Not on Her Own

by Cynthia Reese

  “Prentice, could I catch you later? I need to talk to Penelope.”

  “Are you really going somewhere with Penelope? Where? On a plane? I’ll go if you don’t want to go, Brandon. I love flying! Remember, I told you about me and my sister going to Washington D.C.? We flew, on an actual airplane. And it was stormy! And the lightning was so close.”

  Brandon’s face went that much greener. “Penelope, why don’t you come in my office? Prentice, I’ll see you around, okay? Don’t you be hunting any more aliens, now, not without me around. That’s a direct order from the sheriff.”

  Prentice looked downcast but he nodded. “Oh, okay. But I swear, if you’d seen that thing, you would have thought it was a miniature spaceship, too.” He turned and shuffled down the steps.

  Brandon sighed and waved a hand inside. As Penelope brushed past him, she heard him mutter, “I just don’t have enough imagination to keep him out of trouble.”

  “Imagination?”

  “Yeah.” He looked sheepish. “I can’t imagine enough things he can get into so I can order him not to get into it. If you tell him not to do something, then he listens. But I can’t think of everything.”

  Inside his tiny office, Brandon pulled up a folding chair for her. “A corner office it’s not, but mi casa es su casa.”

  “Thanks.” She sat down as Brandon leaned against the corner of his desk, then she stood back up. “I’m sure you have loads to get done, so I won’t keep you. It’s just this—” She fluttered a piece of paper in his direction. “The confirmation slip for the e-ticket? To fly out for Trent’s wedding.”

  Brandon went green on her again. He didn’t take the paper from her. “That. Prentice was right, flying doesn’t really agree with me. I can’t think why I said yes to your mother. I should have realized that when you, uh, go to Oregon, you’ve got to fly. Ha-ha.”

  “You don’t have to go, you know. My mom can be fairly hard to say no to. I speak from experience.”

  “You don’t want me to go?”

  Penelope cursed inwardly. “I don’t care one way or the other.” She slid her fingers behind her back and crossed them. “I didn’t want you to get roped into something you didn’t want to do.”

  Brandon shrugged. “Hey, why not? She’s offering, and where else will I get a vacation with the plane ticket and the free accommodations?”

  “Free accommodations?” Penelope’s smile faltered.

  “Yeah, well, if I survive the plane trip, your mom’s putting me up in one of her guest rooms.”

  Ohmigosh. “Really. Mom failed to mention that. But that’s just like Mom!” Penelope said brightly.

  “You sure you don’t mind?”

  “Actually, I feel sorry for you. I know what it’s like to get in Mom’s path. You have that look.”

  “Oh. Well, she was persuasive. But on the plus side, it’s a chance to see the Pacific, right? I’ve never been to the West Coast.”

  “Bend is in central Oregon, actually. The coast is over the mountains, and depending on the weather—”

  “Oh.” Brandon looked so disappointed that suddenly Penelope wanted to be sure he saw the Pacific—and that she was the one who showed it to him.

  “I tell you what, I’ll see if I can’t get an earlier flight out. If it’s not going to cost the earth to change it. we’ll fly into Portland on Wednesday instead of Redmond on Thursday. That way, maybe we can see the ocean.”

  Brandon smiled, that same smile he’d given her when she’d offered to fix the broken link on his plows. “You’d do that?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I love the ocean. We can drive over to my grandmother’s house and over to Cape Meares State Park—that’s on the ocean. Walk on the beach, maybe see some sea lions?”

  “Okay. Now if I can find my way to be brave enough to get on that plane.”

  “Nothing to it,” she assured him. “I’ll hold your hand the whole way.”

  Brandon’s eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn’t read and the air between them crackled. Penelope’s mouth went dry, and she ran a tongue over equally dry lips, preparing to say anything to break the tension.

  “Don’t,” he said, grasping her hand.

  “Don’t what?”

  He pulled her up against him. “I’ll regret this,” he whispered, then bent his head to kiss her.

  The paper in her hands crumpled against his chest as she leaned into the kiss, but she paid no mind to it. Instead, she concentrated on the way he searched her with his mouth, the way he tasted, the way their breaths mingled.

