Chapter 4
Chelsea awoke to hot sunlight burning over her eyelids and face, cool, crisp sheets against her skin, and the smell of coffee. Good, strong coffee.
The smell, she discovered after blinking the sleep haze from her eyes, originated from the carafe that sat on the round table beside the bed. A pink cloth with lacy white edging covered the table and draped halfway to the floor, leaving only the bottom portion of the broad, carved, totem pole-like pedestal visible. Chelsea wanted to reach for that coffee. And for the plate of the steaming, fragrant, omelet-type concoction beside it. But she couldn't summon the energy to move.
"Well, the beast lives," a feminine voice announced.
Chelsea jerked her gaze to where the young woman she remembered from last night stood near the window. The curtains were as pink as the tablecloth. In fact, so were the sheets. Pale pink fabric with lilac blossoms lined the two overstuffed chairs in the room, and the wallpaper matched. It was very loud, very flowery and very pink. A white vanity with more filigree trim than substance stood in one corner. It was laden with pretty bottles and jars of every size, shape and color.
"Looks like the inside of Jeannie's bottle, doesn't it?" The woman let the curtains fall closed. "My brothers think all the frilly stuff makes up for being the only female in a houseful of men. I let them indulge me."
She was young. Early twenties, Chelsea guessed. Her pixie-short hair gleamed a reddish brown like the coat of a deer. And those huge brown eyes of hers reinforced the image of a doe. She was taller than Chelsea, curvier, too.
"So, do I pass inspection, Your Majesty?"
Chelsea cleared her throat, trying to work up enough energy to put the spoiled brat in her place. All she managed was, "What do you want?"
"I don't want anything, least of all to wait on some lunatic in my own house. I wouldn't be in here at all if Garrett hadn't insisted I stay with you until you came around. He said he was afraid you'd be scared waking up in a strange place." She said the last bit in a whiny, mocking tone, and Chelsea wished she could slap her. "So I suggested my room. At least here I can keep an eye on you."
"I wouldn't be here if I had a choice about it."
"You wouldn't be here if I had a choice about it either, lady."
Chelsea closed her eyes at the look of hostility in the pretty face.
"You might as well eat." The girl pushed herself away from the wall she'd been leaning on and came to the bed to hand the tray of food to Chelsea.
"Thanks," Chelsea said.
"Don't thank me. I wouldn't cook for you if you were starving. Garrett brought this up."
Chelsea looked up from the plate of food on her lap to the glittering brown eyes. "Look, I don't have a problem with you. It's your brother-"
"You have a problem with one Brand, lady, you have a problem with all of them."
"He might have killed my sister." And why the hell was she suddenly qualifying her accusations with a "might have?" Last night, she'd been so sure. Chelsea sat up straighter, suddenly losing interest in the food. "You can't expect me to just- "
"He didn't even know your sister! And you don't know Garrett. Of all my brothers, he's the most gentle, the sweetest, the kindest, the-"
She broke off, turning away fast and blinking tears from her eyes. As if she didn't want Chelsea to see her crying.
"Garrett wouldn't hurt a fly. You can ask anyone who knows him. The boys in town, they have a joke. They call him the gentle giant." She turned again, with one angry swipe at her eyes. "But I'm not gentle. And neither is Wes. And I'll tell you right now, we're not gonna stand by and let you hurt Garrett this way. You can't go around accusing him of murder. You do and I'll-"
"That's enough, Jessi."
The command was spoken softly, but in a voice so big it didn't seem likely anyone would disobey. The man Chelsea had believed to be a cold-blooded killer stood in the doorway, looking at his little sister with a frown, but adoringly all the same.
"But, Garrett-"
"No buts. Go on, now. Wes needs your help in the barn. That new calf got himself tangled in some wire and cut his hind leg up. He needs tending."
"Wes can handle a cut calf."
"Wes isn't the Brand one semester away from a degree in veterinary medicine, Jes. You are. Now get out there and see to the calf before he gets infected or something."
The girl-Jessi-blinked twice, and seemed to forget all about Chelsea. With budding concern in her eyes, she yanked open a closet door and snatched out a brown leather satchel. Then she headed out of the room and Chelsea heard her feet taking the stairs at a trot a second later.
Garrett Brand came farther into the room, but he left the door open. He really was big. Not just tall, but as broad shouldered as a lumberjack. He had bodybuilder arms that bore the coppery kiss of the sun beneath a fine mist of dark hair. His eyes were as deeply brown as his sister's. Soft eyes, bottomless and kind.
