Loe raamatut: «The Brodys of Lightning Creek»

CHAPTER ONE

DREW MILLER WOKE as he hit the floor, a scream catching in his throat.

The brilliant orange yet eerily silent flash from the blast faded into the night as his eyes snapped open. Kicking himself free of the sheets, he lay on the cold floor next to the bed, taking deep, gulping breaths. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his eyes adjusted to the moonlit loft. He pushed up to a sitting position and took in the damage. The lamp had taken another hit, and the books he’d had on the nightstand were strewn across the room.

Shit.

He looked at his knuckles—no blood this time—then leaned back against the bed, drawing his knees up and resting his forearms on them, letting his head fall forward. It didn’t take a whole lot of thought to connect the nightmare to the second anniversary of his wife’s death, but he hadn’t dreamed of Lissa. He’d dreamed of the roadside bomb that had taken out his convoy a year ago. As always.

Drew never remembered the dreams themselves. Only the colors and invisible forces holding him down, shoving him back. Killing his friends. He fought back, of course. Violently.

After getting to his feet, taut muscles protesting, he scooped up the bedding, dumped it on the mattress and then started down the ladder that led from the small loft to the living room of his grandfather’s cabin.

He crossed the room to the clothes dryer in the alcove off the kitchen, pulled out pants, socks and a flannel shirt. After getting dressed, he turned on the generator, made his coffee. When the brew had finished percolating, he poured a cup and took it out onto the porch where he sat on the step, letting the early morning sun warm him. Calm him.

Deb, his sister, had set up the meeting for him that morning with the equine therapy lady. He was going to go, with the sole objective of saying he had gone—but not today. Not when he looked like the crazed hermit his sister seemed to think he was. He’d call Deb, change the meeting. She’d be upset, but grudgingly oblige, because there wasn’t much else she could do other than hound him. He had no intention of engaging in any kind of therapy that was not of his own choosing. He’d done months of it before being discharged from the military and moving back to Eagle Valley to be close to his daughter. With the help of the counselors, he’d cleared up a few matters, developed some strategies, but he hadn’t been able to shake the nightmares—unless he was taking the drugs that left him useless during the day.

Deb didn’t know about the nightmares—thank goodness. She only knew that her brother was sullying her reputation as one of Eagle Valley’s social elite by living off the grid in a rustic cabin. Well, he loved this cabin. He and Lissa had spent their honeymoon here. She’d drawn up plans to renovate it, and he was going through with them, so that someday, maybe, his daughter could actually live with him.

Although...maybe renovating the cabin, following Lissa’s diagrams, tracing her handwriting with his finger, was also triggering nightmares.

Drew didn’t know, but he’d damn well bet that hanging around horses wasn’t going to help him one iota. Nevertheless, he was taking the meeting, eventually. It would get Deb off his back—for a while anyway.

* * *

HE WASN’T GOING to show.

Faith Hartman stirred cream into the coffee the waitress refilled on her way by, wondering how long she needed to wait before returning to the college and telling her boss, the registrar of Eagle Valley Community College, that the meeting was a no go. Not looking forward to that. Debra Miller-Hill hadn’t been happy when her brother had canceled the first meeting, and she’d probably be less than thrilled about him not showing up for this one.

Faith dipped her spoon into the cup, then looked up as the door to the café opened and a big man in a dark gray flannel shirt stepped inside.

Faith’s heart thumped as she dropped her gaze.

Damn.

She pulled the spoon out of her coffee, carefully setting it on the napkin before chancing another look at the man who was now casually surveying the café. His gaze passed over her and she felt a rush of relief.

Not the guy she was waiting for. She could see now that he was older than the man she was expecting, and certainly not a walled-off hermit with a thousand-mile gaze, which was exactly how Debra had described her brother.

That didn’t slow her heart down one bit. Faith knew from bitter experience that she wouldn’t feel totally safe until either the man left the café or she did. And here she’d thought she’d made such progress over the past several months.

The guy started moving, and Faith lifted her cup with both hands, concentrating on the warmth of the ceramic against her fingers, the aroma of the coffee—anything to bring her heart rate down before the guy she was supposed to meet arrived. If he did arrive.

“Faith Hartman?”

The unexpected sound of her name brought her head up and she found herself staring into ice-blue eyes. It took her a second to find her voice, because this guy—this tall, dark, trigger-inducing man—couldn’t be Debra’s brother. Could he?

She cleared her throat and managed to say, “Yes, I’m Faith,” in a remarkably normal voice.

“Drew Miller.”

Worst nightmare coming true. She somehow managed to force her lips into a smile as excuses started tumbling over themselves in her brain. Her schedule had changed...she’d decided not to take on clients...her job was taking up more time than she’d anticipated...

Get a grip.

