by EMILIE ROSE
“No!” Hannah spoke so loudly that the other mothers looked up from their gadgets. She didn’t know why she felt so strongly against the introduction. “He’s not your type. He doesn’t go dancing or hang out in bars.”
At least he hadn’t back when he and Rick had been friends.
“He’s a desk jockey?”
With that body? Not likely. “He’s a cop who worked with Rick, remember?”
“Then he’s my type. And who are we kidding? I’ll consider any man who is relatively intelligent, gainfully employed and in decent shape.”
The problem was, Lucy might do more than date Brandon. And then Hannah would have to hear about the physical side of their relationship in excruciating detail. No, thanks. She turned away from Lucy. “Oh look. They’re practicing pirouettes. Aren’t they adorable?”
She could feel Lucy watching her, but she didn’t turn or do anything else to encourage the conversation. This class couldn’t end soon enough. But once it did, she’d be going home to Brandon. To Mason, she hastily corrected. To Mason. Brandon was just a temporary affliction she must endure until she figured out what was going on with her son.
* * *
THE STORM THAT the day’s humidity had promised broke loose on the drive home. As if she wasn’t stressed enough about seeing Brandon again, Hannah had to fight through almost zero visibility and pounding water on the roads, grabbing and pulling her tires. She needed new wiper blades and tires. Pushing that worry aside, she pulled into the garage, heaved a sigh of relief and wiggled her fingers. They were cramped from having a death grip on the wheel.
Belle sprang from the car and sprinted into the house. Her daughter ran everywhere. Where did she find the energy? Hannah followed more slowly, pausing a moment to register the lack of water falling over the open door before she pushed the button to close it. She passed through the laundry room and dropped her purse on the kitchen counter.
The aroma of Italian food assailed her, making her wish she’d eaten more than a salad after dance class. She hustled to the den where Belle was chattering nonstop and demonstrating the new steps she’d learned tonight for Mason and Brandon. Both males reclined on the couch with an open, empty pizza box on the coffee table. Mason was wearing different clothes now and looked like he’d had a shower.
Brandon’s smiling gaze transferred from Belle to Hannah, and a surge of...something...shot through her. Relief that Mason looked relaxed and content instead of combative. That was all it was.
Brandon rose. “She’s quite a talented ballerina.”
“Yes,” was the only thing Hannah could squeeze out through her tight throat. Why did his smile and gentlemanly manners make it hard to breathe? Then she realized it was because his jeans were damp and clinging to his—Ahem.
“We saved some garlic knots for you. They’re keeping warm in the oven,” he said.
She looked at the box and recognized the familiar logo. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation and her mouth watered. “From Giuseppe’s? I haven’t eaten there in years.”
He turned to Mason. “Your mom was bloodthirsty. She used to threaten me with bodily harm if I ate the last garlic knot.”
The pressure in her chest increased. “That was a long time ago.”
He shrugged. “They’re as good as they used to be.”
Mason perked up. “Brandon said we had to save the rest for you. But if you don’t want ’em...” He started to rise.
“I do.”
“Dang.” Her son flopped back down, a picture of total dejection.
Brandon cut him a look. “How can you have room for more food?”
Mason grinned, looking so much like the sweet child she loved that it choked Hannah up all over again. “I’m a growing boy. And man, you worked me hard.”
Which reminded her... “I see my gutter is fixed and draining properly.”
“You should have been here, Mom. Right after we finished, a big bolt of lightning lit up the sky, then it thundered so loud it sounded like a bomb went off. The ladders rattled. We barely got the tools into Brandon’s truck before the bottom fell out. We got soaked!”
That explained the shower and clean clothes. Her son’s sullen attitude was gone. Brandon had managed a miracle. “Thank you for your work. Both of you.”
“I put the wet towels in the washer,” Brandon added. “Added to the stuff you already had in there, it was enough to run a load. So we did.”
“The machine’s pretty easy to work,” her son, who had never done a load of laundry in his life, volunteered. “Brandon showed me how. And he says I can help him with more stuff if you’ll give him a project list.”
It took a moment for her brain to recover from the shock of her son being eager to do chores. “Um... I’ll work on that.”
She didn’t want to be beholden to Brandon or have him hanging around her house or washing her clothes. Asking for help with Mason had been hard enough. And that was all she wanted from him. But how could she refuse when her son sounded so happy about being included? And then the guilt kicked in again. He needed a man’s influence. And she couldn’t give him that.
“Did you finish your homework?”
Mason’s crestfallen expression revealed his answer before he mumbled, “Most of it. All I have left is math.”
“Get to it.”
He slouched out of the room. Thunder shook the house, drowning out the sound of Mason’s heavy footsteps tromping up the stairs. The lights flickered.
Then because she couldn’t handle more of Brandon’s silent smiles she turned to her daughter. “Belle, you need to have your bath and get ready for bed. Go on up. I’ll be there right after I see out our guest.”
“But, Mom, can’t Occifer Brandon tuck me in?”
“No.”
“Sure,” he replied simultaneously.
