For as long as she could remember, she loved hearing stories. Vividly, she remembered her grandparents' stories about the Great Depression. Her father's memories of his early years in the military were almost as compelling. Brenna's favorite stories, though, came from Nonna, who had told stories of her own grandmother.
Brenna had mostly hated the constant moving that came with her father's military career. The one thing she had liked about moving to new places was the folklore. She had tape-recorded many stories, including those her grandmother had told her. Until last night when Cole had asked her about her dreams, she hadn't ever considered that keeping the oral histories alive could be a job. No, more than a job. A career. A dream, Brenna thought, in this case, most likely a pipe dream.
Dream it. Then be it.
She shook the thought away. No dreams. Not until she had her independence back. Then she'd look beyond the basics.
"Hi, Auntie Brennie," said a little girl who skipped across the room toward her, adopting Teddy's nickname for her.
Brenna smiled. "I'm glad to see you, Lisa. Are you and your sister ready for today's story?" When both girls nodded, Brenna lifted her gaze to include the rest of the children. "Are you ready?"
Vigorous nods and a chorus of "Yes!" answered her.
"Today's story is The Little Engine That Could," she began, her smile automatically including the adult that sat down in a chair behind the children. Absently wondering which child's father the man was, Brenna's gaze rose to his face.
Cole Cassidy smiled back at her.
Her voice trailed into a hoarse whisper.
What was he doing here? Her cheeks grew hot and her hands became instantly cold.
All of Brenna's worst fears pooled into a seething cauldron in her stomach.
Today the deception would end. Today, she would be exposed as a fraud. Today, of all the days of her life, would surely be the worst. The urge to run—run as far and as fast as she could—was nearly overwhelming.
"Brenna?" Cole's gentle question brought his face back into sharp focus. "Do you mind if I stay?"
Of course I mind, she wanted to shout. She wiped her damp palms on her jeans. Instead, she found herself answering calmly, "No. If you like—"
"The Little Engine That Could has always been one of my favorites." His brilliant eyes held a message Brenna chose not to interpret, though she couldn't ignore it. Involuntarily, she remembered the caress of his lips across hers, carrying no more weight than a whisper, holding her attention as certainly as a whisper.
Brenna returned her attention to the book she held in a death grip. She closed her eyes for a second, calling for the control and confidence she had spent her life building. The carpet-covered cube where she sat wasn't likely to swallow her any time soon, which meant she had to deal with the problem right now. Brenna opened her eyes, opened the book, and smiled at the children.
"Once upon a time," she began, wishing for the next few minutes to be over with. Most of the children soon became involved with the story. They followed her narrative paced to the illustrations, which she kept in front of the children. A roar in her ears kept her from hearing the words she spoke, and for all she knew she might have been speaking Swahili.
Brenna was glad—really glad—that today was not her first time as the story-hour volunteer. Otherwise, she would have been positive the kids were privy to her secret. One little girl practiced tying her shoes. The pair of twins whispered to each other. Another child ran his palm up and down Brenna's jean-clad leg as though the texture of denim was more interesting than anything, especially the story.
Brenna's mental struggle as she recited the story echoed the little engine's struggles. She had spent years perfecting her defenses. Cole wouldn't suspect, because he wouldn't be looking for anything out of the ordinary. Her mind acknowledged the truth of her logic, but she didn't believe it. Any moment now, he would stand, point his finger, and label her for the fake she was.
Any moment now.
Yet Cole seemed to be enjoying himself, just as the children were.
Her pretense was successful. Again.
Yeah, but look at what you got from faking it, came the ever-persistent voice of her conscience. A lawsuit, because you couldn't read the fine print of the lease. Because you couldn't read the back statement. Because—
Go away. This isn't the same.
Isn't it? One more lie built on a foundation of lies.
That was a truth she couldn't deny, much as she wanted.
Up and down the mountain, by himself, the Little Engine That Could overcame all his obstacles, chanting, "I think I can. I think I can! I know I can." The last page of the book came, and the Little Engine That Could sat on top of his mountain, smug and proud.
Smug and proud might have been what the Little Engine That Could felt. Brenna had felt only relief that one more time, the deception had held together.
The children left one by one, most telling her, "Bye, Auntie Brennie," and promising to see her next week. Brenna gathered up the books and stacked them neatly on the cube beside her, aware of Cole's approach.
"You're terrific at this," he said, sitting down on the cube next to her. His suit today was dark, impeccably tailored. A power suit. She couldn't help but compare the suit to her jeans, tangible proof, had she needed any, she and Cole belonged in very separate worlds.
"Thanks," she responded huskily, automatically.
"She's the best volunteer we've got," Nancy added from behind Cole. "It's not often we have one of the dads pay us a visit."
"I'm not a dad," he explained. "I'm a friend of Brenna's." He extended his hand. "Cole Cassidy."
Friend. A single innocent word that echoed through Brenna's mind. "I'm Nancy Jenkins. It's nice to meet you." She winked at Brenna. "You're holding out on me, girl."
Teddy perched his elbows across Brenna's thigh, and Cole smiled at him. "You must be Teddy."
