by Cheryl Holt
“Sit down,” he said again, amazed that she complied. But then, her knees weren’t steady, and she collapsed onto the chair more than anything.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she demanded.
“When I heard you were engaged to that banker, I decided it was time. You can make a better choice for yourself than the ones Jackie inflicts on you. I wanted you to be happy for a change, and I doubted you were.”
“You doubted I was happy? How would you presume to know?”
“I kept track of you, honey. You’d be surprised how much I discovered.”
“What proof is there that I…” She stopped and shook her head. “You couldn’t have any proof, so I’m curious why you’d do this to me. I thought we were friends.”
“We’re more than friends.”
“You expect me to agree that I’m not a Merriweather, that I’ve never been a Merriweather, that David isn’t my father, that Lucas and Dustin aren’t my brothers.”
“They’re still your brothers, and the whole world can believe that David was your father. Nobody ever has to learn the truth—except you and me.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. She was so miserable. He wished she was younger, that he could take her onto his lap and tell her it would all be okay. And it would be. Eventually. Once she got over the shock.
A sly, cold gleam clouded her eyes. “You’re not going to threaten to call a press conference, are you? You’re not about to ask for a bit of cash so it stays a little secret just between us?” She peered derisively around his dismal kitchen. “Blackmail is such an easy way to pay the bills, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t deserve that,” he scolded.
“Didn’t you? You wouldn’t be the first guy who hit me up for money for a spiteful reason. I’ve been wondering why you had Matt bring me here. Maybe I finally found out.”
“This isn’t about your damn money. You can choke on it for all I care.”
She stared at him, and he stared right back, trying to appear composed and firm.
He wanted to grab a mirror, to point at her nose, her chin, her cheekbones, and shout, Look! Look! Tell me you’re not mine!
“I didn’t have any idea,” he explained, “until I saw a picture of your family in a business magazine. I don’t remember why I was reading it; I just was. And there you were. About two years old. Emily was six, but I had an album of photos from when she was two. I pulled them out and held them up, side by side. I nearly had a heart attack.”
Tears flooded her eyes. She licked her bottom lip.
“If what you’re saying is true,” she spat, “then my entire life has been a lie. I’m not a Merriweather—“
“Yes, you are,” he resolutely stated. “You’re still you. That hasn’t changed. We simply know more about you than we used to know.”
She glared at him, and he could sense the emotions roiling her. He could have filled the void with chatter, could have attempted to comfort her with words he couldn’t seem to find, but this was a situation she had to work out for herself.
In the end, she’d either come to grips with it or she wouldn’t. She was the one who had to determine the next step.
“You told me this for a reason,” she ultimately said, “and you claim it’s not blackmail. What do you want?”
“I want you to be part of my family, but that can all be on your terms.” He gestured around the kitchen, meaning to encompass his house. “If you’d like to move in and live here, you can. If you’d like it to be more casual than that—where you’d visit when you’re in Colorado or call when you can—I’m fine with that too. My hope is that you’d stay with me, that we could make up for lost time.”
“Lost…time?” She scoffed as if it was a concept she’d never heard before.
“What I don’t want is for you to storm out and never come back.”
“Where would I go?” She was so pale that he worried she might pass out. “I’ve never belonged anywhere. Where do I belong now?”
He reached over and patted her hand. “It will be all right, kiddo.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You need to relax and reassess while you digest everything. Then you should do what’s best for you. Not for me.”
“Oh, man…” She rubbed her temples as if her head was throbbing. “I think…think…I should talk to my mother.”
“That’s a good idea, but why don’t you give it a day or two? Calm down a bit so you can figure out what to say to her.”
“I imagine it will be such an easy conversation,” she sarcastically chided. “I’ll simply ask if she had an affair twenty-six years ago with a guy named Ken Scott. I’ll ask if you’re my father.”
“She’ll never admit it.”
“No, but I have to ask the question and listen to her answer.” She stood again, saw her purse and picked it up. “She’s probably not even still in Denver. She might be home in Santa Fe already.”
“You can’t leave yet.”
“Why not?”
“Matt will be back in a minute. He can drive you.”
“I can’t be trapped in a car with him. I’ll call a cab.”
Just then, Matt halted her escape by walking in the door with Jeremy.
“Here’s the milk you needed, Brittney,” Jeremy said. “I don’t know why we had to get any. I don’t even like milk.”
He placed the carton on the counter, then headed to the living room. The TV blared.
Brittney stared at Matt, but Matt avoided her gaze and looked at Ken, instead.
“You told her?”
“Yes.”
“The whole ball of wax?”
“The whole ball.”
“What now?” Matt pressed.
“It’s up to her,” Ken said.
“Did you know?” Brittney asked Matt.
“Yes.”
“The entire time? From when we first met?”
“I’ve known since I was a kid.”
She sagged, as if he’d struck her with the news.
“You would never have told me yourself,” she charged.
