head?”

“Sister
s
?”

He flinched, because he'd given away something he hadn't wanted to. A sense of accomplishment and giddiness washed over the desperation. She was not a hopeless cause when it came to him. He could not gentle her into acquiescence.

She was the motherfucking queen here.

“So Summer is your sister.”

He didn't say anything, but what could he say? He'd given it away. Somehow he had a sister that she didn't know about. From the way he was acting, a sister not many people knew about.

She could use that. Oh, could she use that. And she would. She'd given him a chance not to screw with her, but he had, letting her think he had an ounce of decency in him.

What a lie. What a cruel joke.

“I'll go to them.”

He took a threatening step toward her, but she stood her ground. She had the upper hand here.

“I won't let you do that.”

“How are you going to stop me, sweets?”

“This isn't a joke to me.”

“Oh, my sister's safety and well-being is a
hilarious
joke to me, Caleb. Please, tell me, what's going on in your life that is more important than a teenage girl being abused by her father?”

He didn't move. Not a blink, not a twitch, nothing on him moved. He could have been made from marble.

“That's what I thought.” She gave him one final shove, because, damn, but she needed to release some of the adrenaline and tension running through her, and then she stormed out.

“It's not over,” Caleb called after her.

She merely laughed.

Caleb couldn't get a handle on his breathing or the tense rod of fury tightening his muscles. Her laughter. Her complete disregard for what he needed…

Please, tell me, what's going on in your life that is more important than a teenage girl being abused by her father?

He turned away from the barn doors, sick to his stomach. Of course it wasn't more important, but it
was
important, and it
was
his. He couldn't even picture Steph. All the Rogers girls kind of blended together. Tall and dark haired with way too much world weariness in their eyes.

Sixteen. With a man who'd held a gun on his own daughter.

He swore and slammed his fist into the rough wall of the barn. His knuckles came away scraped and bloody, so he swore and repeated the action a few more times.

Why couldn't it be easy? Why couldn't the straight and narrow be fucking easy? Wasn't it supposed to be? Wasn't good supposed to be the damn default?

“What did you do to her?”

For the second time this morning he was caught off guard by a woman popping up out of nowhere.

He frowned at Summer, surprised to find her vibrating with a weird kind of angry energy. “What are you talking about?”

“What did you do? Why did Delia storm out of here?”

“I would file that under none of your concern.”

“No, you don't get to talk to me that way.”

He raised an eyebrow. Summer was legitimately angry, and it was nothing like the tight-lipped quiet from the other day, which he'd thought had been Summer at her worst.

Of course then she bit her lip. “I'm sorry for raising my voice, but she seemed upset.”

“So?”

“So, she's…nice.”

“Trust me, Delia Rogers is a lot of things, but she is not
nice
.”

“She seems nice,” Summer insisted. “And lost,” she added with a determined nod of her head. “And scared,” she said on a sigh.

The last one hit him like a hoof to the gut, but he turned away so she wouldn't see any reaction. Weren't they all scared?

“I'm busy, Summer, and whatever Delia has going on has nothing to do with you. Stay away from her. She's not…any of those things you said. She's dangerous.”

She laughed, a sound that was surprisingly bitter coming from the usually sunny and accommodating Summer. “I know you think I'm naive, but I've been around plenty of danger to recognize it. Delia isn't dangerous. She needs a friend. She needs
you
to be a friend.”

She made it easy to forget he didn't know much about her life. Okay, he didn't know
anything
about her life except she'd left their mother on “not great terms.” He didn't know why or how. What Mom might have whispered to Summer, the same way she'd whispered terrible things to him.

Except she'd taken Summer and been more than ready to take Mel. She had wanted nothing to do with him.

He shook his head. That was irrelevant. They were talking about Delia, and that had nothing to do with Summer and her mysterious past. “Why do you care about some stranger?”

“Why don't you care about your friend? She is a friend, right? Or an ex?”

“No. She's not an ex. Just a friend.”

“So, you know her, care about her, but you're going to hurt her?”

“She's pissed—not hurt.” He wanted to believe it, even as the words rang hollow. She'd
threatened
him. That wasn't hurt. That was hurting other people.

“You're not that dense.”

