Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
Sheriff Jake McCall knew what he was about to do could put a woman in grave danger. Maybe even get her killed. He wasn’t certain he could live with that, but he sure as hell couldn’t live with the alternative, either.
Risking Maggie Gallagher’s life, and his, was the only choice he had.
He pushed the stallion hard, its hooves chopping into the frozen ground. The icy wind whipped at him and burned his eyes and hands. But he rode harder. Away from the ranch house and away from what was waiting for him there.
It didn’t help.
Jake had known that when he saddled up, but he couldn’t face what was inside. Not yet. Though delaying it didn’t change the fact that he’d have to do things he had sworn he’d never do.
Like see Maggie again.
He hated her more than he wanted her. Far more. And he hated himself for still wanting her after what had happened. That settled like a deadweight in Jake’s gut, and he figured that particular feeling wasn’t going to get better anytime soon.
Cursing, Jake pushed that thought aside and rode the half mile to the creek, not stopping, not slowing until he got to the ice-scabbed water’s edge. He reined in the stallion, put his thumb to the brim of his Stetson to ease it back a bit, and he sat there, his forearm on the saddle horn.
He stared out at the glassy black surface of the creek and at the cottonwood trees, all veiny and bare. In the thin white moonlight he glanced down at the silver star badge pinned to his denim shirt pocket and felt a pain of a different kind. The badge meant something to him. Always had. It was his anchor. His cause.
Him.
Yeah, that was a sappy cliché that he’d never admit aloud. Not here in rural Texas where the only acceptable feelings for a real man to show were anger, appreciation for good-looking women and love for animals and small children.
But it was true.
People didn’t call him Boy Scout for nothing.
The stallion snorted, its breath mixing with the air and creating a milky haze around them. He looked back at Jake with a judgmental dark eye and snorted again.
It was too butt-freezing cold to be out on this December night trying to ride off his troubles. But he’d wanted one last look at the place, just in case he never saw it again.
Jake gathered the reins, maneuvered the stallion around and headed back. No gallop this time. He kept the stallion’s gait easy and slow, but each step still took him home.
There were twinkling lights around the windows. A holly wreath on the door. A plastic Santa and his sleigh perched on the roof. It still didn’t feel like Christmastime even though it was only three days away.
Jake spotted his brother, Royce, on the porch that ran across the entire front of the ranch house. Royce was on the top step, his lanky jeans-clad legs stretched out in front of him while he took a long drag on a cigarette.
Since Royce had quit smoking some four years ago, it was a reminder to Jake that he wasn’t the only one in for a bad night. Royce flicked the cigarette into what was left of their sister’s petunia bed. She’d complain about that come spring when she found it.
By then, all of their lives here would have changed.
One way or another.
“Dad’s waiting on you.” Royce got up from the step, the Christmas lights flickering off the silver deputy’s badge he had clipped to his rawhide belt. “You okay?” Royce asked.
“No.” Jake figured a lie would just stick in his throat so he didn’t even try it.
His brother stopped a moment as if considering that, and then he made a sound that could have meant anything before he strolled inside.
Jake dismounted and led the stallion to the barn. He mumbled an apology for the hard ride while he took off the saddle and gave the horse a quick brush down. He hurried now, dreading the delay more than he dreaded the conversation that was about to take place, and Jake made his way back to the house.
The moment he opened the door, he spotted them in the great room that sprawled out in front of him.
Family.
His brother, Royce. His sister, Nell. His father, Chet.
Royce had already taken the chair near the fireplace where a stack of mesquite logs were crackling and spitting. Chet was in his leather recliner that was positioned like a throne, the toes of his black snakeskin boots aimed at the ceiling. Jake spared him a glance before he went to the room across the hall. It’d once been a guest room, but these days it was more of a home-hospital for his daughter.
Sunny Lynn McCall.
She owned every bit of Jake’s heart.
Jake didn’t go in. He watched from the doorway as the visiting nurse, Betsy Becker, gave his daughter another injection. His little girl barely moved, didn’t even open her eyes, despite the needle being jammed into her hip.
That nearly brought Jake to his knees.
Three years old was way too young to be immune to pain. Too young to die. It was up to him now to make sure that didn’t happen.
Betsy took off her surgical mask, came out of the room and dodged Jake’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back in the morning.” She gave him a pat on the arm.
Betsy didn’t linger, didn’t speak to the others. She was a fixture now, appearing at the ranch every morning and leaving every night. She grabbed her things and let herself out. Jake had no doubts that come seven in the morning Betsy would be back to shove more needles into his baby.
Sometimes life just plain sucked, but it was easier to take a kick in the teeth when he was on the receiving end of the pain. Watching Sunny suffer like this was a special form of hell that he wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Well, maybe there was someone.
He pulled in a long breath, went into the adjoining bathroom so he could scrub up and put on a surgical mask. He wasn’t sick, but they couldn’t take any chances with Sunny.
When Jake walked to her bed, Sunny didn’t wake up and probably wouldn’t, because lately she was more tired than not. He leaned down, kissed both cheeks, ran his fingers through her dark hair. He lingered a bit despite hearing
