If only

Chapter Sixteen

Under a blue, blue sky, the green fields of Iowa rolled out as far as the eye could see. Sally took her time, smiling at the weathered farmhouses, the occasional dog barking and racing along a fence line, the peaceful cattle grazing in pastures.

Her plane had gotten into Des Moines yesterday. She’d planned to drive straight to the farm, but after fighting back her tears and anger, she’d known she couldn’t deal with her father. Instead, she’d holed up in a hotel for a night of weeping and throwing things.

Plastic hotel glasses hurled across the room? No satisfaction in that whatsoever. And what inconsiderate jerk had replaced heavy—breakable—coffee cups with Styrofoam? To hell with them.

And to hell with the Feebs too.

They were wrong. And Galen had no right to tell her what to do.

She could hack the Harvest Association e-mails if she wanted to. And she’d started before she’d moved in with them, anyway. And she’d saved women from being kidnapped. She’d done good. She’d been a hero.

They’re just totally shortsighted dipwads.

But why did it have to end so badly? She tightened her fingers on the steering wheel and blinked back the tears. Don’t visit Father with red eyes.

Really, she was making too much of all this. She hadn’t planned to stay with the Feds, right? She didn’t want a long-term ménage. That would be insane. Sure it had been fun for a while, but obviously the while was over.

God, she just wanted to stand in the middle of one of those cornfields and scream at the top of her lungs, I wasn’t ready…

With the way her luck was going, some farmer would probably shoot her.

Shaking her head, she turned in at her father’s drive. As she pulled her rental car up to the two-story farmhouse, she saw little had changed.

How long had it been this time? After high school, she’d returned every few years to catch up with high school friends. Each time, she’d made a dutiful visit to her father…always hoping that one day he’d decide he wanted a daughter.

Not going to happen this lifetime, stupid.

She walked across the yard, breathing in the fragrance of growing crops yet missing the slight tang of the sea. Planting was done. The corn wasn’t up to her knees. Soybeans were in. Tall trees marked the creek banks in the south pasture. Everywhere were gently rolling hills. Iowa didn’t have take-your-breath-away mountain ranges or ocean vistas; it just felt…cozy. Pretty.

It should have been a wonderful place to grow up.

Well, here goes. The backseat was filled with flattened boxes she’d bought so she could pack whatever was still here. But where would she send her stuff? Back to Tampa?

It would be best not to return there. Christ in a cornfield, but she wanted to slap Galen—and Vance too. Yelling at her. Fighting with each other.

But seeing them meant she’d probably fall into their arms and cry. Descend into a wussy girl. No, she didn’t want to be anywhere around them. And damn them for turning me into an emotional puddle.

She lifted her chin and picked up the boxes. Time to face her father. She pulled in a breath and released it out slowly, letting calm flow over her like a second skin. Don’t show emotions. Don’t ask for things. Be obedient and quiet.

A startling flare of anger almost tripped her on the steps. Most parents wanted obedient children, but to expect them to be quiet? All the time? That is bullshit.

Settle, Sally. Settle. She knocked.

Her father opened the door.

She looked into his bitter eyes and watched his lips pull back into his cheeks, like a dog suppressing a snarl. Well, nothing has changed, has it?

She could barely remember him being different—when her mother was alive. He’d never been affectionate to his children—especially Sally—but he’d loved his wife. Absolutely doted on her. And with his wife’s death, everything inside him had twisted up.

“I’m here to remove my things from your house,” she said politely. Looking at him with new eyes—thanks to Galen and his frigging homework assignment—she suddenly wondered if her father had been jealous of Sally, jealous of the time Sally’s mother had spent with her. “I’ll have everything packed and be gone by tonight.”

“Fine.”

The mailbox read Hugh Hart. According to the records, Sally’s brother lived on the adjacent farm. When Vance spotted a rental car parked at the father’s white farmhouse, relief loosened his shoulders.

As Galen had figured, Sally used Jessica’s credit card to book her flight. But she’d had to show her own credit card to obtain a rental car. “Parked right out there in the front. She obviously doesn’t think we would come after her.”

“My fault,” Galen said. He’d been unnaturally quiet, even for him.

“Shut up.” At the dark glance, Vance elaborated. “You fucked up by yelling at her, yes. But she also knew we wouldn’t react well or she wouldn’t have hidden what she was doing. And she broke the law.” He slid out of the car and glanced back. “So get your head out of your ass.”

