Читать книгу Bad Boy Rancher - Karen Rock - Страница 12
ОглавлениеBRIELLE’S LOW HEELS clacked on the courthouse’s marble-tiled floor as she strode down the hall ahead of the motorcycle driver’s DUI hearing. In her pressed navy suit, her hair scraped into a tight, painful bun, she hoped her respectable, steady image belied her jittering nerves.
Where was room 8A? The hearing started in fifteen minutes and she wanted to arrive early. When the district attorney had contacted her with the date and time, she’d promised to attend. It was her civic duty after all...but deep down she sensed her eagerness stemmed from the rugged man whose tormented face had haunted her these past two weeks. His expression had reminded her of soldiers returning from battle—bleak and raw.
He could have been killed, yet he’d appeared calm and strangely disappointed when he realized he’d lived. He’d only managed to break a rib, tear a two-inch gash in his face and suffer a concussion, but that’d been nothing to him.
Did he have a death wish?
Why had he taken his hands off his handlebars?
Often, soldiers about to leave on patrol had stopped by her office on the pretext of asking for candy. They’d really sought reassurance, hope and faith that they’d return the way they left: alive. Whole. Physically and, with any luck, mentally. They valued their lives and saw each day they breathed as a reprieve until their next tour, and the one after that, the countdown to their deployment’s end feeling like borrowed time. Yet the biker seemed cavalier about this precious gift.
Safety. Many didn’t appreciate it until they’d lost it. Once gone, that faith never fully returned. You couldn’t unknow things...couldn’t unsee them...couldn’t unlive them.
Brielle sidestepped a chattering attorney and client and strolled closer to the window. Outside, fall seemed to be gradually overtaking summer. Yellow now mixed with green aspen leaves. One cluster of red covered the side of an ancient maple. A child and parent stopped beside a spruce, snipped off some needles and dropped them into a baggie.
A student project, she surmised, recalling a happy memory from her elementary school days for a change.
Was her own darkness causing her to read too much into the biker? A traumatic past twisted the present, distorting the new to match the old. She needed a fresh start, something she’d never get if she kept picking the scab over her wound.
Sleep had eluded her since the crash, and she thought of the accident often. When she’d followed the ambulance to the hospital, she’d learned his name was Justin Cade, the youngest son of a ranching family and the town hellion, per an oversharing nurse who staffed an empty waiting room. The bored woman went on to divulge Justin had had a drug-addict twin brother, Jesse, who’d been shot dead by drug dealers on a back road right here in Carbondale. The community’s only murder in over two decades.
When the nurse said “drug addict,” she’d dropped her voice and whispered it, as if she’d uttered a filthy word. She’d pursed her mouth then said characters like that had no place in a sweet, sleepy town like Carbondale.
When she’d asked what brought Brielle to Carbondale and learned she would be running the new rehab and mental health treatment facility, the chatty nurse clammed up and busied herself sharpening pencils. Looked like Brielle might be one of those undesirables the nurse mistrusted.
Brielle paused at a water fountain and bent over to press the tab. She drank the icy stream, recalling the nurse’s dismissal. While she hadn’t expected the town to roll out the red carpet, it surprised her how few had dropped by the new facility. She’d written a letter to the local newspaper’s editor inviting Carbondale residents to tour the facility and ask questions about the provided services before the first patients arrived next week.
She straightened, wiped her mouth, then continued down the hall. Other than a couple rubberneckers who’d looked plenty and said little, the townsfolk steered clear of Fresh Start. Worse, a couple of nasty letters to the newspaper’s editor blasted the facility, calling it a threat to the community because it would attract the “wrong elements” and drop real estate values.
She blew out a frustrated breath. She needed Carbondale’s support to succeed. While she’d stayed busy, reading through case files for incoming patients, hiring staff and inventorying supplies, her mind kept drifting back to how she could improve community relations...and to a rough-and-tumble cowboy who’d looked like he’d walked right out of a biker fantasy...
Speaking of which.
She pulled up short at the sight of the tall, lean, bearded man tightening his tie knot. His light hazel eyes bored into hers then narrowed in recognition.
