by Milly Taiden
Brennan didn’t speak, didn’t look at her even. He stared straight ahead at the spot in which Jeremy Rawley had been standing just a few seconds ago. She jerked free of him and walked around the bed to the window. A horseman rode off at breakneck speed and she glanced back at Bren in bewilderment.
***
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brennan didn’t want to talk about his possible relation, though Hope tried to press him. Finally he turned to her with what he hoped was a furious frown. “Not now, dammit. I need to breathe, for Christ’s sake.”
She didn’t flinch which is what he’d expected. He realized when he saw the pitying glint in her eyes that he must not have quite managed the anger he’d been trying for. Instead, she felt sorry for him and that certainly wasn’t what he wanted either.
Still, it kept her from hammering him with questions at least, so he ran with it.
They gave up rummaging through the house after Jeremy Rawley left them. Their previous excitement dissipated pretty quickly, and when he finally got Hope to stop questioning him, there was only silence. It was the sort of silence that gnawed at one’s insides.
“How about a real dinner tonight? Like a restaurant instead of take out or sandwiches?” He posed the question to her later as they were leaving the parking lot of a discount store in the next town. New Durma was no more than a hamlet, but less than thirty miles away was a larger city with more shopping selections.
He glanced to his side and saw Hope shrug her shoulders “Sure. If you want. Should we find something here or go back to New Durma? There was a little place not far from the B&B—”
“How about Italian?” He pointed to a little restaurant called Julian’s. When she nodded mutely, he made the u-turn to get to the restaurant.
He knew she could probably see right through him. There was a reason he wanted to take this shopping trip, and also why he wanted to eat here instead of back in New Durma: he wanted to stay away from there until his mind cleared. His thoughts were chasing one another in never-ending circles of confusion.
His mother had left him a house. Great. It was a quaint house on a very beautiful piece of property. Wonderful. New Durma was small, the perfect place to hide Hope and Michelle. Convenient. Apparently this house, this town, came with relatives—or at least one relative. Not part of his plan.
His mother’s note suggested he might find his family when he made this journey, but it was something he wasn’t ready to confront. In his childhood, his family unit consisted just of his mother and father. . .a father who had left them when he was still very young. He didn’t miss that man. He and his mother got along just fine on their own; he never wondered why he didn’t have a family.
He missed Mom. An aching knot settled in his chest, and he wondered how the pain could be so fresh after all these years. He would give anything to have her back. And that was why he wasn’t quite ready to invite anyone else into the part of his heart reserved for her. His mother was his family. No one else would be welcome there.
Even as those thoughts crossed his mind, he watched Hope slip Michelle into a booster chair. When she slid the chair up close to the table, the little blonde babe slapped her hands in wild excitement and screeched. He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“I wonder if they have mac and cheese?” Hope mused, looking over the menu while she opened a package of Melba toast and passed one to the baby.
The wind and threatening rain had left Hope’s hair wild and in disarray. Waves fell across her eyes and he watched her pucker her lower lip to blow them out of her face. Damn, his mind fussed, this”ready-made” family is started to feel real. He wanted nothing more than to comb her locks aside and lean in to kiss her. The clenching in his chest tightened, and he looked down when he felt Michelle’s wet, cracker covered fingers touching his arm.
“You okay?”
He pulled his gaze back up and peered into Hope’s eyes, dazed. “Yeah, I’m fine. You know what you’re having?”
Her eye twitched, and he thought she might press him, but she forced a smile and nodded. “Chicken Parmesan. Maybe the plates will be huge, and I can take some back to the room for later.”
Even forced, that smile on her face sent a jolt of feeling through his body. His left hand was resting on the table near hers, and he lifted his fingers and held them up, trembling a moment. Just as he was about to slide them over Hope’s, a flood of cold water landed in his lap and he sucked in a breath, standing.
“Oh, Michelle!” The little imp emitted a shrill laugh even as Hope hurried to pick up Bren’s spilled water with one hand while wiping at the table with her napkin in the other.
Bren laughed and slapped at his wet pants, then shook his head.
Saved by the baby, he thought.
*
That evening after Michelle and Hope were both down for the night, Brennan tossed and turned on his pallet on the floor. His insomnia had nothing to do with the hard surface; he could sleep just about anywhere.
His brain was spinning and churning and throbbing. He lurched to a sitting position, bringing his knees up so that he could lean his elbows on them. Deciding he would only chance waking up the girls if he kept trying for some shut-eye, he padded out of the room in only his sweats.
Downstairs he found the bed and breakfast had a little study with free internet access for guests. There was also a wall of bookshelves just behind the desk. After skimming the spines for a few moments, his eyes were drawn to one particular book of bright scarlet with gold letters. New Durma: The Legacy of the Rawley Family in America.
Mouth dry, he grabbed the book, settled into a chair and opened it to the beginning.
***
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Three days, two trips to the hardware store and several calls to the numerous utility companies later, the little cottage seemed like it might become livable soon. The electrical company wouldn’t connect power until some wiring issues were resolved, but some propane in the outside storage tank allowed for hot and cold water. Hot and cold water meant cleaning, and lots of it.
