by HELEN HARDT
Especially not his Mia.
“You can stay for supper,” she was saying as he followed her out of the barn. “I’m making lasagna. It’s already in the oven. And after dinner we’ll have a glass of port and pore over all the photos together.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you.”
* * *
Thirty-Three Years Earlier
Jeff was happy.
God damn, so that’s what the stupid emotion felt like. Across the table, Mia ate her hamburger slowly, her silky neck reddening when some meat juices slid down her chin. She hastily grabbed the napkin from her lap and dabbed at them. Her gaze met his, and then she quickly looked away. How cute. She was embarrassed. He wanted to say something, anything—that he couldn’t care less how much food dripped down her chin, but that would embarrass her more.
No, he was satisfied just to look at her and think about how happy he felt just being with her. Never had he felt so good just sitting at the diner with a girl. Never had he actually contemplated—
Damn, can I really go there?
The future? He’d never even considered the future, had never thought past tomorrow. For the first time, he looked forward to the day beyond tomorrow. And he began to feel regret for what he’d allowed himself to become.
Well, a day late and a dollar short. What was done was done. Right now, he’d enjoy watching Mia eat. She was freaking adorable.
A few minutes later, she pushed her plate to the side of the table. “I can’t eat another bite. That’s one big burger.”
“Yeah, they’re a good half pound. Haven’t you eaten here before?”
“Well…” She reddened again. “We don’t really go out to eat very often.”
God, he’d stuck his foot in his mouth. Of course she didn’t. She lived in a cracker-box house with a mom who worked nights at the convenience store. They were probably lucky to keep food on the table.
“We’ll change that, then.” He might no longer be an heir to the Bay fortune, but he did okay. He’d make sure Mia experienced a few of the finer things in life. Though a burger at The Bonnet could hardly qualify as luxury. Next time he’d take her to a real dinner at a real restaurant in the city. What kind of food did she like? No time like the present to find out.
“What’s your favorite thing to eat in the world?” he asked.
“That’s easy.” She smiled. “Mama’s beef empanadas. My daddy was Mexican, and he loved my grandma’s empanadas. So Grandma taught my mom how to make them, and Daddy said they were even better than Grandma’s. But we were sworn to secrecy. Of course, Daddy’s gone now.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up—”
“Oh, don’t be. It’s okay. I mean, you lost both your parents. It was doubly worse for you.”
Parents. Jeff hadn’t thought about them in ages. He’d only been a little kid when they’d died. But they’d been gone a long time. “What happened to your dad? If you don’t mind me asking…”
“Car accident. A drunk driver hit him.” Her lips quivered. “Ironically, the other driver came out almost unscathed. Just a few scratches.”
Drunk driver? What were the odds? Jeff reached across the table and took Maria’s hand. “My parents were killed by a drunk driver too.”
Her eyes glazed over. “I’m so sorry. How old were you?”
“Pretty little. I hardly remember them.” He hated talking about his parents, so he left out any more details. Had they lived, his life might be a lot different today.
“Wow. I was a little older. Ten. But Meghan was only three. She doesn’t remember Daddy at all. So you’ve lived with your grandpa all this time?”
“I moved out when he disinherited me. But otherwise, yeah.”
“Can I ask why all that happened?”
“Well, you can ask.”
“Oh.” She cast a glance down into her lap. “I’m sorry.”
“Look,” he said, “I like you. I really do. But I hate talking about my family. It’s nothing personal. Frankly, I’ve gotten screwed by my grandpa and my brother. Yeah, I’ve made a few bad decisions, things golden boy Wayne never would have done. But…” Hell, what else could he say? Maria was a good girl. She wouldn’t understand where his head was. He wasn’t sure he understood anymore.
Still, he’d promised Max he’d get those combinations…
“It’s okay,” she said. “We don’t have to talk about that. I’m sure you had your reasons for everything you did.”
Yeah, well… He’d thought so at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure. But damn, Wayne and the old man made him mad as a hungry grizzly! He was just as good as either of them, and he’d show them one way or another.
“So…if they disinherited you—you work, right?”
He smiled. “Yep. I work at the Harley dealership. I sell and fix bikes. It’s a decent living. I’m good at it.”
“I bet you are.” Her eyes lit up and glazed over a bit, as if she were in a trance.
And he melted. In that moment, he knew he’d do anything for this girl. For Mia.
He loved her.
Chapter Thirteen
“She’s beautiful,” Jeff said, closing the last photo album. “All three of them are. You and Wayne made beautiful children too.”
Maria chewed on her lower lip. Of course, she hadn’t been able to show Jeff Angie’s photos without showing him photos of Harper and Catie as well. They were all together in albums, along with Wayne himself. She’d considered removing as many of Angie as she could, but decided against it. After all, if Jeff came back to her, he had to know everything. And he had to make peace with everything.
Oddly, he’d seemed to. He and Harper were buddies, as a nephew and uncle should be. And he and Catie adored each other. As for Angie? Maria had noticed she was now calling Jeff “Daddy.” All was going fine. He hadn’t even winced when he looked at his brother in the photos—not even the photos of Wayne holding a beautiful newborn Angie.
