His brother stood, a question in his eyes as he crossed the room. Was this another interrogator? With a forced smile, he extended his hand. "Hi, Mariela, is it?"
Her beautiful eyes sparking with warmth, she greeted his brother. "Hi Curtis, please call me MaryJo." At Curt's confused expression, she smiled. "My real name is Mariela Josefina. Your brother calls me Mariela, but I'm really just plain, ole MaryJo to everyone else."
Still suspicious, he shook her hand. "I'm Curt . . . Forsythe. I'm Travis' brother—half-brother," he corrected. "How do you know Travis? From his work?"
"Oh, no." MaryJo sank down on the couch, unwinding her scarf as she spoke. "We just met two weeks ago."
Shrugging out of her jacket, Travis took it from her, carrying it to the chair near the kitchen. Only two weeks? A waft of her scent rose from the warmth of the fabric, sending a fleeting jag of desire along his nerve endings. Somehow, it felt as though he'd known her forever.
"How'd you meet?" Curt took the chair across from the couch, as though instinctively sensing she was off-limits. Was he giving off that impression? Frowning, Travis forgot about his urge to inhale another drugging breath of MaryJo.
"I fell out of his tree."
Curtis startled, unsure whether she was joking. "You—what?"
She nodded, her long, silky hair sliding across her shoulders in a maddening, touchable, chocolate wave. Travis wanted it—fisted in his hands. "My cat got outside by mistake and I was chasing him in the rain."
"So, you live close by." Understanding dawned in his eyes.
Another slide of sleek, shiny hair. "Actually I live one neighborhood over," she explained. "But Jack moves fast, so he traveled pretty far before I could catch him."
"Catch him?" Travis finally joined the conversation. "You never caught him, MaryJo." To his brother, he explained. "I heard a noise outside my window . . . my second floor window," he emphasized, pausing as Curt's eyes widened in understanding. "Yeah—she was twenty feet up the damn tree in an ice storm."
His brother's slow smile was reluctantly admiring. "How did you climb so high?"
MaryJo's cheeks began coloring an attractive shade of pink. Her blush made her eyes shine brighter, he noticed. And made her lips seem redder—God, that amazing mouth. Blinking, he shook off the bewildering sensation of dangling from the edge of a cliff, his control, a rapidly fraying rope.
"I've found I can do fearless things when I'm inspired. I thought my cat would freeze to death."
"She also does incredibly crazy things," Travis teased. "When I got out there, she was hanging by her fingertips and she was nearly frozen to death."
"So, what happened?" Curt leaned forward, his unruly, sun-streaked hair tumbling across his forehead, forearms resting on his knees, hands that could build just about anything—dangling between his legs. His expression, one of complete immersion in the story. Travis had a flashback to when they were kids— before the drugs. Before the accident. Before he'd abandoned him—to fend for himself.
Her eyes brimming with amusement, MaryJo took over. "Your brother shouted at me and I fell from the tree."
"A stranger dangling from my tree in the dark of night and I'm not supposed to be curious?" He turned to Curtis. "I broke her fall and then I dragged her inside to defrost her."
"What happened to your cat?" His brother's mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh, probably afraid he'd insult her.
"While I was sleeping off the worst of my fall, your brother apparently rescued him for me."
Travis rolled his eyes. "Jack rescued himself." To Curt, he explained, "the damn cat came down on his own. I just opened the door and he tumbled inside."
"I can't believe it." Curt turned to MaryJo. "The people part I get. He rescues them all the time. But—my brother rescuing a cat? Now, that's amazing." His glance flicked to him. "How'd you know what to do with it?"
"That was the hard part," he admitted. "MaryJo was passed out on the couch. But I was starving. When I opened a can of tuna to make a few sandwiches, Jack went crazy, yowling and rubbing up against my legs. I knew I had him." Travis saw it then—in his brother's eyes. A flicker of warmth. Of amusement. Of . . . life.
"MaryJo says she has all the stuff to make a pizza, so she's going to show us how to do it and then—we can watch the game." He didn't dare risk glancing at her. Travis could actually sense her reading his mind, wondering what the hell was going on. Would she take his pass and run with it?
