by Cheryl Holt
"Your father," Jacquelyn spat, "was a deceitful, cheating dog, and I lived with it every day of my marriage. You will not paint me with that same brush."
Jacquelyn squeezed tighter, shaking Brittney as if she was a ragdoll, and as Brittney clutched Jacquelyn's wrist, hoping to free herself, Dustin rushed into the room and beat her to it.
"What on earth…?" he mumbled.
He yanked Jacquelyn away and pushed Brittney out of her reach.
Jacquelyn's animosity toward Brittney—never completely hidden—was plainly visible. If her mother had been holding a gun, Brittney would be dead on the floor.
"What is wrong with you two?" Dustin wedged himself between them so Jacquelyn couldn't attack Brittney again.
"Tell him," Brittney taunted. "Admit it! Admit it to him! Admit it to me!"
Jacquelyn was trembling, breathing hard—as if she was a boxer in the ring. "I'll make you sorry for this," she informed Brittney. "The rest of your life, I'll make you sorry. I'll get even with Ken Scott too."
"There's nothing you can do to me, and from now on, I'll always protect Ken. Go threaten someone who's afraid of you, because it isn't me."
"Who is Ken Scott?" Dustin asked. "Is that the old guy over at Matt Monroe's? I just came from there. He's harmless."
"I guess it depends on your definition of the word," Jacquelyn said. "He's a drunk and a liar."
"Why are you fighting over him?"
Brittney steeled herself, feeling as if she was leaping over that cliff a second time.
"Ken Scott is my biological father."
Dustin scowled. "Your…what?"
"My father." She nodded at Jacquelyn. "She had an affair with him."
"No, no"—Dustin frowned—"that can't be right."
"It is."
"Where did you hear that?"
"Ken told me."
"You believed him? He's so full of shit, Brittney."
"No, he's not."
"He was trying to upset you. They looked broke as hell. He's probably thinking he could persuade you to cough up some cash."
"It doesn't always come down to money, Dustin. Some situations are exactly what they appear to be." Suddenly, her knees were too weak to support her. She stumbled over to a chair and eased herself down. "I had a sister I never met. She was killed in a car wreck. And I have a nephew. I have a whole new family that cares about me."
At the pronouncement, the world seemed to stop spinning. Silence filled the room. The three of them gawked at one another, struggling to find a remark that could adequately address what she'd said, but there was no appropriate comment.
After a lengthy, awkward interval, Jacquelyn squared her shoulders and faced Dustin.
"Your sister is crazy," she stated, "and I have no wish to continue dealing with her when she's in this condition. I'm flying back to Santa Fe."
"Good," Brittney muttered.
"Call me a car," she ordered Dustin. "I'd like to leave immediately, and I am never—I repeat: never!—returning to this accursed house again. Nothing worthwhile ever happens while I'm in it. Brittney, don't send me an invitation to your wedding. For it will be a waste of a stamp."
"There won't be a wedding," Brittney said.
"Lucky for Andrew," Jacquelyn sneered, "that he escaped in the nick of time."
She marched out, her regal attitude on full display. Brittney and Dustin were frozen in place, listening as she tromped down the stairs. Eventually, her strides faded.
"What do you need?" Dustin inquired into the quiet that followed. "What should I do?"
"I have to head over to Ken's. I need to apologize for the trouble we caused, but I'm a little shaken up. Could you drive me?"
He tsked with dismay. "Don't go over there."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You've had a terrible shock. Just…take a few days. Figure out what you want."
"I know what I want."
"It can't be this guy and his family. That can't be your choice."
"Why can't it be? Am I better off here? Maybe you'd prefer that I fly to Santa Fe with Jacquelyn. I could stay in her guest bedroom. She's always been so kind to me. I'm sure I'd be welcome."
"Let's talk to Lucas. Let's ask his advice before you run off half-cocked. Or how about Amy? She's the most sensible person I've ever met."