"Yep," he replied. "Is it lunchtime yet? I'm hungry."
Brenna stood up. "We're almost ready to go, sport."
"Here's the book you asked me about for next time," Nancy said, handing Brenna a large picture book.
"Let me see," Teddy insisted, pulling the book down until he could see the cover. "What's this book?"
"The Bremen Town Musicians," Cole read. "One of the tales from the Grimm Brothers."
"And a very strange story, too," Nancy added, synopsizing the story of four old farm animals who ran away from home and frightened a band of robbers when they sang for their supper. "But, I know you, Brenna. There's some important lesson of life you're getting at here. I mean, you always do. With The Little Engine That Could, it was easy to see you wanted the kids to know the importance of trying even when you think you can't. But, this story is too weird for words."
Cole took the book from Brenna and flipped through the pages. Brenna watched him scan the pages, his expression changing slightly as he read. Then he nodded, once, as if confirming something to himself. He looked up, winked at Brenna, and glanced down at Nancy.
"What scared the robbers?" he asked. "The animals themselves? Or what the robbers thought they were?"
"What they thought," Nancy answered. "But I still don't get it."
Cole looked up from the last page of the book. "Appearances are deceiving." He paused and his gaze focused on Brenna. "Right?"
She hadn't expected him to get it, but he had. In spades. Nothing else could have frightened her as much.
"Right," she agreed, forcing the word between dry lips.
"Too bad deception works both ways," he mused.
Brenna was sure she didn't want to know what that meant, but she had to ask, "How's that?"
"In my line of work, things would be easy if breaking through the deception always revealed the truth. But it doesn't work that way. So you never know what is really beneath the deception. The truth or more lies."
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
Appearances are deceiving. Ne
ver mind that he was right. Brenna felt as though she had been caught in a trap of her own making. Cole would surely see through her deceptions, if he hadn't already. That she cared a flying fig what he thought baffled her. More. Frightened her.
Fighting the urge to run, she blindly reached into her wallet and pulled out a library card, which she handed to Teddy with the book. "Want to check this out?"
"Uh-huh." He smiled and trotted off to the counter, his posture indicating his pride at being given the job.
Brenna looked up and found Nancy watching Cole. Brenna halfway expected Nancy to have that I-think-you're-great, why-don't-you-ask-me-out expression. She didn't, and when she glanced back at Brenna she smiled—that secret smile between friends that silently said, This guy is hot.
"I still wish you'd tell the kids the story of the Three Little Pigs the way you did to Teddy that one time." Nancy grinned at Cole. "You would have loved it. These pigs went off to seek their fortune, all right. But in professional sports. Can you imagine a little pig as a baseball player?" She put her two fists together as though holding a bat.
Cole's smile returned, and his attention remained fastened on Brenna. "Baseball, again. Do you like the game?"
"She loves it." Nancy echoed. "And I'm telling you, don't ever challenge her to baseball trivia. She'd whip your derrière." She wiggled her fingers. "Gotta go."
Cole's attention shifted to Brenna. "How 'bout a Rockies game?"
"I'm working."
Cole laughed and made a point of glancing at his watch. "It's June, and there's only dozens more home games between now and the playoffs. And you're working."
Brenna felt the heat flood her cheeks. "I … thought you meant tonight."
"Ah. And it is true—that you're working. I remember you telling me." He leaned a little closer. "Another time, then?"
Brenna met his gaze, her breath caught painfully in the middle of her chest. Another second chance, when she didn't want it, didn't deserve it … couldn't resist it. She nodded. "Another time."
"A woman of many talents," Cole said. "Baseball trivia buff. Entrepreneur. Storyteller. Adored aunt."
"Ex-entrepreneur," Brenna corrected. Nancy had made her sound like something special. What a lie—another deception on top of all the others. She needed some distance and time to think. That conclusion didn't keep her from asking, "Why aren't you at work?"
He grinned. "And direct, too."
"Well?" She wanted to give in to his grin. He looked great—what woman wouldn't be charmed by him? She couldn't allow herself to be.
"Who says I'm not working?"
"Unless you're suing the library, I can't imagine what you're doing in a children's room at ten o'clock in the morning."
His smile widened, and she sensed he would deliberately ignore her baiting him.
"It's not ten o'clock, Brenna. Would you and Teddy like to go to lunch?"
"Lunch?" she echoed.
"Yes," Teddy responded from her side, handing her the book and library card. "McDonald's. Okay?"
Brenna shook her head and stood up. "Not okay. I've got to go to work."
"All work and no play isn't good for you," Cole murmured, following her through the library.
"All play and no work doesn't pay the bills."
"Now there's a news flash." Cole had appreciation for her point of view, one he hadn't had until he struck out on his own. No more frills, if you could call a paralegal and an investigator frills. Things could be worse, he reminded himself. David Simmons had sent him several referrals, which Cole appreciated. When he had called to thank the senior partner from his old firm, the conversation had been surprisingly amiable.
Brenna acted as though she couldn't wait to get away from him, moving toward the door as if it was a lifeline. He followed, reluctant to let her go. Though he admitted he'd earned whatever she thought about him, it rankled that she didn't trust him. That didn't keep him from being attracted in a way he hadn't been … ever.
