Chapter 1
Thirteen Years Later?.
"Hey, boss, you hear the latest?" Jimmy rolled out from under a red Taurus headfirst, faceup, wiping his hands on a grease rag.
Wade stopped halfway between the tiny office attached to the garage and the communal coffee urn, a cup in his hand. "What news?"
"Your favorite pinup girl is back in town."
He managed not to spill the coffee. In fact, he was pretty sure he managed not to show any reaction at all. It shouldn't be difficult. Hell, he barely thought about Edain Brand anymore-or Edie B., as she was known in the media. He only had her sexy catalogue photos pinned up all over the shop because she represented everything he hated, everyone who had ever brushed him off as unworthy. Looking at her reminded him of all the things he had to prove to the upper-crust folks in this town. That he was as good as they were. That he wasn't anything like his old man. That they had been wrong to judge him as if he were. That he could be successful. He wouldn't be happy until he was the most successful person in Big Falls. And he had a damn good start on it, too. Armstrong Auto Repair & Body Shop had four full-time employees. Wade didn't even have to work on the cars anymore. He still did once in a while, just to keep from going soft, but he didn't have to. He was even thinking of opening a second garage over in Tucker Lake. And by week's end, he planned to buy the nicest house in Big Falls, just to drive his point home.
"Boss? You hear me? I said Edie B. is back. Shelly saw her in town today."
"I heard you. What makes you think I care?"
Jimmy frowned at him, glanced at the catalogue pages lining the walls, the calendar that had gone out of date five months ago but still hung there. Then he looked at his boss again. "I don't know. I just thought you'd want to know."
"Already knew," he said. "She's been back in town since her sister got married, last Christmas. Just been keeping to herself." It wasn't as if he had been paying attention or anything. Nor had her brother-in-law Caleb, Wade's only real friend, breathed a word. He'd just happened to see her name in one of the celebrity gossip rags at the checkout counter of the local grocery store when he'd been picking up snacks and beer for the Super Bowl, and he'd picked it up to read the article. The piece said Edie B. had left L.A. when her contract with the sexiest lingerie catalogue in the world, Vanessa's Whisper, had expired in December, then dropped out of sight There had been all sorts of speculation as to where she'd gone and why, from plastic surgery to a secret marriage to a dread disease. Even more questions were posed about her plans for the future.
Would she renew her contract with VW? She was their top model, but it was common knowledge her price had been dropping over the past year, as hot new faces and lean new bodies arrived on the scene. Would she continue modeling, the paper asked, or maybe move on to acting?
That theory had made him smile. Those tabloid writers sure had short memories. Five years back or so, Edie B. had landed a bit part in an action flick that had gone straight to video. It hadn't been easy to find a copy. Wade had to hunt it down on the Internet to get his hands on one. Just out of curiosity, of course.
He'd almost winced for her when he'd watched her acting debut. She was terrible. Terrible.
"She's been holed up at her mother's place this whole time," he went on as Jimmy watched him with arched brows. He knew that because he'd been kind of keeping an eye out for her ever since he'd read that article, back in January. And he'd glimpsed her once or twice. Checking the mail, shoveling the walk. He'd seen her out mowing the lawn one day last week. "She's been hiding out like a whipped pup."
"What do you suppose happened to make her want to do that?"
Wade shrugged. "Don't know, don't care." He wondered about it, too, though. She'd always been in the spotlight, right in the center of attention and loving every minute of it. For her to retreat so well that none of the locals even knew she'd been in town for five months was damned out of character. But what the hell did he know? "Apparently, whatever it is, it's over now."
"Then why isn't she back in L.A.?" Jimmy asked.
"Jimmy, how about we stop gossiping about the local underwear model and get on with fixing this car, huh?"
Jimmy shrugged, grinned and slid his creeper back underneath the car.
