Branded (5 page)

Deacon bristled. “It doesn't need to.”
Not to you, Mackenzie Byrd
.

“This was Cass's home, Deacon. Where she ate and slept and played and loved you and Cole and James. She wouldn't want this.” Her brow lifted. “So, either you're being a heartless asshole or there's something else going on here.”

Without hesitation, he said, “I'm a heartless asshole, Mackenzie.”

Her face scrunched up, like she was mad or sad or both. “Why'd you leave the Triple C ten years ago, Deacon?” She turned from him a little wildly and looked at Cole and James. “Why'd any of you go?”

The room fell still and silent.

“And why did none of you come back?” She chewed her lip as she stared at each of them in turn, a hitch in her voice. “I know it was hard with Cass leaving us. And never finding out who was responsible.” She inhaled deeply. “I wish to God I'd pushed her for more on that guy she believed . . .” She shook her head, then found Deacon's gaze again, imploring him. “But this destructive plan of yours can't be just because of Cass.”

“Mac?”

The new male voice coming from the hallway brought Deacon's head around. He wasn't sure if he appreciated the interruption or was annoyed by it.

The cowboy stood there. The one Mackenzie had been riding with earlier. Sam had said his name was Blue. Blue Perez. He wasn't as tall as the Cavanaugh brothers, maybe just a hair under six feet. But he had muscle. The kind of muscle that could drive cattle all day, then knock out a
couple drunk bastards who were hitting on his woman later that night. Deacon wondered if Mackenzie was that woman.

“Your boyfriend's here,” Deacon said in a voice he hardly recognized. Deep and slightly fractured.

Mackenzie didn't answer him. She went over and put a hand on the man's shoulder. The cowboy spared no time for Deacon or his brothers. His full attention was on Mac.

“You all right?” he asked. He was soft on her. That much was certain.

“Fine,” she told him. “Just family squabbles.”

The word pierced through Deacon, and he was about to set things straight. Let the blue-eyed cowboy know that Mackenzie was no relation of his. But before he could say a word, two more people dropped in to their little party.

“Afternoon, y'all.”

The woman who greeted them far too merrily for the occasion was somewhere in her fifties, dressed in a dark gray suit and a pair of fancy jeweled-up cowboy boots. Her face was virtually unlined, but her hair was nearly all gray and swept off her face in a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

“Name's Beatrice Carver,” she said, heading for an unoccupied chair like she knew the lay of the land and was far more comfortable in it than any of the Cavanaughs or their hired hands. “I'm
Everett's attorney,” she announced, then moved the two beer bottles down to one end of the coffee table and dropped her briefcase. “I suggest we all take a seat. We have a will to go over.”

•   •   •

While everyone else sat, Mac stood beside the unlit fireplace, fiddling with a small birdcage on the mantel. It had a miniature bull inside that moved when you tipped it forward or back, and she remembered Cass had had it in her room long ago. She sighed. She hated this so much. Standing there, listening to Everett's lawyer pass out his possessions like she was Santa Claus and it was goddamn Christmas morning.

Her gaze traveled the room. Gathered, were the Cavanaugh family, immediate staff, and Everett's closest friends, Sam and Booker. In the past fifteen minutes, the lawyer had bequeathed most of Everett's personal items to those two friends, given each member of the staff a sizable bonus, and Mac three of her favorite horses, including Gypsy, as well as a home at the Triple C for as long as she wanted it, a raise in salary, and the very best gift of all because it truly came from the heart: the remainder of Cass's belongings.

She felt Cole's eyes on her, and she turned to look at him. He was smiling. It was a sad smile surely, but one she understood, and she returned
it wholeheartedly. A silent promise between the two of them that one day very soon, they'd meet up in the attic, go through those boxes together, and Mac would let him have whatever he wanted of his twin sister's. After all, she and Cole were the two who had loved her the best, known her best. It was only right that they should share what was left of her life.

“Now,” Ms. Carver began, flipping through her papers. “We conclude with the Triple C Ranch, otherwise known as the Cavanaugh Cattle Company.”

Cole ripped his gaze from Mac then and pinned it on the lawyer. Shoot. Him and everyone else. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room with that announcement, and all the attention and energy was focused on the woman with the stern expression and bedazzled cowboy boots. Mac just knew Deacon was sitting there beside a very pensive James, waiting, salivating, ready to get his hands on the Triple C. Do whatever irrevocable harm his damaged mind, and maybe his damaged heart, had planned.

