Page 10 of His Saving Grace

Chapter 3

Theboomofthe explosion vibrated deep in Mason’s bones. Thunderous noise echoed in his eardrums, leaving behind a high-pitched whine.

The truck flipped. Guys and gear got caught in the momentum. Metal crunched. Mason scrambled for the door, the seat, the roof, anything to stop from falling. Everything he tried to grab slid through his fingers.

Something collided with his elbow, wrenched the joint backwards, shot pain up to his shoulder. Glass shattered. His foot hammered Miller in the side of the head.

Miller howled.

A knee smashed into Mason’s face. Warm, sticky blood burst from his nose. Pain bounced through his skull. The truck rolled for several heart-stopping seconds and then crashed upside down.

Mason smacked into the ground, his arm pinned between his body and the ceiling. The air shot out of his lungs. His neck wrenched, sending a surge of pins and needles shooting down his arm. His head bounced off the ground hard enough for light to burst behind his eyes.

Something–or someone–heavy crashed on top of him, the pressure pinpointed on his leg, just above the knee. The bone in his thigh snapped with a sickening, acid-rising-in-the-back-of-his-throat crunch…

He bolted upright, twisted in the blankets, and swallowed the scream clawing its way up his throat. His heart beat against his ribs, hard enough to crack bone. A sheen of sweat coated his skin.

He lifted a shaking hand to his nose, but there was no blood. No twisted metal. No fire. It wasn’t real. Nothing but a nightmare.

His hip and thigh throbbed, as if to remind him it wasn’t only a nightmare. Like he could forget.

He untangled his legs from the blankets and tossed them aside. The cool, early morning air sent goosebumps popping out across his skin. He shivered and sat up, dropping his feet over the side of the bed.

Fuck. He hadn’t had a dream so realistic in months. Propping his elbows on his knees, he pressed his eyes into the heels of his hands. A dull ache pulsed at the base of his skull. What he wouldn’t give for a single night of uninterrupted sleep. A few fucking hours when he didn’t toss and turn and relive the worst fucking moment of his life.

Something cold and wet bumped against his leg. He dropped his hands. Tank stood there, staring up at him. She whined.

“Hey, girl,” he said and scratched behind her ear. She scooted closer and rested her head on his knee. A bit of his anxiousness and anger melted away. She always had that effect on him. Managed to calm him like nothing else. Had she done that for Jordan, too?

Nope. No fucking way was he going there. Not right now.

He stood and fumbled around to put on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. It shouldn’t be so difficult, but his stupid leg, coupled with exhaustion, seemed to make even the most menial tasks impossible. It also didn’t help that Tank always managed to be in the way.

They made their way downstairs and into the kitchen. It was early, the sun not quite up, but there was already coffee. Not surprising. Work on the ranch often started long before sunrise.

Mason poured a cup, trying not to dwell on the fact that no one had asked him to help with any of the ranch work yet. He’d been back for five days now, and everyone was still treating him like he was made of glass, like he would crack if they exerted the slightest pressure.

He scooped some dog food into Tank’s dish. While she was busy eating, he slipped his shoes on and stepped out onto the porch, closing the door softly behind him. He limped over to the railing and hoisted himself onto it.

The sun had begun to rise. He squinted against the pink and orange rays and took a sip of his coffee. The chirping of birds in the trees surrounding the property broke the early morning silence. He shifted, leaning his back against the porch column. Not the most comfortable of spots, but it gave him the best view of the guest house.

He stretched his left leg along the railing in front of him, let his right leg dangle over the edge. Keeping it straight helped ease the ache. He glanced down. Better be careful. Falling into the thorns of his mother’s prized roses would be nothing compared to her wrath.

He took another sip of his coffee, the bite bitter on the back of his tongue. The braying of cattle in the distance was a soothing balm to his battered soul. He missed this place. Fifteen years was a long time. A lifetime, really. Enough time to miss just about everything.

It was a painful lesson. One he’d regret for the rest of his days. The type of lesson that went hand in hand with the realization he was far too stubborn for his own good. And he shouldn’t let anger in the heat of the moment alter the course of his life. Or keep him from the things he craved.

The front door of the guest house opened, pulling him from his maudlin thoughts. Grace emerged, wearing a short robe and flip-flops. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and she had a navy and white striped towel draped over her arm.

Right on time.

He hadn’t meant to spy on her. The other morning he’d been awake, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and he’d heard splashing. Curiosity got the better of him, and he’d gotten up and looked out the window.

His second-floor room overlooked the backyard, and he had a direct view of the guest house. In the years he’d been gone, a large in-ground swimming pool had been laid in the space behind the house. It was a welcome addition, since the temperatures in the area averaged ninety-plus degrees in the summer.

Part of him still mourned the loss of the backyard space, though. It was where he and his brothers used to play when they were kids. Many a touch—that inevitably turned to tackle—football game had happened back here. And who could forget the infamous slip and slide accident that had given Owen the scar on his chin? The time they’d tried to recreate the final lightsaber battle from Star Wars with trimmings from the orchard and Simon had almost lost an eye? Or when Jake broke his wrist, because Simon and Declan convinced him to try one of the high-flying wrestling moves they’d seen on television?

His thoughts drifted to his brothers. God, he’d missed so much of their lives. When he left, Jake had been a kid for Christ’s sake. Eleven years old.