by Mae Nunn
Sarah followed Cullen’s lead and used the wooden device to anchor the heel of her boot while she pulled her foot free of the snug-fitting leather. She padded into the kitchen, filled a glass with ice, poured herself a soda and headed to Cullen’s cozy study.
She settled on the sofa with her feet drawn up beneath her flowing skirt and reached for the television remote on the end table. As she lifted the remote, she read the title of the book Cullen had evidently been reading.
Blended Family Dynamics: A Study in the Psychology of Starting Over.
She leafed through the text, noting the many pages Cullen had apparently streaked with yellow highlighter, his handwritten notes in the margins, the Post-it tabs that he’d applied in a dozen places. As she perused the information in the book her pulse stirred and then raced. But it was the legal pad underneath that caused her heart to skitter into an erratic beat. He’d written a to-do list of activities. As each event had occurred, it was checked off as completed, reviewed and then given a grade.
At-home activity: pool party, Grade D
First outing: amusement park, Grade D
Second outing: park and batting cages, Grade C.
Third outing: Rangers game, Grade F
Fourth outing: Wedding...
As Sarah read the list, her curiosity turned to shock and then anger. She grabbed the book and looked at the title again. She had been feeling like a guinea pig with good reason. She was being used for Cullen’s study, for his research! And even worse, her children were being used. He’d charmed them, made them all care about him, and all for what? Another degree?
Sarah dropped down on the sofa to think. There had to be a simple explanation. Cullen had seemed so sincere, always showing them consideration and thoughtfulness. Always giving them the benefit of the doubt and erring on the side of what would make them happy.
“These Temple boys know how to turn on the charm when it suits them, so watch out for their ulterior motives.”
Sarah recalled Alma’s warning.
Had she walked blindly into a snare and led her daughters along behind her? The very idea chilled her to the bone on this hot summer evening.
* * *
CULLEN TOPPED HIS comfortable jeans with one of his many plaid flannels and moved down the hall silently in stocking feet. He’d left the ironing board up but had to switch on the steam iron to press another dress shirt.
“You need anything, darlin’?” he asked as he passed through his den and continued toward the laundry room.
Sarah was silent.
He stopped in midstride.
“Sarah? Are you okay?”
Angry eyes flashed up at him. An expression he’d never seen on her face told Cullen very little other than something was terribly wrong. She lifted her hand and held out his yellow legal pad. The one he’d used to track his progress with Sarah and her girls.
“What is this, Cullen?”
Her tone was flat. Her words an accusation.
“My private notes.”
“It’s too bad you didn’t keep them in a private place.”
“My den is my sanctuary. I didn’t think I needed to hide my work.”
“Your work? Your work?” Her voice crescendoed as she rose to her feet. “Is that what we’ve been to you, Cullen? Work?” Her voice broke on the last word.
“Yes, but...” He stopped.
How could he explain to her that structure was his comfort zone? That he required the safety of a process in order to have a relationship, otherwise he risked a setback in his PTSD recovery? Even to him it sounded crazy. And at one time he had believed he was sliding into that pit, behaving in a crazy way. He’d begun to fear how Sarah would react when she found out about the therapy. About the attacks.
And about the cutting.
She wouldn’t want him around her girls anymore. She wouldn’t want him around, period. And he couldn’t blame her.
“But what?” she demanded. She lifted the book he’d been studying and brandished it like a sword. “Is analyzing people really more important to you than the people themselves?”
“Of course not, but that book is a means to an end.”
“Well, you’ve come to this end sooner than you planned, Dr. Temple.”
Sarah slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and stomped in stocking feet into the foyer. There she grabbed her boots in one hand and gripped the doorknob with the other. She paused with her back to him, as if giving him a chance to stop her from leaving. But what could he say that would change things?
Nothing.
Cullen Temple was damaged goods. Sarah Eason and her girls had already been dealt a tough hand. They didn’t deserve to go through more hard times.
“You’ll have to find yourself some new subjects to examine and evaluate.” She turned to stare him down one last time. “You gave us grades, for crying out loud.”
“No, I didn’t,” he defended himself softly.
“And now you’re going to lie about it right to my face. I hate to admit it but my daddy was right. The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. Sure enough, you’ve proven to be Pap Temple’s grandson, after all.”
She yanked the door open, stepped out of Cullen’s home and out of his life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WHEN THE SUN came up, Cullen didn’t stir from the spot on the sofa where he’d sat all night. He didn’t move when the Sunday paper thumped against the driveway, nor when the timer turned on the coffeemaker or when Rocket climbed up beside him, poked his long nose into his master’s face and licked the tear streaks from his cheeks.
He sat still and waited for the inevitable moment when the anxiety he’d dreaded for so many years would wash over him and drown out the profound sadness in his heart.
It was Alma’s voice on the old-fashioned answering machine that finally caught his attention.
“Cullen, mi chico, I know you’re there. Pick up the phone este minuto!” This minute, Alma demanded. After several seconds without a response she continued. “We’re on our way over, and if you don’t let us in, Felix will chop a hole in your nice front door.”
