Regretting Redemption (The Redemption Series Book 4) Page 3

  She had to stop harming herself like that when she was stressed.

  Pointedly ignoring the cellphone on the seat beside her, Mary pulled the car forward, past the women she was supposedly related to, and toward home.

  Because wasn’t that what this was? A game of supposedly? They hadn’t offered any proof that she was their sister, that Devlyn was the way he was. All they had was a “he said, she said” kind of thing going.

  Deep down though, Mary refused to consider she might have four sisters – four sisters she’d always wanted. She refused to consider the possibility… because ignoring the truth was easier than fighting it.

  How could she deny the relationship when looking into their eyes had been like seeing her dad all over again? Especially Sara Beth. Mary shook off the chill at seeing the exact shape of their dad’s eyes when Sara Beth had studied her.

  How had Sara Beth become handicapped? Was she hurt or had she been born with the disability? If she’d been born that way, Mary could see Devlyn rejecting the child and the entire family. Hadn’t he constantly pushed perfection? Only allowing Mary to go to school when Mom had rid Mary of her lisp?

  Betrayal wormed its way into Mary’s heart, but she redirected the hurt from Devlyn to Lisa and Mary’s mom. Nothing was making sense. She blinked hard at the passing road signs.

  One thing for certain – if she didn’t get home to Edward immediately, he might not have her.

  And men didn’t want a Caracus girl.

  At least not without something in exchange.

  Chapter 4

  Ian

  The Dawson Ranch ran parallel to the county road. Frontage along the street wasn’t in high demand, because many truckers used it to transport their goods, rather than the legal highway the next town over. Thick trees bordered the back of the property, blocking the view of the ranch from any hikers or campers out for a stroll.

  Glorious grain waved in the rippling breeze as cars and trucks drove by the front fences. If Ian were out front of the barn and house, he could see the drivers in the cars and they could see him. Privacy outside was only had in the rear which wasn’t where his work was.

  More often than not, people stopped at Ian’s place because they saw him working in the fields or riding his horse. Many of them figured since Ian had seen them, they had to visit for a while. Everyone in America liked to stop and chat. At least that was Ian’s experience.

  Fifteen years of living amongst the over-neighborly members of Colby, Clearwater County, Montana, had taught Ian that boundaries weren’t acknowledged when gossip or livestock were involved.

  So it was no surprise when Robbie MacAllister reined his horse into the Dawson driveway. Ian gripped his hammer, frustrated he’d lose time on fixing the feeder trough before dinner, and that he hadn’t figured out a way to contact Mary.

  More of the latter than the former, to be honest.

  “Whoa.” Robbie patted his horse’s neck and dismounted. “Dawson, how you doin’, man?” Light hay dust smudged his well-stacked black jeans. Even in the summer heat, his heavy back duster hung from his shoulders. The shotgun holster on his horse was empty which suggested the holster on his back wasn’t vacant.

  Nodding, Ian stood, careful not to stare too long at the odd protrusion under the duster. He hadn’t held his gun in a long time, and sometimes the longing was more than he could hold onto. He adjusted the slipping cuffs of his rolled flannel shirt. “Good, Robbie. How’re things your way since I left a couple hours ago?” Ian’s dry humor often flew over the heads of the more affable townspeople.

  But not over Robbie’s. He grinned. “Things are good. Slate overcharged you for Peanut Butter’s treatment. I wanted to run Revenge around before putting him away for the night, so Slate asked me to bring your change.” He handed over a small envelope.

  “Thank you, but Slate’s price was more than fair.” Ian would never grow tired of the honesty of his neighbors. He took the envelope and tucked it in his back pocket. “He should’ve taken it for payment for next time. He knows I’ll be back.” Grinning, Ian wiped his hand on his pants.

  Robbie squinted from under his hat. “You know Slate. He always has to have things in order. Never understood it myself, but I’m glad to benefit from it. Less work for me.” He winked and glanced over the visible property. “I remember riding around out here when your grandpa worked this. Good man. He never got upset with me or told me to go.”

  “Yeah, Grandpa was a good bloke.” The two men took in the serenity of the waving fields of golden straw. Ian shot a look at Robbie. He might know about Mary. “Hey, I’m glad you came. I ran into a woman just up the way, and she loaned me her scarf to blind Peanut Butter with. I’d like to get it back to her, but I don’t know how to find her.” Hopefully, Robbie didn’t pick up on Ian’s interest. They weren’t exactly mates. “I only know her first name, Mary, but Lisa Trinkett showed up and talked to her like she knew her.”

  Robbie was quiet while he considered Ian’s question. “I don’t know Lisa well, but her guy, Ryan, lives near us and I’m sure if you stopped by and asked her for the information, she’d be happy to tell you. Or I guess you could call?” The dark chestnut brown horse stamped his foot and Robbie arched his eyebrow. “That’s my cue. Good luck finding the scarf lady. I’ll talk to you later.” He waved as he rode off, the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves on the pavement loud in the near silence.