“You,” he said, the single word sounding like an accusation. His hands fell to his sides, and he stalked toward her, smooth and graceful, a predatory animal. There was no other way to describe how he zeroed in on her. Like a wolf with hackles raised, Justin Cade seemed to flex every muscle in his possession.
Brielle swallowed hard and stuck her hand out. “Brielle Thompson.” After a moment of hesitation, he clasped it with his callused palm. Warmth exploded up her arm at the brief contact. “I’m sorry about the accident.”
He crossed his arms and his biceps bulged beneath the tailored suit material, curving it. “Wasn’t your fault.”
“I braked, but it all happened so fast.”
“There wasn’t anything you could have done.”
She tilted her head so her eyes caught his. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged and his gaze flitted outdoors, landing on the parent and child she’d spotted earlier.
“Are you doing okay?”
“Suppose,” he said without looking at her, which gave her plenty of license to indulge her curiosity and study him.
Beneath his bearded scruff, he had a perfectly proportioned face: a strong jaw, high cheekbones and a straight, narrow nose. Normally she didn’t like the mountain man look, especially after a lifetime spent around clean-shaven, tightly shorn military men. Yet something about his wild, untamed looks appealed to her. Challenged and drew her in.
“I tried visiting you in the hospital, but they wouldn’t let me back.”
“You’re not family.” He inserted a toothpick in his mouth. “Or a friend.” His eyes slashed across her face then back to the outdoor scene.
Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. “True.”
It wasn’t like she wanted to be his friend. Getting close to Justin Cade, she sensed, would be as futile as trying to throw a hug on a cactus.
“I heard you broke your ribs. A concussion, too,” she persisted.
His piercing eyes swung back to her, and the impact of his ferocious gaze was like a hand on her chest, shoving her.
“It’s a fracture.” He yanked at a green tie that brought out the yellow flecks in his eyes. In fact, looking closer, she realized his eyes were lighter than she thought.
“That’s a relief.”
A line appeared between his thick brows. “You think I’m relieved about this?” he mumbled around the toothpick.
“How about grateful?” she snapped, losing her patience with the mulish man.
“Nope. Not that, either.” His broad shoulders rose then dropped in a careless shrug.
Didn’t anything matter to this guy? His face was a slipping mask, and beneath it Brielle saw pain. “I’ve seen a lot of good men and women who cherished life lose it too soon. You’re lucky.”
He scrutinized her for a moment then laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “Lucky? Good one.” He tipped his hat, pulled open a door labeled 8A, and disappeared inside.
Her eyes wandered over the entrance’s fake wood grain.
Justin Cade might have deliberately taken his hands from the handlebars after all. Maybe he’d wanted to die two weeks ago, and she’d prevented it. Or it’d been some twisted version of Russian roulette with his life.
Did he court death?
She smoothed her hand over her hair, yanked down her suit jacket and wrenched open the door. After the trial, she’d steer clear of Justin Cade.
He didn’t want to be saved, and those cases haunted her most.
* * *
“WOULD THE DEFENDANT please rise?”
Justin shoved back his chair and rose from the courtroom table slowly, ignoring the pain lancing through his side from his fractured rib. His heart drummed, and beads of perspiration broke out across his forehead. An overhead fan whirred in the expectant hush, and the room’s wood-paneled walls seemed to close around him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the woman who’d driven the van he’d hit two weeks ago. Brielle Thompson, a former army chaplain from Chicago, he’d learned. She’d been hired to run Carbondale’s new rehabilitation and mental health center, Fresh Start, and had been headed there when they’d collided.
Now she sat beside the county DA, ramrod straight, her strong jaw lifted, her face impassive. Varying shades of blond hair, from platinum to honey to a dark gold, smoothed over her head and twisted in a knot at the base of her neck. Although she hadn’t glanced his way since the hearing began, he recalled her light green eyes in the hall and the way they’d seemed to look not just at him, but through him.
He didn’t remember much about that night, except the image of her stricken face peering down at him. He’d even dreamed of it, a reprieve from his usual loop of Jesse calling for him, insisting this time he’d changed, and Justin angrily refusing to believe until it was too late...
“How does the defendant plead?” asked County Judge Charlotte James.
