by Unknown
Mat laughed. “And I can say I used to model—when bribed sufficiently—for the famous clothing designer Esme Esterbrook.”
She made a face. “Hardly famous yet, but I’m working on it.” She brushed her hand across the rugged rancher jacket he’d just handed her. “I wish you had the time to still model for me. You’re an ideal fit for EsmeEs’s sexy-mountain-man apparel.”
“If you haven’t been able to talk Z or Jude into it, you honestly can’t think I’d ever accept that proposal,” Mat said drolly.
Esme laughed. “Remember how I’d take my scissors to all those second hand store clothes I bought with my allowance?”
“And make me stand there while you reformed them into something new on my body? How could I forget? I wasn’t meant to stand still that long, especially at thirteen years old.”
“You weren’t much more patient than Jude,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you were bribable. You did it if I promised you enough of Mom’s Swedish oatmeal crisps…”
“And to sneak me some of your dad’s books on architecture.”
“I was a big cheater on that one. Dad would have leant you any of his books in a second. All you had to do was ask.”
“I know,” Mat said, cupping her shoulder. The compassion she read in his eyes made her throat go tight.
Mat had first become a fixture at the Esterbrook house when he began working there for his uncle’s landscape company when he was only seven years old. Mat may have inherited his uncle’s ranch, but Miguel DaRosa had been a pretty lame excuse for a guardian to Mat when he’d been alive. Esme’s dad had discovered that Mat’s uncle frequently paid his nephew only a tiny portion of what he deserved for his hard work, pocketing the excess for himself. Clive Esterbrook had subtly found a way to pay Mat what he deserved, and taken Mat under his wing to boot. Soon, Mat had become friends with Jude and Z from next door and Esme herself, and a regular fixture at the Esterbrook and Beckett houses.
“Where’s Shelly?” Esme asked, referring to Mat’s wife.
“She couldn’t make it. She’s not feeling well. Nothing serious.”
“And where is—” But she was halted in asking about Jude when Ursa approached and gave Mat a big hug.
“Just the man I wanted to talk to,” Ursa said. “I have a project I want to discuss with you—”
Someone tapped Esme on the shoulder. She turned to see Z Beckett holding out his arms, a mischievous grin on his hard, sexy mouth.
“Come here, girl,” Z commanded.
Esme rushed to hug him, letting out a whoop when he picked her up and bounced her around like she didn’t weight anymore than a sack of flour.
“Put me down, Zev Beckett,” she insisted between jags of laughter.
“You get littler every time I see you,” Z told her when he’d finally returned her feet to the floor. He fondly cupped her face with both hands and then ruffled her hair. “When are you ever going to grow up?”
“Big things come in small packages,” she replied, her hands on her hips.
Z laughed. “Isn’t that the truth when it comes to you. Jude always used to say the same thing.”
“Still do.”
Her breath caught. She looked around the considerable bulk of Z’s shoulders and saw Jude closing the front door, his blue eyes trained directly on her. He was dressed for the mountains in jeans and boots, the long wool overcoat he wore the only hint of his other life as a political financier. The dark coat made his shoulders appear even wider than they were, making him especially intimidating. He started to walk toward her. Her heart started to run like a locomotive at full steam when she saw that hard glint in his eyes.
“Don’t they say that about dynamite, too? That it comes in small packages?” Jude asked.
“Damn straight. Dynamite and Esme, two of a kind,” Z said, but she hardly heard him through sound of rushing air in her ears. Suddenly Jude and she were face to face.
“Hey, Es,” Jude said quietly. Holding her stare in a steady challenge, he slowly enfolded her in his arms.
Everybody seemed relaxed and lazy after eating. They all sat at various locations in the large family room, the appetizer trays long emptied, half-finished mugs of wassail and empty bowls scattered around on tables, a fire roaring in the massive river-rock fireplace. Ozone had claimed his usual place at the hearth, and was dozing off with his eyelids still half open. The Christmas tree in the family room was much smaller than the gargantuan one in the great hall, but it was filled with white lights and a lifetime of collected family ornaments.