The flush of angry red on his partner’s face was rather rewarding, and Vance barely managed to smother his laugh. Being a peacemaker might be costing him some fun—maybe he’d start poking at his friends instead.

As Galen knocked on the door, Vance glanced around. An equipment building. A barn just past the coop. Chickens in a pen. Cornfields. No barking dogs. Maybe Hart had decided they were too much work.

The door opened to show Sally’s stocky father. Where Sally’s brown eyes were filled with sweetness or alive with mischief, Hart’s looked like frozen dirt in his weathered face. The farmer shifted to block the doorway. “What d’you want?”

Well, there was a welcome. “We’re here to see Sally,” Vance said, using his nice guy persona. “I see her car is here,” he added, forestalling any lies that she wasn’t home.

“She didn’t tell me you were coming.” Hart took a step back as Galen moved into his personal space.

Using his cane as a prop, Galen sidled past the old man and into the foyer.

“Stop, you—”

“Is she in her room?” Vance shrugged off his denim jacket before slinging it over his shoulder. Nothing like a pistol in a shoulder harness to silence bluster. Probably didn’t hurt that he and Galen looked battered enough to have been in a bar brawl.

“Upstairs.” At the ringing of an old-fashioned landline phone, the man abandoned the fight and stomped away to answer it.

As Vance followed Galen up the stairs, he heard the man saying, “She’s here.”

A pause. A protest, “Won’t work. She has men visiting her.”

Pause.

Perhaps the brother? Was he causing trouble? Vance stopped on the steps to listen.

“Bring them? Hell, boy, are you out of your mind? I don’t want to—”

Pause.

“Fine. Six o’clock. Yeah, I’ll come.”

“There’s a grudging acceptance,” Galen said under his breath. His gaze was cold as he looked back down the stairs. A second later, he resumed the climb, using his cane. The hours in the cramped flight obviously hadn’t done his knee any favors.

The hallway at the top led both directions, but thumping noises came from the end room on the right.

When his partner squared his shoulders, Vance wondered if the imp realized how much Galen cared. How easily she could damage him.

Not just Galen, either. Vance shook his head. The thought of losing her hurt deep enough to hit the marrow.

Galen tapped on the door.

It opened. “Yes, Fath—” Sally’s eyes went round. “Galen?” Her voice came out a whisper. “Vance?” But the flash of joy she showed transformed into a frozen, distant expression that was more ominous than anger. Her hair was down, no makeup, old T-shirt and jeans. Red-rimmed eyes.

They’d made her cry. Vance felt that like a stab in his chest.

Her mouth firmed into her more-stubborn-than-a-mule expression. “Go home, guys. The fun is over.”

She shoved the door shut so fast that only Galen’s cane kept it from closing. Good reflexes, pard.

And without a second of thought, he and Galen applied their shoulders to the door.

The imp staggered back into a very stark bedroom. Three boxes sat on the bed, another on the floor. No pictures, no knickknacks. Walls with peeling paint. Splintering hardwood floor. No carpet. The drapes were filthy and fraying on the edges. The room was as welcoming as her asshole of a father.

“Dammit, get out,” Sally spat. The ice was gone, and she was looking meaner than Glock on vaccination day.

Galen held up his hand. “May I have ten minutes? After that, you can kick us out, if you wish.”

TEN MINUTES. COULD she keep from crying for that long? Sally wasn’t sure. Letting Galen talk would be the quickest way to get rid of them. Undoubtedly he’d explain how hacking the Harvest Association was dangerous and threaten her with arrest if she didn’t stop. She could handle that. She’d say okay, and they’d leave. Crossing her arms over her chest, she snapped, “Fine. Go ahead.”

Galen hesitated. He looked so tired. Despite her teasing, she never really thought of him as being older—all his energy and passion made him seem her age—but the lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes had deepened. His cheekbone was bruised and swollen. His jaw had two days of beard growth. He hadn’t shaved…since she left?

“I lost my temper with you,” he said gravely. “You don’t need to forgive me, but I want you to know why I reacted so badly.”

She opened her mouth to say something flippant and stopped. Galen always apologized if he did something wrong, and she admired that. But he’d never looked so—exposed. All she could do was nod.

“A few years ago, I was married.”

Yes, he’d mentioned he was a widower, and his expression had been so closed she hadn’t asked any questions.