Her daughter, Amberley, who dated his brother Jared, had warned Justin not to expect leniency on his DUI charge. Judge James had lost her sister in a drunk driving accident and imposed the maximum sentence when hearing these cases. She leaned forward, her forearms extended atop the tall bench, a gavel beside her right hand. Her black robe billowed around her tall, thin frame and the narrow oval of her face creased in disapproval. Gray threaded through her shoulder-length brown hair.
Justin cast a quick glance back at his family. James glowered while Jared mouthed “good luck.” Jewel chewed on a nail while his mother’s eyes glistened. Her lips pushed together so hard the color leached out of them. Regret settled sour in Justin’s gut. He’d caused his family pain.
Again.
Jail would get him out of their hair for a while. Behind bars, he’d also escape their pitying, anxious looks...their useless attempts to pull him from his grief. He squared his shoulders beneath Jared’s borrowed suit jacket. “Guilty, Your Honor.”
An annoyed huff escaped his family’s attorney, Chuck Sloan. A portly man with a thick mane of white hair and a perfect set of teeth, he resembled a well-fed cat used to pampering, not scrapping. He’d insisted they plead not guilty to provide better leverage in a plea bargain, but Justin refused. He’d chugged the beer before hopping on the bike. No one had put a gun to his head—a preferable choice, in hindsight, to driving under the influence.
His mind drifted as Judge James called for the accident report, witness statements and the toxicology reports.
He could have hurt someone, an unforgivable, selfish act. Granted, he’d believed the remote road would be empty and his motorcycle little threat to a moving van, but he couldn’t excuse his reckless disregard for another’s life. Brielle Thompson, by all accounts, was an exemplary person, a woman of the church, practically a saint compared to a sinner like him.
Yet despite her brisk bearing and guarded expression today, he recalled the dark anguish in her eyes after the accident and her sudden fury just moments ago in the hall. She’d looked haunted, desperate, desolate—an expression he recognized. It often peered back at him in the mirror.
Was this godly woman possessed by demons, too?
After listening to the officer on scene’s testimony, as well as a brief statement from Brielle, Judge James steepled her fingers, her elbows planted atop her desk, deep in thought. The room descended into a tomb-like silence. A mother, failing to soothe her fussing baby, hustled up the central row of seats and out through the door.
“With a blood alcohol level of point oh nine—” Judge James waved the toxicology report a few minutes later “—your license is suspended for nine months.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Justin laced his fingers in front of him and rocked back on the heels of his boots, nodding. More than fair. Besides, he didn’t need a license to race dirt bikes or go mudding off-road. As for driving, he’d catch a ride with one of his siblings if he needed to go somewhere. Other than the pool hall and a weekly poker night, he rarely left the ranch anyway.
Since Jesse’s death, he found it hard to leave the place. Everywhere he looked, he saw Jesse. Walking away felt like he was abandoning his twin all over again. Besides, the wanderlust that’d once seized him had died alongside his twin. It’d be disloyal to explore the world without him. If Jesse couldn’t leave Carbondale, neither would Justin, no matter how many sunsets he watched...wondering what lay beyond the horizon.
“As for sentencing,” Judge James continued, “I’m prepared to offer two options for consideration before next week’s sentencing hearing. Six months in the county jail or...”
His mother’s gasp halted the judge’s words. Her eyes brushed past Justin to his parent and softened momentarily. Was she dialing into his ma’s worries? Did she fear Justin would travel the same dark road as his brother, sure he’d break her heart? Joy had already lost one son, and now she was losing another...
Justin’s body ran hot and cold. Jail. Hearing it out loud, in an official setting, brought home the reality he’d be forced to leave the ranch, his family, Jesse...
He’d done the crime and now must do the time.
Cowboy up.
Judge James lifted a mug to her lips, her expression shuttered. A tea bag string dangled over its side. After a long sip, she lowered the cup then circled the rim with her index finger. “Carbondale is now fortunate to have a rehabilitation and mental health facility, Fresh Start.”