Ilsa had served them a casual, but hearty supper in addition to the appetizers: beef, vegetable, and barley soup with her delicious homemade seven-grain bread fresh from the oven, served with cold, creamy butter. Esme adored her mother’s cooking, so it was a testament to her unusual nervousness about Jude’s presence that she’d barely gotten down one helping of her delicious soup tonight.
“I don’t have any special dessert for you all, but I made cookies a few days ago. The coffee will be fresh, though,” Ilsa said presently from where she sat on one of two leather couches that faced one another before the fireplace. Esme and Z sat cross-legged on an enormous Paiute rug, pitching pinecones into a narrow-necked basket fifteen feet away. It was an idle, childhood pastime.
“Forget about dessert. Let’s have the news,” Esme called. She was nowhere near as relaxed as everyone else seemed to be. How could she really relax, with Jude sitting just feet away on the couch, effortlessly yanking on her attention? He sat between Sadie and Mat, and was talking to both of them. Esme had been secretly eavesdropping, and knew the conversation was mostly about Mat’s new ranch and the challenges of managing it when he had another full-time job. As usual, Jude and Sadie’s interactions were warm, but that pinch of strain was there. They were always so polite with each other.
Ever since that day by the pool.
Esme clamped her eyelids shut for a second, mentally trying to vanquish the unwanted, graphic memory of Jude and Sadie poolside that day twelve years ago, their naked, sweat-glistening bodies pressed tightly together…
She shoved the painful memory into a dark corner of her mind and threw a pinecone, forcefully deflecting Z’s dead-on pitch into the basket. The game had evolved into a defensive one as well as offensive. She grinned evilly at Z’s curse, still straining to listen to Jude’s conversation. Miraculously, she thought she was succeeding in appearing lighthearted and relaxed.
Earlier, in the great hall, when Jude had hugged her, Esme had felt his warm, solid embrace in every cell of her body. Since it felt like banging fireworks were shooting off inside her, she’d been amazed to realize that no one seemed to notice anything significant. It was just Esme and Jude, after all—old childhood friends who now lived on opposite sides of the country—giving each other a fond reunion hug.
And maybe it was just that. For Jude, anyway. He might actually be hoping to revert back to their old comfortable relationship. She’d suspect that for certain. If it hadn’t been for that sharp glint of irritated determination in his blue eyes as he’d stalked toward her earlier.
“Quiet, woman. Your mom’s cookies are my favorite,” Z said before letting another pinecone fly, catching Esme off guard. It zoomed neatly into the small mouth of the basket.
Ilsa laughed. “Well, I’ll try to accommodate you both. Cookies and news, up next. Help me to clear all this?” Ilsa asked Stephen quietly, who nodded and stood with her. Esme got up to help them clear.
“We’ve got it, honey,” Ilsa said when the trays were full. Stephen and her left the room. Esme sat down on the couch near to where Joe sat in his wheelchair.
“Do you know what this all about, Grandpa Joe?” At first she thought the elderly man hadn’t heard her, because he continued to stare into the fire. But then he turned to her.
“I do, Esmeralda.” Esme tried not to flinch at hearing her ugly given name. Grandpa Joe was an old-fashioned gentleman. He was currently dressed in an immaculate gray suit
, for instance, while everyone else was in jeans. He always called Esme, Z, and Ursa by their full given names.
When Z and Jude had first arrived at Beckett Lodge, it’d been a real toss-up as to whether the experiment of two wild, grieving boys living with a fastidious, retired, wheelchair-bound man would fly. But it turned out that all of the Becketts shared one essential thing in common: big, loving hearts. That, along with time and the blessing of Joe’s smart, efficient live-in physical therapist, Stephen, had gone a long way to make them the family they were today.
“Or at least I know one crucial part of it,” Joe added, holding up a crooked forefinger and giving her a wink. “The other part, I only suspect.”
“Is it good news?” Esme asked him softly.
“Oh, it’s the very best of news, I assure you. It’s old news, too.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, sitting forward, completely mystified. Did Grandpa Joe suddenly look worried? He stared back at the leaping flames. “If it’s old news, and it’s good, how come we aren’t hearing about it until now?” Esme persisted.
