Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel Read Online Free PDF

skin. An IV ran from that hand to the stand beside her bed, and Bronte winced at the pain it must have caused for a needle to be plunged into such fragile flesh.
    Rounding the bed, Bronte reached for Annie’s free hand, mindful of the tubes and lead wires that ran from her body. Stroking her grandmother’s knuckles with her thumb, Bronte leaned forward, kissing Annie’s forehead as if her grandmother were a child.
    In that instant, emotions thick and strong rolled over her, and she was nearly overcome with the need to protect her grandmother, to lessen her pain, to let her know that she loved her and she’d been so wrong to wall herself off from Annie’s obvious need.
    “Grandma Annie? I’m here. You’re not alone anymore.”
    If Annie heard, she gave no sign. Her breathing continued in soft puffs around the cannula, the rhythm irregular andshallow, as if the pain gripped her even through the medication. She’d turned her cheek slightly into the pillow, and the position had caused her ear to fold over on itself—and for some reason, that sight, more than the leads and the bandages and the garish bruises clutched at Bronte’s heart.
    Gently, Bronte smoothed Annie’s ear back into place. As she did so, she was struck by the delicate softness of Annie’s skin—like a newborn’s, but stretched, lined, and spotted, as if each blemish bore testament to the fears, joys, and sorrows she’d endured.
    Bronte thought Annie’s eyes flickered. In that second she felt the same fierce surge of emotion that she’d experienced when her children were placed in her arms for the first time. This woman, who had done nothing but love Bronte unconditionally, needed her care in return. For the first time in weeks, months . . .
years,
Bronte felt as if she were being thrown an anchor in the midst of a stormy sea.
    This was what she had instinctively longed to find when she’d fled Boston. This sense of rightness, of homecoming, of safety. Not that anything had been solved by coming to Bliss. But this sense of being
needed—
not simply to run errands, cook, and clean, or wrap her arms around her swiftly imploding marriage—eased the heartache that sat in her chest like a lump of lead.
    “I love you, Grandma,” she said, leaning close to brush her lips against her cheek. “We’ll get through this somehow.”
    The rustle of the curtain was her cue to leave. Bronte waited until the nurse and she were well away from the other cubicles to whisper, “How is she?”
    “As I said, she’s stable right now. The doctor will give you more details when he makes his rounds in the morning, but her vitals are strong. She’s a fighter.” The nurse tipped her head, eyeing her with concern. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
    Bronte shook her head. “No, I live in—”
    She stumbled. How could she finish the sentence? Like a petulant child, she’d run away from home, and she reallycouldn’t envision going back anytime soon. She didn’t belong anywhere.
    No. That wasn’t right. She belonged here. In Bliss.
    Since the nurse still waited for an answer, she said, “I just arrived. From Boston.”
    The woman nodded. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look exhausted.”
    Which Bronte supposed was a nice way of telling her that she looked like hell. For the life of her, she didn’t know the best way to respond to the nurse’s comment. Her hand twitched with the need to shield the bruise from her gaze, even as her brain warned her that doing so would only call more attention to it.
    But this woman didn’t wait for her to defend her appearance. Instead, she offered her a small smile, her gaze flicking from her eyes to the bruise, then back again. “The meds are going to keep Annie out of things for a while. I know you want be here, but it might be better if you got some rest tonight. Then you could come back in the morning when you’re feeling more like yourself.”
    More like herself?
How could that be possible if she