Читать книгу The Rancher's Miracle Baby - April Arrington - Страница 9
ОглавлениеTammy tilted her head and strained to pinpoint the soft cries escaping the demolished house in front of her. They were muffled and seemed to emanate from a stack of rubble next to...
She stifled a sob, tore her eyes from the couple lying in front of her and pointed at a high pile of debris. “There,” she said.
For a moment, she didn’t think Alex would move. He remained doubled over beside her, silent and still. But when a fresh round of cries rang out from the rubble, he shot upright, scrambled toward the towering mass in the center of the demolished home and began heaving jagged two-by-fours out of the way.
The broad muscles of his back strained the thin, wet material of his T-shirt as he flung the debris away. He jerked to a stop when he reached a ragged portion of a wall—the only one left standing. A battered door dangled from its hinges and barely covered an opening.
Tammy stepped to his side, hope welling within her chest. Other than a hole having been punched through the upper corner, the door looked relatively untouched. Just like the plastic hanger sitting on the ground in front of it. And the healthy cry of a child reverberated within.
Alex reached out and gripped the doorknob, the shine of the brass dulled by mud and bits of leaves. The door squeaked as he pulled it out slowly, then propped it open. The dim light from the cloudy sky overhead barely lit the interior.
A young child huddled on the ground against the back corner. He stopped crying and looked up, his red cheeks wet with tears. The denim overalls and striped shirt he wore were damp, too.
His big brown eyes moved from Tammy to Alex, then his face crumpled. A renewed round of cries escaped him and echoed over the ravaged landscape surrounding them. Chubby hands reached up toward Alex, the small fingers grasping empty air.
Tammy gasped, her chest burning, and glanced at Alex.
He didn’t move. He stood motionless amid thick planks of wood and pink insulation. The increasing gusts of wind ruffled his hair and a stoic expression blanketed his pale face.
“Alex?”
Throat aching, Tammy hesitated briefly, then knelt and scooped up the boy. His thin arms wrapped tight around her neck, and his hot face pressed against her skin, his sobs ringing in her ears.
“Alex.” She spoke firmly and dipped her head toward the boy at her chest. “What’s his name?”
Alex blinked, eyes refocusing on her, and whispered, “Brody.”
Tammy smoothed a palm gently over the boy’s soft brown hair. “We’re here, Brody.” Her chin trembled, and she bit her lip hard before saying, “We’re here now.”
She stepped carefully over a large portion of the roof, the tattered shingles flapping in the wind and clacking against the rafters.
“Don’t let him see,” Alex rasped.
He moved swiftly to block the couple behind them, then cleared a safe path to the grass.
Tammy walked slowly behind him, swallowing hard and concentrating on his confident movements. His brawny frame seemed massive above the razed house, and under normal circumstances his towering presence would have set her nerves on edge. But she didn’t feel the usual waves of apprehension. Only a deep sense of gratitude. And she found herself huddling closer to his back with each step, the boy in her arms growing quiet by the time they’d reached the road.
Alex stopped and held out his hands, slight tremors jerking his fingers. “Let me have him.”
Tammy nodded and eased Brody into his arms. Alex squatted, set Brody on his feet, then ran his palms over the boy’s limbs. He examined him closely.
“Nothing’s broken,” he said, his strained voice tinged with wonder. “There’s not a scratch on him.”
Brody whimpered and took two clumsy steps forward, bumping awkwardly between Alex’s knees and settling against his broad chest. He laid his head against Alex’s shirt and gripped the material with both hands.
“I know, little man.” Alex dropped a swift kiss to the top of Brody’s head before pressing him back into Tammy’s arms. He spun away and started walking. “We better get him to the house. More clouds are rolling in.”
Tammy looked up, her lids fluttering against the sporadic drizzle falling from a darker sky, then followed Alex. They took a different path than before, moving farther up the road before crossing to avoid the downed power line. The dirt drive leading to Alex’s house had transformed to slick mud, and what was left of the late-afternoon light died, giving way to night and leaving the ravaged path cloaked in darkness.
