by EMILIE ROSE
That garnered him one of the boy’s famous eye rolls. “Right. Like you’re going to get real information about sex from your mother or a teacher. All they say is don’t do it.”
“True. And it’s hard to ask questions in front of your classmates. I get that.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “My dad told me what I needed to know. It was still embarrassing, but less painful than talking to my mom would have been. I can answer your questions, if you want.”
Mason said nothing.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“A guy friend?”
“Jeez! No!”
“Some middle school kids experiment with sex.”
Mason slouched and mumbled, “Oh, brother.”
“But it’s not worth the risk of being a parent at ten or twelve. It happens. Our state ranks eleventh in the nation for teen pregnancy. Did you know that? You need to get your facts straight. Other kids often don’t.”
Mason’s expression turned even more pained. “Are we done yet?”
The kid couldn’t be half as uncomfortable as Brandon. Brandon had never had to have this discussion with anyone other than Rick, whose parents had handed him a book on the topic. But the dry medical manual hadn’t been half as interesting as the old dusty box of men’s magazines in the neighbor’s barn. So Brandon understood curiosity and sneaking around to satisfy it. Those magazines had been eye-opening, to say the least.
And if this was only curiosity, as Mason claimed, then Brandon would respect the boy’s confidence. “If you promise me you’ll stay off the porn sites and come to me if you need information or have questions, then I won’t report this to your mom.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Yes. You do. You can give me your word, and I’ll give you mine. Or I take this to your mom.” He stuck out his hand.
Mason, after a noticeable hesitation, put his in it. “Okay. Yeah.”
“Your mom told me she had installed parental controls to keep you off unauthorized sites. I knew you were pretty good with a computer, but how did you get around those?”
The boy blanched instead of boasting of his prowess as Brandon had expected. “I don’t know. I just clicked on a link, and...it came up.”
“Where’d you find the link?” Silence. “In a SPAM email?” The kid remained mute. “Did someone send it to you?” Brandon caught a tiny twitch. “Who?”
Mason jumped off the bed. “I don’t remember.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No. I deleted it. A long time ago. I gotta take a shower before Mom gets home.” Then he hustled out and shut the bathroom door. The lock clicked.
Brandon wanted to believe the kid was simply curious. But something about the whole encounter bugged him. He checked the computer’s drop-down URL history. As expected, it had been erased. He hesitated before checking Mason’s mail folder. But to keep the kid safe, the intrusion was justified.
Mason didn’t have many emails, and none of those had links. They were all recent and his deleted file had been cleared. Nothing dated back several months to the time when Hannah said the behavior issues had started.
Without the software to search for erased material he had no leads. But if he took the computer in for forensics work, he’d have to explain his action to Hannah and his supervisor. He didn’t like keeping secrets from Hannah, and if this was simply boyhood inquisitiveness, then he didn’t need to worry her. She had enough on her plate. But if it was something else...
He shook his head, shut down the device and carried it downstairs. Telling her about tonight’s adventures meant having to admit he’d installed the software. Against his better judgment, he was going to give Mason the benefit of the doubt this time. But if it happened again, all bets were off.
One thing was certain. He wasn’t uninstalling the program tonight. In the meantime, he would have to be more vigilant. If Hannah thought he’d hung around too much before, she’d definitely object to how much he was planning on being around in the future.
Chapter Thirteen
HANNAH’S HEART BOUNDED like a jackrabbit when she spotted Brandon’s truck in her driveway. A beehive of emotions whirled in her abdomen. Despite the decision to let him into their lives, she wasn’t ready to see him again.
“Uncle Brandon’s here! Hurry, Mommy. Hurry.”
Belle bounced in her seat until Hannah stopped the minivan in the garage then she threw off her seat belt, bounded from the vehicle and ran into the kitchen. Hannah followed more slowly.
“Uncle Brandon!” Belle streaked to Brandon’s side and hurled herself at him. Hannah caught a glimpse of his fierce expression before it melted into a smile for her daughter. He scooped up Belle and gave her a hug. “Hello, princess.”
The tension in the room was palpable. Kim sat on the couch with arms wrapped around her folded knees. Her eyes were wide and her face was the color of vellum. Brandon stood by the fireplace. His hazel gaze met Hannah’s over her daughter’s head as he set Belle down. He nodded but something about him looked...intimidating despite the smile stretching his lips. “Hannah.”
The flash of white teeth looked forced. Concern twined through her. “What’s wrong? Where’s Mason?”
“He’s fine and in the shower,” Brandon answered.
She searched the faces, one pale and pinched, one stern with a slight crease between his eyebrows. “Then what’s going on?”
“I was entertaining Kim with stories about some of the cases I’ve worked.”
Hannah knew from the wariness chasing across the girl’s face that wasn’t the whole truth as sure as she knew her own name.
Kim jumped up and stuffed her feet into her sandals. “I guess I’d better get going.” Her uneasy gaze flitted to Brandon. “If that’s all, sir?”