“What do you want from me?” What did anyone want from him? He couldn't find a way to figure it all out. He needed to save Shaw, and everyone was coming after him, wanting more than they were willing to ask for, and he'd never been any good at figuring out what people wanted from him unless they asked.

“I want to know what you did to make her that upset.”

“Okay, fine, I will explain it to you after you tell me why you care.”

He expected her to clam up and go. Thus far, any poking or prodding by him or Mel into Summer's past was met by a quick change of subject or retreat.

But Summer didn't clam up. She didn't leave. She stood rooted to the entrance of the barn, looking damn determined.

“I know I don't know your life any more than you know mine, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say you never escaped something scary. That you never had to run from something that could…hurt you. Because you always had this.” She swept her hand around to encompass Shaw. “You've always had home base, and safety. Some people don't have that, and when they run, they have nowhere to go. It's hard and it's scary. No one should have to do it. No one.”

It was vague. It didn't answer his question, except how it did. Unfortunately, it didn't change the way things were.

“Now tell me why she was mad.” Summer crossed her arms over her chest, obviously doing her best to sound authoritative. She failed so hard he felt inclined to give her an inch.

“She can't stay here.”

“Why on earth not? You have that cabin and all this space and—”

“It's not about logistics. It's about Blue Valley and Shaw and… We're not doing that great, okay? Things have been rough, and Mel wants to take over, and that would mean I'm shit out of luck.”

“She would never turn you away. Mel would never tell you to just leave.”

“I can stay. As ranch hand. But Mel would be in charge, and my name will never be on that deed.”

Summer frowned. He'd expected her to make light of that, as Mel had, but she didn't. She didn't speak either, but she didn't try to tell him being ranch hand was enough.

“I have this spring to make right of things, and I've got this deal that will get me there, but it means being above reproach. Nothing bad can touch me, and whether you like her or not, whether I like her or not, bad follows Delia around like a lost puppy. She can't be here or I lose what I need to turn things around.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Tell her what?”

“All that about why she can't stay.”

Caleb rolled his eyes, trying to remember where he was in his chores, trying to get off this damn female merry-go-round.

“Don't be like him.”

He hefted a bucket of feed, ready to walk far away from her and this. “Be like who?”

“You know who! Him.” Which was her way of saying their father. The man she didn't know how to address. “How are we supposed to know? How are we supposed to understand if you don't tell us? Don't be like him. You are better than that!”

This time it was his turn for a bitter laugh. “Summer, I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't know me at all. And telling anybody anything in this situation…it's pointless.”

“It isn't. How can you both think it's pointless to talk? To explain? If he would just tell us…if he would just explain what he's feeling, why he's…the way he is, don't you think we could cope? Don't you think we could move forward? If I
knew
, if I could just understand why he won't even look at me. Did he not want me? Is he ashamed he let me go? Am I not… What is it?”

He didn't know how this had turned into what was going on with Dad, or even Summer. How had this gotten even harder and more complicated? He didn't have the time or the emotional wherewithal for this. But he couldn't let her think she had any fault. “Whatever Dad's shit is has nothing to do with you. I promise you that.”

“How can you promise me that? Does he confide in you?”

He tried to think of a lame, placating thing to say, but he came up empty.

Summer crossed to him, gripped his forearms and looked him right in the eye. She had Mel's hazel eyes, strong and determined. “Don't be like him, Caleb. Don't shut us all away when we want to help. We want to understand.”

His chest tightened painfully, but this wasn't about his father or Summer or Mel. It was about Delia. “Trust me, Summer. Delia doesn't want to do either of those things.”

“You don't think she'd be more inclined to reach a compromise? If she understood why you can't have her here, maybe—”

“There's no compromise!” Why was Summer, of all damn people, lecturing him? “This has nothing to do with you. Whatever commiseration you have with Delia, this is not about you.”

“But it is. I'm here and…” She blew out a breath. “You have been the nicest to me. Mel has been good, she has, don't get me wrong, but you have been
warm
.”

The girl was insane if she thought he was warm.

“You have shown me kindness when I was about to give up on finding any. You offered me family when I was certain I was alone. You gave me a place to stay, you and Mel, but
you
gave me a chance. A chance to have a life. You don't get it, and I'm not sure I could ever make you get it, but… You gave that to me. You'll give it to her.”

“You can't tell me what to do. I'm sorry, you're not the boss here.”

