It was a full day later, and I still couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that I’d met my brother.

Jake had told me a little about his childhood and growing up, stories that had made me laugh even as pangs of wistfulness and envy stirred inside. It wasn’t that I was jealous of him, per se. It was just…he had the childhood I’d wanted. I was glad he’d had it. I just wished I could have had it, too.

Through his eyes, I was able to learn a little more about my father, and as the evening grew later, part of me was maybe, a little, more willing to admit that it was possible my mother had lied to me. Maybe she hadn’t told Leland about me, or maybe she had. And if she did, maybe he’d wanted a relationship with me, and she wouldn’t allow it.

So many maybes. I just didn’t know.

Even though they were estranged, Jake offered to introduce me, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, so I told him no.

For now, at least.

It was enough to know that I did have family, somebody other than my mom, and judging by the way Jake lived, I’d never have to worry that he’d ever call me early one morning, sounding all happy to talk to me, just to turn around and beg for a loan. I could have somebody who wanted a relationship with me for me…and not just to use me.

It was a mind-boggling thought.

It had been so long since my mother and I’d had any sort of decent relationship, I couldn’t fathom what it would be like to have somebody I could count on in my life.

“Your head is up in the clouds today,” a voice behind me said. I turned around and saw my manager eyeing me closely. “Are you okay?” Pauline cocked her head, her cat-eye glasses not quite concealing the gleam in her eyes.

“I’m fine.” The urge to babble out my news rose to my lips, surprising me. I liked Pauline. We’d even had drinks together a couple of times, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call us confidantes. Maybe it was because the news was so different, and felt so…well, good compared to the things I normally had going on.

A bell chimed at the door signifying the arrival of a customer. Pauline patted me on the shoulder. “You just keep straightening up tables and stocking. Once your head is on straight, you’ll deal with customers. Just don’t take too long,” she advised.

I nodded numbly, hearing one of my co-workers, Janelle, as she called out, greeting the new arrival.

A man’s voice filled the air, oddly familiar, but I kept at the task at hand, not turning around.

Jake had given me his cell number and asked if I wanted to get lunch on Saturday, just me and him. Of course, I’d said yes, but now I was wondering if we should.

What would we talk about?

He’d told me all about his family. Would he want to know about my mother? Hell. What could I tell him?

That would be nothing more than a lesson in embarrassment and discomfort. My mom loves me, but she’s…flighty. She brings home these boyfriends who think it’s okay to flirt with me. No, nobody ever did anything, but how creepy is it to have the guy who sticks his tongue down your mother’s throat turn around and tell you how hot you are in the next breath?

There weren’t any funny, awkward stories to tell him like he’d told me.

I could tell him about the days I’d dressed in my best hoping that just once, Mom would show up for one of the parent/student functions. But she never had. Those weren’t funny. Just awkward.

I could always tell him about the time she’d gotten me a goldfish for Christmas. She’d at least tried that time. But the poor thing had been dead by the time I came down to open presents.

Mom’s words of comfort… Well, I tried, honey.

That was what I’d clung to. She’d tried.

No. Telling him about my childhood wasn’t going to be high on my list of topics to talk about. Nor was college. Making a face, I finished smoothing down the rainbow river of silk and lace panties on the table I’d just finished then returned to the back of the store.

Bras were next on the list, so I mentally re-inventoried the store and went to fill a box with what was running low.

I could always talk about school – here at NYU, at least. I’d rather not talk about my time at Texas A&M to anybody. Ever.

With the box full, I slid back outside. Leaving the box on a chair near the stockroom entrance, I took several of the bras and headed over to the nearest table, still pondering things that were safe to discuss with a brother I barely knew. I took care of one side and turned to circle around.

A big body stood in front of me, and I all but crashed into him. Hands came up, gripping my arms.

A dull flush washed over me.

The floor of my belly bottomed out.

The rush of blood roared in my ears.

Tipping my head back, I stared into a pair of eyes I’d thought – had hoped – I’d never see again.

Blue eyes stared back at me, a friendly affable smile set in a round face. His hair was still the same bright orange, a smattering of freckles danced across his nose. Chad Gibbons.

Son of a bitch.

Chad Gibbons was here.

My belly started to pitch and roll as he squeezed my arms lightly. “Excuse me there, sweetheart,” he said, his voice heavy with the sounds of Texas. “You okay?”

I jerked back, edging away from him. I dumped the bras back in the box I’d brought out and carried it to the back of the store where I almost crashed into Pauline.

“Raye, you really are…honey.” The smile faded from her face as she caught sight of me. She took the box away and set it on a nearby table. Then she reached around me and nudged the door to the front part of the boutique shut. “Raye, what’s wrong? You’re white as a ghost.”

She pressed her hand to my cheek, and it felt way too hot against the sudden chill of my skin.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whispered, lifting my eyes to stare at hers.

She let me go immediately, and I bolted past her, heading to the bathroom.

“Claire’s in there!” Pauline called out urgently.

Claire was one of the few full-time employees, and she was currently spending a fair amount of time in the bathroom. She was just over seven months pregnant, so none of us held it against her.

But just then, I was desperate.

Panicked, I whirled on my heel and headed for the back entrance, bolting in the alley that opened out onto W. 35^th. Cold air stung my cheeks as I stood there, shaking and waiting for the nausea to pass.

This wasn’t happening.

He couldn’t be here.

A memory, little more than a vague hint of one really, washed up from the back of my mind. A hand in my hair. I’d worn it long then. It fisted and jerked tight. Voices laughing.

Moaning, I leaned against the wall. A cold wind whipped own the street, and I huddled against the wall with my arms around myself. Had he left?

Why was he here?

Shit, did he live here now?

What was I going to do if he did?

That memory circled around and around in my mind like a whirlpool, and the nausea inside swirled with it.

Pressing a hand to the back of my mouth, I fought off the shivers and tried not to cry.

Why was he here?

Tears pricked my eyes, and I shoved the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing them back.

It was bad enough he’d made me feel so weak in front of my manager, but damned if I’d let him make me cry.

I shoved off the wall, straightening up.

Get it under control, I told myself.

The memory of his blue eyes staring down at me was all it took to buckle my bid for strength, and I swallowed back a small scream of frustration as I dropped my hands, looking around wildly.

I wanted to run away.

But I’d already done that.

I’d left Texas and come to New York City – almost as far as I could get away and still be in the same country.

And he was here.

Panic welled up inside me, and the urge to vomit once more rose, gorge building in my throat.

I sucked in air and took one awkward step, then another forward. Breathe, Raye, I told myself. You gotta breathe.

I blew out the breath, but it didn’t help the nausea any.

Taking another step, another breath, I focused on those simple tasks. Bit by bit, the panic fell back. Bit by bit, the urge to vomit faded.

I’d almost reached the end of the street, so I turned to go back.

And once more, I crashed straight into a big, hard body.

Big hard hands came up to grip my arms.

I panicked and shoved, smacking at the chest of the man who held me. “Let me go!” I said as my throat seemed to close, making it now impossible to really take a deep breath. I yelled at him, although the words came out in more of a whisper this time. “Let me go!”

“Raye!” The sharply-spoken voice was a far cry from the slow, easy drawl I’d expected.

Slowly, I tipped my head back.

It wasn’t Chad.

Swallowing, I found myself staring into a pair of deep, dark eyes.

The strength in my legs faded and I all but wilted.

The hands on my arms tightened, and I found myself being supported by one Kane Jonson.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

To my surprise, a nervous laughed boiled out of me, and I couldn’t silence it.