Why wouldn't he tell her what this was about? Mac just knew in her guts that his six-year battle against Everett and the Triple C was so much bigger than the memory of Cass or a fight with his daddy or Deacon just lookin' to make more money. This was personal, involved all three of them boys, and she was determined to find out what it was.

“The ranch,” Ms. Carver read, “its properties, including the main house, cottages, bunkhouse, et cetera, as well as all livestock and equipment, is to be divided equally between my four children.”

Mac froze. Her face scrunched up, she turned to look at the woman, unsure of what her ears had just brought to her brain. Had Ms. Carver just said
four
children?

“There's been a mistake,” Deacon said, his voice dangerously soft as he bore a hole into the lawyer's graying head with his piercing stare.

“That's right,” Cole agreed tightly, his nostrils flaring. “There aren't four, ma'am. Not anymore.”

Ms. Carver glanced up from her paperwork, her expression controlled. “It's not my place to make sense of what the deceased has bequeathed, or to whom. I am merely here to read the will as it was written.” Without waiting for a response, she continued. “Once again, the ranch, its properties, including the main house, cottages, bunkhouse, et cetera, as well as all livestock and equipment, is to be divided between my four children: Deacon Cavanaugh, James Cavanaugh, Cole Cavanaugh and”—she paused, cleared her throat—“Blue Cavanaugh.”

The air that had been pulled from the room a moment ago suddenly rushed back in and formed a goddamn cyclone. A few people gasped. One cursed. A couple were talking back and forth in
harsh whispers. But Mac, she just stood there, staring, openmouthed, at the wall behind where the lawyer was seated.

Blue?

Oh my God, Blue
.

It wasn't possible. Everett would never have . . . Maybe he considered Blue his son? Someone who was like a son to him?

Her breath was being held captive inside her chest. This couldn't be. She turned to witness one shocked expression after the next. But the only face she truly wanted to see was her closest friend, her partner. And when her eyes found him, her heart started to bleed.

Blue looked so young sitting there on the couch, his hands balled into fists, his mouth pulled into a thin line, his jaw set. And his eyes—those Texas-summer-blue eyes—sliding questioningly toward his mother.

Rage swirled inside of Deacon, but outside he resembled cold, hard stone as he sat across from Ms. Carver, his gaze pinned to the top of her head. Her words were impossible and unacceptable. Clearly there was an error, a misunderstanding, perhaps, and it needed to be rectified before another moment passed.

“Ms. Carver,” Deacon said, his tone even and calm. “Obviously, there's been a mistake.”

Her gaze remained on the paper in front of her. “There's no mistake.”

Deacon's nostrils flared with irritation. “This is Blue Perez, Ms. Carver. Not Cavanaugh. He's no relation. Everett may have thought of him as a son, but—”

“Everett claimed him, Mr. Cavanaugh,” the woman interrupted.

This time, her eyes lifted and connected with his. They were razor sharp and unapologetic. They
were also prepared. Once upon a time, Deacon mused dryly, she'd been as confused as the rest of them. But not anymore. At some point, she'd had this conversation with Everett. Maybe even asked the same questions.

A slow, sickly burn began to move through Deacon's gut. It was a physical reaction he recognized but had experienced only a handful of times over the course of his career.

The possibility of failure.

“Claimed him?” Cole repeated, on his feet now. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means—” Ms. Carver began tightly. But before she could finish her thought, she was cut off by a woman's cries.

“No! Stop this! Please.”

Deacon shifted his gaze to the older, dark-haired woman seated alone on the leather ottoman. He remembered her. She'd come in with Everett's lawyer. Her face was a mask of despair, and her brown eyes were shining with tears. But she wasn't looking at Ms. Carver as she spoke. She was looking at Blue.

“Don't do this,” she begged. “Please don't do this.”

“Ma'am,” Ms. Carver began. But she was once again cut off.

“Mom.” Blue sat forward on one of the couches, looking agitated as hell. “What's going on?”

Mom
. Deacon's eyes narrowed. So, this was the cowboy's mother, and the Triple C's housekeeper.

“Please,” Mrs. Perez implored Ms. Carver, her pained, impassioned gaze trained on the lawyer now.

“I'm sorry,” Ms. Carver said. “It's the law.”

Mrs. Perez put her face in her hands and whimpered. “I told him not to do this. That it would ruin so much, so many.”

The confusion, heat, and rage inside Deacon burst as understanding, and acceptance of one kind dawned. “Unfortunately, my father rarely cared if his loved ones got hurt.”

