Their Rancher Protector
Autor:in
Sasha Summers
Gelesen
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Kapitel
15
Chapter One
Skylar disentangled baby Greer’s chubby little fist from her long dark hair. “You’ve got a handful of Mommy’s hair, don’t you, baby girl?” She smiled down at her six-month-old, holding her against her chest in a thick cotton baby wrap. “Look at you, smiling.”
Greer smiled, cooing softly as Skylar carefully untwined her hair from her daughter’s tiny fingers.
“Momma, Momma.” Four-year-old Brynn was half skipping along the dirt driveway back to the house. “Look.” She pointed at the rising dust down the country road. “Someone coming?”
Skylar paused, shielding her eyes from the bright West Texas sun. Frank’s home was a good distance from town and, other than the mailman, they didn’t get many visitors. Since they’d just walked down the gravel drive to pick up the day’s mail, she knew George wouldn’t head out this way again until tomorrow. “I don’t know, Brynn.” She continued to bounce and pat Greer, her eyes narrowing as the dust cloud grew closer and closer. She brushed aside the unease sliding up her spine. There’s no more bad news left to fear. Chad was already gone. It had been almost a year now, but there were times she woke up, drenched in sweat, reliving the day the uniformed casualty notification officer arrived on her doorstep to tell her of Chad’s passing as if it had just happened.
A large blue truck crested the dirt road, slowing.
“Who that?” Brynn asked. “Who, Momma?”
“Probably someone passing through.” Smile in place, she realized her other daughter, Brynn’s twin, was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Mya?”
“Don’t know.” Brynn shrugged, spinning on her heel. “Picking flowers.”
Picking flowers—by the mailbox. The mailbox by the road... The road with the big blue truck heading this way. Heart in her throat, she forced out, “Stay here” to Brynn. Holding Greer tightly to her chest, she sprinted back down the gravel drive to her daughter—happily picking wildflowers.
By the time Skylar had reached Mya, the truck had come to a stop. It didn’t matter. Her heart was hammering away, thundering against her rib cage. “Mya.” She placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
Mya turned, holding out the bouquet of flowers she’d picked. “Ma.”
Skylar took the flowers with shaking hands. She was okay. Thankfully, the driver had been paying attention. I should have been paying attention, too. She pulled her daughter in for a hug, waiting until her heartbeat eased and there was enough air in her lungs for her to breathe before she leaned back to point at the truck. “Careful.” She spoke the word slowly, her daughter’s eyes watching her mouth as she formed the word.
Mya nodded, her eyes widening when she spied the truck. She grasped Skylar’s hand tightly and pulled her back up the path to where Brynn waited.
The truck drove a few feet forward, the whir of the electric window followed by a deep voice. “Excuse me? Are you Skylar Davis? I’m looking for the Davis homestead?”
“Who wants to know?” Considering how few visitors they had, she couldn’t help being suspicious. Folk didn’t head out this way for no reason. Thirty miles down a dirt road with nothing but tumbleweeds, cacti and the occasional roadrunner for company wasn’t exactly a scenic drive.
“My name is Kyle Mitchell.” He put the truck in Park and turned off the ignition.
Skylar squinted. With the sun at the man’s back, she couldn’t make out much beyond his size. A big man, spare and fit...and walking this way. “You can stay off my property, Kyle Mitchell. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“No, ma’am.” But he’d stopped moving. “I’m not here to sell you a thing.” He pulled off the tan cowboy hat he’d been wearing. “I...I knew your husband.”
The ache in her heart still had sharp edges, edges that felt raw and exposed at his words.
“Chad,” he went on, staying right where he was. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Davis. Chad and I were good friends.”
She nodded stiffly.
“He asked me to bring you something.” He held his hand out, toward the truck. “He felt strongly about it.”
It was the last thing she’d expected to hear... After everything she and the girls had been through, she needed something good. They all did.
“What’s the holdup out there?” Her uncle Frank opened the glass front door, the squeak of the rusty hinge reverberating in the air. “My puzzle get here?”
“Unca,” Brynn mumbled, tugging on her hand. “Get grumpy.”
“Hold on, Uncle Frank,” Skylar called out.
“Why?” Frank yelled. “What am I waiting on?”
“We have a visitor.”
“Who?” His voice rose, his slow footfalls echoing down the metal ramp that led into the small wood frame house. “Who are you? What business do you have here?”
Brynn took Mya’s hand and, together, they ran to the small wooden clubhouse Skylar had built for them. They tended to do that when Frank was around—the only thing consistent about her uncle’s temperament was how erratic it was.
