Just Give In… (15 page)

Delores saluted. “On the case, Sheriff.”

Once they were outside, Mindy started in. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, Gillian pondered this new dilemma. “I sent her here, but I don’t know that’s where she landed.”

“Where else could she go?”

“Nowhere.”

“Call her,” Mindy suggested. “Tell her you have a surprise. Trap her in a lie.”

“Now calm down, Mindy. There’s been no lying. She’s family and besides that, she doesn’t have a cell.”

“Who doesn’t have a cell?”

“My great-aunt Cora doesn’t have a cell.”

“She’s nearly eighty.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not that strange.”

“It’s strange,” Mindy pronounced, and privately Gillian agreed, but right now she needed to look unconcerned.

“I’ll drop you back at your house, then I need to make an appearance at the courthouse.”

Mindy looked at her, disappointed. “I thought this was a mission.”

“Doesn’t Brandon have a two o’clock feeding? You’re going to let that poor baby starve?”

Mindy sighed. “It’s very difficult being a mother.”

“Tell it to the hand, sweetie. Tell it to the hand.”

T
WO HOURS LATER
, Gillian was still combing the town for a beat-up Impala that should have stood out like not only a sore but bruised, beaten and banged-up thumb.

But there was no Impala to be found. At that point, Gillian grabbed her radio, prepared to issue an APB for the missing vehicle, but official sheriff directives meant official paperwork, and official records. Gillian’s gut told her that official records were never a good idea where family was concerned. So, she drove down Main, turned at Pecos, past the drive-in, across the interstate and even wandered across the county line. Still no Impala.

Actually, in a fine twist of fate and logic, it wasn’t until she’d abandoned her search that she found it. As she was heading over to Austen’s house, she happened to glance at the old Hinkle place, and lo and behold, there among the sheds and tires and tubs and two-by-fours sat an Impala as if it belonged there.

Gillian knew her town and she knew who lived there. Sonya Hinkle’s ex, Jason Kincaid. Sonya had been an over-achiever in high school, two years older than Gillian, with that Hollywood platinum hair that Gillian had secretly coveted until she found out that Sonya was driving into Austin to get her hair colored every two months.

According to official records, Jason was thirty-four years old. Staff sergeant with the U.S. Army, honorably discharged when he lost his left eye. He was a loner, who liked to pick up scrap metal and parts. Suspected in the gifting of a lawn mower for the Strickland landscaping company, an industrial strength dryer for the homeless shelter at the church and a large wooden pirate ship for the elementary school. All allegations were unproven and since he went to so much trouble to keep his good deeds quiet, Gillian chose not to reveal that the set of prints on the dryer came back a ten-point match.

So, why was Brooke parked at the house? Maybe she knew him from New York, Iraq…
here?

Gillian drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, sizing up the situation, knowing that it required some discreet snooping around, of which she was something of a professional.

Her mouth pulled into a thoughtful frown, and she shifted the car into Reverse. She’d get her facts in a row, and when she did, she’d tell Austen, but she’d have to craft the moment exactly right.

First, a little moonlight Hart-house demolition to lift his mood. Next, a long bout of Austen Hart loving. Then, when he was lying next to her, sated, happy and full of the intangible wonderment of their emotional connection, she’d tell him that his little sister had hooked up with the Captain.

Who woulda thunk it? Little sister worked fast.

B
ROOKE WAS LEAVING
Hinkle’s grocery when Gillian rushed toward her, pulling her into a big hug. Brooke froze, then quickly returned the hug before Gillian thought something was wrong.

“Hey, sis! What are you doing?” Gillian took Brooke’s sack of food in her arms, then led her down Main, past Dot’s diner, past the What in Carnation flower shop, past the fence in front of the Presbyterian church until they were standing at the park located next to the base of the courthouse steps, Lady Liberty watching Brooke skeptically.

Brooke managed a smile. “I should get my food back to the hotel before it goes bad.”