  Returning to the trough, Ian bent at the waist and finished hammering in the last nail. She had a man already, according to her conversation with Lisa. Even if the man did sound like trouble.

  Small consolation that Ian wasn’t seeking her out for marriage. He’d been burned one time too many. He ignored the insistent thought that she could be different, had already proven herself to be different from the others.

  He had a scarf to return. Plus, if she was happier than she sounded, running back to the man who ordered her around, she wouldn’t be too impressed with Ian running to her rescue. She might not want a knight in shining armor.

  The idea of saving a damsel in distress had always appealed to him. He was British, after all, and Mom had always said his dad was hers hero.

  He glowered at the thought of his family. He couldn’t be a hero to anyone when he’d failed his sister.

  Ian placed the hammer in the third drawer down on his standing tool chest and poked his head through the door of the garage. “Nana, I’m going to run an errand. I’ll be back in a little bit. Need anything?” He waited for her reply and wiped at a smudge he’d left on the trim of the door.

  “No, honey, I’m just making biscuits for dinner. Be careful.” She waved the edge of her apron at him and grinned. “This ole gal is going to sit down and watch my soaps. I’ve been waitin’ all day.” She bustled around the counter, the bulge in her apron pocket poorly keeping her stashed cookies a secret. “I just love my new DVR you bought me.” She scrunched her nose and wiggled her fingers.

  Ian glanced heavenward. “I’ll bring you some more gingersnaps. See you in a bit.”

  “Oh, you!” But she laughed as he closed the door. Nana Nell was the reason he’d survived his parents’ deaths. Her and Gramps. They’d pulled through for him in many ways. He wouldn’t leave to pursue his dreams of running his own business as long as he could help with the ranch. He loved her too much.

  And he didn’t have enough love in his life to take it for granted.

  ~~~

  In town, Ian paced in front of the condo units Lisa Trinkett lived in. The town was small enough people knew where each other ate, worked, and slept – even when it wasn’t at their actual house.

  Tapping his keys in the palm of one hand, Ian ignored the stares from the little old lady on the bottom floor as she watched out her window. Why was he so nervous? He wasn’t there to impress Lisa. In fact, she wouldn’t be interested, even if he was. She’d been so into Ryan, there was no way she would look at Ian. Not that Ian was interested.

  Stomping down the stairs drew
his attention.

  Heat flushed his face at the sight of Lisa walking toward him, her boots unlaced and her hair in a sloppy bun. She stopped in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest and thrust her hip to the side. “What’s up, Dawson? You gonna wear a hole in our sidewalk or what?”

  Ian stopped, offering a sheepish side-smile. “My apologies. I have a scarf your friend, Mary, loaned me. I don’t have a way to give it back. Would you have any contact information for her? So I can return it, of course.”

  Lisa stared at him, like she couldn’t make the math add up. “Of course, I have her info. She’s my sister. Her place is about an hour out from Colby. You could mail the scarf to her.” She turned back to the stairs and clomped up, only to return a moment later with a slip of paper in her hand. “Here you go. It’s just a scarf though. If you want, you could always give it to me and I can give it to her.”

  “No, no, that’s alright. I’ll take care of it. Least I could do. Thank you, Lisa.” He nodded, tapping the brim of his Stetson with a single forefinger. He ignored her grin as he turned away. Lisa was Mary’s sister. For some reason, the way they talked to each other didn’t strike him as familial.

  Appeared he had a road trip to attempt.

  ~~~

  Ian stopped in front of a white clapboard home with navy blue shutters. Small yellow and purple violets bloomed in the flower boxes at the base of each front window. Tidy. What a way to live. Not a mark on the perfectly maintained lawn – not a blade of grass out of place. The exterior didn’t surprise him. He’d noticed her perfectly aligned skirt and the way her curls fell just so.

  Glancing behind himself, Ian checked to make sure he hadn’t walked onto the lot of a model home or something. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten an address wrong. Or Lisa could’ve given him the wrong one and she was off laughing with her sister right then.

  Shaking off the uncertainty, he pressed the glowing orange doorbell to the right of the door. Moments passed. Long drawn out seconds gave him time to look around, ready to leave. No one would be home, if they waited that long to open the door.

  He turned and started down the cement steps. But the door opened a few inches and he spun back, startled at Mary’s disheveled appearance. She’d been so put together on the street, her shirt tucked neatly into a pressed skirt. Even her curls had been in place like even the wind didn’t dare tousle them.

  “Mary?” Did he have the wrong house? He’d seen her only a few hours before. How could she have changed drastically enough he barely recognized her?

  She wiped under her eyes, swallowing and blinking rapidly. “Yes?” Mary didn’t focus on him, didn’t even look directly in his face. She kind of looked around him, like she didn’t want to know who it was or even who it could be.

  “I’m Ian. You let me borrow your scarf today?” He could’ve been dropped in the Rodeo from Hell for how well he was doing.

  She finally raised her gaze to his face and focused. Pressing her lips together, she searched his face, her hand rising to brush at her hair. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.” Glancing behind herself, she returned her gaze to focus on him. “My house… It’s not really ready for guests at the moment. Can I do something for you?”