Deceptively so.
"We ought to talk," he said in that slow, easy way of his. He moved slowly, too, as if giving her time to object with every step he took. When she didn't, he eased his big frame into one of Jessi's pink-and-lilac chairs, and Chelsea wondered if she were about to witness a scene from Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Nope, the fragile-looking chair legs held.
It was only when those deep brown eyes moved slowly down her sheet-draped body and then darkened that Chelsea became suddenly, acutely interested in what the hell she was wearing. She lifted the sheet, peeked down and gasped.
"I'm naked under here," she blurted, mainly because she was so surprised.
Garrett shifted in the chair, his face reddening all the way to his ears. "Well, I asked Jessi to get you out of your clothes last night. I mean?you were pretty well soaked from the rain and all, and?"
She scowled at him when he ran out of words.
"You want me to leave so you can get dressed?"
"In what? I don't see any of my things in here."
"Well, you must have luggage in your car, right? I can have Elliot go out and-"
"Just say what you have to say and get it over with, will you?"
He nodded fast, keeping his eyes carefully lowered, though whenever they did come up, they focused on certain strategic bits of the sheet and she wondered how much he could see through it.
"All right," he said. "For starters, ma'am, I'm not sure what-" he frowned, meeting her eyes "-what's your name?"
"My name?"
"I can't talk to you without even knowing your name. It feels too odd."
She closed her eyes, sighed. "Chelsea Brennan."
His lips curled upward just slightly at the corners. "I like it."
"I'm so glad it meets with your approval," she snapped, then saw a wounded look come and go in his eyes and almost regretted her words.
"I didn't hurt your sister, Chelsea Brennan," he said, and there was so much sincerity in his deep, steady voice that it made her wonder. "But I'd like to help you find out who did?if you'll let me."
Nothing he could have said would have shocked her more. Denials, she expected. Threats, even. But an offer of help? What was this? A trick?
"Why would you want to help me? You don't even know me."
"That's true, I don't. But I know Ethan." He licked his lips as if he were nervous or something, dipped his head.
"It might sound foolish to you, Chelsea, but I made that little fella a promise. I told him I'd make things right for him again, and that's what I intend to do."
She studied him, scanning the little worry lines-or were they laugh lines?-at the corners of his brown eyes. Telling herself that just because his appearance and demeanor were so damned gentle and approachable didn't mean that's the way he truly was. Inside. Where it counted.
Hell, her father hadn't looked like the monster he was, either.
"Why should I believe you? How do I know this isn't just an act? That you aren't just lying to throw me off track?"
"Why shouldn't you believe me?"
&n
bsp; "You want me to list the reasons?"
He nodded, watching her with those soft eyes of his,
"Fine. I will, then. A year ago, my sister, Michele, got herself pregnant by the lowlife she'd been dating. She didn't tell me his name, but I saw him once from a distance. He was big?like you. And he wore a hat-" she pointed at the black hat he'd perched on the arm of the chair "-like that."
He glanced down at his hat with a frown, then picked it up. His lips pursed in thought as he turned the brim slowly in his big hands and ran his fingers around the edge and then through the dip in the hat's center in what seemed uncomfortably like a caress. "Most of the men in Texas wear hats like this one," he replied, calm and quiet. "And I imagine a lot of them are big.''
He stroked the black felt over and over. Chelsea's stomach tightened and twisted, and she jerked her gaze away from those slow-moving hands.
"A week ago, Michele called me. She told me she had a son, Ethan, and she asked me to come down here right away to see him." Chelsea clenched her jaw, closing her eyes before rushing on. "If only I had, she might still be alive. But I knew I couldn't take time off work on such short notice. I promised to fly down in a couple of weeks, but?"
"There was no way you could have known," he said.
But she should have known. There'd been something in Michele's voice, something she should have picked up on. But she hadn't. Not until it had been too late. She'd live with that for the rest of her life.
"Then, yesterday, I got a call from the Texas Rangers, telling me they had a body they wanted me to look at."
"And it was her," Garrett finished softly.
Chelsea nodded. "Someone left her for dead, only she wasn't quite. But she didn't live long enough to make it to the hospital."
It surprised her when a warm hand slid over her cold one on the bed. And she stared at it for a long moment. A big, powerful hand, only it wasn't hurting. It wasn't controlling or cruel. She pushed her brows together at the unexpectedness of that. And then the hand moved away, and Garrett cleared his throat.