“I was on a violent crimes task force, concentrating on gangs. We’d just arrested several members of a gang.” He pulled in a breath. “Threats to agents aren’t uncommon, but I never thought…”

Vance stood apart, watching silently. He’d shaved, and beneath his dark tan, a purpling bruise ran along his right jaw, making her heart ache.

Galen leaned on his cane, something he rarely did when just standing. Tough Guy never wanted to show weakness. But she could see he was hurting, and her hand trembled with the need to hold his, to comfort him.

His voice was rough as he said, “My wife was home. Decorating for a birthday party for her sister the next night.”

He stared at the wall, his eyes tormented. Filled with pain.

God, Galen. As if pulled by a chain, Sally took a step forward, hesitated, and hugged him. She heard the cane hit the floor, and his arms wrapped around her so tightly she couldn’t breathe.

He held her there, a second, another.

“Go on,” she whispered against his shoulder.

His voice was husky. “She planned to meet me at a restaurant, since I had to work late. She didn’t arrive. Didn’t answer her phone.” His cheek was against her hair. “I drove home. Too late. Far too fucking late. Some of the gang had busted down the back door. They…took their anger out on her, used her as a lesson to me. And killed her.”

“Oh, Galen.” Sally rubbed her cheek on his chest, wanting only to comfort. How could someone so protective live with that?

“She died…in terror. In pain. I wasn’t there, Sally. I didn’t keep her safe. Instead, she was murdered because of me.”

And suddenly the reason he’d totally freaked out in the cabana blasted into her brain. She’d told him she loved him, and there she was, taunting the Harvest Association. If she died at their hands, what would it do to Galen?

A shudder ran through her. Turning her head, she looked at Vance. Jaw tight, eyes haunted. He was hurting too. She held her hand out to him, and he pushed off the wall.

Once he was close enough, she wrapped an arm around him. Now that she wasn’t blinded by anger, she realized he’d been as upset with her hacking as Galen. He’d just handled it better.

If they thought the Harvest Association would murder her as they had Lieutenant Tillman, of course they’d be afraid.

Sure she knew how good she was, but her Doms didn’t. Not that they’d given her a chance to explain, the jerks, but…

“I’ll stop,” she said. She pulled away and faced them, feeling a tug of loss for her work. She’d wanted to be hero. To do something special. Worthy. “I’ll give you my files. And I won’t do any more hacking.”

At one time, Galen had been able to make his expression unreadable, but either he’d lost the ability or her gaze was keener. She saw how his relief cleared some of the pain lurking in the shadows of his eyes.

Now that she knew what haunted him, maybe she could help.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Vance asked.

She wanted to hug him for just being his wonderful reasonable self. His steadiness balanced Galen. Okay, he balanced her too. And right now, she very badly wanted to see him smile. See them both smile.

Wrinkling her nose, she gave them her cutest pout. “If quitting is what it takes to keep you two safe, I guess that’s what I need to do.”

Galen rubbed his hands over his face as if to move on. “Keep us safe?” he asked in disbelief. When he glanced at Vance, his eyes held the amusement she loved to see.

“I like being safe.” Vance touched the tip of her nose. “I think we should take her up on her offer.”

“Well. Thank you, pet.” Galen nodded at the boxes on the bed. “Why don’t we load those into your car? We have rooms at the hotel in town. The one hotel. We can go back there and talk.”

“But—” She was done packing. No need to stay here. “Okay. But talk about what?”

Vance took her shoulders. “Don’t you want to stay with us?”

Stay?

Vance was frowning, and the expression on Galen’s face probably mirrored her own—indecision, worry. “I… Let’s talk at the hotel.”

She heard the heavy thud of her father’s boots on the stairs and a rap on the door. “Sally, Tate’s having us there for supper. The men are invited, as well. We leave in fifteen minutes.”

Great. A horribly uncomfortable meal at her brother’s. Could she refuse? No, it might—probably would—be the last time she’d ever see them. Why the realization should make her heart hurt, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if there’d been any love there. Ever. She looked at the men. “Do you two mind?”

Vance’s mouth was set in a line. “You’re sure not going there without us.”

Galen nodded. “Let’s load up your car first so you don’t need to return here.”

God, she really did love them, and how scary was that?

Leaving their vehicles—the Feds’ rental, her rental, and her father’s truck, Sally followed the three men up to her brother’s house, escorted by an elderly yellow lab and an energetic Australian shepherd.