Wade headed for his office again. But he paused on the way to glance up at Edie Brand on her hands and knees, back arched, hand making a claw like a cat scratching at the camera. She wore a push-up bra and thong panties made of fake leopard fur. Her blond hair was teased and perfectly tousled, and her teeth were bared between shiny pink lips.
Damn, she looked good.
Edie B. looked into the camera as if it was her secret lover. Her face was flawless, her hair piled and curled and gleaming like gold. Her practiced smile was unwavering as she answered a TV entertainment reporter's questions regarding her daring outfit for the Couture Network Fashion Awards, where she would be presenting later that night. Who designed it? Were there sequins involved? What color would it be? And what was really going on between her and the drummer from that hardcore band?
She answered every question without giving away a thing. And she looked good doing it. She'd been at the top of her game that day.
Her mother came into the living room, looked from Edain, slouched on the sofa, watching herself on TV, to the television, where the year-old interview played on. Then she looked back at Edie again. "I thought I told you the pity-party was over, daughter?"
Edie thumbed the stop button and dropped the remote control onto the sofa beside her. "I went out today," she said, a little defensively. "I even did my hair and makeup first. Ask Mel, if you don't believe me."
"It's true, Mom," Mel called from the kitchen. "She bought cute little outfits for the twins and some fresh flowers for the dining-room table."
Vidalia Brand nodded slowly, eyeing Edain as she did. "Well, that's a start, I suppose. Too bad you came home and resumed wallowing in ancient history so darn fast."
"I know how little it means to you, Mom, but I was at my best in that piece I was just watching."
"Oh you were, were you?"
"Yes. I was."
"That piece aired the day after a schoolroom shooting. A six-year-old girl died, Edain. And you were on the TV talking about your clothes. It was far from your finest moment."
Edie looked up slowly. She honest to God had a love-hate relationship with her mother. She loved the woman, respected her for having managed to raise five daughters on her own. And she owed her own good looks to her mom's genetics, if not her coloring. God, even now, Vidalia Brand didn't look half her age. She had a killer figure, and thick, raven hair with a few strands of silver just starting to line it, and the cheekbones of a royal.
Unfortunately, though her love for her mom was requited, the respect was not. Vidalia had never gotten over Edie's career choices. And she probably never would.
"The shooting hadn't happened yet when we taped the interview," Edie said slowly, trying to hold her temper.
"It had happened when they ran it, which ought to tell you a lot about the values in that make-believe world where you've been living."
Edie looked down at her hands in her lap, unable to answer that. It was true. She knew that.
"I like to think there was a reason you left that life, Edain. Like maybe that you finally realized you didn't belong there. And if you think that-" she snatched the remote up and hit play, then paused it on Edie's perfectly made-up face and false smile "-was your finest moment, then you are sadly misinformed."
"I was at the height of my career."
"You were pretty. It didn't matter what you thought or how you felt, just so long as you looked good, and you did. To you, that's some kind of peak?" Sighing, Vidalia shook her head. She shut the TV off, tossed the remote down. "Are you going back to modeling underwear for a living or not, daughter? It's time you made a decision."
"Don't you think I've been wrestling with that question for the past five months? Don't you think it's killing
me, not knowing?"
"No, I don't. You've got too much money, that's what your trouble is. You can afford to mope around the house, licking your wounds and pouting for just as long as you want. No pressure to get off your backside and earn a living."
Edie bristled. "I'm pitching in more than my fair share around here! I even work at the bar after hours."
"Uh-huh. And that's what you're gonna do for the rest of your life? Mop floors after hours and spend your days watching old tapes of yourself on TV? Hm?"
"No! Of course not!"
"Then what are you gonna do?"
"I don't-"
"Don't you tell me you don't know. I didn't raise any airheads, Edain Brand, contrary to public opinion and TV spots like that empty smiled, vacant-eyed one you call the peak of your career. So don't you tell me you haven't given this some thought. You always knew your good looks wouldn't sustain you forever."
Edie crossed her arms over her chest refusing to meet her mother's eyes. "I always thought retirement would be another ten years off."