  The woman looked like she’d been through a buffet for truckers with the last drumstick in her hand. Dark shadows hung under her eyes. A crack to the side of her lip hadn’t been there when he’d seen her before.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Is everything okay?” He’d seen abuse before as a teenager, and he’d been helpless. He hadn’t known how to help.

  But he wasn’t unsure now. He was a full grown man.

  Ian clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “Is the bastard still here?”

  Chapter 5

  Mary

  Mary cringed at the sight of Ian standing on her stoop. Why? Why him? And why right then? Her cheeks stung from all the tears. She could only imagine how red and puffy they looked.

  “Look, he’s not… I mean, it’s not his fault. He was worried about me.” She pressed her lips together and forced a semblance of a smile, if that’s what you could call it. “I fell.” She finished lamely, too tired to come up with something more creative. Her gaze fell to the cracked cement. “This isn’t a big deal.” But it was. If she stopped trying to defend him for one second, she would leave him.

  And be all alone.

  Be exactly what her mother warned her about – a disappointment.

  A nobody to no one.

  Ian nodded, understanding softening the curve to his lips. “Yeah, I know. I brought your scarf back anyway.” He held out her scarf in a tanned hand, the fingernails neatly trimmed and the palm strong and sturdy. So different from Edwards. Even different from her dad’s.

  Ian was different. Different was good – at least right then.

  Mary swallowed, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. The mass of curls had fallen from the rubber band shortly before Ian arrived and she hadn’t found the small black elastic piece.

  She slowly reached for the scarf, her fingers brushing his palm as she claimed the soft material. Her knees trembled at the gentle touch.

  A sob escaped her and she ducked her head. Suddenly, her face was pressed to Ian’s soft shirt, his arms around her, holding her steady. He shushed her. “It’s okay, let it out. You’re fine.”

  The stronger part of her wanted to push him away, demand that he acknowledge her strength. The part of her that won out though desperately sought the comfort he offered. The endurance and stamina to make it one more day.

  Tears hot as the warm springs just over the mountain ridge coursed down her cheeks and nose. She sniffed, burying her face into the side of his neck. Mary didn’t open her eyes because if she did, she’d die of mortification.

  And still the sobs came.

  Still the tears flowed.

  Still.

  Finally, her breakdown abated and she breathed normally without any gasping.

  Ian hadn’t moved except to rub her back and hair.

  Pulling from his arms, she swiped her palms at her wet skin. She shot her gaze to his face, his eyes focused on her. Face tight, she nodded, tears pricking once more at his kindness. She swallowed, getting out a choked comment before her throat closed under the onslaught of emotion. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you sure you’re okay?” He held her eye contact. “I could probably hold a pretty little thing like you all day.”

  Unsure if his comment was supposed to be funny or flirtatious or just creepy, Mary ignored the latter part and lifted her chin. She inhaled deeply. “I am, thank you. I’m…sorry about… this. It’s not like me, just like earlier when I, you know, on the road?” Divert his attention from her plight back on him. The last thing she needed was anyone’s pity.

  Even as she cried in a stranger’s arms.

  She wasn’t pathetic. She wasn’t pitiful.

  She wasn’t.

  He jerked his head to the side, brushing the loose tendrils from her cheek. “Bullocks, stop. Seriously, if you hadn’t, then we never would have met.” Ian reached out a hand and traced the soft turn of her cheek. His touch silky and smooth like the petals of a lilac bud.

  There was no way he knew who she was. Not yet anyway. He’d find out. Somehow men always found out. She couldn’t escape the rumors around her name, her dad’s past. No one cared that Devlyn Caracus was a nicer guy than everyone seemed convinced that he was.

  “That’s kind of you to say.” She offered a small smile. Should she bring up her dad? Did she push Ian away because he would inevitably walk away once he knew who her dad was?

  Once she accepted who Devlyn might be?

  “Can I come in?” Ian glanced beyond her ear.

  Mary adjusted her shoulders to cover as much of the slight opening as possible. “Isn’t that rather forward of you?” She narrowed her eyes, squinting as if she could somehow see his game. He’d just held her and she hadn’t been strong enough to question
him then, but the tears had abated and she couldn’t be easy. Even if his jeans were snug on his hips, secured by a dark brown belt. Broad shoulders enhanced by the green flannel button up shirt. The sleeves rolled to just below his elbows displayed the muscles in his forearms.

  He didn’t seem dangerous, but Edward looked like he had a thing for putting on dresses and he was as dangerous as an angry bull.

  Ian pulled his hat from his head, pushing his dark blond hair from his forehead. He thwacked his hat against the back of his thigh. “You’re right, my apologies. That was extremely forward of me.” He cleared his throat, shifting his eyes to take in her face. “Okay, well, if you’re ever up in Colby, look up the Dawson Ranch. I’d enjoy seeing you again.” He held out his hand like she hadn’t just embraced him.