Before reaching the porch, Sally looked around. Their grandparents had owned the place, but they’d died when she was little and, although her father planted the fields, he’d let the farmhouse and barn deteriorate.

Tate had put everything back into perfect condition, and the old two-story clapboard was a pristine white with navy-blue shutters and trim. The barn had been painted the traditional red-brown. The eight-foot spirea bushes that lined the gravel road to cut down the noise and dust were pruned. And to her surprise, pink petunias lined the concrete sidewalk.

Since when had Tate planted pretty flowers? Or owned dogs, for that matter?

Probably alerted by the barking Aussie, her brother came down the porch steps, sidestepping the dogs. He was clean shaven, brown hair cut short, wearing jeans and a Willie Nelson T-shirt. “Sally. It’s good to see you.”

The welcome in his voice and his smile made her stare. “Uh. And you.” Flustered, she turned and pointed to each man in turn. “Vance Buchanan, Galen Kouros. Guys, this is my brother, Tate Hart.”

Tate’s eyes narrowed as he looked over her scruffy, bruised men…and he could probably see Galen’s weapon under his open leather jacket.

Off to one side, her father watched with his usual frown.

As the men performed a guy handshaking ritual, Sally noticed more changes. A small bike with training wheels and a bright red trike were parked by the porch. A football lay near an overturned dollhouse, where dolls were scattered around like victims in a war.

Tate hadn’t had children three years ago…had he?

“They’re here!” The childish scream came from one of the two children tearing out the front door. A boy, perhaps around eight, was followed by a slightly younger girl. Both blond and blue-eyed. Maybe not Tate’s then.

“C’mere, you two.” Tate motioned. The boy stepped up to his right.

The girl pressed against his left side and studied Vance and Galen warily. Her attention turned to Sally. She beamed. “You’re Daddy’s sister.”

Tate a daddy? Sally gave herself a mental shake, grinned, and held her hand out. “That’s right. I’m Sally. Who are you guys?”

The boy took her hand. “I’m Dylan, and she’s Emma. Do you really live in Florida?”

“I do. I’m—” She was interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“Tate, don’t keep them standing out there. Bring them in.” With coloring that matched the children’s, a woman in a V-necked silky red top and blue jeans stood on the porch. She gave Tate a frown and waved at the group. “We have beer and wine and pop. Come on in.”

“Beer sounds good,” Vance said, hooking an arm around Sally. “And something smells delicious.”

“Leigh Anne is a great cook,” Tate said. He waved them up the steps, dodged the stream of children and dogs, and followed with their father.

It was a welcoming house. The living room held comfortable-looking, worn couches and chairs in dark greens, a large-screen television, and toys spilling from a wooden trunk. The woman led the way through and into the dining room. “Since the food’s all ready to go, why don’t you go ahead and be seated. And what would you like to drink?” She rolled her eyes. “I forgot—I’m Leigh Anne.”

Tate entered the room in time to hear her, and he laughed.

Laughed.

Sally barely managed to close her mouth. As he started another round of introductions, she watched. Since when had Tate been so…relaxed? Nice? She wanted to poke the guy and ask what he’d done with her real brother.

Drink orders were taken, and the men opted for beer, except for Galen, who requested wine.

Sally grinned at him and whispered, “Wussy.”

“That’s me.” He tangled his hand in her hair—a Dom’s ready-made leash—and tugged her closer. “I’ve missed your mouth,” he murmured, bent closer, and whispered, “And I intend to use it later tonight.”

The ruthless grip on her hair and the promise in his black eyes sent heat stampeding through her veins. She might tease him about being unmacho, but no one ever doubted he had far more testosterone than was good for a man. She swallowed hard and whispered the only answer possible, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good enough.” A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth as he released her.

The jerk. With just a few words, he had her body humming with arousal. As she considered kicking him, she caught a wink from Vance and a frown from her brother.

Right. She turned and followed Leigh Anne into the kitchen. Feminist or not, a woman always offered her assistance to another woman, especially if needing to escape from the men. “Hey, can I help?”

“Of course. How about you get the beer from the fridge while I open the wine.” She gave Sally a half smile. “Your father doesn’t believe in predinner conversation, so we’re skipping that part.”

Just as well. She couldn’t think of anything to talk about anyway. Sally pulled out three beers for the men and one for herself. “Your children are adorable.”

