Cherished Read online

  Cherished

  Steel Brothers Saga: Book Seventeen

  HELEN HARDT

  This book is an original publication of Waterhouse Press.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2021 Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Design by Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Photographs: Shutterstock

  * * *

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Epilogue

  Continue reading the Steel Brothers Saga with Book Eighteen

  Message from Helen Hardt

  Also By Helen Hardt

  Acknowledgments

  About Helen Hardt

  For my mother

  Prologue

  Dale

  The sun rises over the Rockies and casts light on my vines.

  I won’t stay long.

  I have to get home to feed Penny and let her out.

  But for a moment, this is where I need to be.

  Away from the chaos.

  Away from the fear.

  I let her in.

  I fucking let her in.

  What’s worse? She let me in.

  Now, I have to hurt her, and though I’d rather burn in flames from the inside out than hurt Ashley White—the woman I love—I have no choice. It can’t be avoided. Once you’re steering toward the cliff, it’s too late to stop the catastrophe.

  She awakened me.

  Made me want something I have no business wanting, made me want to confront the demons hiding somewhere inside me.

  She awakened emotions left dormant for decades.

  And though it led to the best and most profound moment of my life, the price is too high. Far too high.

  For I know the truth. The problem with letting the good feelings out is that the bad feelings must come along for the ride. There’s no escape.

  The monster inside me is loose now. Loose in the midst of the chaos.

  And I’m on that ride into hell.

  Chapter One

  Ashley

  I was no longer afraid.

  My mother was gone most of the day, looking for work or begging for money to feed us for another twenty-four hours. I sat alone in the tent. I wasn’t supposed to leave our sanctuary, but I disobeyed today. It was so hot, and I could barely breathe.

  I opened the flap, and then the stench hit.

  The smell of tent city.

  Pee, poop, puke.

  I felt funny, and saliva pooled in my mouth. That feeling right before you hurl. Smell was the one sense I had that didn’t seem to collide with the others very often, and I was thankful.

  The stink alone was enough.

  Mom and I had learned to walk carefully among the tents, avoiding the piles of poop and the used syringes. Once I asked Mom how people who lived on the streets could afford to get drugs. Her answer was, “That’s why they’re on the streets.”

  Still, I was confused.

  Why were we on the streets, then?

  I never got a straight answer from her. Only that she was doing her best.

  And she was. I never doubted it. I knew only that my father died when I was too young to remember, and she’d lost her job soon after that. We were eventually evicted from our apartment, and with nowhere else to go, we packed up and headed for tent city.

  This was home now.

  In the tent to our right lived a nice old man. He was a Vietnam veteran, though I didn’t know exactly what that meant, other than he’d fought in a war a long time ago. Maybe we’d learn about Vietnam when I went back to school in the fall. I’d be in third grade.

  Mom made sure I went to school.

  I hated it.

  I couldn’t have friends over, and I couldn’t accept any invitations from friends—the few who actually offered them. Most of the other kids looked down on me. Sometimes I had to go to school in the same clothes because nothing else was clean. Sometimes we had to use the little money we had for food instead of the laundromat.

  On our other side lived a brother and a sister. They were teenagers. Mom said they’d been “lost in the system.” Their parents were either dead or had abandoned them, and instead of going into the system, they chose to live here.

  Were there beds in the system? Showers? Food every day? If so, the system didn’t sound too bad to me.

  We were lucky that a nearby building let us use their bathrooms. They allowed single women with children inside, but no one else. Mom had taught me how to thoroughly cleanse my body using hand soap. Being homeless was no excuse to be dirty, she said.

  Still, I remembered the warm pelting glory of an actual shower. One day, I’d experience that heaven again.

  I took three trips to the building each day to use the toilet as well. I’d learned not to drink anything before going to sleep. It wasn’t difficult. We conserved what water we had. Mom said we were never to relieve ourselves outside. Homelessness was also not an excuse for being disgusting.

  “How are you today, Ashley?”