Still he kept his seat, his spirit as cold as the dark side of the moon. Speechless since the moment Sarah had accused him of being just like his grandfather.
A liar.
The line disconnected, the buzz of the dial tone echoed in the room and Rocket whimpered for attention. Cullen pushed to his feet and followed his sweet pup across the room to the sliding glass door. He shoved it wide, stepped out into his yard and resumed his quiet stupor on the swing. The very place where he’d declared his love for a woman who now believed him to be dishonest, a user, a fraud.
Car doors slammed somewhere in the distance. Voices called out as fists pounded on wood. Rocket raced inside again and barked loudly at the intruders as Cullen followed.
“Cullen!” McCarthy shouted.
“Open this door, you big idiot,” Joiner insisted.
“Don’t make me beat you over the head with a wooden spoon.” Hunt was only half joking since he’d done it once before.
“I’m coming!” Cullen hollered in response.
The moment he turned the dead bolt the door burst open and his brothers poured inside followed by Alma and Felix.
“What is this all about?” he asked his family.
“Sarah came to get the girls this morning and told me she was sorry but they wouldn’t be staying with me again. She cried and said she’d learned some stuff about you last night that changed everything and you could no longer be friends.” Poor Alma wrung her hands as she spoke, already attached to Hope, Meg and Carrie.
“What happened, little brother? She find out you still wear Underoos?” Joiner tried to make light of the moment.
“Hey, t
hose will eventually come back into style. He’s just ahead of the curve.” Hunt wrapped his twin in a side embrace and refused to let go.
“I smell coffee. Let’s go into the kitchen,” Mac suggested.
Alma led the way, filled cups and set them on the counter along with sugar and cream, and the men helped themselves. Cullen allowed her to put his favorite mug in his hand and forced a few sips past his lips.
“Sit,” Mac instructed everyone as he took the spot at the head of the table that had once been their daddy’s seat. “What’s this all about? I’m pretty sure Sarah is smitten with you. Did you have to break the news to her that you don’t feel the same?”
“I love her.” Cullen spoke into his coffee mug.
“What?” the table chorused.
“I said, I love her. I love Sarah,” he replied sadly, realizing that now his emotions for her were wasted.
“Then what’s the problem?” Mac demanded.
Cullen sent pleading eyes to Alma, who sat beside him, praying she’d understand and intervene. Spare him more pain than he was already in.
“Tell them,” she said simply.
His heart stalled in his chest. Losing Sarah was almost more than he could bear. Losing the respect of his brothers would surely kill him.
“Tell us what?” Mac asked.
Cullen pushed his coffee cup away, dropped his gaze and then his hands into his lap. He was certain they would be trembling. But when he looked at them, his hands were steady, his palms dry. He curled his fingers into fists, and let his nails bite into his flesh so deeply that one pierced the tender skin. As he continued to stare, a tiny drop of blood appeared, bright red.
There had been a time when Cullen had associated that sight with a sense of control. As blood seeped from his body, a sense of relief would spread along with it. But those days when he’d been so helpless and hopeless that he’d taken a knife to his own flesh were long ago. He’d overcome the worst nightmare of his life. At least he’d thought so until today.
What would his brothers say if they learned the truth?
What would Sarah say?
“Tell them,” Alma repeated.
On the other side of Cullen, Hunt pushed his chair away from the table and dropped to one knee so he could gaze up into his twin’s face. Oblivious to the blood on Cullen’s palm, Hunt took hold of his brother’s hands and squeezed them tightly.
Cullen felt a single tear seep past his lower lashes and then watched as it splashed on the spot where their hands clasped.
Hunt quickly swiped the place with his thumb to hide it from the others.
Gray eyes sought gray eyes.
“Whatever it is, buddy, we’ll deal with it together. We always have.” Hunt’s voice was sure and strong.
Between the two, there was an unbreakable bond that had carried them through great loss. It would see them through this, too, Cullen was certain of it. And he’d rely on it again to get through whatever lay ahead.
“I should have trusted all of you years ago.” Cullen glanced around the table at his family.
“You’re right.” Hunt moved back into his seat. “But it’s never too late, trust us now.”
Cullen closed his eyes, dipped his chin. He sucked his lungs full of oxygen, drawing the strength to push the story out. He shook his head, ashamed to admit his weakness.
Maybe withholding the truth made him a liar, after all.
“Is this about you cutting yourself?” Joiner was matter-of-fact.
Cullen’s head snapped up, expecting to see judgment, but finding understanding in the faces of his brothers.
He stared at Alma. “You told them?”
Her loving smile was sad. “They told me.”
“But how did you know?” He’d been so careful to hide the signs.
“How could we not know?” Mac’s voice sounded so much like their father’s. “We lived under the same roof, shared a bathroom.”
“Heck, I shared a bedroom with you,” Hunt reminded him. “Did you think I was so self-involved that I wouldn’t notice the cuts on your arms or the way you tried to hide them by covering up the evidence with long sleeves, even in the summer?”
