The first genuine smile of the day touched Gloria’s lips. “Thanks, Mabel. You’re a lifesaver.”
Mabel left the office with a smile and Gloria quickly attacked her light snack. After a few healthy bites, she slumped back into her seat, sated but not satisfied.
Her eyes drifted to the mail. Since the unusual ticket purchase, Gloria found herself combing every bill meticulously. What was she looking for? She had no idea. But it was something.
So far, her paranoia had turned out to be just that. Maybe that was a good thing—especially since she had come so close to calling a private investigator. Grabbing her trusty letter opener, Gloria ripped into Harmon’s final cell phone bill. She immediately frowned because it was considerably higher than normal. She shook her head after one glance at the excessive charges.
Remembering the call to Carlson Travel Agency, Gloria flipped the bill over and scanned for July 28. And there it was. That settled it. He had made that call.
A part of her still couldn’t believe he hadn’t delegated the task to her. She almost set the bill aside for the next envelope when she noticed the other numbers from that day.
One number in particular, mainly because it seemed to be everywhere, stood out. She flipped through the pages and the number was listed almost on every page. What was even stranger was that Gloria didn’t recognize the number—and she knew just about everyone Harmon dealt with on a day-to-day basis.
She frowned and almost absently turned in her seat toward her computer. A few keystrokes and she pulled up her electronic address book and keyed in the number for a search.
Nothing came up.
Gloria’s paranoia returned, but she tried her best to dismiss it. After all, a busy man like Harmon Braddock made new contacts nearly every day. It could be nothing more than a business contact. Leaning back in her chair, she tried to accept that perfectly logical explanation.
When that didn’t work, she flipped through the bill a second time. Finally her curiosity won out and she picked up the phone, dialed the number and held her breath.
“Thank you for calling Stewart Industries. How may I direct your call?”
Gloria frowned. “I’m sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number,” she said, and then hung up. However, she continued to stare at the phone. Why on earth was Harmon calling Stewart Industries?
Harmon Braddock wasn’t a big oil fan, despite Evelyn’s family making their fortune in oil. Was the company trying to woo the congressman?
Stewart Industries hosted Senator Cayman’s political fund-raiser a couple of weeks ago. Maybe it had something to do with that? If so, why didn’t she know about it? And why was he calling a switchboard and not a direct number within the company?
Gloria stared at the phone, thinking.
Malcolm also chose to bury himself in work. He spent his morning presenting a check to the Texas Children’s Cancer Center. With the final totals in from their July fund-raising concert, it felt good to hand over a two-million-dollar check.
A few cameras and photographers from the local media covered the presentation. Orville Roark took the podium and read the center’s mission statement and urged the public to join forces and get involved. Malcolm was next to step up to the microphone, and he gently reminded everyone what the Arc Foundation was all about.
“Mr. Braddock,” a faceless reporter called out.
“What do you think of Clint Hardy’s announcement to run for your father’s seat in Congress?”
Malcolm froze. The question caught him off guard. After a few pictures snapped, he put on his best smile and responded, “I wish Mr. Hardy well in all his political endeavors.”
“Mr. Braddock, have you given any thought to running for your father’s seat?” the reporter pried.
Malcolm elected to answer honestly. “The subject has come up.” Unfortunately, he regretted his candor when a new energy buzzed among the reporters.
“Does that mean that you’re going to be making your own announcement soon?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s all for now. Thank you all for coming.” Malcolm forced on another smile and rushed from the podium.
Reporters fired off questions at his back as he exited the conference room.
“I’m sorry about that,” Malcolm said to Roark. “I didn’t mean to turn the focus from the center.”
“Don’t be.” Roark waved off the apology. “I’m actually pleased to hear you’re considering running. We need a man like you in Congress. I think your father would be proud.”
Malcolm chuckled. “So everyone keeps telling me.”
“And you doubt it?”
An hour later, Malcolm stared at his father’s name etched in gray marble. His eyes stung with invisible tears while his heart constricted painfully in his chest. When would the blocks of regret be lifted from his shoulders? What if it never went away?
Even now he had so much to say and didn’t know where to start. Then, at long last, he just began talking. “I always thought that there was plenty of time,” he said. “Plenty of time for us to cool down. Plenty of time for me to find my way. Plenty of time to fall in love.” Malcolm lowered his head. “Turns out that was the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself.
“I love you, Dad.” He sighed. “I’m at a crossroads. I keep finding myself floundering,” he admitted. “I always thought I wanted one thing, but now I’m thinking I want something else. It’s strange to have so many people see something within you that you don’t even see yourself.”
As tears burned the backs of his eyes, Malcolm tilted his head toward the sky while he tried to compose himself. When he was ready, his gaze returned to his father’s grave.
“I’ve always believed in the work I was doing, always had a sense of pride while doing it. But now…seeds have been planted inside my head that I could do more—be more. And I’ll be damned if I can shake them out. They’ve taken root and it makes me wonder if everybody is right.” He paused. “You always believed that I would follow in your footsteps, didn’t you?” A sad laugh tumbled from his lips. “My hero. My Eliot Ness.”