Gillian pushed her down on a wooden bench and then plopped down next to her, her sheriff’s badge blinding in its glare. Brooke wasn’t used to seeing Gillian in uniform and to tell the truth, the badge and the gun made her nervous. Still, this was Gillian, one of the nicest, friendliest people Brooke had ever met. There was no reason to be nervous.

Lady Liberty glared. Brooke gulped.

“You don’t have any perishables in there, do you?” Gillian asked, watching Brooke with those clear blue eyes that saw all. “I know there’s none of those mini-fridges at the Inn. I love those things. Don’t you love those things, with those little candied almonds, but gah-ah-ly, can you believe what the big cities charge for them? Being from New York, you know all about those mini-fridges, don’t you?”

Oh, God. She knew. Brooke tried an innocent expression and knew she’d failed. She’d never been very good at the art of deception, folding under pressure like a cheap suit. “I was planning on telling you and Austen the truth.”

Gillian cocked her head, giving her an understanding smile. “Did you think we would care? Now, I know that some people stand in judgment in this tiny pill of a town, but, sweetie, we’re family, and you don’t have to keep secrets from Austen and me.”

Brooke’s shoulders slumped from the relief of it. “All I wanted was for him to like me.”

Gillian frowned. “That’s so sweet. Of course he likes you—doesn’t he?”

Brooke frowned. “Don’t you know?”

Gillian’s clear blue eyes narrowed. Now she looked like a cop. “What are we talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Jason, carrying on. Gotta say, you don’t let any grass grow under your feet. But if that’s not what we’re discussing, then what are we discussing?”

Brooke blinked, trying for guileless. “The Captain, of course.”

Gillian leaned back on the bench, and laid an arm across Brooke’s shoulders. It should have been comforting. It was a trap. “Brooke, first of all, I think you’re cute as a button with those darling little puppy-dog eyes, but not only am I a trained law enforcement professional, I love Austen Hart, and don’t think I would hesitate to break your face into little puppy dog pieces if there’s anything that you’re hiding from him that would hurt him. Unless he’s not your brother?”

Gillian smiled with even white teeth. It was a beautiful smile. Brooke wasn’t fooled.

The other woman was breathing fire, overly protective, fiercely loyal, just like families were supposed to be. Something Charlene Hart had never learned, and something Brooke desperately needed. Maybe it was time to tell the truth. Maybe all that over-protective loyalty would cover sins of poverty and omission, as well.

“I did what I did because I wanted Tyler and Austen to like me. They don’t know me, and I don’t think they like me.”

“You took Austen’s mother away from him and his brother. She left them and traded in for a better life in New York. You got a great stepfather, they got Frank Hart. Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter if you were sitting in your mama’s stomach when she left. You could be the most perfect sister ever and he’d still have issues. Now what are you not telling me?”

Brooke took a deep breath. “I don’t have a step father.”

“You lied?”

“Yes.”

“If that wasn’t your stepfather’s house in New York when the boys visited, then whose was it? Your mother’s?”

“I don’t know who it belonged to. There was an open house. I bribed a Realtor to let me use it for a couple of hours.”

“Where was your real home?” asked Gillian, looking not so threatening, not so judgmental.

“I didn’t have one.”

Gillian’s mouth curved into an indulgent smile. “Of course you did. Maybe it wasn’t some hoity-toity mansion in New York, but everybody has a home.”

Carefully Brooke met her eyes. “Not everyone.”

It took Gillian only a few seconds to comprehend, and pity flashed in her eyes. “I’m sorry. It must have been very hard on you and your mother.”

Gillian was inviting her to tell some hugely sorrowful tales about life on the streets, just like most people did when confronted with a homeless person. Charlene Hart had thrived on her hard-luck stories, but not so much Brooke. “Austen and Tyler didn’t miss very much when they were growing up without their mother.”

“A family isn’t about money or a house. It’s not like they were rolling in it, either. They wouldn’t have cared if Charlene Hart was poor or not.”

“They might care if she had substance abuse problems.”

