her hat. “She died at birth. That’s when they lost their mom. They didn’t just lose the best mother anyone ever had; they lost their sister, too. You’re their chance to have a little sister again, and they know it.”
“They didn’t lose the best mother in the world...I did.” It was Miranda’s turn to stare, open-mouthed and dumbfounded, at her sister’s words. Gracie never talked about their mother, especially not about the day she’d come home from school and found their mother dead of a heart attack on the living room floor. “Mom was the best. She was perfect.”
Miranda reached her hand out and took her sister’s fingers in her own, giving them a loving squeeze and letting Gracie just talk. The girl spoke, at last. About the things she'd kept buried inside for the past year, building up to the moment of truth: she’d fought with her mother the last time they’d spoken.
“I said evil, hurtful, horrible things to her before I left for school that morning,” Gracie said, a fresh set of tears spilling from her sad eyes. “I told her I wished I didn’t have to live there anymore, that I wanted…that I wanted to live with you.” She buried her head on her sister’s shoulder as she spoke, releasing the secret guilt she’d carried all alone since her mother’s death.
“Gracie, I know. Mom called me after you left for school that morning. She told me about your argument and even asked if you could stay with me for a little while.”
“She was actually going to kick me out?” Gracie cried in alarm.
“No, no! She was trying to give you what you wanted! She thought maybe you needed a little time away, some time to go be a big girl with her older sister, that’s all. She only meant for the Christmas holidays, because my office closed when the boss’ kids were out of school.
“But, honey, not once did she ever sound upset or angry, or sound like she didn’t love you. She adored you, and lived her whole life for you. Nothing you could have ever said or done would change that.”
Gracie wiped her nose on the thin cotton sleeve of her shirt, nodding thoughtfully. “I think, deep down, I knew that but I kept it right underneath the feeling that I made her have that heart attack when I was so horrible to her.”
“Gracie…sweetie…it doesn’t work that way. You didn’t do that. And Mom would certainly not want you to beat yourself up all the time. You’re an amazing, wonderful girl, and I’m proud you’re my sister. And the Carsons are proud to know you, too. It’s all going to be okay, you’ll see!”
“Promise?” Gracie asked with a residual sniffle.
“I promise.”
“Pinkie promise?”
“One hundred percent. Both pinkies, even,” Miranda answered with a supportive smile. She tugged on her sister’s stray curls and leaned over slightly in her saddle so she could link her arm through Gracie’s. She let Gracie fill her in on everything she’d missed on the drive, and then answered a few questions about what their plans were now that she and Casey were back home.
Home, Miranda thought as Gracie rambled on. It certainly means something different for me now than it used to. She, too, had lost her mom, even if the pain of that loss wasn’t as sharp as it was for Gracie. Miranda had been out on her own and on her own two feet for a few years when Mom had died, but Gracie was still so young that she needed a mother. Miranda had tried her best to make a home for Gracie, but it was a pathetic home at best.
Now, she and Gracie had their best chance in years to be a part of a real family, one where different people came in and out all day long, laughing and supporting each other. Loving her very own rugged cowboy was just an added benefit to being a part of this family.
Miranda spotted Casey up ahead and admired the effortless way he rode, as though being a cowboy was so much a part of him that it was impossible to separate it from him. Her heart thudded in her chest when she realized he was checking on his wife—oh my God, I’m his wife, she remembered for the hundredth time—as he turned in his saddle and looked back in her direction, giving her a thumbs up sign to see if she was okay back there.
I can’t believe it, she thought, an involuntary, giddy smile breaking out on her face. This is real. He’s really mine…
Chapter Fifteen
Somewhere in the fog, Carey could hear a voice, and it was laughing.
It was a menacing laugh, made all the worse by the fact that Carey could feel himself trapped by the weight of his own body, unable to move or react. A kick to the ribs made him groan in pain, but that was the only response he could give while semi-unconscious.
Carey was only vaguely aware of what was going on, but he heard distinctly different sets of footprints stomping through the house, not even attempting to be quiet. He phased in and out of consciousness, but came to just enough to know that he should at least pretend that he was out cold, letting them think he wouldn’t be a threat.
“This one’s half-dead and useless,” he heard an unfamiliar voice call out. “Go check the house and see who else you can drag out here.” Retreating footsteps thudded across the wood floors, followed by the sounds of different doors opening and closing as a search was underway.
Carey had to will himself to stay silent as gun shots rang out somewhere down the hall, followed by raised voices. Another gun shot sounded, then it was silent. The radio crackled near where Carey had been keeping watch, but there was no voice: Amy’s code for something wrong.
Barely able to turn his head for the throbbing pain in his skull, Carey tried to look around the room. He couldn’t see anyone, and so was jolted sharply when a hand landed on the back of his neck. “Carey?” Amy whispered in his ear, the fear coming through in her shaky voice. “Can you hear me? Carey!”
He moaned in response, letting her know he was at least alive. He heard her sigh of relief then felt her breath near his ear as she spoke. “Stay put, don’t try to get up. I’ll be back. I’m going to make sure everyone in the kitchen is okay, then go look for the others.”
Everything he felt told him to scream for her to come back, to tell her to stay and not put herself in any danger. Carey winced as he finally rolled over, able to open his eyes for a moment but shutting them again when the ceiling above him continued to spin. When he could finally look up without being flooded with nausea, he forced himself first to his hands and knees, and then to his feet. There was no way he was letting Amy face this alone, not when she’d had to overcome her own fears and lack of confidence.
This was his land, damn it! He was the oldest Carson here now, and he no longer cared that his brother had left home. Carey wasn’t going to stand in his brother’s shadow, a place that he’d put himself in of his own free will, when there were people here in danger. He staggered to the kitchen, holding on to the nearest furniture as he moved. He was confused by a bloody hand-print on the wall next to the door frame but instead of being sickened when he realized it was his blood, left there by his unsteady hand, he was angry. Rage coursed through him at the people who had invaded his family’s happiness and threatened women and a teenage boy.
Carey shoved through the kitchen door and grabbed a wooden chair, knocking it to the floor and stomping on one of its legs to break it off. He picked it up and hefted it before walking through the rest of the house, feeling his way through the dark.
The sound of voices from his father’s office stopped him, and Carey immediately crouched down to avoid being seen by anyone
