by Lisa Jackson
There was a slight lift of one of his powerful shoulders. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“We can’t very well go back to the way we were,” she observed, leaving the hoe planted and sauntering up to him. Squinting against the sun, she angled her face to his. “Okay, Scarlotti,” she said, extending her hand, “you’ve got yourself a deal.” He squeezed her fingers briefly and that same wonderful, hateful jolt that always occurred whenever he touched her sizzled up her arm.
Dropping her hand and looking decidedly disgruntled, he took a step away. “Okay. So that’s it.”
“Not quite,” she said, deciding to clear the air. “Sloan called today—I think he contacted you, too.”
“Faxed me a note. Said he did some more digging and found the lawyer who handled the adoption. Sloan called and must have pressured him, because the attorney threatened to sue if he pushed any harder.”
“Can he do that?”
“People sue for anything these days.”
Dani untied her handkerchief and mopped her face. “I don’t think Sloan’s too worried about a little lawsuit. He’s pretty persistent.”
“Good.” Brand watched her wipe the sweat from her forehead and neck, her blouse gaping slightly to reveal the swell of her breasts, and he was suddenly aware of how difficult it was to breathe. The air was cloying, and the thought of Dani swimming naked in the cool waters of the creek or taking a bath in his old tub, or a shower in the new stall, made him so hard he had to shift to keep a bulge from being apparent in his crotch. “I need a favor,” he said.
“Oh, so that’s what all this friendly stuff is about.”
“No, I—” Then he saw that she was teasing. “Can you stay here with Chris? It’s Ma’s two-week anniversary or whatever the hell you call it at the clinic and . . . well, she wants me, just me, to visit. Tonight at seven.”
“Sure,” she said with a smile. “I was just giving you a little guff earlier. I’ll stay with Chris anytime. Maybe I’ll even take him to a movie.”
Brand’s heart tore a little. How he’d like to be a part of that little expedition. “Good. Thanks.” He turned and walked out of the garden while a ground squirrel jeered at him from the top of the woodpile and Dani’s cat, still as death, watched from a clump of tall grass. This place was becoming familiar, so damned familiar. He wondered if, when the lodge was finished, he’d ever want to leave.
* * *
The cigarette was nearly steady in Venitia’s hands and she forced a smile. When he’d first greeted his mother, he’d seen her improvement, noticed that she was calmer than usual. They’d spied other patients sitting in groups, smoking and talking, laughing and playing cards or watching television. They were allowed, his mother explained, during the free hour and a half after dinner. Then it was back to routine—strict diet and exercise, counseling sessions, group and private.
They walked through a sun-room of the old Victorian house. Grape arbors and fruit trees that reached to the sky graced the backyard. Plastic tables and chairs were grouped near a fish pond or beneath shade trees. Scenting the air, a rose garden added splashes of pink, yellow, red and white.
“How’s Chris?” she asked as they sat near the pond, where brightly colored tropical fish were swimming beneath wide lily pads.
“He’s great. He misses you, of course, but he’s glad that you’re getting some help.”
“Not easy when you think your mom’s a drunk.”
“He never said—”
“Sure he did, Brand.” She took a shaky drag on her cigarette, then let the smoke curl from her nostrils. “They’re big on being truthful here, you know. No matter how much it hurts.”
“I think that’s good.”
“Sometimes the truth can hurt.”
He thought of Dani and her admission that she’d borne him a son. “I know.”
“Sometimes it can drive people away.”
Again his thoughts fled to Dani. His heart swelled when he thought of her, so strong, so independent, so damned proud of finally making it on her own. He’d been half in love with her as a feisty, rebellious teen, but now he was completely smitten by the strong woman she’d become. True, her tongue was still sharp, but she could be kind, as well, and a truer person he’d never met. The fact that she was beautiful was only the proverbial icing on the cake. “I know it can, Ma,” he said, his hands clasped between his knees. “So tell me, how’re they treating you?”
She smiled sadly, told him a little about her days, and to his surprise, seemed somewhat serene. She wasn’t so calm, she assured him, during the first few days. As she stubbed out her cigarette, they made small talk which eventually petered out. Finally she asked about Dani.
“She’s fine,” Brandon said, wondering where this was leading.
“Getting along with Chris?”
“Seems to adore the kid. She’s with him tonight, taking him to the movies.”
“Good. That’s good,” Venitia whispered, watching as a sparrow flitted from one branch of a cherry tree to another. “As I said, the people here think it’s always wise to tell the truth and unburden yourself of lies.”
“Does this have something to do with Dani?” he asked, his mind spinning ahead. What was Venitia hinting at?
“Yes. And you.”
His heart started to thump. “What, Ma?” he said, but his brain was already clicking ahead, putting the pieces of a worrisome puzzle together. “Oh, no.”
“It’s Chris.”
His mouth lost all moisture. He couldn’t move.
“He’s your son, Brandon,” she said, biting on her lip to keep from breaking down. “Your son and Dani’s.”
“God, Ma,” he whispered. “Why?” This was too much to digest, way too much. And yet, it all made sense—in a strange way. He’d never seen his mother pregnant and Chris resembled him. And this explained Al’s lack of interest in the boy. He felt as if he’d been slugged in the gut.