Leigh Anne’s powder-blue eyes danced with good humor. She was probably about Tate’s age, so several years older than Sally, and comfortable with herself. Her clothes fit her curvy body, and her makeup was muted. She wore a man’s watch on her wrist and hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. How could Sally not like her? “The munchkins might be adorable, but you can figure on being grilled tonight. They’re very curious about you.”

“Ah, right.” The feeling is mutual. Like where did Tate find such a nice woman?

Setting glasses on two trays, Leigh Anne gave her a perceptive smile. “Tate hopes you’ll stay for a bit after Hugh leaves. To talk and do some catching up.”

“Ah…” Talk to Tate? That would be a first. As if he had ever wanted to talk with her… “I don’t think—”

Out of her buried past, a memory bubbled to the surface. “Faster, horsy, faster.” Sally’d been perched on Tate’s shoulders, using his shaggy hair for reins. Squealing with laughter as he bounced her and trotted in circles.

Shaken, she pulled in a slow breath. How had she forgotten that, at one time, he’d been her adored big brother, right up until her mother died? Her refusal trailed off, and she nodded instead.

Leigh Anne’s smile turned full wattage. “Good. That’s good. Now we just have to survive a dinner with your crabby father.” She winked at Sally, picked up her tray, and led the way to the dining room.

Her brother sat at one end of the table. Her father had the children beside him on one side; on the other, Vance and Galen had left a chair empty between them.

Sally circled the long oval table, handing out the drinks on her tray.

“Thank you.” Vance took his beer and said quietly, “You make a gorgeous barmaid. Z taught you well.”

“Why, thank you.” She leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Trainees get to play after finishing their shift, right? Do I get a scene later?”

“Oh yeah, sweetheart.” A crease appeared in his cheek, and his wicked gaze set her pulse to hammering. But when he added, “You have a lot to answer for, after all,” she almost dropped her tray.

Seriously? They’d punish her, just because she disobeyed their order to stay in her room, left without permission, and forced them to track her down? Didn’t they have any sense of humor at all?

Unfortunately, the threat had her libido sitting up like a well-trained poodle begging for treats. With an effort, she conjured an insulted scowl before escaping back into the kitchen.

Once she and Leigh Anne had brought out milk for the children, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, rolls, corn, and a large salad, they took their seats. Tate offered a quiet prayer, which startled Sally. When her mother died, so had religion in their house.

Conversation was general, a catching up on the years that had passed. Leigh Anne told how she’d met Tate on the Fourth of July. Emma had become hysterical at the loud fireworks, and Tate had come to the rescue. “He was so sweet,” Leigh Anne said, giving him a loving smile.

Sweet? Tate? Sally frowned. Not in her experience. But, come to think of it, he’d been wildly popular in school and a good friend to his buddies. Just not to her. She hadn’t even gotten a wedding invitation. “And then you married?”

Tate toasted his wife with his beer. “Yep. We were married by a justice of the peace with a couple of friends to witness. No party.”

“Shoot, we either did it with no one or would have to invite the whole town.” Leigh Anne gave her guests a wry smile. “My first wedding was huge and expensive and obviously didn’t bestow any special magic.”

Sally bit her lip, feeling unwelcome tears sting her eyes. Why would she feel relieved Tate hadn’t left her off his invitation list? Shoot, they didn’t even talk. Breathing slowly, she got her emotions tucked back down where they belonged before looking up.

He was watching her with a small, concerned smile.

So was Vance, who patted her knee.

After a keen glance, Galen turned the subject to the gangs moving into Des Moines.

During dessert, Sally asked for news about her classmates. Leigh Anne and Tate probably knew all the town gossip.

Several had married. A couple of the guys were serving overseas.

“Last winter, Clare—I think she was a year behind you—died in a car accident,” Tate said. “She left two children and a husband behind.”

Sally’s father looked up from his plate and gave her a cold stare. “Clare probably had a selfish brat who demanded something, or she’d never have been on the road.” His unexpected attack slapped the table into silence.

Guilt rolled over Sally like a winter fog.

Wide-eyed, Emma pulled her hand back from the basket of dinner rolls.

No, that wasn’t right. Sally rose and handed the little girl a roll. “It’s okay, baby. He didn’t mean you.”

Without a word, Vance slung his arm behind Sally, pulling her chair close enough she could feel the reassurance of his body along her side.

