Renegade Hearts (The Kinnison Legacy Book 3) Page 2

  “Well, perhaps he has some issues that he is working out. That can make some people seem like they’re grumpy.”

  “You mean that he drinks too much?”

  She turned in her seat and pinned her daughter with a frown. “Where did you hear that?”

  Emilee looked at her mother. “I heard someone say that he drinks too much at Miss Aimee’s wedding.”

  “Young lady, it isn’t polite to eavesdrop. Furthermore, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. It isn’t polite or wise to go around repeating rumors. It could turn out very bad for everyone involved. Do I make myself clear?”

  “So I should wait until I know something is for sure true before I talk about it?”

  Flabbergasted at her daughter’s astute understanding—not to mention vocabulary—she started the car. “Let’s make a deal. If you have any questions about anyone, why don’t you come to me first, and we’ll go from there? How’s that?” She looked in the rearview mirror. “Meantime, I better not hear that you’re spreading rumors about Mr. Kinnison or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “Mother, please.” Emilee rolled her eyes.

  Angelique shook her head. “Good heavens, when I was your age, I was still chasing butterflies and thinking boys had cooties.”

  “Boys do have cooties,” she said falling into a fit of giggles.

  Angelique’s heart lifted as it always did hearing her daughter laugh. That’s how childhood should be. There were days when she felt woefully inadequate as a mother. Her aunt and uncle had done an amazing job raising Emilee. Even now, after all the counseling help and the struggle to make it through night school to get a degree, she had moments where she wondered if she was qualified to be a mother.

  “Mama?” Emilee held her stuffed pony on her lap. Angelique had sent it home the first Christmas after they’d taken Emilee back to End of the Line. Her heart squeezed every time she heard the word mama come from her daughter’s lips. She’d missed so much; there was much to catch up on.

  “Yes, Em?” She pulled out her sunglasses to guard against the brilliant late summer sunset as they drove the mountain road toward home.

  “Do you think I could help with the horses this summer?” She plucked at the stuffed animal’s tangled mane made of now faded yarn; some of the pieces had disappeared.

  “I don’t know Em, you might be pretty busy helping Grandma bake pies for Betty’s Cafe.” She glanced at her.

  “I intend to help Aimee with the baby.” Emilee’s brows puckered. “When she’s sleeping, then I could help with the ne—ne….I can’t remember the word that means people don’t take care of their animals.”

  “Neglected horses?” Angelique prompted.

  “Yep, that’s what Grandpa said. He said they’ll bring them to the ranch while they wait to get adopted.”

  She’d heard her aunt and uncle talking about the venture, but they hadn’t mentioned anything specifically to her yet about helping. Ironically, it was her experience working with her uncle with his care for horses that ultimately prompted her finally to go from waitressing to getting a veterinarian assistant degree, hoping to one day follow in her uncle’s footsteps.

  “Grandpa said that maybe I could help him sometime. But he said I had to ask you first.”

  Angelique pulled into the old gravel drive of the three-story farmhouse where she’d spent a great deal of her childhood. So much time, in fact, that they’d created a room in the attic of the house for her—it had been her sanctuary, a place where she could daydream and be a kid, unlike the trailer where she was her mother’s caretaker. Up there away from the world, she’d open the windows and listen to the sounds of the countryside at night and dream of better things.

  She looked at the old front porch with its sagging front steps and splintered wood railing badly in need of paint. She thought of how many plans she’d made while rocking on that porch swing. “Unbuckle, baby girl, and come up here.” She turned off the car, shifted to help her daughter over the seat, and settled her under her arm. Brushing back her daughter’s dark braid—a miniature replica of her own --she smiled down at the little girl. “I’m very grateful that Uncle Michael and Aunt Rebecca were able to care for you when I couldn’t.”

  Those dark amber eyes studied her, a steady look that sent a cold punch to her stomach and memories she dare not revisit. The fewer who knew about her past, the better for her and for Emilee. Not even her aunt had known the full scope of her lifestyle until Angelique’s close brush with death. It had been the wake-up call that she’d needed to realize how out of control her life had become. How close she’d come to losing everything—including Emilee.

