Pippa
“I’m fine.”
What I am is embarrassed.
It was my own fault. I got in the FBI agent’s face, poked a finger in his chest when he tried to move past me, so they put me in handcuffs and threw me in the back of the SUV. Also, they hadn’t realized I’m pregnant, and they couldn’t have known I hadn’t had a drink since breakfast this morning. That was all on me. I guess we can blame locking me in the back of a hot vehicle on the agent.
I passed out not only from the heat but also from dehydration, and I was loaded into an ambulance before I was even aware of what was happening. Dr. Tippen was waiting for us when I was wheeled into the ER—Sully called her from the ambulance—and made sure the baby was okay.
Still, Sully blames it all on them. He’s out in the hallway, facing off with the FBI agents who apparently wish to speak with me. He’s not exactly quiet about it either, which is how I am now finding out the agents claim to have found a rifle in my rig. Me, with a rifle, it’s too ridiculous to contemplate.
Before I have a chance to lose it over that, the doctor walks back in to see how I’m doing, which I hope means I’ll be heading home soon, where I can hide from this madness.
“You’re not fine,” she disagrees. “You passed out. That’s not fine. Your blood pressure is high, you’re clearly not drinking enough, and unless you want to end up on bed rest, you have to cut back on some of this stress.”
Suddenly that strikes me as hysterically funny—or maybe I’m simply hysterical by now—which is why I’m snort-giggling when Sully walks in, his face one giant scowl. That has me laughing even harder.
My life is pretty much a joke. I’m flying by the seat of my pants, trying to get some solid ground under my feet, but wherever I turn I seem to land in quicksand. I got married this morning with two county clerks as witnesses before my new husband dropped me back off at the auto shop someone has it in for, while I’m desperately trying to get it up and running. I’m well over the halfway mark of an unexpected pregnancy and haven’t yet bought a crib, a car seat, or even a newborn onesie, which already is not winning me a mother-of-the-year award. And to top it off, my business, our home, and my rig have been deep-searched by the freaking FBI, who seem to think I’m capable of chasing down and shooting four accomplished hunters when I don’t even know how to fucking hold a gun. Yet a rifle was apparently found, which must make it true.
So yes, I’m laughing hysterically, and crying at the same time. It feels like I landed in a particularly cruel version of Candid Camera and I keep waiting for someone to jump up and yell, “You’ve been punk’d!” Since that hasn’t happened, it’s becoming clear I’m not equipped for this life. Not even a little.
I pull the sheet up to cover my face in a feeble attempt to block it all out.
“Take her home,” I hear Dr. Tippen say. “Make her rest. Tie her up if you need to.”
“I can do that,” Sully replies. “But I’ll need your help getting rid of the two federal agents out in the hallway. They insist on speaking with her.”
“Over my dead body,” the doctor replies, which strikes me as hilarious as well.
By now my shoulders are shaking and tears are streaming down my face, so I roll on my side toward the wall as I try to get myself under control. Sully’s familiar hand rubs soothing circles on my back and suddenly nothing is funny anymore. Only deep, out of control sobs remain.
“Easy, Honey. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
It’s no use, I’ve officially lost it.
It’s already dark out when we pull up to the cabin.
I was a little embarrassed when Jonas was waiting outside the hospital to give us a ride home. I’m sure I looked a fright when Sully insisted on lifting me into the passenger seat, but he nodded and told me he was glad to see me okay.
Before I have a chance to get from the truck to the front door, Sloane comes flying outside and has me wrapped in a bear hug. A far cry from the angry girl I met just over a week ago. I can’t believe it’s barely been eight days; it feels like a few months’ worth of stuff has happened in that short time.
“I was so scared,” she hiccups, her face buried in my hair.
“I’m fine, the baby’s fine. We’re all fine,” I mumble, feeling oddly empowered I can give her that reassurance. Twenty minutes ago I was a basket case.
“Let’s her get inside, sweetheart,” Sully tells Sloane, peeling her gently off me.
