Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel by Lisa Bingham Read Free Book Online Page A

her, she couldn’t remember what he’d asked. Worse yet, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to leave. Not yet. This man—this stranger—exuded warmth and strength and safety. In a single evening, he’d come to her aid, reassured her children, kept them warm and dry, and filled their stomachs, all without being asked.
    “Thank you, Jace.” The words emerged with a huskiness she hadn’t intended but that she wouldn’t have changed. Jace Taggart would never realize how close she’d come to the brink. She honestly didn’t know what she would have done without his intervention—probably spent the evening worrying about her grandmother and cursing her own inadequacies. By shouldering some of the burden, however inadvertently, Jace had given her a chance to gather her dwindling strength and return to the fight.
    His smile was slow and crooked and filled with hiddenundercurrents that hadn’t been there before. Lordy, lordy, what it did to her knees.
    “My pleasure.” He gestured to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help with your luggage?”
    Sheesh.
That was the question he’d asked her earlier.
    She quickly shook her head. “I’ll go out in a few minutes and grab my overnight bag. Since the girls are already asleep, I’ll have them get their gear in the morning.”
    He worried his hat in his hands for a minute, and then settled it on top of his head. “Well, I’ll say good night to you then. I’ll be back in the morning with Tyson so that he can see to your car. I’ll stop on the way and get you a few of the necessities—milk and bread. It’ll tide you over until you’ve visited Annie in the hospital again and can make a proper trip to the grocery store.”
    She opened her mouth, and then laughed softly. “Is everyone here in Bliss this nice to strangers?”
    He shifted, clearly embarrassed, and then said, “Only if they’re as pretty as you.”
    Then he settled his hat on his head and offered, “Good night, Bronte. Sleep well.”
    Before she could think of a response . . .
    He was gone.
    Bronte didn’t know how long she stood there, staring into space, trying to corral the disjointed thoughts stampeding through her brain. Somehow, in the block of a few hours, everything had changed. She’d come looking for sanctuary, for a hole that she could crawl into and lick her wounds. She’d thought that if she ran far enough and fast enough, she could leave her troubles behind, not knowing that they’d accompanied her much like the baggage stowed in her van.
    But then . . . even when she thought she would be completely crushed by her sorrow, the kindness, the consideration, and the hint of interest given to her by a stranger had offered her a pinprick of hope, one that threatened to flicker and disappear as his taillights disappeared into the darkness.
    Sighing, Bronte forced herself to move. She staggered outside, swearing when she remembered, too late, that therewas a loose board on the top step. But when she landed heavily, she discovered that the stoop had been repaired in the last few hours.
    Another of Jace’s miracles?
    A serenade of crickets accompanied her as she waded through the damp grass to her car and retrieved her overnight bag. Then, too tired to think, she made quick work of washing her face and brushing her teeth.
    In the stark bathroom lighting, the bruise on her cheek seemed even more garish. The injury was fading, true. But beneath the harsh fluorescent bulb, she was sure that she could see the outline of a pistol grip.
    Whirling away from the image, she sat on the edge of the claw-foot tub, gulping air into her lungs. She’d told herself that once she arrived at Annie’s she could cry and cry and cry until there were no more tears left to shed. But now, with so many people relying on her—Kari, Lily, and Annie—she knew she couldn’t start. If she did, she’d never be able to stop.
    Her gaze dropped to the bag open on the floor, to the thick envelope awaiting