Tammy swiped a clammy hand over her brow when they finally reached the front lawn. It seemed like the longest walk she’d ever taken. Her arms grew heavy with Brody’s weight as she waited outside for Alex to check the house and make sure it was structurally sound.
“Razz,” she called softly, cradling Brody’s head against the painful throb in her chest and peering into the darkness.
Closing her eyes, she shifted the baby to her other hip and listened for the sound of hooves or neighs but heard neither. Only the rhythmic chirp of crickets, the faint croak of frogs and a sprinkle of rain striking the ground filled the empty land surrounding them.
Her legs grew weak, and a strange buzzing took over, assaulting her senses and mingling with the remembered images of Brody’s parents lying among the rubble.
“You can come in.” Alex stood on the front porch, holding a camping lantern. The bright light bathed his handsome features and highlighted the weather-beaten foliage littering the steps below him. “It’s safe. Just be careful of the glass.”
Safe. Tammy pulled in a strong breath and held Brody tighter as she made her way inside. She hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Not a single corner of the world felt safe anymore, and she never stayed in one place long enough to find out if it was.
“We should probably get him out of those wet clothes.” Alex gestured toward the dark hallway and turned to close the door behind them.
The door frame had been damaged by the storm, and he kicked the corner of it with his boot repeatedly until it shut. Tammy walked slowly down the hall, feeling her way with a hand on the wall as they drifted out of reach of the lantern’s light and arrived at the first door on the left. She fumbled around to find the doorknob, then twisted, but it was locked.
“Not there,” he bit out.
She jumped and glanced over her shoulder. Brody lifted his head from her chest and started crying again.
Alex winced and looked down, cursing softly. “I’m sorry,” he said, easing awkwardly around them and moving farther down the hall. “I don’t use that room. And the windows are blown out in the guest room.” He opened a door at the end of the hall and motioned for her to precede him inside. “But you’re welcome to this one.”
She took a few steps, then hesitated at the threshold, an uneasy feeling knotting in her stomach as she scrutinized his expression. He’d sheltered her during intense events, and she truly believed she’d seen him at one of his weakest moments back at the demolished home. But...he was still a stranger. One who obviously cared for Brody but refused to hold the boy. And she’d learned a long time ago that a kind face could mask a multitude of evils.
Alex slowly reached out and rubbed his hand over Brody’s back. “I’m sorry,” he repeated gently. “From the looks of your truck, you’re not going to be able to drive it tonight. Power’s out. Landlines and cell service are down, so we can’t make any calls, either. I did mean what I said. You’re welcome to use this room tonight.”
His expression softened, and his tempting mouth curved up at the corners in what she suspected was supposed to be a smile. But it fell flat, as though he rarely used it, and he turned away.
Broken. Tammy swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. His body was agile, solid and strong. But his smile was broken.
She straightened and followed him into the room, trying to shake off the strange thought—and the unfamiliar urge to touch him. To comfort a man. They both arose from the intensity of the day’s events. And the loss he and Brody had suffered was enough to evoke sympathy from even the hardest of hearts.
“I pull from a well, so there’s no running water.” Alex crossed the room and riffled through the closet. Hangers clacked, and clothing rustled. “I have some bottled water on hand that I can put in the bathroom for you.” He held up a couple of shirts and a pair of jogging pants. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to put on some dry clothes, too. These will swallow you both whole, but they’ll at least keep you comfortable while the others dry out.”
Tammy looked down and plucked at her soggy T-shirt and jeans. Brody squirmed against her, squinting against the light Alex held.
“I’ll wait in the kitchen,” Alex said. “If you don’t mind seeing to Brody?”
At her nod, he placed the clothes and lantern on a dresser, then left, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll take the wet clothes when you’re done and lay ’em out to dry.”