She really hoped she could. More than once she’d left public places because of people who reminded her of her assailant. But grip or not, she wasn’t going to spend time with this guy. How could she if having him sit across the table from her made her heart race? And the worst part was that he lived relatively close to her.

Debra seemed to think that the fact that they were neighbors was a sign from above or something. It would be so handy for both of you...

Faith had agreed to the meeting and now she was in a situation.

“Are you okay?”

The abrupt question brought her back, and Faith did her best to infuse some warmth into her smile and a look of surprise into her eyes as she squeezed her hands together under the table. “I expected someone younger. Like...midtwenties?”

“Why’s that?” he asked as he eased into the booth.

“From the way your sister spoke of you, I guess.”

She certainly hadn’t expected a guy in his mid-to late-thirties who looked as if he was in command of everything around him. But she wasn’t a trained psychologist—just a woman who had helped run an equine therapy program as part of her former job. A program that Debra thought might help her brother.

Now it was his turn to fake a smile. “My sister...yes.” The smile faded. “I’m curious as to how Debra described me.”

Time to pick words carefully. Hard to do when her brain was shouting at her to leave the café. Now. “She said that you were ex-military. That you’d just moved back into the area and that you were interested in horseback riding.” Not the total truth, but tactful.

He snorted through his nose. “Did she tell you I was a basket case?”

“Uh...”

He cocked his head, no longer bothering with the smile. “Or a hermit with post-traumatic stress disorder?”

Faith swallowed. “The second.”

He gave a nod and dropped his gaze to regard his hands. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to put up with if I plan to stay in the area.”

“Do you?” According to Debra, he lived on the mountain a couple of miles from Faith’s house. Now that she knew how she reacted to him, she’d feel better if he didn’t stay.

He raised those icy-blue eyes. “I was raised here. What’s left of my family is here. So yes.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, and Faith took hold of her cup with both hands again, more for something to do than because she was going to drink the rapidly cooling contents. Drew Miller looked up again, those amazing eyes zeroing in on her.

His saving grace, those eyes. The reason she wasn’t already gone. The man who’d slammed her to the ground, put a knee on her back and cut off her ponytail with one slice of a very sharp knife had green eyes. Black hair, green eyes. A striking combination that she’d noticed at the bar an hour or so before he’d assaulted her in the rodeo ground parking lot as she’d walked back to her truck. His attack had been stopped short by a couple of men driving by, so she could only imagine what might have ensued had he not been caught...and sometimes her imagination could be brutal.

She shook off the thoughts as best she could, made a heroic attempt to sound normal as she said, “Do you want coffee or something?” He shook his head and once again the ball was in her court. “Debra said you might be interested in...” She trailed off before saying the words equine therapy. Something to do with him knowing that Debra had described him as a hermit with PTSD.

“Horseback riding?” He spoke ironically, telling Faith that he wasn’t fooled by her attempts at tact.

“Equine therapy.” There. Now the record was set straight and he wouldn’t think that she was a woman who pussyfooted around the truth. Not that it mattered, but she had her pride.

He settled back in the red upholstered seat and regarded her for a long moment. Faith made a conscious effort to meet his gaze, hold it. The guy let off an aura of power, coupled with something Faith couldn’t quite put her finger on. She didn’t want to put her finger on it. She wanted to end this uncomfortable meeting and be on her way.

Drew shifted in his seat then, making her jump. Inwardly cursing, Faith met his gaze dead-on, silently challenging him to say something.

He did.

“Do I make you nervous?”

“No.” It wasn’t him, per se. All guys like him made her nervous...although again, she’d thought she’d moved on. Her reaction to him proved otherwise. Faith let go of her cup, dropping her hands back into her lap so he couldn’t see her twisting her fingers—a habit she hated.

He didn’t believe her. It was more than obvious from the way one corner of his mouth tightened and his eyebrows lifted. His reaction stirred something in Faith. She would hold her own. She had nothing to fear from this guy. He wasn’t her assailant and they were in a public place. She squared her shoulders.

“Before we go any further, I need to tell you that I’m not actually a certified therapist.”

“I know. You worked under a therapist. Debra briefed me.”

“What else did Debra tell you?” Because she didn’t feel comfortable having total strangers being briefed on her, although, to be fair, Deb had given her a lot of information about Drew. Information he probably would prefer his sister didn’t give to a perfect stranger.

“I know that you’re new at the college, new to the Eagle Valley. I pass your house when I drive to town.” Her heart kicked at his last statement. Even though she’d known that he lived near her, she hadn’t realized until this meeting that he was a walking trigger-fest. “And...I know that Deb hopes you’ll make me ‘normal’ again. Not much else.”

One corner of his mouth tilted up, but there was no humor in his expression. His eyes were cool, watchful, giving Faith the feeling that he noticed everything.

