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“What are you gonna do?” Sam finally asked him curiously.
Brock shook his head, hunching his shoulders as he sipped at his coffee. There was nothing to do but accept it. He hated it. The pain of it lay in his gut like acid. But what else could he do? He couldn’t hurt Marly.
“I heard her and Cade this morning. She was crying, Brock. Cade’s furious.” Sam kept his voice low as he leaned closer to Brock.
Brock grimaced, his own anger surging through his body. Dammit, it was his home too. His right. A right Marly’s pain would steal away from him. There was no sense in arguing the fairness of it, or of bemoaning it. Marly hadn’t been raised as they had been. She had been sheltered, loved during the years she had lived in their home. She didn’t understand the bond they shared, the needs they had.
“I’ll take care of it.” Brock shook his head.
Silence descended once again. It was strained, questions unsaid, explanations no longer important now.
“How will you take care of it?” Sam finally asked him quietly.
Brock flashed him a disgruntled look.
“I don’t know, Sam, do I need your permission, whatever I do?”
Sam sighed again. He pushed his fingers through his hair, and Brock knew Sam was feeling his own frustration. Brock could only imagine how Cade felt.
“She won’t handle Cade touching another woman, I don’t think.” Sam shook his head sadly. “It’s what Cade’s been afraid of.”
“And I won’t push her into it,” Brock promised him, finishing his coffee. “I’ll get Sarah up and head out as soon as I talk to Cade.””
He rose to his feet, feeling tired, lacking the enthusiasm of the day that he had felt when he first woke up. Damn. He didn’t know what to do now. He would have to move out, at least until he knew what was going on with himself and Sarah. He wasn’t about to do without her in his bed, in his arms, as long as he could keep her there. He would help her clear the trash out of her house, then come back and pack some clothes. The traveling between the ranch and her house would suck, but it beat the alternative.
“She isn’t the type anyway, Brock,” Sam told him sadly as Brock started to turn away from him. “She wouldn’t ease into the family. You know that.”
Brock wasn’t so certain of that. She was untutored, innocent in many ways, but he had seen the spark of excitement in her eyes when he came to her in that damned bar. She knew the rumors, knew what was told about the August brothers and the lover of the oldest. The rumors had been flying for years.
“Yeah. I’m sure you’re right.” Brock agreed with him anyway.
He didn’t want Sam feeling guilty, didn’t want Cade or Marly feeling that way either. Life just sucked sometimes. You had to accept it, or opt out of the game. Brock was no longer willing to opt out.
He left the kitchen, feeling the weight of it dragging at him. He loved the ranch, loved the house. Leaving it for even a little while wouldn’t be easy. But he needed Sarah. The taste of her, so sweet and hot, was becoming addicting. He wanted more. He wanted her in his bed at night, he wanted to hear her scream out his name when she climaxed, but he also wanted more. He wanted her to be part of the family. His family.
* * * * *
Brock found Cade in the stables repairing a stirrup on his favorite saddle. He stood in the doorway to the tack room, silent, absorbing the scents of hay, sweat and horse as he watched his brother work to fix something older than all of them were. A piece of their history, yet one Cade had been unable to put away.
The saddle was old. Generations old. It had belonged to the first Cade August more than a hundred years before. Handed down from father to son, until Grandpa August had bypassed Joe and given it instead to Cade. The summer he died Joe had packed them off to the demon’s house. Brock refused to even think that name. For days, months at a time he could forget the horror of those months. Then it would swamp him again, rushing over him, boiling in his stomach like an evil acid, ready to devour him.
It never failed. It was the same for all of them. When they attempted to draw close to each other, to sense each other’s pain, to attempt to make reason of the hell their lives would often become, the memories attacked. That had been the intention. The object of the lesson. They were alone. Just as that fucking bastard father of theirs had been. He had despised the bond they had as boys, so he had defiled it. Made it ugly and useless, made it something to fear.
Brock clenched his teeth, his jaw aching as he fought for control. He wanted to turn and walk away, to leave the sight of his brother, a man alone, fighting his pain. Cade had always fought so well. For all of them.
“You should put it up. You’re always working on it.” He stepped into the small room, ignoring the sense of oppressiveness, the demons raking at his soul with razor sharp talons.
Cade continued the delicate work, his tanned face tight and drawn as he concentrated on repairing the leather.
Brock leaned against the wall, as close to the door and escape as he could get. God, how did Cade stand it? Being closed up like this, enduring the small space and the memories he knew came with it.
“It endures, Brock.” Cade shrugged, the harsh sound of his voice vibrating through the confined space.
And few other things do.
Brock crossed his arms over his chest, staring around the room. Saddles, ropes, bridles, the tools of any cowboy’s trade lined the room. Sunlight filtered through a small, high window, but at no time of the day would the damaging rays of the sun be permitted to touch the leather. The damage would be irreparable.
“I’m getting ready to take Sarah home.” Brock took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Son of a bitch. He hated this fucking room. He could smell antiseptic, hear screams. He was breaking out in a sweat and only by force of control did he keep his body from shaking.
