Yesterday's Scandal

by Gina Wilkins

  Twisting a strand of her hair around his finger, he gave a slight shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not. Does it matter a great deal to you?”

  She felt as if it should. It had always seemed important that Brad liked Jerry. It made things easier when they spent time together. But she wasn’t going to let Brad’s attitude prevent her from spending more time with the most fascinating man she had met in…well, in her entire life.

  “Come for dinner,” she said. “Brad will behave.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven.”

  “I’ll be there.” He slid his hand into the hair at the back of her head. “You said you have another half hour?”

  “Almost.”

  He smiled as he tossed her hard hat aside and lowered his mouth to hers again. “Sounds like enough time to get to know each other a little better.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “HE’S COMING to our house for dinner? I’m leaving.”

  Sharon sighed. “I really don’t understand your antagonism, Brad. You only met Mac for a couple of minutes.”

  “I’ve seen him around town. He’s a jerk. Strutting around like he’s some hotshot who’s better than the hicks around here.”

  Appalled, Sharon stared at her brother. They stood in their living room—she’d waited until they arrived home before springing the news on him about who was joining them for dinner—and he faced her from the center of the floor, his shaggy hair tumbling into his anger-flushed face. He needed a haircut, she thought inconsequentially. He was beginning to look like someone she didn’t know. He certainly sounded like a stranger. “Who’s been saying these things to you? I can’t believe those are your words.”

  “Everybody’s been talking about him.”

  “I thought I’d taught you not to listen to the malicious gossip that goes on around this town. You have the intelligence to form your own opinions, Brad. You have to get to know someone before you decide whether you like him or not.”

  “I know all I want to know. He just wants to make some fast money off the old Garrett place and then he’ll move on. I don’t see why we have to entertain him while he’s here.”

  “How about simple hospitality? He doesn’t know many people in town.”

  “He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t even our kind.”

  Sharon felt her eyes narrow. “Would you like to explain that comment?”

  Apparently deciding he’d come too close to crossing her personal line, Brad backed down, but not by much. “Nothing,” he muttered.

  “If I thought you were making a slur against Mr. Cordero’s ethnic background, I would send you to your room and make sure you didn’t come out again until the school bell rings in the fall. I will not tolerate any form of bigotry in my household, is that clear? But I’m sure that’s not what you meant, because our mother did not raise us that way.”

  His hands shoved in his pockets, Brad stared at the floor, refusing to answer.

  “Mr. Cordero will be joining us in about an hour. You will wash up and prepare yourself to be polite, understand?”

  “I bet Jerry won’t like it that you’re spending so much time with this guy.”

  “I don’t consult with Jerry before I invite someone to dinner. Jerry and I are friends, Brad. That’s it.”

  Brad looked suddenly stricken. “You’re not going out with this Cordero guy, are you?”

  Choosing her words carefully, Sharon answered, “I like Mac. He’s an interesting man. He and I are working together on the renovation project, so I will be spending quite a bit of time with him during the next few months. If you would just give him a chance, I’m sure you would like him, too.”

  “Why can’t I just go to Jimbo’s for dinner?”

  She was tempted to let him, just to avoid any unpleasantness in front of Mac. But it seemed too important to teach her brother about proper behavior—and especially about tolerance. She didn’t know which of his friends had been filling his mind with such garbage, but she had no intention of letting it go on. “Because we’re having company for dinner and I want you to be here. Now go get cleaned up.”

  Muttering beneath his breath, Brad stamped upstairs. Sharon watched him worriedly, wondering what was happening to her little brother. Was this typical teenage behavior, or something more? She wished Caleb and Bobbie McBride were in town. Their practical, sometimes blunt advice, along with their experience at raising teenagers, had been valuable to her on many occasions.

  Shaking her head, she went into the kitchen to start dinner, hoping she hadn’t made a big mistake in inviting Mac to join them.

  The telephone rang fifteen minutes before Mac was due to arrive. Sharon answered on the kitchen extension. “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Mom.” Casting a quick look around the kitchen to make sure nothing needed her attention at the moment, Sharon leaned against the counter for a chat. “How’s the Riviera?”

  “Oh, darling, it’s wonderful. I wish you and Brad were here to enjoy it with me.”

  Sharon was sure that was true. Lucy had always believed in the more the merrier. Unfortunately, she’d never quite gripped the concept that “more” also involved more money. “I’m glad you’re having a nice time.”

  “I miss my babies, of course. How are you and Brad?”

  “We’re fine, Mom.” She decided against telling her mother about Brad’s growing rebelliousness. There was nothing Lucy could do about it long-distance. And little she would do, even if she were here, Sharon admitted to herself.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be home. I thought maybe you’d have a date with Jerry.”

  “No. Not tonight.” That was something else she had no intention of discussing just now. The list of safe topics was shrinking rapidly, she thought. “Tell me what you’ve seen and done since the last time you called,” she prompted.

  Lucy immediately launched into an eager and colorful monologue that Sharon could only half follow. Keeping an eye on the clock, she made appropriately interested noises. At five minutes until seven, she broke in to say, “Do you want to talk to Brad before you have to go?”