Hope brushed the back of her hand against her sweaty brow and continued scrubbing at a huge black stain on the kitchen floor where she figured a refrigerator had been. Michelle talked and babbled in a playpen nearby.
Brennan was off on another run to town for some tools and supplies they needed. It seemed no matter how well they planned each day’s chores, they always found something forgotten.
Just as she leaned forward to put her back into the scrubbing again, she heard a knock at the door. She blew a kiss to Michelle, smiled and trotted through the house. Just as she reached the front entryway, she realized she wasn’t afraid. It might be anyone at the door, even someone looking for her and Michelle. Somehow, this place gave her comfort she hadn’t had in a long time.
Deciding to be prudent, she detoured to the front bedroom where she could glance out the window. Standing on the steps was Jeremy Rawley. He wasn’t alone. His companion was a man who was probably his father. The older gentleman rocked back and forth on his toes, leaning into a cane.
Bren’s not gonna like this, she told herself even as she opened the door with a plastic smile to invite them both inside.
“Madam.” The older man put his hand out to her. “My name is James Rawley. I believe you know my son, Jeremy.” He spoke in the same foreign accent as his son, though perhaps his was a tad thicker.
Nodding, she shook their hands, noting that Jeremy appeared stiff and uncomfortable. “I don’t think I gave him my name before. Sealla Fanning.” She found it hard not to stutter on the false name. “And the little one babbling in the next room is Nichole.”
James’ face softened as he made his way toward the kitchen to have a peek at Michelle. His son followed him, inclining his head to Hope before stepping through to hurry after his father. It wasn’t until she entered the kitchen that the elder man’s name clicked in her mind.
“Did you say you
r name is James?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Indeed, madam. Do we perhaps know each other?”
Brennan James Rawley.
Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t believe so.”
“May I sit down?” he asked, sweeping his hand towards the kitchen table. All Hope could do was nod with a hesitant smile.
“We came to speak to Brennan,” Jeremy began. She wondered if he wore that frown perpetually, or if it were just for them. “We thought perhaps you weren’t here when we didn’t see your car, but Father thought we might check.”
“Oh, yes. Well, he’s gone to run some errands. We seem to run into a snag at every turn as we’re working on the house.”
Her discomfort multiplied when she saw the tall man narrow his eyes, suspicion clearly in his expression.
The elder nodded, leaning his cane against the playpen where Michelle immediately pulled herself up to grab hold of the ivory handle and examine it. The glint in the man’s eyes told her he fully intended the baby to do that very thing.
“Miss Fanning, you see we are here about the house. We had no idea Iggie had transferred it and—”
“I’m sorry, who’s Iggie?” she asked.
“Father’s sister, Agnes. She left many years ago. We’ve been keeping an eye on the house ever since. Father believed she would return one day.”
The words were innocuous, but the tone was accusing. Hope bristled and tossed him a frown of her own, lifting an eyebrow in consternation.
“You seem to have a sinister undertone each time you talk about this house and why we’re here. I don’t care for it at all, Mr. Rawley. Agnes was Brennan’s mother, and she deeded the house to him. I have a feeling you’ve already checked the deed records, haven’t you?”
“Jeremy.” Mr. Rawley waved his hand over his shoulder, indicating his son should be quiet. “I apologize, my dear. My son is overprotective of his family’s interests. Iggie— er, Agnes is indeed my sister. We were as close as siblings could be, you might say. She was the baby, you see.”
Nodding, Hope looked down at her feet, wondering what to say and how much to reveal. She wasn’t sure how long the silence lasted, but the loud thwack of the cane hitting the floor made her jump to attention.
“Oh, M— Nichole.” She swallowed, silently chiding herself to remember the baby’s new name.
“Don’t fret. Let the gel have some fun,” Mr. Rawley told her, leaning forward to pick up the cane and handing it back to the little one. “So, my dear, will you tell us where Iggie is? Is she well?”
The concern glistening in his eyes was clear. Her heart swelled for him, and she almost wanted to bridge the gap between them and offer him her hand. Brennan was thirty-four years old. She couldn’t imagine how heartbreaking it was for him all of those years not to know what had happened to “Iggie.”
“Mr. Rawley, I’m sorry but she passed away several years ago. There was a huge car accident. Fog.” She stopped, the memory burning her eyes of Mrs. Rawley in her hospital room, lacerations and bruises marring her sweet face. She had been a good woman, and yet tough. It seemed she might have pulled through, but her body was just left too broken.
Looking up, she saw the old man release a long breath, and he shrank before her eyes. His face paled, his body slouched, and he turned his gaze down. The urge to comfort him came over her again, but she stayed in place, not sure that it would be appropriate.
After a few moments he raised his eyes and smiled. It was a genuine smile, appreciative, sincere.
“Thank you, my dear. Your honesty is valued. Iggie was so special and when she left—well, I always thought she would come back.”
Hope bit her lip to keep from speaking. She knew based on the letter left to him by his mother that Brennan was somehow the real reason she had left her family behind. Just the little bit of information she’d given to these two gentlemen would likely bring the wrath of Bren down on her. She shouldn’t say any more, even though the urge to do so was almost overwhelming.
