CHAPTER EIGHT
As the moving van rumbled away from the ranch, Dani walked into the house—once hers, now his. It seemed strange to view his things—to know that he’d be living where she had.
Rotating the kinks out of her neck, she walked into the living room. She’d spent part of her day rounding up calves that had wandered over to the Newman place after finding a spot in the fence where the old barbed wire had frayed away from the post. Bawling and lost, the calves couldn’t seem to find their way home, so Dani had driven the four strays back into the field, then took the rest of the morning to repair the fence. Later she’d given a couple of riding lessons, fed the stock and used the remaining hours of the afternoon trying to rearrange her apartment so that she didn’t trip over boxes every time she tried to walk from one end to the other. She wasn’t completely settled in, but by the end of the week she expected to have the apartment in some kind of shape.
Now, Dani surveyed Brand’s things. Boxes were set against walls in every room, and furniture was placed haphazardly wherever the movers had determined the pieces should go. Brand, after giving the men instructions, had taken off for some kind of business meeting, or so he’d told Dani when she’d driven home after one of the lessons. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t come back.
She ran her fingers over the curved back of a forest green leather couch. A matching side chair and ottoman were complemented by two high-backed chairs in a plaid of the same forest green, burgundy and ivory. A rectangular carpet, ivory trimmed with burgundy, lay beneath a glass-topped table. Brass lamps, a light oak bookcase with matching end tables and some pictures not yet hung finished off the room. All the work of an interior decorator, it seemed. Far too sophisticated for this old ranch house. Far too sophisticated for the bad boy from Dawson City.
She walked into the kitchen and turned on the answering machine. “Dani? It’s Jack. If ya want, I can help with the plumbing and the stock tomorrow. Give me a call.” She smiled. Jack Fairmont was an old friend, a guy who did odd jobs in the spring, summer and fall so that he could ski all winter. Since her divorce, he’d helped Dani out whenever she’d needed it. She made a mental note to phone him.
The next two messages were about riding lessons and Dani wrote down the numbers before listening to the final recording. “Dani? I hope you get this. It’s Brand.” As if she wouldn’t recognize his voice. Her heart raced a little. “Look, I took the liberty of giving out this number to a couple of subcontractors who’ll be calling. I hope you don’t mind. Just leave the messages on the tape—this’ll be all straightened out next week but in the meantime, I decided you wouldn’t mind.” She bit her lip. What did she care? “And look, I’m gonna be hung up in town later than I thought, so if you could lock up after the movers, I’d owe ya one—well, two, really, considering the phone deal. Anyway, I appreciate it. Thanks.” He clicked off and she tried to erase his voice from her mind.
She’d have to find a way to keep her pulse from leaping every time she was near him. “Listen to the tape, dummy,” she chided. “He thinks of you as a housekeeper or a secretary. Nothing more.” That realization hurt, but she supposed it was for the best. It was bad enough that she couldn’t look at him without remembering the past; at least he’d had the good sense to get on with his life and forget what had happened between them. But, of course, he didn’t know about their son. Guilt, needle sharp, pricked at her conscience again. “Oh, get over it,” she growled, picking up the receiver.
She returned Jack’s call and he promised to come by the next day to help her separate some calves and replace the pipes. It galled her to have to hire someone, but at least the job would be finished and she’d be able to wash the dishes, her body, her hair and have a drink of water straight out of the tap for a change. But she wouldn’t be able to settle into a bathtub and soak her muscles as she liked to after a long day. No more baths by candlelight while sipping wine and listening to her favorite CD. Nope, she’d have to settle for a quick wash in a tiny metal shower stall for at least the next year, maybe longer.
“So live with it. At least you’ll be clean and the bills will be paid.” But a part of her wasn’t ready to relinquish her one little indulgence at the end of the day.
She heated a frozen chicken pot pie, poured herself a diet Coke and stared out the window. It was dusk and Brandon still hadn’t returned. But then he’d said he’d be late, which probably meant he had a dinner meeting that might stretch on for hours. He might not be home until midnight or later.
Though she loathed herself for it, she watched the lane while she ate. No headlights. No Mercedes rolling into the yard. The idea she hadn’t been able to nudge from her mind earlier took hold. She stripped out of her dirty clothes and slipped her arms through the sleeves of her bathrobe. Telling herself she had every right to use his bathtub—her tub, really—she packed candles, lotion, bath-oil beads, soap and shampoo along with clean underwear into a big canvas beach bag, which she flung onto the top of her laundry basket. Carrying everything down the steps and across the yard, she felt a little like a sneak thief, but shook off the feeling. Brand would never know, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care. On the back porch, she threw in a load of jeans, and while the washer was filling, walked through the house to the bathroom.