“Thank you,” she said.
But he was gone.
The white light glowing from the lantern lit up half of what seemed to be the master bedroom, and the dresser cast a long shadow over an open door on the other side of the bed. The room definitely belonged to Alex. If the absence of feminine decor hadn’t hinted strongly enough, the light scent of sandalwood and man—the same one that had enveloped her as Alex had covered her in the hallway—affirmed it.
Brody made a sound of frustration and rubbed his face against the base of her throat.
“Guess it’s just you and me for now.” She cradled him closer, closed the door, then grabbed the lantern from the dresser. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay?”
It took several minutes to gather what she needed from the bathroom and strip the wet clothes from Brody. He grew fussy, wriggling and batting at her hands as he lay on a soft towel on the bed.
“Mama.” He twisted away from her touch and tears rolled down his cheeks. “Mama.”
“I know, baby,” Tammy said, scooting closer across the mattress. “I’m so sorry.” She strained to keep her voice steady and forced herself to continue. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”
She hummed a soft tune while she worked, hesitating briefly after removing the diaper and cleaning his bottom, then grabbed one of the T-shirts Alex had provided.
“This will have to do for now,” she said, folding the cotton shirt into a makeshift diaper around him and tying knots at the corners. “I’ll get something better soon.”
He rubbed his eyes with a fist, and his thumb drifted toward his mouth. Tammy caught it before it could slip between his lips, then wiped it clean with a damp washcloth. His face scrunched up, and he fussed until she released it.
“There,” she whispered, bending close and placing her palm to the soft skin of his chest. His heart pulsated beneath her fingertips. “Does that feel a little better?”
Brody blinked slowly, his eyes growing heavy as they wandered over her face. He returned his thumb to his mouth, and his free hand reached up, his fingers tangling in her hair, rubbing the damp strands. He grew quiet, drifted off, and his hand slipped from her hair to drop back to the mattress.
A heavy ache settled over Tammy and lodged in her bones. Being careful not to wake him, she stood and gathered several towels from the bathroom. She rolled each one and arranged them on the bed around him as a barrier.
Keeping a close eye on him, she changed out of her wet clothes and into the dry ones Alex had provided. Her mouth quirked as she held the jogging pants to her middle to keep them from falling. Alex had been right. The pants were at least three sizes too big, but she folded the waistband over several times and tied a knot in the bottom of the T-shirt to take up some of the slack in both.
When she was finished, she pulled her cell phone from the soggy pocket of her jeans and tried calling Jen. But there was no service, just as Alex had said. Sighing, she turned it off, gathered up the wet clothes and lantern, then made her way down the hall, drawing to an abrupt halt in the kitchen.
Alex stood by the sink, tossing back a shot glass and drinking deeply. He stilled as the light bathed his face and the bottle of whiskey in his hand.
A trickle of dread crept across the flesh of her back and sent a chill up her neck. The sight was nothing new. Her father had adopted the same pose every morning and every night. For him, each day began and ended with a bottle, and she imagined it was still that way, though she hadn’t laid eyes on him in eight years.
The desire to run was strong. It spiked up her legs and throbbed in her muscles, urging her to drop everything and take off. Even if it meant walking twenty miles in the dark to the nearest town.
“I brought the wet clothes,” Tammy said, shifting from one foot to the other, her boots crunching over shards of broken glass. “I can lay them out if you’ll just tell me where—”
“No.” He set the shot glass and bottle on the counter, then held out his hand. It still trembled, and the light from the lantern couldn’t dispel the sad shadows in his eyes. “I’ll take care of them. Thanks.”
The calm tone of his voice eased her tension slightly, and she handed the clothes over before returning to the bedroom to check on Brody. She set the lantern on the nightstand, then trailed a hand over his rosy cheek, closing her eyes and focusing on his slow breaths.
