Alpha
Page 71
I was out of the van before Marc shut off the engine, and the front door opened before I made it up the steps. My mother lurched onto the porch with Michael on her heels, and she collapsed into my arms before I’d even realized her intent.
She clung to me, sobbing, and her tears soaked through the shoulder of my wrinkled blouse.
“Mom…” I glanced at Michael over her shoulder, but he only shrugged and leaned against the door facing. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, his hair stood up funny on one side, like he’d been sleeping on it, and his eyes were ringed in dark, dark circles.
“Mom…” I tried again, and this time held her at arm’s length so she’d have to look at me.
My mother looked like hell. Her slacks were wrinkled, her blouse was stained with coffee, and her straight, chin-length gray hair was tangled like she’d tried to pull it out a handful at a time. Her face was red and swollen from crying, and her gaze searched mine desperately when she stared back at me. “Is it true?”
“I’m sorry. Mom, I’m so, so sorry.” I blinked through fresh tears and pushed hair back from her face, trying to find some semblance of the mother I knew. She was in there somewhere, buried beneath soul-shredding grief and denial.
“I want to see him. Bring him in—I need to see him.”
“No, Mom, you don’t want to…”
“Katherine Faythe Sanders, you will not argue with me.” She stood up straight and tugged her blouse into place, as if that would restore her usually flawless composure and appearance. “He’s my husband, and I want to see him.”
“Okay, Mom…” Michael stepped forward to put his arm around her and led us both away from the door so the guys could bring the bags in. “But we can’t bring him inside.” He looked at me then, his expression half exhaustion, half apology. “Holly’s here. She thinks it was a car wreck, so the gunshot wound is going to be hard to explain.”
Great. I had to unclench my jaw to speak. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“She’s trying to help,” Michael snapped, while our mother stared at the van, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. “What was I supposed to do, tell her she wasn’t welcome at my father’s funeral?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath before making eye contact again. “It’s just that this is a colossally bad time to have a human wandering around the ranch.”
He sighed. “I know.”
But he didn’t really know. I hadn’t told any of them about Malone’s threat to replace me as Alpha, because I wanted to deliver the extrabad news in person, so I’d only have to say it once.
“I need to talk to you. I need to talk to everyone who isn’t Holly, actually. In the office. It’s…it’s bad, Michael.”
He held my gaze for a moment, apparently trying to judge our placement on the disaster scale by my expression alone. Then he nodded and left our mother with me while he went to gather the rest of the household.
“Mom?” I said, and she turned away from the van to look at me. The tears had stopped and she’d composed herself. Now she just looked exhausted, and wrung out, and…old. “I need to talk to you, and it’s important. Are you… Are you going to be able to listen?” And understand…? Because I knew as well as anyone what havoc grief could play on a person’s comprehension.
“I’ll be fine once I’ve seen him. I just… I have to see for myself.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
She nodded and crossed her arms over her wrinkled blouse. “I’m sure.”
“Just a minute.” I jogged down the steps and met Marc by the van. “Hey, could you guys drive to the barn and lay him out in there? Mom wants to see him, and I can’t talk her out of it.” And honestly, the sooner she saw him, the sooner she could start to accept his death.
“No problem.” Marc slid in behind the wheel while Vic climbed into the passenger seat, and they headed for the barn in the east field.
My mother started down the steps to follow them, but I stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Mom.” I looked pointedly at her bare feet, and she followed my gaze. “Shoes.”
She nodded absently and headed into the house, brushing past Jace on his way out.
“How you holdin’ up?” he asked, and I let him fold me into a hug. A chaste, comforting hug, with my cheek on his shoulder, because we hadn’t told those who’d missed the floor show in Montana about our relationship yet.
“My head’s spinning, and there’s a little nausea,” I admitted softly. “There’s so much to do. So much to say. It’s too much all at once, for them and for me. And I honestly have no idea where to begin.”
“Start with your mom,” Jace suggested. “She needs you, and she shouldn’t have to hear about all of this with everyone else there.” I nodded, and he pulled away so he could see my face. “And as much as I hate to say it, maybe the part about you and me shouldn’t be a broadcast announcement. It’s not really anyone else’s business, and they have more important things to focus on right now.”
I scrounged up a smile. “Mr. Hammond, I believe you’re getting wise in your advanced age.”