She lit two candles, placed them in the window, shoved the plug into place and turned on the faucet. Adding a couple of scented bath-oil beads and a capful of bubble bath to the water, she tossed her robe over a hook on the door and slid into the tub. Warm water caressed her skin and soothed the tension from her overworked muscles. Steam rose and she cracked the window open slightly, watching the flames of her candles flicker with the whisper of a breeze. No wine, no music, but she didn’t care. She shampooed her hair, rinsed it, then leaned her head back on the rim of the tub and closed her eyes. She’d just soak for a few minutes, get rid of the grime and aches of the day, then swab out the tub in time to throw her clean clothes into the dryer. No one would be the wiser. Besides, didn’t Brand say he owed her a couple of favors? This bath was payback number one.
* * *
Brand parked in the garage and tried to quiet the pounding in his head. The meeting with the architects and engineers was supposed to have ended hours ago, but had stretched out, and he was reminded of L.A. and some of the reasons he’d left the rat race of the city. The trouble was that he seemed to have brought the rat race back to this sleepy part of Oregon.
He climbed out of the car, grabbed his briefcase and noticed that the lights in Dani’s apartment were glowing softly. He wondered what she was doing and if it would be appropriate to climb up the stairs and offer her a drink or a cup of coffee. The urge to see her again, to hear her voice, to sit next to her, was overpowering and he wondered what was the matter with him. It wasn’t as if she was his wife, or even his girlfriend, for God’s sake. He didn’t even know her anymore. But still there was a tug and he clenched his jaw tight to avoid making a fool of himself by climbing those stairs.
“Get a grip, Scarlotti,” he muttered as he headed for his front door. He noticed the flickering light through the slightly open window of his bathroom. Strange. As if pulled by an invisible force, he made his way to the glass and, like a voyeur, peeked into his own house.
His breath held still in his lungs when he saw her, asleep in the tub, water lapping around her body, a few last foaming bubbles lying on the water. The scents of jasmine and heather floated to him, probably from the candles burning in the window.
Something inside him snapped as he stared at her, blond hair twisted away from her face, eyes closed, her usually tense face now peaceful as the sweep of her lashes caressed cheeks flushed from the warm water. Knowing it was a violation, he let his eyes wander down her body to her tanned limbs and white torso. Her breasts were larger than he remembered and the nipples, rosy disks that poked above the remaining foam, seemed bigger, as well. Her waist was tiny, her abdomen flat, the skin stretched tight and her legs long and lean and meeting at that sweet cluster of red-gold curls that seemed forever seared in his memory.
His throat tightened at the memories of her, soft and supple and loving. There was a time when he couldn’t get enough of her and yet he’d found the guts to leave her. Had it been a mistake? Was his empty life in L.A. and all the dollars he’d made worth it? Was her unhappy marriage the direct result of his rejection? Whatever he’d told himself he’d done, however noble his intentions, he’d hurt her, brutally and callously. And now he was standing and gawking at her through the window like some damned pervert.
After one last look, he headed toward the front door, made as much noise as possible clomping up the stairs and across the floorboards, then fumbled for several minutes with his key and the lock. By the time he finally entered the house, she’d had enough of a warning.
He was hanging up his jacket in the front hall when Dani, dressed in a thick pink robe, peeked sheepishly around the corner. “Brand?” she whispered, a new flush climbing up her gorgeous neck.
“What? Oh, Dani,” he said, hoping to sound surprised when he knew he was a lousy actor. “What are you doing here?”
Her belt was cinched tight but the neckline of the robe was a deep V, showing off some of her cleavage. He doubted if she was wearing a stitch beneath the soft cloth and the thought caused a quickening of his pulse. His throat was suddenly as dry as a desert wind.
“I—I used your tub because my shower isn’t quite working yet and . . . well, I should have asked, but you weren’t around and I thought I’d be done before you got home.”
“It’s no problem,” he said gruffly.
“I’ll just gather my things and go—”
“Don’t.” He said it so sharply she jumped. “I mean I’d like you to stay, have some coffee with me. I have this feeling that we got off on the wrong foot the other day and I’d like to start over. . . .”
She looked at him with those wide amber eyes, eyes that stripped him bare. “It’s too late, Brand. Too late for a lot of things.”
“I just meant that—”
“I know what you meant,” she said, cutting him off as if she was unable to listen to another word. “But, really, it’s not a good idea. I shouldn’t have intruded and it won’t happen again.”
“You didn’t intrude and any time you like you can use—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she snapped, hurrying back to the bathroom and emerging with a beige canvas bag filled with all sorts of bottles. The scent of fresh flowers trailed after her. “As soon as my phone is hooked up in my apartment, I won’t have any reason to be in here.”