Brittney stared at him, wondering how they could be siblings, but really have no link, no bond.
"You have blue eyes," she murmured.
"Yes…I do," he slowly agreed.
"My eyes are green. My hair is blond. Weren't you ever curious why I was so different from the rest of you?"
"No, because you're not different. You're one of us, and I don't care what preposterous story some lonely old man is telling."
"Now that we've learned the truth about my parentage, will you and Lucas demand that I give up my inheritance?"
"What? No! Jacquelyn is right: You have absolutely fallen off the deep end. Get a grip."
"I've never belonged in this family, and now, I'm even more confused. Where do I belong?"
"Well, you certainly won't gain any clarity by racing off to hang with Matt Monroe and Ken Scott. You have to suspect their motives. If you won't question their intentions, I'll question them for you."
"Suspect their motives? Isn't that what you said about Faith—when Lucas started to like her so much? Isn't that what Jacquelyn said about Amy when you announced you were marrying her?" Her shoulders sagged with weariness. She felt beat up, as if she'd been pummeled with baseball bats. "Ken doesn't have a motive—except to spend some time with me before he dies."
"What if you're wrong?"
"I'm not."
"What about Andrew? Where does he fit into all of this?"
"He doesn't fit anywhere."
She pushed herself to her feet and walked out.
Her brother didn't want to drive her to Ken's? Fine.
It wasn't the first time Dustin had failed her, and it wouldn't be the last. She was on her own—as she'd always been. With Ken's revelations still rocking her, she finally understood why life with the Merriweathers had been an uphill battle. No matter how hard she'd tried, or how fervently she'd yearned to be one of them, it was a futile quest.
In a world where being a Merriweather was the only thing that counted, she was only half a Merriweather. She was only half of what they insisted she be.
She'd find her own damn ride to Ken's.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"What happened to your eye?"
Matt shrugged. "Somebody hit me."
Brittney gasped. "Who? A cop?"
She reached up as if she might touch the black-and-blue swelling, but he leaned away so she couldn't. He was so glad to see her, and he would kill to have her gently stroke his brow.
But he wasn't about to walk down that road.
"It was no big deal," he claimed. "I was being an asshole; I deserved it. Don't worry about it."
"I will worry about it, thank you very much. Don't tell me how to act, Monroe."
She studied the jail, looking very much as if she might storm inside and raise a fuss, which he'd never let her do.
After the ruckus with the police arriving, where he and Ken were shoved around like a couple of terrorists, he just wanted to go home, lock himself in, and stay there forever.
The entire debacle only underscored the reasons he shouldn't have brought her to meet Ken in the first place.
Ken had convinced himself that a marvelous outcome could be achieved by telling the truth, but some secrets simply shouldn't be spoken of aloud. Some secrets were best left buried beneath years of lies and deception.
Ken had had his moment in the sun with her, and where had it landed them?
A yard full of cops—guns drawn. Jeremy terrified. Ken wheezing with respiratory distress. Bullhorns and sirens and barking dogs and shouted orders and the neighbors gaping with condemnation.
The worst part was when Brittney's brothers had shown up to throw their weight
around. It was so aggravating how an important last name could rivet everyone's attention.
Matt and Ken had been treated like criminals, like the poor people they were. Their word had held no sway against the likes of rich, prominent Lucas and Dustin Merriweather.
Matt was mad at the whole world. Mad at Ken for having an affair with Jacquelyn Merriweather. Mad at Brittney for being born. Mad at her brothers for wanting to protect her.
Most of all, he was mad at himself for letting her spend a few days with them. She'd fit in so easily, as if she belonged with them. Jeremy liked her. Ken loved her. And he, Matt…Matt…
He shook his head to clear it.
The first officers on the porch had been rough and angry, and Matt had been incensed by their swagger. When they'd yanked on his arm, he'd behaved like a jerk, so he'd been pounded into the ground, arrested, and hauled off to jail. He was furious and ashamed.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"I'm the wonderful person who bailed you out, but from that sour expression on your face, maybe I should have left you to rot."