  “Of course I want to talk to my little boy.”

  Sharon almost sighed. Lucy’s “little boy” was five-eight and a hundred forty pounds. Three inches taller than Sharon and twenty pounds heavier. Sharon could only catch glimpses of the sweet-natured child he’d been. And she wished she could better understand the moody young man he’d become. At least if her mother was here, there would be someone to share the worry. “I miss you, Mom. I’ll be glad when you’re home.”

  “I know, darling. Just a few more weeks.”

  “I’ll get Brad for you.”

  Brad took the call on the phone in his room. Sharon had just replaced the receiver in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She’d asked Brad not to upset his mother with his complaints. She hoped he was complying with her request.

  “What’s wrong?” Mac asked when she opened the door.

  She immediately smoothed her expression. “Nothing. Come in.”

  Being Mac, he didn’t let it go at that. “Something’s bothering you,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “What is it? Is there anything I can do?”

  “Really, Mac. It’s okay. I’m just a little concerned about my brother.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “He’s a teenager.”

  His mouth twisted a little as he nodded. “I don’t envy you.”

  She could understand that. Few men would willingly take on the responsibilities Sharon had shouldered. Even though she hoped to have her own place soon, she was realistic enough to know that she wouldn’t be able to completely distance herself from her family’s problems. Lucy was just too scatterbrained and disorganized to manage well on her own and definitely not firm enough to deal with Brad’s stubborn moods.

  Lucy had indulged Brad too much, and for that matter, so had Sharon. They’d both felt that they had to make it up to him somehow because he’d lost his f
ather so young. Perhaps they’d gone overboard. It was difficult now to suddenly become a disciplinarian.

  Mac looked around. “Where is your brother?”

  “On the phone with Mom. Probably telling her what an ogre I am,” she muttered.

  “Every teenager needs an ogre for a guardian.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Taking a step closer to her, he reached out to trace her lower lip with a fingertip. “Since I’m not a teenager, perhaps you could save this stern frown for your brother?”

  Realizing she’d been scowling since he’d arrived, she smiled slightly against his finger. “Sorry.”

  “That’s better.”

  Brad appeared at the top of the stairs just then. He was obviously displeased to catch them standing so close together, Mac’s hand still resting lightly against the side of Sharon’s face. The glare he gave them was almost cold enough to cause frostbite.

  Mac dropped his hand and moved away, taking his time about it. “Hello, Brad. Nice to see you again,” he said casually.

  “Hey.”

  Sharon wasn’t exactly pleased with Brad’s curt response, but at least it had been audible. He knew better than to be blatantly rude to a guest in their home. At least, she hoped he did.

  MAC DIDN’T TRY to push the boy into further conversation during dinner. He and Sharon discussed the anticipated progress of the renovation for the upcoming week, then turned the discussion to national politics, a subject that interested them both. Keeping his head down, Brad concentrated on his food, apparently content to be ignored.

  Eventually Sharon seemed to decide it was time for her brother to join in. “How’s your food, Brad?” she asked pleasantly. “Do you need anything else?”

  “It’s fine,” the boy replied without looking up from his plate. “Can I have some more bread?”

  She passed him the basket of wheat rolls, which he accepted with a muttered, “Thanks.”

  Because he could tell that Brad’s sullenness was disturbing her, Mac said, “This is really good, Sharon. I’ve always liked spaghetti.”

  He was rewarded with a smile. “It’s my mother’s special recipe. She’s a very good cook when she pays attention to what she’s doing. Remember the time she accidentally used cayenne pepper instead of paprika, Brad? We nearly burned the linings out of our mouths.”

  The boy didn’t share her amusement. “My mom’s a great cook,” he said, sounding defensive.

  Mac shrugged. “Everyone makes mistakes. My mother used to get distracted and burn the plantains. I started thinking of the smoke alarm as a dinner bell.”

  “Plantains?” Sharon repeated. “I’ve never had them.”

  “They look a little like bananas. In Puerto Rico, they’re often fried and served as a side dish.”

  “What other Puerto Rican dishes did your mother make for you?”

  He could tell she was relieved that the conversation was moving again, so he decided to expand a bit. “We had arroz con pollo quite often—that’s yellow rice with chicken, one of my favorite meals. And asopao, a heavy rice soup, with either chicken or shrimp. Paella. And for dessert, flan. No one made it the way my mother did. I still dream about her flan sometimes,” he joked, though it was the truth.

  “I like American food,” Brad muttered.

  “Like spaghetti?” his sister asked sarcastically, nodding toward Brad’s empty plate.

  He flushed and ducked his head again.

  A hint of apology in her expression, Sharon turned to Mac again. “Did you ever live in Puerto Rico?”

  “No. I visited there once, but I was born and raised in Savannah.”

  “Which explains the Southern accent,” she teased lightly.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Do you speak Spanish?”

  “Well enough to make myself understood. I had to learn it pretty much on my own. My mother wanted English to be my primary language.”

  Sharon tried again to pull her brother into the conversation. “Brad’s taking Spanish in school.”

  “Only because I’ve got no choice,” Brad said immediately. “They won’t let us graduate without two years of a foreign language. Don’t see the purpose in it, myself. English is the only language I need to know.”