  When he stepped back, it was Penelope who whispered, “Don’t. Don’t go all cold on me.” And before he could, she flung the crumpled confirmation slip onto his desk and bolted from the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE DAY OF Penelope and Brandon’s departure dawned clear and bright and unseasonably warm, even for Georgia. She dreaded the twenty-degree cooler weather she’d find in Oregon, and the rain that would greet them at Portland.

  But first she had to make the flight out from Savannah, and Theo had conspired to make that almost impossible. For once in his feline life, he’d not served as her alarm clock and she’d overslept. Then he’d managed to trip her up every time she’d gone from closet to overnight bag to throw things in.

  “Honestly, Theo. I’d take you if I could, but you hate flying.” She bumped him off her dark wool pants and cringed at the amount of white cat hair on them. “Note to self—next time, no flame-point Siamese—white fur shows up on everything.”

  Apparently insulted, Theo jumped off the bed and stalked toward his food bowl in the kitchen. Penelope sighed over the pants and stuck a sticky pet-hair roller in the corner of her already crammed suitcase.

  An insistent banging on the back door sent Theo skittering back in her room to cower under the bed.

  “Brandon?” Penelope shouted. “I’m almost ready—hold on!” She struggled with the zipper of the bag and couldn’t do it up.

  The banging started again, louder. “Aaargh!” she growled, finally putting a knee on the bag in a vain effort to get it to zip. The zipper started enthusiastically enough, but stuck about halfway around.

  The knocking had ceased. She unzipped the bag, scooted some things around and glared at her space hog of a hair dryer. No way was she going to be reduced to borrowing someone else’s at her parents. Something else would have to go before it.

  Now the banging came from the front porch, louder even than before.

  “Brandon, I said I was coming!” she shouted, but it didn’t stop the banging. She yanked so hard on the zipper that the tassel broke off and she stumbled backward.

  “Oh, all right, then.” Penelope gave up on the bag and stomped up the hallway. “Brandon Wilkes!” she ground out as she flung open the door. “Did you not hear—”

  But it wasn’t Brandon.

  It was Grandpa Murphy.

  Her stomach took a guilty dive downward. “Grandpa,” she said. “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “I gathered that,” Grandpa Murphy said icily as he pushed past her. “And the damn door was locked. What’s that about?”

  “Well, uh, I wanted to keep people from simply walking in, that’s all. Is something wrong?”

  “Like my lawyers hounding me for money? Or the damn feds calling me in, telling me I could make it easy on myself by cutting a deal? Yeah, my whole life’s gone to hell in a handbasket.” He studied her. “You look mighty dressed up. Where are you off to?”

  Penelope bit her lip. “I have to fly back home to Oregon today, Grandpa. I was finishing my packing when I heard you at the door.”

  “Home? Home’s here! Why you got to leave me now? You’re leaving today? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  Because I couldn’t figure out a way to tell you that you weren’t invited to your own grandson’s wedding.

  “I’ve been busy, I guess, and you haven’t been coming by.” How could she ease him out the door before Brandon showed up? The one thing
she didn’t need was to have the two of them at each other’s throats. That would make for a pleasant plane trip, she thought sourly, and a bad note to leave her grandfather on.

  “So what’s this about Brandon Wilkes?” Instead of taking any hint to leave, Grandpa Murphy headed up the hallway toward the kitchen. “You got any coffee on? I don’t smell any coffee. Honey, I’ve told you Wilkes is bad news. You know he is if he’s trying to railroad me into this federal indictment.”

  The one thing I cannot figure out about Brandon, the one thing that makes absolutely no sense. Why would he do that to an innocent old man?

  “Grandpa, I’m really on my way out the door. I didn’t even have time to make a pot of coffee this morning.” She trailed him up the hall, glancing longingly at her suitcase through the open bedroom door. Theo peeked out from under the bed, his ears laid back flat. He hissed at the strange feet tramping through the house.

  “You just go on ahead. Don’t mind me. I’ll get by on my own. Say, how long you gonna be gone? ’Cause Todd and Rudy want a sit-down with you. That’s why I came by. Hadn’t done me a bit of good to call you. You never answer that damn phone of yours.”