A low grumbling broke out in the back of the courtroom. He glimpsed Brielle’s chin lift a notch. The facility’s opening had stirred up some recent controversy. He’d heard James mention the townsfolk worried about the kinds of “elements” a place like Fresh Start would bring to their little corner of the world.
Judge James banged her gavel, scowling, and the room quieted. Justin yanked his starched collar and tie, more loans from his brothers, from his hot neck.
“As we now have a top-notch facility in our community—” The judge shot a fleeting smile at Brielle before continuing, “The defendant may admit himself to this facility for the next six weeks in lieu of incarceration. I trust that would be acceptable to you, Ms. Thompson?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Brielle said heavily after a moment’s hesitation.
Justin shot her a quick glance but failed to catch her eye. After their heated exchange in the hall, did she not want him as a resident at the facility?
If so, that went double for him.
He didn’t have a drinking problem, unless you considered knocking back a few to fall asleep an issue, which it wasn’t. How else would he escape his thoughts long enough to get a few hours of shut-eye?
As for his daytime drinking, he always waited until after work. Who didn’t want a few beers while watching the game? Harmless. Normal.
A twelve-pack a night isn’t normal, a voice inside him piped up.
He shook off the nagging thought. He didn’t go through that amount every day, mostly just on weekends, which lately also extended to Fridays...and Mondays... Because who could face Mondays sober? But still, he was not an addict.
That’d been Jesse’s label.
Not his.
Plus, Jesse had attended plenty of those kumbaya programs and they’d never done a darn thing except dash his mother’s fragile hopes. Justin glanced over at a stone-faced Brielle. She didn’t look like the type to sing folk songs and shake a tambourine. In fact, her militant bearing suggested she’d carry a gun easier. Interesting. He’d never met a woman who’d served in a war before.
And he wouldn’t meet her now, he vowed, no matter how much she intrigued him.
“Your Honor,” Justin said quickly, “I don’t need time to deliberate. I’d like to—”
“Consult with his attorney,” interrupted Mr. Sloan. He tapped his pencil on a piece of paper with the writing: Don’t act rashly.
Rash?
It was practically Justin’s credo. Better to act than think too hard, since thoughts cut deeper, bruised harder and never healed the way physical injuries did. He couldn’t imagine a worse place than a rehab program that’d force him to think too hard and feel too much.
“But I—” Justin began.
“Appreciate your generous offer,” Mr. Sloan cut in again. “My client will give this the serious consideration it deserves.”
He slid another sheet at Justin, the words Think of your mother scrawled on it.
Justin gritted his teeth. He was thinking of his family. By going to jail, they’d be free to lead their happy lives without him spoiling it. Behind bars, he couldn’t get into much trouble. No more barn brawl matchups, dirt bike races or the other kinds of hell-raising that gave his mother palpitations.
He swung around and met his ma’s watering eyes. James jabbed a finger at him while Jared’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. Jewel tapped her teeth with her nail, eyeing him the way she sized up runaway heifers. He bet she’d like to truss him up right now.
They didn’t know how much happier they’d be without him. His gaze drifted to Sofia. She smoothed a hand over her belly and shot him an encouraging smile.
“I appreciate your advocacy for your client, Mr. Sloan,” Judge James said. “However, I’d like to hear from Mr. Cade.”
Ma clasped her hands together and mouthed “please” while James’s eyes said something less polite and a lot more threatening. Big brother asserting himself. Justin bristled. Clearly, they wanted him to wait on a decision. He let out a breath and unclenched his hands. Fine. He hated delaying the inevitable, but if they needed more time to adjust to the idea of him going to jail, then so be it.
“I’ll give my answer at next week’s hearing.”
His mother’s relieved sigh made him gulp hard. She’d cried too many tears over Jesse to have him add to the count. The sooner he disappeared, the better. Eventually they could move on like they had after Jesse died.
“Before you’re dismissed, I also encourage you to express your gratitude to Ms. Thompson. She prevented you from going into shock while awaiting EMTs, a move that might have saved your life.”
Justin’s back teeth ground together. No. He was not grateful to Brielle Thompson for saving his sorry excuse for a life. In fact, he wished she’d run him over flat. Then this would all be over. The pain gone.
Judge James waited a minute then banged her gavel. “This court is adjourned and will reconvene next week. Dismissed.”