He chuckled softly. “Twenty-six doesn’t feel as young today as it did last month.”
She clung to me, sobbing, and her tears soaked through the shoulder of my wrinkled blouse.
“Mom…” I glanced at Michael over her shoulder, but he only shrugged and leaned against the door facing. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, his hair stood up funny on one side, like he’d been sleeping on it, and his eyes were ringed in dark, dark circles.
“Mom…” I tried again, and this time held her at arm’s length so she’d have to look at me.
My mother looked like hell. Her slacks were wrinkled, her blouse was stained with coffee, and her straight, chin-length gray hair was tangled like she’d tried to pull it out a handful at a time. Her face was red and swollen from crying, and her gaze searched mine desperately when she stared back at me. “Is it true?”
“I’m sorry. Mom, I’m so, so sorry.” I blinked through fresh tears and pushed hair back from her face, trying to find some semblance of the mother I knew. She was in there somewhere, buried beneath soul-shredding grief and denial.
“I want to see him. Bring him in—I need to see him.”
“No, Mom, you don’t want to…”
“Katherine Faythe Sanders, you will not argue with me.” She stood up straight and tugged her blouse into place, as if that would restore her usually flawless composure and appearance. “He’s my husband, and I want to see him.”
“Okay, Mom…” Michael stepped forward to put his arm around her and led us both away from the door so the guys could bring the bags in. “But we can’t bring him inside.” He looked at me then, his expression half exhaustion, half apology. “Holly’s here. She thinks it was a car wreck, so the gunshot wound is going to be hard to explain.”
Great. I had to unclench my jaw to speak. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“She’s trying to help,” Michael snapped, while our mother stared at the van, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. “What was I supposed to do, tell her she wasn’t welcome at my father’s funeral?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath before making eye contact again. “It’s just that this is a colossally bad time to have a human wandering around the ranch.”
He sighed. “I know.”
But he didn’t really know. I hadn’t told any of them about Malone’s threat to replace me as Alpha, because I wanted to deliver the extrabad news in person, so I’d only have to say it once.
“I need to talk to you. I need to talk to everyone who isn’t Holly, actually. In the office. It’s…it’s bad, Michael.”
He held my gaze for a moment, apparently trying to judge our placement on the disaster scale by my expression alone. Then he nodded and left our mother with me while he went to gather the rest of the household.
“Mom?” I said, and she turned away from the van to look at me. The tears had stopped and she’d composed herself. Now she just looked exhausted, and wrung out, and…old. “I need to talk to you, and it’s important. Are you… Are you going to be able to listen?” And understand…? Because I knew as well as anyone what havoc grief could play on a person’s comprehension.
“I’ll be fine once I’ve seen him. I just… I have to see for myself.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
She nodded and crossed her arms over her wrinkled blouse. “I’m sure.”
“Just a minute.” I jogged down the steps and met Marc by the van. “Hey, could you guys drive to the barn and lay him out in there? Mom wants to see him, and I can’t talk her out of it.” And honestly, the sooner she saw him, the sooner she could start to accept his death.
“No problem.” Marc slid in behind the wheel while Vic climbed into the passenger seat, and they headed for the barn in the east field.
My mother started down the steps to follow them, but I stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Mom.” I looked pointedly at her bare feet, and she followed my gaze. “Shoes.”
She nodded absently and headed into the house, brushing past Jace on his way out.
“How you holdin’ up?” he asked, and I let him fold me into a hug. A chaste, comforting hug, with my cheek on his shoulder, because we hadn’t told those who’d missed the floor show in Montana about our relationship yet.
“My head’s spinning, and there’s a little nausea,” I admitted softly. “There’s so much to do. So much to say. It’s too much all at once, for them and for me. And I honestly have no idea where to begin.”
“Start with your mom,” Jace suggested. “She needs you, and she shouldn’t have to hear about all of this with everyone else there.” I nodded, and he pulled away so he could see my face. “And as much as I hate to say it, maybe the part about you and me shouldn’t be a broadcast announcement. It’s not really anyone else’s business, and they have more important things to focus on right now.”
I scrounged up a smile. “Mr. Hammond, I believe you’re getting wise in your advanced age.”
He chuckled softly. “Twenty-six doesn’t feel as young today as it did last month.”