Her mother made a noise.
Edie said, "Well, at least five."
"And?"
She shrugged. "I don't know."
"You don't know." Vidalia said the words as if they made her stomach hurt. Then she stomped away, up the stairs.
Edie sighed in relief, thinking the conversation was over, but that was a mistake. Because seconds later Vidalia came down again with Edie's big black camera case in one hand. She placed it carefully on Edie's lap. "Lie to your mother, will you?"
Edie shook her head, confused. "This doesn't mean anything. It's just a hobby."
"The hell it is, girl. I saw the photos you've taken since you've been home. Maya's twins. Your sister's wedding, such as it was. The Falls. The snow still clinging to the trees after that freak storm. You're good, Edie. And you know about a camera. Goodness knows you've spent enough time in front of one."
Edain licked her lips, hesitant to admit to something she knew her mother would leap on.
"I?have toyed with the idea of opening a photography studio of my own."
Vidalia Brand smiled, nodded once, firmly, and said, "Then do it."
"I don't know, Mom. I'm not sure I-"
"Moping time's over, daughter. Get out of this slump you're in and start making a life for yourself, or I will personally kick your backside all the way back to La-La-Land. If you think I'm not serious, you just try me."
"I know you're serious."
Vidalia nodded again. "You'd better." She drew a breath, blew it out again, then sat on the edge of the sofa. She glanced just once toward the kitchen, but Mel had the good sense to keep out of the line of fire, though she'd peeked in a few times during the discussion. "What are you running from, Edain? Something sure chased you home in a hurry. You haven't been yourself at all since you came back. You barely see anyone besides family. You keep to the house as much as possible. What is it?"
After a long pause, Edie said, "Maybe I'm not myself because I'm not sure who that is anymore."
"Bullcookies."
Edie sniffed, lowered her head a little. "No. It's true. You always used to tell me there was more to me than a pretty face, Mom, but I didn't bother to find out what. That pretty face was all I needed to get where I wanted to go. Where I?thought I wanted to go. Now, I?I don't know. I'm close to thirty. Models fifteen years younger are taking the slots that used to be mine. It's getting harder and harder to keep up with them." She shook her head. "Something scared me, you're right about that. I thought that was the only reason I left, but I just can't drum up any enthusiasm for going back. I don't want to work out until I drop or live on carrot sticks anymore. You know I've put on ten pounds since I've been home?"
"Ten? You could use another twenty. You're nothing but bones. A grown woman is not supposed to have the body of a prepubescent girl and the breasts of a nursing mother, you know. It's unnatural."
A snort came from the kitchen.
"Shut up, Mel."
"Sorry. Frog in my throat," Mel called.
Her mother sighed, because the body image that Edain's work perpetuated was another sore subject with her. Still, she softened and searched Edie's face. "What scared you, honey? You tell me, and I'll see it gets removed from creation, whatever it is."
That made Edie smile. Her mother meant every word of it, she knew that. The woman would fight a pack of rabid wolves bare-handed for her daughters. Even the one whose career she had so disapproved of. "It doesn't matter, Mom. It's been months. I think it's over."
Vidalia looked doubtful, but nodded all the same. "So, you gonna get on with your life or what?"
Edie smiled gently. "I suppose I could go see Betty Lou at the real estate office. At least see what's available that might make a nice photography studio someday. In case that's the decision I make."
"That's a start," Vidalia said. Then she turned to look through the dining room into the kitchen. "It's safe to come in now, Melusine. You can stop pretending to check on my pot roast. We all know you can't cook anyway." She glanced at Edain with a smile. "Bring the cordless phone along with you. Your sister wants to call Betty Lou Jennings, over at the real estate office."
Mel came in, telephone in one hand, phone book in the other. She was the toughest pixie ever to live in Big Falls, tiny and dark as an elf, strong and hot-tempered as a Brahma bull. She sent Edie a sympathetic look as she handed her the phone. Edie took it with a sigh.