“I'm not telling you what to do. You're a good man. You fight with that goodness, but you will get to the point where you know you're wrong, and you'll have to do something about it. Because you are… You won't be able to help yourself.”

“I don't have a choice.”

“Exactly.”

“That's not what I—” But she was walking away, certain he was good and that he'd do the right thing. That he'd save someone else before he saved himself. That he was
warm
.

The girl was nuts. Completely, utterly nuts.

So why was he terrified she was right?

* * *

As she slammed into the little Shaw cabin, Delia vowed she wouldn't allow herself a breakdown. Though she doubted Caleb would forcibly remove her, she wasn't one hundred percent sure. Not anymore.

And if he did, she was going to hire a skywriter to tell the whole town what Caleb Shaw had done. She would march up to Mel and tell her every gory detail, so she'd never, ever look at Caleb the same way again.

The fucker.

She took a deep breath. She had to focus, because as much as she wanted to stay just to piss him off, she needed to find a way to get out as soon as possible. She wouldn't be dependent on Caleb's whims.

He wouldn't be able to pull the rug out from under her anymore. Offering her horse-riding lessons with Summer five seconds before telling her she had to leave. He hadn't even relented when she'd brought up Steph. He was a monster just like the rest of them.

She ignored the way that settled all wrong in her gut. If he couldn't help her, or at the very least stay complicit while she helped herself, he was a monster. No argument.

Believe it
, she willed herself.

She turned to her supplies. The bottom line was she had to know about Steph and Dad's day-to-day schedule. It'd be a trek to walk to the Rogerses' house, but she was going to have to do it. Somehow. Without being seen.

Was Rose keeping out of sight? Or was she flaunting her presence? Delia squeezed her eyes shut. Rose had never been one to let Delia take care of her—Delia had helped get her out, but Rose had taken care of herself from that moment on. So Delia had to trust that Rose knew what she was doing.

Delia's responsibility was Steph right now. She could save only one girl at a time.

She wished she had a map. Some paper. Something to organize her thoughts. Pawing through the drawers of the kitchen, she found a decades-old phone book, a jelly jar full of pennies and screws, and—
aha
—a tiny pencil. There wasn't much left of it, but enough she could scratch out some thoughts.

A plan. No more letting her fear of being alone or the enjoyment of work lead her away from her sole purpose. All that mattered was Steph—certainly not Delia herself.

She ripped out a page from the phone book—the blankest one she could find—and drew a map of Blue Valley from memory, trying to work out the best, most isolated route to the little house on the west side of town that was currently acting as her sister's prison.

She hadn't seen Steph in almost ten years. She'd been a bucktooth six-year-old when Delia'd been excommunicated. What would she be like now? Would she resent Delia for getting the older ones out first? Would things be worse or better?

What the hell was Delia going to do with a sixteen-year-old? At least Billie had been eighteen, a legal adult in most things. Getting Steph out could put Delia at risk for kidnapping charges, or whatever bullshit story Dad could work out.

No. Dad wouldn't want to get the police involved. So, she just had to get Steph on a train to Seattle pretty much the same day she got her out. Dad didn't have the means to get out of Blue Valley. She just had to get Steph safe, and Elsie and Billie would handle things from there.

Delia clutched the little counter, let the uneven plastic top dig into her palm until it hurt. Money was going to be an issue, but it always was. She'd work it out. She always did.

She repeated her mantra silently—
My bones are steel, my heart is stone, I will survive this world alone. I am here. I can win. I can survive anything
—over and over until she could breathe easily. Until she could believe it.

It didn't matter what Steph would think or feel or do. All that mattered—all that could matter was getting her out. Somehow.

Delia's entire life was built on a monumental challenge. Why should this be any different? She pushed away from the counter and went to the back window, the only one in the cabin that let in any light or allowed any kind of visibility.

The backyard of the cabin was a clear space surrounded by trees, with just the faintest hint of blue sky and snow-peaked mountain. One step at a time—because mountains weren't built overnight, and neither was salvation.

So. Plan. She'd pack up as much as she could and hike the almost fifteen miles to the Rogerses' house. She had to find out if Steph was going to school, if things were as bad as they'd been when she'd gotten Billie out. She couldn't sit here and dawdle anymore. She had to act, with no illusions of help coming.