Gillian’s mouth drew into a little “oh” of enlightenment. “You should know your father Frank was a drunk, a vile SOB with a mouth as bitter as his black heart. Sounds like your mother was no prize, but that’s all on Frank and Charlene, not you, not Austen, not Tyler. I’ve never known three people more determined to pretend that everything’s fine. It’s not, but now you three have each other, so the secrets have got to stop. You have to tell Austen. I’ll keep quiet for a couple of days because it needs to come from you, but I won’t keep it forever. Lies have a way of coming out, and people get hurt. I won’t let him get hurt. His father has already hurt him enough.”

Easy words from a woman who had lived a normal life, but there was a certainty in Gillian’s face that inspired Brooke and made her want to believe Gillian. There would be a remarkable freedom in knowing that the pretense was over. All her life she’d pretended, but maybe Gillian was right.

Eventually Brooke nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Gillian patted her on the shoulder, as if everything would be okay. Brooke liked that about her future sister-in-law. Her confidence in the future. Of course, people who had a home usually did have that confidence. And now Brooke had a home, too. Or at least part of one. Slowly she smiled.

“And since we’re family now, tell me all about Jason,” Gillian prodded. “How the heck did that happen?”

“He gave me a job.”

At the words, Gillian’s eyes widened with shock. “What sort of job?” Then she held up a hand. “Nope. If there’s illegal shenanigans going on, I don’t want to know.” She paused. “No, no, that’s not right. As your future sister-in-law, I have to know if you have a life in crime.”

Brooke laughed. “There’s no crime. He’s paying me to organize his parts.”

Gillian’s cop-look was back. “Parts?”

“You’ve seen his land. He has a lot of parts. He doesn’t know what he owns. I’m grouping things together and writing it down.”

“But you’re living there.”

Sometimes people missed the obvious. “I couldn’t afford the motel.”

“Oh.” Gillian nodded. “Oh. I thought you were…you know.”

Brooke felt a hot flush on her cheeks, but hopefully Gillian wouldn’t notice. “He’s very nice, but I don’t think he sees me that way.” It was a modified version of the truth. A version that would meet with the Captain’s approval.

“You like him?”

Brooke nodded.

Gillian rolled her eyes. “Well, then I don’t know what’s wrong with the man.”

Brooke liked the sympathy, the unwavering support. Family. It was nice. “It’s all right. I’ve got enough on my mind right now.”

“You come stay with us,” Gillian offered, because of course Gillian would offer Brooke a place to stay. It was the next logical step, and Brooke wanted to whack her head against the bench for not thinking ahead.

“You don’t have enough room in your house. You have Austen. Your parents. I’m perfectly comfortable where I am.” It was a good answer, the one that made Brooke’s situation seem reasonable, however, Gillian was not to be dissuaded.

“We have a sleeper sofa and a blow-up…” She stopped, swore. “Stupid me. We’ll get you a room at the Spotlight. You don’t have to stay with Jason. Austen and I will pick up the tab. That way you can have some privacy and a place of your own. It’ll be temporary until the lawyer gets back and the papers are signed, but I bet you’ll love it.”

“That’s very kind,” started Brooke, “but—”

Gillian gave her arm a friendly squeeze. “No buts, sweetie. You’re family.”

H
AVING DIFFICULT
conversations was not one of Brooke’s strengths, and because any conversation with the Captain was a difficult conversation, having this particular difficult conversation was not something she knew how to do.

Leaving here would be like cutting off an arm, or a leg, or a heart…. She wiped at her tears, because the last thing she wanted was to bust out bawling in front of him before the conversation even started. Every time she looked around the house, she could feel the sting in her heart.

Outside was even worse. Such a beautiful place, and no one would ever see it the way she did. The practical shade netting was like a twinkling night sky. The swinging bench seat on the porch was the literal Cadillac of porch swings, perfect for watching the sun wake to the world. The cactus she’d placed in the window was sturdy and immoveable, not only decorative, but able to survive and thrive. All of these little things were home.

