In His Brother's Place (9 page)

Nobody knows that better than I do.

She could confront him, demand to be told what, if anything, he was hiding. But if the secret was so terrible that he’d kept it all these years, did she really want to know?

The sound of a horn in the driveway broke into her thoughts. The van from Bright Tots Preschool was waiting for someone to come out and meet Lucas. With a murmured apology to Jordan, she rose and rushed out of the room. Her son would be bubbling over with enthusiasm as he showed her his artwork and activity sheets and told her about his new friends. She wanted to give him her full attention.

Jordan’s plan would have to wait.

* * *

Jordan stood at the window, watching as Angie raced down the drive. The wind bannered her long black hair as she ran, feet light, arms open to greet her son. She was like a stained-glass window, transparent and glowing, both inside and out. He saw no deceit in her, no greed, no selfishness, only love for her child—his brother’s child.

Angie deserved to hear the truth about Justin’s death. A moment ago he’d come within a breath of telling her. But then he’d thought the better of it. Telling her now could shatter his plans.

He had little doubt his mother would come to the ranch for Thanksgiving. Despite her protests, she’d be too curious to stay away. It would be up to him to see that things went smoothly.

He had two weeks to build bridges of trust—bridges that could ease the way to healing what was left of his family. He owed it to all the lives his hasty words had destroyed—to Justin and his father, to his mother, to Lucas...and to Angie.

He had to make this work.

* * *

“Can I see the pictures of my daddy tonight, Uncle Jordan?”

At her son’s question, Angie glanced at Jordan across the dinner table. Lucas had been asking to see the Cooper family album since the morning Marta mentioned the photos. So far, Jordan had been busy. Tonight he gave the boy a smile.

“I’ve got time—that is, if your mother says it’s all right.”

“Am I included?” Angie asked.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Fine, then. But finish your dinner first, Lucas.” It might be painful for her, looking at pictures of Justin and Justin’s family, she thought. But Lucas was bound to have questions later. It would be helpful to know what he’d seen.

After dinner, Jordan lit the fireplace, and the three of them settled on the sofa—Lucas in the middle with the leather-bound photo album on his lap. Someone had arranged each page of photos with corner mounts, documenting them with little handwritten notes. Meredith? Who else could it have been? Like everything else in the house, the album had her exquisite touch.

On the first page was a portrait of a handsome bridal couple. “Those are your grandparents, Lucas,” Jordan said.

“Are they dead?” Lucas understood that Angie’s parents had died in a wreck when she was in her teens.

“Your grandfather is. But your grandmother is very much alive. Maybe you’ll get to meet her soon. Of course, she’s older now.”

Angie studied the photo over Lucas’s shoulder. Braxton Cooper as a younger man had looked much like his sons. Meredith had been a beauty with rich auburn hair, a model’s figure and a face worthy of a magazine cover. How happy they looked. Strange, Angie had never thought of Justin’s staid, snobbish parents as having been in love.

“Who are those babies?” Lucas had turned the page. The infant boys lying on a sheepskin rug were identical. Either of them could’ve been Lucas at that age.

Jordan’s laugh sounded forced. “The grumpy one’s me. And the one who’s smiling is your father.”

“How can you tell?”

“I just can.”

More pages, more photographs—two little boys in the arms of their beautiful mother. Two little boys in the bath. Two little boys playing with their puppy. At three the twins had been fair-haired. Aside from that, they were the very image of Lucas—the unruly cowlick, the dimpled left cheek, the stubborn chin.

Later pictures gave Angie glimpses of how her son would look as he grew older. She glanced at Jordan. This had to be painful for him, too, reliving the years with his lost brother. She’d always heard that twins had a connection so strong that no separation, even death, could break it. That might explain why he was so determined to carry out what he believed to be Justin’s wishes.

The news that he planned to make Lucas his brother’s heir had surprised and touched her. Still, she couldn’t help questioning his motives. Was he acting out of generosity? Guilt? Some other motive?

Only one thing was certain. Jordan Cooper never did anything without a good reason.

“Who’s that?” Lucas had turned to the last page in the album. Angie found herself staring down at Jordan’s wedding portrait. The bride was a beauty with sun-streaked hair, cornflower eyes and a willowy figure. Her simple gown was exquisitely cut, most likely a designer original. The diamond ring on her left hand would have dazzled a Hollywood starlet.

“That’s my wife,” Jordan muttered in answer to Lucas’s question. “Or was. I’ve never gotten around to taking that picture out of the album.”

