Falling for the Brother

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Bruce shook his head again. “It was a Sunday,” he said. “I remember because Gram made a roast.”

  “Which she only does on Sundays,” Mason finished, feeling a moment of normalcy.

  “Every Sunday,” Bruce added, with a grin.

  His little brother didn’t blame Mason for investigating him. He would’ve done the same himself. He’d said so.

  Mason was tempted to ask Bruce to meet him for a beer later. To test the brother waters again. Five years was a long time. Maybe Miriam’s injuries were enough to bring them together. Harper had thought so...that first day...

  “You talk to Harper?” Bruce’s question came as Mason wrestled with a beer request that wouldn’t quite come out.

  A loaded question.

  “Look, I figured you would. You’d have to if you’re any kind of investigator and I know you’re one of the best.”

  “Briefly,” he said, his gaze steady. Bruce was completely correct. Mason had contacted Harper because he’d had no choice.

  Bruce’s expression held no malice. He didn’t ask what Harper had said to him. Didn’t seem the least bit worried about it.

  And had no cause to be. She’d never, for one second, considered that Bruce might be guilty of abusing Gram.

  Neither had she made any move on Mason.

  “You talking to her again?” This time his brother’s glance was somewhat guarded. Mason would’ve been concerned if it hadn’t been.

  And he was prepared. The question was one he’d planned for.

  “I will if I need to,” he said. “If not, then no.”

  If something else presented itself, requiring him to bring in a witness a second time, he had the right to do so. The obligation to do so.

  “Do you anticipate needing to?”

  As a witness to an investigation Bruce was out of line now. And he knew it. But he needed more—and deserved it, too.

  “You’re her daughter’s father and she’s loyal to you.” The words were difficult for him, but true. “Harper and I have no personal business, nor has there been any indication that either of us would allow there to be.” They wouldn’t allow it. He had no doubt of that. Wanting...now that was a different matter, but Mason had learned years ago that, as the song said, you couldn’t always get what you wanted.

  In fact, more often than not, you couldn’t. From the time Bruce was born, Mason’s growing up had consisted of not getting what he wanted. Made him a better person.

  A stronger, more reliable, decent man.

  “So... Gram’s really okay?” Bruce asked him, eye to eye. Brother to brother.

  He nodded. Wanted to ask about Grace, but didn’t. Not yet. Not until he got the two women together. Saw for himself how they were without Bruce in the picture.

  Not until he had some time to process this first meeting.

  He’d opened the door with his brother. Grace could wait for another talk.

  “You want to do this again, in a day or so?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  Bruce stood. “Is she...close by? I mean, I’d like to reassure her that I’m here for her. That I miss her and will do everything I can to help you get this guy.”

  “She knows that.”

  “I can’t believe she’s doing well being away from home. She’s always been so protective of her space, wanting things done her way.”

  “She’s on vacation.”

  Bruce seemed to start at that. “You sent her on a cruise or something?”

  Yeah, or something. Mason nodded. His brother seemed to relax then, dropping all facades. “Thank God,” he said, his voice a bit gravelly, his eyes glistening with emotion. “I was afraid the jerk had hurt her worse than you said, that she was in a hospital. I checked locally, but I know how these cases work, and until you cleared me, no one was going to give it to me straight...”

  Bruce was almost babbling now. Like the vulnerable kid he’d been inside all those years ago. The kid Mason had sworn to protect.

  “She’s got a cast on below the elbow,” he said now. “Otherwise she’s fine and running the show like always.”

  Bruce smiled as he looked at Mason. “Thank God,” he said again.

  And that was it. They walked to their cars together, Mason throwing his half-full coffee cup in the trash on the way. Shook hands with another shoulder-to-shoulder hug. Agreed to meet in a day or two, got in their respective vehicles and drove away.

  Mason had some calls to return. A new text. Work waiting.

  He needed a beer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  GRACE’S CLEARANCE CAME through just after seven Friday evening. Harper had been waiting for an email and had checked while sitting with a bathed and jammied Brianna, who was eating popcorn in front of one of her favorite Disney movies.

  Harper was off duty and could have waited until morning. But if Miriam had been any other resident she wouldn’t have waited. So she didn’t in this case, either.

  After today’s lunch at the beach, a swim in the pool and helping her grandmother dust, Brianna was falling asleep with her hand in the popcorn bowl. Harper picked up her phone.

  Sent her second text of the day to Mason.

  He hadn’t responded to the first. Maybe he wouldn’t respond to the second until she was back at work in the morning. It wasn’t as if he and Grace were going to drive to Santa Raquel that night.

  Still...he could call her. Plan to drive down in the morning. He hadn’t let her know, which was why she texted, telling him about the clearance.

  For the first fifteen minutes afterward, she was on tenterhooks. Watching her phone—and her daughter’s drowsy eyelids. After that, she just watched Brianna. As soon as the little girl was truly asleep, she carried her up the stairs, tucked her into bed and kissed her good-night, then turned on the monitor and headed back downstairs. Brianna didn’t stir once.

