Outlaw Cowboy (18 page)

Maybe he should have gone with Delia, or found some other way, or maybe he should have zero to do with her. And maybe he shouldn't have slept with her and—

“Safe to come in?”

They both looked at the door where Dan's voice had come from. Mel's expression lost almost all traces of fear. “Yes.”

It was a strange thing to see, the way two people could…help each other simply by being in each other's presence. He had the oddest second of wondering if he could ever possibly be that for someone, before remembering all the ways he'd screwed up when people depended on him before.

Yeah, this was not in his cards, and he'd never really wanted it, so that stray thought could go back to the crazy it came from.

He forced himself to smile at Dan. “I hear congratulations are in order,” Caleb managed. He was sure he sounded stiff and overly formal, but at least he was trying.

Dan crossed to Mel and slung an arm around her shoulders. “We're pretty excited about it.”

“It'll be good,” Caleb said, trying to mean it. Trying to believe a new generation might be just what the Shaws needed.

And with Mel beaming at him, he thought maybe this generation might just have a shot too.

“So, llama season shaping up all right?” Caleb managed to ask without showing an ounce of distaste…he hoped.

Dan nodded, then started recounting something to Mel, though he included Caleb in the conversation. For Mel, and his future niece or nephew, Caleb forced himself to nod along and feign some interest. It was painful, but he would make an effort to be a more cheery, friendly brother and brother-in-law.

He glanced at the clock. He had forty-five minutes to get through this, and he hoped to hell Delia was getting through her much more dangerous and more painful hell.

* * *

Delia had known panic all of her life, and because it had been such a close and consistent bedfellow, she'd learned how to deal with it. How to breathe and suck it up and get through it. Panic hadn't sidelined her in…she didn't know how long. She was
trained
for panic.

Her life's training was failing her.

Her body shook as she shimmied under the barbed wire fence at the far south corner of the Rogerses' property. She actually got caught in the wire for a heart-stopping second, but it was more nerves than actually being stuck.

The fence was one of the few things Dad never let go. The house might be falling apart, the water or electricity might occasionally get shut off, but the fence was always in tip-top shape. He knew how to keep people out—and he knew how to keep his family in. Luckily, Delia had gotten in and out enough times to know just where to go without immediately being detected.

She got inside the fence, but it was hard to stand when she was shaking, her bones felt like lead, and everything beyond this rise of the hill was hell. A hell that could quite easily kill her.

Steph is in that hell and you have to get her out.

She managed to get to her feet, tears burning behind her eyes. There weren't a lot of things to hide behind, and Dad liked to keep an eye on his kingdom. Still, Delia had learned if she walked in a crouch along the back fence line, she couldn't be seen because of a natural swell of land between her and the house.

She followed the old path by instinct, keeping her eyes peeled and her ears trained to any noise. By making herself act, some of the shaking subsided. By thinking of Steph and the end goal, she could almost forget about the now. The fear. What her father could do if he found her.

What he
would
do. The melody of that horrible song accompanied the lyrics he used to sing.
Kind of evil make me want to grab my submachine. Delia's gone, one more round, Delia's gone.

Well, she wasn't gone. Not by a long shot. She edged up the row of apple trees that had seen better days. Dad went through fits and starts when it came to allowing Mom to garden. A year here, a year there—it was all good. Then he'd throw a fit and tear it all down or make her watch it go to waste.

These didn't look like they'd be bearing any fruit in the fall—too bare, too scraggly—which meant he was iron-fisting things. Not a good sign at all. Worse, the spindly trees didn't offer much by way of disguise. But all she could do was hurry. There was no getting around the next step.

She tugged the piece of yarn out of her coat. It was always there: orange, long since unraveling, but bright enough it could be seen if someone was looking for it. Not big or bright enough to be a sign something was off.

She and her sisters had been using this method of communication for years, and it was the one thing Dad had never figured out.

Delia scurried low, behind as much of the apple tree trunks as possible, and tied the long orange thread onto the tree closest to the kitchen window. Then she withdrew back to the corner of the fence where she couldn't be seen.

It was a waiting game, and if Steph didn't notice the yarn in fifteen minutes, Delia was screwed. She'd either have to man up and go find Steph, or heed Caleb's warning and head back to him.

She closed her eyes and prayed for the easiest outcome. She deserved that. Something to go right. Something had to go right.

She huddled low, the wet, sloppy ground seeping into her boots. She shivered against a chilly wind, and held tears and shaking at bay only by repeating her little mantra. Even when Dad's voice singing that fucking song infiltrated, she repeated her mantra. Inwardly at first, then mouthing the words.

She didn't know how many times she repeated it before she heard footsteps. Her eyes squeezed shut against her will, preparing for a blow. Preparing for the steel of a gun to be placed at her temple and the click of the safety being turned off.