“I told you before: It wasn’t my story to tell.” He shrugged. “If I’d had my way, you would never have found out.”
Ken said, “He tried to talk me out of confessing many, many times.”
“And why is that?” Brittney inquired.
Ken couldn’t bear to hurt her, but on the spur of the moment, he couldn’t devise a suitable lie. Matt answered for him.
“I didn’t want him upset, and I still don’t. I’ve known a few of your kind—“
“My kind?” Brittney snorted.
“—and Ken will never come out the winner in this. He has this fantasy built up in his mind about what you’re like and how it will be between you, but that’s all it is: a fantasy.”
She narrowed her focus, scowling with fury and regret.
“Why are you always so mean to me? What did I ever do to you?”
“You didn’t do anything to me. It’s what you might do to Ken that has me gnashing my teeth.”
“Why would I do anything to Ken? Why are you worrying?”
“You really have to ask?”
“Yes. What is it with you?”
“Well now, let’s see. Will you move in with us? Will you live with us in our crappy little house, caring for him as his health deteriorates? Will you throw away your other life—your rich, comfortable, real life—so you can doodle around and pretend he’s your dad?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Do you even believe him?”
“I don’t know that either.” She clutched at her purse, opened it, and dug out her phone. “I need to call that cab.”
“Coward,” Matt hissed.
“I am not,” she fumed.
“At the first hint of a conflict, you’re running away. Why am I not surprised?”
“Listen you! I’ve just had an enormous shock, and I don’t have to—“
But
her tirade was cut off as Jeremy dashed in.
“Brittney,” he said, “I think you’re on TV.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the living room. Ken and Matt followed.
“Isn’t that you?” Jeremy asked, pointing at the television set.
The news was on, and there was a picture of Brittney on the screen, the word, MISSING, stamped under it. A female reporter was speaking into the camera.
“Turn it up, Jeremy,” Ken said.
“…last seen five days ago, having vanished without a trace from a downtown restaurant,” the woman announced. “Authorities have no leads in the disappearance and have not ruled out foul play. The Merriweather family is offering a substantial reward for her safe return. Anyone with any information is asked to—“
Brittney yanked the remote out of Jeremy’s hand and hit the mute button.
“For heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “Who would have realized I was gone?”
“Are you missing?” Jeremy inquired.
“No, silly. It’s all a big mistake.” She shook her head with disgust. “Excuse me. I have to call my mother and let her know I’m okay.”
She went to the kitchen, and Ken tagged after her, lurking as she powered up her phone and punched in Jacquelyn’s number.
It rang several times, then Brittney said, “Mother?” There was a pause, and she continued. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just watched the news. Why would you stir up all this trouble?” She spun away from Ken and lowered her voice. “I’m so embarrassed. You have everyone searching for me for no reason.”
She listened and listened and finally said, “Dustin? Why is he in Denver? He’s supposed to be on his honeymoon.” Another pause. “Well, he shouldn’t have come home early, because there’s nothing wrong. And no, I don’t want to talk to him. Don’t put him on the—“
From across the room, Ken heard her brother shout, “Where the hell are you? Are you all right?”
“Of course, I’m all right. I’ve been staying with some friends.”
“Where?” he shouted even louder.
“Calm down. I’m in Denver.”
“What’s the address?”
“Why would you need the address?”
“Never mind, we have it on this end. Don’t move! Don’t you dare move! We’ll be there in a minute.”
“You don’t have to pick me up,” Brittney insisted, but her brother had hung up. She grumbled to Ken, “My entire family is insane.”
“They’re worried about you.”
“It would be the first and only time. They act like I’ve been kidnapped. If they’re concerned about me, it would be over the fact that they might have to pay out a ransom to get me back. They’re testy when they have to part with any of their money for frivolous purposes.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry about all of this.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She opened a drawer and pulled out the phone book. She was leafing through it, checking for the listings for cab companies, when suddenly she halted. She frowned.
The sound reached them at the same moment. Sirens. On many, many police cars. Rushing to Ken’s house.
“Oh, no,” she groaned. “Tell me they didn’t call the police.”
Matt peeked in. “Looks like you’ll have a royal escort for the ride home.” As if she really was the princess he always accused her of being, he made a sweeping gesture toward the front door. “Why don’t you head out to meet your entourage?”
She gazed up at the ceiling. “Please Lord, strike me dead.”
But no lightning bolt arrived to slay her.
She walked outside just as a police car screeched to a stop by the curb.
CHAPTER TEN
Brittney walked into the mansion and shut the door. There was no one to greet her, and she stood, gazing at the beautiful antique furniture and rugs.
Though she’d never lived in the house, she’d always loved it. Lucas was determined to let the historical society turn it into a museum, and she couldn’t bear the notion. If she accomplished nothing else in the next few months, she would find a way to keep the place for herself.
If he and Dustin didn’t want to own it anymore, they didn’t have to. They could sell it to her, and she didn’t care how high they set the asking price.