Galen leaned back, lazily swirling his wine in the glass as he asked in his blunt New England voice, “You obviously meant those words for your daughter. What exactly did Sally ask her mother for?”

“A new dress.” Her father’s mouth twisted. “Couldn’t be happy with what she had. Wanted something special for a party. And even though I’d said no more money for clothes, her mother drove her to town.”

“Well, no wonder you treat her like a criminal.” The diamond edge of Galen’s voice could cut through metal. “A little girl asked her mama for a party dress? Get out the handcuffs, Vance. Haul her to jail.”

Her father jerked back as if he’d been punched. “Now listen—”

“We should draft a law,” Galen said. “Make it a crime for a child to ask for clothes.”

As Sally struggled against dark memories and self-reproach, his words took a while to sink in. She stared at him. “What?”

Vance huffed a laugh. “Won’t work, pard. I have sisters, cousins, nieces, and nephews, and they’ve asked for new clothes about every other day from preschool through college. Although one nephew didn’t—he wanted video games.”

Galen’s brows drew together. “That’s even worse.”

Sally closed her mouth as the Doms’ cold logic broke through. The shadows around her lightened as she remembered the essay she’d written for Galen. As she saw her father’s actions through the men’s critical eyes.

Seriously? Treat a child like a criminal for wanting a dress? She thought of her friends’ children, how they’d ask for things—and beg if they didn’t get the answer they wanted. They were normal kids.

“Oh dear.” Leigh Anne widened her eyes. “I’m afraid Emma and Dylan will be the first to be arrested.”

Sally saw Tate struggling with laughter.

After a quick glance at his stepfather, Dylan snickered and played along. “Oh no, Mom. Not jail. I only wanted one pair of running shoes. Not like John—he wanted three.”

“Can I have new doll clothes, Mommy?” Giggling, Emma bounced in her chair. “I have to go to jail too. Like Dylan?”

Turning a furious dark red, Sally’s father slammed his fist down on the table, making the dishes rattle and the children jump. “That’s enough! It’s no joking matter that the brat got her mother killed.”

Galen rose and leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. “A car accident is a tragedy. Blaming a child for behaving like a child is criminal. Personally, I’d call it abuse, and if anyone here deserves to go to jail, it is you.”

“You can’t say that to me!”

“He shouldn’t.” Sally stood, seeing her father clearly for the first time. Anger swelled inside her. If he’d treated Emma the way he had her, she’d have removed the child from his care.

When she put her hand on Galen’s shoulder, he studied her for a second and conceded by taking his seat. Vance’s hand warmed her lower back; he’d defend her if she faltered.

Her father blustered, “That’s more like—”

“He shouldn’t, because I should have, years ago.” Her lips felt numb, her hands chilled. But…she was ready. “I let you verbally abuse me, shut me in an unlighted barn. You locked me in my room for three days just for crying over a cat that died.”

And Tate had left food in the tree house for her that time. She’d forgotten that. “You made me feel as if I caused the car accident, like I was a monster.” Guilt wavered in front of her like a black curtain, but she ripped it down. The air felt fresh as she pulled in a breath. “But I was just a normal child. Mom was a normal mother. The car skidded in a bad place. The only monstrous behavior…was yours. Is yours.”

“I didn’t—” He pointed to her, face twisted in hate.

He wouldn’t change. The sorrow of that filled her chest, but she knew what she needed to do. Her voice was firm. “I won’t speak to you again. I no longer consider you my father.”

His mouth worked, but under her unwavering stare, his gaze fell.

Sally took a stiff step back. Vance squeezed her side and took his hand away, leaving her free to chart her course.

Her knees wobbled as she turned, but she lifted her head and walked steadily out the back door into the quiet night. Her chest hurt—her whole body hurt—but there were stars in the sky. She’d forgotten how beautiful they looked in Iowa.

GALEN FELT PUMPED up with pride in Sally, at how she’d said exactly what she needed to say. And he hurt for her, because he knew just what it had cost her. Which was why he wanted to plant a fist right in the bastard’s face.

He curled his fingers around his cane and knew if he spoke now, it would be too much.

“My turn,” Vance said under his breath. He rose and put his foot on the chair, resting his forearms on his thigh. “Mr. Hart. After hearing all this, I’m sorely inclined to see if I can’t talk Sally into a civil lawsuit. Although the statute of limitations would hinder the outcome, your reputation in this area would definitely suffer.”