“Delia.”

At the fierce female whisper, Delia forced her eyes open.

Before she could manage to speak, Steph grabbed her by the arms and yanked her to her feet, propelling her back the way she'd come. “You have to leave,” Steph breathed, looking back at the house, panicked and breathless. She wasn't wearing a coat. Her feet were bare.

Delia tried to halt the progress Steph was making pushing her back to the escapable spot in the fence. “It's okay. I'm here to save—”

“Rose and I have it under control, okay?”

Delia nearly lost her balance as Steph kept pushing her back and back, as if she wouldn't stop until Delia was gone. This made no sense. Under control?
Rose?
“What?”

“But if he sees you, if Mom sees you—it's all up in smoke. You have to get out of here. And don't come back. Rose and I have a plan, and it's going to solve everything, okay?” Steph grabbed Delia's hands and squeezed, placing the little thread of orange yarn in her palm, smiling excitedly, the bruise on her cheek a nasty yellow against fair skin.

Delia's stomach turned. She had to get her out now. Forget a coat or shoes, she'd just take her to Caleb's truck. Now. “Steph, come with me. We can be gone now.” She'd figure out something, some way to take care of Steph. Some way to keep her hidden until she could get her gone.

“I can't. Go. Now. Please.” Steph released her hands and gave her a shove toward the fence. “Hurry. Don't come back, okay? We've got it under control. This is going to solve everything. Everything.” Even with fear lacing Steph's movements, a giddy excitement shone in her expression.

How could Steph and Rose solve everything? How could they… Without… “But—”

“Go!”

Delia went, because she knew that not listening to Steph could lead to Steph getting a beating later if Delia tried to carry her away against her will. She wiggled under the fence.

Steph looked back in the direction of the house, making a shooing motion with her arms. But when Delia didn't move, Steph took a few steps toward the fence that separated them. “We'll find you when it's over. Don't worry. Everything is okay. Just be safe.”

Everything was okay. Without her.

“Go! Please.”

At the pleading note in Steph's voice, Delia was forced to act. She gave a slight nod and then walked quickly back the way she'd originally come until she knew there was no way Dad could see her from any point on Rogerses' property.

Then she stopped, staring in the direction of her hell, her goal.
Rose and I have a plan.
Delia tried to make sense of it. Okay, Rose was back in town, and she'd gotten to Steph first, but Steph was still there, a bruise lingering on her face. Dad only ever left a bruise where it couldn't be covered by clothes when he was really angry. Unreasonably angry. It was when he was his most dangerous.

Don't come back.
Steph's voice echoed in her head.

Delia looked down at the pathetic thread in her hand, tried to breathe through the burn of tears in her eyes. Don't come back? Don't help? They had it covered? They were going to solve everything?

Where in the hell did that leave her?

“Make sure you don't hog all that,” Mel instructed after plying him with a bag of containers full of leftovers.

“Aye, aye, captain.” Caleb gave her a mock salute, an old habit that now made Mel smile, at least a little.

“And I'd like to set up a whole family dinner. Dad and Summer. So I can tell them too.”

“You tell me when would be a good day, and I'll check with Summer.”

She nodded, trying to smile. It didn't quite reach her eyes. Unfortunately there was nothing he could do to take that look away. Their family life was what it was, and even Dan couldn't magic that away with love, babies, or whatever other bullshit.

But, speaking of Dan, Caleb was supposed to be making an effort with the guy. So he extended a hand to his brother-in-law, who—thankfully—didn't act too shocked at the gesture. With only a slight eyebrow raise, he shook it.

“Take good care of her,” Caleb said, trying to keep it quiet enough Mel wouldn't overhear.

“Oh, like I can't take care of my own damn self,” Mel grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

Well, at least some things didn't change. “On that note, thanks for dinner. I'll get out of your hair.”

“Make sure Dad gets some of the leftovers,” Mel called after him.

He offered a wave, not slowing down as he walked to his truck. He tossed the bag onto the passenger seat, the clock glaring a green 7:00 p.m. at him. He had to hurry. He'd felt badly begging out of dessert, but the world was dark, and he'd told Delia seven. This was not something that could wait.

He tried to drive at a normal speed down the gravel so Mel wouldn't think anything of his exit or worry over it. She had more than enough on her plate now, with a kid on the way.

So fucking weird.

But he didn't have much time to dwell on it, because as he reached the gate, his headlights swept over a flicker of shadow. Delia was standing in the ditch next to the highway.

He really hadn't expected her to beat him here. He'd been all but convinced he'd have to go after her. But before he could pull the truck to a stop on her side of the road, she was walking to the back, opening the camper shell.