  I turned to see Mr. Davis, the veteran, sitting in his lawn chair and reading.

  “I’m okay. How are you, Mr. D?”

  He coughs.

  Gray smoke. That’s the color of his cough. It turns grayish green when he hocks up a loogie.

  “Been better. But it’s a beautiful day, so who’s complaining?”

  “What are you reading?”

  He held up his tattered paperback so I cou
ld see the title.

  “Kidnapped. What’s it about?”

  “It’s a classic,” he said. “It takes place in historical Scotland and is about a young man’s adventures.”

  “He’s kidnapped? That doesn’t seem like a good adventure.”

  “He gets away. And then gets into trouble. But what young man doesn’t?” He laughs but ends up choking again. “Don’t ever start smoking,” he says when he finally catches his breath.

  “I won’t.”

  “It’s a nasty habit.”

  “I’ve never seen you smoke.”

  “I don’t. Not anymore. But I still have the aftereffects.”

  “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

  “Most doctors don’t welcome patients who can’t pay their bills.”

  “What about the free clinic?”

  He coughs again. “Nothing free about it. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with me. I may cough a little, but I always stop eventually.”

  I cocked my head. “I guess that makes sense. Do you have any other books?”

  “A few. They’re in a box inside my tent. You can take a look if you want.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I scrambled into his tent.

  I breathed through my nose. Mr. Davis’s tent smelled…icky. Like phlegm and puke. Blech. The box of books sat in the corner, and I pawed through it. They were all paperbacks and all well used. I didn’t see anything that interested me until—

  Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. It looked like a children’s book, but why would Mr. D have a children’s book? I grabbed it and scrambled out of the tent, leaving the flap open. His tent needed to air out.

  “Find something?” he asked.

  “Yeah, what’s this one?”

  “It belonged to my daughter. She had the whole set.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  “Had,” he said. “She died a few years ago. Leukemia.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a form of cancer. Cancer of the blood.”

  “Oh.” I frowned. “I’m very sorry.”

  “Me too. She was way too young to die. But let’s not talk about sad things. There’s enough to be sad about. Read the book. I hope you like it. If you do, maybe you can get the rest of them from the library.”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “Who knows? This was the only one left after Melissa died.”

  “Do you know what this one is about?”

  He nodded. “I read it to Melissa when she was about your age. Maybe younger. It’s about a little girl who lived in the eighteen hundreds with her pioneer parents.”

  “What does she do?”

  “Well…she helps her mother churn butter. She sews. She has a corncob for a doll.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “That sounds boring. Can I read yours instead?”

  “This one?” He holds up Kidnapped.

  “Yeah. I’d rather read about someone who’s kidnapped and has adventures than some girl who has a corncob for a doll.”

  “Tell you what,” Mr. D said. “You read that one, and when you’re done, I’ll give you Kidnapped. Deal?”

  “Okay. That’s a deal.” I took the book back into my tent and opened it.

  I jerk my eyes open.

  I’m still in the hotel room at the Carlton, clutching the horrible note Dale left for me.

  I read it once more.

  This will get you back to the ranch. Take today off.

  * * *

  Dale

  I wasn’t asleep, just in a kind of meditative state. I’m so numb, and my senses… It’s so strange to not sense anything.

  So what do I do?

  I return to my childhood. My childhood, where my best friend was a Vietnam vet who lived in the tent next to ours. He introduced me to literature that day. I was always a good reader, and I turned into a voracious one after that day. I devoured Little House in the Big Woods, and after that, Kidnapped. Then Treasure Island and Little House on the Prairie and everything else both Laura Ingalls Wilder and Robert Louis Stevenson wrote. I moved on to C.S. Lewis, J. K. Rowling, Judy Blume, and J.R.R. Tolkien. Then, as I got older, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, George Orwell, Margaret Mitchell, Harper Lee, and contemporary authors like John Grisham and Nora Roberts.

  But Kidnapped still holds a special place in my heart.

