Caught Between a Lie and True Love (Caught Between series Book 1) (4 page)

Still reeling from the court’s decision to award him temporary custody of his daughter providing they lived near her grandma.

Brody checked over his shoulder for traffic, switched lanes, pulled up to the curb in front of the Sheriff’s office, and turned off the engine. And there was his daughter standing next to the Sheriff who had his hand on her shoulder.

After four months confined to the island, four months of this behavior, Hope appeared quite at home with the consequences of her bad behavior.

The Sheriff smiled. “Afternoon, Brody. I have your regular weekly delivery in custody.”

“Afternoon, Sam.” Brody tore his gaze away from the girl, and braced himself and his anger. “What did she do this time?”

“I found her on top of the water tower doing a Picasso imitation.” The Sheriff squeezed the teen’s shoulder. “The water tower now has a new coat of non-approved, non-regulation graffiti.”

“Sorry about that.” Brody finally glanced her way and for not the first time, acknowledged he was out of his depth. Way out. So far out, the smartest thing he could do was hand the girl over to her grandmother and walk away. “What’s her punishment this time?”

The Sheriff studied the top of her head and scratched his chin. “Our newspaper editor, Dane Weatherby, could use someone to deliver the daily paper. His carrier broke his foot and is out for the next few weeks.”

“Appreciated, Sheriff. Have Dane contact me and we’ll get things set up.”

All through the discussion, Hope didn’t look up. Instead, she stood with her cell phone in her hands, her thumbs flying over the on-screen keyboard, and pretended to ignore them. But Brody knew she was listening to every single word.

He flexed his stiff jaw. “Get on the bike, Hope.”

Gaze fixed on the phone, still thumbing the keypad with one hand, she hopped on behind him. In the snottiest teenage voice possible, she replied, “What’s the big deal,
Brody
? The paint’ll wash off next time it rains.”

He gritted his teeth. “Put on your helmet.”

Brody started the engine and waited, patience dissipated, until she tapped him on the shoulder. With a wave to the Sheriff, he checked over his shoulder for oncoming traffic, then steered the bike back onto the road.

Thank goodness for the roar of the engine because that meant they couldn’t talk.

The moment he pulled into the driveway at home, Hope hopped off the bike and loped toward the house. Brody knew he should stop her and deal with the situation, but he couldn’t right now. He was too mad, too frustrated, too far out of his element.

What did he know about raising a kid?

Less than he knew about those mysterious boxes of feminine supplies she hid in the back of the bathroom closet.

A movement on his front porch caught his attention and he dragged his gaze from his daughter toward the front door. Matilda Hannibal, Hope’s grandma. He didn’t want to deal with her right now, but she was already headed their way.

She was like a vulture waiting for him to drop and give up. If he didn’t show some level of parental authority, Matilda would have him by the balls, so he stepped into the fray.

“Stop right there, young lady,” he warned Hope as he headed after her. Somehow he managed to get between his daughter and her grandmother. “You are grounded until further notice. Give me your cell and go to your room.”

“What’s the big deal?” she asked in that snotty thirteen-year-old tone that could drive him around the bend in zero-point-two seconds.

He’d never spoken to his parents like that. Had he?

He ground his teeth together and prayed for an extra dose of patience. “Phone. Now.”

She stood there and stared back at him, her long brown hair wispy in the island breeze, her legs braced far apart in a stance that mirrored his own. The first time he’d seen her, way back when he’d been in denial that this girl was his daughter, it had been her physical mannerisms that had convinced him otherwise.

She sneered up at him. “There’s nothing to do on this island expect watch the tide go in and out. I’m bored. I want to go back to the Mainland and my friends.”

And didn’t that just make two of them.

He
wanted to go back to the Mainland too.

He
wanted to return to the life he’d had before the responsibility of a daughter he’d never known about had been thrust on him.

He held out his hand and pointed toward the house. “Room. Now. We’ll discuss this later, after your grandma leaves.”

Before he could get possession of the phone, Matilda shouldered him aside and hissed, “Get out of my way, you big oaf. If she was living with me, she wouldn’t get into mischief and get arrested, and you know it. You’re unfit as a father and I’m going to take you back to court to prove it.”

