“You act like one, Shaylene! You haven’t earned the right to be called anything else.”
Shay’s nostrils flared. She avoided her father’s glare and looked down at her plate for a moment. It hurt to swallow, her throat tight. Looking up, she met his glare. “I don’t have to earn anything from you, Father. When I got home from the Marine Corps, this ranch was in deep trouble.” Her voice grew strained. “I wasn’t going to stand by and watch our family legacy be stolen out from beneath us by the bank. You don’t have to like what I’ve done because this isn’t about you. It’s about our whole family, whether they’re dead or alive. We have been on this land for 120 years, Father. Did you think I was going to come home and let it be taken from us? I grant I’m not a business person. I’m a truck driver, that’s all. I knew vets were hardworking men and women. And I wanted to help those who were down-and-out. I know it’s probably not the smartest business plan in the world, but you know what? It’s working. We’re making the monthly mortgage payments. We haven’t missed one, thanks to those vets.”
Reese saw Ray getting redder than a proverbial beet and he worried about him having another stroke. Rising, he said quietly to Shay, “I think it’s time we head back to our offices in the barn.” He saw the hurt and anger in her eyes. Reese wanted to shake the man, but he knew it would do no good to get physical with him. Ray had already paid a big price for his choices. He was the one in the wheelchair, not his stalwart, hardworking daughter.
Giving a jerky nod, Shay whispered, “Yes . . . let’s go,” and she stood, the chair scraping the floor. She gave her father, who refused to look at her, a softened look. “Troy will take you back to the nursing home at three o’clock, Father.”
Reese came around and cupped her elbow, guiding her down the stairs. He wanted to keep his hand on Shay and transferred his palm to the small of her back as they left the stairs. She was walking stiff-legged. He could feel tension radiating from her and he checked his long-legged stride for her sake. The gravel crunched beneath her boots, her arms locked at her sides, hands in fists.
“Hey,” he called, catching her hurt gaze, “you did fine back there, Shay.”
“Dammit,” she huffed, “I let him get to me, Reese! I swore I wouldn’t!”
Reese knew they had at least twenty minutes before returning to the barn, so he angled her off around the corral, heading out toward the arena, where fewer people could hear them talking.
Her gait slowed, and finally she moved against his body, silently asking for his arm to come around her waist. Reese didn’t disappoint her and he felt her surrender over to him as she rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” he rasped. “You held your own, Shay. This isn’t easy for you.”
Shoving strands of hair away from her cheek, she muttered, “I blew it. I let him get to me, dammit! I was trying so hard to disengage from him. He kept calling me ‘girl.’ I hate that name! I hate it!” Shay jerked to a halt, turning toward Reese, her hands over her eyes, trying to hide from everyone. She refused to cry. Dammit, anyway!
Reese moved his hand gently across her tense shoulders, drawing Shay against him. He stifled a groan as she buried her face against his chest, her arms sliding around his waist, clinging to him. He felt her struggling to get ahold of her escaping emotions. Rubbing his hand gently up and down her back, he kissed her hair. “Just take this an hour at a time, Shay. Your father is a tough nut to crack and he’s not likely to change. I was proud of you.”
Slowly, Shay eased out of his arms. “He doesn’t see me, Reese,” she whispered brokenly. “The ranch has improved! We’ve all worked so hard to pull it back from the brink.” She closed her eyes, her hand coming to rest on his upper arm. “It hurts so much . . .” The anguished words tore out of her mouth. In that moment, Shay looked like a ten-year-old little girl, confused and hurting, unable to sort out anything. Reese knew it was part PTSD, the other part of her trying to untangle herself from the dysfunction she’d grown up with.
“Listen to me,” he told her, kissing her brow, sliding his hand against her cheek, holding her gaze. “You lean all you want on me while you’re feeling like this. I’ll hold you . . . do whatever you need, Shay. You aren’t in this war alone with him. You have me now.”
Gulping, she nodded and whispered, “Then hold me tonight, Reese? Be with me?”
Freezing momentarily, he searched her wide eyes intently. “Are you sure?” he demanded hoarsely. “Do you know what you’re asking, Shay?” Shaken, Reese hadn’t expected this. He saw the anguish and the need in her eyes.