“Uncle Frank, he’s a friend of Chad’s.” She ignored her uncle, more curious about what Chad had given this man to deliver to her than her uncle’s temper.
“Is that so?” Frank’s snort was loud. “Interesting you show up now? Chad’s been dead a year now.”
“Yes, sir.” There was an edge to the man’s voice. “I was on active duty.”
“Was?” her uncle asked. “You wash out or something?”
Skylar shot Frank a look. “Uncle Frank.” She crossed the hard-packed earth that made up their front yard and handed her uncle his beloved newspaper. “Here.”
He snatched the paper, but never stopped looking at Kyle Mitchell. “You here for a handout?”
“No, sir. Chad asked me to come.” The man shifted from one foot to the other. “I won’t keep you for long.”
“You won’t keep me at all.” Her uncle shook his head and lumbered slowly back up the metal ramp and into the house, letting the door slam shut.
“I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Kyle Mitchell ran a hand over his head.
“That?” Skylar forced a laugh. “He’s having a good day today.” Sad, but true. Greer’s soft coo drew her attention down to her heavy-lidded daughter. It was almost nap time. There was no way she’d put Greer down inside, not when her uncle was in a snit. Instead, she went back to bouncing, gently patting Greer’s little back in what she hoped was a soothing rhythm. “Did you serve with Chad?” She took a step closer to him, then another.
“Yes, ma’am.” Unlike her, he didn’t move. “I’d like to think he was one of my best friends.”
Chad had been an avid letter writer. Most of them recounted his days—as if he was journaling all the things he thought and saw and did. A lot of the details had been unremarkable, likely censored so she wouldn’t worry, but she’d treasured each and every one nonetheless. Chad’s words gave her a view into the world where he was and kept him close. But the name Kyle Mitchell didn’t ring any bells.
When she reached the rotting wooden post, the wind rattling the gate hanging from one chain, she could finally see the man who had driven from who knows where to find her. For Chad.
“I know you,” she said, her voice going thick. Pictures. Chad and this man. So many pictures. “But he called you—”
“Needle.” He shrugged, grinning. “Yeah. Not the best nickname.”
But fitting. At least Chad thought so. If there was one person her late husband had mentioned in each and every letter, it was Needle. Needle was the spotter to Chad’s sniper—his eyes, his right-hand man, and his brother. According to Chad, Needle could get them anywhere, calculate the perfect target distance, talk down a potentially hostile situation, and sew up any size hole in their field uniform. Chad had said the only time he’d felt at peace were the times he and Needle were staked on a roof somewhere, beneath the stars, talking about home and family and friends. She’d heard about this man for years. Now here he was. Emotion welled up, too strong to ignore. “I knew it wasn’t your real name but...”
“Might as well have been.” He nodded, still smiling. “I would have called first—”
“Nonsense.” Without realizing it, she’d closed the distance between them. “You’re welcome. Anytime.” This man had saved Chad’s life more than once. Chad swore Needle—Kyle—was his guardian angel.
“I appreciate that. He showed you all off enough that I feel like I know you and the girls. Whenever he’d get a new picture, he’d pass it around.” His gaze wandered to the wooden clubhouse. “The girls are bigger now, of course.”
Even though she knew how proud of his girls Chad was, it was still nice to hear. She’d sent pictures often, to make all the things he’d missed out on a little easier. “And getting bigger every day.” Sometimes, she wished she could slow time down—just a little. “He never met Greer.” The lump in her throat made it hard for her to finish. “I know he’d have doted on her just as much as the other two.” She stared up at the man, at ease now. This was Needle—rather, Kyle Mitchell. Live and in person. And here. She didn’t know why it made her happy, but it did. “I’m going to have to work on calling you Kyle.”
“It’s good to meet you, Skylar,” he said, holding out his hand. “Face-to-face, that is.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Kyle.” She shook his hand. “Where are you from?”
“Granite Falls—it’s part-ways between San Antonio and Austin.” His gaze bounced to the top of Greer’s head.
“You’re a long way from home.” A good seven hours from home.
“I came here first.” He glanced back at the truck. “Wouldn’t have been able to rest until I’d done what I promised.”
Greer fussed a little so Skylar started walking, slowly, toward the girls’ clubhouse. He followed, a small smile on his face as she hummed, patted, and bounced. “She fusses and fights against falling asleep,” Skylar explained.
He nodded.
“I guess you could say she’s stubborn.” She smiled at Kyle. “Like her father.”
“He was that,” he agreed, his eyes shifting her way.