  Angelique wrapped her arms around the little girl. She pressed her face against the top of her head, breathing in the scent of lemon shampoo and sunshine. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. “When I was little Aunt Rebecca taught me to bake and sew. Uncle Michael used to give me books to read and taught me how to ride my first horse.”

  Emilee’s eyes grew wide. “They’ve taught me those same things, mama. Aunt Rebecca even made me a special necklace for me to wear.” She pulled it from beneath her pink hoodie. “See? She says it will keep the bad spirits away.”

  Angelique held the small talisman between her fingers, remembering one similar to it that she’d lost shortly after she and her mother moved to Chicago. Maybe if had she worn it, things would be different now….

  She shook herself mentally. What’s done is done. She smiled down at her daughter. At least she’d done one thing right. “You know, we don’t have a choice about the family we’re born into. I was lucky, as you’ve been, to have your aunt and uncle, and while they aren’t my biological parents, I spent more time here as a child and think of them as parents. So, in a way, they really are your grandparents. Do you understand?”

  Her tiny brows furrowed and then she nodded. “I do, and I like having a grandma and grandpa.” She paused, turning her eyes to meet Angelique’s. “But the best thing of all is having a mommy.”

  A tear escaped and slid down Angelique’s cheek. There’d been moments over the past few years when she’d thought she’d never hear those words. She hugged her daughter close. “You are the best thing I’ve ever done, Emilee.”

  “But you’re squeezing me too tight, mama.” Her infectious giggle filled the car and Angelique’s heart.

  Sniffing back her emotion, Angelique opened the door and let her daughter scramble down from her lap. “Let’s go get dinner started.”

  “And surprise Grandma and Grandpa,” Emilee called over her shoulder as she ran up the front steps. She turned suddenly and pinned Angelique with twinkling eyes. “Mama, I like Mr. Dalton. Maybe you should try getting to know him and maybe you’ll like him, too.” Her daughter smiled then and trotted up the steps without a backward glance.

  Angelique felt as though a ghost had visited her. There were times since she’d been back that her daughter would say or do things far beyond her years. Her uncle called it a gift. Her aunt would only shrug her shoulders.

  A movement caught her eye and Angelique glanced up at one of the trees that shaded the house, one whose branches she could crawl onto from her bedroom window. Perched on one of the branches, partially hidden by brilliant green pine needles, sat a white owl looking down at her. It blinked once, hooted, and flew off, its wings spread majestically as it soared out of sight. She remembered some old Indian superstition about owls predicting impending storms and a chill ran through her. One of these days, the truth of her past would catch up to her and she would owe many an explanation—including her daughter.

  Chapter Two

  “Batter up! You’ve got to give credit to that fine Iowa farm club down there in Des Moines for this guy. He’s one of the youngest ever taken on by the Cubs and he seems to be showing great promise this year. Here’s the pitch….”

  A collective groan followed the few patrons seated around Dusty’s bar on the late summer Saturday afternoon.

  “Tough bre
ak.” Concern tinged the announcer’s voice. “This Cardinal pitcher is causing all kinds of heartbreak for Chicago fans here today at Busch stadium.”

  His co-host added to the bleak outlook of the game. “That’s two strikes. It’s the bottom of the ninth and the Cards are up by one. Just one to go and this will head into the history books.”

  Dalton pulled on the last dredges of his beer as he eyed the stats on the screen. He reached down on the stool beside him, picked up his tattered ball cap, the patch long since gone, and plopped it on his head. He’d clocked watching hundreds, maybe more, Cubs’ games--even attended a game or two at Wrigley Field when he was in college and convinced himself that he loved the game. Truly, maybe he did. But deep down, tarnished by time, jaded by life, flickered an almost imperceptible hope of a wounded nine-year-old-boy—that by some miracle he’d be able to recognize his father. Hell, if that much of what she’d told him was even true. He snorted quietly, admonishing the notion. His mother hadn’t exactly been the pillar of motherhood--not by a long shot. And when she left him, Wyatt, and their brand-new step dad, Jed Kinnison, on that fateful Christmas morning, all she left him was the Cubs ball cap and a note.