“Sometimes secrets stay secrets because that’s how they’re meant to be, given the circumstances. But then the circumstances change. Life alters. It alters us, Esmeralda. Ah,” Grandpa Joe said quietly, looking over Esme’s shoulder. Stephen and her mom had entered the room, now carrying trays filled with a pot of coffee, cream, sugar, cups and a plate of cookies. “You’ll find out the secrets soon enough. And I’ll find out if my suspicions are correct, too,” Grandpa Joe told her with a little wink.
Chapter Eight
Esme’s glance strayed over to where Jude was sitting. He stared directly at her. Esme was fairly certain it was the first time he’d looked at her since they entered the family room. The way his eyebrows slanted together in a silent question told her he was as curious about all of this as she was. Curious and…worried? She gave a small shake of her head, letting him know she was no closer to knowing the truth about this mysterious meeting as he was.
“Okay,” Ilsa Esterbrook said breathlessly after everyone had been served coffee. She stood by the fireplace, smiling at all of them in turn. “We’re thrilled that you all could come tonight, for so many reasons. All of which will become clear soon, I hope.” She held out her hand. Much to Esme’s amazement, Stephen stood and went to stand by her side. “Stephen is going to talk first. This part of the news is his story. His and Grandpa Joe’s.”
Grandpa Joe stared up at Stephen with glistening eyes. A trickle of unease went through Esme. Why is Joe so emotional? What’s happening?
Stephen squeezed the older man’s shoulder gently, as if to reassure him. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but when he spoke, it was with the firm, confident manner with which Esme had been familiar with since she was six years old. Stephen had always been much more than just Grandpa Joe’s therapist. He’d been a powerful presence in all the Esterbrook and Beckett kids lives, a patient, knowledgeable tutor, a source of comfort and strength, and a good friend to each of them in a different ways.
“As most of you know, I was an only child, brought up by my parents in San Jose,” Stephen began. “When I was twenty-one and in the Army, and I was about to be sent to Afghanistan as a medic, my mother told me she wanted to have an important conversation with me. What she told me that afternoon changed my life forever.
“My mother told me that when she was a young woman, she’d worked as an administrative assistant to a powerful businessman in San Francisco, the president and owner of a privately held fund. He was a widow. Despite the differences in their backgrounds and cultures, and the fact that she was in his employ, my mother and this man formed a special bond. She told me that she fell deeply in love with him. And he loved her, in return.”
At this point, Grandpa Joe dropped his head in a mournful gesture. Stephen squeezed his shoulder again. The tender, silent exchange between Joe and Stephen made Esme’s eyes burn, even though she couldn’t have said why exactly. She turned and glanced uncertainly at Sadie, who was listening to the story with rapt attention. Then she looked at Jude. Their gazes met and held as Stephen began talking again. She saw the alarm in Jude’s eyes, and knew he was experiencing the same feeling of the unexpected and strange—the uncontrollable—unfolding.
“Despite this earth-moving thing that happened between this man and my mother, my mom was married. Not unhappily so. She cared very deeply for my father—for the man I always believed to be my natural father. Because when I was twenty-one, and about to be shipped out for duty, that’s the truth my mother told me: that the man I’d thought was my dad for all those years wasn’t my biological father. Doug Jackson—my dad—and she hadn’t been able to conceive a child for years, despite desperately wanting one. When she became pregnant with me, my father was elated. But my mom knew it wasn’t his child. She knew she was pregnant with her lover’s baby. It became clear to her the enormity of what she’d done by having this affair and falling in love with another man. Stricken by guilt for her infidelity—she came from a very strict Catholic background—she left her lover’s employ and vowed to never see him again.
“Well, as you may have guessed by now, the man whom my mother fell in love with was Joseph Beckett. And I am his biological son.”
For a few seconds, a stunned silence reigned in the family room, broken only by the crackle of the flames in the fireplace.
“But how—”
“And why,” Jude interrupted Z sharply. “Why didn’t you tell us you were our uncle?” he asked Stephen incredulously. “Why didn’t you say anything, during all these years?”
“It was his mother’s wish,” Grandpa Joe replied. “She didn’t want the truth to be generally known while her husband was still alive. But Doug passed away six months ago. Maria—Stephen’s mother—recently gave Stephen leave to reveal his parentage, if it was something he chose to do.”