His soft baby scent mingled with that of Alex’s, still lingering on the sheets. Uncomfortable, she kissed Brody’s forehead gently, then slipped away and stood by the window. She parted the curtains, and the glow from the lantern highlighted her reflection in the windowpane.
“He sleeping?”
Alex’s broad chest appeared in the reflection behind her, and she stepped quickly to the side and faced him. “Yeah.”
“Thanks for seeing to him,” he said, looking at Brody.
Tammy nodded. “He...he’s been asking for his mama.”
He watched the baby, his mouth tightening, then took her place at the window. A muscle ticked in his strong jaw as he stared at the darkness outside.
Tammy fiddled with the T-shirt knotted at her waist. “I’m sorry about Dean and Gloria.”
Alex dipped his head briefly, then turned away, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Did you know them well?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He dragged a broad hand over the back of his neck, his tone husky. “We all grew up together. Dean and I’ve been best friends since second grade. And Gloria and Susan—” His words broke off, and his knuckles turned white, his grip tightening around the base of his neck. “Dean helped me build this house. And I helped him build his.”
Tammy stilled, her palms aching to reach out and settle over his hard grip. Ease the pain in some small way. She focused on his words instead, wondering who Susan was and why he’d clammed up so abruptly after mentioning her.
His wife, maybe? This was a big house for a single man. But she hadn’t seen any women’s clothing in the closet or feminine toiletries in the bathroom.
“Is Susan—”
A steady pounding drummed the roof and bore down on the walls of the house. Fat drops of water splattered against the windowpane, and steady streams began flowing down the glass.
“It’s raining again,” he said, releasing his neck and placing his palm to the window. His biceps flexed below the soggy sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t know when emergency services will make their rounds out here. We’re so far from town.” His whole body shook as he stared straight ahead. “I can’t leave them out there alone,” he choked. “Not like that.”
He shoved off the window and strode swiftly to the door.
“Alex?”
He paused, gripping the door frame and keeping his broad back to her.
Tammy blinked back tears and gnawed her lower lip, wanting so much to help but feeling useless. “What can I do?”
He glanced over his shoulder, his voice thin. “Stay here and take care of Brody until I get back?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He left and the rain grew heavier, the sound of water pummeling the house filling the room. Rhythmic tings and plops started in the hallway as water leaked from the ceiling and hit the hardwood floor.
Shivering despite the heat of the summer night, Tammy moved slowly to the bed and sat down. She watched the empty doorway for over an hour, waiting to see if someone who knew Alex would walk in. A wife or girlfriend. Maybe a family member or friend. Anyone who cared enough to brave the weather, make the drive to Alex’s ranch and check on him.
But no one did.
Eventually, the day became too heavy to carry, and the tears she’d struggled to hold back ran down her cheeks, the salty taste seeping into the corners of her mouth. She gave in and lay on the bed, curling into a ball near Brody and placing a comforting hand on his small shoulder.
She thought of Brody’s parents and Razz in the dark, in the rain. She thought of Brody. And Alex...
His distinctive scent grew stronger as she silenced her sobs in the pillow and realized that, for the first time, she’d found two people who were more alone than she was.
* * *
“I’M REAL SORRY, ALEX.”
Alex forced a nod as Jaxon Lennox, a paramedic and old classmate from high school, joined his colleague and lifted a second gurney into the back of an ambulance. The white sheet covering Dean flapped in the early-morning breeze.
Stomach churning, Alex spun away from the sight and studied the ruins of Dean’s house. The rain from last night had soaked the wreckage, leaving deep puddles of dingy water on the piles of broken wood and battered bricks.
Alex had remained at Dean and Gloria’s side all night until emergency services arrived in the early-morning hours. He’d been unable to bring himself to leave. The scene blurred in front of him, and he blinked hard, balling his fists against his thighs to keep from dragging them over his burning eyes.
The ambulance doors thudded closed, and Alex stiffened as footsteps approached from behind.