Most of all, the Captain felt like home, which was why Brooke was avoiding the conversation like the plague. Eventually, it was late afternoon, and if Brooke wasn’t at the hotel by dark, Gillian would know there was a problem and the Captain would realize that Brooke hadn’t told him she was leaving, and then the Captain would wonder why she hadn’t told him that she was leaving, surmising that Brooke didn’t want to leave and hadn’t planned on telling him—which was exactly the reason.

This sort of strategic, long-term thinking was smart and needed to be done, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. There was no way that the Captain would invite her to stay if she had other options and now Brooke had other options. More than anything, she wanted more time, but since it was now three o’clock and she had piddled away another seven minutes by thinking, time wasn’t a luxury that Brooke could afford.

After changing into her favorite white tank top, she made her face look presentable. She brushed her hair until it shone because she knew the Captain loved her hair. When ready, she appeared outside where the Captain was rolling the widow Kenley’s washing machine into the bed of his truck and slamming the tailgate closed. Determined to get this over with, Brooke swung open the passenger door of the truck and planted herself on the seat.

After he got behind the wheel, the Captain, to his credit, didn’t tell her to get out, but instead shifted to face her, giving her the full-on pirate stare—a feeble attempt at intimidation. “Why are you here?”

“You can’t lift the washing machine out by yourself,” Brooke pointed out.

“Sure, I can. How do you think I got it here? Little elves?”

Trying another tactic, she rolled down the window, propped her elbow on the door, feeling the sun warm on her arm. “It’s a great day. I’d love to go for a drive.”

She could feel the touch of his gaze skimming over her chest, her mouth, and she knew what lay behind that look, but yes, this was the Captain. “You’ll get sunburned.”

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me?” It was a cheap shot, worthy of Charlene Hart, but Brooke had tried logic and seduction, and if pity was all she had left, well, so be it.

The Captain muttered something obscene. “It’s not you. You’re beautiful and smart and you make people want to be around you. No man in his right mind would be ashamed to be seen with you.”

It was the most extravagant thing he’d ever said. He thought she was beautiful, a word she hadn’t been sure was in his vocabulary. “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

“I don’t say anything just to be nice.”

“Yes, you do,” she corrected. “You don’t like anybody to know that you do, but you do.”

“Why are you here? I know there’s a reason. What it is, I don’t know, but I know it’s going to scare me.”

If it had been left up to Brooke, she would have squandered away a few more minutes, but the Captain was a master of efficiency, and she resigned herself to telling the truth. “We need to have a discussion.”

“We don’t have to drive into town to have a discussion. We can discuss at the house.”

No, they couldn’t have this discussion at the house. The house was her home, and not having a lot of places to call home, she didn’t want to ruin the memory of the first one she’d ever had. “Start the truck,” she instructed, waiting patiently until the low rumble of the motor filled the cab.

The big black gates swung open, soon they were moving, the caliche gravel crunching under the tires.

“Did you talk to the lawyer?” he asked and there was worry in his voice. It pleased her that he might not be happy to say goodbye.

“No. But I talked to Gillian. I confessed the truth.”

He glanced sideways, because the Captain was more cagey than Gillian, or perhaps he knew Brooke better than Gillian. “What truth did you tell her?”

For a man who valued honesty, he seemed tense, and maybe she should have spit things out more clearly, but that involved levels of personal growth that she had yet to obtain. “The one and only truth.”

“You’ve got a lot of secrets up in the air, Brooke. Sometimes I have a hard time keeping track.”

“Sarcasm is not necessary.”

“What truth?” he asked.

Brooke gazed out the window, watching the oil wells that dotted the landscape as they passed. “I told her I couldn’t afford the Inn, and I told her that Charlene Hart was a drinker and that I was working for you in order to generate income.”

“Did you tell her anything else?” he asked.

She turned to study his profile this time, the quiet strength that she admired and envied, and the same quiet strength that made her want to cry. She wanted him to need her the way he needed air.