She'd crawled in and shut the door before he even got out. He stood with one leg half out of the driver's side, stopped in the middle of a dark country highway.

Something foreboding settled in his gut, but what could he do? He couldn't really talk to her until they got back to the safety of Shaw, and she was walking and moving fine enough. Surely she wasn't hurt.

She better not be fucking hurt and not telling him.

Though he wanted to hurry, he couldn't with her in the back. So he took it slow, avoided bumps as best he could as he drove through town and out again. He eased the truck onto Shaw land and glanced toward the cabin, but something gnawed at him. Whatever had happened…she wasn't okay.

He took a left toward the main house instead of going for the cabin. The likelihood of Tyler showing up tomorrow morning was slim; the chances of him dropping by unannounced before Caleb could secret Delia away were even slimmer.

He'd take her to the main house. They could talk; she could shower and maybe get something to eat. Sending her back to the dank, stuffy cabin seemed too much, even if he stayed with her there.

He pulled into the detached garage, debating whether or not to turn the interior light on. It was evening, Dad and Summer already knew Delia existed here, so…what was he so afraid of? Was he really going to be
this
paranoid?

The camper shell opened, and Delia shimmied out. He pulled the chain to turn the light on, but she kept her back to him, staring out at the dark yard.

“Why are we here?” she asked, her voice raw.

Something was very seriously wrong. “Come on inside.”

“Nah. Thanks.” She shook her head and exited the garage. No other explanations. Nothing. She was just walking away.

“Hey. Aren't we going to talk about what happened? Do you have a plan? Do you need me to talk to Mel about mon—”

She didn't stop. Didn't speak a word. Just kind of shrugged her shoulders and kept right on, taking long strides away from him and toward the cabin on the other side of Shaw.

What the hell?

“Hey!” he called, jogging after her, doing his best to keep a leash on the temper starting to boil. She was going to just walk away from him without a word? She wasn't going to tell him if she was hurt or sad or… How could he help if he didn't know? “The least you can do is tell me what happened.”

“The least I can do?” She snorted, halfway to the cabin before he caught up to her and blocked her progress. “Get over yourself, sweetheart. I don't owe you a damn thing.”

It was dark away from the garage light. He couldn't make out her expression, but something about her voice sounded…wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, and it was the thing that kept him from telling her exactly all she did owe him.
Oh, you're an asshole, asshole.

“Out of the way now, little boy.”

She gave him a shove, and only because he predicted it did he manage to stop himself from grabbing her and shaking an answer out of her. It was what he
wanted
to do, but he was trying to exercise some control. If she'd had any kind of run-in with her father, he didn't want to put his hands on her any way but gently.

But letting her go wasn't an option, so he stepped in her way again, not letting the shove move him. “You want me to carry you inside?” Hey, he was warning her, and he'd be gentle about it.

“Really, Caleb? Is that your answer to every woman who tells you they don't want to deal with your ugly mug? Find a new tactic.”

God, he wanted to grab her or hold her. Anything to figure out what was happening inside that hard head of hers. “What the hell went down?”

“Nothing. Nothing went down. Would you just go…milk a cow or something?” She tried to walk around him again, but he moved with her, because they were apparently destined to be children around each other. Push, block, argue.

“Don't make me do it,” he warned.

“Don't make
me
do it.” She drilled him in the chest with two fingers. “I'll pick
you
up and carry
you
somewhere
you
don't want to go.” With every “you,” she poked him again.

“Delia.”

“I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to rehash. I don't want
this
.” Poke. “I just want you to leave me the fuck alone!”

There was a big part of him that wanted to shout right back, but her voice had cracked on the “alone,” and it broke apart something inside his chest. Her hand still hovered in the air between them, as if she was thinking about poking or shoving him again.

With more gentleness than he thought he possessed, he put one hand below and one hand on top of her wavering fingers. “Delia. Come inside. Please. Tell me what happened.”

When he pulled a little, she gave. He led and she followed, but the closer they got to the house, the more her hand shook, and her breathing wasn't even. So, he entwined his fingers with hers.

He didn't know where he was leading her, or what he was going to do when they got there. He didn't know how he could make whatever was wrong okay, but he had to try.

* * *

Delia didn't have the energy to fight him anymore, not when every ounce of her energy was going into not falling apart. She wanted to, she needed to, but it was going to have to wait. She was not doing this in front of Caleb, not when it was so…selfish.

She was devastated because someone else had swooped in and helped Steph? She was hurt because they didn't need her? How terrible was she?

So, yeah, she couldn't fall apart with Caleb. She needed to be alone.

Alone.
Yup. That was what she was. Steph didn't need her. Steph and Rose were handling
everything
. Alone.

So Delia let Caleb lead her. She would focus on rebuilding whatever she had left. Poking at him and foolishly threatening him would only lead to a breakdown, because she could never win against him. Not in strength. Not in power.