“Did she die like my daddy?”

“No. She just went away.”

“She’s beautiful,” Angie said.

“Yes. Just ask her second husband.”

Angie stole another glance at the wedding photo. Jordan’s mouth was smiling but not his eyes. He looked as if he’d already known how the marriage would end.

Had he loved his bride? Was he even capable of loving a woman for a lifetime?

Once he’d implied that he’d married out of duty, to continue the family line. It hadn’t worked out. So now he was trying something else—bringing in a ready-made heir. She believed that he genuinely cared about Lucas. But if he thought he was acting in the boy’s best interests, he might still use Lucas as a tool in his quest to carry out his family obligation.

What would she do if she found proof they were being used?

Would she have the courage to leave?

Nine

R
aquel answered Angie’s call on the second ring. “What is it,
querida?
” she demanded. “Is something wrong?”

“No, everything’s fine. At least I hope so.” Angie leaned back in her chair, flexing her tired shoulders. She’d spent the past two hours working on a new website for a client and she was ready for a break.

“You don’t sound like everything’s fine. Is Jordan treating you all right?”

Angie sighed, wondering how much she dared tell her inquisitive cousin. “Jordan’s been on good behavior lately. Strictly hands off.”

“That’s too bad. No wonder you don’t sound very happy.”

Angie willed herself to ignore her cousin’s teasing—and the rush of heat to her face. “That’s not why I’m calling. I’m afraid Lucas and I won’t be coming to your house for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”

There was a pause on the line. “Please tell me that man is taking you to Hawaii!”

“Don’t I wish!” Angie had to chuckle. “No, Jordan invited his mother to come to the ranch and meet Lucas. We just got word that she’ll be here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“What? The Dragon Lady herself?”

“You’re incorrigible, Raquel! Don’t ever let Lucas hear you call her that.”

“I’ll try to hold my tongue around him. But after the way the woman treated you—”

“I can’t dwell on the past,” Angie said. “She’s Lucas’s grandmother. I’ve got to give her a chance.”

“But will she give
you
a chance? Take my advice,
chica.
Hide the sharp knives, and don’t turn your back on her.”

“Advice taken.” Angie nudged the subject in a different direction. “You should see this place. It’s like the return of the Queen to Buckingham Palace. Everything washed and dusted and polished. Marta even took me up on my offer to clean the upstairs and sweep the leaves off of the patio.”

“Speaking of Marta, is she still treating you like you’ve broken in to steal the silverware?”

“Oh, she can be prickly. But at least I know where she stands. She adored Justin, and part of her still blames me...” Angie’s voice faltered for an instant. “She seems to care about Lucas. That’s all that matters.”

“Is it? Are you really happy there?”

“Lucas is happy. That’s enough for now.”

Ending the call with a promise to visit soon, Angie put down the phone, rose to stretch her legs and walked to the window. From her upstairs room she could see past the top of the garage to where Jordan was just pulling the pickup into the drive. He’d taken Lucas out on the range with him to deliver some salt and hay to the cattle. Angie’s son had been over the moon at the prospect of doing real cowboy work.

Jordan climbed out of the truck and helped the little boy out of his car seat in the back. Lucas was dressed in a plaid shirt and denim jacket, blue jeans and the cowboy boots and hat Jordan had bought him. As they came up the walk to the front door, Angie noticed how he matched Jordan’s stride and mimicked his style of walking.

Her son had found the father figure he’d missed so much. But Jordan wasn’t Lucas’s father. He was a man with his own agenda. Even if he didn’t mean to harm Lucas, it could still happen all too easily. Jordan had spent little time around children. Did he have any idea how vulnerable a child could be? His generous plan to include Lucas in the family trust could ensure the boy’s future. But what about Lucas’s trusting young heart?

Hurrying her steps, she reached the top of the staircase as they came in through the front door. Lucas was flushed with cold and excitement. He was grinning, chattering away as he gazed up at his hero.

Angie was halfway down the stairs before her son noticed her. Breaking away from Jordan, he raced up the steps. “Mama, I helped Uncle Jordan feed the cows! A calf sucked on my finger! It tickled!”

“My goodness!” She sat down on the step, aware of Jordan watching as she boosted Lucas onto her lap.

“I think your boy’s got the makings of a rancher,” he said. “He’s already a good hand with the cattle.”