  Her mom had told her that she’d slept just as soundly as a kid.

  Not anymore.

  That was part of being a parent, her mother had also told her. Missing her parents, she called them as she settled back in the living room with the partially eaten bowl of popcorn in her lap, remembering, when they didn’t answer, that Friday night was when they played cards at church.

  The popcorn wasn’t that good. She dumped it in the trash and got some cheese and crackers instead. She poured herself a glass of wine. She decided to turn on the TV and tried to find something to watch.

  Five minutes later, she found herself staring at she knew not what. Some show. Maybe a movie. A woman was crying and, although Harper had no idea what had upset her, she could feel her pain.

  She’d missed what was going on. She’d been too busy imagining a world where Mason was Brie’s father. Part of their lives.

  But Bruce wasn’t in that world, and he was Brie’s father in the ways that counted. No matter what the tests showed, they couldn’t cut him out.

  Would he cut himself out?

  Not if he didn’t know.

  Would Mason insist on telling him?

  Her stomach clenched and she took a sip of wine, assuring herself that Mason wasn’t Brie’s father. Bruce was. The test would prove that conclusively, and the worst pain she and Mason had created that night five years ago would be eased. The doubt would be gone.

  She’d have good news for Bruce and he’d forgive her for allowing the test to happen behind his back.

  And Mason...

  Could she insist that he have a role in Brie’s life? That he have the chance to be a real uncle?

  Did he want to be?

  If he did, would she let him?

  She had to, didn’t she?

  She’d never made an agreement to stay away from Mason. Would never have agreed to that. Which was probably why Bruce hadn’t told her about it.

  He’d
manipulated the situation, just like Mason had said. But could she blame him?

  What if Mason was Brie’s father? Bruce would never forgive her for allowing the test. Some things just weren’t excusable. Like sleeping with his brother in the first place.

  Not that Bruce had ever thrown it in her face. As he’d promised when he’d begged her to marry him, they’d never mentioned that night again.

  If he wasn’t Brie’s father, did he have to know?

  Did Brie?

  At some point, maybe, but...

  Her phone rang and she scooped it off the table, thinking it would be her mom calling her back. She needed to talk to her. To learn what she thought about Harper agreeing to the paternity test...

  Mason. The caller was Mason.

  Pleasure rushed through her and then was gone. She wasn’t ready to talk to him, afraid of what he might require of her. And what he might not care enough to ask about.

  How could you want something and dread it with equal fierceness?

  “Hello?” She had to answer. He’d be calling to make arrangements for Grace’s visit.

  “I was notified that the courier picked up my sample an hour ago.” At eight o’clock on Friday night? The clock was ticking. Unless...maybe the lab didn’t work weekends. Maybe the three days would start on Monday.

  She took another gulp of wine.

  “We could hear as early as Sunday, no later than Monday.”

  No! “You said three days.”

  “That was the max.”

  Then he should’ve said it was max. Harper’s agitation was aimed at him, but she knew that wasn’t fair. Stress tightened the skin on her face, the muscles in her neck. Excitement bred butterflies in her stomach.

  Dread took her voice away.

  She was a damned mess and had no idea what to do about it.

  She’d get off the phone and go to her private gym.

  And think about work.

  “Did you talk to Grace?”

  “Yes. I’m picking her up at seven. We should be there around nine. Will you let Gram know?”

  Did every single thing he needed from her have to be so uncomfortable? So hard?

  “Of course.” It was her job.

  “We also need to talk about what we’re going to do if the test comes back positive.”

  We. What we’re going to do.

  Sitting up straight, Harper looked at the line separating white from reddened skin at the edge of her shorts. She’d gotten some sun at the beach. And the pool.

  We.

  “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

  “Of course you have a choice.” He said the words so matter-of-factly. “You’re her mother, Harper. Ultimately all the choices are yours.”

  For the first time that day, she felt like herself. She recognized her usual sense of control, of being strong and capable.

  She hadn’t noticed it missing until it had returned, and she was confused by that.

  When had it left?

  And why?

  She reassured herself that she was in control of her own choices, her own life. With full custody of Brianna she was even in control there—until Brianna grew up and took control of her own life.

  “If you’re her father, you have rights, too,” she said softly. And took a breath against the sharp sting of fear left in the wake of those words. Looking around, as though the room was bugged and someone would come bursting in on her for having dared to utter such a blasphemy, she lifted her wineglass with a shaking hand.

  She took a sip. Regained control.

  “If you aren’t, I’d appreciate your letting me tell him we did the test.” Bruce would feel less betrayed if she explained why she’d participated in a test he’d refused—to put his doubts to rest.

  “Agreed.”

  Silence hung on the line. Was he waiting for her to say more? Set more guidelines?

  “If you are...” What? She didn’t know what. Her body trembled, only she wasn’t cold. She pulled Brie’s fleece blanket off the arm of the couch anyway and wrapped it around her bare shoulders.