What did she have left? Her sisters didn't need her. What the fuck was left?

She had an arrest warrant and a man who was trying to do right by her, not knowing she could ruin everything he was working toward.

Without Steph as an excuse, as a goal, she was just…nothing. She was a liability, and the minute Caleb knew… She tried to pull her hand free, but his grip tightened as he led her inside and up the stairs.

He was going to kick her out for real this time—that was what she deserved now. Without Steph to save, she could only offer him problems. She didn't deserve to stay.

Tell him. You have to tell him.

She stopped, but he kept pulling her up the stairs, down the hall, and then into the bathroom. He surprised her in a lot of ways, but this was downright baffling. Even when he kneeled next to the bathtub and flicked the water on, she had no idea what his endgame was.

“What are you doing?” she demanded past the lump in her throat.
Alone. Alone. Alone.
But Caleb was here, and as long as she didn't tell him…

“This is called a bathtub,” he said easily, patiently. “By filling it with water, I am making what's called a bath. You get in it, and you clean yourself.”

“I don't get it.”

He pushed the plug down, then turned to face her, still crouching next to the tub. His eyebrows drew together. “I'm starting a bath for you.”

She stared, because there were no words for that. None in any human language. Except maybe the one word that eventually escaped her scratchy, tight throat. “Why?”

“Obviously, something shitty went down. So you're going to sit in a bathtub and relax and tell me about it.”

She eyed him dubiously. “What would ever make you think of doing this?”

He shrugged, moving into a standing position. He unzipped her jacket and pushed it off her shoulders.

It wasn't seduction or lust. It was completely rote.

“All I know is the random times I pulled my weight around here the last few years and Mel had a breather, this is what she would do. So. Here. Do it.” He placed the jacket on the floor, then gestured for her to lose the rest.

It took a few minutes for her brain to engage. He squirted some shower gel into the steaming hot water and bubbles sprouted up where the column of water poured into the bath.

She didn't deserve this. It was all wrong. She was a liar now, and an imposter. She was using him and his kindness, and there was nothing noble about it. Not anymore.

But it was warm and steamy in the room, it smelled like soap, and it looked like heaven. Had she ever had something so luxurious as a hot bath and the time to enjoy it? She might as well take it before every kindness offered to her dried to dust. Lord knew she wouldn't have this again.

She wouldn't give it back until someone pried it from her hands.

“You're ridiculously sweet.” There was an edge to her voice when she said it, because she didn't know how to thank him or be nice to him. All she knew was edge, even as she undressed in front of him while he gathered a washcloth and towels and shampoo.

Girly shampoo at that.

But at the word “sweet,” he laughed—the kind of laugh that meant he didn't believe it or thought she was joking. “Don't you forget it, princess.”

“I
mean
it, dipshit. This is sweet.” She sank into the water. It was almost scalding, but that's what she needed. She was tired of being cold, and the burn shut her mind up for a few seconds.

He turned off the water, and took a seat on the closed toilet, catty-corner to the tub.

“You're not going to join me?”

“Nope.”

“You're just going to sit there and watch like some kind of creeper?”

His mouth quirked up, but it was the only sign he was reacting to anything she said. “Yup.”

“And if I decided to
relax
by touching myself, you'd still just sit there and watch?” Old habits died hard, and sex was the biggest tool at her disposal. Outside of Rogers property, it always had been.

Finally he glanced at her breasts, even though they were hidden by the fresh swell of bubbles. But he wrenched his gaze away. “Just tell me what happened.” Again his gaze went low into the water before he shook his head. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Nobility doesn't suit you.”

“Stalling doesn't suit you.”

She poked at the shower-gel bubbles. Then she drew her knees up to her chin. She flicked a glance at him, sitting there in his dumb dirty jeans and his stupid cowboy boots and his downright idiotic flannel shirt.

He was so handsome it hurt, and she wanted to cry and vomit out all the words. He was just a big, stupid jerk. She considered kicking water at him.

Instead, the truth tumbled out. “They don't need me.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyebrows drawing together as he studied her. “What do you mean they don't need you?” he asked softly.

She let herself sink all the way under the water, and then resurfaced to the same chin-on-knees position, water sliding down her face. “It means what it means. They don't need me. They have it handled. Steph and Rose. They're going to solve everything, she said. They don't need me.”
They don't want me.
She wasn't going to cry…she wasn't going to.

She hadn't in the truck. She hadn't when she'd wanted to push him down the hill. She wasn't going to cry, because he'd made her a bath and was sitting there asking her what was wrong.

Her sisters didn't need or want her. The only people in her life who ever had. She was extraneous. In every sense of the word, with every person she'd ever had a relationship with.