"They gave me her things," Chelsea went on. "There was a locket with Ethan's picture. Your name and address were in a compartment in the back."
"So you assumed I was the killer. And Ethan's daddy." Garrett shook his head.
"She named him after you."
"And I still haven't figured out why, or how she even knew me, or who she even was." He shook his head slowly, such sincere regret in his eyes that he had her almost believing him.
Chelsea sat up, clutching the pink sheet to her chest. She pointed at the floor, where someone had slung her mud-spattered purse. "Hand me my bag, would you?"
Garrett nodded and retrieved the bag for her, returning to his seat with those slow, careful movements of his.
Chelsea dug out her billfold and opened it to the photo of her sister. She handed the picture to the big man at the bedside. "This is Michele, Ethan's mother."
Garrett narrowed his eyes as he studied the snapshot. Then they widened in recognition, and Chelsea knew, whether he'd admit it or not, that he'd known Michele.
"I remember her," he said slowly.
"You do?" She hadn't expected him to admit it.
He nodded. "It was last fall. I saw her out on the River Road, middle of nowhere, alone, with a flat tire on her beat-up old car."
"And?"
"Well, I stopped and changed it for her, of course." He looked at her as if she should have known that much. "She seemed jittery, as I recall. Had a scared-rabbit look to her that worried me. I invited her back here for supper that night, and she came. Adam and Ben were here then, too, so it was a houseful." He shook his head, then his brows drew together again.
"Did she spend the night with you?" Chelsea knew her meaning was clear in her tone.
His head came up and he gave her a sharp look. "We invited her to stay over in the guest room. She refused. Said she had to be on her way. All told, she didn't spend more than two or three hours under this roof."
"It only takes a few minutes to get a woman pregnant," Chelsea said.
Garrett sighed hard. "She was already pregnant. Ma'am, do you think your sister was stupid?"
She blinked and sat up in the bed, holding the sheet to her chest. "No. Michele was irresponsible and flighty and drawn to bad men, but she wasn't stupid."
He nodded, handing the photo back to Chelsea. "You said you heard from her for the first time in over a year, just before she was killed. Now, why do you think she called you then, after all that time?"
Chelsea drew a breath, braced her shoulders, taking full blame, which she deserved. "She knew?I think she was reaching out to me because she needed help."
"You think she knew this S.O.B. was after her."
Closing her eyes tight, Chelsea nodded.
"If it were you," Garrett said, his voice deep and smooth, "and you had your own little baby boy in your arms and a man trying to kill you and no one to turn to, what would you do, Chelsea?"
Facing him without flinching, she said, "I'd cut the bastard's heart out before he could do it to me."
Garrett blinked, maybe in surprise. It had to be surprise in his eyes the way he stared at her for a full minute before he finally nodded and spoke again. "I do believe you would," he said slowly, his gaze brushing her face from forehead to chin before focusing on her eyes again. "Fair enough, then. But what about Michele? Is that what she would have done?"
Chelsea's lips trembled as she imagined Michele's fear and desperation. She stared down at her sister's image, then closed her eyes. "She never fought back, never in her life. When things got tough for Michele, she'd run. She'd run right back home to me, and I'd take her in, find her a job, bail her out, whatever she needed. Until the next slug came along with a mouthful of promises. Then she'd take off again."
"So you think if she were scared this time, if she knew someone were trying to kill her, she would've run?"
Chelsea nodded.
"And what about the baby, Chelsea? It's hard to run for your life with a baby."
"She'd never have taken Ethan with her if she'd known she was in danger," Chelsea said quickly. "She'd never risk him that way. I know my sister. She'd have found a safe place to hide him and then she'd have run as far and as fast as she could."
She heard his sigh, his relieved sigh, and opened her eyes again to see him nodding in understanding. He held her gaze.
"Don't you see it, Chelsea? That's exactly what she did. We found little Ethan on our front porch day before yesterday. She left him here so he'd be safe." He must have seen the doubt in her eyes, because he went on. "I live right here on the Texas Brand. Have all my life," he said. "I run the ranch and I show up in a little bitty office in town every weekday with a star pinned to my shirt. Everybody in Quinn knows just about every move I make. I promise, I haven't had time to be terrorizing any woman. I haven't been to New York in years, either, and I can probably prove that if you'll just tell me the date this boyfriend of your sister's was there."
He meant it. She could tell he meant it, and her doubts about his guilt were stronger than ever.