Hannah shook her head. She needed him gone. “You don’t have to do that. I know you need to get ready for work tomorrow.”
“I can stick around until after you give Belle her bath. A few more minutes won’t kill me. It might even give the worst of the storm time to pass.”
Suddenly, she felt mean for wanting to throw him out into the deluge. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I have a niece and nephew, twins who just turned four. I can handle reading a bedtime story.”
“Yippee!” Belle charged upstairs before Hannah could come up with an excuse.
The lights blinked again and Brandon frowned. “Do you have frequent outages?”
“Enough.”
“Where do you keep your flashlights? I’ll get them out in case you lose power while you give the ballerina a bath.”
“In the laundry room drawer, but I usually use the hurricane lamps on the mantel. Matches are with the flashlights. What did you find out from Mason?”
“Very little. Gathering info is a finesse job. It’ll take time, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. Do you know the families who live on the street behind you?”
“No. Why?”
“Mason kept checking the woods. I’ll see what I can get on your neighbors.”
“Why?”
“Just a hunch.”
“What kind of a hunch?”
“Nothing concrete.”
The lights went out before she could press for more. Belle cried, “Mommy!”
Brandon pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and hit the flashlight app. Hannah had left hers in her purse on the kitchen counter.
“Wait here. I’ll get you a light.” He left and returned a moment later with a box of matches. “Your flashlight batteries are dead. Do you have more?”
“Mason dropped the flashlight the night he tried to sneak out. I suspect it’s the bulb.”
After lighting the kerosene lamps, he handed her one. “Take care of Belle. You have c
ity water and a gas water heater. She can still have her bath. I’ll check on Mason.”
Of course Brandon knew all the details about her house. He’d been a huge part of the purchase process. If not for him, she would never have been able to convince Rick to buy the old home she’d fallen in love with the moment she’d seen it. Brandon had been the one to shadow the inspector, and when Rick had been daunted by the amount of work the house needed, Brandon had pointed out that the previous owners had already done all the expensive renovations, leaving only cosmetic projects incomplete. He’d helped Rick make and prioritize the renovation list.
That Brandon had been such a huge part of their lives had made his failure to protect Rick even more difficult to comprehend.
They climbed the wide stairs side by side. Wind rattled the windows and whistled under the eaves. It was comforting to have someone else here to help with the weather this nasty. And that was crazy, because she’d handled every previous outage just fine by herself. She pushed that feeling aside, and on the landing, they went in opposite directions—her to her daughter, him to her son.
After giving Belle her bath and dressing her for bed, Hannah left the lamp on the table and headed for Mason’s room. Brandon had one hip parked on the corner of her son’s desk. Both he and Mason looked comfortable together. Even though she hadn’t made a sound Brandon looked up. “He has Rick’s head for numbers.”
“Yes. He does. Belle has picked out her book. She’s waiting for you. I’ll take over here.”
He rose and crossed the room. Their shoulders brushed as he passed, and static electricity zapped her, making her gasp. Brandon paused and their gazes met in the darkened room. The electricity between them had to be due to the storm. She hustled to Mason’s side and settled in to check homework, but her thoughts were anything but settled. She kept listening for sounds from Belle’s room.
Finally, Mason closed his book. “He’s pretty cool. Brandon, I mean. I can see why Dad would have wanted to be his friend. He knows stuff.”
She didn’t want her son comparing the men and have Rick come up short. “Yes. He does. But your daddy did, too. He was smart in a different way.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m going to leave the light with you. Be careful. It’s an open flame and fuel—”
“Moooom, I know!”
She returned to Belle’s room but paused outside the door to listen as Brandon read a much-loved tale using different voices for each character. Undetected, she observed the reflection of the man and child in the bed via the mirror hanging over Belle’s dresser.
Brandon was propped against the headboard, book in hand, looking as if he belonged there. His long legs, crossed at his ankles, were on top of the quilt revealing his sock-covered feet. Her daughter lay trustingly beside him with her folded hands beneath her cheek, eyes heavy lidded and close to sleep. A pang of yearning hit Hannah so hard it took her breath. Rick used to read in bed, and Hannah had often fallen asleep at his side.
How would it feel to be curled against Brandon’s side as trustingly as Belle? She shook her head. Thoughts like that were disloyal to Rick. Her husband had never known the simple joy of reading stories to his daughter. He’d been killed on the eve of Belle’s first birthday. Pain and regret rolled through her.
Then she realized Brandon had gone silent. She caught him watching her in the mirror and she couldn’t look away. Her pulse quickened. Why? Why did he have this effect on her?
He closed the book and eased from the bed. After gently covering Belle, he gathered his boots off the floor and the lamp from the table and joined her in the hall.
“She’s out, but she fought it,” he whispered. Lamplight and hushed voices engulfed them in intimacy.
His attention shifted behind her—to her bedroom. It lingered, scanned. Lightning flashed, illuminating her bed and the half-dozen throw pillows that hadn’t been there when he’d last slept in that same bed. Lord, she didn’t need to think about him between those same sheets.
