Forsaken Trail

by Devney Perry

  Last night when he’d given me the full tour of his room, showing me everything new he’d acquired since my last visit, he’d made sure to give each of the banks a hefty shake.

  The bad-word piggy had by far the most change.

  “Okay, kid.” Brody gave August a fist bump. “I’d better get out of here. I’m all out of quarters.”

  “Or you could stop saying bad words,” I said.

  That comment earned me a death glare over his shoulder, but when he touched the tip of August’s nose, it was with a warm, genuine smile. Brody’s affection for August was his only redeeming quality.

  That, and the way he looked in a tux.

  Even I had to admit he looked delicious. The suit wrapped around his broad shoulders and encased his strong arms. His slacks molded to his thick legs and muscled behind. The trimmed beard added a rough edge to his otherwise smooth, classy appearance. And the tie . . . I wasn’t going to admit that I wanted to untie it with my teeth.

  He was infuriating and arrogant. But damn . . . there were very adult words and scenarios running through my mind. If August had any clue what I was thinking, I’d fill that piggy bank to its ears.

  My cheeks flushed. A flare of desire coursed through my veins. Any other man, and I’d be a puddle of lust by the end of the night. But this was Brody. All I had to do was wait until he opened his mouth to speak and he’d turn me off entirely.

  “Have fun,” Clara said as Brody returned to the driver’s side of his car.

  “Not likely,” I muttered.

  “Then have . . . er”—she looked between the two of us—“safe travels.”

  “Save me some pizza,” I said when she came over for a hug.

  Clara was a hugger. She hugged her hellos. She hugged her goodbyes. She hugged everything in between. When we’d split apart, it was the one thing I’d missed most. Conversations we could have over the phone, but they were no replacement for a rib-cracking hug.

  I’d found myself giving more hugs when she wasn’t around, simply because I’d missed them from her.

  “Thank you for doing this,” she whispered.

  “For you? Anything.” I let her go and waved goodbye to August.

  I slid into the car, surprised to find the leather seat cool to the touch. Someone had come out here and started the engine to let the air-conditioning run. I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t even that hot outside, but heaven forbid Brody break a sweat.

  He climbed in behind the wheel, but he didn’t pull out of the drive. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because Clara asked me to.”

  Beyond the windshield, my sister took August’s hand and the two of them walked down the driveway toward their house. She was still in her sweats from this morning. Her hair was a mess and her eyes tired. But she hid it as best she could for her son. She smiled and swung his hand beside her hip, taking him home, where they’d probably cuddle on the couch watching cartoons until it was pizza time.

  “You hate me,” Brody said.

  When I turned to face him, his green eyes were waiting.

  Brody’s eyes were the first thing I’d noticed about him years ago. They were disarming. They were almost too bright to be real. The green was a spiral of shades from lime to hunter. It was all held together by a ring of sable around the iris. They always reminded me of a patch of creeping Jenny snaking its way through moss on a summer day.

  “Yes, I do.” I hated Brody. I’d been hating him for years. “But I love Clara more than I hate you. Apparently, this wedding is important. And if I didn’t go, she would have.”

  He blew out a deep breath, facing forward. “It is. Important.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  He shoved the car in gear and roared down the asphalt, racing for the gate, like if he didn’t get us off his property this instant, he’d change his mind.

  I held my breath, fighting the urge to let my knees bounce. I’d seen plenty of weddings at The Gallaway. I often worked with florists in the area to tie the exterior flowers into centerpieces for the event. But this was different. I wasn’t going to stay in my tennis shoes and tee, lurking in the dark corners and appreciating the show from a distance.

  Tonight, I was a guest. I’d never been to a wedding as a guest. When I’d admitted that truth to Clara, she’d told me not to tell Brody.

  No problem there. I doubted we’d share a lot of conversation.

  I was arm candy, not entertainment.

  The drive to the Welcome airport was uneventful. Silent. Though the air-conditioning was cranked, the heat won the battle. It seeped off Brody’s large frame as tension radiated from his shoulders.

  When he pulled into the airport, I expected him to park in the parking lot and lead me through the small terminal. Silly me. Brody was no mortal man. He drove straight for the runway. With the planes.

  He parked beside a jet that gleamed silver and white under the Arizona sun. Its windows sparkled like those diamonds he had on his cuffs.

  I’d never owned a diamond. Hell, I’d never even touched a diamond.

  An attendant opened my door and extended a hand to help me from the car.

  “Thanks,” I breathed and steadied my feet.

  The wealth was staggering. Maybe I’d gotten in a bit over my head because—no freaking way—there was a carpet leading to the plane. Gray, not red, but a freaking carpet nonetheless.

  “Madam.” The attendant bowed. He actually bowed.

  He was older, likely in his fifties, with white streaked liberally through his blond hair. He carried a halo of sophistication, and even though his blue eyes were kind and welcoming, he knew I wasn’t here by my own free will.

  My sweet, sweet sister was going to owe me big-time.

  I opened my mouth to tell him the bow wasn’t necessary—I wasn’t the queen—but he bowed again, this time to Brody.

  “Sir. We’re ready.”