“Unless you want to see me.”
She stopped dead in her tracks, her hand poised over the back doorknob, her pulse throbbing just below her ear. “We’ll probably be seeing enough of each other.”
“Will we?” He walked closer and she turned the knob. The door opened. He shut it with the flat of his hand. The lock clicked resolutely into place. “We don’t have to be enemies, Dani.”
“We’re not.”
“Then how come I feel like I live in some damned war zone?”
“Because you’re imagining things.” Her gaze dropped to his lips and she swallowed. Brand watched the motion and an ache so hot it threatened to boil his blood caught hold of him.
“I don’t think it’s impossible to live next door to each other.”
“I hope not.” Her voice was breathy, rushed. “Otherwise it’s going to be an incredibly long year.”
Telling himself he was making the single worst mistake of his life, he lifted her chin with one finger and slowly lowered his head to kiss her. Their lips brushed. She quivered. His lungs could hardly inflate. Damn it, he was scared! Of what he didn’t know. Complications to his already crowded life? The fear that her kiss wouldn’t be as passionate as he remembered? Or that it would? Slowly he applied pressure, his tongue rimming her mouth as his arms surrounded her. She seemed to sag as he kissed her harder, pressing her against the door, fitting his body intimately against hers.
The robe gaped. As he closed his eyes he saw the dusky hollow between her breasts. Fire swept through him and he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, asking, taking, demanding. With a moan she opened her mouth and his tongue found hers, flirting, dancing, embracing. His blood thundered and the fingers of one hand twined in her damp curls. She kissed him back, her arms lifting to encircle his neck, her breasts pushing against him. His heart pounded wildly. The canvas bag slipped to the floor, its contents spilling across the worn linoleum. He didn’t care. Whatever had frightened him was long gone and he was lost in her. So lost.
Her breath came in quick, short gasps, and when he slid a hand along the V of her robe, she didn’t stop him but let him slip his palm inside to the warmth. The softness of her breast filled his palm. Her nipple was stiff, ready. Eager. He touched it and felt an electrical impulse that caused his loins to heat and the hardness there to throb.
“Dani, sweet, sweet Dani,” he whispered into her open mouth as he massaged her breast and felt its glorious weight. “You’re so good.”
Closing her eyes, she let go, just felt. Sensation after glorious sensation soared through her and she felt the knot of her robe loosen, the fabric part as Brand slid lower to his knees, kissing her, touching her, catching her skin on fire. “Brand,” she said, her voice the barest of whispers. His tongue touched her nipple and she arched forward, holding his head as he began to suckle. Tears formed, from happiness or regret, she didn’t know. This was how it was supposed to be, how it should feel with a man—the father of the child who had never known her breast.
A cry broke from her lungs, pained, the howl of a wounded animal, but he must have mistaken it for passion because his hands splayed on the small of her bare back, pulling her closer as he slid downward and kissed her naked abdomen, rimming her navel with his tongue, kissing her everywhere.
He kissed her damp curls and she thought she might crawl out of her skin. His hands gently prodded her legs apart, running along the inside and out, teasing her as she writhed against the door. His lips and breath came closer.
Ring!
The phone startled them both. “Ignore it,” Brand said, kissing her inner thigh. A shudder of anticipation raced through her body.
Ring!
Dani tried to reach for it but Brand kissed her and she couldn’t move, could only feel. Heat, warm and wild and thick as honey, moved inside her most private regions.
Ring!
“Oh, Brand, please . . .” But he wouldn’t stop his ministrations, only kissed her harder, his tongue touching her inside. Sweat soaked her brow and the ache inside her pulsed, yearning to be relieved.
Ring! Click! Dani’s voice filled her ears, instructing the caller to leave a message.
Brand lifted one of her legs, placing it over his shoulder, and she drifted far away on the wings of passion, her heart thudding, her body throbbing with a need only he could fill. She let out a long low moan as he kissed her so intimately, so gently, her heart threatened to break.
“Hi, Dani, it’s Sloan.” The words cut through the passion. “Look, so far I’ve been hitting a brick wall—”
Her eyes flew open. “What?” Oh, no! No! No! No! She scrambled away from Brand, nearly tripping over the candles that had fallen and were rolling on the floor.
“Hey!” Brand cried. “Dani, what the hell—”
Sloan’s voice continued to fill the room as Dani reached for the receiver. “I’ve been checking on birth certificates and—”
She picked up the phone quickly, her mind spinning in crazy circles. Brand stared up at her, passion still glazing his eyes, his shirttail out of his pants, an unmistakable bulge at his crotch.