A moment later, Justin stood outside with his family, blinking against the strong afternoon sun. His head throbbed and his bruised muscles ached. He needed a drink.
“So,” drawled their local sheriff, Travis Loveland, his smug smile practically begging to be smacked off. “You and me. Looks like we’ll be spending lots of time together for the next six months.”
Justin’s hands clenched at his sides.
Six months shut up with a Loveland? His family’s neighbors and rivals? Misery. His family had feuded with the condescending Lovelands for over a century. While they’d fooled the community with their constant volunteering, the Cades knew the Lovelands for who they were: kidnappers, murderers and jewel thieves...and those were just the actions which had started the feud. It continued to this day with water access disputes and missing cattle.
Not to mention their cash-strapped patriarch, Boyd Loveland, now courted Justin’s ma for reasons that had more to do with her bank account than her heart. Least that’s how he and Jewel saw it. James and Jared’s improved love lives seemed to have softened them some on the relationship.
“He’s not going to jail,” Jack insisted. He worked as a deputy sheriff in Denver where his wife, Dani, managed a dude ranch.
Jack should have stayed home. Justin didn’t need him, or anyone else, sticking his nose in his private business.
“Can’t say I’m excited at the prospect of a Cade being underfoot...” Travis drawled, tipping up his hat and squinting the famous Loveland blue eyes that made the ladies swoon. Justin couldn’t see what was so special about them. “But behind bars...that might make you a mite more palatable. Enjoyable even.”
He couldn’t spend six minutes alone with a low-down Loveland, let alone six months. Fury blasted Justin off his feet at arrogant Travis. Officer or not, he’d rip his darn head off. Arms grabbed Justin around the waist, checking his momentum.
“Hey!”
“Watch him!”
“Quit it, Justin!”
His siblings hollered, holding him fast as he thrashed and flailed.
“Time for you to move along now,” James spat, glaring at Travis.
Travis only hooked his thumbs in his uniform pants and looked, if anything, even calmer. Travis’s siblings, Maverick, Heath and Cole, lined up behind him, mountain tall like all Lovelands, their shadows long. While the Cades were hotheaded and passionate, the Lovelands barely had pulses, their cool, superior approach infuriating.
“You have no jurisdiction here, Cade,” Travis told Jack easily, with just a hint of menace.
Ma and Boyd Loveland stepped between their bristling offspring.
“Boys, home!” Boyd barked. He was as tall and lean as his sons, his shoulders unbowed by age. The grooves around his mouth spoke of hours in the saddle, the line between his brows suggesting long nights after, worrying. Rumor had it the local bank had initiated foreclosure proceedings on the Loveland ranch. Without easy access to the Crystal River, they had to drive their cattle miles out of the way to water, stressing and depleting their herds.
“Don’t embarrass me,” Justin’s mother hissed while smiling and nodding at the rubberneckers passing by on their way to the parking lot.
“See you in jail, Cade.” Travis pointed at Justin then guffawed with his brothers as they headed to the parking lot.
“Sorry about that, darlin’.”
The Cade siblings exchanged uneasy glances as Boyd pecked their mother on the cheek then strode after his sons. Overhead, a migrating V of geese honked.
Were things getting more serious between them?
Justin barely tolerated his mother and Boyd dating...but engaged? Not on his watch. He’d rather eat a rattler than become a relation to the lowlife Lovelands.
Before a despicable betrayal, the Cades had granted the Lovelands passage to the river. Now, if they weren’t vigilant, their families might become entangled again. So far, Ma and Boyd seemed content to simply date. Yet Justin and Jewel speculated Boyd’s financial predicament would prompt him to ask for her hand in marriage, gaining him the funds and water he needed.
How could Justin keep an eye on the situation from behind bars?
“Ms. Thompson!” his mother shouted, waving. “A moment?”
The lithe young woman halted then turned, her movements efficient and crisp. She wore a navy suit jacket with a matching skirt ending just below her knees, a white shirt buttoned tight around her throat. Despite the covered-up look, attraction spiked through Justin, taking him by surprise. Something about Brielle Thompson’s good-girl image challenged the hell-raiser in him. A red cape before the bull. A sudden urge to unpin her hair, remove that straitjacket and kiss off her immaculately applied lipstick seized him.