“That doesn’t surprise me one bit.” Angie’s gaze took in Jordan’s wind-burned face, thick flannel shirt and long denim-clad legs. He looked like a man in his element, fit and strong and ready for action. A little whorl of desire uncurled in the depths of her body.

How could she protect her son from Jordan’s spell—when she couldn’t even protect herself?

* * *

He could get used to this, Jordan thought. The warm house, the smell of hot soup and fresh-baked pies wafting from the kitchen, Angie with her happy little boy looking down at him from the staircase. The moment was like a glimpse of heaven—but only a glimpse. Glance away and it would vanish like a mirage.

He’d be a fool to think his life could be anything but what it was—a balancing act between family obligations, his business and the ranch. Get Lucas added to the trust, with a regular income, and his duty to his brother would be done. Angie could stay here as long as she liked. But she wouldn’t stay forever. Beyond Lucas’s welfare, she had no life here and no future. Sooner or later, she would choose to move on.

Still, looking up at her, he felt a raw hunger for what he couldn’t have—not just for her body, but for all the intimate things she’d never shared with him. He wanted her to trust him, to confide in him, to depend on him....But that would demand the same openness on his part. It wasn’t going to happen.

Tomorrow his mother would be coming to dinner. Once again he’d be doing the balancing act, keeping things calm, steering the talk in safe directions. So much depended on making sure the afternoon ended with everyone smiling and civil.

He could hardly wait for the blasted day to be over.

* * *

Thanksgiving Day had dawned with chalky clouds and spatters of snow. The weather matched Angie’s mood. Given the choice between sharing a meal with Meredith Cooper and trudging barefoot through a winter blizzard, she’d have gladly chosen the latter.

At least Marta had welcomed her help today. Not only were they cooking dinner for the household, but also for the hired men who hadn’t gone home and would be dining in the kitchen. There was a twenty-five-pound stuffed turkey, a half dozen pies, several pans of Marta’s wonderful rolls, a small mountain of potatoes and much more.

Angie felt her anxiety rising as she surveyed the end of the long dining room table. The four elegant place settings looked lonely, she thought. It was too bad the hired help couldn’t be invited to eat in here, filling some of the empty chairs. But Meredith would never stand for such a thing.

Lucas came down the stairs, scrubbed, combed and dressed in clothes that Angie hoped would stay clean through dinner. “It smells yummy!” he said. “When do we get to eat?”

“Not until Uncle Jordan gets here with your grandmother. Did you remember to feed Rudy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And do you remember what you learned about manners?”

“Say please and thank you,” the boy recited. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Don’t eat with your fingers—is it ok to eat bread with your fingers, Mama?”

“As long as you don’t play with it. Go on.”

“Wipe your hands and face on your napkin, not your shirt.” He frowned, his dark brows knitting like Jordan’s. “Is that all?”

“Just one more thing. When grownups are talking, you should be quiet and let them finish. Don’t interrupt. All right?”

“All...right.” He swung away, distracted by a sound from the front of the house. “They’re here, Mama! They’re
here!”

Angie forced herself to remain in the dining room, watching as he bounded into the entry. He stood frozen as the front door swung open and Meredith Cooper stepped over the threshold.

She was as regal as ever—tall in chic high-heeled boots and a sweeping camel’s hair coat. But she was thinner and older than Angie remembered, her skin turning to crepe, her sharp eyes sunk into hollows. The hands that clasped her designer bag were swollen at the knuckles.

Jordan came in behind her, closed the door and stepped forward to lift Lucas in his arms, bringing the boy to eye level with his imperious grandmother. Angie held her breath in silent prayer. It was like watching her child face down a lioness.

“Mother,” Jordan said, “this is Lucas, your grandson.”

Lucas put out his right hand. “How do you do,” he said in a small mechanical voice.

Angie swallowed a gasp. The formal response was so unlike her son. Evidently she hadn’t been the only one coaching him.

Meredith’s lips tightened in a wintry smile. Taking Lucas’s small hand in her arthritic fingers, she gave it a brief shake. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lucas,” she said.

“I believe dinner’s almost ready.” Jordan lowered Lucas to the floor. “Will you let us take your coat and bag?” Without waiting for a reply, he eased the coat off her shoulders and handed the purse to Lucas. Together they set off down the hall toward the back bedrooms.

Leaving Angie to face the lioness alone.

Meredith walked into the dining room. “Hello, Angelina,” she said. “I can’t say I ever expected to see you here again.”

Angie stood her ground. “I never expected to be here. But when Jordan found us, he insisted that Lucas get to know his father’s family.”