  Dear Dalton,

  You are the youngest, but I worry less about you than I do Wyatt. You’ve always had better ‘street smarts’ and for that reason I want you to keep an eye on him and take care of yourself—that much is important. The two of you will be better off in Jed’s care. You may not understand that now, but one day I hope you’ll see in your heart to forgive me and know that what I did was best for you boys.

  I want you to have this ball cap. It belonged to your father, Dalton. I met him in Chicago and he was fresh from the farm club, sent up to play the big leagues. He was so handsome, strong, and determined, but he had a career and I wasn’t ready to settle down in Chicago. He was a good man—young and on fire. I see the same in you that I saw in him, and that, along with Jed’s teaching, makes me know you will be fine. Dream big, son, and remember to take care of yourself.

  Love, Eloise

  He shoved aside his thoughts, blaming it on his brother’s recent leap to fatherhood.

  “Need a fresh one…Uncle Dalton?” Dusty gave him a side grin as he leaned over the polished dark wood bar.

  “He’ll have one more,” a familiar voice called from the entrance. “In fact, drinks for everyone. I’m a new dad!”

  Cheers rose from the patrons and Dalton smiled as Wyatt, the man who rarely stepped into Dusty’s bar, become the center of well-wishes and pats on the back. Some things deserved celebrating.

  Rein walked in behind him and ushered Dalton over to a booth. “How’d the Cubs do?” Rein held up four fingers to Dusty who nodded and sent over four cold brews.

  “Not so great. Maybe next year.” Dalton slid in across from him and followed Rein’s gaze as they watched Wyatt.

  Dalton hadn’t seen Wyatt smile so much since the day he’d announced his engagement to Aimee. There’d been a few bets riding on that one, especially after the bout of jealously he’d displayed in public that led to a brawl between the Kinnison brothers and some good old boys. Damn, Aimee had been pissed. Dalton chuckled at the memory. Had it not been for her insistence that she and Wyatt hash out their differences that very night…well, let’s say little Gracie might not have made it into the world.

  Wyatt plopped into the booth beside Dalton. “I feel…amazing.” He shook his head. “Man, you guys should have seen Aimee. The woman is incredible. I mean, to go through what she did for what? Almost eighteen hours straight?” He brushed his hands down his face.

  “How long’s it been since you had any sleep?” Rein asked.

  Wyatt looked dazed. “I don’t know, eighteen hours, at least. But I’m not tired.”

  Rein glanced at Dalton.

  “You know, I honestly didn’t think it would be a lot different than birthing a calf.”

  Dalton laughed aloud at Wyatt’s reference. “You might not want to tell Aimee that, bro.” He pointed a finger at his brother.

  “I see the party is already started.” Liberty smiled down at the three and scooted next to Rein, snuggling close under his proffered arm.

  Wyatt, wrapped up in checking out pictures he’d taken, looked as though he was reliving each moment of the birth process. “God, will you look at this.” He shoved the phone in Dalton’s face.

  “Jesus, Wyatt.” Unable to avoid the picture, he stared at the wrinkled, purplish, infant covered with a cheesy white substance. “That’s just sick, dude.”

  Wyatt tossed him a mischievous grin. “Yeah, I thought you’d like that.” Oblivious, it seemed, to the rest of them, he went back to looking at his phone.

  “You got any after the kid was cleaned up?” Dalton asked.

  “Oh, here’s one.” He ignored his brother’s request and showed Dalton the graphic photo. “It’s me cutting the umbilical cord.”

  Dalton turned his face away and held up his hand. “I’m warning you.”

  “Man, I had no idea you were so squeamish.” Wyatt studied him with a curious gaze.

  Dalton shrugged. “I just don’t understand the need for a play-by-play of this kid’s birth.”

  Wyatt glanced at Rein and shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right, but I want to document everything. I want her to know how important she was to us from the very beginning. Hell, Dalton, all we have is a few postcards of motels to show for our childhood. Nothing else, at least, until we met Jed.” He took a sip of beer and sighed. “I want her to know where she came from and where she belongs.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” Dalton tapped his bottle to the others. This was his family and he needed to stop skulking around in the past. Being angry about how his mom abandoned them, about not knowing who his real dad—it was a lifetime ago. He knew he needed to let it go.