“I spoke to the sheriff. He said he’d contact a social worker this morning about the baby,” Jaxon said. “Probably Ms. Maxine.”
Alex held his breath and tried to suppress the heat welling in his chest and searing his cheeks. Deer Creek was a tiny community by anyone’s standards, and everyone knew Ms. Maxine. Most everyone also knew Ms. Maxine had served as Alex’s social worker from the time he’d turned five until he’d aged out of foster care at eighteen. She’d attended his high school graduation and his wedding. And had been the first guest at his and Susan’s housewarming party eleven years ago, with an armful of gifts in tow.
Ms. Maxine was one of the brightest spots of a naively hopeful past that he wanted to forget.
“Sheriff said she should be at your place this afternoon to collect the child. I told him about that overturned truck at your place, too, and he said he’ll send someone out as soon as he can.” Jaxon sighed. “Wish we could’ve gotten here sooner, but things are so crazy right now. That storm was a monster, and it damaged a lot of houses, though this was the worst I’ve seen so far. Listen, I know you and Dean were close, and if you need anything...” His voice trailed away. “Well, you know where I am.”
“Thanks,” Alex said, barely shoving the word past his lips.
It’d be more polite to turn around and offer his hand or try to dredge up a smile, but he couldn’t manage either. The expression of pity on a person’s face was something he’d become unable to stomach.
The heavy presence at Alex’s back disappeared, then a second set of doors slammed shut. An engine cranked, and the ambulance drove away, sloshing through the deep mudholes left in the dirt driveway of Dean’s property.
Alex stared blindly at the rubble before him, frowning as the sun cleared the horizon. It blazed bright, tingeing the scoured landscape in a golden glow and coaxing the birds to sing in ravaged trees. There wasn’t a single cloud marring the deep blue of the sky.
His skin warmed, and his soggy shirt and jeans clung uncomfortably to him. The damp band of his Stetson began to dry against his forehead, turning tight and stiff.
It was a hell of a thing—the sun rising on a day like this. The damned thing shouldn’t have the nerve.
He scoffed and shook his head, squeezing his eyes hard enough to clear them, then started sifting through the mess on the ground for anything worth saving. A dented microwave, filled with muddy water, was lodged between broken staircase rails and a cracked cabinet door. Two recliners and one sofa were overturned, and the cushions were twisted within a tangle of curtains, sheets and wood beams. The remnants of a smashed crib littered a large, heavy pile of broken bricks.
Alex flinched, his boots jerking to a stop. This shouldn’t have happened. Dean had walked the line all his life, married a good woman and had a healthy baby boy. This house should still be standing with their small family safely in it.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Alex said, plucking a bent nail from the ground and cringing at the tremor in his voice. “I should’ve built it stronger.”
He gritted his teeth, flung the nail into the distance and kept moving, carefully investigating each stack of wreckage and methodically collecting the few scattered remains that might be of use. He shoved a few unbroken jars of baby food, several intact juice boxes and a half dozen dry disposable diapers into a stray trash bag. One hour later, he started back to his ranch, wanting nothing more than to guzzle a bottle of whiskey, collapse onto his bed and escape into oblivion.
But that wasn’t a possibility. A woman and baby were still on his ranch—whatever little there was left of it—and he had to remain hospitable for at least a few more hours. Then they’d both be on their way and he’d have the comforting silence of privacy back.
The thought should’ve been a welcome one. But the relief he felt at their expected absence was overshadowed by a pang of loss. One that was accompanied by the warm image of Tammy’s bright green eyes and the remembered feel of Brody’s small, grasping fingers against his chest. All of which were ridiculous things for a man like him to dwell on.
Shrugging off the unwanted sensation, Alex picked up his pace and searched each empty field he passed for any sign of his horses. He’d made it past the downed power line and across the road when a sporadic pattering sounded behind him. It continued with each of his swift strides, then stopped abruptly when he stilled, a soft whine emerging at his back.