Without a word in retaliation—because he couldn’t totally disagree with her—he let her push past.

Somehow she already knew about the misdemeanor. It seemed like she had eyes and ears in every aspect of Hope’s life, and his.

She swept Hope into her arms. “Darling, don’t let the mean man boss you around. He hasn’t got a clue that a child needs guidance and attention.”

Hope scrunched up her face and squirmed to escape. “Grandma, let me go.”

Matilda did so reluctantly and gave the girl a little push toward the house. “Go on, dear. Let me deal with your fa—” She choked on the word, then finished with gritted teeth. “—
that man
.”

Hope’s bottom lip protruded and as she headed for the house, she dragged her feet. In those moments, she looked so much like her mother, he felt his heart pinch in his chest.

She had her cell phone in her hands, already texting the world to let them know about her latest misdeed. That cell phone was going to be the second thing to go. First, he had to get rid of the woman who’d made herself public enemy number one.

He’d had enough of Matilda’s interference during these last four months. The minute Hope was out of earshot, he leaned down and hissed, “Stop undermining my authority.”

Matilda leaned forward into his personal space. “What authority? You let her run circles around you.”

“Because every time I try to discipline her, you’re there to interfere.”

“It’s your fault she acts up.”

Brody sighed, tired of the same old argument. “If I’d had her for the first thirteen years of her life instead of just for the last four months, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Although truthfully, he had no way of really knowing that. Maybe the fact that he’d only found out about Hope four months ago wasn’t the only reason he was a terrible parent.

Maybe he would have been a terrible parent anyway.

Matilda straightened and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “This is why she should be in my custody. I’d never let her get away with such behavior. She’d feel loved and secure and never want to be bad.”

“All teens want to be bad,” Brody said, and the memory of his own teenage badness filtered through his thoughts.

And suddenly he had a whole new set of parental worries to consider.

Boys.

Teenage boys.

Brody knew exactly what the number one thing on every teenage boy’s mind was—hell, every male past puberty—because even now, with Matilda breathing down his neck, when the memory of Paige Calhoun popped unbidden into his thoughts, his mind immediately headed south of his belt.

As Matilda shook one gloved finger under his nose, he refocused.

“I’m taking you back to court, and this time I’ll prove you’re an unfit father. You might as well start packing Hope’s things right now. Before the month is over, she’ll be living with me where she belongs.”

He scowled. “Hope doesn’t want to live with you any more than she wants to live with me.”

With a frustrated huff, the older woman shifted back. “You’re so thickheaded, you can’t see that Hope is miserable here. I swear, once I gain custody, I’m going to make you regret ever challenging me. You’ll never see your daughter again.”

The sound of movement at the end of the driveway brought their argument to an end, and Brody turned to see the Judge stroll up the driveway.

“Morning, Brody. Morning, Matilda.”

For just a moment, Matilda appeared flustered. Then she quickly regained control and opened her mouth to get one more word in. She leaned toward him and hissed, “I’ll be watching your every move.”

Then she turned and scurried down the driveway, giving the Judge a curt nod as she passed him, and headed across the street to her house.

For not the first time, Brody wished he’d never hooked up with her daughter one crazy night when he’d been high on himself and his football glory. If he’d been smart back then, he wouldn’t now be saddled with a daughter who didn’t like him any more than he liked her.

Which made him a
really
bad father.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw.

More than anything else, he was ashamed of that.

He glanced toward the second-story window and saw the curtains in Hope’s bedroom flutter. She’d been eavesdropping on his conversation with her grandma.

He raked his fingers through his hair and debated the consequences of dealing with her now while he was pissed and she was in one of her sulky moods, or leaving it till later when they’d both cooled down.

A blast of music filled the air, and the base vibrated through the cement beneath his feet.

Brody strode into the house where the music was rattling the pictures on the walls, and the glass ornaments were in jeopardy of dancing off the shelving units.

“Hope,” he yelled up the staircase, but of course she couldn’t hear him, and for the moment, he was relieved. Better to be cool and in control of himself when he confronted her.

