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The words struck like a bullet through his heart. He remembered the first time he’d heard that description of his mom. He’d only been six at the time, when Ellie was just a baby, and his mom, his poor mom, had been abandoned by her husband. She had carried on for many years, being strong, running the ranch and her kids, somehow managing to save enough to send Mitchell off to hockey camps, but he still recalled hearing those words for the first time, when he’d seen his mother in a different light, and realized she wasn’t the superwoman they’d always assumed.
“She’s a bit off,” Mrs. Ingalls had whispered at church.
The words had sparked Jackson and his brothers in different ways. Dermott had tried to show his love by building an overly grand stone wall at the front entrance to the driveway. Mitchell refused to go to church, saying it was full of hypocrites, and was soon lost to the world of hockey, a scholarship leading him to live away in North Dakota in his mid-teens. Jackson had determined to live here and help his mom in any way possible. The fact that meant he got to stay on the ranch doing what he loved was a bonus. He’d do anything to relieve his mom of concern, so people like Mrs. Ingalls would never say she was “off” again.
But even he wasn’t so stuck in denial that he hadn’t noticed the lost feeling that had shrouded his mom in those first few weeks had returned. She was keeping to her room again, not even bothering to show up for every meal. Lethargy seemed to have taken over her bones, making her seem smaller, skinnier than he remembered.
Maybe his efforts to help her and keep her safe only proved he was a failure at that too.
He shook his head at himself, conscious his long silence now meant Ellie was looking at him funny. “Do you want to take her to the doctor?”
She nodded. “He might have some new medication to give her.”
“Hope so. Maybe ask him to come visit.”
They already owed the doc—and the vet—for plenty of house calls. A little extra on the tally couldn’t hurt.
God, help Brutus get it together.
Everything was riding on their stud bull finally being able to do what he was created for. If that worked, then all—well, most—of their problems would be solved. And maybe he could afford to buy Ellie a new dress.
CHAPTERTHREE
“Lexi, are you sure you’ll be okay?” her mother asked, brow pleated.
Lexi glanced at the single-story timber home, with a number of vehicles parked out the front, and slowly opened the station wagon’s front passenger door. “I’ll be fine.” What was the worst that could happen? “You have fun with the ladies at the book club.”
“I imagine we’ll be finished far sooner than you. I sometimes get the impression they’d rather meet to gossip and have cupcakes than actually read the book.”
“Probably depends on the book,” Lexi said, earning her mother’s chuckle.
“I’m proud of you, Lexi,” Mum said.
Why did those words fuel both irritation and pride? Yes, she mightn’t like being addressed like a child, but she was also glad someone recognized the Big Deal it was to actually be here tonight. And itwasa big deal, meeting strangers, doing small talk, acting braver than she was. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have blinked. Now, every new thing held the possibility of danger.
She swung her scarf around so the ends flounced at the front, then carefully retrieved the pavlova from the back seat, and straightened.
“You could still have a swim, you know.”
“I know.” She’d even brought her swimsuit in case the spirit of brave fell upon her. Unlikely, but you never knew.
“Enjoy yourself, okay? And call us when you want a ride home.”
“Yes, Mum,” she said obediently, earning her a wrinkled nose and a chuckle before her mother waved and drove away.
Lexi drew in a deep breath. Okay. Friendly. She could do this. Even if it felt like her mother had arranged this like she might arrange a play date for a five-year-old. Oh, who was she kidding? Mumhadarranged this like Lexi was little better than a child.
She walked up the garden path—no wobble-inducing cobblestones here—and knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, then put her ear to the door and listened. It sounded like music, and all the cars suggested something was happening here tonight. Maybe they just couldn’t hear her.
One more knock, then—
“Can I help you, ma’am?” A male voice sounded behind her.
“Oh!” The pavlova slid from her grasp and landed on the rosebush near the front door. “Oh no!” She looked up into deep brown eyes, her breath catching again. “You.”