Dani dragged her eyes away and tried not to sound as breathless as if she’d been running a thousand miles an hour. “Hi, Sloan, I’m here. Just walked in and heard your voice,” she said, wondering how she was going to explain this to Brand. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Brand straightened and came up to her, his arms slipping around her waist, his hands cupping her breasts. Oh, no, what was she going to do? If he overheard the conversation . . .
“I’ve checked all the records—hospital, court—and can’t locate a certificate.”
“What? But there had to be one—” She almost added that she was certain she’d signed one, but bit her lip as Brand was still touching her, nuzzling her neck, listening.
“Well, don’t give up. I’ve just started. Sometimes it takes a while. Look, I’m still checking. Knowing my father-in-law, there’s a good chance that he had all the documents altered.”
“But why? How?” She was having trouble concentrating with Brand kissing her neck and fondling her breasts, but she couldn’t just push him away or he’d become suspicious. Besides, the sensations rolling through her were so good she could barely stand.
“I don’t know, but I’ve just started digging. I’ll keep you posted.”
“I appreciate it. Thanks.”
She replaced the phone with trembling hands. Brand was still holding her and she didn’t care about anything other than his strong arms around her. Her worst fears were confirmed. Jonah McKee had lied to her. Tears filled her throat. Dear God, where was her child? Was he alive? Safe? Would she ever know? Squeezing her eyes against the terror, she clung to Brand, and as if he sensed her change of mood, he stopped rubbing her and held her as she fought the urge to break down and sob on the shoulders of her son’s father.
“Bad news?” he asked, his voice tender.
“Yes.” She sniffed loudly.
“Want to talk about it?”
She shook her head and slowly leaned back, keeping him at arm’s length. She suddenly felt cold and alone. “No, I, uh, can’t. It’s personal.” Then, realizing her state of undress and that she would have willingly made love to Brand again had the phone not interrupted them, she pulled away from him. “Oh, my,” she whispered, reality chasing away any hint of lingering passion. “We can’t . . . I mean I can’t . . .” Wrapping her robe around her and pretending it was a suit of armor, she said, “I’ve made a couple of big mistakes here tonight. I had no right to barge into your house and make myself at home in your bathtub and I . . . I don’t want you to think that I . . . For the love of heaven . . . I don’t want this . . . us . . . it can’t work.” She cinched her belt around her, knotted it and double-knotted it, as if in so doing she would be safe from his erotic eyes and wonderful hands.
Brand’s jaw was tight, his eyes a fierce shade of blue. “Neither one of us planned it, Dani.” His lips flattened into a hard, uncompromising line. “I had no intention of seducing you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I know, I know, but—” Her fingers fluttered in the air, as if looking for something solid to hang on to. “Things got out of hand . . . way out of hand. If we’re going to live here this close, well, even if we weren’t . . . This can’t happen.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, as if he were trying to erase his anger. “Who called?”
“What?” She was already bending down to pick up her shampoo bottle, the candles, the bath-oil beads, everything that had spilled from her bag.
“Who called?”
“What does it matter?” Not now. She couldn’t tell him now. Not while she was emotionally turned inside out. One candle holder had rolled beneath the counter. She picked it up and straightened.
“Whoever was on the other end of that phone was like a bucket of cold water for you,” he said. “So, was he a friend?”
“Yes, I guess he’s a friend.”
“Someone you’re in love with?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. You think that I . . . that I’m involved with someone? How could you even suggest . . . when you and I . . .” She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Who, damn it!”
“You heard him. It was Sloan. Sloan Redhawk. He’s married to Casey McKee.”
His eyes were thunderous, and deep ravines scarred his forehead. Dani shook her head. If this wasn’t so damned tragic, it would be downright funny.
“Sloan and Casey have only been married a few months and he’s absolutely one hundred percent devoted to her.”
“Then why’d he call?”
She slung the strap of her bag over her arm. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s a private investigator. I need him to do some work for me.”
Brand’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of work?”
“As I said, it’s personal.”
“Something to do with your ex?” Why the thought of Jeff Stewart caused his guts to twist he didn’t know. But the sick idea that Dani’s husband had mistreated her and run around on her made him want to strangle the stupid son of a bitch. And you’re any better, Scarlotti? Didn’t you run out on her when you knew she loved you—when you loved her? Who’re you to sit in judgment?
“This isn’t about Jeff,” she said, reaching for her bag.
“Then who?”
“Brand, don’t push it.” This time she opened the door all the way. “I think it’s time I went home.” She stepped onto the porch, swore and didn’t bother to transfer the load of laundry from the washer to the dryer. She couldn’t trust herself with him. Running down the steps and along the path, her robe flowing open to show off her long, perfect legs, she flew up the stairs to her apartment.
