Storm Warning, Season 2, Episode 2

  “Everything in your corner of Texas is beautiful,” Ian murmured, and her heart nearly tripped over itself when he gave her a wink. At least, she thought that’s what it was. Maybe he had dust in his eye.

  “Yes, but you have mountains,” Hannah said with a little sigh. “I’d love to see the Rockies.”

  Tara nodded. “Me, too. I want to try skiing someday.”

  Ian’s gaze locked on Marisol. “What about you?” His voice went low, vibrating her in places that hadn’t been vibrated in a long time. “Would you like to see what Montana has to offer?”

  Oh, sweet baby Jesus, yes. But enough was enough. It was time to draw a line in the sand and stop being charmed by him.

  “We have mountains here, you know,” she said.

  He laughed, genuine amusement crinkling his eyes. “You have what we northerners call ‘speed bumps.’”

  “Hmph.” She tried to sound grumpy, but dammit, that line she’d just drawn had been blurred. “Can we compromise and call them hills?”

  His grin...oh, Lord, his grin. “I’m good with that.”

  Tara shouted something at Bryce about Danny, and then she turned back to the group with a huff. “I warned Bryce that Danny is in a ketchup phase and that he puts it on everything. Including people. Do you think he listened?”

  Hannah held up her hand. “I’m going to guess no. Seeing how Tate’s shirt is splashed with something red and he’s heading toward the house.”

  Marisol cringed at that. Tate wasn’t exactly a kid-friendly kind of guy. He wasn’t mean or anything, but he was clearly uncomfortable around them.

  “Do you have any kids, Ian?” Tara asked, and the haunted shadows that instantly flickered in his eyes made Marisol uneasy. There was a story there, one she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.

  “No biological kids, no,” he replied. “What about you, Marisol?”

  “Not...technically.” She poked at a grape floating in her sangria. “I’ve spent most of my adult life raising my brother and sister.”

  “Their parents were killed in a car accident,” Hannah explained, thankfully sparing Marisol from having to tell the story. “She’s done an amazing job with her brother. And sister, of course,” she added quickly. Marisol must have looked hurt, because Hannah reached over and put her hand on her wrist. “You know I didn’t mean anything.”

  “I know,” Marisol said. Hannah had never been judgmental, and if anything, she’d been supportive of Ginny’s efforts to get her life back on track. Still, the Founders’ Day fiasco was so recent that the tarnish of that day clung to Ginny and made everyone uncomfortable when the subject came up.

  “Hey, ladies.” Patrick joined them, stopping to stand next to Marisol, close enough that their arms touched. He held out his hand to Ian. “Hi, I’m Patrick.”

  “Ian Briggs.” They shook hands, and maybe it was just her, but she swore she sensed an undercurrent of testosterone flowing between them. Could it be that Patrick was jealous?

  “So, Mr. Briggs,” Patrick said, shifting his stance so he was even closer to her. “I hear you’re from Montana. How long do you plan to stay in Storm?”

  Ian squared his shoulders and faced Patrick like a bull confronting a rival. “I haven’t decided. I thought maybe a couple of days, but I’m finding more and more reasons to stay longer.” His gaze dropped to her, for no more than a heartbeat, but she felt Patrick stiffen beside her.

  Oh, shit.

  Her mind spun, looking for a fun, neutral topic or better yet, an escape route. As luck would have it, she was saved by Brittany. Well, she was saved by the excuse of Brittany.

  “Oh, hey, can you all excuse me?” She gestured to where Brit and Marcus were walking toward the house from the direction of the stables and corral. “I need to catch Brittany.”

  She took off before anyone could protest or offer to come with her, and she caught the young couple near the snack table.

  “Hi, guys,” she said. “Brittany, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Go ahead,” Marcus said. “I’ll go get us some drinks. Marisol, do you want something?” He gestured to her cup. “A refill?”

  “Thanks, I’m fine.”

  He gave Brit a peck on the lips and sauntered away, leaving Marisol alone with Ginny’s best friend. She would not say ex-best friend.

