Expecting His Brother's Baby. Karen Rose Smith
“Let’s not get into that, Kylie. The past is what it was. Now Jack and Alex are gone, and you have decisions to make.”
“Such as?”
“Such as whether or not you’re going to sell Saddle Ridge and start a really good life with the proceeds.”
She frowned. “Which you’ll get half of.”
He studied her for a few seconds. “You think that’s why I came?”
“I’m still not sure why you came.”
Since he wasn’t, either, he was going to let that subject drop. But then he said, “I didn’t come here to hurt you. I know you’re grieving. I know you miss Alex and the life you had. I also know it’s better not to make major decisions right after a loved one dies. But you really have no choice.”
“I’m managing,” she protested.
“That’s why I want to look at the books. To see if you are.”
She put a weary hand to her forehead.
He thought it trembled a little. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. In the meantime, don’t you think you should be sleeping downstairs?”
“Why?”
“It would be safer. If you need things from up there, I can bring them down.”
The expression on her face brought him to his feet because he knew she was going to fight him on this and probably everything else.
“You were Alex’s older brother, Brock, not mine. You say you want to help. Fine. There’s not much I can do about that. But helping doesn’t mean changing the way I live my life. Helping means taking some of the burden off of Dix. Helping means getting to know Feather until I can get back out into the barn. Helping means looking at my agenda, not setting one of your own. If you can help in those ways, I’d be more than grateful if you’d stay. But if you came here with the idea that I’m going to put Saddle Ridge up for sale and sell it to a developer so you can wipe away the memories and pretend you weren’t raised here, it’s not going to happen.”
Her blue eyes were shiny with emotion now. “I love this ranch. Every hill and valley, every fence post, every floor-board that creaks. It’s my son or daughter’s future. A way of life that’s vanishing. I won’t let it vanish for him or her.” She went to the stairway and took hold of the banister. “I’ll be careful, Brock. Believe me, I will.” She started up the steps.
Her shoulders held a courageous line, and in spite of the friction between them, he wanted to take her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. But that was the last thing he intended to do. Truthfully, he didn’t know if everything would be all right. How could it be, when her husband was dead and she was in debt up to her pretty little ears? He had to find out how much. He had to find out what it would take to dig her out.
“As soon as I warm up my coffee, I’ll work up in the spare room.”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Do whatever you need to do. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He watched her until she reached the top of the stairs. Then she disappeared into the hall shadows. Moments later, he heard her bedroom door close.
Those had been tears in her eyes as she’d defended her dreams, and he felt like a heel for causing them. Snatching up his mug, he took it to the kitchen, hearing his father’s voice echo sarcastically in his head. Welcome home, Brock.
He refilled his mug, determined to block out his father’s indifference, along with the turmoil returning here had caused.
Chapter Two
When Kylie awakened, her room was pitch-black. No moon gave even an inkling of light. It was this time of night when she missed Alex most, and she wasn’t even sure why. What she missed was the way they’d been together after they first married. What she missed was the friendship and true caring they’d once shared. Over the past year, Alex had been away more than he’d been home. In the middle of the night, she’d often awakened, wishing he were there holding her, smiling at her in that crooked, boyish way he had. The daytime hours were so busy and passed so fast, she didn’t have time to think. At night she did. She had time to think, feel and miss what might have been.
She had turned in early because she’d been hurting and because she’d had to escape Brock’s questions as well as the look of censure in his eyes. The corner of her heart that at seventeen had thought he could do no wrong begged to be unlocked. But if she unlocked it, all of her fears and worries and regrets would come pouring out. She didn’t know if it was safe to give any of those to Brock. Her encounter with Trish Hammond was a sore that wouldn’t heal. She badly needed salve for it. When she had some time alone with Gwen and Shaye, she’d probably tell them about it. But it wasn’t something she could discuss easily. It wasn’t anything she could discuss when other people were around. It was embarrassing and humiliating and so deep-down painful, sometimes it took her breath away.
Alex had been unfaithful.
For how long? With more women than Trish? At the moment, she felt like Brock, wanting to evade or dismiss the past. She knew, in the long run, whatever happened to her would make her stronger. Still…right now she just plain hurt, emotionally and physically. Tears welled up in her eyes and she let them dribble down her cheeks. But then she stopped the self-pity, and as she had so often over the past months, she thought about her child.
Reaching to the nightstand, her fingers wrapped around her solution to insomnia—her tape player. There was a stack of cassettes there, too. She’d collected them over the years, and now switched on R. Carlos Nakai’s Christmas music.
The haunting notes of flutes and bells had her rubbing her tummy tenderly. “What do you think, baby? I know this is one of your favorites. You always settle down when I play this one.”
Her baby was a kicker, especially—it seemed—in the middle of the night. But this music always seemed to calm her little one, as well as her. Even if she didn’t sleep while it played, she rested. Sweet visions of the mountains and the mustangs and the water rippling calm and serene filled the darkest time of night.
Using a technique she’d learned from a yoga class she’d taken with Gwen and Shaye many years before, she consciously relaxed her muscles, breathing out stress, breathing in peace.
Two soft raps on the door broke her focused concentration. “Kylie? Are you okay?”
“If I say I’m fine, will you throw a fit?”
She didn’t hear his sigh or see the roll of his eyes, but she knew he probably did both.
He answered gruffly, “You have a concussion.”
Yes, she did. The doctor had told her it would be better if she weren’t alone for the next few days. He’d probably told Dix the same thing. That’s why Brock was here. Some misguided sense of duty. He’d gotten the full gift of responsibility that Alex had lacked.
She switched off the tape player. “If you want to come in and see for yourself I’m not in a coma, feel free.” Propping herself a little higher on the pillows, she turned on the bedside lamp.
The doorknob turned, the door opened and then Brock was standing there in her bedroom, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.
“I can tell you my name, where I live and who’s President of the United States,” she assured him.
“Has anyone ever mentioned that you can be the most frustrating woman on the planet?”
“Not within the last year or so. But I imagine Dix would like to at least once a day.”
Finally, Brock’s lips twitched up at the corners. “Is the music for you or the baby?”
“That’s a toss-up. Sometimes it settles him or her down so I can fall asleep again.”