by Sabrina York
A knock came on the camper door, and when Brandon said, “Come on in”—because they were decent after all—Lisa poked her head in.
“Sorry to bother you, she said. “But there’s a guy here who says he has official mail that wasn’t forwarded to you.”
Brandon frowned. He’d been clear when he’d left Austin that he’d be in Snake Gully for a while. A month at least. But if it was official mail, it was probably from the VA and he’d want to see it. “Okay,” he said and heaved out of the bench seat of the dinette. Porsche was right. This camper was a tight fit. Maybe it was time to rent an apartment. Or something. If he was going to stay here, he should settle in. Dougal certainly needed more room.
He held out a hand to Porsche and she took it, and together they followed Lisa up to the house.
Brandon’s steps slowed as a man stepped out of the front door onto the porch and a bolt of shock and denial sizzled through him with a painful ping.
He came to a halt and Porsche stopped by his side. Her expression firmed when she registered his tension. “What is it?” she asked in a whisper.
“It’s Mark,” he said, barely able to control the vitriol in his voice.
His brother had found him.
• • •
Porsche’s attention snapped to the man on the porch and she frowned. He was large and looming, and though she could see Brandon in his harsh features, the two men were very different. Mark had sandy brown hair and hazel eyes—eyes that were pinned sharply on Brandon. And his expression? A fierce one. She tightened her hold on Brandon’s hand, just to show him support.
“Maybe you should go back to the camper,” he murmured.
“I’m coming with you.”
His smile was sad. “This won’t be pretty.”
“I made you a promise, and I’m keeping it.”
Confusion flitted over his features. “Which promise?”
“To rack him in the apples.”
“Ah. Right.” He squeezed her hand. “Let’s see what he has to say first.”
“Okay.” She’d do it though. Oh yes, she would. Brother or not, Mark had wounded Brandon deeply. Oh sure, it would be good for him, for both of them, if the two brothers could reconcile, but based on what Brandon had told her about Mark and his attitude—not to mention the taller man’s expression—that wasn’t likely to happen.
By God, Mark would not hurt Brandon like that again. She’d make sure of it. So as Brandon walked warily toward the porch, she stayed where she belonged, by his side.
Mark came down the stairs as they approached and the two men met on equal ground. Tension sizzled around them, and while neither of them postured outright, Porsche noticed a certain bunching of muscles . . . on both sides.
Mark shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Brandon.”
“Mark.” His tone was curt.
“I was hoping to find you here.”
“Were you?”
Mark nodded, but seemed to have trouble making eye contact. The tension between the two of them sizzled. “Been looking for a while.”
Brandon stared at his brother for a long time. Finally he said, in a glacial tone, “I hear you have some mail for me.”
“I do. But to be honest, that’s not why I came.”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed. His muscles bunched. Porsche shivered at the intensity in his stare, even though it wasn’t directed at her. “Really?”
“Yeah I . . .” Mark raked his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. “Look, can we do this somewhere private?”
“Nope.” Porsche surprised herself by answering for him. The scorn in her voice surprised her too.
Mark’s attention snapped to her; it flicked down to their entwined hands. His cheek flexed. “And who are you?”
She lifted a brow at his condescending tone. Though it pissed her off, she kept her countenance placid. She smiled and said sweetly, “Someone who accepts people for who they are.”
Mark flinched, and she tried not to feel regret. He didn’t deserve her regret.
“Just say what you gotta say and go,” Brandon said. “No reason to have a throw down.”
Mark narrowed his eyes. “I’m not looking for a throw down. We’re not kids anymore. We should be able to talk this through.”
“What is there to talk through? You said your piece at Walter Reed.”
Mark blew out a breath and raked his hair again. “I was an ass. I’m . . . so sorry.”
Porsche blinked. Well hell. That was the last thing she expected to hear. She could feel Brandon’s confusion as a shock wave swept over him.
“I’ve regretted those words every day since, Brandon. Every single fucking day. I didn’t mean what I said.”
A muscle flexed in Brandon’s cheek. “I think you did.”
“I was in shock. Seeing my brother lying there, so weak and wounded. It was my job to protect you—”
“It wasn’t.”
“I didn’t . . . understand what you were going through.”
“Did you try?” This in a desolate warble.
Mark’s face went ashen. The muscle in his cheek clenched again. “No. I didn’t. I admit it. I was a pompous fool and an overbearing son of a bitch. I said some really shitty things that I didn’t mean. And I’m sorry.”
Brandon was silent for a minute.
Each second thrummed.
And then, with a sigh that released his tension—and hers—Brandon nodded and extended his hand. “I accept your apology.”
Relief flooded Mark’s face as the brothers clasped hands. So raw and anguished that it tugged at Porsche’s heartstrings. It was agonizing to watch . . . especially when Brandon stepped back and said, “Now, go on your way.”
Mark’s expression clouded once more. “Brandon?”
“Go on.” He nodded toward Mark’s car. “You’ve had your say.”