Brand closed his eyes and willed away the vision of her. She was right about one thing: they couldn’t live this close together if he was forever hoping to get her into his bed and, damn it, that’s exactly what he wanted.
“You had your chance,” he growled at himself and then spied the answering machine, red light blinking. Knowing he was intruding where he wasn’t wanted, he played back the messages to the last one—the entire conversation between Dani and Sloan Redhawk. Then he played it again. Why was Dani interested in birth certificates? Who was she trying to find? Gnawing on his lip, he drummed his fingers on the counter. It was none of his business, plain and simple, and yet anything Dani did fascinated him.
It seemed to be his personal curse.
* * *
“You can’t be serious!” Skye’s eyes were wide, her color high as she stared at her sister.
“I can and I am,” Dani said, wondering if confiding in her older sister had been a mistake of grand proportions. “Watch this,” she said, pointing to the corral where Hillary was atop Cambridge, the palomino gelding her father had bought her. The horse approached the jump at a smooth lope, then sailed over the white rails of a two-foot-high fence. If one hoof hit either of the rails, the fence would topple. It wasn’t much of a jump, but it was a start and Hillary executed it perfectly.
“I did it! I did it!” Hillary crowed proudly.
“Good girl,” Skye said with a bright smile, though her fingers were digging into the top rail of the fence to hide the case of nerves that Dani had already seen.
“She’s a natural,” Dani said.
“Wanna see again?”
“Sure.” Skye nodded and smiled but her fingers never relaxed their death grip on the fence.
“Now, remember, Hillary, talk to Cambridge through the reins. Let him know what you want by the feel of the bit in his mouth and your position on the saddle. You’re in charge.”
“I know all that,” Hillary said.
“Shouldn’t she be wearing a crash helmet?”
“And a seat belt, but watch.”
As Hillary repositioned Cambridge at the far end of the field, Skye placed a hand on Dani’s arm. “Why have you decided to look for your son now?”
“Because I have to know. It’s time, Skye. I always told myself that I’d do it someday, but for one reason or another put it off. I can’t any longer. It’s driving me crazy.”
“Because of Brandon?” Skye asked as Hillary aimed Cambridge at the jump and leaned over his shoulders. The horse shot forward, loping easily, approaching the jump before his muscles bunched and he soared again, carrying Hillary easily over the rails.
“Whether he came back or not, I wanted to find out.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“I haven’t talked to anyone except Sloan. And now you. Maybe that was a mistake, but I thought you might need some information in case Sloan wants to go through some of Jonah’s personal papers. He might also need access to some of the old hospital records in The Dalles where I had the baby. Since you’re a doctor—”
“Forget it. What you’re suggesting isn’t just unethical. I think it’s illegal.”
“This is something I have to do.”
“But what happens if you do find your baby?” Skye demanded, her eyes worried. “He’s what—ten years old now?”
“Eleven.”
“Eleven! Do you know what it would do to a boy that age to find out that his biological mother is around? What if his adoptive parents haven’t told him the truth? What if he thinks he’s their biological child? What about his siblings? What about his folks—the ones who’ve nurtured him?”
“I’m not going to try to take him away,” she cut in. “I just want to find out if he’s okay.”
“That’s what you say now, Dani, but you’re playing with fire here.” Skye shook her head.
“You know what it’s like to want a child.”
“So now you want him?”
“No—I don’t know. I just have to find out if he’s okay.”
“Oh, God, Dani, this could turn into a disaster,” she whispered.
Hillary rode to the fence, and Cambridge, stretching his neck, shoved his soft nose into Dani’s chest. “Are you fighting?” she asked her stepmother as her proud smile faded.
“No, honey, just having one of those heavy discussions.”
“Well, don’t, ’cause my mommy says you’re not supposed to fight with your sisters.”
“That’s because you pick on the twins.”
“Do not, they pick on me!”
“And you fight with your cousin Cody.”
“That’s different—he’s a boy. A mean boy.”
Dani laughed. “How can a three-year-old be mean?”
“He’s Jenner’s son,” Skye said with a wink. “That should be explanation enough. So, Hillie-girl, are you all done here?”
“That’s it for today. She just has to help put Cambridge away.”
“Yuk!” Hillary muttered.
“Hey, he worked hard. He deserves a little special treatment. It’ll only take a minute.” Hillary’s lower lip protruded, but Dani ignored it. “Take him inside. I’ll be right there.”
Skye sighed as Hillary turned the reins and the good-natured gelding ambled away. “I hope you know what you’re doing by looking for your son,” she said, worry shadowing her eyes. “I hope to God you know what you’re doing.”