Michelle began to fuss, and Hope jumped at the reprieve, making her way past the men to pick up the baby.
“Sorry. There are times when she expects to get all of the attention.”
A moment of uncomfortable silence was broken by the old man’s boisterous laughter. Michelle responded instantly with her own baby-giggle.
Hope was never more relieved than when a few moments later, the men told her they should be leaving. Jeremy hurried to the front door, but Mr. Rawley hesitated. She had Michelle cradled against her hip so that she could lead them out.
“My dear, you have been very kind. Brennan is family, it seems, and I’d like to get to know him. I am an excellent reader of body language and I can tell you don’t believe he’d be pleased by the things we’ve discussed. Be that as it may, I would like the chance to speak with him. Just keep that in mind.”
All she could do was nod as he held out a finger to Michelle. Old man and baby shared a long look before he glanced at Hope, winked and was gone.
***
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Brennan knew good and well something was going on with Hope when he got back to the cottage. She was quiet and pensive, something that in and of itself wasn’t really that unusual. From time to time during their journey, she would have bouts of sullenness. What really keyed him to the fact that there was something strange was her jumpiness.
When Hope knocked over the pan of cleaning water she had left precariously on the edge of the kitchen counter, her lovely face turned ghostly pale and she practically jumped to clean up the mess.
“Damn, I’m sorry. I’ll get it.”
He went to Michelle’s playpen and picked the little girl up into his arms, nuzzling her belly with his face. While the babe blathered and tugged on his ear, he leaned against the table and watched Hope on her knees, dabbing at the water with a towel. Her rear end bobbed up and down, and he took a moment to enjoy the view before returning to his ponderous thoughts about her behavior.
“What’s wrong with Mommy?” he said softly close to Michelle’s ear. Apparently he hadn’t spoken softly enough because Hope’s head shot up to look at him.
“Mommy?”
He chuckled, holding his hand out to help her up. “Just sort of popped out. She needs a mommy, and we’re living like a family.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, wiping her hands against her thighs.
“So, what’s going on?” He injected a lace of suspicion into his tone and watched as she drew her brows together and shook her head, preparing to deny it. “Hope, I can recognize a guilty conscience when I see one. I’ve sort of been an expert in that area.”
Her jaw dropped open, and then snapped shut. She glanced at Michelle as if the baby might explain things, then she smiled and looked down.
“Okay, you’re right. Jeremy was here earlier.”
Brennan’s stomach seized and his smile crumbled away, leaving behind a hard scowl. “What the hell do I have to do to prove I own this place? Tape the deed to the front door?”
His instant rage deflated when she approached him, leaning in close. He held his breath wondering for a moment if she might be going to kiss him. Instead, she slid her hands atop his arms to take Michelle from him. “It wasn’t like that, Bren. He brought his father with him. James Rawley. It seems your mother was Mr. Rawley’s sister.”
“Agnes?”
She gave him a frustrated look, leaning her head to the side. “Yes, Agnes. Why are you calling her that now? It was childish when you were doing it at eighteen, and it hasn’t gotten any less so now.”
“So, what did they want?” he asked finally.
She smiled through a long sigh before continuing. “I really think he wanted to find out what happened to Agnes.”
“And did you tell him? How much does he know?”
Her eyes peered down then back up. “I told him vaguely about her. He wants to meet you. You’re family, and he wants to know you.”
Th
e idea of finding his relatives wasn’t nearly as frightening as it had been just a few days ago. He knew the day he heard the name “Jeremy Rawley” that it meant he’d find some of his family here in New Durma. He had to face it at some point, and he was prepared to do so.
That wasn’t what was terrifying him now. “I need some air. Can we go outside?”
She nodded, turning quickly to walk out the back door into the crisp breeze. The weather was heavy with impending rain, and Bren knew a cold front was making its way through. He breathed deep, raising his face to the sky and again had the strangest feeling that he belonged there. It was as if the countryside called to him.
“So I found this book,” he began tentatively, pausing a long moment as he chose his words. “It’s a book about this place, New Durma.”
He put Michelle on her feet, letting her cling to his fingers, then he slid down to sit on one of two wicker chairs on the back deck.
“Oh?” Hope murmured, pulling at some weeds along the edge of a stone walkway leading a few feet from the house. “Is it interesting?”
“Mmm,” he nodded, though she wasn’t looking at him and couldn’t see it. Michelle lurched up and down, excited, testing out her legs. “Seems it was founded early in the 1900s, after the First World War. An Earl–of Arrington, I believe–had lost a lot of money in bad investments, so he had to sell off some of his property in Durma. He had a lot of land here, a huge cattle ranch he’d invested in, and he decided to take a bet on America.”
He watched her kneel and yank at some more long-stemmed plants. Satisfied, she dropped the weeds into a pile on the deck, then came to the empty chair. Before sitting, she wiped her dirty hands on her rear end and he mentally shook his head. His need to touch her was getting overwhelming, her bottom almost begging his hand to grab it.