While she’d received a nicely typed letter signed by important people, she knew very little about her husband’s death. For the most part, it didn’t matter. But there was one thing she needed to know. “You were with him?” She ignored the waver in her voice.
His nod was stiff. “Not when he went out but...when they brought him back on base.”
It was enough. “Thank you.” She covered his hand with hers. “It helps to know that someone who cared about him was with him until the end.” The stark sadness in his eyes was an all-too-familiar sight. It had taken her a long time to look her reflection in the eye without fighting back tears.
“If I could have brought him back to you, I would have.” He had a hard time meeting her gaze then.
“I know.” She did, too. “Chad told me you were the reason he’d stayed alive as long as he had. I have no doubt you’d have done the same—if you’d been there that day.”
His jaw muscle clenched tight but he didn’t say a word.
“Do you want to come inside?” Her uncle would raise a commotion, but she didn’t care. It was warming up and a glass of lemonade would do them all some good.
His brows rose. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’m sure.” Frank Kline could be charming. Growing up, Skylar had only seen pictures of her uncle. He’d always cancelled right before every holiday or family gathering. But Skylar knew about him. Her mother had told her all about how easy it had been for her sweet-talking younger brother to get out of all the mischief he’d caused—no matter how big or small. He was all sincerity and charm, her mother had said, until he got what he wanted.
That was the Uncle Frank Skylar had met in the hospital. A kind, caring, soft-spoken man—ready and willing to help in her time of loss. It was only after she’d moved home with him that she remembered what her mother had said. By then, she had no place to go. For the girls, she’d had to make peace with that. “Whether you come in or not won’t change the fact that my uncle is a grumpy old man.”
“It’s not just me.” He turned, pointing at the truck. “I’ve got Chad’s present.”
Right. The present. She’d been so surprised to realize who Kyle Mitchell was that she’d almost forgotten why he was here. She peered at the open window of the truck.
Kyle whistled and the brown head of a dog appeared in the window. One ear was cocked upright, the other lay flat. “Chad didn’t want him left behind.”
Just when she thought her emotions were in check... But now, her throat officially closed off. Her heart thumped, heavy and aching, as the dog jumped through the window and trotted, slowly, cautiously, toward her with its head stooped. “Are you Jet? You are, aren’t you?” Skylar asked, kneeling in the dirt and holding out her hand. “Is that you?”
Jet’s stub of a tail kicked into overdrive and he made a low grumble-whine in the back of his throat before rolling onto his back.
“That’s Jet all right. He’s a good dog,” Kyle said. “Sweet—too sweet for his own good.”
She nodded, rubbing the dog’s stomach. “I know all about you, too. Chad said Jet was in a pretty sorry state when he found him? Said he was skin-and-bones, treated poorly, and begging for food.”
“Pretty much. Chad couldn’t take it.” Kyle chuckled. “He snuck Jet a treat and that was it. The dog followed him around like a shadow.”
She cradled the dog’s head in her hands, staring into Jet’s timid chocolate-brown eyes. “He sure loved you.” Once Jet had appeared, there’d been a difference in Chad’s letters. He might have saved the dog from starving, but Jet had given Chad something good to focus on.
Skylar was incredibly grateful for the dog and Needle. They’d given Chad the support and love he’d needed when she couldn’t. She’d always hoped Jet would come back with him once his tour was up—that Needle and Chad would laugh and share stories over a dinner she’d cooked for them. That’s what she’d wanted. Her husband back. The future they’d always talked about. Hope and love and joy.
Instead, her days consisted of making the best of things and putting on a brave face for her daughters...
Jet rolled over, stood up and leaned forward to sniff Greer, sound asleep in her front pack. He whimpered, his tail going even faster, and his head cocking to one side.
“Momma?” Brynn’s voice was soft, almost breathless. “Who that?”
Skylar turned, holding out her hand to her daughters. “Brynn, Mya, come meet someone special.”
Kyle Mitchell had been dreading this—all of it. He’d known coming face-to-face with the woman Chad had loved and acting like it wasn’t his fault that Chad was dead would be a challenge. He hadn’t known how much.
He’d taken one look at Skylar Davis and his words were stuck in his throat.
He’d seen pictures of her before. She was pretty—more than pretty. But this woman was harder than the woman in the pictures. Sadder, too.
Because she’d lost her husband.
“Brynn. Mya.” Skylar stood and waved the two little girls forward. “This is Daddy’s friend, Mr. Mit—”
“Kyle.” He squatted in front of the girls. “Who are you?”
“Brynn.” The little girl pointed at her chest. “That’s Mya.” She put her hand on the other little girl’s shoulder. “We twins.”