He glanced over his shoulder. A puppy—Labrador, maybe?—stood frozen in place, his yellow fur dark with mud and grime. The dog’s black eyes widened soulfully, then he ducked his head and took up whining again.
Alex turned, then eased his bag to the ground. “Where’d you come from?”
The pup wagged his tail rapidly, then rolled belly up and wiggled. The leaves clinging to his matted fur and the pine needles stuck to his paws were an indication that he might have spent the night in the woods.
Alex lowered to his haunches and rubbed a hand over the puppy’s thick middle before checking the rest of him for injuries. The dog was healthy, unharmed and looked to be about seven or eight weeks old.
“You belong to Earl, buddy?” he asked, scratching behind the pup’s ear.
Old Earl Haggert bred and sold Labs. Could be one of his. Earl’s place was about a mile up the road, and it was possible the dog might’ve wandered that far. With the storm they’d had yesterday, it seemed like everything had been displaced.
The dog stopped whining, licked Alex’s fingers and nuzzled a wet nose into his palm.
Alex grinned, a soothing heat unfurling in his veins. “Well, hell. What’s one more?” He stood, picked up his bag and started walking again. “You might as well come on.” He patted his thigh with his free hand. “You can stay today, and I’ll get you back to Earl tomorrow.”
The dog followed, bounding forward with as much gusto as his short legs would allow.
“But it’s only fair I warn you that there’s not much to my place anymore.” Alex slowed his step until the pup fell into a comfortable pace at his side. “Not after that tornado. My stable is shot, the fences are busted and my horses are missing. Got a damaged roof and broken windows all over the house. ’Bout the only thing not ruined was my bed, and a woman and baby are piled up on that.”
The dog yelped up at him, and Alex cocked an eyebrow.
“I know, right? Only thing worse than all that is a man talking to himself.” He grimaced, gripped the bag tighter and increased his pace again. “That’s a damned shame in itself.”
Alex clamped his mouth shut and forged ahead.
Rhythmic thuds echoed across the ravaged field as they drew closer to his house. He stopped a few feet from the end of the driveway, the dog skittering to an awkward halt against his shins.
Tammy pushed a wheelbarrow from one side of the front lawn to the other, pausing every few feet to pick up a broken tree limb and toss it into the cart. The wheels squeaked with each shove, and the contents clanged every time it bumped over uneven ground. Brody tottered close at Tammy’s side, his brown hair gleaming in the sun. He followed her lead, bent to grab a stick and stumbled.
“Whoa, there.” Tammy stopped the wheelbarrow and steadied him with one hand. She waited as he fumbled around in the grass, then straightened and held out a twig. “Good job,” she praised, pointing at the wheelbarrow. “Can you put it in the cart?”
Brody stretched up on his tiptoes, flung the wood into the wheelbarrow and squealed.
“Nicely done,” Tammy said, clapping.
Brody smiled, smacked his hands together awkwardly, then waddled toward another stick. Tammy laughed, her face lighting with pleasure.
The rich sound traveled across the front lawn and vibrated around Alex, sending a pleasurable tingle over his skin. He tried not to stare as she chased after Brody, her long brown hair falling in tangled waves over her shoulders and her slim legs moving with grace. They wore their clothes from last night and, though dry, her jeans and Brody’s overalls were wrinkled and stained with mud.
But even weather-beaten, she and Brody were a beautiful sight. The kind he’d imagined years ago when he’d hammered shingles onto his newly constructed roof and set the windows in their frames. He’d spent the last free hour before his wedding looking through the glass pane of the kitchen window at the front lawn, envisioning Susan and the children they’d planned to have playing, laughing and living well.
Tammy’s and Brody’s energetic movements across the green grass breathed a bit of life into that old fantasy, conjuring it to the forefront of his mind and coaxing it past the tight knot in his chest. And it stung just as much as it soothed.
Alex averted his eyes and scrubbed the toe of his boot over the dirt.