  “I won’t interfere with your parenting, Harper. But I’ll need you to consider a way to work me into her life.”

  “Bruce is the only father she’s known. I can’t just take him away from her.”

  “I wouldn’t want that.”

  Okay. Good. And yet...he should want it. If the paternity test was positive, he would already have lost four years of his daughter’s life.

  “What would you want, then?”

  “As I said earlier, I’ll insist on financial responsibility—past and future.”

  “I don’t need your money for the four years you missed.”

  “I have it to spare, and it’s something I’d need to do. Put it in a college fund, if nothing else.”

  He’d mentioned that once before. “Okay.”

  They’d agreed on two things already. If he wasn’t Brie’s dad, she’d tell Bruce. And if he was, he’d be financially involved in their lives.

  Feeling a bit better, she said, “Obviously, you’ll spend time with her.” Retrieving the wine bottle from the kitchen, with the blanket still wrapped around herself, she poured herself another half glass.

  “I’d need that, yes.”

  Thoughts started to sort themselves out. “If the test comes back positive, we need to have a meeting with Sara,” she said. “She’ll help us figure out how to handle things with Brie.” Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that before now?

  Because all she’d seen was Bruce.

  She wanted to know what Mason was hoping for—if he welcomed the idea of being the father of her child. If their night together meant something special to him, after all...

  Would they become some kind of family? The idea of Mason being in regular contact was...

  Forbidden territory.

  He might regret the night and everything that could have resulted from it. Might be hoping to find out he was off the hook.

  It would be easier that way—if he hoped Brianna was Bruce’s child.

  Calm settled over her as excitement dissipated. And fear dwindled, too.

  Her feelings for Mason didn’t. Even now, thinking about her child being his, she got those hidden, secret feelings again. The ones she’d had from the first time they’d met. The ones that had driven her that night she’d spent with him.

  She’d been vulnerable, unable to deny what she’d felt deep inside.

  She hadn’t been herself.

  “I had a meeting with Bruce today,” he said.

  Tension took hold again. Just that quickly. Was Bruce angry with her?

  “I think it’s inappropriate to divulge specifics of the investigation, since charges could be filed, but I thought you should know there’s a potential suspect who’s not him.”

  She almost dropped the phone. So Bruce wasn’t the bad guy she’d been trying to find in her memories? He was the man she knew him to be?

  A huge breath escaped her and she lay back. “Did Bruce bring him to your attention?”

  Because if he had...couldn’t it be more of what Mason had been telling her about him—that he concocted half-truths to make himself the victimized one? To gain a sympathetic response?

  “No.”

  “Wow.” What a relief. “Does this mean Miriam can go home soon?”

  “Possibly. We have to either get her to press charges, or prove what we suspect, or else she’ll be right back where she was.”

  “So...he lives close by?”

  “Possibly.”

  She could hardly believe it.

  “Why wouldn’t she have told you about him?”

  “That’s part of what we have yet to find out.”

  “’Cause it’s hard to imagine her putting up with someon
e hurting her and just staying quiet about it.” Hard to believe anyone would dare lift a hand to her, knowing he’d have to answer to Bruce.

  And to Mason. Unless...

  “He’s not another cop, is he? Retired, maybe?”

  “No.”

  “You think Grace knows about him?”

  “Possibly.”

  Just...wow. Such good news.

  Bruce hadn’t done it.

  She’d known that.

  She’d allowed Mason to plant doubts in her mind anyway. To the point of not leaving Bruce alone with Brianna.

  Another in the list of ways she’d let Bruce down. Or felt she had.

  But thank God Mason hadn’t succeeded in turning her completely against him.

  Now, if only the paternity test came back negative...

  Life could get back to normal.

  She wanted that. She really did. Bruce would know for certain that he was Brianna’s father. She’d know. He’d forgive her for doing the test behind his back. And would never realize she’d doubted him about Miriam.

  All would be well.

  So why, when Mason rang off with a casual “see you in the morning,” did she feel like crying her eyes out?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  GRACE HAD BROUGHT along a feathery-looking yarn project to work on during the drive. In light green capri pants and a floral short-sleeved T-shirt to match, she sat next to him, fingers flying with her crochet hook, stopping every few seconds to pull on the yarn. She’d said she was making matching scarves for all the women in a choral group she performed with. As he entered the freeway that would lead him straight to Santa Raquel, he wondered what kind of choral outfit would go with hot pink and black, but didn’t ask.

  He also wondered how many of those little feather droppings he’d have in his car at day’s end, but didn’t really care. That was what car-wash vacuums were for.

  He’d rather think about feathers and choral fashions than DNA tests that could come back that afternoon. He had contacts at the lab who were making his test a priority—coming in on a Saturday to handle things for him.

  Trying to imagine the mammoth ways his life would change if he found out he was a father put him in a place he didn’t want to be. Unsettled. Unknowing. Not in control.