“I’m not done yet.” Mark folded his arms over his chest; his meaning was clear. It said, I ain’t going nowhere. It was easy to see where Brandon got his stubbornness.
And he was stubborn. He leaned closer and hissed, “You think it’s that easy? For me to forget all the shitty things you said?”
Mark didn’t even flinch. He hissed back, “I ain’t asking you to forget. I’m asking you to forgive.”
“Well, I need to think on that.”
The two glared at each other. “Brandon, you’re my brother. You’re the only family I’ve got. I need you in my life.”
Oh, it was hard seeing him plead—this big, powerful, lethal weapon. Hard seeing him humbled. And as much as Porsche had really wanted to kick him in the balls, he was already hurting enough.
She tugged on Brandon’s hand until she stole his attention. “I want to talk to you.”
His brow furrowed, as though her interference was just one thing too many to process at the moment. “Now?”
“Now.” She nodded to Mark and then led Brandon into the house, down the hall and into the kitchen where they could have privacy. There were cookies cooling on a rack and she handed him one.
He gaped at her. “You needed to give me a cookie. Right now? In the middle of that?” He jabbed a thumb toward the porch.
“You’re emotional. You need a cookie.”
“I don’t need a cookie.” But he chomped into it ferociously. “Mmm,” he murmured through the mouthful of chocolate chips, “good cookie.”
“See. I knew it would help.”
He glowered. “It didn’t help. And now I need some milk.”
She walked to the fridge and poured him a glass. As she handed it to him, she tipped her head to the side and forced a smile. “I needed to talk to you now, because I didn’t want you to say anything you might regret.”
He snorted. “What could I possibly regret?”
“Lo
sing him forever? Brandon, listen. This is a chance for the two of you to make up.”
But Brandon wasn’t listening. He was pacing. Cookie and milk in hand. “He has balls, coming here to apologize.”
“You would prefer he came here to insult your manhood?”
“You know what I mean.” A growl.
“I do. And I think you’re emotional.” She thrust the plate at him. “Have another cookie. Relax for a minute. Think about it. Get in touch with that part of yourself that is not raging with anger, is not still hurt by the things he said. Ask yourself what you really want.”
“I want you.” A ferocious declaration.
She smiled gently. “I think you also want your brother. I could hear it in your voice when you talked about him. You’ve missed him.”
He sighed heavily and stared at his cookie. “I have.”
“Do you really want him to leave and never come back? Because I bet he would, if that’s what you asked.”
He scrubbed his face. “No. Of course that’s not what I want.”
“Then give him a chance. What have you got to lose?”
That muscle in his cheek bunched. “But I’m so angry with him.”
“I’m angry too,” she said. “But loving someone doesn’t just stop when they make us angry. Or hurt us. Or not love us back.”
“You’re right.” He huffed a sigh and downed the rest of his milk. She loved that he reached out for her, and kissed her. That he tasted like chocolate chip cookies.
“Shall we go talk to your brother?” she asked.
And Brandon nodded. “Yes. Let’s go talk to Mark.”
• • •
Porsche was right and Brandon knew it. But it was hard for him to just shove all that emotional shit back into a duffle bag and bury it deep. He decided he would be nice and cordial but reserved with Mark. He’d hear him out and then see what happened.
The last thing he wanted was to open old wounds. They still pained him enough as it was.
He headed back to the porch, where Mark was chatting with Lisa, but when Brandon opened the screen door, his brother’s head whipped around. There was agonized hope etched on Mark’s features, and that made him uncomfortable.
He had the chance to hurt Mark now, the way Mark had hurt him back then. It would be so easy to rip him open, eviscerate him. To take his brutal vengeance.
But there were times in life when a man had to ask himself what kind of person he was going to be. Brandon had encountered that challenge when he’d faced the loss of his leg, and somewhere in that clusterfuck, he’d decided he wouldn’t be a quitter. He’d be a fighter and a man of honor.
A man of honor didn’t attack when someone came with a hand extended. When someone opened up and made himself vulnerable.
And that’s what Mark had done here.
He sucked in a deep breath and nodded to his brother. He opened his mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say. He glanced at Porsche but her expression made clear he was on his own. This was his decision, and she would support him no matter what.
“So,” he finally said. “How long are you here for?”
Mark grabbed the porch rail and Brandon had the sense it was to steady himself. A ping of sympathy pealed in his soul. This couldn’t have been easy for Mark; it was difficult to see him staggered by a simple kindness. “Ah, we were hoping you would help us decide.”
“We?”
“Penny and I have a room in the next town over.” He shot a look at Porsche. “Your town doesn’t have a hotel.”
“It burned down,” she said.
Lisa snorted. “It was a dump anyway. You two could always stay here,” she said.
Mark blinked. “Is this a hotel?”
“B&B.” Lisa shot Brandon a bright smile. “It would be nice if the two of you could be close again.” There was definitely a double entendre there.