The eyes of most everyone in the room turned to regard him. But Deacon's attention was focused solely on Ms. Carver. “Before I decide if I'm going to challenge this will or not,” he began, “I'm going to need a DNA test.”

The woman's lips thinned. “It's already been done, of course, but I'll order another.”

“No,” Deacon said. “I'll order it.” It would be executed by his people, not Everett's.

“Fine,” Ms. Carver said quickly.

“That was easy.”

She gave a small shrug. “He knew this would happen. And he knew you'd be the one to demand it, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

“Did he, now?”

She nodded.

“That arrogant bastard,” Cole ground out.

Deacon turned to see James regarding him. The man's way-too-handsome face was a mask of calm disinterest. But Deacon knew better. Could tell by the nearly imperceptible flicker of his hard jaw that James was both shocked and furious.

“So it seems Dad kept a secret from us,” Deacon said, his eyes shifting to the broad-shouldered cowboy seated on the couch across from him. “And by the looks of it, though he could be faking it, a secret from Blue here as well. Behold, ya'll, the fourth Cavanaugh brother.”

•   •   •

Mac walked across the lawn in the heels she hadn't had a chance to change out of yet. The day was starting its slow descent into evening, and a gorgeous breeze ruffled the leaves of the nearby trees and the grassy hillock a few yards away. The hillock Blue stood on, legs spread, back to the house he might just be able to stake a claim to if he wanted.

Ten minutes ago, chaos had erupted within the Triple C's overly warm living room after Deacon had called Blue the fourth Cavanaugh brother. Everyone had started asking questions, arguing shit, making a timeline in their minds. And Elena? Poor mortified, devastated Elena just sat there with her head in her hands, crying. Mac had gone
to her, straightaway. But Blue? He didn't say a damn thing. Just stood up and walked out.

At the bottom of the incline, Mac stopped and yanked off her heels, tucked them under one arm. The cool grass beneath her feet came as a quick and wonderful relief, and she took off, sprinted up the rise toward her friend.

“Taking in the view, cowboy?” she asked slightly breathlessly, coming to stand beside him.

He didn't take his eyes off the burgeoning sunset. “Come to laugh at me, foreman?”

Mac's heart squeezed at the bitter sound in his voice. “Shit, Blue. Never.” She bumped him with her hip. “Don't be an idiot.”

“I'm no idiot, darlin',” he said blackly. “I might be a bastard, but I'm no idiot.”

Mac flinched. Blue had always been one of the most relaxed, take-things-as-they-come people she'd ever known. He rarely got ruffled. Never took things to heart. But she could see by looking at him, listening to him, that he was hurtin'. That what had gone down in Everett's living room had not only shocked him, but had cut him deep.

She slipped her arm through his and pressed herself against him. “Could this actually be true?”

He shook his head. “No idea.”

“Could Everett be pulling some prank? Or worse, trying to get back at the brothers for taking
off? Or Deacon for these last six years of attempting to buy the C out from under him?” Even as she said it, she didn't believe it. No matter what Everett's faults were, he wouldn't use Blue like that. “You never mentioned your dad to me. What do you know about him?”

“Just that he was never in the picture. My mom told me they split up before she even had me.”

“And you never asked anything else? Wanted to see him?”

His jaw tightened. “I asked.”

Oh, Lord. And Elena had what? Deflected? Or flat-out lied? Is that what he was saying? Shit. Mac released a breath. This couldn't be happening. That was not the Elena Perez she knew—had known for nearly ten years. That woman was a saint, not a sinner. That woman baked pies and fixed the cowboys' bloody hands and sunburns. That woman loved her son more than anything in the world.

“Did you have any feeling about this?” she pressed Blue gently. “That Everett might be . . . ?” Damn, she could barely say it. “Your daddy?”

“Shit, Mac.” He turned to look at her then. Pain glittered in those incredible sky-blue eyes. “Why would I?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. He was really good to you.”

“He was good to you, too.”

True, but it was different. She'd been Cass's
best friend practically since birth. “It's just so impossible sounding. Elena . . . Everett and Elena.”

Blue growled softly.

“How long you think they were taking up with each other? You know,
if
they were . . .”

“I'm twenty-two, Mac,” he ground out. “You do the math.”

“Oh my God, he was still married to Lea—”

“Stop,” he broke in, real fire in his tone now. He cursed. “Maybe it's not true. Maybe there was a mistake with the test.”

She wanted to agree with him. God, she wanted to. For the sake of his feelings and their friendship. But she was really starting to believe that this could be true.

“I saw your mom's face,” she said softly. “Heard what she said . . .”

