Chapter 46

Once again, Wyatt didn’t come after her. There was no rumble of an engine coming up hard on her heels as she stumbled down the hill to the Bull Dancer. No knock at the door while she crammed clothes into her suitcases. No one lurking at the foot of the stairs as she propped the boot box outside the apartment door, just as she’d found it. No bright-red Camaro at the curb when she emerged onto the street, or parked behind her car in the rear lot, blocking her escape.

Relief warred with knifing slashes of pain. She didn’t trust what she might have done if he’d tried to stop her. But dammit, the son of a bitch could have at least tried.

She wished she didn’t understand him so well. Then she wouldn’t know that rather than dealing with her, he was on the phone warning Grace and Laura, probably Louie, too. Red alert. Melanie on the rampage. While they scrambled out of her path, Wyatt would be waiting at the condo to let her rip him apart when she realized he’d eliminated all other possible targets.

Always the sacrificial lamb, shedding his blood to protect the flock. And he thought he had no religion.

He could choke on his guilt for all she cared. And he didn’t have to keep his precious Camaro under armed guard, either. She’d already played that card, and she prided herself on never taking the one-size-fits-all approach. She heaved the suitcases into the back of her car, slammed the hatchback shut, and climbed into the stifling interior. At the west end of town, she took the now-familiar interstate on-ramp.

She’d studied the map. If she passed on through the Tri-Cities and kept heading north and east, eventually she would end up in the vicinity of Babb, Montana. And maybe, by the time she got there, she would have some idea what to do.

* * *

Two hours later, Melanie’s phone rang. Violet’s name popped up on the dashboard screen. So, Wyatt had called in reinforcements. She wondered almost casually what he’d told them. Or had he let them think their relationship had reached what he had led her to believe was its natural conclusion? Only one way to find out. She picked up the call.

“Are you driving?” Violet’s voice held a razor edge of fear. “Tell me you’re not driving if you’re as upset as Wyatt said.”

Naturally Violet would be terrified. A car accident had devastated her family, and decades later the scars were still visible.

“I’m fine. Not even going the speed limit.” She’d set her cruise control to avoid the temptation to mash the pedal to the floor.

“Wyatt is not fine. He wouldn’t say what happened, but if you’re half as bad as he is, you shouldn’t be on the road. Dammit. That will teach me to leave my phone in the trailer while we’re meeting with the rodeo committee. You’re not in the mountains, are you?”

“Not yet.”

“What’s the next town? I want you to stop and get a room. We’ve got a rodeo performance in an hour, but I can be on a plane to wherever you are first thing in the morning.”

Now that Violet mentioned it, Melanie could hear music in the background, accompanied by voices and the slam of steel gates—standard pre-rodeo hubbub as the crowd filed in and the stock was sorted for the night’s show. The sudden, intense yearning to be there instead of here was one more stab to her heart, the one that drained the last of the frantic energy that had been pushing her forward.

Exhaustion slammed into her. She gripped the steering wheel and shook her head to clear the sudden fog. “I’m not far from Spokane. According to the billboards, there are four or five hotels on the airport exit. I’ll stop there.”

“Thank you.” Violet’s relief was palpable. “I’ll keep my phone in my pocket, in case you need anything. Text me when you’re checked in.”

“Room number and all,” Melanie promised. Not that she expected to sleep, but she couldn’t drive much farther without being a hazard to herself and everyone else on the road. “Don’t go buying plane tickets yet. I swear, I won’t do anything stupid.”

“You expect me to fall for that again?”

“I’m telling the honest truth, Violet.”

Unlike some people. And the fact was, she was tapped out. As the miles and the initial shock had passed, her mind had cleared, but the rest of her had gone numb. Running from Wyatt and to Hank had been her first instinct. Besides, she’d had to get away, and this direction was as good as any.

She had the list of mental health experts Wyatt had emailed to her from Reno. Maybe in the morning, when she was semi-rested and coherent, she could try to get in touch with one of them. She needed to have some idea what impact the news might have before she went charging into that rat’s nest and announced, “Hey, Bro, guess what?”

“Just take care, okay?” Violet said.

“I will,” she promised.

Just like she’d promised to tread carefully with Wyatt, and look how long that had lasted. She made an ugly sound, too close to a sob for comfort.

Was it still a lie if you’d meant it at the time?