“I’d love that”—Mark fixed his gaze on Brandon—“if you don’t mind.”
It took him a second to come to peace with the idea, but he nodded. “I’d like that.” And when they clasped hands again, he really meant it.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Mark suggested that they meet that night for dinner so they could talk more and Brandon could meet Penny, and he agreed . . . with the condition that Porsche would come to. And, of course, that they would meet at the steakhouse off I35, because here in Snake Gully, there was only Bubba’s and the ambiance there was hardly conducive to reunions. Or, for that matter, conversations. Or eating.
Brandon had decided if he did stay here, he would definitely open a restaurant so the residents of this town wouldn’t have to choose between Bubba’s and starvation.
Mark headed out first, because he needed to pick up Penny on the way, and Brandon and Porsche needed to make a run into town to check on Dougal before heading out.
Thankfully, the pup was healing better and the vet said he could come home soon, which was wonderful news. As they made their way back to the car, Brandon shook his head. “Is it me, or does he look like he’s grown since we left him there?”
Porsche laughed as she hopped into the driver’s seat of her coupe. “He does. Have you noticed the size of his paws? He’s gonna be huge.”
Brandon chuckled. “Good. I like big dogs.”
She shot him an impish look and chanted, “I like big dogs and I cannot lie . . . But seriously, if they can’t knock you down, they’re not real dogs.”
“Exactly!”
“But . . .” Her face squished up as she turned the car and headed out of town.
“But what?”
“Your camper isn’t very big.”
“I’ve noticed.” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking . . .”
She nodded sagely. “I thought I smelled wood burning.”
“Seriously?” He grinned. “Why you gotta dis me like that?”
“Because you love it.”
He kind of did. He loved her playful personality. He was certainly never bored with her. “So . . . I was thinking.”
“Yes?”
“Maybe I should look for a house.”
He grabbed the handle on top of the window as the car screeched to a halt. She stared at him. “Really? You’re thinking about staying?”
“Would you . . . mind?”
“Hell no. I’d be delighted.” In fact she leaned over and started covering his face with kisses.
Though the road was never busy, it just so happened—true to their kissing karma—someone rolled up behind them and honked. Porsche glanced over her shoulder and grimaced. “Of course,” she muttered, then turned back to the wheel and peeled out.
“Who was it?” he asked, though he didn’t care.
“Ford. It’s like he has me on GPS or something.”
Brandon peered out the back window at the truck behind them and waved cheerily. Thankfully, Ford was heading for the Double S ranch and turned off there. For a moment, Brandon had thought he planned to follow them all the way to the restaurant.
“He’s gone,” he said.
Porsche blew out a sigh, revealing that she’d been worried Ford would tail them as well. “He’s getting better.” She shot him a look. “He likes you.”
“I like him.”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. He likes you.”
“That’s not a difficult concept for me to grasp, Porsche.”
“He’s never liked any man I’ve ever been with.”
“And there have been legions?” He knew there had not.
“I mean, been with . . . as in, in a room. In a conversation. Any man I’ve looked at or breathed on or mentioned in passing. But he likes you.”
“I’m honored.”
“You know how some people trust their dogs?”
He blinked. Keepin
g up with her conversational gymnastics could be a challenge. “Um, yeah?”
“Ford’s like that.”
“I don’t follow.”
“If he likes someone, they are golden. If he growls and barks, there’s probably something wrong with them. He doesn’t bark at you.”
“You’re comparing your brother to a watchdog?”
“Of course.”
Hookay. “Well, that’s good then.”
“Very good. But I knew you were a keeper. Right from the start.”
“Really?” He crossed his arms. “That is patently untrue.”
“No it’s not. I didn’t realize you were my keeper, but I knew you were someone’s keeper. But I am glad you’re mine.”
“Me too.” Oh, he was. Silence fell, but it was a comfortable one. After a while he said, “I was thinking—”
She snorted a laugh. “There you go again.”
“If I stay here—”
“If?”
“Stay with me, Porsche. I’m trying to fly an idea past you.”
She grumbled, but finally said, “Okay.”
“If I stay here, I’d like to open a restaurant. I have some money in savings, and I enjoy cooking. The town needs a restaurant. What do you think?”
“Hmm.” She was quiet for a moment, focusing on the darkening shadows on the road. “Restaurants have a pretty high failure rate. It’s not the most secure industry to get into.”
“We could start small.”
“I bet you could snag a catering contract with Cade and Cody,” she said. “Lisa does all the baking, but they have to bring food in from a restaurant in Dallas because the French restaurant in town they used to use went under.”
What moron opened a French restaurant in Snake Gully? “I was thinking steaks and barbecue. I had a chance to talk to Logan, Hanna’s boyfriend? He said he’d be happy to give me some pointers on restaurant management.”
“Their chain is crazy successful.”
“I’m not interested in a chain. I just want to cook for people. Is that ridiculous?”
“Not at all. Your food is amazing.”