“Try what she didn't say,” Blue put in. “Fuck!” Tears pricked his eyes, and he swiped them away quickly. “How could she lie to me, Mac? My whole life?”

“I don't know. Why do people do what they do?” She reached for his hand, laced her fingers with his. “Maybe she didn't want to hurt you, embarrass you.”

“Too late for that.”

The ice in his tone made her gut ache. “It's probably why she and Everett didn't get together after Lea died.”

Blue's eyes widened in horror. “You think that's why Lea had the breakdown? Why she was put in the mental hospital?”

“No,” Mac assured him. “God, no, Blue. That happened because of Cass's death.”

Lea Cavanaugh had never been an overtly happy woman, but she'd had a kind, generous heart. From Mac's perspective, she'd loved her kids more than anything and seemed to go out of her way to make 'em happy, make each event in their lives somethin' special. Cass had told Mac more than a few times that after having three boys, her mama had been so excited about having a little girl she'd had the nursery painted pink and ready to go six months in advance.

It's funny how life can change on a dime. How one horrific event can cancel out all the good, all the memories, cut ties and sever deeply woven relationships. The day Cass was taken—the day that dime flipped over and landed on tails—she'd been at the movies with her brothers. Halfway through, she'd gotten up to go to the bathroom and had never come back. A few days later, when they brought her body home, Lea Cavanaugh broke—inside and out. And from what Mac had heard, she never healed. Mac hadn't seen things firsthand, as she was grieving herself and Everett just hadn't wanted visitors around. But she'd see
them in town, all five of 'em, looking like they were barely existing.

Six months later, the case was cold. A few months after that, Everett put Lea in a hospital, where she passed away not eight weeks later. Poor Deacon, James, and Cole. They left River Black days after her funeral without a word to anyone. Seemed as though everybody just wanted to forget and move on.

Blue made a sound, a sound so close to a moan it brought Mac's head around. “I wonder if she knew,” he said. “Lea. I wonder if Everett told her.”

“Oh, Blue . . .” Mac began.

“I'm not staying here.”

“What?” Panic claimed her suddenly.

“You heard me.”

“That's bullshit,” she said back. The idea of not having Blue in her life turned her insides out. He was like family. Closest thing she had. “You're not going anywhere.”

“I can't, Mac.”

“This is your home. Now, more than ever.”

His gaze found hers, and under the warm, Creamsicle light of the late-afternoon sun, he said with deep conviction, “I'm not fighting those boys over their ranch—their home.”

Passion and fear overtook the panic, fueling her blood. “Yes, you are, and you'd better.”

Blue's eyes filled with confusion, pain. “Mac . . .”

“You heard Deacon at the service today. What he said in front of everyone in this town.” The breeze whipped her hair around her face, cooling her skin. But her blood remained hot. “You know what he plans to do to this place and to everyone who needs it. Everyone who relies on it to survive.” She laughed bitterly. “I have no idea what James and Cole are thinking, what they want, but they have lives outside of River Black. Odds are they're planning on going back to them. You and me, we belong here. You can take over.”

“You're not thinking—” he began in warning.

“You
have
to stay,” she implored him. “You have to help me. Fight with me.”

“Come on, Mac. Shit.” His eyes softened, and he reached out, brushed a strand of hair away from her face. It wasn't a romantic gesture, but a tender one. A brotherly one. “You know I'd do anything for you, but this . . .” He shook his head.

“You belong here, Blue,” Mac said, continuing the fight. “You and the family you might have someday. I know that's what you want. And a Cavanaugh should carry on here. Keep building, keep growing. Not destroying.”

“Cavanaugh,” he muttered, looking away.

She grabbed his arm, forced him to look at her. “That's right. Blue Cavanaugh. Everett's son.”

“Son,” he repeated. “Son. Goddamn. My daddy?
Shit, Mac, if this is really true . . .” His eyes implored her. “It's not fair. I never got to know him like that. Be recognized as a son to him.”

She smiled sadly. “You just were.”

Those incredible blue eyes went soft.

“Now, what are you going to do about it?” Mac shrugged. “Walk away? Or help save what we've called home for longer than we can remember? Save Everett's legacy?”

With a weighty breath, Blue dropped one arm around her and turned to look out over the land. “He was a damn coward.”

Mac's stomach clenched. “Maybe.” She didn't want to think about that. Or what else Everett might have hidden from them all. She had a ranch to save. “But there's one thing I know for certain.”

“What's that?” Blue asked.

She let her head fall onto his broad shoulder. “You're not.”