She'd brought a limo, complete with uniformed chauffeur. The man was holding the rear door open for Matt.
There was nothing she could have done that would have more thoroughly emphasized the differences between them, that would have more thoroughly antagonized him.
"Let's go," she said.
"Where?"
"To Ken's. Where do you think?"
"Is he okay?"
"He claims he is, but he didn't feel good enough to ride down here with me." She gestured to the car. "Come on. I don't like hanging around here. I'm afraid they might change their mind and drag you back into a cell."
She moved as if she'd climb in, but it immediately became apparent that he didn't intend to follow her.
They stared and stared, then she stepped in so they were toe to toe. She was dressed as the heiress she was, in designer jeans, boots, and denim jacket, with lots of gold bangles and earrings. Her sunglasses cost more than he and Ken earned in a month.
She looked beautiful and sexy and aggrieved.
"What's wrong?" She yanked away the sunglasses so he could see her pretty green eyes flashing daggers.
He had so many choices of what was wrong that he didn't know where to start.
"Nothing."
"Then get in the car, Monroe. I won't argue about it."
He'd love to get in, to let her take charge for a bit and shower him with sympathy, but he couldn't do it. From how she was grinning, as if it was a big joke, she probably had a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket.
On the ride home, they'd pop the cork and drink themselves silly, but the road led to only one location: Ken's rundown house on their rundown street.
Once they arrived, then what?
For the moment, she was fascinated by the notion of Ken and what he represented. A caring father. A family where the members would be glad to have her. A spot where she could finally be welcome.
But how long would she remain fascinated? How long would she stay?
It had to be intriguing for her to see how the other half lived, to be part of it for awhile and pretend she was someone other than who she was. She was like an actress, playing a role in a movie.
Jeremy would grow attached to her. So would Ken. Where would they be when she left? And Matt had no doubt she would. Sooner rather than later.
With Emily's death, Ken and Jeremy had already suffered too many losses, and Matt was determined that they not be crushed again. But they weren't the only ones for whom he was concerned.
He was sickened to admit that he was most afraid for himself. He was afraid of her coming to their home, because he couldn't imagine how he'd survive her leaving.
Initially, he'd told himself that he'd seduced her to lure her to Ken, but he was only fooling himself. He'd proceeded because he was desperate to keep her for his own.
His powerful yearning was fueling his own insane fantasies: that she might fall in love with him, that he might love her in return, that they could live happily ever after. Yet he knew that love and romance were a fallacy. There was no such thing.
He'd always been on the outside looking in, and bitter experience had taught him that there was no reason to bond with others. People let you down. People left. People changed.
It was easier to be alone.
His sole abiding connection to another human being was with Ken, and it had only occurred because Ken had pushed and pushed and pushed. Michael was dead, but Ken was still there, Jeremy dangled between them to make Matt see how it could be.
Like a toddler taking his first steps, he was learning his way.
He wasn't so deluded that he thought he could convince Brittney to stay with them. What did he have to offer a woman like her? Absolutely nothing.
His enormous pride wouldn't allow him to be her charity case. He was a broken shell of a man who could barely work or support his small family. The chip on his shoulder was the size of Jupiter, and she likely assumed she could bat it away by tossing money at him.
She'd buy him clothes and cars and all the things that—to her—symbolized a great and comfortable life. She'd spend her fortune spoiling him, as if he was the flavor of the month.
Until she got tired of it. Until she moved on to other, more amusing endeavors.
He didn't want her money. He didn't want her help. He didn't want to be beholden, where every little penny came from her. A man couldn't win in such an unequal equation.
He had to protect himself from her best intentions. He had to protect Ken and Jeremy.
As a kid growing up in the worst of circumstances, he'd often been extremely cruel, but he'd believed himself to have matured, to have set aside his more malicious tendencies. But evidently, some behaviors couldn't be tamped down. They fit like a glove.
