Playing With Fire (Tangled in Texas, #2)(96)

All of which belonged to one person.

My mother.

My father hadn’t been trying to take me away from her. He had tried to protect me from her. If only I hadn’t suppressed the one memory that would have kept him out of prison twenty-two years ago. That the moment the scuffle in our kitchen had begun, I’d opened the pantry door to help my mother. But what I’d seen left me dumbfounded and in a state of shock.

My mother repeatedly attacked my father, biting and clawing at him, while he’d done nothing to defend himself. He’d never laid a finger on her. Then, in the midst of her raging fit, my mother had picked up a cast iron skillet and cracked it against my father’s skull, knocking him backward into the living room.

Afterward, she calmly and quietly grabbed the bottle of cooking wine on the counter and poured it over her head before placing her wet sleeve over the open flame of the stove. She shrieked in pain as the flames consumed her, and I slammed the door on the pantry and curled into a ball, locking the images away in my mind.

Apparently, I’d blocked out the horror of what my mother had done to protect her memory, or possibly my sanity, but I couldn’t do it anymore. My mom had not been murdered by my father. She was a depressed, suicidal pyromaniac who had not only tortured her only child, but killed herself to escape the seduction of fire.

And even though I’d witnessed the whole thing, I still sent an innocent man to prison for almost twenty-two years. I didn’t know how he could forgive me for that. Or how I’d ever forgive myself.



An hour after my father left, a nurse came into the room.

“Can I see Cowboy now?” I asked, still stewing in guilt over what I’d done to my own father.

“His parents just arrived, and he’s only allowed two visitors at a time.”

“It might be a few more hours, then?”

She hesitated. “Well it might be a little longer than that. But I’m sure you’ll be able to see him in the next day or two.”

“Day or two?” I blinked at her as she chewed her lip. “What are you not telling me?” My mind swelled with horrific images of me at Cowboy’s funeral. “Oh God! Please tell me he’s okay.”

The nurse grasped my hand and gave it a hard squeeze. “No, no. He’s fine, I promise,” she said softly, looking as if she were mentally cringing at what she was about to tell me. “It’s just that…well, he doesn’t want to see you.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“That’s what he said. He said to tell you he was okay and that he’d talk to you in a couple of days once things settled down.”

I shook my head. “No, you’re wrong. You must’ve misunderstood him…or it’s the pain meds he’s on. Cowboy wouldn’t—”

She squeezed my hand again. “I’m sorry, honey. I heard him say it myself. He’s quite coherent and lucid about it.”

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“I can’t tell you that. He didn’t give his consent to give out his room number and we have to abide by patient orders when it comes to their privacy.” Her apologetic eyes gazed at me, trying to comfort me in my agitated state. “Just give him some time. I’m sure he’ll come around after a few—”

I shot off the bed, ran out of the room, and down the long hallway, desperately yelling Cowboy’s name. The nurse called after me, but I ignored her. Why would he say such a thing after everything we’d been through together? Had he been telling the truth about him and Mandy, after all? Had there been something between them?

As I made it to the end of the hallway, I was only vaguely aware of the hospital security guard behind me, chasing after me. He tackled me to the ground and held me there, while I fought against him, still screaming Cowboy’s name until my throat burned and I choked on my coughs. Tears streamed down my face.

It isn’t true. It isn’t.

Moments later, a doctor showed up wielding a syringe and stuck me in the arm. Within seconds, my strength weakened, my vision blurred, and my screams quieted. The last thing I remembered was everything going black.



I rapped lightly on the outside of the office door.

“Go away,” Cowboy said from the other side. “I’m busy.”

He might have left the hospital without saying a word, and avoided me for the last two days, but he wasn’t going to easily dismiss me now, not without facing me one last time. He owed me that much at least. So I pushed the door open.

Cowboy was sitting at the desk, but stood up with a dizzying speed. “Goddamnit. I said I was—” He blinked, looking much like he didn’t know what to say, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Um, hey.”

I stood at the door in a white sundress, twisting my fingers together nervously, not really sure how to respond, either. It was a moment I’d been dreading for days. Ever since I’d come to and was told Cowboy had checked himself out of the hospital early, against medical advice.

“Hi,” I said, my voice coming out much weaker than I meant for it to.

“What are you doing here?” The sound of his cool tone gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I mean, are you well enough to be out of the hospital?”

Guess we’re going to make small talk. Fine.

“I’m all right.” I gifted him a halfhearted smile, which was much more than the bastard deserved. “I tire a little easier right now since I’m still recovering from the smoke inhalation, but I’m managing.”