It'll Be An Adventure (Masters of the Shadowlands #15)(95)
Author: Cherise Sinclair

 

God, that had been such a mistake. Because of her sharing, Pa found out how to target Saxon.

 

She squeezed Dugan’s hand then Farran’s and stepped forward to hug Saxon. His arms closed around her, pulling her tightly against him, and oh, she needed the hug. Tears burned her eyes.

 

Her own father had tried to ruin her life.

 

In her teens, she’d finally realized he thought of himself before anyone else. That he would bend the truth to get his own way, but this went beyond being self-centered.

 

He must have figured out that Saxon’s influence was helping her say no to him. Since losing his free source of labor made Pa’s life harder, he’d done his best to split them apart.

 

The sense of betrayal was…horrible.

 

“It’s not right,” she whispered. “Parents are supposed to love you, to support you, to have your back. Not to knife you in it.”

 

Her tears spilled over. Because it hurt. She’d known for a long time that she wasn’t anywhere near the top of Pa’s priority list, but this…

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, sis.” Dugan sounded miserable.

 

“I wouldn’t have thought he’d go so far. I brought him here.” Farran’s voice shook. “He actually thought Dugan and I would be happy if he broke you two up…because I was pissed off after you shut down the party we had at your house. And now, I can’t even believe we did that to you. What were we thinking?”

 

The anguish in his voice made Murphy turn. Saxon didn’t release her, just put an arm around her waist, so her back was against his chest.

 

Dugan looked at her. “We followed his lead—like sheep. Didn’t think for ourselves. Didn’t see how crappy we treated you. I’m sorry, Murph.”

 

Farran pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna call him. Let him know how much of an asshole he is.”

 

“No, don’t bother.” Murphy shook her head despite wishing to pick up the phone and scream at Pa too.

 

“Talking to him doesn’t do any good.” Dugan glanced back at the hotel. “He ignores anything that might possibly be criticism.”

 

“Or he’ll turn your words around and make it sound as if you’re delusional. For this, he’ll say he did it for my own good.” A lump grew in Murphy’s throat. “It’s a manipulative technique called gaslighting. A psych friend told me about it. Pa’s an expert.”

 

Farran shoved his phone in his pocket. “I shouldn’t have brought him to the gala. But he said he felt bad about how he’d treated you. Said he wanted to be closer to us.” Farran’s eyes reddened. “That he missed seeing me.”

 

The lump in Murphy’s throat grew bigger.

 

Dugan slung an arm around Farran for a rough one-armed hug. “Pa gave me the same sob-story—before asking me to help at the B&B. I told him to go fuck himself.”

 

Even as Murphy choked, she felt Saxon’s chest shake.

 

His hearty laughter burst out. “Way to go, Dugan.”

 

Farran’s eyes widened, and then he was laughing as hard as she and Dugan were. Half-hysterical yet bringing them closer together.

 

Didn’t it just figure that Saxon was the one to see the humor in the impossible situation. Maybe her father’s lies had made him stumble, but Saxon hadn’t lost his sense of balance. He was like a giant oak, rooted deep in the earth.

 

As if he could hear her thoughts, he leaned down, his deep voice a whisper in her ear. “We okay, sweetheart?”

 

She nodded, then tilted her head back, looking up to meet his gaze. “I love you.”

 

Pulling her tighter against him, he bent his head to take her mouth in a long, tender kiss.

 

“No, sis, no,” Dugan sputtered. “Not in front of your—us—your brothers.”

 

“Huh, he’s obviously compromised her honor,” Farran said. “Dugan, shouldn’t we, like, get a shotgun or something? You know—to protect her—like that kid Connor said.”

 

Her kiss ended early when Saxon started to laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

 

 

 

 

 

Cat carrier in one hand, suitcase in the other, Murphy walked up to the door of her house, and oh, it was good to be home.

 

The pungent odor of wood smoke from her clothing made her wrinkle her nose. Unfortunately, the rest of her didn’t smell all that great either.

 

If the sun shined—which it hadn’t for a couple of days—the gallon-sized solar shower at the cabin worked well, except it ran out long before her long hair was clean. She was dying for a real shower, one that left her fingers all pruney, and her hair shampooed and conditioned.

 

Unlocking the door, she walked inside, almost stepping on an envelope. It must have been pushed under the door.

 

Huh.

 

Setting it on the dining room table, she carried in her luggage and released Brummell.

 

After a few indignant mews, the kitten pranced around the house to ensure no gremlins had messed with his important feline belongings.

 

Murphy looked around as well then relaxed. Her home was just the way she’d left it five days ago.

 

And her book was written, and in the editor’s hands. For the next two weeks, she was free. She should celebrate.

 

Maybe. God, what a rough few days. Having to finish the story had helped. She’d had to focus, to stay on task. There’d been no time for brooding.

 

Instead, she’d channeled her unhappy mood onto the pages. The hopeless battle where Dinah thought she’d lost Montague had turned into a tearjerker. She’d cried while writing it and again when revising it.

 

My poor readers.

 

Brummell had sat on her lap, trying to comfort her. Although his expression indicated he thought two-leggers were very odd.

 

After dumping her laundry into the basket, she stretched and smiled. Shower time—because she wasn’t going to call Saxon until she didn’t stink.

 

Oh wait. Envelope.

 

She sat at the table, unfolded it, and noted the familiar scrawl. Delight swept through her. Saxon had written this.

 

 

 

Murphy,

 

Just a note to let you know I’ve been thinking about you. Missing you.