Branded Read Online Free PDF Page B

hundred degrees in here.”
    â€œI’m fine,” she whispered back.
    â€œYou look like a damn ghost.”
    She shook her head. It was all she could do. Even with Blue’s hand in hers, her mouth was getting drier by the second, and her breathing had turned shallow. Lord, she needed some air. Something cold to drink and maybe a hard run on Gypsy later. Between Everett and her memories of Cass, the Cavanaughs being home, and Deacon’s certain plotting, she had a strange and unwelcome desire to stand up and run out of the church. But she stayed where she was. The cowboys would never let her forget it if she had a panic attack or some other fluttery reaction to what they liked to refer to as
Female Feelin’s
. Even if those feelings stemmed from Everett’s death.
    â€œEverett’s legacy, the Triple C, has brought such prosperity and such peace to this town,” the reverend continued. “We will be forever grateful to him.” Wayne offered them all his most sympathetic smile. “Everyone in this sanctuary has been helped by the kind heart and generous spirit of Everett Cavanaugh.”
    â€œNo,” came a cold, masculine voice from the back of the church. “Not everyone.”
    It was a voice Mac knew—knew so deeply within herself that it shocked her heart like a defibrillator, and she dropped Blue’s hand. Even after ten years of living without that voice, it still remained crystal clear in her mind.
    Around her, the room buzzed with soft, irritated chatter.
Who was that talking out of turn? Interrupting the service? Deacon? That Deacon Cavanaugh?
The prodigal son who had done his level best to buy, blackmail, or bully his way into gaining control of the Triple C?
    Yes,
Mac wanted to hiss at them.
The very same
.
    A slow burn of anger intermingled with the anxiety his voice had created within her.
Good God. The man has no shame.
No matter what had happened in the past between him and Everett, what grievances he held locked up in that soon-to-be stone heart of his, the man he’d once called father deserved this time, deserved to have his friends and work colleagues tell his stories andhonor his life. Because for Mac, and for most of the people in River Black, Everett had been nothing but a blessing.
    Beside her, Elena leaned in and whispered, “With an attitude as plentiful as his bank account.”
    Mac turned and glanced over her shoulder. The movement was completely involuntary and was perhaps her grandest mistake ever. She should’ve kept her eyes forward on the very pious, yet confused, Reverend McCarron. But the draw was too powerful. The moment her gaze hit its mark, the air inside her lungs promptly vanished, along with her heartbeat. She felt the past rush up on one side of her and the longing she’d held captive inside her heart—the longing she’d truly believed was dead and buried—rush up on the other. She’d seen him on the cover of rag mags in the supermarket checkout and a few times in town—from afar, mind you—over the past few years. But those quick glances didn’t prepare her for what lived and breathed and took up residence inside the archway of the chapel door.
    A cold, calculated expression playing about his rough, chiseled features, Deacon Cavanaugh was six feet four inches of terrifying alpha male, wrapped up in jade-green eyes, thick black hair, and a custom-made, finely tailored navy-blue suit. He fairly oozed money, ire, and obsessive power,and Mac knew that even if she’d wanted to turn away from him in that moment, her body wouldn’t allow it.
    A lump formed in her throat and she tried to swallow it down with a silent curse. What the hell was this? This heat and anxiety barreling through her. Couldn’t be attraction. Hell no. She was done with all that. Had been for years. Must be something akin to pissed off. After all, the suit had just interrupted a goddamn funeral.
    Her eyes