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t be able to buy it. If Ken’s story was true, if David Merriweather wasn’t her father, where did she stand with regard to her inheritance?
She didn’t know her brothers all that well, and what she did know of them wasn’t all that great. They could be ruthless—especially when it involved the Merriweather money.
Would they disown and disavow her? Would they sue her, have her declared illegitimate, take her share?
She didn’t think so, but she felt as if she was on a small boat that was swiftly sinking. Was she about to be drowned or saved?
“Hello?” she called, but her voice echoed off the ceiling. It was a forlorn sound, reminding her that she was all alone and always had been.
After the uproar at Ken’s, she’d assumed there would be somebody waiting to welcome her. They’d made such a preposterous issue of having her rescued.
Cops had swarmed the yard with guns drawn, and Brittney had been whisked away in a police car. She’d loudly insisted she was okay, that she hadn’t been kidnapped, but no one would listen to her.
She’d tried to phone Matt, to phone Ken, but there was no answer at either number. Her last view of Ken’s house had been of Matt on the porch, a barrage of guns pointed at him. He’d been forced to put his hands on his head in a way that would have killed his bad arm.
Had they arrested him? Had they arrested Ken? And what about Jeremy? Where was he? Ken’s status as a retired officer should have calmed the situation, but it had been too chaotic. There was no predicting what had happened.
She’d been driven to a police station and deposited at a desk by an officer who’d already heard—and ignored—her explanation a dozen times. He’d expected her to hang around so she could repeat it for a detective, but the moment he was distracted, she’d simply gotten up and walked out. She’d wandered several blocks until she stumbled on a hotel with cabs parked out front. She’d jumped in one and hurried home.
Her plan was to bathe, change clothes, then return to Ken’s to check on him. But first, she had to locate her mother and have a heart to heart chat.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and she peered up, surprised to see Dustin’s wife, Amy, skipping down.
“Brittney! I thought you were still at the police station.”
“I left—when they weren’t looking. It was all so stupid.”
“We were worried.”
“There was no reason to be.” She glanced up behind Amy, but Amy was alone. “Where is everybody?”
“Dustin and Lucas raced off to help the police rescue you.”
Brittney winced. “Tell me they didn’t.”
“I stayed here in case you contacted us again.” As she reached the bottom step, she was grinning. “If I received a ransom demand, I was prepared to leap into action.”
“I am so embarrassed.”
“I would be too. Once you said you were fine, I told Dustin he was being silly, but what do I know?”
“My brothers are the most stubborn men on earth.”
“Yes, they are, so they’re extremely fortunate to have married Faith and me. We’re working to rein in their worst tendencies.”
“A lifetime chore undertaken by saints.”
“Your mother claimed you were with some friends?”
“With Matt Monroe.”
“Ooh, lucky you!”
“You remember him?”
“How could I forget?” Her grin widened. “After things quiet down, let’s sneak off so you can tell me all about it. I want details I can drop now and then to make Dustin jealous.”
“I’m sorry you had to come h
ome early from your honeymoon.”
She waved away Brittney’s concern. “He feels bad for me that it was cut short, so it’s an excuse I can use to guilt him into taking me again really soon.”
Brittney chuckled. “I like your style.”
“Thank you. I like your brother.”
“Which never ceases to amaze me.” Brittney glanced up the stairs again. “Where is my mother? She didn’t run off to chase after me with Dustin and Lucas, did she?”
“No. She’s up in the attic, painting.”
Jacquelyn had always fancied herself to be a frustrated artist, and she had a studio in the attic where she was able to hide out and avoid socializing with her children whenever they gathered in Denver.
“Isn’t this the first time you met her?” Brittney asked. “How did that go?”
“My mother was at my wedding reception, but I had ordered her to be on her best behavior, so you didn’t get any hint of what she’s like. But Jacquelyn doesn’t have anything on my mom. You want to see crazy, visit my house. Your mom isn’t even in my mom’s league.”
“Interesting…” Brittney mused. “She wasn’t bitchy and condescending?”
“Of course she was, but I told her I hate obnoxious people. That shut her up pretty fast. Once she realized her insults weren’t having any effect, she decided to ignore me, which I actually prefer.”
“Amy Dane Merriweather”—Brittney grinned too—“I’m so glad you joined the family.”
“So am I.” She pointed up the stairs. “Why don’t you tell her you’re back? I’ll call your brothers and let them know where you are.”
“Would you ask them to be sure Matt and Ken are all right? There was quite a bit of commotion when I was dragged out of there.”
“Will do.”
Brittney skirted Amy and started to climb. It was three flights to the top floor, then another scramble up into the attic. By the time she arrived, she was out of breath.
She stood for a moment, calming herself, figuring out what she should say to Jacquelyn. She didn’t want to fight with her; she simply wanted some straight answers. But with Jacquelyn, a rational discussion was probably impossible.
