Once a Family

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Had he just been counseled to show his sister more outward affection? When, at the moment, he was afraid to touch her at all for fear of being accused of bruising her?

  “I’ll have a talk with her,” Tanner said, making up his mind once and for all. Tatum had to come home.

  And tell him what was going on. She had to let him help her.

  Especially now that school was involved. A lifetime of keeping himself one step ahead of the system that would split up his family was too much a part of him, too fully engrained, for him to ignore.

  That thought done, he completed his phone call and immediately dialed another number. Sedona Campbell’s time was up. He’d have liked to tell her in person, but when he got her voice mail, he figured that worked just as well. His message was curt and to the point. He’d give Tatum the night to rest, and in the morning she was coming home.

  He and Tatum would get this done. Whatever it was.

  And things would be okay.

  Somehow. Some way.

  They always were.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SEDONA HAD NO business stopping by the Malone vineyard Friday evening. She knew it. Tanner would know it. But as soon as she hung up after a very disturbing phone call from her brother, Grady, who’d called to tell her his wife had been unfaithful, and then heard Tanner’s deadpan message on her voice mail, she climbed back into her car and headed out to the country.

  Ellie had done her business and had her dinner. But she wasn’t happy about being left again so soon.

  Sedona wasn’t all that happy with herself. But she didn’t turn around.

  If she was using Tanner’s attraction to her to further a business goal—the need to keep Tatum and Tanner Malone from exploding into a crisis mode that would necessitate legal intervention—then so be it.

  Bottom line was, her client, Tatum Malone, was not ready to come home.

  And if her heart was reaching out to Tanner because she was falling for him...if she was on her way to his place because he was hurting and she couldn’t stay away?

  Shaking her head, Sedona pushed harder on the gas pedal.

  She figured if Tanner was in from the vineyard, he’d hear her old Thunderbird coming up the long laneway. He’d have plenty of opportunity to avoid seeing her.

  He was waiting on the front porch when she pulled up to the house in a cloud of dust. He didn’t come down to greet her, though.

  So, taking a deep breath, she made the short climb up to him, hoping that, in her black pants and black-and-white tailored jacket, she looked more professional than she felt.

  The first whiff of fresh masculine scent, and her confidence in her ability to walk the thin professional line weakened. The hair hanging down the back of his neck was still wet. He’d just come from a shower.

  He didn’t say anything. Just watched her step up next to him. And she had a vision of him minus the jeans and polo shirt he’d obviously just donned.

  “Please don’t do this, Tanner.” She stood there, nose to nose with him, staring him in the eye—and pleaded.

  When he turned his gaze to the horizon, her heart sank.

  Sedona felt as if she was in the middle of a tornado—the calm eye of the storm part. Knowing that destruction was coming and unable to prevent it. To protect those she cared about.

  “Why?”

  The countryside was quiet. An occasional car drove by on the road but it was far enough away that she could barely hear it. There were no animals milling around. No waves bringing unending conversation—an unrelenting promise of life. Just quiet.

  Was this what Tatum was running from? The quiet?

  Or had Tanner provided his sister an oasis of peace out here? A place where delicate grapes grew strong and healthy?

  Turning, she stood side by side with him, staring out at his horizon. “I stopped by The Stand on my way home tonight.” She spoke softly, withholding judgment. She had to persuade him.

  For his sister’s sake. But for his, too. Not that she expected this distant, self-possessed man to believe that.

  He didn’t seem to have heard. And yet she knew he was listening.

  “Tatum agreed to answer her phone if you call her again. She agreed to speak with you.”

  She glanced over as she spoke. His chin stiffened, but there was no other reaction.

  “I didn’t tell her why you were calling,” she added, just to be clear.

  Tanner had trust issues. She’d known that going in. Growing up the way he had, a guy would be hard-pressed not to have an issue or two.

  Looking to the horizon again, she said, “Last night you agreed to give hypnosis a chance. Today you’re saying time’s up. What happened?”

  He didn’t trust. But he also didn’t go back on his word.

  Or make hasty decisions.

  Two things she’d learned about him in this time of “getting to know him.”

  “If you force this issue, she could still go to the police.” A cheap shot, maybe, but also true. Sedona was certain Tatum would be lying if she told the police that her brother was the one who’d hit her. But that didn’t mean the teen wouldn’t do it. If she felt forced to do so in order to stay at The Lemonade Stand.

  He stood, hands in his pockets, staring out as though he was on the old porch all alone.

  Man against the world.

  Man holding the world on his shoulders.

  An overwhelming need to hold him swept over her.

  “She’s just agreed to speak with you, Tanner.” If he forced Tatum to come home, what little bit of opening she was giving him would certainly slam shut again.

  His face implacable, Tanner stood a few seconds more and then turned. His gaze swept over her, before meeting hers, and lingering.

  And then he left. Without a word. Not a goodbye. Or any indication that he’d be back.