  Penelope was glad Grandpa Murphy didn’t turn to see her face. She was sure guilt leaked from every pore. She had been ducking his calls, because she didn’t want to have to tell him about Trent’s wedding.

  “Todd and Rudy?” The names confused her. “Who are Todd and Rudy?”

  He paused as he yanked out a dinette chair. “The solid-waste guys, the guys from Florida. Haven’t you been listening to a thing I tell you? They want to meet you and get this land deal settled.”

  Penelope stifled a groan. Not the landfill again. “Grandpa, I hope you haven’t been leading these men on about this land. I’m not sure I want to sell it. Not to them, anyway.”

  “Why not?” His eyebrows lowered in a thunderous frown. “I need the money, Penelope. My lawyers are threatening to cut me off if I don’t get them some and soon. And you could get it for me with this land deal. You said you’d meet with these guys.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Why on earth had she ever agreed? “Well, you’re going to have to put them off. We’re not flying back into Savannah until Sunday evening.”

  He shot her a suspicious glance as he settled into the chair. “We? Who’s we?”

  “Uh—” Her self-flagellation at her slip was interrupted by the rumble of a truck. That would be Brandon. Penelope closed her eyes and rubbed them.

  Hell to pay now, she thought.

  Sure enough, Grandpa Murphy came out of his seat like a rocket when he spied Brandon’s truck through the kitchen window. “What in damnation—” He spun on Penelope. “You tell me, and tell me now, that boy isn’t the one going with you to Oregon.”

  Penelope peeked at her grandfather through her fingers. “Uh…I can’t.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because it wouldn’t be true?” She cringed and dropped her hand. “Listen, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t know what to think, you hauling off across the country with a man who wants to see me come out of prison in a pine box. Penny, you know if I go to jail, at my age, I ain’t coming out. You know that! You gotta know that.”

  “Grandpa, calm down. Look, you’re upset about the lawyers.”

  “Damn tootin’ I’m upset and I’ve got every reason to be upset. They’re sucking my soul dry, while you’re off having the time of your life with the man who’s the reason I need the damned soul-suckers in the first place!” Grandpa’s face had turned purple and his chest heaved.

  “Wait. This isn’t my idea. You have to believe me.”

  “Not your idea. Well, if it’s not your idea, then you tell him to stay his ass here! Are you? Or are you gonna betray me, Penny? What’s it gonna be? Can I count on you? Or are you gonna turn out like your mother after all?”

  BRANDON SWORE as he recognized Murphy’s truck. The bastard was like a bad penny. It was as if he had a radar locked on Brandon.

  Brandon threw the truck into Park and fumed for a moment. He was of half a mind to forget the trip and go home.

  But the temptation to find dirt on Murphy called out to him. Marlene Langston had made it crystal clear: either Brandon came and presented himself for inspection, or he didn’t get to see the family skeletons.

  He’d got damned little sleep the night before—or all this week. The impulsive kiss he’d given Penelope, not to mention her last whispered plea for him not to go cold on her, had tormented him. Why couldn’t he keep his hands off her?

  Murphy’s truck in Penelope’s yard was reason enough for Brandon to never touch her again. But would he be able to keep his head when he was all the way across the country, away from things like this to remind him of why she was all wrong for him?

  Now or never, Brandon decided. If they didn’t leave soon, they’d miss their flight out. Uncle Jake had offered to drive them to Savannah, and Lord knows he drove slow.

  Brandon heaved himself out of the truck and made his way up the back porch steps. He hesitated when he heard Murphy’s raised voice. Through the window he could see Penelope’s features twisted with emotion, and she was gripping the back of her dinette chair so hard her knuckles were white.

  Enough of this crap.

  Brandon rapped on the back door. Penelope snapped her head around in his direction. Slowly, she waved him in.

  The room was oppressively silent when he stepped inside. “Penelope? Are you ready?”

  “Almost,” she said with a brightness he could tell was false because it contradicted the panic in her eyes.

  “So, where’s your suitcase? Uncle Jake’s waiting for us back at his house. I’m letting him drive my truck.”