A montage of happy childhood memories flashed inside his head. The hole inside his heart enlarged. “I’m sorry, Dad. That fight we had…God, it seems so stupid to me now. Maybe Mom had the right of it. We were both just so stubborn.” Malcolm shook his head while his confession tumbled out. “Now someone else believes in me. Turns out you and Mom may have been right about her, too. I don’t know. I’m nowhere near figuring any of this out. But I’m suddenly afraid of running out of time.”
Silence hung on the air while Malcolm squatted beside the tombstone, kissed his fingers and placed them against his father’s name. “I miss you, Dad. Whatever I decide to do, I hope you’ll continue to be proud.” He stood and walked back to his SUV. As he approached, he was surprised to see Tyson leaning against the hood.
“Figured I’d find you here.”
“What—are you a psychic?”
“No. I just know you. You’re not as deep as you think you are.” Tyson crooked up a side of his lips.
“Ha. Ha.”
“Came to tell the old man you were shipping out?”
“You can say that.” Malcolm pulled out his car keys and then folded his arms. “Is there a reason you tracked me down?”
“Wanted to talk.”
“About?”
“Your trip to Malawi. Wanted to find out for myself what you’re running from.”
Malcolm laughed, though it didn’t quite sound right to his own ears. “I’m not running from anything.”
“No? I’d say you were running from someone about five-eight, short light brown hair with golden highlights and gold eyes.”
Malcolm rolled his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I am many things, bro. But blind is not one of them—and one would have to be to miss the sparks flying off you and Gloria. C’mon. What gives?”
“What? You’re going to counsel me on relationships?”
Tyson’s jaw hardened.
Malcolm regretted the jab. “Sorry. Look, it’s just complicated.”
“And Malawi is going to uncomplicate things?”
“A man can hope.”
“You know, this past month, I barely recognize you, man. You’ve always been so independent and strong. Now…”
“I’m floundering.” Malcolm repeated the words he’d said at his father’s grave. “Dad’s death…”
“It’s really shaken you up.”
“I’ve lost my way,” he admitted.
“And how does Gloria feel about you?” Tyson asked.
Malcolm hesitated. “She says she loves me.”
Tyson’s brows climbed upward. “You don’t believe her?”
Drawing a deep breath, Malcolm weighed his words carefully. “I don’t know what I believe. When I’m with her, I feel there’s nothing I can’t do, but then I wonder…”
“About?”
“Does she love me or the idea of resurrecting Dad?”
“Come again?”
Malcolm sighed. “Let’s just say Gloria was Dad’s number-one fan. She idolized the man, and I can’t help but think her only interest in me is turning me into her idol.”
Ty released a long steady breath. “Okay. Now, that’s deep.” He waited a beat. “But it doesn’t sound like the Gloria I know. Maybe you should talk to her about it.”
Malcolm thought about the way he’d ended things with Gloria. “I think we’re way past talking.”
Gloria emerged from her thoughts and picked up the phone. After punching in Joe Dennis’s phone number, she drummed her fingers on the desk and tried to arrange the questions inside her head.
“Hello.”
“Joe?” She perked up. “Hi. It’s Gloria Kingsley again…from Harmon Braddock’s office?”
Silence.
“Um, I was just wondering if you had a few minutes to talk?”
“Depends on what you want to talk about.”
“Well, actually, I was wondering if you ever took Mr. Braddock to Stewart Industries.”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Kingsley, Mr. Braddock is dead. Why don’t you leave well enough alone.”
Click.
Gloria pulled the phone from her ear and frowned at it. “Leave well enough alone? What in the hell does that mean?”
Chapter 19
Malcolm returned to his apartment and invited his brother inside. After their talk at the grave site, the two decided they needed a beer. It felt good to hang out and detangle some of his troubled thoughts—though he couldn’t say the same for his brother.
“So are you all packed?” Tyson asked.
“For the most part,” Malcolm said. “I still need to get a couple things. Probably get to it tomorrow.”
Tyson bobbed his head.
Malcolm walked into the kitchen and retrieved two beers from the refrigerator.
“Thanks, man. Nothing like a cold one at the end of the day, huh?”
Malcolm nodded and clicked the bottles together in a silent toast.
Tyson took a long pull as if he hadn’t had a beer in eons, and then tossed a smile over at Malcolm. “I really wish you would reconsider your trip. Five weeks is a long time.”
“It’s not that long.”
“Long enough to change things.”
“Hopefully for the better.”
“Do you really think that?”
Malcolm frowned, but instead of answering, he took a long pull from his beer, as well.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Brother to brother. Man to man. Why won’t you consider running for Dad’s seat?”
He groaned. “Ah, man. Not you, too.”
“It’s a legitimate question. Why?”
“Why not you?”
“Come on, man. For you and Dad, politics is in your blood—whether you want to admit it or not. Shawnie was right. The way you guys argued and debated the issues. You have a real passion for it. But it seems like you go out of your way to deny it because…what? Clue me in.”