"I suppose now is as good a time as any."
Two hours later she was driving her SUV into a curving driveway, where another vehicle was already parked. She came to a stop and stared at the tall, darkly stained house. It had a modified A-frame center, with two wings angling back on either side. There were huge skylights on both sides of the steeply pitched center roof, and floor-to-ceiling windows in the front. It was huge. And it sat on a hilltop, with the falls providing a stunning view from a short distance away.
When she'd spoken to Betty Lou, describing what she wanted-something large, airy, open, with plenty of natural light-she hadn't expected the woman to tell her she had the perfect place, much less that she was showing it to a client that very afternoon. Edie had to wonder if her mother had cooked this up ahead of time with the real estate agent, who was an old friend.
Still, the place was spectacular. God, if she knew for sure she was going to stay in Big Falls, she would buy it this minute, without even having seen the inside.
This was it, Wade thought, walking slowly through the house he'd been all but drooling over for the past ten years. A Tulsa architect had built it here, planning to retire in it, but the isolation had proven too much for him to handle in his old age. He'd longed for tropical climates, so now the place was vacant and up for sale.
It was a dream. And the way it sat slightly above the rest of the town appealed to him for its symbolism. No one could look down on him up here.
He heard a car pull in, figured Betty Lou had arrived. She'd left a key in the mailbox for him, told him to come on up and look around, that she would meet him here. He couldn't help but show up a little on the early side. He'd been waiting a long time for this. He already had a buyer for his little place in town. He planned to close on that deal by week's end. That would bring enough for the down payment, and he had a good enough credit rating to finance the rest. Everything was in place. He was ready.
Footsteps came up the stairs from the lower-level foyer. He turned, expecting to see Betty Lou Jennings, whose shape and demeanor reminded him of a bumblebee. Instead, he saw her.
She met his gaze, seemed a little startled, but hid it quickly enough. "I'm looking for Betty Lou-"
"She's running a little late," he managed without stammering, because, damn, she looked better than in her photos. The fact that she had clothes on didn't take a thing away from the sex appeal that wafted from her like musk. It had only been hinted at before she'd left high school and Big Falls all those years ago. Now it was full grown, and so was she. Eyes
so big they could swallow him whole. Skin like satin. Her golden blond hair was pulled back, pinned up, nothing like the bedroom styles she wore for those sexy photos. But her lips were just as plump, and he knew that wasn't collagen. They'd always been that way.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think I-"
So she didn't remember him. No wonder. She'd barely noticed him. "Name's Armstrong," he said quickly, cutting her off.
Her brows drew together briefly, but then she was busy glancing around the room, and he didn't think she was checking the place out with the eye of an interested buyer. She looked more like a woman alone with a snake, searching for something to whack it with.
"Betty Lou will be along any minute," he said.
"I'm sure she will." She shuffled her feet, looked nervous.
"So are you looking to buy this place?"
Her eyes shot back to his. "I was thinking about it. Of course, I haven't even seen it yet, so it's hard to say."
"Well, we can remedy that right now." He moved closer to her, almost against his will, curved a hand around her elbow, felt a shot of pleasure at touching the woman who fueled so many of his nighttime fantasies. He had to forcibly remind himself of his goal here. Eliminate any competition he might have for this place. Quickly. "This is the living room. The fireplace is my favorite part." He led her toward it, trying to resist the catalogue page that flashed into his mind. Her, sprawled suggestively on a bearskin rug in front of a fireplace a lot like this one, wearing a leopard print bra and matching thong panties.
When she looked at him, he wondered if he'd groaned out loud or just mentally. He tried to cover by getting back to his goal. "Of course, it's a huge risk, having a natural fireplace. Easy as hell to burn the place to the ground if you don't know what you're doing."
"Good thing I grew up with wood heat, then, huh?" she asked. She made it sound completely innocent, but he could tell she had guessed what he was up to. "You looking to buy this house for yourself, Mr. Armstrong?"