  After that day, I was never without a book in my hand.

  Why this memory? Why now?

  I rise and regard my phone on the nightstand. It’s eight a.m. Dale told me to take today off, but I will not. I scramble to the bathroom and take a quick shower. Then I don my red sundress and order a cab. By the time I reach the lobby, my taxi is waiting. I hastily give the cabbie the address.

  “That’s a ninety-dollar fare, ma’am.”

  I flash him the bills Dale left on my nightstand. “Just get me there quickly and you can have both.” I’ll be glad to be rid of them. I don’t want the reminder of Dale’s crudeness.

  His eyes morph into circles, and he nods. “You got it.”

  Chapter Two

  Dale

  “So the tasting went well.”

  I look up from the pile of reports I’m eyeing. Uncle Ryan stands in the doorway to my office.

  “Yeah. It went okay.”

  “I hear our intern was a smash.”

  I look back down at the papers in front of me. I haven’t actually read any words. It’s all a gray blur. “She did well.”

  “Looks like she did more than well,” Ryan says. “She sold the hell out of the apple wine and your Cab Franc.”

  I sigh and meet his gaze. “Yes. She’s a talent.”

  He cocks his head. “Does that bother you?”

  “Why should it? I’d expect nothing less from a doctor of wine.”

  “She’s not a doctor yet.”

  I resist rolling my eyes. “Whatever.”

  “I haven’t seen her yet this morning,” Ryan says. “What do you have her working on?”

  “I gave her the day off.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. As a reward. You know, for the tasting.” The tasting that I just refused to give her any credit for other than “she did well.” Uncle Ry is going to see right through this crap.

  “A reward for doing her job after one day?”

  I sigh. No, I gave her the day off because I can’t face her. In fact, I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to face her again.

  “Yes. She’s not being paid. It seemed…appropriate.”

  Ryan inhales. “All right. Good enough. Not the way I’d have handled it, but I gave her to you. She’s your responsibility.” He turns to leave.

  “Uncle Ry?”

  He looks over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “She’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “I expect so.” Then he leaves.

  I throw the papers back into their manila folder. I won’t be good for anything today. At least I won’t have to see Ashley since she won’t be here. I’ll stay away from the main house when I get home. In fact, I’ll just grab Penny and spend tonight in the vineyards.

  “Damn it,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Good morning.”

  That voice. That sweet and soft voice.

  I look up.

  The object of my affection stands in my doorway.

  God, she’s even more beautiful this morning. She wears skinny jeans and a pink T-shirt. Her hair is still damp and hangs around her shoulders in a golden cascade. Her lips, pink and full and slightly glossy.

  No makeup. She doesn’t need it.

  Just Ashley.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice taking an edge I don’t expect.

  “I work here, remember?”

  “I gave you the day off.”

  “I chose not to take it.”

  I look down at the folder. “I’m deluged with paperwork today. I don’t have time to deal with…”

  “With what? Wi
th me? Or with us?”

  I draw in a breath, trying to stop the wildebeests stampeding across my heart. “There is no us, Ashley.”

  “There was last night.”

  “Last night was a mistake.”

  The words taste bitter on my tongue.

  Because they’re a lie. A big-ass lie. Last night was the most wonderful time of my life. More wonderful even than watching the stars alone among my vines. It was heaven.

  All my life I’ve avoided heaven.

  If I acknowledge heaven, I also have to acknowledge hell.

  And now hell is coming for me.

  My intercom buzzes. Saved by the bell. I press the button. “Yeah?”

  “Dale, I have Bridget from Qwest Labs for you.”

  “Qwest Labs?”

  “Yeah. You know them?”

  Then it hits me. Qwest Labs. That’s where I had my blood drawn for the paternity test. Dad and I put a rush on it.

  “Put her through.” Pause. “This is Dale Steel.”

  “Mr. Steel, this is Bridget Miles from Qwest Labs.”

  “Yes?”

  “I have your DNA test results.”