He shook away the wild thought.
“I’m afraid I’m running late for a meeting. Another time?”
“Justin just wanted to thank you and apologize.”
“The heck I do,” he muttered, unable to pull his gaze from Brielle’s arresting face. She wasn’t beautiful, exactly, but only because that was the wrong word. Lots of people were beautiful. They blended with the scenery. Brielle’s direct gaze and firm stance demanded attention. Out in the hall, she’d been aggressive, combative and lovely.
One by one, he admired her features. They weren’t remarkable. An upward tip spoiled the straight line of her nose. A heaviness lent her square jaw a stubborn look. Her generous lower lip dominated her mouth, making it uneven. And her eyes, a distinct green color resembling new leaves, oddly contrasted with her darker lashes and brow.
Yet it added up to something unique, compelling—something that made him look twice.
“Not necessary, but thanks.” She waved and turned to leave, the dismissive gesture getting under his skin.
“Wait!”
His call jerked her to a stop again. When her piercing eyes swung to his, his throat closed around whatever he’d been about to say.
Idiot.
Let her go.
“Yes?” She arched a brow, the provocative move sending a current of awareness sliding over his skin.
“I should have said it earlier. I’m sorry for hitting your truck.”
To his surprise, she strode forward and paused only a foot away. No one ever got this close to him anymore. Not even his ma, yet tough Army Chaplain Brielle Thompson had no problem getting right up in his face.
“Are you?” she asked, skeptical.
Jewel’s gasp turned into a surprised chuckle his brothers echoed.
“She’s got you figured out,” Jared guffawed.
“Shut it,” Justin growled without taking his eyes off Brielle.
“Let’s give these two some privacy,” he heard his ma murmur, then the group tromped away.
“You were saying?” Brielle prompted, her prim tone and serene nature revving him up. She didn’t fool him. He’d glimpsed the shadows in her eyes, witnessed her swift burst of anger, and knew she ran deeper, darker, wilder than she appeared.
“I’m sorry I hit your van.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shifted in his boots, uneasy at her direct, unrelenting gaze. She sure didn’t tiptoe around delicate subjects. “I don’t care if you believe me.”
Her jaw jutted. “Yes, you do.”
His mouth dropped open. She’d just called him out. No one dared do that, other than his family, and even they trod lightly.
A breeze rustled the dry leaves of a nearby maple, sending a few spiraling to the ground. “Why would I care?” he asked, forcing a nonchalant tone.
Her mouth ticked up in the corners. “You’re still here talking to me.”
He pressed his lips together to stop an unbidden smile, amused despite himself. She wasn’t scared to give offense, and he liked that. “I’m doing it for my ma.”
“Not yourself then?”
He stared at her, mute. What was she driving at? A trio of crows alighted on the telephone line running to the courthouse, bobbing their sleek black heads.
“Did you let go of the handlebars before you hit me?”
His head jerked back as if she’d slapped it.
“You saw me in time to avoid me,” she pressed. “Why didn’t you slow down or turn?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, defensive. Her questions pummeled him, pinning him on the ropes. “I was drinking. You heard...”
“Point oh nine?” Her eyes narrowed, a hard street stare, the pain he’d glimpsed the other night now settling into their corners. “That’s just barely over the limit. No. Alcohol didn’t have much to do with it.”
His eyes dropped to his boots. He scuffed a line in the graveled parking lot, alternately wishing himself away and enjoying this dustup with her. “Then what did?”
One of the crows cawed, a rough, harsh, nasty sound voicing the writhing blackness rising from the base of his skull.
“Why don’t you come to my clinic and find out?” she challenged, then turned neatly on her heel and marched away.
He watched her hop into a Jeep with temporary plates and peel out of the parking lot.
No shrinking violet there.
His mouth curved. He liked having a sparring partner.
She made him feel alive, a stinging rush like the return of blood to a limb that’d fallen asleep.
Except he liked—no, needed—to stay numb.
He didn’t want to wake and face reality.
Did he?