So do I, Dani thought as she slid through the gate and started disassembling the jump. So do I.
* * *
Venitia stared at her son as if he’d just said he’d come from Mars. “I’ve told you all I know about your father,” she said, reaching for the glass of wine on the kitchen counter. The warm odors of peanut butter and cinnamon scented the air. The timer clicked loudly as one batch of cookies cooled on a rack near the window. Venitia made a big show of scooping spoonfuls of dough and plopping them onto a baking sheet that was black from years of use.
“You haven’t told me squat. All I’ve got is a name, Ma. Just a damned name. No memories, no photographs, just some vague ideas of who he was supposed to be.”
Her hands paused over the mixing bowl for a second. “Oh, Brand, for the love of Saint Mary, just leave it alone. Your father was useless, okay? Just plain useless. But we survived without him.”
“If that’s what you call it.”
“That’s the way it was.” She dropped the last of the dough on the sheet and shooed a cat out of the open window. After a long swallow of wine, she picked up a fork and made prints on each new cookie. She acted as if the conversation was over, just as she always did.
This time Brand kept on pushing. “He sent you money until I turned eighteen. You must have had some idea where he was.”
“I never paid any attention.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe.”
He couldn’t stop a cruel smile from sliding across his face. “Now that’s where you and I differ, Ma. I think it matters a lot what a kid thinks, especially when it comes to things about his old man. And besides, I’m not a kid anymore.”
“I know that,” she said softly.
“Just tell me a little bit more about Kendall. “Where was he from?”
“Oklahoma.”
“I know, but where in Oklahoma. It’s a big state.”
“I don’t know.”
“What about his parents—my grandparents? Or sisters or brothers or cousins or—”
She shook her head and her gaze was glued to the nearly empty bowl of cookie dough. “We’ve been over this before. A hundred times at least. I don’t know anything more today than I did ten years ago or twenty or thirty. He sent me money orders.”
“Like clockwork.”
“Yes.”
“From all across the United States and Canada—you never missed a check. Always came on the first. At least you told me he drifted around the country.”
“He did. That’s right.”
“It’s odd, Ma. Don’t you see? The mail isn’t that dependable especially when you’re talking about the entire continent, and what about the guy, huh? A drifter who won’t even stick around to meet his kid and yet makes sure, makes damned sure, that the check gets there on time.”
“What’re you saying, that I’m lying to you?” she asked, her voice lifeless.
“Just that it’s unusual, really unusual.” He studied the lines on her face and hated himself for wounding her. “I’m gonna find him, Ma.”
“No! Oh, Brandon. What would be the point?” she objected, licking her lips nervously. “He could be dead—he quit paying support when you turned eighteen.”
“The month I turned eighteen. The very month. Like he remembered. Never sent a birthday card, no note, never talked to you or wrote you and yet, damn it, he knew the minute I hit eighteen. Kinda makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“Wonder what?” she asked in the same flat tone. She reached for her wineglass and held it with trembling fingers.
“If he was keeping track. Somehow. Some way.”
“No—”
“Too many things don’t add up, Ma, and someday I might settle down, get married, have a kid of my own. I would like to know a little family background—medical history as well as the usual things—where the family settled, how long we’ve been in America, which side we were on in the Civil War, who the damned black sheep are!”
His voice had risen to the point where it thundered through the kitchen, then, seeing the shimmer of tears in his mother’s eyes, he swore under his breath and placed both hands on the kitchen counter. His shoulders were so tight they ached.
“Look, this is something I’ve thought about for a long time, okay? I was never ready to face him before, I guess, not until I was ready, until I knew that . . .” That what? He wouldn’t be disappointed? Brand knew that he’d never felt strong enough to face the man who had sired him until now, until he’d become successful—until he’d been able to afford the damned Mercedes.
Feeling like a hypocrite, he closed his eyes and mentally started counting to ten. He was at seven when he heard metal wheels sliding across concrete. A second later, Chris dropped his skateboard on the back porch and swaggered into the house.
He shot a glance at Brand. “Thought you moved out,” he grumbled as he snagged a cookie from the cooling rack.
“I did.”
“Yeah, so what’re you doing hanging around here?” Green eyes glared up at him defiantly and Brand realized for the first time that the kid thought he was abandoning him again. Even though he hadn’t been around much in all Chris’s growing-up years, suddenly the boy, just starting adolescence, wanted to be with him, which was probably good considering that Chris was already getting into his share of trouble.
He’d had his first run-in with the law a year ago—at the Fourth of July parade when he’d set firecrackers off too near one of the horses and it had reared, throwing its rider before rampaging through the crowd. Luckily no one had been hurt. Then there was the incident when Chris had been caught with his dad’s old shotgun and had been accused of peppering road signs with buckshot. Yep, he was on the fast track to no place good.