  “Uh, you know, I haven’t finished zipping it. Stubborn zippers!” Penelope’s laugh seemed forced. “Do you mind? It’s in the bedroom, second door on the left.”

  “Not a problem.” He ducked his head in curt acknowledgment to Murphy. “I’ll let you two say your goodbyes.”

  In the bedroom, he spotted a hugely obese overnight bag on the bed. As he shoved down on the bag’s lid to manage the zipper, Theo came out from under the bed just long enough to startle Brandon, wind around his ankles and scoot back under.

  “Oh, so we’re friends now?” Brandon asked in a low voice. “You took to heart that business about Murphy not having any animals he couldn’t eat? Uncle Jake’s the one you’d better be nice to. He’s feeding you.” The zipper slid home and Brandon set the bag on the floor.

  Hushed voices floated down the hallway, but Brandon couldn’t make out what was being said. He waited another minute or so in the hopes that Murphy would leave before he went back into the kitchen.

  Theo came back out for another guerrilla rub on the ankles, and this time Brandon risked reaching down to stroke the cat on the back. “Glad you’re seeing things my way, finally. You reckon you could talk to your mistress?”

  The cat’s purr sounded like an engine with a bad knock. Then as abruptly as Theo had come out, he ducked back under the bed. Brandon glanced at his watch. No more time to wait around, and Murphy hadn’t budged.

  Brandon hefted the bag. The low voices didn’t get any clearer as he approached the kitchen door, just got lower and more intense. When he crossed the threshold, Penelope cast an anxious smile his way.

  Taking in Murphy’s glower, Brandon set his jaw. This time, he would not lose his temper. The sorry excuse for humanity wasn’t worth it. “Are you ready, Penelope?” he asked. “We’re cutting it close.”

  “Oh, good, you got my suitcase zipped.” Again Penelope exuded a false brightness. “Let me pet my cat and we’ll be out of here. Grandpa, I’ll talk more about this on Sunday when I get in, okay?”

  Murphy didn’t take the hint. He remained in the chair, stolid and sour.

  Penelope gave it another go. “I wish we had more time to discuss this, but I really do have to go.”

  Murphy narrowed his eyes.
“Well, go on, then. I’m sure as hell not stopping you. Go on and leave me.”

  Penelope rubbed her eyes. “I need to lock up, Grandpa.”

  Brandon saw Murphy’s right fingers drum out a near-silent tattoo on the dinette table, and he knew, in an instant, that Murphy was waiting her out. The old bastard wanted her to leave him in the house. It was some sort of power play.

  “I’ll lock ’em. When I leave. I’m just going to sit here for a while. Maybe make some of that good coffee of yours, Penny-girl.”

  Now Penelope’s face betrayed her displeasure. “No, Grandpa, let’s all leave together. I need to lock up. I’ll worry about it, you know?”

  “Can’t you trust me?” Murphy asked her in a low voice.

  Just say it, Penelope. Say you don’t want him in your house. Tell him no, and mean it.

  “Sure, I trust you, Grandpa.” Penelope gestured to the back door with her hand. “But I’ll follow you out.”

  “You’re gonna turn an old man out? When all he wants is a chance to get his breath back and drink a cup of coffee? Are you serious? You think I’m going to steal some of your stuff? Ha! You’re worrying about the wrong guy. That one you’re hauling off to Oregon with, now, he’s the one you need to worry about.”

  Brandon clamped his fingers in a death grip on Penelope’s bag and wished it was Murphy’s neck instead. Still he said nothing, just clenched his teeth shut so no words could escape.

  “Grandpa. I have to leave now. And you know I’m going to miss my flight if I don’t go. So could you please leave?”

  Murphy looked from Penelope to Brandon, and Brandon could swear he saw him calculating behind those eyes.

  “No. I got a right to be here.”

  That was Brandon’s breaking point. He dropped the bag and crossed to Murphy. “Listen, you—you—” He bit off the expletives he wanted to use. “She’s asked you to leave, a hell of a lot nicer than I would have. She wants you out of here. Now. So it’s either you leave on your own free will or I call in another deputy, and he’ll take you off my hands. I won’t lie. It’d be my pleasure to put you in a patrol car myself, missed flight be damned.”