  She watched his retreating back through the glass of the screen door until it disappeared into the house, fighting tears.

  Was that it, then? He was just dismissing her?

  His look hadn’t been dismissive.

  But she was equally certain there’d been no invitation issued, either.

  If ever a man could be an island, it would be Tanner. But the more he looked only to himself for strength, relied only on himself to carry the world’s burdens, the more he compelled Sedona to show him a different way.

  Which was ridiculous. He wasn’t her problem. Or even her client.

  Her mind made up to leave him to create his own future, she took a step down to the driveway. Noticed how the dust covered the top of her expensive and stylish blue leather pump.

  There was something wrong with the picture. A successful woman, dressed smartly, listening to her head and not her heart. It wasn’t the life she’d promised herself she’d live.

  It was the career she’d chosen.

  As long as she’d been waffling, he’d had a chance to return. Glancing behind her she saw the empty doorway he’d passed through. He hadn’t come back.

  He also hadn’t shut the front door.

  Nor had he locked the screen door.

  Without really making up her mind, Sedona turned, climbed back up to the porch in her dusty blue pumps, opened that storm door and entered Tanner’s home uninvited.

  * * *

  HE’D OPENED ONE of his own bottles of wine. Because he’d provided it for himself. A reminder that he could and would always take care of his own. On his own.

  He’d poured a glass. Closed his eyes while he’d taken the first sip—allowing his focus to rest fully in that moment of taste. He had high expectations for the pinot grigio.

  And wasn’t disappointed.

  Opening his eyes, Tanner pulled a pan from the cupboard beside the stove, filled
it with water and, lighting the gas burner of the claw-footed iron stove the old-fashioned way, he put the water on to boil.

  The cupboard to the right of the stove, quality white barn-siding like all the rest, held the boxes of macaroni and cheese. They bought them by the case. He was down to three boxes.

  Taking one down, he left two behind.

  And heard the screen door open, followed by the clack of heels on the hardwood floors coming through the living room to the dining room. Heading straight in his direction.

  Picking up the bottle of wine, he filled the second glass he’d pulled down to the counter. Lifted it and handed it to his guest as she came into the room.

  * * *

  SHE DIDN’T HAVE to see the unlabeled bottle on the counter to know that Tanner had just offered her a glass of his own wine.

  Warmth pooled within her again.

  Respecting his need for silence she accepted the gift, took a sip and savored the ever so slightly acidic liquid rolling on her tongue.

  Not a hint of sweetness, like a Riesling or a Moscato, yet not too dry, either. She tasted a hint of orange, not lemon, some apple and maybe a little pear.

  Swallowing was smooth, no stinging in her throat.

  Overall...exquisite.

  Lifting her glass to him, she smiled. He nodded. And turned to pour macaroni from a box to a pan of boiling water on an antique stove her mother would die to own.

  “She’s missed nine classes in the past month.”

  Holding her glass with both hands, Sedona stared at his back. And then watched his hands as he grabbed a wooden spoon and stirred the macaroni. That backside, those pecs—and a wooden spoon in a pot of elbow noodles. The combination was sexy as hell.

  And sad, too.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, sipping from her wine. She had to be careful. The stuff was so good she could easily get herself into a state where she wouldn’t be safe to drive. “You take her to school every morning and pick her up every afternoon. She told me you watch her go into the building and are there watching when she comes out again.”

  Tatum had been complaining—or rather, explaining. Giving an example of how Tanner treats her like child. How her brother refused to see that she’s a young woman, able to make decisions for herself. To take control of her own life.

  At least to some extent. The teenager wasn’t crying out for an apartment of her own. Or even a car.

  She just wanted some say in her life.

  A completely healthy and necessary step in the growing-up process.

  And an issue between her and her brother. But certainly not the real problem between them.

  “She’s been leaving class on the grounds of feeling unwell.”

  Other than that morning’s sore throat, no one had said a word to her about Tatum being sick....

  “And because she’s not here, I have no idea if she’s under the weather or not. It’s pretty easy to fake wellness for fifteen minutes at a time, which is all I ever see her.”

  She didn’t miss the complaint in his tone. Or the derision.

  And, God help her, she understood. What they were doing to Tanner...ripping his family apart for seemingly no known reason...it wasn’t fair.

  And was completely necessary, too.

  What in the hell did she say to him?

  “I’ll talk to Sara and Lila and we’ll bring the matter up with Tatum.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  He stirred. An unnecessary act at that stage of the boxed macaroni and cheese process.

  Sedona was afraid to move, to break the thread of trust she was pretty sure he’d just handed her.

  “You’re going to let her continue to stay at The Stand?”

  “For now.”

  He wasn’t giving her a mile. Or even an inch. But there was a centimeter there. Or a day or two.

  * * *

  “YOU HAVE DINNER YET?” Tanner ripped open the packet of cheese sauce powder and poured it over the drained macaroni and butter mix in his pan, stirring until the pasta was coated with orangey cream sauce.