“Jonah thought it would be best.”
“Jonah?” he repeated, shocked all over again. “What did he have to do with it?”
“Well—”
“He didn’t want anyone to find out that his bastard had sired a bastard?” he said, standing up swiftly and kicking the table so hard it went flying.
“Mrs. Cunningham?” one of the attendants called, concerned.
Venitia held up a hand. “It’s all right.”
“The hell it is,” Brand said, then looked at his mother, his pitiful, sick mother. Once she was through with this clinic she was faced with medical tests on her liver; He held his tongue, waved off the attendant who wouldn’t quit hovering nearby and stood at the edge of the pond, staring down at the fat orange and black fish swimming lazily in the cold water. “Why, Ma?”
“I didn’t know what to do. Jonah told me about the baby. He knew you were seeing Dani, how I don’t know, probably from some of your friends—there was something about the two of you running away from some party that the police raided. Jonah had connections, remember, with the police and sheriff’s department and practically every county judge on the bench. Your names must have come up as being together and Jonah put two and two together when he heard the story from one of his friends in the department. These friends kept you from ever being charged with anything.”
“Jonah bailed me out?” he asked, thunderstruck. No wonder. He’d never questioned his not being charged, but now it all made sense.
“And bought you off.”
“Oh, God.” His insides were ice, his blood frozen. He’d never guessed, not once, not even when Dani admitted that they’d borne a son, that Chris . . . his half brother, for crying out loud, was really his boy.
“Jonah did care about you, Brand, in his own misguided way.”
“So he told you I was going to have a son.”
“Yes. You were already in California, making a new life, and I was married to Al, living in Everett. We’d just moved to a small town and I didn’t want your son farmed out to
strangers. So . . . I convinced Al that we should adopt him. Al wasn’t happy about the idea, but Jonah wanted to keep tabs on his first grandson and offered us some money.”
“Oh, Ma, no . . .” he said, shaking his head.
“I couldn’t stand not knowing where Chris would be, so we adopted him. I’m not sure it was perfectly legal, but Jonah pulled some strings and . . . well . . . Chris was mine.” She was openly crying now, tears raining from her eyes, her shoulders quivering with sobs.
Brand took her into his arms and fought the urge to scream and yell. She’d done what she thought was best, and though it burned a hole in his gut to think that for eleven years he hadn’t known, had not one clue that he’d been a father, now he could set things straight. It wasn’t too late.
“You can’t tell him now, you know.”
Brand closed his eyes and rocked his mother. She’d given up her youth for him twice—once as his mother, then again as the adoptive mother to his son. “I know. In time.”
“Yes, in time. When he’s old enough to understand. Oh, God, I’ve messed things up, haven’t I?”
“Nah, Ma, you did what you thought best. That’s all anyone can ask,” he said, though rage gnawed at his soul. That old bastard, Jonah McKee, was the manipulator, the main puppeteer while all the others were his playthings, his marionettes. “But I have to tell Dani.”
“Oh, Brand . . .” she said, clinging to his shirt. “Don’t. Please—”
“It’s her right, Ma. Hers and mine. She’s been looking for her child for a long, long time.”
* * *
Chris was asleep in the car. Barely eight o’clock and the kid had conked out. They’d driven into Dawson City, eaten at a local burger joint and watched an action movie that in Dani’s opinion was much too violent, peppered with too much foul language and sexual innuendo, but Chris had loved it. Now, as he lay with his head propped against the passenger window, she was struck by how much the boy was like his brother.
Brand.
Just the thought of him brought fresh pain to her heart. She loved him and once again that love was thwarted. “You’re an independent woman,” she reminded herself, but the thought of running the ranch alone, without him coming home each evening, cut a hole through her middle as wide as Stardust Canyon.
As she slowed near the mailbox to pick up the letters, magazines and daily paper, Chris woke up and stretched. Yawning, he reminded her again of Brand; even his temperament was close to his older half brother’s. Nonchalantly he sorted through the envelopes as Dani drove down the lane to the house.
“Great,” he grumbled when she slid to a stop and the last envelope was dropped onto the dash.
“Lookin’ for something?”
His eyes flashed in defiance. “Nah.” Chewing nervously on his thumbnail, he looked out the bug-spattered windshield. “Who cares anyway?”
Dani touched his arm, understanding that he was hoping to hear from Al. “Your dad’s probably busy.”
“Yeah and he never wanted me, okay?” Sudden color rushed into his face. “I heard him and Ma arguing, right before the divorce. They didn’t know I was standing outside their open bedroom window looking for a cat that had crawled under the house. They were screaming at each other and Dad said something crazy, like he didn’t ever want me or I wasn’t his kid or something! It was all just for money.”
“He was just angry.”
“No, Dani, it was more than that.” He swallowed hard and gulped in air. “He hates me. I don’t know why, I don’t know what I did, but he hates me.”
“Oh, honey.” She tried to touch him, but he threw off her arm, opened the door and flung himself out of the Bronco. Dani knew she should give him time to cool off, but she couldn’t. Heart breaking, she ran after him and caught up with him at the porch. “Look, Chris, I can’t speak for your father. God knows he hasn’t treated you decently, but you have to remember that we all love you. Your mother, Brand and I, we think you’re a terrific kid.”