"Brittney…" He sighed and stared up at the sky, as if trying to find the right words. "I need to tell you something."
"What is it?"
"You have to listen to me."
"I'm listening, I'm listening."
"This nonsense has gone on long enough."
"What nonsense?"
He gazed into her beautiful eyes, studying her, committing her face to memory so he'd never forget.
"Ken was lying to you."
"About what?"
"About…well, everything."
"That's not true." She looked terribly hurt. "Why would you say that?"
"It is true. I'm sorry."
She meticulously scrutinized him, then charged, "You're such a liar."
"No, I'm not. We had this idea. We were broke, and we decided to run a scam on you."
"A scam?" she scoffed.
"He actually had worked for your dad years ago, and when your engagement announcement was in the paper, he'd been drinking and he got to talking…"
"Really?"
"He remembered enough about your parents that he thought he could suck up to you, that he could tell you what you needed to hear."
"Why would I want to hear that he'd had an affair with my mother? Why would I want to hear that David Merriweather wasn't my father?" She gestured to the car again. "Stop being stupid. Get in, and let's go home."
He kept on as if she hadn't spoken. "His original plan was to blackmail you, but I persuaded him that he could wind up in legal trouble. So he agreed to hit you up for cash instead. He figured if he played on your sympathies, you could be coerced into forking over quite a lot."
"Why are you acting like this?"
"Be honest, Brittney. Haven't you considered helping him? You saw how we live. What will you buy him? Some new furniture? Maybe have the house painted? Put on a new roof? Food. What else?"
He knew her so well. She scowled with dismay, an indication that he'd mentioned many items she'd already imagined purchasing.
"I have no idea why you're behaving this way," she scolded, but she wasn't nearly as confident as she had been.
"After today, with the cop
s and all, I have to call a halt. You don't know Ken. You don't know what he's like. The guy you met doesn't exist."
"Doesn't exist?" she sneered. "Okay, Matt, I give up. What's he like?"
"He was on the take. He didn't retire; he was fired."
"He was not!" she loyally insisted.
"He's a con artist, so he certainly has the skills to swindle a lonely, forlorn princess who's too gullible for her own good."
His use of the word princess rattled her, and her demeanor altered. She was questioning herself, her assumptions, which was where he'd deliberately led her.
"I can't let this continue," he said. "If your brothers find out, there'll be hell to pay, but Jeremy and I will be the ones who have to pay it. I won't go there with you. I want this to be over."
She appeared smaller, as if he was striking her with his comments, as if he was killing her a bit with every blow.
"I'm getting a DNA test," she declared, "to learn for sure."
"It would be a waste of time and money."
"What about that picture of Emily? I look just like her."
"That wasn't Emily. We tricked you."
"Jeremy said it was her."
"Jeremy would do anything for Ken."
The remark was so callous and cold that he worried she might collapse.
As he'd feared, she had this whole dream built up in her mind where she would be Ken's savior, where she would rescue them. But they didn't need saving, and Matt refused to let himself love her.
"I believed you guys," she murmured. "I believed it all."
"I know, and I apologize for that." He nodded to her car. "Now why don't you hop into your limo"—he jeered so she'd see how pretentious he found her to be—"and drive back to your mansion where you belong?"
"Where are you going?"
"I have to head home and clean up Ken's mess."
"But…but…"
"There's a bus stop on the corner, and I have cash in my wallet. I can find my own ride."
He spun and strolled away, and though his entire being was screaming for him to turn around, to confess his lies and beg her forgiveness, he never looked back.
* * *
"Andrew!"
Brittney's cab had just pulled up in front of the building where his Manhattan office was located. As she was stepping out, he'd exited onto the sidewalk and hurried off in the other direction. He was bundled up, as if in disguise, wearing a coat, sunglasses, and fedora. With the brim tugged down to conceal his face, she almost didn't recognize him.