"Brenna, it's just an invitation for lunch—"
"Thanks," she interrupted, "but I really do have to go to work." She pulled open the door and held it for Teddy. Cole caught up with her in time to keep it from slamming in his face.
"The least I can do, then, is drive you home."
Again she shook her head. "The bus will be along in a couple of minutes. I don't want to put you out of your way."
Her voice had that same calm cadence she used in court, but he sensed that beneath the surface, she was rattled. Why? he wondered. He caught up with her outside under the shade of a spreading oak. "It's not out of my way. Is that really the problem? Or something else?"
She glanced at him in that almost defiant way she had, challenging him, wary as a barn cat.
"I guess I was hoping for too much," he said. "God knows you don't have any reason to trust me, much less like me." When she didn't contradict him at all, he decided the time had come to retreat and regroup. His gaze left Brenna, and he dropped to his haunches in front of Teddy, offering him a hand. "Take good care of your aunt, okay, Teddy?"
In grown-up fashion, the child took Cole's hand. "Maybe we can go to McDonald's some other time?"
Cole chuckled. "We can." He stood up, and unable to resist, tucked a strand of Brenna's hair behind her ear. "Okay, Auntie Brennie?" She didn't answer, and he cocked his head to the side. "I'll see you soon, then."
She swallowed and nodded, holding her hand out to Teddy. Cole watched them walk away, wondering if she believed him. If she didn't, she'd know soon enough. Tonight. He didn't have a clue about how to breach her defenses. But, he promised himself, by the time she got off work from the bar tonight, he would have a plan.
You should have told him to butt off, Brenna told herself as she walked away from Cole.
She had never indulged in casual flings. Cole almost made her wish she was the type. Without a doubt, she knew she couldn't have an easy, fun, casual relationship with this man. And for her, there could be no other kind. The sooner she got that through her head—and his, if he asked her out again—the better. The next time she saw him, she'd tell him in no uncertain terms. She wasn't interested in going out with him. No matter how much she wondered what kissing him would be like.
While they were waiting at the bus stop, Teddy asked, "How come the words aren't the same when you read to me?"
Brenna frowned, aware she had missed something in Teddy's ongoing monologue. "Same as what, Teddy?"
"The same words as Daddy reads," he explained. "Don't you know the words, Auntie Brennie?"
Don't you know the words? Brenna stared at her nephew. If Teddy had figured it out, surely her lack of reading was equally obvious to the entire world. While she was still trying to understand how he had discovered her secret, Teddy jumped up.
"Here comes the bus. Can I put the money in? Please?"
The bus stopped, and Teddy preceded her up the steps, telling the driver hello, and fed the coins into the meter. He skipped to a seat and sat down.
"Look at the funny dog, Auntie," he said as she sat next to him. "What kind is it?"
Brenna followed his pointing finger through the window, marshaling her scattered thoughts with effort. "An Afghan hound, I think."
"I like the way he walks. And his floppy ears."
Brenna sighed, thankful for the curiosity that had made Teddy forget his question. More frightening was Cole's intuition.
Appearances are deceiving.
The three words beat inside her brain, keeping rhythm with the bus. Brenna watched the passing city, remembering every turn, every choice, that had led her here. A choice—a stupid choice, made when she was six—that she wouldn't compete with her brother to earn her father's love. She hadn't understood the consequences of her actions then. And now … now she was an illiterate woman, deceiving everyone.
"Isn't this where we get off the bus, Auntie Brennie?" Teddy asked, startling her out of her melancholy reverie.
She focused her gaze on the pizza parlor and serv
ice station that marked their stop. "It sure is, honey. That's very observant."
He beamed. "I'm getting to be a big boy, huh?"
Brenna wanted to scoop him into her arms and encourage him to continue being a little boy. There was plenty of time to be a big boy, plenty of time to face all the challenges of growing up. Instead, she smiled and tousled his hair.
"Yes," she said, giving him the reassurance he needed. "The biggest. The best."
"How do you suppose the bus driver knows where to go?"
"I imagine he looks at the street signs."
Teddy craned his neck and looked up at the sign on the corner. "What does this one say?"
Brenna glanced at the sign, then at the landmarks that identified the intersection to her. "Washington Street."
"I'm going to learn every sign," he said. "Then I'll be able to drive a bus, too."
She had little doubt he meant it. Teddy would make his choices, just as she had made hers. Hopefully the chain that would stretch link by link into Teddy's future would include better choices than she had made.
Brenna moved through the rest of the day like an automaton. As she cleaned Mrs. Johnston's house, doubts returned to plague her, doubts that had been nearly constant since Bates filed his lawsuit. She hadn't been able to make a success of a small, simple business. How did she expect to ever get out of her current pickle?
For more than two years, she had dared think everything would be fine. Her business hadn't required much paperwork, and anyway she'd hired a bookkeeper-secretary to manage those details. Until she had taken maternity leave, things had gone fine. Then, little things Brenna thought she could handle became overwhelming. The remembered helplessness poured through her now. How much longer could she keep deceiving everyone?
CASSIDY'S COURTSHIP Page 6