Surviving Love (Montana Wilds Book 1) (21 page)

Mikey gave the adults a quick glance before holding his hand out for a cringing Sara. “C’mon.”

Sara’s little hand reached out and took his, allowing him to pull her out of her seat and lead her toward the excited children and laughing Santa.

“It amazes me,” Denise said, watching her daughter led into a place she dreaded to go a moment before. “She’ll brave anything as long as he’s holding her hand. I try to get her to go, her own mother, and she tries to hide in a plant or something.”

Pam laughed and shifted her seat. “Young love, I tell you. You don’t matter as much as he does. At least I’ll have a partner in crime at the Christmas parties after they get married.”

“Oh, Jack would love that!”

The two women laughed as Mikey dragged Sara around the floor, trying to get closer to Santa.

S
ara rolled
to a stop at the lower ranch house in her new car. Before she got out, she took a moment to hang out in the luxury. Cushy seats, buttons, heaters, navigation—this machine had all the bells and whistles. What’s more, Mikey would’ve made it absolutely and totally hers. He tried to sign it over that morning! Instead, she’d allowed him to put her name on it so they could share it.

She sighed and closed her eyes with the memory of waking up with a smile and snuggled a little deeper into his thick arms. He’d kissed her neck softly and whispered that he loved her. Such bliss.

She’d never, ever felt like this before. This deep, soul-lifting feeling that made her feel buoyant was the best kind of surprise. She realized that Phil hadn’t been her first love. Even now, his memory was fading. It had always been Mikey. Mikey had touched her heart before anyone else. Touched it, clutched it, and now held it in a loving embrace. He was her rock.

She breathed out a smile.

And now to work.

She stepped out of the car holding her pen and notepad. The dilapidated hovel some of the ranch staff used for occasional housing crouched on a hillside, the only flat part of the lot carved out for the house. Dirty windows and chipping brown paint gave the impression no one cared about this place any more than they might a tent. Sara had the distinct impression the upkeep was done only when needed. Rain started dripping through the roof? Patch it up and move on.

Sara could not imagine spending any time in this shack. Mikey, Jake, and Greg apparently didn’t share the same sentiment, because this was where they stayed when they decided to be close to the ranch. Boys would live in anything.

She let herself into the musty-smelling building and took a left across the dirty entryway floor. Mikey said he was usually the only person who stayed in it on a Thursday, and since he’d been with her in his house, it should be empty. That was the only reason she came without him. She didn’t need to see any half-naked men wandering around scratching their balls.

No one needed to see that, actually.

The living area consisted of a table, small kitchen, and a couple chairs around a wood stove, and had been moderately cleaned and tidied up. The floor still had some spots of dirt tracked from one side to the other, but for the most part, someone had put things away and wiped things down.

Probably Mikey.

She smiled to herself as she checked the cabinets in the kitchen, taking stock of the inventory. Her brain filled in the bare areas with what they needed, and checked over the minimal cleaning supplies. That done, she hit the bathroom.

Then wished she didn’t.

Why men couldn’t get their stream in a large, round bowl was beyond her. Why they also didn’t wipe it down after they sprayed all over the place was anyone’s guess. Seriously, they’d been peeing all their lives, so how could they still be this bad at it? Did it not strike them as a glaring failure in their skill set?

Shaking her head, she wrote down various toiletries they would need on a regular basis—including cleaning items. Breathing through her mouth, lest that acidic smell turn her stomach, she turned toward the bedrooms just to see if she could spot which one was Mikey’s, and get anything that would make him more comfortable.

“Oh!” She bounced off a large chest and stumbled back into the bathroom.

“Well, well, what are you doing here?” Duke’s large body loomed in the doorway, and he stared down at her with a sardonic glare sparkling with anger.

“Why am I here?” Sara asked, willing courage to come. “Why are
you
here? You stay in the upper ranch house.”

“Yes I do. But I have a score to settle with that mama’s-boy Boy Scout.” His eyes raked down her body. “But this might be ten times better. Seems he’s taken a liking to you. I’m sure he wouldn’t want any harm to come to his pretty little lady.”

Cold washed through Sara’s body as her chin rose. She refused to take his bait. Bullies liked to pick on the weak, so she couldn’t let him see his intimidation was working. In fact, she’d treat him like she would a bear. Not challenge, but confuse him.