Brandon inclined his head. “Be careful.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hannah escorted the sitter to the front door and paid her. “Kim, is everything okay?”
Kim’s eyes widened—too wide. “Umm...yes, ma’am. Mason behaved and did his homework. Bye, Mrs. Leith.” Then she sprinted to her car and drove away.
Something about her chipper attitude didn’t ring true. Hannah returned to the den. Brandon stood with his elbow on the mantel and his ankles crossed while Belle chattered excitedly about the party, the cake and the boy who threw up in the bounce house. His pose looked relaxed, but like the other night, she saw too many contradictory signs to believe it. Tension tightened his jaw and shoulders.
“Belle, get ready for bed,” she said when her daughter paused for air.
“But Mommy, I wanted to tell Uncle Brandon about the creepy clown.”
“You can tell him another time. Go on. Get into your pajamas and pick out your book.”
“What about my bath?”
“It’s late. It will have to wait until morning. I’ll be up in a minute.”
Belle wilted like a flower then slinked out of the room. Hannah waited until she heard footsteps reach the upstairs landing then turned to the man in question. “Why did Kim take off like a scalded cat?”
“She didn’t ask for ID before letting me go upstairs to see Mason. So I just gave her a few examples of why she needed to be more cautious in the future.”
Rick had never discussed cases with her. He’d insisted that he dealt with ugliness all day, and he didn’t want to drag it into his house. She couldn’t imagine the stories Brandon must have told to put that look on the girl’s face.
He was wearing the standard black polo and tactical pants with his badge still clipped to his belt. He must have come straight from work, but other than the shadow darkening his jaw, he looked sharp. “You’re in uniform. Maybe that’s why she...”
“Plenty of bad guys masquerade as law enforcement.”
True. “I hope you didn’t s
care her so badly that she won’t sit for me again. The kids love her and she’s dependable.”
“You don’t want her here if she puts them at risk.” His protective tone sounded more like a father than a friend. Then his lips twitched. “Did you enjoy the cake?”
Then she recalled how she’d looked when she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the restroom mirror before leaving the party. She’d had bright blue icing in her hair and smeared on her shirt. “All the icing I am now wearing is a perk of helping with twenty-five cupcake-eating children. I didn’t know you were coming over.”
“I wanted to talk to Mason.”
“About?”
“I’ll need his help with a project for Belle’s room.”
Had she imagined a hesitation before he answered? “What kind of project?”
“I want to build a rotating dress-up stand for all of Belle’s costumes. My sisters had something similar when they were small.”
Why couldn’t he get the message that she hated being in his debt? “Like I’ve said before, please stop spending money on us.”
“I’m using salvaged materials. One of my tenants left behind a narrow wooden bookcase and a back-of-the-door mirror. I have some casters we can mount on the base. Once Mason and I put it all together then Belle can paint it with leftover pink from her room.”
Hannah stifled her objections. Belle would love it, and Mason would enjoy the construction. “Okay. We’ll work out a time to do it.”
“Sunday afternoon.”
Her breath caught. She didn’t know how to do this friendship thing with someone who made her nervous and jittery. He took up a lot of space and a lot of oxygen. “Sure. Sunday. If that’s all, I need to get Mason and Belle to bed.”
He didn’t take the hint to leave. “Leah’s taking the twins to our parents’ to pick strawberries tomorrow morning. She wants you, Belle and Mason to join them. Then the farrier is coming after lunch. Mom thought Belle might like to see how horses get new shoes.”
That was how normal families operated. A sense of yearning filled Hannah. Other than her marriage to Rick, she’d never lived what most would consider a normal life, and she wanted that for her children. But Brandon’s family wasn’t hers, and she couldn’t be sure how long this would last.
“It’s a long way to drive for berries.”
“The kids will get to ride the horses after lunch.”
Belle would be over the moon with excitement. How could she deny her that opportunity? “Will you be there?”
Her pulse fluttered irregularly at the prospect.
He shook his head. “Doubtful. I’m in the middle of something.”
Work, she suspected. Rick had often had to work weekends. The sinking feeling wasn’t disappointment. It was fear. Brandon still did the job that had taken Rick from her. It was a sobering reminder that he was off-limits no matter what her hormones did when he was around, and so was his family, but... “Belle and Mason would love to spend the morning with Eva and Evan at the orchard.”
“I’ll tell Mom to expect you around ten.” He pushed off the mantel and headed toward the front door. “Good night, Hannah.”
Then he was gone, and the house fell silent. Solitude was what she wanted, wasn’t it? So why, after years of being contented, did she suddenly feel like something was missing? She shook it off and headed upstairs. She had her children, and that was all she needed. And tomorrow they’d get to experience the kind of family outing Hannah had dreamed about as a child—even if it wasn’t their family.
* * *
“WHEN ARE YOU going to realize that Hannah is not Rick’s girl anymore?” Brandon’s father asked from the passenger seat of the pickup as they headed back to the orchard Saturday.
“What? Of course she is.”
“Rick’s gone, son, and you want Hannah for your own.”