Jeff was healing. Now if only he could forgive her as he had everyone else.
She cleared her throat and stood. “Would you like a glass of wine? I have a wonderful Cab in the cellar. It was one of Wayne’s—” She clamped her hand to her mouth.
“One of my brother’s favorites, huh?” He grinned. Not one line of displeasure crossed his face. “Well, Wayne always did have the best taste.” His gaze swept over her.
She warmed, and the familiar ache between her legs intensified. How she longed for this man.
“Well?”
“Sure, I’d love a glass. I’m sure I’m not the connoisseur of the finer things in life that Wayne was, but I do enjoy a nice Cab.”
Maria winced slightly at his words, but upon studying his face, she again noted no signs of resentment. “Wonderful. I’ll get some. I’ve hardly drunk any wine since Wayne died.” She might as well be truthful. “He loved a good tannic red, and he turned me on to them as well.”
She rose from the couch and didn’t look back for his reaction. When she returned from the cellar with the bottle, he was leafing through the album of Angie as a baby again. The other albums were piled on the coffee table.
“I think Little Jeff looks a lot like her,” he said. “Definitely the same nose.” He absently glided his fingers along his own nose.
Yes, he and Angie had the same nose. And now Little Jeff would no doubt have it too.
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Maria smiled, uncorked the bottle, and poured two glasses. She handed one to Jeff. “I hope you like it.”
He took a sip. “Mmm. Nice flavor. Makes my mouth a little dry.”
“That’s the tannins.”
He nodded, still looking at the photos. “He’ll be dark, like Rafe. It’s a shame none of your children got your olive complexion, Mia.”
She took a sip of wine and let the dry liquid roll over her tongue. “I was surprised too, but they all came out fair like you and Wayne. Remember how fair my mother was? My
daddy was a pretty dark Mexican.” She laughed. “Angie always envied me. She wanted to tan in the summer, but all she did was burn, peel, and then she was white again. Catie fared a little better, but Angie and Harp never tanned. She’ll be thrilled that Little Jeff has his father’s Native American coloring.”
Jeff took another sip of wine, his gaze riveted to the photos. He slowly turned page after page of photos he’d already seen, staring at each one as if to memorize it. Which, of course, he probably was. He hadn’t seen his daughter as a child. He’d missed so much.
Maria sniffed to hide the tears that wanted to fall. Get a grip. He needs you to be strong.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I can get something from the kitchen.”
He shook his head. “That lasagna hit the spot. You’re a good cook, Mia.”
She warmed, her cheeks tingling. She was a good cook and she enjoyed doing it, but although Jeff had eaten at her table a few times since he’d come to Bakersville, he’d never once complimented her cooking. Until now.
Dare she hope that things might be getting better between them? The arrival of Little Jeff had no doubt made a big difference. And Jeff had been there for his birth due to circumstance. It seemed only fair, since he hadn’t been there for Angie’s birth. Maria smiled.
Jeff turned and regarded her.
“Happy, Mia?”
She cleared her throat. “Why would you say that?”
“You had a dreamy smile on your face.” He reddened. “The same one I used to see on your face all the time. A long time ago. When you looked at me.”
Shivers ran over Maria’s skin. She took another sip of wine. Three sips of wine was certainly not enough to make her feel giddy. Nope. It was Jeff. “I was just thinking”—she cleared her throat again—“about how nice it was that you were there for Little Jeff’s birth. I mean, if Angie had gone to the hospital, only Rafe would have been allowed in. And it should have been you with me for Angie’s birth. It’s almost as if…something divine intervened.”
Jeff looked away. “I really don’t believe in that kind of stuff.”
Of course he wouldn’t, not after all he’d been through in his life. “I understand. I’m just really glad you could be there for Angie and Little Jeff. And for yourself.”
Jeff reached toward her and laid his hand on her forearm. A blaze went through her, as if his touch were fire itself. All these years and nothing had changed. She still responded to his slightest touch.
She gathered her courage and laid her other hand over his. They sat for a moment, touching but not looking at each other, until they both looked up at the same time. Jeff’s dark eyes smoldered.
“Mia,” he said, his voice husky.
She swallowed. “Jeff?”
“Take me upstairs.”
* * *
Thirty-Three Years Earlier
Crazy as shit, to love someone after a couple of days, but he knew it as sure as he knew his damned grandfather had disinherited him.
He loved Maria Gomez. He loved her onyx hair that fell over her shoulders in silky waves. He loved how she got embarrassed when hamburger juice dripped down her chin. He loved how she felt behind him on his motorcycle, how she adorably and shyly placed her hands on his hips and held on to him. He loved how she cared for her sister and chased away the things that went bump in the night. She’d be a wonderful mother. And most of all, he loved how her lips felt against his when he kissed her, how their bodies molded together as though they’d been created for each other.
But she was young, a good three years younger than he, and only eighteen. He’d have to tread carefully not to scare her.
Good thing she didn’t know what he was up to tonight. Because he couldn’t be with her, he’d made arrangements to take care of some business—business she definitely wouldn’t approve of.
He’d take care of it, but this would be the last time. He was going straight.
