Texas Strong (5 page)

Of course she’d had to get used to being a medical widow at times, married to a surgeon on call. Surgeons were renowned jet-jockeys with a stiff dose of God complex. Still, he’d been a devoted father and family man, who’d missed the important events of his children’s lives only when absolutely necessary.

Who would have expected him to go bonkers at fifty-one and cross-train in trauma?

He was in excellent shape, but he wasn’t young. Neither was she. If they were to fulfill those ambitions of travel and fun together, they’d have to do so soon, while they were still healthy and had the energy.

Instead Jake was obsessed.

And Laura was struggling to keep her faith.

She straightened. Refused to concede to the tears burning behind her eyes.

Instead, she held her head high and began to run.

Tank Patton stood on the highest point of his land, envisioning the house that would one day sit there. From this spot he could see the rolling slopes of the Hill Country, could picture the herd of cattle grown from the few head he’d painstakingly cultivated as the seeds of his future herd.

Moments like this were the antidote for nights like the one before, when the job edged too close to the dark memories in his head. A terrified woman too afraid to leave the man who was her nightmare.

He just hoped to God he wouldn’t be on call when it was too late—because that day would come. Men like that one didn’t get better. Sooner or later the man would kill her.

He couldn’t stop a glance back toward the house he wished he could rip from its foundation this very second. It was where he’d grown up, where a boy had tried unsuccessfully to defend his mother and his sister from the monster that was his father.

No matter what his sister Veronica said, he hadn’t been able to do enough, hadn’t been big enough, strong enough, powerful enough to overcome Vernon Patton’s violence until much too late. So many things would have been different if he could have rid the earth of Vernon Patton. How anyone could treat the woman he supposedly loved that way, could have used his fists on his children, he would never understand.

Children were meant to be loved and cherished. He might not have any experience with what that felt like, but he’d witnessed it all around him in the Gallagher family, in how Gordon McLaren had raised Ian, in how Jackson Gallagher’s mom had taken Mackey under her wing and made him a second son.

What he couldn’t understand was why none of them had stepped in to intervene for his sister, who had been nothing but kindness and sweetness all her life.

He knew why they hadn’t reached out to him. Even as a boy, they’d seen what was wrong with him.

He was Vernon Patton’s seed. Within him were the roots of violence. He’d hated Ian and Jackson and Mackey, envied them the love so freely given. But instead of being good like his sister, he’d been unable to overcome who he was at his core: a violent brute like his father.

That was why he’d never have children. Children feared him, and rightly so. They saw the darkness inside him, the brutality he couldn’t eradicate, only do his best to control.

For a second, his thoughts flickered to the little boy who’d been so delighted they shared a given name. Floppy red hair and warm brown eyes glinting with mischief, looking at him like he was some kind of hero because he wore a badge and went after the bad guys.

No way, kid. I am one of the bad guys
. Everyone thought that, and they weren’t wrong. If most of the time he kept that part of him strapped down hard and buried deep, nonetheless he always knew it was there. He was the man his father had made him: strong and deadly. Powerful enough eventually to frighten his father away from using his fists on his mother. Veronica, thank God, had escaped into marriage to David Butler, the fourth Horseman of that vaunted quartet who’d been hometown heroes. While Tank had been their archenemy.

If his sister had recently begun trying to draw him into her family, the one she shared with her teenage love Jackson Gallagher after David Butler’s untimely death, still he hovered on the outskirts. Even if she considered him her hero for his defense, he knew who he was. Knew that those little fairy princess nieces of his were too sweet and too innocent to risk.

Even his nephew Ben had extended the olive branch, though his high school friends still gave Tank wide berth.

Everyone else in this town kept distance between him and them, and that was only wise. He could be his father if he ever loosened the straining bonds he kept lashed around the darkness inside him.

He was better off alone. Maybe the boy he barely remembered being had hoped for a different future, but that wasn’t his reality. He was who he was, deep in his core, and all he knew to do with his life was to put one foot in front of the other, to try to make the pursuit of justice a substitute for the family he would never have, the love that was a pipedream.

He wondered why he stayed. Maybe in a new place he could start over, could be someone else. Define himself without his past hanging over him.

But the land beneath his feet had been fought for and died for by his blood, and surely not all of them were the bastards Vernon had been. He was a Patton, descended from Tobias Patton, one of the four founding families of Sweetgrass Springs. He had roots here, deep ones.

If he would never have a child of his blood to pass this land down to, he couldn’t help that. Ben and his sisters weren’t Pattons by name, and that name would have to die out, but they carried that same blood in their veins, minus the darkness. He would pass on the land to Veronica’s children and be satisfied with that. Meanwhile, he would continue spending every hour away from law enforcement building up this homestead to what it should have been, had not Vernon Patton been more interested in violence and drinking.

An important step would be to tear down the old place, board by board. It was part of his family’s legacy, but whatever good resided there had long ago been tainted too badly, smeared by the black heart of a man nobody missed.