“Right now you’ve just got a pink slip, Duke. Touching me would result in jail time,” Sara said matter-of-factly.

“Ah,” he said smoothly, stepping toward her. “That’s if I leave any bodily fluids. I’ve come prepared.”

Duke brought up his hands to show his black leather gloves. They looked brand new.

“I don’t think gloves will prevent them finding a strangler,” Sara replied calmly, despite her racing heart and sweaty palms.

His eyes sparkled with malice as he wiggled his fingers. “I don’t plan to strangle you. I plan to rearrange that pretty little face of yours.”

“You’re going to beat up a girl?” Sara said with a strength in her voice she didn’t feel. Her grip tightened on her pen. “How did you plan to beat up Mikey? He’d wipe the floor with you.”

“The element of surprise teamed with a weapon would’ve been good enough for him. You, however, don’t need any of that, do you? Just a punch or two—”

M
ikey walked
toward the stables with a bounce in his step. He felt good today. Everything was coming together—the girl, the family. He had it all.

He found Christie waiting by the supplies, eyeing him with a smirk. “You’re early. Sara kick you out of bed?”

“You’re early, too. Bored with no one to talk to?”

“Yes! I had to talk to myself for company,” she said, laughing. “So, good news, then, huh?”

“How’d you know she told me?” He reached up for a pitchfork and handed it to her before grabbing a shovel for himself. He wasn’t a huge fan of these menial tasks, but there was no point in complaining about it. Might as well get it done as soon as possible so he could meet up with Sara before his first survival lesson.

“You have a goofy grin on your ugly mug.”

“Yes. Good news.”

Christie stepped over a large pile of horse poop and eyed the stall, deciding where to start. “You going to marry her?”

“I’d like to, but she doesn’t want to be engaged. We’ll probably just be parents for a while before I pop the question.”

“She’s worried about having a baby out of wedlock, though. She tell you that?”

Mike straightened up and eyed Christie. “No. She is?”

Christie rammed her fork under a heap of dirty hay and turned to the bin before answering. “Yeah. She was going round and round about it. I think it’s the peer pressure of how it’s”— she put up some rabbit ears with her fingers—“supposed to be. But it bothers her, I think.”

“I think being a fiancée again would bother her more, though.”

“True.” Christie nodded. “Conundrum.”

“Well, thanks so much for all your help.”

Christie snickered, stabbing more dirty hay.

“So what’s up with Greg?” Mike asked in a nonchalant tone. “You going to let him take you out, or what?”

“Trying to get everyone hooked up since you are?” Christie asked dryly, turning her back to him to work at a different part of the stall.

He noticed the rigidity of her back as she worked. Her turn away from him seemed intentional. “Yup. And he’s into you. Or did you catch that?”

Christie shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll see. Season’s about to end, so there’s really no point in trying to get all swarmy or anything.”

“Where are you going at the end of the season? You have to leave soon for college if you’re going back there.”

Christie straightened up and turned toward him, her expression sour. “I don’t know. I might take a year off from college. I’m just trying to get a degree to please my parents, but I’m bored as all hell, and I hate my major.”

“What’s your major?”

“Communications. It’s easy, general, and makes the folks happy, so…”

“Ah.” Mike picked up a pitchfork so he could spread some fresh hay. “What would you do instead?”

“I don’t know. Get a job. Sara will probably stay here with you, so I was thinking of sticking around. Why not, right?”

“I’m sure she’d love to have a friend.”

Christie smirked. “Am I going to have to fight you to share her?”

Mike laughed and shook his head, looking over as Jake stepped into the mouth of the barn. The older man’s face was closed down and severe, his eyes crackling with rage. Something had happened.

Mike straightened up, unexpected fear stealing his breath. “What is it? What happened?”

“It’s Sara. She’s in the hospital.”

Mike was walking before his pitchfork hit the ground. Christie’s fell a second later.

“Greg found her. He went up for sum’in at the ranch house. She got worked over pretty good,” Jake said in a low tone, leading the way to their trucks.

“Is she okay?” Mike said in a weak voice he barely recognized.

“Broken nose, severe bruises on the ribs.” Jake paused for a moment, finishing the walk in silence. When he got to his truck, he turned to Mike, face a thundercloud ready to break. “Clothes were still on. He didn’t violate her. Just beat on her.”

