Erin chewed on her steak. She’d been raised on a working ranch. She knew where dinner came from. “But our cows aren’t sick, are they?”
“No. They’re fine. But people get confused.”
“Mostly grown-ups,” Erin muttered under her breath.
“You got that right,” Izzy said, looking at Skye.
Dinner limped painfully along. When they were finished and the table cleared, Lexi and Cruz took Erin out for ice cream. Skye paced restlessly in her bedroom before grabbing her car keys and running downstairs. She was probably going to get her head chewed off, but she had to see him. Had to know if he was okay.
At the Cassidy Ranch Fidela answered the door immediately.
“He’s in the barn. In his office,” she said, looking worried. “He’s been in there every day since he got out of the hospital. He won’t talk to me or eat. He just drinks. I don’t know what to do. You’ll go talk to him? You’ll make him feel better?”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Skye murmured. “I’ll check on him.”
“Good. He needs something.” She spoke softly in Spanish, her words almost like a prayer.
Skye drove around to the barn and got out of her car.
It was early evening. The air was still warm, with a hint of coolness. The bugs were loud, the horses quiet and she had the sense of being the last person alive. That lasted until she heard the crash of glass breaking.
Stuffing her keys in her jeans pocket, she hurried toward Mitch’s office. She found him standing by his desk, supported by one crutch. His left pant leg hung empty. A Scotch bottle lay in shatters by the wall, another sat on his desk.
“Well, lookee here,” he said, his words slurring. “Skye Titan. Is it your day to make calls on the local cripples? You gonna check on the widows and orphans after you see me?”
His skin was pale, his eyes bloodshot, but his hand was steady as he poured himself another drink from the fresh bottle.
“I wouldn’t want to be you when you wake up in the morning,” she said.
“You wouldn’t want to be me anytime,” he told her. “God knows, I don’t want to be.” He sank heavily into his chair and pushed the bottle toward her. “Help yourself. Sorry I don’t have another glass. You can drink out of the bottle. I don’t care.”
She ignored the invitation. “I wanted to see how you were.”
He waved the crutch at her. “Never better. How ’bout yourself? You’re looking particularly sexy tonight, Skye. Why don’t you take your shirt off so I can see those pretty breasts of yours.” He raised the glass toward her. “To your breasts, darling, and every man they’ve brought to his knees.”
He was beyond drunk. She eyed the bottle and wondered if he was in any kind of danger from alcohol poisoning.
She picked up the bottle of Scotch, walked over to the sink in the corner and poured it out.
“I’ve got five more just like that one,” he said.
She turned to face him and set the empty bottle on the counter. “Maybe, but you’re going to have to get up to find them and I doubt you’ll make it halfway across the room.”
His gaze centered on her chest. “That depends on my motivation.”
She ignored that. “Have you done anything since you got out of the hospital?” she asked. “Other than drink? Or are you just sitting around feeling sorry for yourself.”
He drained his glass. “You don’t get to play this game with me.”
“Why not? Someone has to. Look at yourself, Mitch. This isn’t who you are. I know you had a rough time, but you’re alive. You have a home and people who care about you.”
“Not a kid, though. Right? No kid.”
“You came home,” she said, determined to get through to him. “What about the guys who didn’t? What about the guys who don’t have a home or a family? I think they get first shot at the pity trough. You’re hogging way more than your share.”
He glared at her. “Don’t push me, little girl,” he growled. “I can still take you.”
“Not tonight, you can’t.”
“I can try and I promise that will hurt.”
She approached the desk and stared down at him. “Is that what you want? To hurt me? Will that make it all better? Fine. Give it your best shot. I dumped you, Mitch. I walked out on our relationship. Start the punishment.”
He slammed the glass back on the desk. “That’s just it, Skye. You didn’t dump me. You accepted my proposal. You told me you loved me and wanted to be with me forever and then you changed your mind because your daddy told you to.”
He was right. About all of it. “I was scared,” she admitted, her defiance gone. “Jed was going to turn his back on me. I couldn’t stand that. I’d already lost my mom. He was all I had left.”
“You were all
She hung her head. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough.”
She straightened. “Fine. Then what do you want?”
“I want you to bleed the way I’ve bled. I want you to feel all of it.”
His anger and pain were living creatures in the room. They sucked out the air and made her want to bolt for the outside.
Then she finally understood.
“You think this is my fault,” she whispered. “You blame me for everything. If I hadn’t broken up with you, you wouldn’t have gone away. You wouldn’t have become a SEAL or lost your leg.”
He didn’t say anything.
She couldn’t believe it. “Are you sorry for what you did? The lives you saved? The difference you made?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is? You made a choice. We both did, and now we have to live with the consequences.”
“Must be tough for you,” he said, his voice thick with anger. “Living in your big house with your kid and all. Does the pain and suffering keep you up nights? Do you regret marrying Ray?”
Which was what it all came down to, she thought sadly.
She stared into the eyes of the man she had loved more than anything, but not enough to defy her father.
“No,” she whispered. “I don’t. He gave me Erin and I would never wish her away. It’s done, Mitch. This is where we are.”
“This is where
“I don’t know you anymore.”
“Too bad. I’m a helluva guy.”
“You used to be. Now you’re just a man who wants the whole world to feel sorry for him.”
MITCH HADN’T KNOWN it was possible to feel this bad and not be dead. He’d passed out in his office some time the previous night and had woken up on the floor shortly before dawn. It had taken him the better part of an hour to limp to the house. The crutches had been as much a hindrance as a help.
Showering, a pot of coffee and a handful of aspirin did nothing to ease the hammering in his head and the sour rock in the pit of his stomach. Nearly as bad was the fact that he didn’t remember much about what had happened, except he was pretty sure Skye had visited and he’d treated her badly.
The devil on his shoulder told him that she deserved whatever he’d said, but the rest of him wasn’t so sure. There were some lines he wasn’t willing to cross. It was a bitch not knowing if he already had.
Fidela fussed over him until he couldn’t take it anymore so he jammed a hat on his head and made his way back to the barn. If he remembered correctly, he had a mess to clean up in his office. Later, he would deal with Skye.
The dim quiet of the barn eased the pressure in his head. For about eight seconds.
“Mitch! Hi. Are you going riding? You haven’t been riding yet and you really need to ride Bullet. He’s very sad. I can tell.”
Her shrill, eight-year-old, high-pitched voice cut through him like broken glass. He winced and wished he was