“I thought you’d like to come and see the ranch,” Brand invited.
Chris shrugged as if he couldn’t care less, held the cookie in his mouth and swung the refrigerator door open. He poured himself a monstrous glass of milk and ignored Brandon’s remark.
“Where’ve you been?” Venitia asked, obviously relieved that the conversation about Brand’s father had been forced to a close.
“Hangin’.”
“Hangin’ where?” his mother persisted as the timer buzzed. She pulled a sheet of cookies from the oven using a pot holder that had been scorched around the corners for years.
“Down at Bigg’s.”
Bigg’s was a convenience store similar to the franchised minimarkets but locally owned by the Bigg sisters, Zelda and Connie, both divorced and raising young children. They had taken back their maiden name, bought the mom-and-pop operation from their ailing father and tried to make a go of it. Everything in the store was oversize to keep people reminded of their name. Teens and preteens hung out in the parking lot, usually just to get together but sometimes causing trouble.
“Who were you with?”
“Just some kids.”
“Who?”
“Sean,” he said, his voice edged in belligerence.
Venitia stiffened. “You know how I feel about him.”
“He’s not a bad guy,” Chris said, defending his friend just as Brandan had done years before.
“Then why is there always trouble when Sean’s around? Hmmm? I don’t like you hanging out with him. He’s been in trouble with the law already. Got caught sneaking into the Jamison place just last week. Bess Jamison raised holy—well, anyway, she was fit to be tied.”
“She’s always fit to be tied,” Chris sneered. Brand agreed, but held his tongue. “So what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that what Sean did is called breaking and entering and trespassing and who knows what else. He’s broken the law. If anything comes up missing, he’ll be blamed.”
“Ma’s right,” Brandan said.
“You don’t even know Sean.”
“No, but I was him.”
“What?”
“I was the kid all the parents didn’t like—the guy who was always in trouble. It got me nowhere. Believe me.”
Chris took a big swallow of his milk. “Looks like you did okay to me.”
“I got lucky.”
“Well, so will I,” he said cockily.
Venitia sighed wearily. “Not if you hang out with that Sean.”
“Sean didn’t steal anything, okay? He just looked around. And besides, what’s it to you? You’re half-crocked most of the time!”
“Chris!” Brandon roared, and his mother seemed to crumple in on herself. “That’s enough.”
“It’s true. You know it’s true.”
“This isn’t about Ma.”
“Well, it should be.”
Venitia’s back stiffened.
This was going nowhere fast. Brand clapped the boy on his shoulder. It was time they had a heart-to-heart. “Why don’t you come and hang out with me this weekend,” he said. “I can get you riding lessons.”
“On a horse?” Chris said as if he’d tasted something bad. “Girls like horses.”
“I know a woman who could give you lessons.”
“Big deal.”
“Not just any woman,” Brandon said. “This one trains rodeo stock. She used to barrel race and do tricks.”
“Tricks?” Chris asked, chewing on his cookie as the timer went off again. Venitia, still pale, pulled out the final batch.
“Yeah, I think she could stand up in the saddle, do a handstand and lean over so far that she could pick up a handkerchief with her teeth—all this while the horse was running at top speed.”
“Sure,” Chris said nonchalantly, totally unimpressed.
“It’s true.”
“Who was that?” Venitia asked, and Brandon noticed that somehow, while he was talking with Chris, she’d poured herself another glass of wine. Two cats—one black, one gray striped—shot through the room hissing and spitting. “Shag, Pfeffer, you stop that!”
“Dani Donahue—uh, Stewart. The woman I’m renting from.”
“Stewart?” Venitia repeated, shaking her head. “Never heard of her, but the Donahue name’s familiar.”
“Her older sister, Skye, is a doctor in Rimrock. Married Max McKee last Christmas. Dani was married to Jeff Stewart.”
“Was?” Venetia asked.
“Divorced now. She lives in an apartment over the garage, rents out the main house to me, manages the ranch, owns some stock and gives riding lessons on the side.”
“Busy lady,” Venitia said as she finished removing the cookies from the sheet. Her hands were still shaking and Brandon wished somehow this family would quit wounding each other.
“That she is,” Brandon said as an image of Dani, warm and fragrant from her bath, her hair damp, her skin so soft, entered his head. What had he been thinking about, kissing her so passionately? If the phone hadn’t rung, they might have ended up in his bed, and that thought, though pleasant, scared the hell out of him. From past experience, he knew that if he made love to Dani, he’d never want to stop.
“Okay,” Chris said suddenly, his green eyes assessing.