  Liberty’s chin quivered as she raised her beer and waited for the others to follow suit. “To making strong families who stick together and build something we can pass on to future generations.”

  “To family,” he repeated. The toast had dissipated some of the tension rattling around inside him, righting his world a bit better.

  “Speaking of legacies,” Rein said. “I waited until after Gracie was born to let you know that we’ve got our first official tenant coming to stay at the cabins.”

  All eyes turned to Rein.

  “Clay Saunders. He’s a friend from college. You remember him, Dalton?”

  “Guy with shoulders that look like granite?” Dalton answered. “Yeah, haven’t heard from him in years. What’s the story?”

  Rein shrugged. “He enlisted after school, did a couple of tours in the Middle East. He was in a convoy taking supplies to a small town when his truck drove over an IED. He was lucky that he made it. None of the rest of his squad survived. Hank says he’s struggled with being the only survivor.” Rein glanced at his brothers.

  “I can see how that’d be tough to deal with,” Wyatt said

  Rein continued. “He’s been at Walter Reed, spent some time in a vet hospital in rehab, learning to walk again. Guess things have been rough for him the past few months. His marriage broke up, and he started having nightmares again.”

  Dalton listened, and remembered the hulk of a man he’d known in college. Played on the football team and at one time thought about a career in the pros. Suddenly Dalton’s problems seemed puny by comparison. He blew out a sigh. “Man.” He rolled his beer bottle between his fingers. “Sounds rough.”

  “Hank’s been in touch with him and he called me the other day asking what I thought about Clay coming to spend some time here, maybe see how he could help out at the ranch.”

  Wyatt’s brows pressed together. “What are his injuries? Is he able to walk, or are we talking a wheelchair? We haven’t put in a paved walkway yet to the cabins. Honestly, with everything going on, that’s been on the backburner.”

  Rein nodded. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you first. He has a prosthetic leg
that he’s getting used to, but he also has a crutch and a motorized wheelchair. He’s still getting used to everything. The guy used to be going all the time. Lately, Hank indicated it’s hard to just get him away from the Xbox.”

  “Xbox isn’t a bad thing,” Dalton interjected.

  “It is if it’s your whole world.”

  Dalton nodded with a shrug.

  Rein continued. “I think I’m pretty much up to code on our handicap accessible cabin, but I want Sally to stop by and check it over. I figure that if anyone would have any tips, Sally would after taking care of her dad in his house. A path would be nice, but I wasn’t sure if it was feasible yet.”

  “Where is he living now?” Dalton asked.

  “He’s out in California with his sister and her family for a couple of weeks.”

  “It sounds like he just needs to find a purpose again. Feel useful. Actually, there’s a lot he could do around the ranch,” Liberty offered. “He could help with the horses. We have the cart. He could drive that around and maybe help haul supplies. Maybe he’d be receptive to learning some woodworking skills.”

  Rein nodded, a grin slowly curling his mouth. He planted a kiss on his wife’s temple. “That is a brilliant idea, sweetheart.”

  “You think he’d be physically up to that kind of work?” Wyatt asked, clearly erring on the side of caution. “Taking care of the horses could involve a lot of standing, maybe even riding. Has he ever ridden a horse?”

  “The Clay I used to know would never walk away from a challenge,” Dalton said. “Given the right incentive, I’d imagine the guy’s capable of doing just about whatever he sets his mind to.”

  Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, then, I guess we best get out butts in gear and finish up that roof on the main house. We’ve got three days before they send Aimee and Grace home.”

  “Three? These days, they send them home practically overnight if there are no complications.” Liberty leaned her arms on the table, capturing Wyatt’s gaze.

  He held up his hand. “Everything’s fine. Gracie’s bilirubin, I think they called it, was a little out of whack. They want to keep her for a day or two and pink her up, they said. Aimee was a bit anemic, so they’re going to keep her in as well so she can go ahead and nurse.”