  “Thank you, Ron.” Brody tossed the man his keys, then strode toward the plane, taking the stairs without a backward glance my way.

  “Oh, you’re such a jackass,” I muttered under my breath, glowering at Brody’s shoulders. Then I hiked up my gown’s billowing skirt and hurried to catch up. Stiletto heels were not my specialty and I teetered on the last step before emerging inside the airplane’s cabin.

  Leather and citrus filled my nose. Cool air rushed over my skin.

  The plane was nothing but golden light and cream finish. Every surface was polished, every comfort ready at your fingertips. This plane cost more than my entire life. It wasn’t the cold, modern style of Brody’s home.

  This was . . . lush.

  No wonder Clara hadn’t hesitated to tag along on a tropical vacation.

  I’d always thought Mark Gallaway was the richest man I’d ever met. Clearly, I’d underestimated Brody. His house was enormous and state-of-the-art, but this was grand. This was affluence passed down from generation to generation. And the plane seemed more indicative of his wealth than his home or his car.

  Had Brody been downplaying his money? That seemed so . . . unlike him. He’d always seemed like the type to flaunt his millions. He did flaunt his millions. Except maybe he’d been holding back.

  Maybe millions were actually billions.

  Brody was in a chair, sipping a glass of water with a lemon wedge, as his fingers flew across the screen of his phone. Probably texting Clara to tell her this was a horrible idea. I was going to do the same as soon as I pulled my phone from my black clutch.

  “Madam.” Another attendant appeared at my back, bowing again. This one was younger than Ron and his bow not quite as graceful or practiced.

  “Aria. Not madam.”

  “Aria,” he corrected with another bow. “May I get you a refreshment?”

  “Water. Please.”

  “Of course.”

  Before I caught him in another bow, I walked down the aisle and took the seat across from Brody’s. “Who’s Heather?”

  “My ex-fiancée.” His attentio
n stayed focused on the phone.

  “Ahh. And she’ll be at the wedding.”

  “Yes,” he said flatly. “She’s the bride.”

  “Oh,” I murmured as the attendant appeared with my water glass balanced perfectly on a black tray. I took it, cringed at yet another bow—please, stop bowing—and waited until he’d disappeared behind a curtain toward the cockpit. “Tell me what I’m getting into here.”

  Brody scowled but tucked his phone into the jacket pocket of his tux. “My ex-fiancée, Heather, is marrying my brother, Alastair.”

  “Did she become his fiancée before or after she was no longer yours?”

  “Before. During. Neither will admit they’d been fucking before the one time I caught them in the act, but I know Alastair and he’s never been one to abstain.”

  “Alastair.” My nose scrunched. “And I thought Broderick was pretentious.”

  “They are family names.”

  “Shocking.” The word dripped with sarcasm.

  That type of retort would normally incense Brody. It should have antagonized him into some verbal sparring. At the very least, that blatant censure should have earned me a glare and a jaw tic.

  Instead . . . nothing. His gaze was unfocused as he stared ahead, like he’d missed my comment entirely. Brody’s fingers tapped on his knee.

  Was he nervous? The signs were subtle, so much so that most would probably miss them. But I knew Brody. He always fought for the last word. Always.

  Like he always fought back.

  “She left you for your brother, right? Heather?”

  He nodded, his eyebrows coming together, but that gaze was still locked on some imaginary spot on the plane’s wall.

  Interesting. Clearly, I was along as revenge of sorts. Did he still love her? How painful would this be for him?

  Or maybe his fears had nothing to do with the bride. Maybe his fears were because I was on his arm instead of my sister.

  “I won’t embarrass you,” I promised.

  Brody blinked and mentally replayed my words. And when his gaze met mine, it was softer than I’d ever seen it before. He looked at me the way he looked at Clara. With kindness. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “My family is . . . difficult. I avoid them mostly. The last place I want to be is at this wedding, but I have no choice.”

  That was all the explanation I got. The attendant entered the cabin, his hands clasped behind his back. “We’ll be leaving momentarily, sir.”

  “Very good,” Brody said, dismissing him.

  The pilot greeted us next, outlining the details of the flight and shaking Brody’s hand. They all called him sir. Everywhere we’d gone tonight, he was sir.

  It wasn’t until we were in the air, the short forty-five-minute flight well underway, that I spoke again. “Clara doesn’t call you sir.”

  “Why would she?”

  “Everyone else does.”

  “Hmm.” He hummed and drank the last swig of his water. “She’s never called me sir.”

  Because Clara was different. His relationship with her was different.

  And that relationship was the reason the man grated on my every nerve.

  I’d first met Brody at his office in Las Vegas. Clara had been so proud of her new job and had wanted to show me her workspace. I’d been proud of her too. She’d built a career in no time flat. She’d climbed out of the junkyard and made something of her life.

  Brody had been a budding entrepreneur, or so she’d called him. She’d gushed about his brilliance and creativity and drive. Maybe she’d set the bar too high.

  Because the day she took me to the office, he was there too. Clara left me at her desk outside his office to run to the bathroom. The two of us had been guzzling water like thirsty camels after hitting an outlet mall before coming to the office.