  They hadn’t talked much since the disaster on Founders’ Day, and she figured a mutual desire to avoid an uncomfortable conversation might have something to do with that. After all, Marisol’s sister had slept with Brittany’s father, ruining their friendship and Brittany’s family.

  It was, at least, a good sign that Brittany was smiling. “It’s good to see you, Marisol.”

  “You too. I miss having you around.”

  Brit’s smile wavered. “Well, you know.”

  “I know.” Marisol hesitated, unsure how to bring up what was sure to be a painful topic. “Look, I can’t pretend to know how you felt when you found out what happened with your dad and Ginny, but I wanted to see if there’s any chance, any chance at all, that you can forgive her someday.”

  It was only then that she noticed that Brit’s eyes were red-rimmed. She’d been crying, and now her eyes went liquid again.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I really don’t.”

  “She misses you.” It had killed Marisol to see her sister in tears the other day as she thumbed through pictures of Brit and Ginny in high school and at slumber parties. “Just this morning she talked about how she wished you two could go to the barbecue together the way you have for years.”

  “I wish that, too,” Brittany said, giving Marisol some much-needed hope.

  “Just know that you’re welcome at our house any time.”

  “Thank you.” Brittany offered a shaky smile. “I miss you. I’ve always thought of you as kind of an older sister.”

  Marisol wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tight. “Oh, honey, I miss you too.” She pulled back and fetched a tissue from her purse. “Here. Your mascara is running.”

  “Ugh.” Brit took the tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “Thank you for the heads-up.”

  “I got your back.” Marisol hesitated, unsure if she should test the boundaries of their newly forged sister-friend status. Ultimately, she decided to take the risk. “Brittany, I know I don’t have any right to ask this, but if you could just talk to Ginny—”

  “I can’t.” She reached over and squeezed Marisol’s hand. “I’m not ready. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course.” Disappointed but not surprised, Marisol gave Brit another brief hug. “It was good to talk to you.”

  “You too.”

  Brittany took off, heading toward the bank of ice chests where Marcus was talking to Ian. As if Ian knew Marisol was looking, he turned, his bold gaze meeting hers.

  She waved like a little girl with a schoolyard crush, and feeling utterly foolish, she made a beeline for Mrs. Johnson, who looked like she needed help filling the chip and dip bowls.

  And as she opened a bag of corn chips, she wondered whose eyes she felt burning into her back.

  Patrick’s...or Ian’s?

  Chapter Seven

  “Sorry about the shirt, Tate.”

  Tate smiled thinly at his sister from where he was standing in the living room with their dad as she walked by on her way to the bathroom.

  “It’s okay. Ketchup comes out.” Under his breath, he added, “Probably.” His shirt was in the wash, so he was making do with one of his dad’s T-shirts from his last campaign.

  Tara paused at the hall entrance. “Joanne wasn’t here long, and she left in a hurry. I hope everything’s okay.”

  “Everything’s fine,” he said, but he felt like a piece of crap for calling her out here on a Saturday. Unfortunately, he was leaving for Austin in the morning to attend a campaign rally for Senator Rush, and he’d wanted to go over some things with Joanne before he left. “We had some last-minute business.”

  Tara shook her he
ad. “You work too much. Get outside and have some fun.” She wagged her finger at him. “No more business today.” Having played the mother card she’d perfected since having kids, she disappeared down the hall.

  His dad raised his glass of Scotch in salute. “I’m proud of you, son. With your ambition, you’re going to do well in the political arena.”

  It was strange hearing that from his father, who had been so hurt the day he’d said he didn’t want to work on the ranch. To Zeke’s credit, they still had a good relationship, but he knew his dad had taken it personally.

  “I...appreciate that,” he said, feeling a little awkward.

  “Just watch your back.”

  “I’m a lawyer, Dad. I’ve been dealing with backstabbers since law school.”