* * *

She slept more than she expected, drained past empty by shock, pain—and yes, some extremely energetic shower sex. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago. As usual, her appetite had kicked into emergency overdrive, so she scarfed down sausage, scrambled eggs, and a waffle at the continental breakfast bar, then poured an extra cup of coffee to go. She kept moving by drawing on every ounce of skill she’d acquired at burying her emotions.

Who knew she’d be thankful for her screwed-up parents or that she’d worked for the Leech?

She grabbed her suitcase with one hand, her coffee with the other, and shouldered out the front door of the hotel. Halfway across the parking lot, she stopped so abruptly her hard-sided roller bag ran up the back of her heels. She blinked, shook her head, then blinked again, but he was still there, lounging against the trunk of a midnight-blue Dodge Charger parked next to her SUV, arms folded and ankles crossed as if he could wait all day.

“What the hell?” she blurted.

Gil Sanchez gave her one of his knife-edged smiles. “Still not much of morning person, I see.”

And that was coming from the man Tori called the Lord of Darkness. Even in the crisp, excruciating seven a.m. freshness, the shadows seemed to cling to his raven-dark hair and swirl in the near-black of his eyes. She gave her head another shake. “I always thought ‘flummoxed’ was a ridiculous word…but damned if it isn’t all I’ve got.”

“I’m a little out of my zone, too,” he admitted. “I’m usually the guy distressing the damsel, not riding to her rescue.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re going save me?”

His brows drew together over a narrow, copper-toned face, his striking coloring and bone structure a gift from his Navajo mother. In both personality and build Gil was a honed-down, tempered-steel version of Tori’s husband, Delon.

This was not the nice brother.

He tilted his head, giving her question serious consideration. “Nah,” he decided. “You can kick whatever ass needs it. I’m just here to point you in the right direction.”

“Oh.” No one would ever accuse Gil of having a savior complex. And yet, here he was. In Spokane. Waiting for her. “Wanna give me a clue so I know where to start?”

“With me.”

A car came around the end of the hotel and slowed, waiting for Melanie to move out of the middle of the driveway. She took three steps, enough to clear the way but still leave several yards between her and Gil. A toddler gawked at them from his child seat as the car eased past, not much older than—geezus. She was an aunt…and she didn’t even know the baby’s name.

Gil stared down the kid until the car turned out of the lot. “I did this. I found out Grace was pregnant, and I dragged Wyatt into it.”

Okay. Flummoxed wasn’t even close now. “Why would you do that to him?”

“Because I’m a thoughtless prick. She was a problem I didn’t want to deal with, so I pawned her off on him. Apparently I’m the only person in Earnest who didn’t know the poor slob was in love with you.”

The blunt words were like a fist driving into her sternum. “He…what?”

“Make that two people.” Gil’s smile twisted. “I avoid the big family scenes as much as possible, so I didn’t see you and Wyatt together. I don’t even want to hear your excuse.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute…you knew about Grace and the baby all this time, and you didn’t say a word?”

Gil hitched a shoulder, supremely unconcerned. “We were all required to sign a privacy statement when Grace agreed to the open adoption. If she wants, she could sue Wyatt’s ass for this. And besides, the secret is the whole point to a secret baby. Don’t you remember anything from those books you and Violet used to sneak out of Miz Iris’s stash?”

Yep. She also remembered how those books ended. “You know, a happily ever after could be problematic since Grace gave her away.”

“And you think Hank would’ve fought for her?”

“I—” Crap. She shoved her roller bag up against the back of her car and plopped down on it as images swam through her head. Hank as he was on New Year’s Eve: drunk and ignorant as Grace begged to talk to him. Hank as he was now: bitter, angry, and on the verge of homeless in Montana. She raked her hair back from her face. “You did. We sure as hell didn’t expect that.”

He did a touché sort of shrug.

Melanie’s temper sparked. “You were in the exact same position. Can you honestly say you would’ve been better off not knowing about Quint?”

“First off, the situation is not the same. I had a relationship with Quint’s mother.” He paused for a beat, then added, “And I loved her.”

A confession even more wrenching when delivered by a hard, proud man in a voice devoid of emotion—making what Hank had done all the more damning. Gil hadn’t taken advantage of the remnants of a high school crush to score, then blown the girl off in the worst possible way.