  Sharon’s little brother was in danger of becoming a bigot, Mac mused, remembering some of the slurs he’d heard muttered behind him the evening he’d encountered Brad and his friends outside the arcade. Typical gang mentality. Band together against suspected outsiders. Create an image of superiority by perceiving and treating others as inferiors. Someone needed to get this kid away from that crowd before he got into trouble.

  Not that it was any of his business, of course.

  “I made brownies for dessert,” Sharon said, smoothly changing the subject. “I hope you aren’t allergic to chocolate, Mac.”

  “I have no problems at all with chocolate.”

  “Can I take mine up to my room? I want to read my new sports magazine.”

  Sharon gave Brad’s request a moment of consideration. “We do have company.”

  “Don’t let me keep you from your magazine,” Mac said with a slight shrug.

  “Okay, Sharon?”

  She gave in. “I suppose it’s all right.”

  The boy practically bolted upstairs.

  Sharon looked contritely at Mac. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what gets into him when he’s around you. I guess you intimidate him, for some reason.”

  Mac, of course, knew exactly why Brad still resented him. The kid hadn’t gotten over being embarrassed in front of his friends. But he was just going to have to get over it. Mac wasn’t going to disappear—not until he was good and ready, anyway.

  “Let me help you with the dishes,” he said, reaching for his empty plate.

  “Oh, that’s not—”

  “Sharon,” he cut in firmly. “This is the second time you’ve fed me. Let me help.”

  She smiled and caved. “If you insist.”

  Since Sharon admitted to being the clean-as-she-cooked type, it didn’t take long to load the dishwasher and straighten the kitchen. By the time they’d finished, a fresh pot of coffee had brewed. They carried their cups and plates of pecan brownies into the living room. They’d talked while they worked. Mac was surprised about how easily he conversed with Sharon. He usually found it harder to make small talk. But now he knew it was time to get down to the real reason he was here—or at least that’s what he told himself—to find out more about the McBrides.

  “Trevor McBride seems like an interesting guy,” he said, keeping his tone light as he held his coffee cup and reached for a brownie. “He looks a lot like Trent, but I got the impression when he visited the site this afternoon that they’re not much alike on the whole.”

  “Not a lot,” Sharon agreed from the chair she’d chosen near the couch where Mac had settled. “I always thought of Trevor as the more grounded brother. Like their older sister, Tara, he excelled in school—valedictorian, class president, that sort of thing. No one was surprised when he followed in his father’s footsteps and went East to law school. He made quite a name for himself in Washington, D.C., before moving back here to raise his children after his wife died so tragically young.”

  “Had to be tough on him. Being left with two small children to raise, I mean.”

  “Yes, it was very hard on him. He was lucky to have had his parents here to help him out. They’re a very close family. They rally around each other without hesitation when one of them is in need. Then he and Jamie got married, and they seem very happy now. He and the kids are all crazy about Jamie, and she obviously feels the same way about them.”

  Mac found it hard to identify with a family that unhesitatingly supported each other through every difficulty. It was a luxury he and his mother had been denied. “The McBrides have had their share of troubles, haven’t they?”

  “Like all big families, I suppose,” she said with a shrug.

  Not much help th
ere. “I was thinking about Trent’s plane crash. I understand he’d been on his way to a career in the air force until the crash grounded him.”

  She nodded, looking distracted, her eyes on the staircase. Thinking about her brother again? Mac wondered. But at least she was answering his questions.

  “Yes, Trent always dreamed of being a pilot. He was as smart as his sister and brother, but grades weren’t quite as important to him. He made A’s only because he needed them to get him into the Air Force Academy. Tara and Trevor were always rather serious, very focused. Trent was the clown. The daredevil. I suppose that’s hard for you to believe now. The crash changed him so much. He’s just now learning to enjoy life again. Thanks in no small part to his fiancée, Annie, he’s learned that he can be happy doing something other than flying.”

  “It couldn’t have been easy for him to give up the one thing he’d always wanted.”

  Sharon shook her head. “I’m sure it was the hardest thing he’s ever done. His family was so worried about him. Bobbie told me once that she wasn’t sure he would make it through—but I always knew he was stronger than that.”

  “You wouldn’t still be carrying a torch for the guy, would you?”

  That got her attention. She let out a peal of laughter that was obviously genuine, to his satisfaction. “Good heavens, no. I’ve always considered Trent a friend. In fact, I probably think of him more like a brother—a cousin, maybe—than anything else.”

  “Just checking out my competition,” he murmured, pleased when she blushed prettily.

  “It isn’t Trent,” she assured him.

  “Oh?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Someone else?”

  “I’ve told you, I’m not romantically involved with anyone. I have male friends I see sometimes, but that’s all.”

  He gave her a wicked smile that made her blush deepen. “Good.”

  She made a pretense of concentrating on her coffee, looking so flustered and vulnerable that it was all Mac could do not to pull her into his arms and make her flush with desire rather than embarrassment. He cleared his throat and forced himself back on topic. “Trevor’s several years older than Trent, isn’t he?”