“Do you have PTSD?” Asking the point-blank question made her feel a little more like her old self—a woman who had control of her life.

“I have grief.” A flat statement of fact, spoken without any sign of self-consciousness, but Faith felt his withdrawal. She took it to mean, yes, he had PTSD and no, he wasn’t going to talk about it.

“Are you in therapy?”

“I was. I deal with it on my own now.”

Which was why Debra was concerned. Her brother had lost his wife, survived some kind of military disaster and was now living alone in an isolated cabin, dealing with his symptoms on his own. So she had urged Faith to meet with him after discovering Faith’s equine therapy background.

Faith had been torn about meeting Drew Miller, but had agreed because she believed in the healing power of contact with animals. If he hadn’t shared the same body type as her assailant, if he’d been smaller or blonder or geekier, she might have encouraged him to try “riding horses.” He wasn’t any of those things. He was tall and muscular and powerful and Faith was allergic to masculine power. She didn’t want to risk having to spend more time with this guy.

She gave up trying to fake things. “I don’t think this is a good fit.”

“Because I make you nervous.”

“I said—”

“I heard you. I don’t believe you.”

“That’s blunt.”

“And truthful.”

Anger sparked deep within, giving her a dose of courage. “It’s not a good fit because you aren’t really interested in equine therapy.” Her right hand was squeezing her left hand so tightly now that it was going numb from the pressure. “Right?”

He settled back again, regarding her as if she was a puzzle he needed to solve. She could cut things short—simply agree that he made her nervous and explain why, thus solving the puzzle—but the words froze in her throat. It was none of his business and, just in case he did talk to his sister, she didn’t want her coworkers to know. Her attack was nothing to be ashamed of...but it was personal. Something she held close in hopes that it wouldn’t color her entire life.

As it was coloring it now.

Faith drew in a breath, but before she could speak, he said, “Why did you agree to meet with me?”

“I thought I could help.” She hoped her nose didn’t grow. The truth was that she wanted to remain on her boss’s good side.

He smiled a little, a faint lifting of the corners of his mouth. “You wanted to get Debra off your back.”

Her face went warm. “No.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

“I don’t know you, so I don’t know if that’s true,” Faith snapped.

“And it doesn’t look as if you’re going to know me.”

She was in a situation. She liked her job working in the registrar’s office, digitalizing the old records and updating the new. The people she worked with were friendly, but not too friendly, allowing her to work alone without a lot of interruptions. And her office was in the basement, where she felt as if she had an extra layer of security. It wasn’t easy to find her and she liked it that way.

“I’m not going to talk to Debra.” He moved then, easing out of the booth and getting to his feet, towering over her. “You can tell her I wouldn’t agree to therapy.”

Faith would have gotten out of the booth, but she didn’t want to face him without the safety of the table between them. So, she kept her neck craned upward as she said, “Maybe you should tell her.”

“I avoid my sister at all costs. But, if she does manage to track me down, I will.”

“You avoid her, yet you stay in the area because of her?” He frowned at her, looking perplexed, and she said, “You said you were here because of your family.”

“Deb isn’t my only family.”

Faith opened her mouth, closed it again. Debra had made it sound as if she and Drew were the last of their line.

Not something Faith wanted to get into.

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

There was only the slightest hint of irony in his voice, but Faith caught it. And she didn’t think it was necessarily directed at her. He saw her as his sister’s puppet. Which she was.

A moment later he was on his way out of the café, and Faith’s limbs went weak with relief when the door closed behind him. She propped an elbow on the table and pressed her hand to her forehead as a wave of depression followed relief. Sheer adrenaline had gotten her through the meeting, but now...wet noodle.

She’d thought she was doing better. She’d even managed to deal with the big guy on the college grounds maintenance crew who had tried to hit on her. He wasn’t as close to her assailant’s body type as Drew Miller was, but he was big. And muscular.

But not powerful.

Drew Miller exuded an aura of power, and that was the difference.

* * *

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN give it a chance, did you?”

Somehow Drew refrained from rolling his eyes at his sister. That would only lengthen the time he had to spend in her uncomfortable-feeling McMansion, defending his desire to run his life his way. He’d been truthful when he told Faith Hartman that he avoided his sister at all costs, but sometimes offense was more effective than defense with Deb. She needed to forget the therapy idea and accept the fact that he could handle matters on his own. He took a deep breath, spoke calmly.

“I know you mean well—”

“Of course, I mean well,” Deb snapped.

“However, after talking with Ms. Hartman...” He shook his head. “It won’t work out.”

Deb’s mouth tightened as if he’d given exactly the answer she’d expected. “I know you feel as if Eric and I are interfering, but, Drew...you’ve changed.”

Huh. Losing his wife and having his convoy hit by a roadside bomb had changed him. Losing his comrades while grieving his wife had changed him. Coming home to a daughter he hadn’t been there to support during the roughest time of her short life had changed him. Go figure.