"My sister ran away with that cowboy last year on April first," she said. "Bitter irony, isn't it?"
"April Fools' Day," Garrett observed. "Okay. I'll see if I can find some proof of my whereabouts that day for you."
She studied him, wondering why, if he really was innocent, he wasn't throwing her out on her backside. She'd stormed into his house in the middle of the night, accused him of murder and physically attacked him. He, in turn, had cooked her breakfast.
She looked down again at the omelet.
"It's getting cold," he told her.
"Doesn't matter. I'm not hungry anyway."
"When's the last time you had a meal, Chelsea Brennan?"
Every time she heard her name spoken in those slow, drawling tones, she felt a chill run up her spine. She tried to remember when her last meal had been, found she couldn't, then shrugged.
"You'll be ski
n and bone if you don't eat soon."
His words made her remember the way Michele had looked in the morgue, and she felt cold inside.
"Just a little," he urged. "I didn't put too much spice in 'em. If you want, though, I can run downstairs for the hot sauce."
She almost smiled. Hot sauce on eggs? She forced herself to take a bite of the omelet, which melted on her tongue like butter. Garrett got up and poured coffee from the carafe, filling a fat clay mug with the steaming brew. He leaned close to hand it to her, and she caught his scent. It made her want to sniff more of it.
It scared her.
"I want my clothes," she said, feeling uneasy and suddenly wishing this man were far away from her. "I want to take Ethan and go back to New York this morning."
Garrett lowered his head. He looked truly sorry. "No. Not yet."
"What do you mean, not yet?"
"I'm sorry. No, listen, I mean it. I am sorry. But I can't just let you take off with Bubba until I know-"
"Bubba?"
"Er, Ethan. Look, you're stuck here for today. There's no two ways about that, so you may as well get used to the idea."
Her fork dropped onto the plate and she glared at him. "You can't keep me here against my will!"
"Sure I can. I'm the sheriff. And last night, you assaulted me. I can toss you in jail and I will, Chelsea Brennan, if you try to take Bu-Ethan out of this house today."
"You son of a-"
"You insult my mamma, Chelsea, and you're gonna regret it."
She blinked and defiantly stuck out her chin. "What are you going to do, Sheriff Brand? You going to kill me the way you did my sister?"
He closed his eyes, shook his head slowly from side to side. "Damn. I give up." He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
She knew it had been a cheap shot. Because she really didn't have a reason in the world to suspect that big man of murder.
Garrett stood in the hallway outside Jessi's room and took a long, deep breath. It had been a long time since anyone had tested his temper as sorely as that hellcat, Chelsea Brennan, was doing.
Worse than that, she was beautiful. All of her. And there hadn't been much hidden with nothing over her but that thin pink sheet of Jessi's. It had clung to her. There'd been a little indentation over her belly button, and her breasts might as well have been exposed.
They were small and firm and?.
He clamped his jaw against the tide of reaction that tried, once again, to sweep him away, tried not to think about the soft, pale color of her skin, or the satin texture of her neck and shoulders, or those pine-tree green eyes. He tried not to feel that small, china-doll hand, cool and trembling underneath his big callused one.
He couldn't afford to have tender feelings for her. Hell, she'd come here to take little Bubba away to Lord only knew what kind of life! She was accusing Garrett of murder, to boot.
Easy enough to solve the latter problem. The former one bothered him, though. If she turned out to be Ethan's aunt after all, then he'd have no right to keep that boy here.
Garrett sneaked into the guest bedroom where Ethan's cradle was, and saw that the little pudge had decided to wake up at last. He was playing with his toes and drooling. A crooked smile tugged at Garrett's mouth, and he went to the cradle. "Morning, Bubba."
"Ga!"
He bent to pick up the baby, then thought better of it and removed the diaper first. Then the little T-shirt. He laid a fresh diaper under Ethan, but didn't tape it up. "You lie there and kick for a minute while I run a baby-size bath for you." Ethan's huge smile and gurgles of joy followed Garrett into the bathroom. "Never did know a fella who enjoyed being buck naked the way you do, Bubba."
He turned on the water.
Chelsea heard splashing, and the enthusiastic coos and chirps that went with it. Ethan! God, she'd come so far, waited so long to finally see him. That big lug of a sheriff might be able to keep her from taking him home, for the moment at least, but he couldn't keep her from seeing him.