Direct hit. The man’s color faded, leaving his tanned skin an ugly yellow. He rose and glared around the table as if expecting someone to leap to his defense. His stare came to rest on Tate. “You gonna let them talk to me like that?”

“Yes.” Face pale, Tate straightened his shoulders. “I didn’t hear anything that wasn’t true.”

With a growl, the old man stomped out. The front door slammed a minute later.

“Well.” Leigh Anne puffed out a breath. “That was rather a mess, wasn’t it?”

“He was really mean.” Emma looked as if she wanted to cry, and Galen felt a pang of regret that she’d witnessed the altercation. “Is Sally okay?”

“I think she’ll be fine.” Leigh Anne pulled her daughter into her lap and looked down the table at her husband. “I think we all will now.”

Galen followed her gaze.

Tate looked shell-shocked. After a second, he attempted a smile. “Emma, Dylan, if you two get ready for bed, maybe Sally will come up and say good night before she leaves.”

Emma’s face cleared. She slid off her mother’s lap and trotted toward the stairs. “I’m going to show her my dolphin and my octopus. She’ll like them.”

Dylan followed only a step behind. “She’ll like my books better. Bet she likes to read.”

Thank God, children were resilient. Galen turned to look at Leigh Anne. “I’m sorry your children were subjected to that. We should have taken it elsewhere.”

Leigh Anne shook her head. “Although he never treated them the way he treated Sally, they sure heard enough about what he thought. Tonight was ugly, yes, but I’m glad they saw him receive his comeuppance.”

“Me too,” Tate said under his breath.

When Leigh Anne rose, the men did also. She nodded at Galen and Vance. “I’m going to check on the children, and I know you want to be with Sally. Go on, now.”

“Thank you,” Vance said. “You’ve been a generous hostess.”

As Galen moved toward the back door, he heard Leigh Anne say, “Honey, this is a good time.”

“I hope so,” Tate answered. “I’ll clean up the dishes a mite and have that talk.”

Galen paused in the door. What talk would that be? He considered going back inside, then saw Sally.

She was sitting on the wide back steps, head against a railing slat, watching the stars. She gave him and Vance a weak smile. “Sorry for leaving you. I kind of wanted to have the last word.”

“Worked a treat,” Vance said. He gave her a quick kiss.

Using the railing to assist, Galen sat down behind her and a step above. Legs apart, he pulled her closer so she could use his stomach as a backrest.

She was trembling.

“You’re cold,” he said. Probably also suffering from postfight adrenaline.

Before she could answer, Vance dropped onto the step below her. Leaning against the railing, he slid his legs along the step so her thighs would rest on his. After curling his hands over her knees, he smiled at her. “Just consider us portable heaters.”

“You two.” She sighed and pulled Vance’s hand onto her lap.

In the distance, an owl hooted. The corn rustled in the breeze that was scented with freshly cut grass. Peaceful area. When Sally leaned her head back against him, Galen felt the evening’s turmoil drain away, replaced by contentment. His partner, his woman. Both safe.

He wrapped his arms around her. Later, they’d discuss what had happened and do some digging into the parts their little submissive had revealed tonight, but right now, she needed a break.

And that she’d accept comfort from him, that she’d really forgiven him, was more than he’d expected…and exactly what he needed.

AS THE MEN’S concern wrapped around Sally, the awful shaking of her insides lessened. They stayed silent, letting her recover on her own. The quiet countryside had always soothed her, especially when she’d hidden herself up in the huge maple behind the house.

God, she’d loved that tiny platform. Looking back, it seemed amazing that a skinny twelve-year-old could have made it. How much skin had she lost trying to drag scrap lumber up into the branches? How many times had she climbed out the window of her bedroom prison, onto the porch roof, and down the trellis? Wonder if the platform is still there?

While building her little refuge, she hadn’t considered the future…like how the leaves would disappears with a brisk autumn wind, leaving her tree “house” totally exposed. Her father had definitely noticed. But he’d been amused, thinking Tate had built it.

Her brother had never revealed her secret. Odd how Tate’s later behavior had made her forget so many of his small kindnesses.

A few minutes later, the screen door opened. Tate stepped out and nodded at the two men. “Sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to talk to my sister before she left.” My sister. When they were little, he’d said those words with such pride. But after the world changed, he hadn’t claimed her any longer.

Resentment flared and died. “Have a seat.”

Vance said, “Would you like us to give you some time alone?”