“I see.” Meredith fussed with the settings, refolding the linen napkins, frowning down at the Winnie the Pooh cup in Lucas’s place. “The boy is everything Jordan said he was. Why didn’t you tell us about him sooner?”

“I think you know why.”

“Of course. My memory is as good as yours.”

“Lucas knows who his father is,” Angie said. “He’s grown up with pictures and stories about him.”

“But you didn’t give him his father’s name.”

“Under the circumstances, I felt if wasn’t...appropriate.” No need to add that she’d wanted to hide her son from the Cooper family.

“So you wouldn’t consider changing it?” The abruptness of the question startled Angie. How much had Jordan discussed with his mother on the way here?

“That would be up to Lucas,” she said. “Maybe when he’s older. But it would be his decision, not mine.”

“I see.” Meredith surveyed the dining room—the paintings on the walls, the glass-fronted hutch with its gleaming china and crystal. “I understand Jordan’s allowed you to move in here,” she said. “What is it you’re after, Angelina? Money?”

Angie sucked back a tide of outrage. “All I want is whatever’s best for Lucas,” she said. “As for money, I have my own web design business. It earns enough for my needs, even here. And I’m keeping the ranch books to pay for the car I’m driving.” Her chin lifted in defiance. “This was never about money, Meredith. I loved Justin, and I’d do anything to protect our son. When are you going to see that?”

Meredith drew herself up, looming over Angie in her high heels. “Well!” she huffed.
“Well!”

Lucas bounded into the room, ending the standoff. Jordan strolled in behind him, his smile strained. Had he overheard?

“Can we eat now?” Lucas asked. “Please?”

“Why don’t you go in the kitchen and ask Marta?” Jordan suggested. “If she says dinner’s ready, we can sit down and let Carlos bring it in.”

Lucas darted into the kitchen, leaving the grown-ups in awkward silence. “Well, Mother,” Jordan asked, “what do you think?”

“Don’t rush me, Jordan. It’s too soon. I need time.”

Meredith’s voice quivered with surprising emotion. Maybe the woman had a heart, after all. But before Angie had time to ponder that thought, Lucas was back.

“It’s ready!” he announced. “Come on, let’s eat!”

* * *

Jordan surveyed the table over his plate of homemade pumpkin pie. All in all, the dinner could’ve gone worse. His mother had kept the sharp edge of her tongue in check, and Lucas had managed to get through the meal without spilling his milk or tipping out of his booster seat. He’d even remembered to say please and thank you most of the time—not a bad performance for a three-year-old.

The best thing about the day had been his mother’s ready acceptance of Lucas. The documents Jordan had shown her in the car, along with the boy’s resemblance to Justin, had been enough to convince her that he was indeed her grandson. It was a step in the right direction. But only a step.

Angie was an entirely different matter.

The mealtime conversation had centered on the history of the house and the famous people who’d dined here. The topic had been safe enough, but the tension between the two women had hung like a miasma over the table.

Jordan had heard much of the earlier exchange between them. His mother was a formidable woman, but Angie had stood her ground. For that he couldn’t help being proud of her.

“Would anyone else like coffee with their pie?” Meredith had slipped into her former role as hostess. A tap on the bell at the side of her plate summoned Carlos with the silver coffee service and three porcelain cups.

Lucas was getting sleepy, his eyelids drooping. Jordan was about to suggest to Angie that he be taken upstairs for a nap when a scratching sound came from the direction of the patio door.

Meredith’s eyebrows shot up. “What on Earth...?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Carlos had finished pouring the coffee. Still balancing the tray, he hurried out of the dining room and into the parlor.

There was an ominous beat of silence. Jordan was thinking he should’ve gone himself when he heard the click of the opening door, followed by a loud, metallic crash and a string of Spanish curses. Tongue lolling, toenails clicking on the tiles, Rudy came galloping into the dining room.

The growing pup had put on considerable size since his arrival at the ranch. Normally well behaved, he’d probably headed to the dining room because he missed his young master—but then he’d been startled by the crash of the dropped coffee tray. As a result, he made a beeline for the table and tried to leap onto Lucas’s lap.

Angie, who was closest, snatched her son to safety as the chair and booster seat toppled over. Fighting for purchase, Rudy scrabbled at the linen tablecloth, pulling part of it over the table’s edge. Dishes crashed to the floor, spilling food as they shattered on the tiles.

Meredith was screaming—more in rage than in fear. “Get him! Get that horrid beast!”