A Sinclair Homecoming

Not likely if she couldn’t get past this. David died three years ago.

She wasn’t sure which stage of grief she was stuck in because she jumped between all the stages like a child playing hopscotch. Sometimes she was hurt; other times she was angry.

No, angry wasn’t a strong enough word.

She was enraged.

But she couldn’t show that side of her grief. People understood her tears; they wouldn’t understand her rage.

Morgan rose abruptly and padded into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and reached for the wine but then stopped. David’s favorite brand of pinot grigio awaited her as it always did but she wanted a beer. In the early days of their marriage, David had lightly chastised her penchant for beer as low-class and had endeavored to educate her palate. She supposed he’d succeeded for she dutifully drank the finest wines and could appropriately pair wines with their courses. But she really still preferred a cold beer.

Her daddy had always said he couldn’t trust a man who wouldn’t share a beer with him.

Suffice to say, Daddy and David hadn’t been the best of friends.

Maybe her daddy had seen something she’d completely missed because she’d had hearts in her eyes.

“I wish I’d listened, Daddy,” Morgan murmured as she grabbed a beer by the neck and pulled it from the fridge. With two twists, she’d cracked the top and took a deep swig. “What do you think of that, David?” she asked to the empty kitchen. Nothing but silence answered. Great. She ought to get a cat if she was going to start having conversations with people who weren’t there.

People thought she didn’t date because she was afraid no one would be like David. Morgan always smiled and nodded, letting them go on thinking that.

The real truth? Morgan was afraid she’d find someone just like him.

CHAPTER TWO

WADE WAS DEEP in a meeting with the local county’s Native American leaders about passes for the indigenous people when his cell phone went off.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, chagrined at having forgotten to turn it to silent for the meeting. As he went to send the call to voice mail, he saw it was his sister, Miranda. Ordinarily, he would’ve ignored the call with the intent to call her back later but given everything that’d been going on lately with his family, he excused himself, saying, “I’m very sorry but I think I should take this call. I should only be about five minutes. Help yourself to a doughnut and some coffee.” He ducked out of the conference room at the tribal center and into the hallway to answer. “Hello?”

“Wade, it’s Miranda...something terrible has happened and you need to come home right away.” Before he could launch a response, she said, “Mom’s in the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“She had a heart attack. The doctors were able to stabilize her but she’s already had surgery to have two stents put in. But it gets worse...because the first responders couldn’t get to her quickly, the heart muscle was damaged.”

“Why couldn’t the paramedics get to her?” he asked, rubbing at his forehead with his free hand. “Are the roads bad?”

“No, she was in that damn wreck of a house again and it was sheer dumb luck that she was able to call 911. But the paramedics could barely get inside the house and get to her.”

Wade remained silent for a moment as Trace’s conversation came back to him. He hadn’t actually believed his brother when he’d said their mom was a hoarder. Could it really be that bad? Surely not as bad as those people on that TLC show. But if the paramedics couldn’t get to her...the evidence seemed pretty damning. His gut ached as the realization hit that he couldn’t put off a trip home. “I’ll check the flights,” he said, the words slow to fall from his mouth. “Can you meet me at the airport?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, pausing to add, “we really needed you sooner. This is a worst-case scenario that I was hoping to avoid. I mean, there was no way of knowing that Mom was going to have a heart attack, but I had a feeling something bad was going to happen in that house with the way that it is.”

“Okay, I’m coming home,” Wade muttered, guilt causing irritation to leach into his tone. Did his sister have to pound it into his head that he should’ve taken her concerns more seriously? He got it. Move on. “I’ll text you my flight information as I get it.”

“Okay,” she said, bristling a little. “Don’t get pissy with me just because you’re inconvenienced. You were raised better than that. You’re the big brother. Time to act like it.”

Now his little sister was schooling him? The day just kept getting better and better. “That’s unnecessary. Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Text me if Mom’s condition worsens. I will text you with my flight information. Bye.” He clicked off without waiting for Miranda’s response. He wasn’t about to trade words about his so-called lack of familial responsibility with either of his siblings. He had better things to do. He returned to the meeting with another brisk smile of apology and discussions continued around him but he had a hard time concentrating. He made appropriate responses but was glad when the meeting was over. After a few handshakes and exchanged pleasantries, Wade made a hasty exit straight to his office to book a flight.