  “Not like this.” Zeke lowered his voice. “The corruption is corrosive. Power is seductive. It doesn’t happen all at once.” He rattled the ice in his glass and stared into the backyard, where Luis Moreno and Jeffry Rush were kicking around a soccer ball. “It starts with something small, a favor for a favor. A powerful politician asks you to show your employee an article about her son, and you justify it to yourself by saying you wanted her to see it before it gets around town.”

  Heat seared Tate’s cheeks. Somehow his dad knew that Sebastian had forwarded Tate the link to a nasty article about Marcus and had asked him to pass it along to Joanne. Of course, Sebastian had played it off as being “concerned” about her, but Tate knew that was bullshit. He also knew that by agreeing to do as Sebastian asked, he’d earned himself a favor.

  And his dad had just called him on it.

  “I’d want to know about that article if it was my son,” he said, sounding defensive even to his own ears.

  “See? You’re justifying it.” Zeke gave a slow, resigned shake of his head, and an uneasy feeling churned low in Tate’s belly. “It’s okay. I get it. Politics is dirty business. All I’m asking is that you watch yourself. It’s easy to keep moving your ethical line just a few more inches south.”

  The unsettled sensation solidified in Tate’s gut. “You sound like you know something about that.”

  Zeke cleared his throat and nodded. “I like to think that I’ve been a good mayor. No, I know I have.” He took an extra-healthy swig of his Scotch. “But there are a few things I did that I’m not proud of. They were for the greater good, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have pangs of conscience about them.”

  Wow. That was as raw and honest as his father had ever been with him. “Did you ever talk to Mom about it?”

  “She’s always been my moral compass.” Zeke shrugged. “Of course, it would have helped to talk to her before I did these things.”

  Tate wondered if he’d have been able to confide in Hannah when things got tough. They hadn’t really talked about their work, mostly because he didn’t think his legal stuff was that interesting to her, and he sure as hell didn’t find anything remotely fascinating about her job.

  “Hey,” Zeke said, gesturing to Danny, who had joined the boys out back. Which meant an adult must be somewhere close by to watch him. “I’m going to take Danny fishing. I know you’re not a big fan of outdoor sports, but would you like to go?”

  Not a fan? That was a huge understatement. Tate would rather spend the day tangled in a barbed wire fence than on a rickety boat with a hyper kid and a fishing pole.

  “Thanks, I’ll pass.” He frowned. “Bryce is letting you take Danny out on the lake? In a boat? By yourself?”

  Zeke chuckled. “I have to take Alice or you or Tucker with me.”

  He bristled at his brother’s name. “It’s still a big step for Bryce.”

  “Huge.” Zeke set down his empty glass on the kitchen table. “But I figure he’ll change his mind at the last minute or tell Tara to come with us.” He gestured toward the front door. “I have to get the burgers going. Do you mind getting more mesquite chips from the garden shed?”

  Nodding, he walked outside with Zeke and peeled off to head toward the shed. He was within ten yards when a high-pitched yell pierced the air.

  “Help! Help us!”

  Heart pounding, he raced toward the voice, running down the path toward the stables. Another voice joined in, and the blood froze in his veins.

  Hannah.

  “I’m coming!” He looked around, trying to pinpoint the location of the pleas. There. Off the path and over the ridge.

  He ran up the hill, expecting the worst, so as he topped the rounded, grassy ridge, he braced himself.

  “I’m here,” he called out. The other side of the hill was rockier, and down at the base, peering into a gully, was Hannah. Next to her, his little niece, Carol, was waving wildly at him.

  “Uncle Tate!” she cried. “Hurry!”

  What the hell? He picked his way down the slope, and just before he reached them, Hannah straightened and turned away from the gully.

  “Sorry,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “You didn’t need to run. Carol got a little excited.”

  Carol pointed into the ravine. “I dropped my doll, and Uncle Tucker went to get it, but now he’s stuck.”

  “What?” He moved over to the edge of the gully, and sure enough, a few feet down, Tucker was looking up at him, his cowboy boot wedged between two rocks. Tate figured it was too much to hope that his brother would be nursing a nice sprain after this.

  “I would have gone down there,” Hannah said, “but I didn’t want to leave Carol up here by herself.”