Something broke in Mike’s chest. It rattled around, each point of contact with his body summoning up unspeakable violence. Anger that he’d never known in his whole life raged through him.

“Wait for it,” Jake said in a low voice, reading Mike. “It’ll come. Gotta make sure your missus is okay first.”

Mike nodded, jaw set, grim vengeance controlling his body, preventing him from breaking down.

Duke could’ve done a great many things that Mike would’ve shrugged off. Including coming after Mike himself. This was not one of them. This was a summons to war, and Duke must’ve known that.

“I’ll drive,” Christie said quietly, hand on Mike’s forearm, stopping him from opening the truck door. “You aren’t thinking clearly just now. Let’s get there in one piece. She’ll need you more than anyone.”

T
hey didn’t speak
on the ride over. They didn’t speak while following Jake into the hospital. Nor did they speak while trying to find the room. It was when Jake was about to walk in that Christie turned to him, her face serious and firm, and said, “Look. I’ve been through this type of thing before. You don’t need to know the particulars, but you do need to know what the victim expects. She’s broken, she’s fragile, and she’s paranoid. She doesn’t need pity. She needs support, which she’ll get from me, and she needs someone who will shield her. Someone who will be the backstop and smother her in safety. That’s you. No one else matters, okay? You cannot show the anger that’s all over your face. That scares women in this situation. You need to simmer down, put on that goofy, loving expression, and convince her that you still love every inch of her despite what she looks like, okay?”

Christie’s face held none of that nonchalant, life-isn’t-dire expression he was so used to. Not now. Instead, pain and past haunts etched her expression in sorrow. Her eyes pleaded—not for herself, but for Sara.

“Of course I’ll still love her regardless of what she looks like or what might have happened,” Mike said softly.

“Then show that.” Christie gave him a scowl a teacher might, waited for his responding nod, and jerked her head toward the door. “Okay, then.”

Mike put one foot in front of the other. He pushed through the empty space. The sterile chemical smell invaded his senses. The white linoleum was streaked with scuffs. And then he saw her. Lying in the bed, sleeping like an angel. Her features were a puffy purple, blue, and yellow. One eye was swollen shut, the other bloodshot.

He stopped walking, sickness twisting his stomach. He turned toward the bathroom, burst through the door, and barely made it to the toilet. He heaved, but the pain in his body couldn’t leave through his mouth.

After everything in his stomach—the breakfast in bed he’d made for Sara—had purged, he straightened up and put his game face on. She didn’t need this pale, shaking thing that looked back at him in the mirror. She needed someone strong but loving to hold her hand and stay by her side. She needed support, like Christie had said.

He needed vengeance.

Each of them would get what they needed.

Back in the room, he glanced at Greg in the corner, face as pale as Mike’s. Jake stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest, standing sentry. Death was in those pale blue eyes.

Christie was by Sara’s head, arm reached down the bed to clasp her hand. She looked up when Mike approached. “This’ll all heal. She just got beat up.”

Mike’s jaw clenched as he claimed her hand from Christie. “Getting beat up is plenty. Are we sure who did it?”

“She was on her own in the bathroom when I got there. No sign of anyone else,” Greg said quietly, eyes on her face.

“Duke,” Jake said by the door. “Had a motive. Has something wrong with his head. Ain’t no one else would do it. We’re as sure as we need to be.”

Mike nodded, gazing at her brutalized face. Tears marred his vision. “Has she woken up since she’s been here?”

“She came to when I found her,” Greg answered, eyes now on his clasped hands. “Asked for you. She passed out again when I was carrying her to the truck.” Greg’s voice drifted away for a second. When it came back, it had that edge that ran through Mike’s body. “I’m going with you when you go after him. She didn’t deserve this. No woman deserves this. He needs to fight someone his own size.”

“That’s not a conversation for a hospital room,” Christie said with a firm voice. “He needs to go to prison. That’s the best thing for him.”

“It’ll be her word against his,” Jake said, glancing out the door. “He’s smart. Knows how to bend the law to get what he needs. He ain’t goin’ to prison unless we can prove it. Her nails are clean, though. Didn’t get a scratch off. No DNA. I doubt he left any on her.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to get creative,” Mike replied.