Malcolm didn’t have an answer to give him. He never had an answer for his dad, either. He set his beer down on the kitchen counter—perhaps a little harder than he intended. “Why is it that everyone thinks they know what I want better than I do?”
“That’s actually a very good question. How come you don’t know what you want?”
Malcolm blinked for having the question launched back at him.
“Well? What do you want?”
“I want…to be a person that brings about real change in the world. To do that, I believe that you have to get your hands dirty. Sure I could go to Congress and toss out rhetoric and watch change happen at a snail’s pace, and most times not for the better.”
Tyson shrugged. “Why can’t you do both? Just because you’re a congressman, it doesn’t mean that your charitable work has to stop. Nobody is saying you have to stop being you, Malcolm. It’s just time for you to go to the next level. Yours and Dad’s ideals were very similar…and, yes, I know he disappointed you in some of his decisions, but he did some great work, too. You can’t deny that. You just had different ideas about how to go about effecting change. Dad thought you’d follow in his footsteps. I think you should, too. Just take that passion to the next level.”
The phone rang.
Malcolm groaned but made no attempt to answer it. “Screening your phone calls?”
“I’ll call whoever it is later,” he said, his eyes locked on the cordless across the room.
The call transferred to his answering machine.
“Malcolm? Are you there? Please pick up. It’s Gloria.”
Malcolm lowered his head and took another swig of beer.
Tyson leveled a gaze on his brother.
Gloria’s voice continued to filter over the speakerphone. “All right, then. When you get this message, please call me back. I need to talk with you. It’s important.” She hung up.
Tyson shook his head.
“No lectures,” Malcolm warned, sensing that one was on the horizon.
“I’m not going to say anything.”
Tyson’s cell phone rang. He scooped the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Hello.” His eyes scanned back to his brother. “Well, hi, Gloria.” A beat. “Malcolm? Why, sure I have. I’m at his place. He’s sitting right here next to me.” With a wicked smile, he held out his phone. “It’s for you.”
Malcolm glared at his younger brother.
“What? You didn’t say I couldn’t answer my phone.”
Malcolm snatched the phone. “Hello.”
“Malcolm, thank goodness. I have to talk to you.”
Malcolm turned, giving his brother his back. “Gloria, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. I think we said all we had to say to each other the other night.”
There was a small pause before Gloria’s voice came back onto the line. “It’s not about that. It’s—”
“Gloria, this is hard enough. Please. Let’s just step away from this. Okay? I have to go. Goodbye.” He flipped the phone closed before he lost his courage and changed his mind.
“I don’t think you have a clue as to what you’re doing—what you’re about to throw away.”
“No lectures, remember?”
Tyson tossed up his hands. “Whatever, man.” He stood, set his empty beer bottle down on the counter. “I’m heading out. I’ll catch up with you later.” He headed toward the door.
Malcolm remained on his stool at the breakfast bar.
Tyson opened the front door, stopped and turned. “You remember that thing you were saying about regret?”
Malcolm looked up.
“You better hope that this Gloria situation doesn’t turn into something else you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting. I don’t think you’ll be able to handle that.” With one final look of warning, Tyson turned and walked out of the apartmen
t.
Malcolm sighed and drained the rest of his beer.
The moment Malcolm hung up one her, Gloria jumped up from behind her desk, crammed the cell phone and credit card bills into her satchel and raced out of her office. Who in the hell did Malcolm Braddock think he was?
She had dealt with men with serious egos before, but Malcolm had finally crossed the line.
Hanging up on her. Had he lost his mind?
Gloria jumped into her Mini Cooper and sped out of the parking lot. Car horns blared from all directions as she crisscrossed through traffic, ran through yellow lights and flipped a series of birds to drivers who refused to let her merge.
By the time she made it to Malcolm’s apartment building, she was a ball of fury.
Hang up on her. She’d teach him.
Malcolm needed to finish packing, but he had no more than pulled his luggage out onto the bed when he decided he needed a second beer. Drinking, he found himself back in the living room replaying that old campaign footage. He listened to his father’s speeches, feeling inspiration in his words. Like he’d done many times this past month, when Gloria’s face came onto the screen, he froze the frame and studied her beautiful profile.
You better hope that this Gloria situation doesn’t turn into something else you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting.
Malcolm was already regretting a lot of things. He regretted ever having held her, kissed her, and he certainly regretted making love to her, because now those images tormented him and his body craved her touch damn near every minute of the day. He was in hell.
He turned his gaze to the phone. Maybe he should call. He shouldn’t have hung up on her like that. However, a part of him didn’t want to draw out the inevitable breakup. Unless she loved him for who he was and not some ideological version of his father, they had no future. That thought broke his heart—mainly because he was already in love with her. Had been since the first time he’d laid eyes on her. He had created his indifference to her in his mind for so many years because he wouldn’t allow himself to believe in love at first sight, and he had hated that she’d seemed more smitten with his father than him.
Her Lover's Legacy Page 13
