To Catch A Thief. Nan Dixon

swallowed back the burn of bile in his throat. He would not throw up.

      Kaden let his mother take the chair next to the bed.

      “Mom, Jackson, that’s Kaden Farrell.”

      Kaden and Sage’s brother shook hands, but his Mom went in for a hug. “Thank you for calling.”

      “No problem.” Kaden headed to the door. “I’ll stay in touch.”

      Jackson pulled up a second chair. It screeched against the linoleum. “What’s this about you not waiting for your team?”

      He was not going to review his errors with his brother. “I can’t remember much.”

      “Another concussion? Your poor brain.” His mother pushed back her hair. A little more silver gleamed through the brown strands than when he’d been home at Christmas, but she was still a striking woman. With her trim figure from working the ranch and her bright green eyes, too many cowboys came sniffing around.

      “We got a lot of drugs off the street.” Sage inhaled, trying to keep his lunch down.

      “But you were shot.” Jackson frowned. “That seems like a failed op to me.”

      Sage touched the bandage on the left side of his head. “We got intel on the next level up.”

      “I would have thought your run-in with that bull would’ve stopped you from taking stupid risks.” Jackson leaned back in the chair and crossed his leg over his knee. His boot kicked the side of the bed. “When are you going to learn to stop rushing in by yourself?”

      The kick on the bed jarred Sage’s head enough to have tears fill his eyes. Not that he would let his mom and brother notice. “You and Bart were egging me on.”

      “Stop taunting him, Jax.” His mother glared at his brother. “I can still make you clean the barn.”

      They laughed, but Sage’s was forced.

      “After you were gored, Bart and I had to take your chores for months,” Jackson said.

      “Because you encouraged your younger brother to do something stupid,” Mom squeezed Sage’s hand. “How are you?”

      “Healing.” At least he hoped so.

      “But your head hurts,” she said.

      “Yeah.” He wanted to push the call button and get something for the pain, but he couldn’t do that around Jax. He already looked like a fool, lying there injured. “I thought only you were coming, Mom.”

      “I wanted to see you.” Jackson’s feet dropped to the floor and he waved a hand over Sage in the hospital bed. “But not like this.”

      Of course not. Sage wasn’t living up to the Cornell legacy. Why would his mother and brother even want to be here and see his failure?

      His brother had the same deep green eyes and straight nose as their father. But Jackson was thirty-four. Their dad had died in Somalia at thirty-three—saving his squad by throwing his body on a grenade.

      Mom and Jackson caught him up on the family and the goings-on at the ranch. But his eyes kept closing and his stomach churned.

      “You rest.” Mom touched his hand.

      He told them where to find his keys and the security card for his condo.

      “We’ll see you in the morning.” His mother brushed a kiss on his cheek.

      He sat up once too often and lost the battle with his stomach. Thank goodness his brother and mother had left before he grabbed the plastic bowl and threw up.

      * * *

      “MAMÁ, HOW COULD YOU?” Carolina stared at her mother’s checking account balance and then at her outstanding credit cards bills and the overdue lease payments on the BMW. Over the last three days, she’d worked her way through Mamá’s unopened mail, all of it unpaid bills.

      Her mother’s small disability check wouldn’t make a dent in the balances. At least Mamá’s attorney was her ex-boss. He wasn’t charging anything for the legal documents he’d prepared.

      “We should go to a spa.” Rosa swirled around the corner, the skirt of her pink sundress dancing around her knees. It was the perfect color against her olive skin and black hair.

      “We can’t afford a spa.” Carolina waved her hands at the bills spread on the dining room table.

      “Oh, pfft. Of course we can.”

      She had to stop her mother’s spending. “Let’s go to the shore and hunt for seashells.”

      Her mother pouted. “I...”

      “Everyone who sees you will be jealous of this gorgeous dress.” Carolina caught Mamá’s arm. “Come on. It will be just like when I was young. We always walked the beach on Sunday.”

      They were out the door and heading to the ocean before her mother could complain.

      “I love this dress.” Mamá swung the full skirt. “Your father and I used to take you to the beach. I think he liked to see me in a bikini.”

      “Of course, he did.” She always agreed whenever Mamá brought up her father. Otherwise an argument ensued.

      “He was so handsome.” Mamá swayed like she was waltzing. “But his bitch of a wife wouldn’t give him a divorce. Beau wanted to be with us, but she kept us apart.”

      “Mmm-hmm.” For years, Carolina had believed her mother. But now—she didn’t know. Carolina was the product of an affair between Mamá and a married man. She barely remembered her father.

      At the end of the walkway her mother kicked off her sandals, not bothering to pick them up. By the time Carolina slipped off her flip-flops and picked up their shoes, Mamá was splashing in the waves.

      Wouldn’t it be nice if her Mamá’s tumors had made her more responsible and not less?

      “Don’t look sad.” Her mother ran back and caught her hand, tugging her along the beach. “Life’s too short.”

      They took a half hour, until Rosa tired. “Let’s have ice cream. Your father always bought me ice cream.”

      Instead of agreeing, Carolina redirected. “How did you meet Daddy?”

      Rosa turned in a circle, the pink skirt and her long curly hair winging around her. “He was building condos and apartments.” She waved her hand toward the bay. “They were going to be glorious. And expensive. He would have been rich.”

      The bay condos had sat unfinished for years. Someone else had finally bought and completed them. “But how did you meet?”

      “I was singing at a club here on the island. It’s closed now.” She hummed. “He drank bourbon and watched me. Those eyes.”

      Married man on the prowl. How many times had Carolina been propositioned while she’d bartended or sang? Scum.

      “When you met him...did you know he was married?” She’d never asked that question before.

      Mamá sighed. “He didn’t wear a ring.”

      And Rosa had thought he was rich. “When you told him you were pregnant, did he want me?”

      Her mother’s lips pinched together. “He was Catholic. He should never have suggested...what he did. And he accused me—”

      “Of what?” Trying to trap him? Carolina had heard an argument between Yaya and her mother once—something about how foolish her mother had been to think she could trap a man into marriage. Had that been what Yaya meant?

      “That’s when he told me he was married. All his excuses on why he couldn’t spend time with me finally made sense. Excuses.” Mamá waved her hand like she was erasing a chalkboard. “It doesn’t matter.”

      But