  “Here,” Tucker called up to them before tossing the doll into the air. “Catch.”

  Tate caught it one-handed and gave it to his niece.

  “Thank you, Uncle Tate,” Carol said, hugging the doll to her chest. “I have to go tell Danny you saved her.” She started up the hill, but Hannah grabbed her.

  “Hold on, sweetheart.”

  “Go ahead.” Tate gestured up to the house. “I’ll get Tucker. I’ve been saving his ass since we were kids.”

  She hesitated, and he wondered what was running through her cheating head. Did she think he was going to murder his brother once she was gone or what? Finally, mercifully, she agreed, leaving him alone with his brother.

  “You aren’t going to help me, are you?” Tucker’s voice drifted up from the gully. “You’re going to make me have to chew off my own foot.”

  Tate made him sweat for a few seconds before he looked down at Tucker. “I should leave you there, but there are witnesses,” he said, only half-kidding. It would serve Tucker right to rot in the gully for a few hours while everyone else was having fun at the barbecue. Too bad Hannah would miss him. “What will you give me?”

  Tucker shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand as he looked up at Tate. “I’m guessing I can’t buy your help with a Matchbox car this time, huh?”

  “You couldn’t buy my help with a real car.”

  A mild curse drifted up from the gully. “What do you want?”

  Tate had always prided himself on his self-control and his ability to watch his mouth. But this time, his answer came before he could think better of it. “I want you to break up with Hannah.”

  “Screw you.” Tucker glared, his eyes flashing with anger. “You had your chance with her. You can’t have her back.”

  “I don’t want her back,” Tate said, and it surprised him to realize it was true. So was what he said next. “I just don’t want you to have her.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  Tate thought about how he’d done Sebastian Rush’s bidding by alerting Joanne to the article in order to secure future favors.

  “No,” he said as he started down into the gully to free his brother, “I’m just a politician.”

  Chapter Eight

  As Chase Johnson looked out at the people enjoying the massive annual barbecue, he couldn’t help but believe that if he wasn’t staying here with his brother and his sister-in-law, he wouldn’t be invited.

  Nervous energy made his stomach sour as he finally joined the pa
rty. He hadn’t felt well this morning, so he’d stayed in his room until this afternoon. And maybe, just maybe, he was stalling a little.

  As he walked through the grass, his gaze constantly swept the crowd in case Anna Mae was nearby. Running into her was the last thing he needed right now.

  He fielded a lot of, It’s good to see yous and How have you beens and How long are you stayings and it was the last that was the most difficult.

  He’d been testing the waters for a permanent stay in Storm, and so far, the waters had been shark infested.

  His brother didn’t want him here, Anna Mae’s glares were sharp as blades, and her sister’s were only slightly less sharp. He probably deserved it, but neither of them would give him the time to explain. He’d run into Rita Mae last night at the grocery store, and he’d only gotten a few words in before she gave him a warning to keep away from her sister that had included the threat of an iron skillet and the bashing of his skull.

  She hadn’t changed at all.

  Women were crazy.

  “Hey, Chase?” Zeke walked past him with an armful of burger buns, and his stomach growled. He hadn’t had a burger made with Double J beef and one of the Prager sisters’ homemade buns in years. “Would you grab the paper plates and condiments? You know, unless you plan on falling off the face of the earth again anytime soon.”

  Grinding his molars, Chase started for the house to grab the plates, but screw it. He was tired of his brother’s snide comments and disapproving scowls, and he pivoted back around.

  “If you don’t want me here, why don’t you say it? Just go ahead and say it.”

  Zeke plopped the buns on the picnic table and swung around to Chase. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Alice would kill me.”

  “And that’s the only reason?”

  Zeke angrily shoved his hand through his thick head of gray hair. “What do you want me to say? That I’m happy you’re back? Why should I be? You never stay. You’re here just long enough for people to let down their guards, and then you’re out the door again. Last time you skipped out on the rent you owed Mr. Raeburn. I had to pay it, and I lost the deposit money I loaned you when you moved in.”