“Now that you mention it, between girls, baseball and cast-iron skillets you were fairly distracted in those days,” Cullen responded. “I guess I figured that since you never said anything, it meant you hadn’t noticed.”
“We figured out what you were doing, and we understood why,” Mac assured Cullen. “All four of us were devastated when we lost Daddy and Mama, but we each handled it in a different way. Hunt took to camping out over at Pap’s. Joiner took to horses and I took to numbers. Your way was the only one that was scary. So we told Alma.”
She laid a gentle hand on Cullen’s bare forearm where his sleeve was rolled up.
“That’s when I took you to see Dr. Dermer. She saved your sanity and maybe your life.”
Again, nods of agreement.
It was true. If Alma hadn’t gotten him into therapy, he might be in a padded cell today, or worse.
“You knew about that, too?” Cullen looked to his brothers for a response.
“Alma agreed to keep us posted as long as we kept our mouths shut and let the doctor guide you through the anxiety in a healthy way,” Joiner explained. “It’s a shame you still believe you have to hide the scars from us after all these years, but we understand.”
“So you didn’t find my flannel shirts fashion-forward, after all?” Cullen joked as the silent, heavy burden he’d carried for so long began to lift.
“Even I’m aware that flannel and fashion have no place in the same sentence,” Joiner responded.
“And that’s why you were so quick to get in the pool with Sarah’s girls the first weekend they came over.”
“I realized you couldn’t do it and they were dying for some horseplay.”
“Thank you, Joiner.” Cullen’s voice was husky as he realized once more how much his brothers meant to him.
“No need to thank me. A dip in your pool on a hot summer day isn’t exactly a hardship.”
“Speaking of Sarah, what happened last night that caused this fallout?” Mac ventured into the other dark place.
“She found out I was studying family dynamics and drew the conclusion that I was just using her and the girls to test my interest in pursuing a psychology degree.”
“Were you?” Alma asked.
“Of course not. But Sarah caught me off guard and before I could explain myself she started talking about her daddy and how he’d said the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree and that sooner or later I’d turn out like Pap.”
“You wait till the next time I see that viejo chisme at the farmer’s market. I’m gonna give him something to gossip about,” Alma fumed, her arms crossed over her bosom to block out the idea of anyone disrespecting her Temple boys.
“Maybe there’s something to what Sarah said. I’ve been lying to all of you for years, and creating a safe little world for myself where I wouldn’t have to deal with the truth.”
“That’s hardly reason to equate you with a guy who stole a few million barrels of oil,” Mac insisted.
“And now that you’ve admitted what you’ve been holding inside, it changes nothing about how much we love you, little brother,” Joiner added. “And if Sarah loves you, too, it won’t change what she feels, either.”
“Cullen, you’re the one who encouraged me to go for it with Gillian,” Hunt reminded his twin. “Now let me do the same for you. Sarah’s a special lady with adorable daughters. If you love them, then do more than study a family. Go be a family.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
IT WAS A good thing Cullen had been able to nap after Alma made them all a big family breakfast on Sunday, because he didn’t s
leep a wink that night. By five o’clock Monday morning he was showered, shaved and resolved to catch Sarah before she left for work and explain everything face-to-face. If she didn’t want him in their lives, at least he’d be sure. But he’d prayed throughout the night that she’d listen and maybe give him the benefit of the doubt.
The sun had only been up for a few minutes when he grabbed his keys and headed to the foyer. Rocket was already sitting at the door, his nose sniffing at the crack. An excited whimper and wag of his tail indicated there was something on the porch. The neighbor’s cat probably, as he knew Cullen was an easy mark for a handout.
“Scat!” Cullen hissed as he pulled the door wide.
But instead of a pesky, yellow tabby there was an auburn-haired beauty on his doorstep. Her bluebonnet eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, matching his own.
“Sounds like I’ve come at a bad time,” Sarah responded. “I realize it’s early but I wanted to catch you first thing.”
He watched for some sign that she’d be agreeable to the hug that would be so natural, but decided it was best to keep his instincts to himself.
“I was just about to leave.” He rattled his keys.
“Can you give me a few minutes? I won’t stay long.”
“Actually, I had the same goal, to talk to you before you left for work. Please, come inside.”
He stepped into the foyer and opened the door wide. As he watched Sarah pass, Cullen was aware of how small and fragile she seemed. Her carriage was normally confident and proud, but this morning her shoulders were slumped and her eyes were downcast. Whatever she had to say would only take a short while. His gut twisted; this couldn’t end well.
“I have coffee,” he offered as he followed her into his study.
“No, thanks.” Her reply was sad.
He blinked hard, willing himself to remain in control. Whatever the outcome, he would not break down, he would not fall apart.
Not again.
His family would get him through whatever lay ahead.
He saw Sarah glance toward the table where his notepad and textbook had been the night before, but those things were gone. The book was in back in the stack belonging to Blair and the legal pad had been tossed in the trash along with the Sunday newspaper. Some things shouldn’t be learned from books, shouldn’t be studied. Some things were meant to be experienced hands-on, up close and personal.
