Page 12 of Nick
Nick studied the young woman. He’d seen her a couple of times in the last few months, but they’d barely spoken more than a couple of words. The last time he been in town, she’d been at A&M, trying to finish up and prepare for her upcoming graduation. Things had changed a lot with the pretty blonde. She had been just a little tyke when he’d lived at the Big House. In his memories, she raced around the corrals and barn area, speeding a mile a minute, her blonde pigtails flying behind her, with a bright, gap-toothed smile, because she’d lost one of her front teeth. Veronica Boudreau, fondly known as Nica by her family, the only biological child of Douglas and Ms. Patti, their miracle baby, after being told they’d never have a child.
“Don’t I rate a hello, brat?”
Nica shifted her gaze to Rafe, and Nick caught the smirk on the other man’s lips. “Not with that attitude, big brother.”
Rafe streaked past him, grabbing Nica in his arms, and blowing raspberries on her neck. She shrieked with laughter, beating uselessly on his shoulders.
“Lemme go, you big ox.”
Laughing, Rafe released her. It was obvious to Nick the love between them. Though they didn’t share blood, the bond and affection was clearly evident. A pang of envy crept in, and he quashed it, burying it deep inside. He might not have been raised within this family, but once he’d been found by Calvin, they’d developed their own family, albeit different than the one shared by the Boudreaus. Calvin didn’t show his affection the way the Boudreaus did, but Nick knew the man cared for him. He’d been a father to him for a long time, as well as his boss. Dang if he didn’t miss the old goat right now.
“I’m going to go check on lunch. Back in a minute. Nick, don’t you be running off again.” Ms. Patti’s words were said teasingly, but Nick knew she was dead serious. Not that he could blame her. It seemed like every time he showed up at the Big House, he got called away or somebody got shot.
“Let’s move to the living room. Give us a chance to talk, and you can fill me in on what you’ve found out about the shooter.”
Douglas led the way, with Rafe and Nick trailing behind. Easing his long length onto the sofa, Nick looked around, noting the changes. While the walls and floor were the same, there were other things that were different. The mantle over the fireplace held pictures of each of the boys—now men, some with families of their own—as well as pictures of Nica. A young girl of about six or maybe seven holding a newborn infant sat smack in the middle of all the photos. Nick easily figured this must be Brody’s stepdaughter and his new son. On the end of the row of photos, he took in the pictures of two grown adult men and wondered who they could be.
“That’s Brian McKenna and Gage Newsome, two of Momma’s Lost Boys. Like you. The ones who didn’t end up lasting here at the ranch, though they wanted to. Over the last year, they’ve reconnected with the family and are back in the fold.” Rafe grinned. “You know Momma. Once you’re in her heart, you’re always a part of our ever-growing brood.”
“Lost Boys, huh? Makes us sound like Peter Pan rejects or something.”
Rafe made a choking sound, like he was biting back his laugh. “Seems fitting, doesn’t it? Mind you, we all know how lucky we were, and still are, to be raised by Dad and Momma. But there were a few of you, ones who should have been able to stay, who wanted to live here, but got ripped away or put back into the system.” Rafe glanced toward his father, before he continued. “Momma started calling y’all her Lost Boys, and the name stuck.”
“There wasn’t a day that went by where we didn’t think about you. You and Brian and Gage. We fought to keep you.” Douglas’ deep voice held so much sincerity, the hurt underlying his words struck Nick square in the chest. “I promise you, we did everything. When DPS came and took you, we looked into why. Patricia and I have a friend, a social worker who has referred a few of our sons here over the years.” Douglas smiled at Rafe, and Nick caught his almost imperceptible nod.
“Mrs. A.” Fondness accompanied Rafe’s response. He obviously had a soft spot for the former social worker.
“Yes. She checked into your case, Nick, utilizing connections we didn’t have when you vanished. She did her best to help find you too. When you first left the Big House, we were told you would be sent back to live with your mother, under supervision. A couple of months later, Mrs. A called me. Said you’d disappeared without a trace. Your mother claimed you’d run away, that you’d be back when you got hungry enough or scared enough of being homeless. I contacted the local police department, spoke with the officer assigned to your case. Mrs. A went a different route, talking to her contacts on the streets, because she knew you were special to me and Patricia. Knew you had people who cared about what happened to you. The deeper she dug, the more she was convinced you hadn’t run away, because she knew if you had, you’d have somehow managed to make it back to Shiloh Springs.To us. The police, of course, disagreed with her assessment.”
Nick easily read the disgust on Douglas’ face at that moment. Clearly Douglas hadn’t been happy with the police and whoever had been in charge of his case. Not that he blamed him. No cops had shown up looking for him. Not that they’d have found him, because he was shipped out of Texas pretty quickly.
After my mother sold me.
He fought back the shudder at the remembered despair the memory brought with it. The heartbreak of knowing his mother hadn’t loved him, hadn’t cared for him at all, except as a source of getting enough money to keep her high for a little while. Last he’d heard, she’d died of an overdose not long after that.
He hadn’t mourned her loss.
Before he could say anything, the phone in his pocket vibrated. He’d put it on silent mode because the time he spent with the Boudreaus was precious. A small pocket of time where he wanted no interruptions. Ignoring the call, he started to lean back when the text alert signal on the phone went off. Whoever it was wasn’t going to give up until he answered.
“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” he told Douglas, when he saw Grant Calvin’s face pop up on the screen.
“Go ahead. Lunch will be ready when you’re finished.” With that, Douglas rose and headed for the kitchen, Rafe following close behind, leaving Nick alone in the living room. Shaking his head, he hit the redial button, returning Calvin’s call.
“Are you avoiding my calls?”
“Hello to you, too. And no, I’m not avoiding your calls. I’m busy. You remember, trying to track down the person who took a shot at me and hit Antonio Boudreau instead?”
“Which is why I’m calling, dingo breath. I’ve got news.”
Nick’s spine straightened and he scooted to the edge of the sofa, his whole body going to attention. “Tell me.”
“I did a little checking into our friend Brashear’s activities since he’s a guest of Australia’s finest penal system. The only person who’s been to see him has been his attorney—or rather his team of attorneys—since the bloody arse has enough money he can afford to have multiple legal sharks constantly circling the waters, waiting for any hint of blood in the water. Nobody else has even asked to see him.”
“Tell me he doesn’t have access to any kind of communication with the outside world. No e-mail, phone, snail mail.”
“He’s locked down tight,” Calvin’s gruff voice brooked no argument. “Man can’t even sneeze without me knowing about it. I’ve checked out every member of his legal team because I don’t trust anybody. Lawyers, bah, the whole lot of them are suspect. I haven’t been able to find anything suspicious—yet. None of them are living above their means. No sudden deposits of large amounts, no small amounts either. No Bitcoin, no cryptocurrency, no offshore accounts. Unless they’re dealing with something I can’t track, like precious gems, he’s not our guy.”
Nick rolled his shoulders, heard the audible crackle in his neck. His gut had told him Brashear wasn’t his guy, but there’d been a small chance he could’ve been wrong. Heck, he’d almost hoped he was, because then he could have tied things up quick and easy, had an answer and a reason for somebody taking a potshot at him.