“Okay what?”
“I’ll spend the weekend with you and ride a horse. Even though I know you’re just trying to change the subject from Mom’s drinking.”
“Oh, Lord,” Venitia whispered, sagging against the counter.
“You got a problem, Mom. We all know it.” His eyes drilled into Brand’s. “Don’t we?”
“This isn’t the time or place.”
“It never is.”
Brand looked at his mother. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“I don’t want to—”
“Ma, we have to. I’ll make an appointment with—”
“Don’t you dare, Brand. This is my life we’re talking about. Mine!” She hooked her thumb at her chest.
“And Chris’s.”
“I’ve managed to take care of him for eleven years.”
Chris snorted.
“They’ll take him away,” Brand said flatly, knowing he was wounding her. “We’ll talk, Ma, and when we do, we’ll make some decisions.”
Her voice quivered in indignation. “You have no right—”
“You can come to the ranch, too.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“Ma—”
“Forget it—she won’t,” Chris said angrily.
Venitia forced a strained smile and, as she always did, pretended that the conversation hadn’t been tense, that everything was fine. “You two have a good weekend and I’ll stay home and relax—enjoy the peace and quiet. The house could use a good cleaning and I’ll bury myself in a book or rent one of those relationship movies that Chris hates so much.”
Chris glowered.
Venitia took a swallow from her glass. “He wouldn’t watch one with me if I paid him.”
“Depends on how much you paid,” Chris said, his jaw set and hard.
“Forget it.” She seemed relieved to have some free time and Brandon realized that for as long as he could remember and probably longer, she’d been worried about one son or the other and how to make ends meet. With him, there had been the check from his father and she’d had Al to help her raise Chris, at least for a few years, but for most of her adult life, Venitia Scarlotti Cunningham had been scrimping, saving and worrying about her boys. And drinking. The lines on her face were testament to her concern. She needed a break from the stress—longer than a weekend.
Brand glanced at the wine bottle, then looked away. She’d be all right, he supposed. It was only a couple of days. “I’ll pick you up after school tomorrow,” he said to Chris.
“Cool,” Chris responded without too much enthusiasm and Brand walked to the front door, his mother following him like a shadow.
“Workmen should be here next week,” he said. “They’ll fix anything you want. I already told them about the porch and windows and linoleum in the kitchen—you’d better pick out some new stuff for the floor and countertops and what about the bathroom? Looks like you could use a new shower stall.”
“You don’t have to do anything to the house, Brand.”
“I want to, Ma.” He shoved his hands through his hair. “And while the house is torn up, I think you should go to the hospital, have those tests done on your liver.”
“I don’t need to—”
“I talked to the doctor, Ma.”
“Hospitals are expensive.”
“Yeah, and death is permanent. Don’t worry about the bills, okay?”
She bit her lip and he knew what she was thinking. She’d get another lecture about the evils of drink, the way the wine was destroying her liver and health, how it was affecting her mind. There would be suggestions to seek help through counselors and programs.
“I’ll think about it,” she promised, glancing back toward the kitchen, as if expecting her younger son to be eavesdropping.
“Good. Do it for Chris.”
She swallowed, blinked hard and touched him lightly on the arm. “I didn’t mean to belittle your need to find your father.” Brand’s stomach tightened at the mention of Kendall. She hesitated then swallowed. “It’s just that . . . he wasn’t a very decent man.”
“Meaning what?” he asked, stiffening.
“Meaning that there are some things better left just as they are.”
“Family secrets that wouldn’t stand the light of day?”
“I just don’t want to see you disappointed, that’s all.”
“I won’t be, Ma,” he said, then walked out the door. He felt her stare at his back. She was lying about his father; it was something he’d suspected for years, but now he was certain. Venitia knew where Jake Kendall was, or at least where some of his relatives were, but there was something so painful to her, or so vile about him, that she was protecting Brandon.
But from what?
Brandon waved at the calico cat resting on the hood of his car and the cat scrambled down, leaving a trail of footprints on the glossy paint job. Brand didn’t mind. He just wanted some answers.
He remembered playing the tape of Dani’s conversation with Sloan Redhawk. She’d hired a P. I. to find someone; maybe he should do the same. He was getting nowhere with his mother. He drove away from the small house where he’d grown up and headed out of town to the house that he leased from Dani.
Funny, he’d been there less than a week, and it was already starting to feel like home. For the past three days, he’d avoided Dani, deciding it was best to keep his distance, but he hadn’t been able to shove her completely from his mind. Not only did he remember their lovemaking in every delicious detail, he also couldn’t shake the memory of her phone call to Sloan Redhawk. Who, he wondered, for the dozenth time, was she trying to track down?