“I can see that.” The only difference between the girls was their hair. Brynn’s was longer, Mya’s cut at her jawline. Looked like Brynn was the talker of the two. He remembered Chad saying Mya was the funny one. Maybe she was just shy around strangers. One thing was certain, they were the cutest things he’d ever seen. Even cuter than their pictures. “This is Jet.”
Jet was basically circling the girls, tail wagging and trembling with excitement, so happy he didn’t know what to do. Which was a good thing, since Jet belonged to Skylar and her girls.
“Jet.” Kyle patted the ground at his side.
Jet ran up, ears drooping, and sat, his gaze bouncing between the girls.
“Nice?” Brynn asked.
“Very.” Kyle nodded. “Right now, he’s trying not to give you dog kisses. And lots of them.”
“Why?” Brynn asked, smiling at the dog. “Kisses good.”
“You can pet him,” Kyle said. “He wants to be friends.”
“Momma?” Brynn asked.
Skylar nodded. “Help Mya.”
Brynn took Mya’s hand but Mya pulled away, shaking her head.
“No?” Brynn asked.
Mya shook her head again.
Skylar knelt between her daughters, one hand steadying the sleeping baby against her chest. “Mya. It’s okay. Jet is a nice dog.” She ran a hand over Jet’s head, earning a look of pure adoration from the dog. “Dog.” Skylar slapped her hand against her thigh and then made a snapping gesture. “Dog.”
Mya nodded but she didn’t make a move to touch Jet. Or say a word.
“She scared,” Brynn said, the hand holding her sister’s tightening. “Lots.”
Kyle nodded, watching the exchange. “Looks like she’s got you to help her with that.” Being the second of three sons made him an expert on sibling diplomacy. Granted, neither of his brothers were shy like Mya, but he was all too familiar with translating the long silence of one brother for the other.
Mya slipped behind Skylar’s legs, content to hide. Brynn wasn’t hiding. She was almost as excited about petting Jet as Jet was. Her little face lit up with the sweetest smile as she slowly reached her hand out toward the dog.
Jet couldn’t take it. He dropped to the ground and rolled over again, his tail stirring up a mini dust storm from all his excitement.
Brynn thought it was hilarious. Mya was smiling, too.
“He’s a silly dog,” Kyle said, rubbing Jet’s stomach. “But he’s a good friend.” Exactly what Chad had wanted for his girls. He’d hoped Jet would give his little girls some comfort and love. Kyle only wished he could have gotten Jet to them sooner.
Brynn sat, her legs stretched out in the dirt, while Jet tummy-crawled closer and closer—until his nose was pressed against one of her legs.
“Jet,” Brynn said, giggling. “Nice dog.”
Jet decided that was an invitation to move a little closer to rest his head in Brynn’s lap and stare up at the little girl.
“Hi,” Brynn said, pointing at her chest. “I Brynn.”
Jet continued to stare up at her.
The two of them together? Pretty damn adorable. Kyle used to tease Chad about how much he was like his dog—they were easy to love and impossible to ignore.
“How about that cold drink now?” Skylar asked, taking Mya’s hand and standing. “Come on, Brynn, you can bring Jet.”
“Unca?” Brynn asked, not moving from her spot.
“Uncle won’t mind.” Skylar tried to sound convincing, but even Kyle wasn’t buying it. “It’s not every day we have visitors.”
Probably because they lived in the middle of nowhere. He was familiar with West Texas but there were none of the rugged buttes and landforms of the picturesque Old West films here. Instead, there were thickets of mesquite trees covered in thick purple-tipped thorns. The little groundcover was an occasional patch of scrub grass intermixed with abundant flat-leaf prickly pear cactus, covered with near-invisible hairlike thorns. A quick appraisal told him if it wasn’t covered in dirt, it was pointy to the touch.
“How long have you lived out here?” he asked, following Skylar and her children to the door.
“Awhile.” She glanced his way but didn’t add anything more. “Frank?” She opened the door and peered inside. “Uncle Frank?”
“In the kitchen making my own lunch,” Frank answered, clearly irritated. “Why is he still here? Why are you still here?” He gestured with his half a sandwich.
“I invited him in, Uncle Frank,” Skylar said. “It’s hot outside, too hot for conversation. Kyle, this is my uncle, Frank Kline. Uncle Frank, this is Kyle Mitchell.”
Her uncle made a grunting sound, scowling at Jet.
“What can I get you?” Skylar asked, skirting around her uncle to get into the small kitchen. “Water? Lemonade?”
“We’re out of beer,” Frank said, shooting Skylar an accusatory look.