* * *

MIRANDA TOSSED HER phone into her purse and tried to rein in her temper. Wade had balls the size of an elephant to be acting pissy with her after they’d tried and tried to get him to come home and help with their parents’ situation. Well, Mr. Big Shot, time to cancel that tee time because you’re needed at home. Tough titty. She didn’t feel bad for him one iota.

Jeremiah entered the room just as she’d emitted a short growl of frustration and he frowned. “Everything okay?”

“No, everything is not okay. They are far from okay,” she muttered, then skewed her gaze to her fiancé with apology. “I’m sorry. My brothers tend to bring out the worst in me. That was Wade. He’s booking a flight...finally. It took a major catastrophe for him to board a damn plane, though, and that pisses me off. I’ve been dealing with Mom and Dad mostly on my own until Trace got involved, and now Wade is throwing a hissy fit—in his own controlled way—because we need him here. It drives me nuts that he manages to make me feel like the whiny nag because I need his help.”

“So your brother hasn’t been home since Simone died?” Jeremiah asked, making sure he had the facts straight about the family history. At Miranda’s nod, he sighed. “Well, I know a thing or two about running away from pain. Chances are if someone had forced my hand into returning to Wyoming before I was ready, I’d be less than social, too.”

Miranda cast Jeremiah a look of warning. “You’re not allowed to be on his side, just so you know. He’s wrong, and I’m right—drill that into your head and you won’t find yourself sleeping alone.”

“You’re such a bossy broad,” Jeremiah said, pulling her into his arms with a chuckle. “If I didn’t know how much you enjoy my company at night, I’d take that threat with more seriousness. But before you get your panties twisted in a knot, know that I’m on your side—that goes without saying. However, your family has been through the ringer...and everyone deals with their pain differently. Cut him some slack. He might not be happy about it, but at least he’s boarding that plane. Right?”

She grudgingly agreed, hearing the wisdom in Jeremiah’s perspective. “Simone’s been gone eight years. It’s time everyone puts her to rest.”

“Wise words from the woman who up until a few months ago was still drowning her pain in booze and men.”

“Ouch. If being on my side means you don’t pull your punches, don’t be on my side,” Miranda grumbled against his chest. She took a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of being snuggled against the man she loved and then said, “Well, I guess you’re right. Maybe we’ll get lucky and whatever Wade needs to heal will come to him. Mamu says that the ancestors bring us what we need, when we need it.”

“And do you believe that?” Jeremiah asked as Miranda pulled away.

“Maybe. It seems to have worked out that way for me and Trace. Maybe it’ll be that way with Wade, too. Although, he’s the most rigid out of all of us, so even if what he needed was standing right in front of him with a big neon sign, he’d probably refuse to see it.”

“He has that Sinclair stubbornness in spades, huh?”

“Oh, yeah...my older brother could write a book on how to be a stubborn jackass.”

“That’s saying something because you and Trace... Well, I’d say you’re both pretty stubborn.”

“Only when people don’t agree that our way is the best way,” she quipped half joking. When Jeremiah’s mouth lifted in a wry grin she conceded, “All right, I see your point but don’t push your luck. No one likes to be reminded of their shortcomings. Shall I list a few of your less than desirable personality traits?”

“Point taken.” He grinned. “Now, are we going to eat lunch or go straight to afternoon delight? Your tirade against your brother has eaten into our lunch breaks. I’m not sure we have time for both.”

Miranda grabbed Jeremiah by the tie and began leading him to the bedroom. “I wasn’t that hungry, anyway. C’mon, you big, sexy man o’mine. Let’s see how well you perform under pressure.”

“Baby, I eat pressure for lunch. I’m an administrator, remember?”

She laughed and they disappeared behind their bedroom door.

And for the next thirty minutes, Miranda’s thoughts were blissfully free of any member of her damn family.

* * *

MORGAN WAS BUSY studying her case notes for her next client when her secretary, Remy, came into her office with a scandalized expression on his face. With Remy, she never knew if he was simply being theatrical or if there was something truly scandalous to share. At any rate, Remy was entertaining at the very least. And he was family so she’d long since given up trying to change him. Not that she would if she could. Remy kept her sane around a bunch of crazies, as he put it.