He shrugged, turning away from the fireplace. "Then, of course, there are the windows. Floor to ceiling," he said in his best tour guide voice.
"I can see that," she said. Almost as if she was talking down to him.
He bristled but tried to hide it. "They'll make it damned uncomfortable in here. Roast you right out in the summer, I imagine."
"Unless you turn on the AC," she returned.
He pursed his lips. It was going to take more than questioning the house's merits to get rid of her, wasn't it? Fine. He had more. He had plenty more. "It'll take a creative mind to figure out how to cover them. For privacy, I mean. Then again, I don't suppose you worry about that too much."
She narrowed her eyes on him. "And why do you suppose that, Mr. Armstrong?"
He shrugged. "You don't seem like the shy, retiring type."
"Because I was a model?" She faced him now, hands on her hips, and he could see she was angry.
"Because there's not much of you that hasn't already been seen by everyone who cared to look."
"That was my job, caveman. It doesn't mean I'm going to parade around in my underwear in front of open windows."
He lifted his brows and his hands. "Hey, don't get defensive on me. I didn't mean anything. Hell, I'd be the last one to complain about your work. Ask anyone in town." He turned away again. "Now, as you can see, this main area could double as a dining room. The kitchen is right through-"
She stopped him, a hand closing tight around his upper arm as he started toward the kitchen. He winced in pleasure. God, he liked her touching him. "What do you mean, you'd be the last one to complain?"
He turned an innocent look on her. "Only that your photos provide a valuable service to a great many men on cold, lonely nights, Edie B. Myself included."
"When you can't get a real woman, you mean?" she snapped back.
"Exactly. Sometimes there's just no one to keep a fellow company besides you, and good old Rosy Palm."
She frowned. "Rosy Pa-" She went silent, her mouth gaping. She was only speechless for an instant, though. A second later she clamped her jaw, smacked him across the face and turned on her heel. She was out of the house so fast it must have been some kind of record.
Her tires spat gravel in their wake when she left.
Wade smiled broadly, rubbing his cheek. "For a second there, I was afraid I'd never get her out of here," he said to the empty room.
He probably shouldn't have been quite so mean. But it served her right for not recognizing him. She should at least have found him vaguely familiar. But no. She was the same arrogant little brat she'd always been. Still thought she was better than him. Just like so many others in this town.
Screw it. He would show them all. The minute Betty Lou Jennings arrived, he was going to tell her to mark this place sold. To him.
The Oklahoma Brands
The Brands Who Came for Christmas
Brand-New Heartache
Secrets and Lies
A Mommy For Christmas
One Magic Summer
Sweet Vidalia Brand
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The Texas Brands
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The Baddest Virgin in Texas
Badlands Bad Boy
Long Gone Lonesome Blues
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Lone Star Lonely
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Texas Homecoming
The Oklahoma Brands
The Brands Who Came for Christmas
Brand-New Heartache
Secrets and Lies
A Mommy For Christmas
One Magic Summer
Sweet Vidalia Brand
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Forgotten
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About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Maggie Shayne has published more than 60 novels and 23 novellas. She has written for 7 publishers and 2 soap operas, has racked up 15 Rita Award nominations and actually, finally, won the damn thing in 2005. She's also the mother of five gorgeous and wonderful daughters.
Maggie lives in a beautiful, century old, happily haunted farmhouse named "Serenity" in the wildest wilds of Cortland County, NY, with her soulmate and husband Lance.?They share a pair of English Mastiffs, Dozer & Daisy, and a little English Bulldog, Niblet, two orange tiger cats, Luna "Lulu" for short, a stray who showed up pregnant and Butters, her son, the only kitten who wasn't adopted. And there's the wise old guardian of them all, the feline Glory, who keeps the others firmly in their places.?Maggie's a Wiccan high priestess (legal clergy even) and an avid follower of the Law of Attraction
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A Brand of Christmas Page 37