“Buy you’ve known he was your son? Since the beginning?” Z asked.
“Yes,” Grandpa Joe answered calmly, despite Jude’s blazing eyes and Z’s accusatory tone. “When Maria told Stephen the truth, she didn’t expect that Stephen would look for me after he returned from his tour of duty. But he did. He sought me out,” Joe said, glancing up at Stephen. “And I’m eternally grateful for that. By that time, I’d had my accident and lost the use of my legs. I’d been put out to pasture by your father and Beckett Enterprises, sent here to Beckett Lodge, even though my mind was as sharp as ever. I was given Beckett Lodge and told to use it to ‘recuperate’ even though your father knew perfectly well that my spinal cord had been damaged, and I would never walk again. Your dad rarely came to visit, and even more rarely allowed me to see either you or Zev,” he said directly to his grandsons. “I felt as if I’d lost everything… Everyone in my life.”
Esme saw Jude’s mouth tighten with both anger and regret at that. Jude was very aware that his father had many shortcomings—his illegal handling of funds for the family business for one, the loss of a massive fortune, for another, not to mention his callous treatment of his father after Joe had had a climbing accident in his late fifties. But Jude had loved his father, too, with all the strength of an eight-year-old boy. Esme understood the conflict in him. Having been orphaned so young, Jude possessed a primal need to keep that lost father on a tall pedestal.
”I can’t begin to explain to all of you how empty I was at that time,” Grandpa Joe continued in a shaky voice. “I had nothing to live for, having lost so much. I’d lost my first wife, Stella. Maybe some of you will think that Stephen’s mother and my union sounds sordid. But I loved Maria deeply. Her decision never to see me again left a hole inside me…One that’s never heeled, I suppose,” Joe reflected as he stared into the fire, clearly lost in his memories of grief and loneliness. “I’d lost my job and my sense of purpose. The use of my legs. My independence and pride. My family.” He paused, looking away from the fire and to Stephen. “Then one day, a young man appeared on my doorstep, there to answer my advertisement fo
r a live-in therapist.” He smiled. It was a smile Esme had never seen on his face before, an acknowledgement of deep, abiding gratitude…a father’s love revealed for the first time, unguarded.
“Stephen came into my life. And even though I suffered the loss of my other son and my daughter-in-law a year later, I was blessed by having you two boys enter my world.” Grandpa Joe said to Jude and Z, his deep voice trembling. Esme swallowed back an achy lump in her throat. “I was graced with wonderful neighbors and friends,” he said, reaching for Ilsa’s hand. Esme saw that her mother’s eyes glistened with tears. Ilsa leaned down and kissed Joe on the cheek.
“I know of many people over the years who have been confused by Stephen’s continued service to me,” Grandpa Joe said after a pause. “They wondered why such a young, capable, smart man with such a promising future would dedicate his life to an old man in a wheelchair whose life was over.”
“Your life is far from over,” Stephen said quietly. “And you were one of those people who wondered why I stayed. You were always trying to shoo me off to bigger and better things.”
“Why did you stay?” Z asked.
Stephen shrugged. “He’s my father. He needed me. And not just as a therapist and assistant. You boys came to us after a year or so. My decision was made,” he said, looking from Jude to Z. “I stayed because you all were my family.”
A muscle jumped in Z’s rigid cheek. Jude’s expression looked waxen with shock. A long, awkward pause ensued.
“Well, I think it’s wonderful. Amazing,” Sadie said eventually. “I’m honored to be here for all of this. I am, truly. But I’m just a little confused as to why…” She waved vaguely at herself, Ursa, Esme and their mom. Esme understood where Sadie was coming from. Why had the Esterbrooks been asked to hear such private, intimate Beckett family news for the first time? Why had their mother been asked to arrange the meeting for the big revelation?
“We’re all here together because there’s more news to tell. On a completely different topic,” Ilsa explained. She reached out and grasped Stephen’s hand in hers. Esme’s jaw dropped open in rising disbelief when she saw the way they were beaming at each other. Shivers poured down her spine and arms.