“How many do you take?” She demands, picking up the different bottles to read each of the labels.
“I can’t take them yet.” I lean back, studying her, the way the ends of her hair curl now they’re wet, how her muscles flex as she moves. Looking at her is far betterthan focusing on the pain throbbing through every inch of my body.
I’d do it again.
Catch her again.
Despite the agony.
“What do you mean you can’t take them yet!?” She pins me with her icy stare.
“I can have them every four hours. I took them two hours ago.”
“Ice!” She blurts, “I’ll get you ice.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to respond as she dashes into the kitchen and rummages around in the freezer, pulling handfuls of ice cubes out to bundle into a towel.
“Where does it hurt?” She lowers next to me and waits for me to show her. With a sigh, I lean forward and gesture to the ribs just below my shoulder blade. Tenderly, she places the ice there and holds it. “It’ll take a minute.”
The ticking clock fills the silence between us.
“We need to call the sheriff’s office,” I finally speak.
“What for?”
“Someone chased you through the woods, Niamh.”
“Someone tried to run you over,” She deadpans.
“Who told you that?”
“Silas.” She moves the ice to get a better position, but it is helping a little, the cold taking away the edge of pain.
“That son of a bitch.” I knew he’d mentioned something but didn’t realize he’d told hereverything.
“Why is that a problem?” She asks, “Should I not know?”
“I don’t want to scare you,” I admit.
“Do you think it’s the same person?” She pushes.
Yes.
How do I tell her? How do I explain to her what happened all those years ago? Everyone in this town heard about the accident; it was splashed across every newspaper and on every local news station.
Beloved mother and ranch owner dead in horror crash.
A tragedy, they claimed, a horrible, horribleaccident.
Everyone here on this ranch, though? We know better.
“Roman?” She leans around me so she can meet my eyes.
I can’t meet them, if I do, I’ll have to admit I come from a monster. My father hasn’t been a part of our lives for a very long time, but he was there throughout my younger years. He raised us before our grandfather took over; we witnessed his anger and his violence, was subjected to it time and time again. But that man was smart, he had people on his side, false alibis. When he hurt us, he made sure it wouldn’t leave a mark or was in places people couldn’t see, and if we talked? Our mother would take the fall.
He had us under his thumb.
He wanted more; he always wanted more. His greed drove him, his need for control and power and money. I’m not even entirely sure what my mother saw in him in the first place. He never hid that he wasa monster — or maybe he did until my mother had no choice but to stay. Three boys, a ranch to run…