Upstairs the volume of the radio turned up to ear-shattering levels.

Resigned to his fate, determined to be a good father—even if he failed at it every time he turned around—he headed toward the kitchen to prepare supper and stopped dead in the entranceway.

Hanging Judge Harry Malone stood in front of the fridge, the door wide open, drinking directly from the milk jug. The moment he saw Brody, he pulled the jug from his lips and set it back on the shelf. His mouth moved, the words smothered by the din coming from upstairs.

“What?” Brody yelled.

The Judge raised his voice. “Is she gone?”

“Who?”

“Mattie.” The music turned down to a more reasonable level, and the Judge flushed as though caught with his hand in the cookie jar before turning his attention to closing the fridge door. “Matilda. Is she gone?”

“For the moment.” Brody shouldered the Judge aside, opened the fridge, grabbed the milk jug and closed the fridge door. He carried the jug to the sink and dumped the contents down the drain.

“Hey,” the older man protested. “What are you doing? I could’ve finished that if I’d known you didn’t want it.”

Brody didn’t bother answering. Because he knew that this is what happened when men were bachelors for too long. They became selfish and self-centered. Brody could attest to that.

Then the Judge’s hand settled on his shoulder. “After tonight, son, your worries with Hope will be over.”

Brody eyed the older man, ever doubtful when it came to his daughter. “What’s happening tonight?”

The Judge rocked back on his heels and grinned, his chest puffed out. “The news will be all over town by tomorrow morning, so just wait till then.”

Whatever the Judge had in mind, Brody hoped it included a get out of parenthood free card.

CHAPTER FIVE

By the time Matilda Hannibal soaked in a tub full of milk bath to repair the damages of her youthful love for the sun, she’d cooled down from her encounter with
that man
.

There was no point in thinking about him and Hope right now. No. She could think about them tomorrow, call her lawyer, and if necessary, call a PI to spy on him.

And then she could tell Harry she was nominating him for Mayor.

But right now, she was looking forward to getting rid of her frustration in a healthier fashion than taking it out with the chocolate fudge she still had left over from her Christmas baking spree.

As she dressed for the evening ahead, she realized that the women of her generation had the best of two worlds.

They had the freedom and right to demand the respect of being a lady.

They also had the freedom and right not to be a lady every Tuesday and Thursday night when the flavor of the month came knocking on their back door.

Which hottie Judge Harry Tyberious Malone happened to be doing right this very moment.

Matilda checked her appearance in the mirror, took a deep steadying breath to mask her excitement, and headed to the back door to let him in. Ten o’clock sharp. Dark enough to avoid any neighbors seeing him arrive. Early enough to still make good use of his time—and body—before he drifted off to sleep at eleven.

She pulled open the back door, saw him standing there waiting for her, a big goofy grin on his face that she knew was there because he knew without a doubt that he was going to get laid…and laid so fine.

The moment she opened the screen door to let him in, his gaze swept down her body, from the salt and pepper state of her hair that she tried to ignore, to her crimson red business suit that suited her coloring so well, to the matching spiked heels she’d bought with Harry’s gratification in mind.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes glued to her feet.

“Do you like?” she asked as she preened before him, twisting one foot this way, then that way to show him the full effect of the shoe. The spiked heels slimmed her calves and the open toed style afforded him a glimpse of her freshly painted toe nails.

“Oh yeah, baby, I like a lot.” He grabbed her by the hand and tried to tug her out of the house. “Come on, Mattie, there’s something I want to show you.”

“Wait. What? I just need my—” She stretched one way while he tugged the other way, but she managed to wrap her hand around her cell phone right before he pulled her out the door.

“I promise you, honey, you won’t need your phone tonight.”

“Always be prepared,” she said around a muffled laugh as he tugged her out the back gate and started down the back alley, which had her laughing softly at his boyish enthusiasm, and secretly thrilled at this unexpected change in their routine. But he was going too fast for her and she pulled back, finally detracting her hand from his grip. “For God’s sake, Harry. I’m wearing brand new four-inch heels and a bustier that’s squeezing the breath out of my lungs. Just how far are we going?”