“Yeah, well, what else can you say?” he charged, eyes flashing, nose beginning to run. He swiped at it with his sleeve.
“I don’t have to like you, you know. I don’t have to want to be around you. It’s not like you’re . . . like you’re my . . .” She let the words fall away.
“Your what?”
“Well, my son.” She saw the resemblance then, the shape of his mouth, the little bump on the bridge of his nose, the few freckles that seemed out of place on his olive skin. Her heart jolted. He couldn’t be. Just because he was the spitting image of Brand except for the few traits that belonged to her family . . . No. Her imagination was running away with her. “But . . . but I care about you anyway.”
“Because of Brand?”
“He has nothing to do with this.” Or did he? Did he have everything to do with it? Could it be? Her feet felt leaden, her mind was spinning way out of control. She was letting her emotions play havoc with her rational thinking. “Come on upstairs and I’ll buy you a Coke.”
He hesitated, then his gaze slid away and he tried to hide the fact that he dashed away tears. “In a minute, okay?”
“Okay.”
On wooden legs, she walked up the stairs, her heart thundering in her chest, her fingers suddenly cold. Inside the apartment she walked to the sink, splashed water over her face, then saw the message light flashing on her answering machine.
Without thinking, she pressed the play button and Sloan Redhawk’s voice filled the room. “I think we found our couple, but they’re divorced,” he said, and she braced herself against the table. “Your boy was adopted by—hold on to your hat, I’ve already sent Brandon a Fax—Venitia and Al Cunningham.”
She closed her eyes. “Dear God.”
“His name is Chris, but you probably know him. You might want to give me a call . . .”
There was a gasp from the doorway and she turned to find Chris standing on the threshold. He had on a clean flannel shirt, his hair was wet as if he, too, had thrown some water over his eyes and forehead and his face was a pasty shade of white. “What?” he croaked, his voice cracking on the single pain-filled word. “What did that guy say?”
“Oh, Lord, Chris, I didn’t know. I had no idea that—”
“That what? That I’m your son? Yours and . . . and Brand’s? Who is that guy?” he demanded, poking his finger at the machine. “Who?” His face twisted in revulsion. “It’s lies, right? All lies?”
“I don’t know—”
“No!” She took a step toward him but it was too late. “No! No! No!” He flew down the stairs, nearly tripping, his shirttails flying. “You’re not my mother, you’re not!” He ran to the old windmill and she followed him across the field, through the door and up the rickety old steps. At the top, he was waiting, his eyes hollow and filled with rage. “I hate you.”
“You don’t.”
“Yes, I do.” He spit the words out, as if they tasted vile. “How could you? How?”
“If you’ll just listen . . .” He was crying openly now, his face twisted in an agony so deep it tore at her soul. Dani hurt for him, for the boy she’d known as Brand’s brother, for her son. “I love you.”
“That’s why you gave me up! ’Cause you loved me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s sick! Twisted! Perverted!”
“Chris, just listen, okay? That’s all I can ask you to do. After that, if you still hate me . . . well, I can’t change that.”
“You’re one poor excuse for a mother.”
“I know. That’s why I gave you up. I was young and scared and your dad had already gone to California. I didn’t know where he was. I . . . I had hoped we’d get married . . . but then things changed.”
“You mean after he screwed you, he took off.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she snapped. “If you’ll just listen, I’ll tell you what happened.”
* * *
Brand felt as if he were about to explode. Emotions, old and new, ripped through h
im and he couldn’t get home fast enough. He only stopped once, at a corner where a kid was giving away puppies. He didn’t understand the sudden need for a dog, but he stopped by instinct and handed the ragtag boy a twenty-dollar bill even though the puppy was free—the last of the litter, a runty little tyke that was supposed to be half Lab and half greyhound. Not the cutest puppy in the world, but a dog nonetheless. Chris had been wanting a dog.
Dani’s Bronco was parked in its usual spot, but no lights shone from any of the windows. Dog in hand, he searched the house and the apartment, hurrying, hoping to find her, to explain that he’d found their son. Worry clutched at his heart because the front door to her apartment was standing wide open. He called out but didn’t hear a response.
The groan of gears caught his attention and he glanced at the old windmill. On the upper level, he saw a spot of blue through the window.
Chris was probably holed up there, sneaking cigarettes or something. Dani might be in the stables. “Come on, you,” he said to the pup and hurried across the expanse of dry grass. As he walked through the open door, he heard voices drifting down the stairs and Dani’s voice, soft and gentle, filtered down to him.
“. . . so you can’t blame your father, he never even knew about you.”
His heart stopped. She was telling Chris? No!
“I felt as if I had no other choice, but I hated myself for it and I thought about you every day.”
“Oh sure!” Chris said. “So you made it with Brand and got knocked up.”
“I loved him and I think he loved me. We were just too young to do the right thing.”
“You loved him?” Brand heard the sneer in Chris’s voice.
“Yes,” she said passionately.
“But you married someone else.”
