Games of the Heart (The 'Burg #4)(170)

“Debbie talks trash about me?” she asked softly, her expression both surprised and pained.

“Debbie’s a bitch, Rhonda. She’s bitter. She’s twisted. And she’s usin’ you to hurt Dusty. It cannot have escaped your notice they don’t get along and I know this because you mentioned that exact thing to me. But Debbie has always been just that…Debbie. You picked the wrong advisor to guide you through this tough time in your life. It’s time to make a different choice.”

She held his eyes, swallowed then whispered, “Did this farm kill my husband?”

“No,” Mike answered instantly.

“Debbie says –”

“Debbie lied.”

“But –”

“Your husband was tremendously fit other than the fact that he had a near undetectable heart condition that he’s had since birth. That killed him. This farm did not.”

She licked her lips then rubbed them together before telling him, “I want my boys to be happy.”

“Then wake up and look around. Their Aunt Dusty is back, she’s stayin’ and they both come alive around her. Fin’s got a girl he cares about a great deal. They like family and they got family all around. This is a tough time for them, losin’ their Dad but other shit’s goin’ down and there are a lotta people bustin’ their asses to cushion them from that. The only one they got close who isn’t doin’ that is the one who should be bustin’ her ass the most. And that’s you.”

She did the lip rubbing thing again and Mike watched, seeking patience and wondering how the f**k Darrin put up with this shit for twenty years. Then again, he put up with a different kind of shit from Audrey for fifteen so he was in no position to judge.

Then she asked, “What they…all they said earlier…what…do you…do you think Darrin would –?”

“Absolutely,” Mike cut her off to reply.

Tears filled her eyes and she whispered, “Really?”

“Darrin Holliday loved three things best in this world, you, his boys and this land. You hurt those boys and put this farm in danger. So yeah, he’d be pissed as all hell at you. He knew you. He loved you because of who you are. This is true. But he would not understand this, he wouldn’t like it and he’d do somethin’ about it and I don’t think you’d like what he’d do.”

She looked away, face pale, tears brimming and murmured, “Maybe I should call Debbie and –”

Mike interrupted again.

“No.”

Her eyes came back to him.

“My advice?” he asked and she nodded. “Do not talk to Debbie at all. Do not talk to Bernie McGrath. Do not talk to anyone who works for McGrath. Help Dusty with her horses. Help her with her pottery. Help Della with this house. Do what you can to help get that crop in the ground. Stop watching TV. Stop sulking in your f**kin’ bedroom. Take an interest in your boys’ lives before you lose them both to maturity as well as emotionally. And do everything in your power to keep this farm in the family.”

She studied him a moment before she nodded, thank Christ.

“We done?” he asked.

“We’re done,” she answered then added, “Thanks, Mike.”

“It’ll be me thankin’ you if you start contributing to this family.”

She took in a breath.

Then she nodded again.

Mike nodded back and turned to leave but, Rhonda calling his name, he turned back.

The tears were in her eyes again as she whispered, “I miss him.”

“A lotta people do. But you aren’t honoring his memory by falling apart.”

She swallowed again then nodded.

Mike studied her for a moment then he thought, f**k it, and finished laying it out.

“Way I see your relationship with your husband, it was a lot of Darrin givin’ and a lot of you takin’. He was cool with that so I pass no judgment. But he gave you so much, Rhonda, there’s some tank inside you that’s gotta be filled. Find it, tap into it and use it. Darrin left that to you. You want to honor his memory, take all he gave to you, use it and move on.”

A tear slid out of her eye and down her cheek.

She again nodded.

Mike was pissed at her, he didn’t get her but in that moment, she looked so f**king lost, he felt sorry for her.

He didn’t let this thought move him.

He simply nodded back and walked away.

*

Mike stared at the dark pillow.

Ten minutes ago, Dusty had carefully slid away from him, rummaged through the room quietly and she, with Layla’s dog tags following her, went out to the balcony closing the door on the cool air coming in.

It was the middle of the night. She was troubled. He had been giving her time.

Now he was done giving her time.

He threw the covers back, angled out of bed and pawed through the shadowed clothes on the floor until he found a sweater. Then he tugged it on and moved to the balcony.

Layla was already at the door waiting for him and therefore Dusty’s neck was twisted, her eyes turned to him as he stepped out.

He bent and sifted his fingers through the fur on his dog’s ruff as he walked the short distance to her. Then he slid his arms around her stomach and fitted his front to her back, resting his jaw against the side of her head when she turned it to face forward again.