Beauty's Kiss (4 page)

The two story ranch house was dark except for a light downstairs in the back, when Troy parked in front of the house twenty minutes later, and left his bags in the back. He’d return later for them. But first he was eager to see his brother and dad.

In the house, Troy headed to the kitchen where the light was shining. Thirty year old Dillon was at the sink, washing up some dishes.

“How’s Dad tonight?” Troy asked, as Dillon caught sight of him and turned the water off.

Dillon grabbed a towel and dried his hands. “Better, now that he’s sleeping.”

“I saw your text. He had a rough day?”

“He was upset today. He wants to go to the cemetery.” Dillon paused, glanced at Troy. “See Mom’s grave.”

Troy’s forehead creased. “Mom’s not buried in town.”

“I know.”

“Her ashes are here.”

“I
know
.” Dillon tossed the towel onto the counter. “I told Dad that but he got all fired up, snapped at me that I was being disrespectful and to just do what he asked me to do.” He shook his head. “Hard to see him like this. He was always so tough. Now he’s like a lost little kid.”

“Or a grouchy little kid.”

Dillon smiled. “Glad you’re back. It’s good to see you.”

“Why don’t you get out of here? Go into town. I’ll sit with Dad tonight.”

“It’s getting late and snowing pretty good.”

“It’s not even nine and you drive one badass truck. You’ll be fine.”

“You really want to get rid of me.”

“I really want you to have a break. You’ve been alone with Dad for weeks—”

“Not that long. Harley’s been coming over almost every day for a couple hours at a time and then yesterday Brock came with her and the kids and they spent the day here so I could get out, and take care of some banking and shopping. When I came home, she had dinner all made.”

“So why hasn’t Brock married her?”

“I don’t know, but I’m thinking I should nominate them Friday night for that Wedding Giveaway contest. Can’t think of anyone around here more deserving.”

“True,” Troy agreed. “But now, go, get out of here while you can. If you leave now, you could be at Grey’s by nine thirty, shooting the shit, playing pool, and flirting with all those girls who have a thing for you.”

“All those pretty girls in tight jeans and short skirts are looking for a husband. And I’m happy playing darts and having a beer and making out in my truck, but that’s as far as it goes. I’m not looking to settle down, and nowhere near ready to be married.”

“That makes two of us,” Troy said, before heading upstairs to the master bedroom tucked back under the steep eaves of the eighty year old cabin, the interior walls covered with paneling, to hide the rustic split log walls.

For the next two hours Troy sat by the side of his father’s bed in the house that had been home to three generations of Sheenans, and tried not to think.

Or feel.

But that was easier done if he didn’t look at his father, who was now just a frail version of himself.

Easier done if Troy had remained in San Francisco, on task in his office on the thirtieth floor in the city’s Financial District, or in his sprawling home in exclusive, affluent Pacific Heights with its views of Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz and the Bay.

But Troy had come home, and he’d returned for this. To be here. To take some of the pressure from Dillon’s shoulders, and ensure that his father was as comfortable as possible in the coming weeks.

Dillon had warned him Dad was fading, but even then it was a shock for Troy to see how much his father had changed since Christmas. His father didn’t even look like the same person.

It had always been hard for Troy to return to Marietta. He didn’t like coming home, didn’t like the memories or emotions, and that was before Dad was sick.

Now...

He shook his head, his jaw tight.

Now he just felt even angrier, but Trey was the angry Sheenan. Trey was the one who drank too much and hit things, broke things. Not Troy.

But whenever Troy did return to Marietta, and the ranch, he felt an awful lot like his infamous twin who was currently spending a five year sentence in jail.

Troy shifted uncomfortably in the antique chair positioned close to the bed, thinking if they were going to continue these bedside vigils for their dad, who was clearly on the downward slope now, then they really needed to get a bigger, sturdier chair in the bedroom.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and floorboards creaked as Dillon entered the dimly lit master bedroom.

“You’re back,” Troy said.

“Had a couple beers and nearly got into a fight with a punchy little cowboy acting like an asshole around Dani, but Grey threw me out before I could teach that boy some manners.”

“You and Dani dating?”

“Dani and me? God, no. I’ve known her since she was in diapers but we are pretty tight. We have fun together,” Dillon said, running a hand through his thick dark hair, his hair the same shade as Troy’s, Trey’s and Brock’s. Only Cormac was fair, the same dark blonde their dad had been in his early thirties. The rest of the Sheenan boys took after their late mother, Jeanette, who’d been part Indian, part Irish, and one hundred percent beautiful.

One hundred percent beautiful, and two hundred percent crazy.

Troy stretched out his legs, crossing his boots at the ankle. No, that wasn’t fair. Mom wasn’t crazy. She’d just been terribly lonely and unhappy on the ranch.

It hadn’t been the life she wanted, isolated from town and friends, alone except for her husband and her five sons.

Dad should have insisted she learn how to drive.

Dad should have insisted she got into town.

Dad should have taken care of her better.

Or they should have, Troy thought, glancing up at Dillon. They, her sons, should have done more, because isn’t that what sons should do? Take care of their mother?

“How was Dad while I was gone?” Dillon asked.