Then his gaze swung back to her. The flickering light picked out the golden flecks in his irises. She felt vulnerable even though he couldn’t possibly know that her obsession with pillows was because she couldn’t bear to sleep in an empty bed.
He lifted his arm, the one holding the light. Her breath caught. An image of Brandon propped against her headboard flashed in her mind. Only in this picture his chest was bare and his legs were beneath the covers. Heat rushed through her.
The atmosphere changed, becoming as electrically charged as the storm raging outside. Her heart pounded harder, but it was barely audible over the thunder rumbling the house.
“After you,” he said.
What was wrong with her? He was indicating the stairs, not the bedroom. She blamed her unwelcome thoughts on her conversation with Lucy. She did not want Brandon. Not in that way. She had to get him out of her house. She turned and quickly descended the stairs. On silent feet he followed her, the edge of his circle of light nipping at her heels. In the foyer he set the lamp on the console table and stepped into his work boots.
“So you’ve read bedtime stories before,” she said to break the awkwardly intimate silence.
“I read to the twins sometimes when they stay with my folks to give Mom a break. And, once in a while, I get suckered into reading at the library on Cops and Kids day.”
She’d like to see that. No! She wouldn’t. “Why aren’t you married with children of your own by now, Brandon?”
He finished tying his laces then straightened, looming over her in the murky light. The corners of his mouth curved downward. “Two reasons. My job—you, more than anyone, know the risks that entails—and my dad.”
Yes, she knew the dangers of police work. And she needed to remember them. Right now. “What does your father have to do with anything?”
“He has Parkinson’s disease. It’s not believed to be hereditary, but the doctors can’t be certain of the cause. One day he’ll need ’round the clock care for his most basic needs. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
She was familiar with the disease and had worked with several afflicted patients in the past. “What stage is he in now?”
“Stage two. He’s still mostly independent, but he’s starting to need help. Not that he’s willing to admit that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is. You play the hand you’re dealt. You’ve done a good job of that, Hannah. Mason and Belle are great kids.”
The praise, something she heard so rarely, choked her up, made her eyes burn. But she would not cry in front of Brandon. “I wish Rick was here to see them.”
Brandon’s flinch stabbed her with guilt. She hadn’t intentionally used the spiteful barb to push him away, but distance between them was for the best. When she’d seen him so comfortable with Mason and then again with Belle he’d made her ache for something she would never have again. A partner, someone with whom she could share the joys and burdens of parenthood.
That wind-down period at the end of the day when you rehashed what had happened and planned for the future was tough. That was when loneliness enveloped her. And, yes, as much as she’d tried to deny it, she did miss intimacy. But taking a lover as casually as Lucy did just wasn’t part of her makeup.
Brandon’s lips compressed. “Make your project list, Hannah. I’ll be back. And we’ll get to the bottom of what’s troubling Mason.”
Chapter Five
BRANDON THREW DOWN his pen in disgust late Friday afternoon, pushed back from his desk and stabbed his fingers through his hair. He had shit for brains today. He’d tried repeatedly to focus on the case files on his desk, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t wipe what he’d seen Wednesday night from his mind.
For a split second while standing on the landing outside Hannah’s bedroom something hotter than the hurricane lamp’s flame had flickered in H
annah’s eyes. Want. Need. Hunger. And for the span of a dozen racing heartbeats, he’d been tempted to give her what she desired. Because he’d wanted it, too. Then he’d come to his senses. He’d tried blaming the heat in her eyes on the reflection of the lamp’s fire. But he wasn’t buying it.
Circumstances were throwing them together and causing the craziness. It had been five years and she didn’t date. That meant she didn’t have sex. She needed a man. Any man. Except him—the man she blamed for her husband’s death. It didn’t matter that she needed his help with Mason right now, a basic distrust—because he’d let her down, because he’d let Rick down—lay just below the surface.
His dry spell hadn’t been nearly as long as hers, but it had obviously been too long if he was looking at Rick’s wife that way. He needed to rectify the situation. He reached for his phone but didn’t pick it up. He had no interest in dialing any of the numbers in his contact list, and he wasn’t interested in a casual pickup.
As if his thoughts had activated the device, his cell phone vibrated on the desk. He glanced at the screen. He had a text message from his mother.
Hello, dear. Jessamine and Logan are flying into town for the weekend. We’re going to have an impromptu cookout. Are you able to attend?
His mother’s habit of always texting in complete sentences and with proper grammar made him smile. His youngest sister and her new husband lived in the Florida Keys. He didn’t get to see them often. He liked Logan, his brother-in-law, but a guy always had to keep an eye out for his baby sister’s welfare.
Depends on day and time. Helping Hannah, he tapped back.
Hannah? Are you dating someone new?
He cringed. He could practically feel her excitement even though they were miles apart. She’d made it clear she wanted more grandchildren. He’d also made it clear they wouldn’t be coming from him. But she wasn’t listening.
Rick’s Hannah.
I thought she wasn’t speaking to you?
His parents had been at the funeral and witnessed the blowup.