  “No.”

  “Are you staying?” Did he get down one plate or two?

  “Yes.”

  Two plates.

  And a little more wine.

  * * *

  TATUM’S CHAIR WAS still empty. But Tanner enjoyed dinner a hell of a lot more than he had anytime recently. As he glanced up and saw Sedona delicately putting a forkful of macaroni into her mouth, her perfectly straight white teeth showing for a second before those sexy lips closed over the utensil, it occurred to him that she was the first adult woman to ever sit at that table with him.

  It was the first time a grown woman had graced his dinner table since his mother left.

  He reached for his wine. An obvious solution to salve the thickness in his throat. And followed it with a bite of macaroni.

  If he’d known she was coming, he might have thawed some pork steaks. Tatum loved his vinegar and Worcestershire marinated grilled pork.

  Sedona didn’t regale him with useless chatter. But their silence wasn’t awkward, either. Or filled with the tension that had permeated any time he’d spent at the table with Tatum in recent months.

  Sedona had cleaned her plate. And almost emptied her second glass of wine. He opened a second bottle. The night was early. And he was going to spend it with his own success.

  Holding the bottle up over her glass he glanced at her. She covered the top of her glass with her hand and shook her head. He filled his own, rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher Tatum had insisted he buy for her for Christmas one year.

  When he returned to the dining room, Sedona was still there, babying the tiny bit of wine that was left in her glass.

  Didn’t much matter to him if he enjoyed his wine there, in the living room, or out in the barn. At the moment, not much mattered.

  Not even the fact that he’d promised himself, and all three of his siblings, that he would always be sober.

  For thirty-three years he’d kept that promise. And what had it gotten him? A big old rambling house for company. A sister who preferred a women’s shelter to the home he’d provided for her.

  Tonight he was going to feel what it felt like to be drunk. Must be something to it. The power of the drunk had been far more compelling to his mother than any of her four kids had been.

  Even Tatum, as perfect and beautiful and sweet as she’d been, hadn’t been enough for their mother....

  “My brother called tonight.”

  Sedona’s voice flowed right into the moroseness of his self-pity as though it belonged there. She’d finished her wine. Was looking at his newly opened bottle. He’d yet to sip from his third glass of wine. Three was all he’d ever allowed himself.

  But tonight he was going to drink as much as it took.

  “How’s he doing?” he asked, staring at his glass of wine. Lifting it to his lips. Sipping. Enjoying the flavor. The trickle against the back of his throat.

  Wine was meant for appreciating. Not for obliterating.

  “His wife was unfaithful to him.”

  Tanner’s attention was no longer on his wineglass. “He called to tell you that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow.”

  It wasn’t as though he was a big believer in fidelity. Still...

  He held the stem of his glass, gliding his fingers up down the smoothness of polished crystal. The glasses had been a gift from Thomas—his little brother had used his entire paycheck to buy them secondhand before he’d left for New York—in celebration of Tanner’s purchasing the farm to build a Malone family home and start a winery. Prior to that, they’d lived in subsidized housing and, for a while, a small rental.

  “Who’s the
guy?”

  “So stereotypical—her personal trainer.”

  “Does she work?”

  “No. Grady’s a pediatrician, I think I told you that. He and Brooke had agreed, before they married, that she’d be a stay-at-home wife and mom.”

  She might have told him. He didn’t remember either way.

  “She’d had some problems with postpartum depression after Cameron was born. She’d been feeling fat and ugly and Grady hired the trainer for her so she’d feel good about herself.”

  “I guess she felt a little too good.”

  He was watching her, and it hit him that if she were his woman, he’d rather die than find out that she’d been unfaithful to him.

  Going completely still, he waited for the sensation to pass. And then took a sip of wine. A small sip. He knew how to make the third glass last.

  Sedona helped herself to another glass of wine.

  “Are they divorcing?” he asked, maybe just to keep her there. Keep her talking to him.

  As soon as she left, he’d have no excuse to put off getting drunk.

  “No.”

  She didn’t sound at all happy about the fact.

  “Brooke’s pregnant.”

  She might have mentioned that before, too. Marriage and babies weren’t things he generally committed to memory. They were outside his frame of reference.

  “So they’re going to try to work it out.” He felt as if he was drowning, and the sensation had nothing to do with his wine consumption. “Makes sense,” he added. “For their baby’s sake.” And the other kid, too. Tanner was all for dads being decent and standing by their kids.

  He just didn’t have a lot of experience with ones who did.

  “He’s not sure the baby’s his.”

  “Oh.” Ohhh. Now he got it. She was talking to him because of his mother. This Brooke, she was the baby-daddy type, too.

  “Yeah.”

  Leaving his glass of wine on the table, Tanner pushed it away. “I admire him,” he said, sitting back in the old wooden chair, hardly noticing the slats digging into his back. “He’s standing by the kids.”