He watched that dart hit home before he launched the next. “I also had a father who supported me a hundred percent, and a job at Sanchez Trucking that allowed me the time to drive to Oklahoma and see my son. Quint’s mother is so stinking rich she never had to work at all. Have you thought about the hours Grace puts in? Early mornings, late nights, weekends, sixty or eighty hours a week—how was that gonna work as a single mom?”

She knew that. Sort of. If an athletic trainer had to be available at all of the practices and games for every sport a high school offered all year long, that would be, well…a lot. Not so different from what Melanie had been clocking for the past two years. She tried to imagine how she would have managed a child of any age—and failed miserably. She hadn’t even been able to keep a remote eye on Hank.

“He deserves to know,” she insisted.

“Why?” Gil’s stare pressed into her, relentless. “I just came from Babb, Mel. That’s where I was when Wyatt called yesterday.” When she gaped at him—Wyatt had sicced Gil on her?—he patted the trunk of the Charger. “Ol’ Blue has some gas, but it can’t actually fly. How did you think I got here so fast?”

“I didn’t…” Have enough head space left to cram that question in.

Before she could ask, he said, “Yeah, I talked to Hank. I know where he’s at…and it’s not pretty. Do you think this is what he needs right now? Or he’s what a child needs? Because that’s what it comes down to, not Hank or you or Wyatt or even Grace. What’s best for the baby?”

“I just…I can’t…” She slumped forward and pressed her face into her hands. She’d searched her soul for the answers to those questions, and in the end had concluded Bing was the only one who could help her decide. But still… “How can I not tell him?”

“The same way Wyatt has not told you. Or Joe. Or anybody else.”

Melanie shook her head. Not tell Violet? No dumping her worries next to the plate of cinnamon rolls on Miz Iris’s kitchen table to be sorted out and Melanie was promised it would all be fine, just you wait and see? The existence of this baby was a jagged rock lodged between her heart and her spleen. How could she carry it around, day after day, year after year? Look into her friends’ faces knowing this…thing. It would eat her from the inside out—

The same as it had been doing to Wyatt.

Gil’s mouth curled as he read her thoughts. “If the two of you pitch in, I could probably get you a major discount on a truckload of Rolaids.”

“Thanks. You’re a real prince.”

“Yeah. That’s what everybody says.”

She stood, then had no idea why. If she got in her car, she wouldn’t know which way to turn. She made a helpless gesture. “What next?”

“Start by crossing Hank off your list. You’re no good to him.”

Her hands fisted, anger spurting heat into her veins. “How can you say that? I’m his sister.”

“Exactly. His smart, sensible big sis…the one they wanted.” When she sucked in an outraged breath, Gil made an impatient gesture. “I’m not saying he doesn’t love you. He just resents the shit out of you…and maybe, if you let yourself admit it, you feel the same about him.”

At the sharp jerk of her head, Gil’s face softened ever so slightly. “You’ve done more than most people would, Mel, even when he’s tried to make it impossible, but you’re gonna have to trust us now. We’ve got him. Me and Bing. You’ve never been anywhere close to the place he’s in. I, on the other hand, have a standing reservation.”

She squinted at him, confused. “Why would you bother? You could barely tolerate him before.”

“He’s actually less annoying now. I can deal with asshole. Clueless drives me up the wall. Plus…” He drew in a long, slow breath and let it stream out through his nose. “When I was hanging off the edge and about to lose my grip, there were people who hauled me up again and again. It’s my turn to pay it forward.”

And her time to let go. Accept that she’d done all she could, and the rest was up to Hank. He had to decide when or if he was going to crawl out of the hole he’d dug. It was like contemplating whether to cut off her own hand or leave it stuck in a trap while the gangrene crept up her arm. There was no painless option, just the one less likely to kill her inch by inch.

Gil pushed away from his car and strolled around to the driver’s door. It was still disconcerting to see him move so easily, without the limp that had become a part of his persona. “Take a right when you get to the interstate. You’ll be back in Pendleton before lunch.”

For a crazy instant, she wanted to grab his arm and beg him not to leave her. Only the thought of how he’d react kept her planted beside her suitcase. “I have no idea what to say to Grace.”

“Tell her she’s a fucking hero.” He opened the door, then paused to toss her a caustic smile. “And tell the pretty boy he’s not so bad, either.”