  Brody’s office door was open and when he spotted me, the smug bastard told me that the cleaning staff was not to come in until after eight at night. When I corrected him, informing him that I was Clara’s sister, he waved me away. He actually said shoo. What kind of asshole said shoo?

  I stood fuming outside his door, listening as he picked up the phone and ordered someone to buy him a new car. A Ferrari. Whatever model was the most expensive.

  By the time Clara returned from her pee break, I was disgusted. Brody then sent her home with a list of tasks to complete when he’d known damn well that she was on an approved vacation.

  First impression? Mega douche.

  Over the years, he’d done little to change my opinion. Mostly I hated how he spent money. He tossed it around like it was meaningless because Brody had never gone hungry.

  Cars. Trips. Homes. Planes. Brody was rich. Did he appreciate it? Did he realize how lucky he was?

  Clara promised he was a good man. Was he?

  Brody doted on her. He provided for her because he wasn’t stupid. He knew she was one of a kind. Clara was the fleck of true gold in a sea of pyrite.

  I was the lesser twin, something he liked to remind me of as often as possible.

  Once, he’d told Clara that the flowers beside her front door were gaudy and overgrown. I’d been standing right beside her.

  For Clara. I was doing this for Clara. I’d fake a smile through this wedding. I’d drink a lot of champagne and enjoy what she promised would be a five-star meal. Then I’d climb back into my sweats and enjoy the next two weeks with family.

  With any luck, Brody would hop back on this very plane and disappear for the rest of my vacation. We’d learned to avoid each other, mostly to spare Clara from being in the middle.

  One night of pretending.

  Then we’d go back to what we were good at.

  Hating.

  City lights twinkled in the distance, glowing outside the window. “Ugh. I hate Vegas.”

  “You and me both,” Brody said, his gaze aimed out the small window. “When was the last time you were here?”

  “When August was born. I came to help Clara. I offered to help her move too but you took care of that before I could get here.”

  “Are you really upset? I thought you would have wanted her away from him.”

  Him. Devan. August’s father.

  At the time, it had surprised me when Brody had asked Clara to accompany him to Welcome. Maybe he’d known how badly she’d needed to escape Vegas too.

  “In that, we can agree. She’s better off without Devan in their lives.”

  Clara had cut Devan loose when August had been a newborn. The two of them had dated for about a year when she’d gotten pregnant. It hadn’t been planned. She’d tried to keep him involved, but by the third trimester, he’d already checked out. Knowing that he’d never make a good father—and knowing that she’d never succeed if she tried to change him—she’d given him an out.

  He’d signed over his rights to August without hesitation.

  Not long after, Brody had approached her with an offer that had been irresistible. A fresh start. A new town. All expenses paid.

  “I wanted her to move to Oregon,” I said. “I lobbied hard for it.”

  “Not hard enough.” He gave me that smug, cunning grin. The one he always cast my way whenever he won.

  “It’s hard to compete against a free house, a free car and a free life.”

  “It’s not free. Clara has earned it.”

  “Even Clara knows she hasn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why do you think she works so hard for you? Why do you think she would have come to this wedding tonight, sick as a dog?”

  He blinked.

  Yep. Clueless. “She’s trying to balance the scales. You helped her out of a bad situation with Devan. She wanted to get out of Vegas and leave him behind. Then she came to Arizona and you’d gone so . . . overboard.”

  He lifted his chin. “I did what I would have done for any other employee.”

  “Bullshit. Be honest with
yourself, Brody. You wouldn’t have done that for any other employee. You treat her differently.”

  “No, I don’t. I provide a life for Ron. He has a house on the property too.”

  “Okay, then why does Ron call you sir but Clara doesn’t? I’m guessing she did once, a long time ago, and you told her not to. Because you treat her differently.”

  His forehead furrowed and there was that jaw tic.

  Point for Aria. That round was mine. “There’s a fine line between helping someone and making them feel like a charity.”

  “I don’t pity Clara,” Brody snapped. “And she knows it.”

  “Maybe. But the next time you tell her to jump, think about why she asks how high. Make sure you aren’t taking advantage of my sister’s work ethic and the fact that she’ll bend over backward for you, all because what you’ve given her, she has no chance to repay.”

  He stared at me, shock etched on his handsome face. In his glass tower, he’d never stopped to ask himself why.

  “We’re beginning our descent, sir,” the pilot said over the intercom, ending our conversation.

  There was a wedding we had to attend.

  There was a show for us to put on. Fitting that we were in Las Vegas.

  As the plane dipped and headed for the runway, my nerves spiked. Adrenaline and anxiety grew. Rolling. Compounding. Like a snowball flying down a hill, getting bigger and bigger with each spin.

  The plane’s wheels skidded on the tarmac. The crew in the plane hurried to prepare for our departure, the crew outside for our arrival, red carpet included. When we stepped outside and into the Vegas heat, I groaned. There was no way I’d survive this sober.

  “I’m going to need champagne,” I told Brody as he led the way to a limo.

  Lots and lots of champagne.

  Chapter Four

  Brody

  “Good evening.” The man stationed at the entrance nodded as we strolled through the door, following the line of guests filing into the reception hall.