Behind me I hear Jonas’s truck pulling away and I realize I forgot to thank him.
Another fail that almost has me lose it again, until I give myself a mental slap in the face. Enough of that. Things are what they are and I have no choice but to deal. To underline that, the baby does a few somersaults and I press my hand to my belly.
I hear you, little one, I promise I’ll get my life sorted before you get here.
Sloane busies herself with something in the kitchen, while Sully insists I install myself on the couch with my feet up. I don’t argue too hard because I’m tired. Exhausted, actually; emotional breakdowns wear you out.
“I’ll be right back,” Sully announces.
Then he bends down for a peck on my lips before he heads for the kitchen, where he exchanges a few words with his niece before disappearing out the back door.
Sloan walks over with a plate and a glass of what looks like iced tea.
“What’s this?” I ask when she hands me the plate holding a substantial slice of cheesecake.
“I called your sister to find out your favorite,” she admits with a shrug of her shoulders. “Got some of the ingredients from the big house. You’ve gotta eat something, it might as well be something you love. Especially after a day like today. Consider it your wedding cake.”
That’s sweet. So sweet it gets the waterworks going again.
When Sully walks back in a few minutes later, tears are still leaking but two-thirds of my cheesecake is already gone.
Not exactly the memorable wedding day you’d hope for, but definitely one we’re not likely to forget.
And Sloane’s cheesecake is the bomb.
Sully
Thank God this fucking day is over.
I glance beside me at Pippa, who was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Her face is puffy from the crying that didn’t seem to stop. Then again, neither did the hits, they keep coming and there’s nothing I seem to be able to do about them.
At least she’s sleeping, even if I can’t. Too much going through my head, not the least of it the FBI’s arrival on our doorstep, which I know will be inevitable. Pippa’s doc did a good job getting rid of them, but as soon as they return to the hospital tomorrow and discover she’s not there but resting at home, I’m sure they’ll come straight here.
I gave Fletch a call last night to let him know we were home. In the background I could hear Nella announce she was on her way which, as I mentioned to her husband, was not a good idea. I suggested coming by tomorrow instead. Or rather, today, as a quick glance at my phone on the nightstand indicates.
In hindsight that may not have been a good idea either, now that I’ve had time to think on it.
Fuck.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I swing my legs out of bed. Not going to get much sleep like this. I grab my shirt off the floor, and a pair of sweats from the dresser. A last look at the bed shows Pippa hasn’t moved an inch and I pull the door closed behind me.
I watch some Justified on Netflix with the sound practically off before I get too restless to sit. It’s already close to four when I grab a beer from the fridge and head out on the front porch.
The night is bright, a nearly full moon already starting to slide down in the sky. I’m surprised at the cool temperature, a relief after today’s heat. A slight breeze carries the familiar smells of horse, hay, and mountain. Leaning back in the old wooden rocker, I take in the view of the ranch. The single light outside the barn spreading to the corral and the field behind. I can make out the silhouette of a horse, its swishing tail the only thing moving.
I consciously push the tension from my body as I attempt to blank my mind, inhaling deeply. It’s an exercise the therapist I saw briefly after arriving back Stateside recommended. Back then, it was to deal with some of the nightmares and temper flares I came back with, but it works for stress just as well.
I breathe in deeply again, but this time the slightly acrid scent of cigar smoke catches my attention. Glancing over at the main house, I see the faint light of an ember. Someone is smoking on the porch. Guess Jonas can’t sleep either. Wonder what’s got him up at this hour.
Grabbing my bottle by the neck, I get to my feet and make my way down the steps. Maybe talking things through with him wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Except when I get closer, I realize it’s not Jonas on the porch. He would’ve spotted me already. Instead, I recognize the shorter, slighter stature of Thomas.
I shake my head and grin at myself. Thomas, who isn’t supposed to be smoking. If either Ama or his daughter-in-law, Alex, get wind of this he’s in for a world of trouble.
The old man almost leaps to his feet when I climb up the steps.