“Hey.”
He glanced up at the sound of Tammy’s voice. She’d stopped following Brody and studied him closely, her gaze traveling over his face.
“I found the wheelbarrow out back and thought I’d make myself useful,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears and brushing a hand over her rumpled T-shirt. “Brody’s been crying for his parents. I thought taking him outside and keeping him busy might help. Hope you don’t mind. And I found a banana and cereal in the kitchen that I gave to him. The paramedics stopped by a couple of hours ago, and I sent them in your direction. Did they make it to you okay?”
He nodded, swallowing the thick lump in his throat, and gestured to the white bandage covering her temple. “How’s your cut?”
Her fingers drifted up and touched it as though she’d forgotten it was there. “Oh, it’s fine. I told them it was nothing, but they insisted on patching me up anyway.” She waved a hand in the air, then shoved it in her pocket. “They checked Brody out, too, while they were here. He’s just like you said. Not a scratch on him.”
Brody stood behind her, holding a stick out with a chubby hand and staring at the dog snuffling around in the dirt at Alex’s heels. The boy’s eyebrows rose, and his mouth parted. He pointed his free hand at the pup and shouted.
The dog poked his head between Alex’s ankles. He eyed Brody, then bounded across the grass and leaped for the stick Brody held, knocking the boy down in the process.
Brody plopped down on his backside and sat, stunned, for a moment. His brown eyes widened and a wounded expression crossed his face before he took up crying.
Alex froze, a strangled laugh dying in his throat and escaping him in a choked grunt. Years ago, he’d seen Dean hit his butt in the same position with an identical look on his face. Except Dean had been twelve years old and the cause of it had been the kickback from a shotgun. One he’d swiped from his dad’s gun cabinet and used without permission, accidentally shooting out a window on his dad’s truck.
Dean had insisted he’d outgrown his BB gun, but he hadn’t been too grown to shed tears that day. He’d taken one look at that shattered glass and cried, “My dad’s gonna kick my ass good for this one!”
Of course, his dad hadn’t. He’d fussed a great deal but had been relieved that Dean and Alex hadn’t been injured. That they’d emerged from what could’ve been a deadly incident without a scratch on them. Like Brody.
A boy who would grow up without ever knowing how great a man his father had been.
Alex dropped his bag, turned his back on the trio and stifled a guttural roar, the rage streaking through him almost uncontainable.
“Oh, it’s all right, Brody.” Tammy’s soothing words quieted the baby’s sobs. “You’re okay, and there are a lot more sticks where that one came from.” There were shuffling sounds, then she asked, “This little guy a friend of yours, Alex?”
He glanced over his shoulder to find her kneeling on the ground, petting the dog and hugging Brody to her side. Her eyes met his, and the smile on her face melted away, a concerned expression taking its place. The kind he knew all too well.
Unable to answer her, he spun away, stalked up the front porch steps and entered the kitchen. He went straight to the cabinet, grabbed a bottle, then upended it, drinking deeply. The fiery liquid burned a trail down his throat and lit up his gut, forcing him to set it down and gasp for breath.
He watched through the window as Tammy got to her feet and took a hesitant step toward the house. She stopped, frowned up at the front porch, then walked away. The squeak of wheels rang out and the consistent clang of sticks being thrown into the cart resumed.
Alex gripped the edge of the counter and closed his eyes. She probably thought he was a crazy, selfish bastard. And to a certain extent he was. But how could he explain it? How could anything he might say help her understand?
He was truly grateful that Brody had survived the storm and that Tammy had escaped without serious injury. Last night as he’d grieved at Dean’s side, he’d even thanked heaven that he, himself, had managed to emerge from yesterday’s carnage still breathing. That he wasn’t buried beneath the broken walls of his house being pummeled by rain.
But no amount of gratitude would ease the anger of knowing that death had stolen Dean and Gloria. Or change the fact that, sometimes, life could hurt like hell.
