Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(47)

“You can’t go through if you don’t have a ticket,” I informed him.

“I’ve got a ticket,” he replied, looking over my head and down the line.

“To where?” I asked stupidly and his head tipped to look down at me.

“Indianapolis,” he answered.

I felt my brows shoot into my hairline. “You’re coming with me?”

“Gettin’ you there, comin’ home tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Ace, you’re a f**kin’ mess. I’m gettin’ you to your family and I fly home tomorrow.”

“That’s insane,” I whispered.

“It’s what I’m doin’,” he returned.

“But –”

“Shut up, Ace.”

I stared at him.

Then I said, “Okay.”

Then I went through security with Tate and got on a plane with Tate.

Now I was landing in Indianapolis with Tate.

We landed. We taxied. We were let loose from our seatbelts.

Tate got up and was so big, still had his beard, his hair had grown longer and was not only curling around his ears but also his neck, he was wearing a skintight black tee, very faded jeans, motorcycle boots and had a very cool tattoo slithering down his bicep I’d never noticed before because he was always in long-sleeved shirts, and therefore he looked exactly like what you’d expect a bounty hunter to look like (but even cooler, scarier and more handsome) so the other passengers let him have his space as he pulled his black, leather overnight bag out of the overhead compartment. Then he grabbed my hand, pulled me out of the seats and pushed me in front of him with his hand in the small of my back.

We walked through the airport and I started running when I saw my sister’s partner Mack’s tall, dark blond head peering over the crowd at the end of the terminal.

I hit him straight on so hard he went back on a foot.

“Laurie, honey,” he whispered as his arms went around me.

I just started crying again.

He let me cry and had a man-style nominally syllabic conversation with Tate while he held me tight.

“You Jackson?”

“Yeah. Tate.”

“Mack.”

“News?”

Silence.

“Right.”

Mack pushed me to his side, slid his arm around my shoulders and he guided me to the escalator that would take us down to baggage claim.

“Got another situation,” Mack said when we’d exited the escalator and when he said it his arm gave me a squeeze.

“Yeah?” Tate asked and my head tilted back to look at Mack.

“What?” I whispered.

“Your Dad’s out of surgery, he’s in ICU. Only your Mom’s been able to see him. They’re keepin’ a close eye and they want him to rest,” Mack told me.

“Okay,” I replied.

Mack was silent and we stopped by our baggage claim.

Then he pulled in a breath. “Brad’s at the hospital.”

I tore out of his arm and took a step back, shouting, “What?”

“Laurie…” Mack said.

“Ace…” Tate said.

I looked at Tate and informed him, “That’s my ex.”

He got close to me and took my hand. “Okay, baby.”

“My ex as in my ex-husband who spent five years of our marriage f**king my best friend,” I shouted, oblivious of the other travelers turning to stare.

“Yeah, babe, I know,” Tate had pulled my hand up and placed it palm down on his chest with his hand over it.

“He’s at the hospital,” I screeched, “where my father is in I…C…U!”

Tate’s head bent so his face was close to mine. “Calm down, Laurie.”

“No!” I shouted in his face. “What a jerk!”

“Do you want me to beat the shit outta him when we get there?” Tate asked, sounding serious and I blinked at him.

“What?”

“I will,” Tate stated.

“You… you’ll… beat the shit out of him?”

“Say the word, babe.”

“Would… wouldn’t you get arrested for something like that?” I asked.

“Probably,” he answered.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t,” I decided.

“Your call,” he muttered and turned to the baggage claim, moving my hand so it became my arm wrapped around his waist and sliding his arm along my shoulders.

“You’ll yell you see the case,” Mack instructed but he sounded like he found something funny.

“Yep,” Tate said, his eyes on the now moving carousel.

“You’re good, by the way,” Mack went on.

“What?” Tate asked.

“Took me five years with Carrie to figure out how to talk her down from a drama. Laurie’s been in your town for what? A month? Shit, man, you’re the master.”

Tate chuckled.

This conversation didn’t penetrate me. I was post-shouting at the Indianapolis Airport, pre-visit to the hospital where my father who I adored but had left worrying about me for six months (or longer) was in ICU and my ex-husband was hanging out for reasons that could only mean he’d gone insane.