For the woman he loved.
* * *
Jeff stood over his sleeping brother. Regret washed over him, until he remembered Grandpa’s will. He shook Wayne awake.
“What? What is it?” Wayne’s eyes opened.
“It’s me, you horse’s ass.”
His brother yawned and then sat up in bed. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Just a little information.”
“Get the fuck out of here, Jeff. I need my sleep. Some of us get up early around here to do ranch work.”
“Cry me a goddamned river.”
“I knew I should have had the locks to the house changed. Jesus.”
“Well, you didn’t. And funny thing is, you’re not going to even recall this chat come tomorrow.” He held a cup to his brother’s mouth. “Drink this.”
“Huh?”
“I said drink it.”
“Right. And what if I don’t?”
Jeff pulled the pistol out of the back of his waistband and pointed it at his brother’s forehead. “Then I fucking kill you.”
Wayne jerked beneath the gun. “Christ, Jeff, what the fuck are you doing?”
Jeff’s hand shook. Was he really holding a gun on his brother? He’d never shoot him. Hell, it wasn’t even loaded. But Wayne didn’t know that.
“Just drink it, asshole, or I blow your brains out.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Jeff cocked the trigger. Would Wayne call his bluff? “You better start believing.”
“If this is poison, you might as well kill me now.”
“It’s not poison. Trust me, you’ll live through this, and you’ll go on with your golden boy life. I promise. Now drink it.”
“Jeff—”
“I swear to God I’ll do it, Wayne.” His words sounded a hell of a lot more sure than he actually was. He could never harm his brother. He hated the man, but Jeff was no killer.
But Wayne didn’t have to know that at this particular instant.
Wayne took the cup, his hands shaking visibly. He drank it slowly. “It’s bitter.”
“Sorry. They were out of the strawberry flavor.”
“What is this, anyway?” He gulped the last of it.
“It’s ketamine. It’ll give you amnesia for about thirty minutes. It will be retroactive for about an hour before now. Then you’ll fall back into your dreamy sleep and you’ll never know I was here.”
Jeff waited about fifteen minutes until Wayne entered a dreamlike state, his eyes glossed over.
“Tell me, Wayne. What are the combinations to Grandpa’s safes?”
“The ones in his office or the one in his bedroom?”
He had one in his bedroom? News to Jeff. “All of them.”
“Big safe in office, fifty-five, sixty-seven, eight-oh-nine. Smaller one, seventy-eight, oh-six, eighty-nine.”
Jeff scribbled the numbers on a piece of paper. “And the one in the bedroom?”
“He never told me.”
“Give me a break. He tells you everything.”
“He never told me.” Wayne slurred his words.
Jeff was certain Wayne would tell him if he knew. He’d divulged the others quick enough. But maybe…
“Come on…”
“He made me promise not to tell.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re about to break that promise, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Wayne mumbled. “It’s twenty-one, forty-three, twenty-one. But I don’t know what’s in there. He made me promise never to look in there.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I never made such a promise,” Jeff said. “Thanks, bro. You’ve been very helpful. Now just go on to sleep, and you’ll wake up fit as a fiddle with no recollection of this little talk.”
“’Kay, Jeff. Night.” Wayne closed his eyes and let out a snore.
Jeff clutched the paper with the combinations written on it in his sweaty palm.
And a light bulb turned on in his head. Why the fuck was he thinking about sharing this shit with that low-life Max? This was his inheritance, not theirs.
And here he was in the house with Grandpa still in the hospital and Wayne out cold. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to have a look.
He walked toward his grandfather’s bedroom. Where would the safe be? Probably behind one of the fake Impressionist paintings Norman was so fond of. He checked the one above the bed first. No dice. Then the one over his dresser. Nothing. Lastly, the one on the wall facing the bed. Pay dirt—a safe, built right into the wall.
He removed the painting from the wall and reached to touch the safe, when he realized his fingerprints would be everywhere. Fuck. He’d ruined this already. No way could he open this safe now. He’d have to come back with gloves.
But his curiosity nagged at him. Even Wayne didn’t know what was in this safe. Damn. What could Norman be hiding in here?
But no. Not worth it. He couldn’t risk his prints being anywhere on the safe. They were already on the frame of the painting. He walked to Grandpa’s dresser and fumbled around, finding a pair of socks. Quickly he brushed them over the frame of the painting, rubbing hard, hoping he was at least marring the oil of his prints enough so they wouldn’t be recognizable should it occur to anyone to look there.
What the fuck? He’d share the info with Max and the gang. Yeah, they were low-life scum, but they’d been his brothers when his own brother had written him off. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to have back up.
He left the room and walked back by Wayne’s bedroom. Still out cold.
A boulder of guilt gripped him and he entered the room again. He put his hand to Wayne’s neck. Thank God. His pulse was strong. He’d be okay.
Jesus Christ! I just drugged my brother! What kind of an animal was he?
He’d promised the boys he’d help them rob Norman. Old Norman deserved what he got. But that would be his last crime. After that, he was going straight. He wanted a life he could be proud of, a life Mia could be proud of.
He was going to propose to her.