Tate sat down on a step the same level as Sally’s and leaned against the railing. “Stay. After that dinner, I doubt we have many secrets left.”

Sally twisted in Galen’s embrace and rested her forearms on his bent knee so she could face her brother.

The starlight heightened the shadows and lines in Tate’s face. He looked old, and she realized in disbelief that he was over thirty. His eyes, so like her father’s—and hers—met hers. “Sally. I’m sorry.”

For the evening? “Tate, I’m the one that blew up at Father, not—”

“Not that. Hell, he got what he deserved—and nothing I hadn’t said to him before once I realized…”

Sally stared. He’d argued with their father?

He sighed. “The fact that you look at me like that means I was even worse than I remember.” He pulled at his ear. “Shit. I didn’t know back then how bad I was. It’s like… All brothers tease their little sisters, right?”

“I guess…” she said cautiously.

“No!” He slapped the step, making her jump.

Vance squeezed her leg reassuringly.

“No,” Tate said more quietly. “See, Leigh Anne moved in here with the kids.” He smiled. “I love the rascals, but they’re a handful. Dylan teases Emma, and yeah, it’s normal. But it’s normal because we keep it from going too far. He gets in trouble if he hurts her or makes her cry or breaks her toys. I realized, watching them, that kids lack a sense of proportion. Limits.”

Sally couldn’t find anything to say, so Galen, Dom that he was, stepped in. “You went too far with Sally?” he asked so quietly she wasn’t sure Tate even realized someone else had spoken.

“Yeah. Dad didn’t set limits. Hell, he egged me on. And I bought right into his story, putting all the blame on you for Mom’s death. Cuz, I was angry. Grieving. She wasn’t my real mom, but I loved her.”

In the silence, a whine sounded, and the old Labrador shuffled up the steps to lean against Tate’s side with a gusty sigh.

Tate put his arm over the dog and ruffled its ears. “Funny, huh. She’s the one who taught me that love is more important than blood.”

Sally nodded. Her mother had loved everyone and everything. And back then, her father had—okay, he’d never wanted a daughter, but he hadn’t been cruel. After her mother died, the light had gone out of her father’s life, and he’d grown…twisted. “You changed with her death.”

“Yeah. Dad blamed you, so I did too. I took her loss out on you.” He shook his head. “As a kid, I felt kinda guilty about being mean to you. But now, when I imagine Dylan treating Emma the way I treated you…I’m sickened. God, Sally, I’m really sorry.”

She stared at his face, open to her scrutiny. Slowly, slowly, a knot in her chest started to loosen.

He was sorry. Yes, he’d been mean, but her father had been the one to make it a battle of them against her. Tate had been a teenager who’d lost a mother he loved, and her father had pointed the finger at her. Would she have been different if the roles were reversed? Hopefully so, but still… “I think I understand. And I forgive you.”

“Well, hell, sweetheart, you’re taking all the fun out of the evening. Your pa got to walk out, and now I don’t get to pound the crap out of your brother?” Vance grumbled, his tone light, but she recognized the underlying frustration. He really had wanted to beat someone up for her. She laid her hand over his and squeezed.

“Speaking of which… Since I’m now restored to big brother status”—Tate gave first Vance, then Galen a resolute stare—“would you explain exactly which one of you is with my sister?”

Oh my God. Sally held her breath.

“Both of us,” Galen said. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Tate blinked, obviously not anticipating a straight answer. Or to be put on the spot. He studied the men, and she remembered that about him. He never decided anything quickly. Finally, he spoke to Sally. “I liked the way they stood up for you, even after you left. But if they’re pushing you into something—”

“They’re not,” Sally said firmly.

“I guess that’s all right.” He stood up slowly and hesitated. “I just want you to know, you’ve got a place to come if you get into trouble. Or just need a home. Okay?”

Hell, she was going to cry after all. As tears ran down her cheeks, she pushed at Galen’s leg. With his hands around her waist, he helped her stand.

Sally took a step forward and hugged her brother. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank you for forgiving me, Sal.” He kissed the top of her head and stepped back, eyes gleaming with moisture. “I’ll just check on Leigh Anne. The kids are hoping you’ll come upstairs and say good night to them when you’re ready.”

“Will do.” As Tate disappeared into the house, Sally scrubbed the tears off her face. And a slow grin blossomed. Family. She had family. “I just realized—I’m an aunt.”