“It’s a little early for a beer, but thanks.” Kyle smiled, taking care not to react to his surroundings. Nothing about this made sense. The place was tiny and, while clean, in need of some serious repair. Why was Skylar here? Chad’s death would have left her entitled to some money. Not a lot, but enough that she shouldn’t have to be here. Where did they sleep? From where he stood, all he could see was one bedroom.
“It’s never too early for a beer,” Frank snapped, grabbed his plate, and stomped to the back of the house—where a door slammed shut.
“Water would be good,” Kyle said, inspecting the far wall covered in brightly laminated posters. Most of the pictures were hands, making various signs... Sign language.
“Use my cup, Momma,” Brynn said, sitting on the floor and patting the spot at her side until Jet lay down, leaning against her. “Jet. I like you.”
Mya headed into the kitchen, tugged on Skylar’s pants, and tapped three fingers—fanned wide—to her mouth. Kyle glanced back and forth from Mya to one of the posters. According to the illustrations, Mya had made the sign for water.
“I’ll get you some water, too.” Skylar smiled, stooping to kiss her daughter on the head.
Mya tapped her fingers against her lip and pulled her hand back.
He glanced at the posters again. Thank you. That was the sign for thank you.
“You’re welcome.” Skylar filled a pink plastic cup with water and gave it to Mya. “Ice?” she asked him.
“I won’t say no.” He nodded. Even inside, it was warm. From the looks of it, the small window unit was working extra hard to crank out enough cold air to cool the room.
Skylar pulled a teal-and-peach cup from the cabinet, added ice and water, and handed it to him. “Brynn wanted you to use her cup.”
Kyle eyed the cup. The outside was clear, the inner plastic teal. But between the clear plastic and the teal was an ocean scene—complete with plastic fish and glitter and shells that moved when he tipped the glass to drink. “That’s some sparkly cup.”
“Princess,” Brynn said. “Princess cup.”
He held the cup out. “It does look like a princess cup.”
Brynn nodded, her expression so serious he couldn’t help but smile.
“Brynn likes princesses,” Skylar said.
“What about Mya?” he asked, sitting in the kitchen chair she indicated.
Mya was sitting on the floor beside her sister, sipping water from her pink cup—her big brown eyes fixed on Jet.
“Mya likes llamas and horses,” Brynn said, lying on the floor beside Jet.
Mya sat her cup down and lay down, too, closing her eyes when Jet wedged himself between them—making little grunts of happiness. Mya didn’t open her eyes but she was finally grinning.
Skylar’s gaze collided with his and they exchanged a smile. She reached behind herself to unbuckle the reverse backpack thing that held baby Greer.
Kyle thought it looked kind of like a kangaroo pouch. Pretty handy.
“Mya like llamas and horses and baby cows, too.” Skylar eased the straps free, smiling down at the sleeping baby. “What do you think Greer will like, Brynn?”
Now that Greer was free of her pouch, she looked awfully small. Kyle didn’t have much experience with babies, but he hadn’t imagined they’d be so...tiny. He hadn’t noticed the crib in the corner until Skylar slowly bent forward to place the tiny Greer inside.
He was sizing up the house all over again. Did they all sleep here? In the living room? If that’s what it was called. It was more like one room, the only separation between the kitchen and living room was the seam where the linoleum ended and the brown carpet began. Carpet that was frayed and stained. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but notice the buckling linoleum countertops, the water stain on the ceiling, and a whole slew of things that needed fixing. “Do you all stay here?”
He had more questions than that. A lot of questions. But it was a start. Delivering Jet wasn’t the only thing Chad had asked of him. Kyle had promised to make sure Skylar and the girls were taken care of—always. He was pretty sure Chad wouldn’t have been happy about this. Any of it. He sure as hell wasn’t.
Skylar must have caught his not-so-subtle inspection of the house because she said, “We stay in the trailer behind the house.”
He felt like an ass. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay.” She stretched her arms and shoulders. “More water?”
“Please.” He stood, wanting to get a glimpse of the trailer Skylar and the girls called home and dreading what he’d find. He peered through the blinds covering one of the windows on the back wall. Other than a rusted-out truck and a pile of metal and car parts, all he could see was a travel trailer. A travel trailer that listed forward at an odd angle, rust stains and plywood covering part of the roof.
Well, hell.
He’d hoped this visit would be quick. The plan had been simple. Get Jet to his new home, make sure Chad’s family was okay, and head for his family ranch in the Hill Country and get to living. But now? Chad would never forgive him if he drove away and left Skylar and the girls here. Hell, he’d never forgive himself. I let you down once, Chad. I won’t do it again.