She got out of the pink bed, holding the sheet around her in case anyone barged in, and went to the closet. She found a satin robe. Pink, of course, and a bit too long for her, but she belted it around her waist anyway, tying the sash nice and tight. Then she left the bedroom, barefoot, and followed the sounds into the big bedroom down the hall. A cradle stood empty beside a made-up bed with a wagon-wheel headboard. And farther inside, another door stood open.
Chelsea moved toward it, then stood stock-still just beyond the doorway, staring in utter shock at what she saw. The fat, laughing baby slapping his hands against the water in the tub so that sprays of droplets exploded all over the place. And the big man kneeling on the floor beside the tub, one hand firmly around the baby for support, while the other ran a washcloth over a round little belly.
Garrett had stripped off his T-shirt. Not in time, by the looks of it. It lay on the floor in a wet ball. Water dripped from a brick-wall chest and bodybuilder arms, and from his hair. Its thick, dark waves hung in straggles, some clinging to his face.
And he was laughing as much as the baby. A deep, rich sound that made her shiver.
Ethan. Her little Ethan. He was staring up at Garrett Brand with adoration oozing from his deep blue eyes.
Damned if the big cowboy wasn't looking back at the baby with something very similar shining from his brown ones.
Garrett turned, but never released his hold on Ethan. He'd tell her to get out, she guessed. He'd tell her to go back to the bedroom and stay there until further notice. He'd tell her-
"You mind handin' me that towel over there, Chelsea? I think I'm wetter than Bubba."
She blinked, gave her head a shake, then followed his gaze to the stack of towels on the washstand. She reached for one, handed it to him.
"Thanks." One-handed, he wiped his face and chest dry, then scooped the baby out of the tub and wrapped him up in another big, fluffy towel. The way he held Ethan, the way he cuddled him close?"Do me a favor and take it from here, Chelsea? I need some dry clothes, and then I ought to head out to check on that calf."
Her eyes burned and her throat closed too tightly for words to emerge as Garrett gently placed her sister's child into her arms.
"All his things are in that bag next to the cradle. You need anything, just step out onto the front porch and holler."
She nodded, but mutely. She couldn't take her eyes from the baby. Garrett turned and walked away, leaving her alone with Ethan. She came as close to crying as she had since her mother died. No tears spilled over, but she felt them burning her eyes. Felt that choking sensation, the spasms in her chest.
"Ethan," she murmured, and she hugged him close, felt his little fingers twisting and tugging at her hair, smelled him. The little angel. The only family she had left. The best thing Michele had ever done in her short, misery-ridden life. God, how Michele must have loved this baby! "I'll take care of him," she whispered, praying somehow her sister could hear her and finally be at peace.
She carried the baby back into his room, walked to the wide, arching window and parted the curtains to stare out at the red-orange sky.
"It's all right now, Michele. I'll take care of him, I swear I will. I'll give him?I'll give him the things we didn't have."
Her voice trembled as she spoke, but she went on, feeling she needed to. She had to reassure her sister as well as herself. She had to speak the promise aloud to make it real, make it solid and attainable.
"He'll have a house, Michele. With a yard and room to grow. And?and he'll have a family. I'll love him so much?you'll see. And I'll never, ever hit him, Michele. No one will, I promise you that. He won't have to hide his bruises before he goes off to school, the way we did. I swear it. I'll protect him with my life. His grandfather will never even know he exists. And if his father tries to take him from me, Michele, I'll fight him to the death. I will. He's not going to grow up to be like them. He'll be?he'll be our son, Michele. Yours and mine. I'll tell him about you. I'll make sure he
never forgets his mother."
Ethan's hand tugged at Chelsea's hair, and she smiled and hugged him again.
Jessi wiped the single tear from her cheek and tiptoed quietly back down the hall to her own room. Maybe?maybe she'd been a little hard on that strange city woman. She tried to imagine what her reaction would have been if their situations were reversed. If it had been one of her own precious brothers who'd been killed, and if she'd been convinced of who'd done it. Hell, she'd have been far rougher on the suspect than Chelsea Brennan had been on Garrett. She'd have probably shot first and asked questions later. And that would have been a crying shame, because Jessi never missed what she shot at.
Two things were for sure. Chelsea had loved her sister. And she loved little Ethan. And those were two things Jessi could fully understand.
That other stuff she'd overheard Chelsea talking about?about never hitting, and about hiding bruises?that stuff worried her. She decided to repeat the entire, one-sided conversation to Garrett just as soon as he came back inside.
Meanwhile, it was her turn to clean up the breakfast dishes.
A Brand of Christmas Page 4