Brandon glanced at his dad to see if he was joking, but his expression was dead serious. “That’s crazy.”
“Her name has come up in every conversation we’ve had since the beginning of April and some before that, too, when you sneaked over to her place to do work. You have spent every moment of your free time with her for the past month or more, and this morning we drove all over two counties searching for things for Hannah’s house.”
Words of denial careened in Brandon’s skull, but before he could organize them and get them out, his father held up a hand. “That’s not a complaint. I like Hannah. Always have. I’m just holding the flashlight on your actions so you can see what you’re doing. You can’t fix something if you can’t see it.”
“Hannah and I don’t have that kind of relationship.”
“But you want to. So maybe you need to quit thinking of her as Rick’s girl and treat her like the one you want to be with and start courting her.”
His dad was interpreting clues completely wrong. Brandon debated keeping his trap shut. But this was his father. Anything he told him wouldn’t go further. “Hannah’s son’s having some trouble, and she called me to help figure out what it is. It turns out it’s bigger than I expected and than she’ll admit.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“In school. Behavior, not academics. She said he’s on the verge of getting expelled. And I think the bad behavior is linked to something on the internet.”
“You sure about that?”
He’d asked himself that a hundred times. “The evidence I have is pretty strong.”
“Then you need to help in any way you can. But son, you also need to open your eyes. You’re interested in Hannah, and you’re crazy about her children. I hear it in your voice each time you talk about them. Once you figure out what’s going on with the boy, you’ll need to decide whether fixing the problem is going to do more harm than good.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll know when it happens.”
After that cryptic comment, his father leaned forward and turned up the volume on the radio. Ever since Hannah had introduced music therapy, his father kept the tunes playing anywhere he happened to be.
His father was wrong about Hannah. Brandon didn’t want her for himself. Sure, he found her attractive, smart, capable and a great mom. And he couldn’t deny she had his neglected hormones in an uproar. But that didn’t mean he wanted to take Rick’s place. Nobody could do that.
One day Hannah would find a nice guy who’d be good to her and Mason and Belle. They’d build a new life. But she needed security. His job and the unpredictable illness slowly destroying the man seated beside him meant that that guy wasn’t him.
But a nagging voice reminded him that his father was the smartest man he’d ever known. And Brandon couldn’t remember the last time Thomas Martin had been wrong about anything.
* * *
AFTER THE BERRY PICKING, Rebecca Martin herded the children into the house and through washing up with an ease Hannah could only envy.
“Your years as a teacher are showing,” Hannah told Rebecca and earned a wistful smile from her hostess.
“When you love what you do, it’s always a joy. I miss my students, but God had bigger plans for me. Use soap, Evan,” she called out without missing a beat. “When everyone is finished we’ll have strawberries with our lunch.”
Hannah brought up the rear of the line as the children paraded down the hall. “Can I help with anything?”
“No, dear. Everything’s ready. All I have to do is peel back the plastic wrap. Have a seat.”
Hannah, Leah and the children sat around the large kitchen island. Leah leaned closer to Hannah and whispered conspiratorially, “Wait till you see what she whips up.”
Mrs. Martin returned with a tray and set a plate in front of each child. The sandwiches had cute faces on them with the eyes, noses and mouths made from blueberries, kiwis and strawberries. The ears were tangelo segments. The “curly” h
air atop the bread was made from sliced grapes, and she’d cut bananas into hair bows for the girls’ sandwiches and bow ties for the boys’. They were adorable, and nothing like Hannah’s mother had ever done, but she braced herself for Belle to refuse to eat.
Rebecca took the last stool. “Eva, it’s your turn to say grace, sweetheart.”
The four-year-old endearingly blessed the food in a sing-song verse then everyone—including Belle—dug in. Hannah’s surprise must have shown on her face because Brandon’s sister winked and whispered, “Mom has a way of getting even picky eaters to try new things. Me, I never have this kind of luck. But then, my sandwiches don’t look like this, either.”
“Mine, either.” Hannah soaked it all in as she ate: the companionship, the chattering children and the happy faces. This is what having a grandmother was supposed to be like, or so she’d always thought. But she’d never had that experience for herself, and Mason and Belle didn’t have it with Mrs. Leith.
Rebecca touched Hannah’s hand to get her attention. “Thank you for referring us to your friend. Thomas not only enjoys physical therapy now, he’s also made great progress in only three weeks.”
“I’m glad I could help. Where is Mr. Martin now?”
“He and Brandon went scrounging for some big project. They won’t come home until the truck is full or they’ve run out of places to hunt.”
Hannah’s pulse skipped. “I thought Brandon was working.”
“Not today, although he often works weekends. But you know all about that.”
“Yes, I do. I love your kitchen,” she blurted to change the subject away from the man she’d spent too much time thinking about lately. “This is very similar to what I want to do with mine.”
The woman beamed. “Thomas and Brandon did all of the renovations, and trust me, dear, there have been a lot of those in this hundred-year-old house. Luckily, I don’t think there’s anything those two can’t build or refinish.”