“He got up once, needing to use the bathroom, and I helped him get there, but the rest of the time, he pretty much slept.”

Dillon leaned against one of the columns of the four poster bed. “He does that a lot.”

“He thought I was Trey,” Troy added.

“Understandable, you’re twins and Trey used to live here with him.”

“He insisted I was Trey.”

Dillon grinned. “So what did you do?”

“Act like I was Trey, and let him lecture me on how I needed to make things right with McKenna and step up and take responsibility for my son.”

Dillon’s smile faded. “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen.”

“Trey loves his son, and McKenna.”

“Kind of hard to be a good partner and father in jail.”

“He’ll get out and he’ll get his act together.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be too late by then, at least, for him and McKenna.”

Troy’s brows pulled. “You think so?”

Dillon grimaced. “She’s getting married again.”

“
What
?”

Dillon nodded. “Lawrence proposed last week, after asking Rory and Quinn for permission to marry their sister. Of course, Rory and Quinn, who both hate Trey, said yes.”

“If McKenna was our sister we’d hate Trey, too,” Troy said quietly, tiredly, aware that Trey would not take the news well. It was a good thing Trey was in jail. Because if Trey
weren’t
locked up, there’s no way in hell he’d let McKenna, his first and only love, and the mother of his boy, marry another man.

“Who’s going to tell Trey?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Not until Fall.”

“Then there’s no point saying anything now. Something could happen. The engagement could get called off. Why work Trey up when it could be nothing?” Troy nodded at the bed. “I’m going to grab my stuff from the truck and crash. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Chapter Three

Troy had gone to his truck without his coat and it was cold, seriously cold. His breath clouded in the air as he quickly scooped his bags from the backseat of the big Escalade. He was just about to slam the door shut when he heard a buzzing sound from beneath the passenger seat in front of him.

It sounded an awful lot like a phone.

His heart sank, thinking it was either the little librarian’s phone, or the person who’d rented the car before him. Either way it meant that someone, somewhere was without a phone—modern society’s lifeline--and probably frustrated as all hell.

Troy opened the passenger door, felt beneath the seat and then the side of the seat by the center console. Found it.

He glanced at the screen with the photo of a young Taylor Harris with a blonde teenage boy wearing a high school graduation cap and gown.

Must be Taylor’s brother, even as he noted the five missed calls, and text after text.

Not doing so good.

Need to talk to you.

Call me.

Why won’t you answer?

Troy’s brow creased, concerned. This didn’t sound good at all.

He glanced at the time on the phone’s display. It was quarter past eleven. If he drove the phone back to Marietta, he wouldn’t arrive until close to midnight. How could he knock on the Jones’ front door at midnight?

But then, reading the desperate texts, how could he not?

Troy returned to the house for his coat and wallet. He told Dillon he’d found a phone in the car and had to return it to town. Dillon suggested Troy just stay in town at the hotel. No reason to drive all the way back so late.

Troy thought it made sense and said goodnight, letting his brother know he’d be back before noon to spend the afternoon with Dad.

Taylor woke up to Kara clicking the light on in Taylor’s bedroom. “You’ve got a visitor,” Kara said, covering her yawn.

“What time is it?” Taylor asked,

“Eleven forty-five.”

Taylor’s mind cleared, and she sat up abruptly, immediately thinking of Doug as she groped for her glasses on the nightstand. “My brother?” she asked, settling her glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

“No.” Kara pushed a tangle of dark blonde hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Your knight in shining armor. Troy Sheenan.” She saw Taylor’s baffled expression and added. “You didn’t even have to track him down in the morning. He found your phone in his car and has brought it back.”

Relief flooded Taylor. She’d discovered she’d lost her phone minutes after Troy had left and didn’t know how to reach him, or track down Jane for Troy’s number, without her phone. “It’s awfully late to return it, though,” she said, pushing back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Kara shrugged. “Apparently he was worried about some of the messages. He thought they might be... urgent.”

“From Doug?” Taylor asked, immediately on her feet and reaching for her thick flannel robe from the foot of the bed.

“Sounds like it.”

Rattled, Taylor stuffed her arms into the sleeves and tied the belt around her waist. What had happened? Was Doug in trouble? Had he gotten into it with someone... gotten into a fight or thrown out of the bunkhouse?

She hated the cold queasy uneasiness filling her, hating that just hearing her brother’s name made her worry. Worry was a terrible feeling, and it seemed like she lived in a perpetual state of anxiety over her brother these days. She needed him to get better. Needed him to own his life, his health, his mind, his future. Four years ago when she’d made the commitment to help him she hadn’t known how hard this would all become... harder as time passed and mistakes kept getting made.

But she wouldn’t give up on Doug. There was no reason to give up yet. He was young and learning and he was going to get better. And he was already better. He’d held down his current job for six months. That was huge—
huge
.

“Where is Troy?” she asked, combing her fingers through her long hair, trying to smooth and untangle it in one quick motion.

“In the living room. It was the warmest room.” Kara gave Taylor a pointed look, her eyebrows arching. “Although maybe that didn’t matter, because he’s so hot.”

“Is he?” Taylor asked, feigning indifference, refusing to acknowledge that her racing pulse had anything to do with Troy Sheenan.