Maybe he’d be able to breathe more easily when it was gone.

But he had cattle to check on and feed to buy first, however his fingers itched to rid himself forever of the sight of the place where so much evil had lived.

“What a night, huh, Doc?” asked Jake’s favorite nurse, Stella, when they met at the coffeepot. “Laura even get time to kiss you good morning?”

He slugged down as much coffee as possible before responding, though it scorched his throat all the way. “She’s okay.” He studied the contents of his cup.

“Uh-oh. Look at me, Doc.”

“What?”

“Don’t go bein’ all innocent on me. Man can’t look me in the eye, he got somethin’ to hide.” She lifted an eyebrow. “How much trouble you in?”

“Not that much.” He cut his gaze back to Stella. “I’ll order flowers.”

“Oh, boy. You missed somethin’ important. Birthday? Anniversary?” At his wince, she arrowed in. “Son, you are a cliché, you know that? Aren’t you ashamed, Dr. Golden Hands? Couldn’t you at least screw up something original?”

Jake rolled his eyes. He hated that name, begun in his days as a renowned cosmetic surgeon. It was said that only God and Dr. Golden Hands could tell where your scars were and what procedure you’d had—no one else could begin to detect. He’d earned a tidy nest egg for Laura and himself as his practice grew and grew.

Until he’d reached the day when one too many vain women, terrified of aging naturally, walked into his office, and he’d spent the entire consultation talking her into counseling, instead.

Yes, he’d had some opportunities to do meaningful work as a plastic surgeon; he’d performed pro bono procedures when possible, but he’d been determined to provide for his family as his own father had not. His mother had done her best, but her lack of education had meant a series of menial jobs. He’d wanted his children to have a full-time mom and was grateful Laura had been of like mind.

At times, though, he’d felt that he’d sold his soul, catering to female insecurities, no matter how lucrative such a practice was, how much it meant he could do for his family. Finally he’d reached a point where he could not, in good conscience, continue.

“It wasn’t our wedding anniversary,” he protested. As if that helped. “And Laura understands my work.” Though he was less certain of that today. “She’s a good woman. She’ll be upset, but she’ll forgive me. I’ll make it up to her.” Then an idea hit. “What time is it? Know a good cleaning service?”

Stella clucked her tongue. “Exactly how big a mess did you leave?”

“Pretty bad, I guess. But hey, things seem to be quieting down, so I’ll just head home—”

They both heard the sirens. Jake sighed. On his way to triage, he paused at the nurses’ station and spoke to the unit secretary. “Connie, if you’ll do me this favor, I’ll owe you my life.”

Connie’s face brightened. “Anything, Dr. Cameron.”

“Order a dozen red roses sent to my wife—no, take that back, make it two—no, three.” He scanned from one woman to the next. “Too much? What color says I’m sorry best?”

Nurses exchanged glances. Heads were shaking. “If you need three dozen to get you out of a jam,” one said, “then all the roses in the world won’t be enough.”

“You don’t understand my wife,” he insisted. “She’s a champ. She’s sensitive to how important my work is.”

“Uh-huh,” said another. They walked off, chuckling.

The doors to the unit burst open, and one, then two gurneys raced inside. Jake felt the familiar surge of adrenaline ride roughshod over every other emotion. “Three dozen, Connie. With a note that says I’m sorry and I’ll take care of everything.” He was snapping on his gloves. “How about you? Got the name of a good cleaning service?”

“You made the mess,” Stella said from behind him. “You’d best be the one to clean it up.”

“Right—you’re right. I left a note and told her I would. I just thought—”

“My advice, Doc? Don’t think. Get ready to grovel.”

“Laura and I—we’re solid. We’ll be fine.”

Then there was no time, only blood and pain and decisions to be made lightning-fast. So fast you felt more alive than at any other moment.

Chrissy’s car struggled to pull the small trailer that held all her worldly goods. She wasn’t sure there was room for everything, but she wanted her belongings close if this didn’t work out.

She couldn’t bear to think of that happening. She was tired of drifting along, making do, scrambling to keep their heads above water as she paid the price for her past decisions. She deserved to suffer for her mistakes, but her sweet babies didn’t.

Oh, of course, Laura and Jake would rescue them if everything fell apart; that she rebuffed their offers of help bothered them both. But Laura had done everything right in her life, and Chrissy had done everything wrong.

She glanced into the back seat where Becky was reading, as always, and Thad was having an energetic conversation with two of his action figures.

Her beautiful children hadn’t been a mistake. They were possibly the only things she’d done right with her life, and she was determined to deserve them. From here on out, she would make certain that life improved for these two sweet souls entrusted to her care. The first step was making a home in Sweetgrass Springs. Her younger self would have had a big laugh at the notion that living in a small town could ever be a dream. That girl had longed for action and drama and as much noise as she could cram into a day.