“And for Maddie’s sake, I think—”

“Leave my daughter out of this.” They’d discussed this before. Maddie had been hit with a double whammy in a short period of time and was not to be dragged into any of Deb’s half-baked schemes to keep up appearances. “I know I’m different, and here’s the deal, Deb. I’m not going to magically change back to the guy I once was. Not even if I pet a couple of horses.”

“It’s more than petting.”

“I know it’s more than petting.” He did his best to tamp down his growing irritation.

“If it looked like you were doing something to help yourself, then...”

“Then...?”

Deb’s mouth snapped shut.

“Then people wouldn’t be so wigged out about my living alone in Granddad’s cabin?” The further tightening of her lips answered his question. “I don’t care what people think, Deb. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m building an arsenal or writing manifestos—”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“People do live in cabins without being nuts, you know.”

Deb looked as if she’d like to argue the point, making him wish he hadn’t come, even if it was a necessary trip. Otherwise she would have hounded him via text. One of the drawbacks of his place was that even though it was isolated and didn’t have conventional power, it did have an excellent cell phone signal—if he remembered to plug his phone in and charge it when the generator was on.

“You know that Eric and I are just...concerned.” Always Eric and I, even though Drew had a feeling his brother-in-law couldn’t care less about his living on the mountain alone.

“I’ll act as normal as possible when I come to town, okay? That way people won’t talk.”

Deb took a step forward. “I think you’re afraid of this therapy.”

Change of tactic. And not a bad one. “What if I am?”

“Then you need to meet your fears head-on.” She sounded as if she were rallying troops.

“Noted. I have to go.”

“Pete’s shop?” Deb said his late wife’s brother’s name with a faint sneer.

“Yeah. He’s swamped. I told him I’d help out.” And he made it a point to be at the shop when Maddie got home from school, so they could spend time together. Deb didn’t seem to have a maternal bone in her body, so he didn’t bother mentioning that.

Drew started out the door and then looked back at his sister. “This matter is closed, by the way.”

Deb’s jaw shifted sideways as it always did when she was thwarted. It’d looked cuter when she’d been five and he’d been ten. “You are never going to segue back into society if you spend all of your time either in the cabin or Pete’s shop. You’re never going to be able to give Maddie the support she needs.”

“That’s none of your business, Deb.” The first sparks of serious anger started to burn deep in his belly. “I’m not kidding about that. Not even a little bit. Stay out of my life. No therapy, no interventions. Got it?”

She pulled in a breath through her nose, lifting her chin. “You’re my brother. If I see you driving off a cliff, I’m going to stop you.”

He gave a small snort as he pulled the door open. Sometimes talking to Deb was literally like talking to a wall.

* * *

FAITH HADN’T SEEN the Lightning Creek Ranch prior to the fire that had destroyed the house two years ago, but she’d studied enough photos to know she was living in a carbon copy of the place—on the outside, anyway. She doubted that the original house had had the same open layout, or the state-of-the-art appliances, yet the house she rented retained a homey farmhouse-feel that warmed her every time she walked through the door.

She dropped her purse on the sofa near the door and shrugged out of her coat. She was lucky to have this place—and a job. After the attack eighteen months ago, she’d given up barrel racing and quit her day job as an administrative assistant at a high school. She’d moved into a small over-the-garage apartment belonging to her friend, Jenn, an equine therapist who owned the stable where Faith boarded her horses.

It’d taken almost two months and the constant presence of a canine roommate before she’d felt safe enough to go to work for Jenn, helping with equine therapy classes, going to therapy herself. And she’d healed—to the point that when an assistant registrar job opened at the Eagle Valley Community College three months ago, and her friend Jolie Brody Culver had called about it, she’d successfully applied. It was a records job—something where she didn’t have to be in constant contact with people—and it was also a huge step forward.

Now she’d taken a step back.

It happened.

Drew Miller had triggered her. She sensed he was a decent guy—damaged, as his sister had said, but decent. That hadn’t kept her primitive survival instincts from kicking in. It was unfair and illogical, but she kind of hated him for driving home the point that she wasn’t as far along as she’d thought. That she probably would never fully recover.

She went to the back door and opened it, allowing her overgrown Airedale and personal bodyguard, Sully, to bound inside.

“Yes,” Faith said as the dog sniffed at her, then rubbed his curly head on the side of her leg, “I had a rough end to my day.” Sully always managed to read her and react accordingly. She wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to sleep on the foot of her bed that night, crushing her feet with his reassuring weight, as he always did when she’d suffered a fright or a setback.

The house was darker than normal due to the blue-gray clouds that had rolled in as she drove home from work, so she snapped on a light and headed over to the gas stove to flip the switch. A cheery blue fire began playing over a fake birch log.