“Dadgummit, boy…ya got me jumpin’ like fleas on a farm dog,” he mutters as he tries to hide his cigar behind his back. “What the heck are you doin’ up?”
“I would ask you the same, except it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that cigar you’re trying to hide is the reason you’re out here this time of night,” I tell him, hitching my hip on the porch railing.
Knowing he’s been made, he sits back down and tugs on his cigar, smoke billowing from his lips as he aims a challenging look in my direction.
“You gonna tell on me?”
“Nah. Guess we all have our way of coping with life.”
I take a swig of my beer and look out at the mountain range barely visible by the light of the moon. Behind me I hear Thomas take another drag.
“So you never said why you’re out here.”
I swing around to face him, intending to feed him a line. Then I reconsider. Why not unload on him? Wouldn’t be the first time Jonas’s father had some sage advice to impart.
“I got married today,” I start.
“Yeah, I heard. Congrats.” He tilts his head to one side. “Regrets already?” he teases.
I grin. “No. But I’d hoped it’d settle life down a bit for her, but that hasn’t happened.”
“Heard about that too. Don’t think whether she’s married or not would’ve made a lick of difference with this FBI business. A bunch of bull, if you ask me, but I’m sure it’ll resolve itself with time.” He pulls another drag and his face disappears behind a cloud of smoke. “You already know the outcome, simply let it run its course, not a lot you can do to speed it along, but you don’t want to slow it down either.”
“Easier said than done. Her doctor tells me I need to get her to rest, but how the fuck am I supposed to do that? She doesn’t only have the FBI breathing down her neck, Thomas. Someone clearly has it in for her. They knew where to find her motorhome, managed to hide a rifle in there, and called in an anonymous tip. Law enforcement is busy following bogus leads, and in the meantime, I’m supposed to be looking out for her. Instead I feel useless, and those fucking agents will be knocking on our door demanding to speak to her in a matter of hours.”
“Take a breath, son. You’re not gonna fix it this morning. That filly’s already shown she’s made of sterner stuff. Besides, you made sure she doesn’t stand alone, but you’re forgetting that you don’t either. You’ve got a band of brothers…hell, you’ve got an entire family here standing with you. Every one of us happy to carry some of that load weighing ya down.”
The screen door opens and the old man curses under his breath when Jonas walks out.
“Hand me the lighter, Dad,” he mutters, holding out his hand.
Grumbling, Thomas fishes the item from the pocket of his pajama top and hands it over. Then Jonas lifts his own cigar to his lips with his other hand and lights it before taking the vacant seat beside his father.
“For the record,” he rumbles. “You haven’t been fooling anyone. Shoulda picked a different spot, my damn bedroom is right up here and Alex likes the window open summer and winter. Good thing a cannon wouldn’t wake that woman because I could hear every damn word.”
“You don’t tell on me, I won’t tell on you,” Thomas negotiates, narrowing his eyes on Jonas’s cigar.
“Could’a done that the first time I heard you out here, old man.” Jonas grins. “I’m saving the information for when I need leverage, and for the record, there’s nothing you can tell Alex about me she doesn’t already know.”
Then he turns to me.
“First light I’m going to have a word with Wolff. If that doesn’t get me anywhere, I’ll be getting on the horn with Ewing. Make sure, even if the feds become myopic in their hurry to pin this on someone, the sheriff’s department won’t stop looking. Don’t forget we’ve got some friends in high places.”
Fuck, I hate depending on others—at least when we’re not in the field—but I’m willing to swallow my damn pride for Pippa…and our daughter.
“Appreciate it. Means a lot.”
Jonas waves me off with a hand. “Shoe’s been on the other foot too, my friend. And Dad’s right, you and Pippa both have people at your back. In the meantime, go back to bed. Try and get some rest while you can. Lord knows you’re no fucking good to anyone without your beauty sleep.”
“Fuck you, J,” I fire back, but I do it smiling as I straighten up. “And thanks for the ear, Thomas.”
“You bet, son.”
Nothing’s been resolved but when I walk back to the cabin, my step is a lot lighter.