"I HOPE YOU BOYS LIKE veggies, because we're going to pile on a whole bunch." At the deadly silence greeting her announcement, MaryJo cracked up. Still a little unsure exactly why she’d been pulled into Travis’ family gathering, the night was shaping up to be fun. They may not look very much alike, but Travis and Curt sure as hell were brothers. "I have pepperoni," she reassured.
"Sausage?" Curt's voice was clearly hopeful.
"Sausage, too." Forcing a serious expression, she met alarmingly similar gazes. "Whether you like it or not, for every bite of sausage, you're gonna get a bite of spinach or mushrooms or peppers, too. We're not doing halvsies." Sensing she'd piqued his curiosity, she turned her attention to Curt. "Vegetables will not hurt you."
His expression deadpan, only his eyes sparked with amusement. "What about e coli?"
Chuckling, she headed for Travis' kitchen, calling back over her shoulder. "Just for that, you're in charge of scrubbing all the veggies. You can make sure our pizza is e coli free."
It was a toss-up which brother proved to be more skilled in the kitchen. Both seemed highly eager to learn, though MaryJo sensed they would be equally happy leaning against the counter, nursing a beer and watching her do all the work. But—that was not happening. "Travis, I don't suppose you have a pizza stone?"
He met her gaze with a blank stare. "Is that some sort of code? Is it an ingredient?" He waved at the pile of vegetables accumulating on his counter. "I don't think you're going to be able to fit all this stuff on the crust."
"Maybe it's the thing you roll out the dough with," Curtis suggested.
"No and no," she said, suddenly suspicious they were ganging up on her. "A stone is what you bake it on."
Travis shook his head. "Seriously? You had to show me how to grate cheese for the chili and you thought I might have a rock you bake pizza on?"
"You know how to make chili?" Curtis straightened up. "Thanks for inviting me," he accused. "I wanna learn."
"It's a stone," she corrected, fighting to suppress her laugh. The brothers sounded increasingly like a meal at Madeline's house, when Matt and Teagan started in on each other.
"Dude, I don't know how to make chili," Travis reassured. "MaryJo invited me over and she made it. I just pretended to help."
"Guys-" MaryJo felt two pair of eyes swivel her direction. "We need something flat to bake the pizza on." Blank stares again. "Maybe—do you have a baking sheet?" Travis was shaking his head as though she'd asked him to calculate the twenty-eighth decimal point after Pi. "It's a long, flat rectangle?" A long pause. "You bake cookies on them?"
Travis studied her, his expression quizzical. "Can I just show you the cabinet where all that stuff is? Maybe the decorator bought a few cookie things."
"I think I need a beer," she muttered.
Curt pushed off the counter and crossed to the fridge, in a race to beat Travis. "I can do that."
With a sigh of relief, she nodded. At this rate, they'd be lucky to be eating by the second half. Turning to Travis, she smiled. "Point me to your pans."
HAVING MOVED TO THE living room floor, Curt clutched his stomach. "Damn, that was so good. MaryJo, that was like . . . the best pizza I've ever eaten."
"Thanks, Curtis." A warm glow of pleasure lit her insides, coaxed along by the two beers she'd nursed during dinner. Their pizza had been delicious, but it hadn't been anything special. It had just been fun to make. Tucking her legs underneath her, she settled back against the cushions. "See how easy that was to bake—once we finally found something flat and non-flamm
able?"
Staring at her, his expression was thoughtful. "So, I can just buy that dough . . . in a baggie at the deli. And then I buy the pepperoni and cheese-"
"And a bag of spinach," she reminded, lifting her beer to hide her smile.
"And then I just . . . bake it." Travis' brother leaned back against the ottoman, the expression of wonder on his face making him appear far younger than twenty-eight. "Why does this taste so much better than the frozen pizzas I buy?"
Glancing up, she noticed Travis hovering near the doorway, still clearing the table in the dining room. Curious why he hadn't rejoined them yet, she thought for a moment he might be listening in on the conversation. As soon as the notion crossed her mind, she dismissed it as foolish. "For one thing, the veggies are fresh. And we added our own olive oil and spices to the dough. You just have to figure out what you like and then you can always make it exactly the way you want it."
Curtis' smile was sly. "And now I can seriously impress the ladies. Invite them over for homemade pizza. They'll think I'm the shit."
She laughed. "Women love a guy who can cook. It's sexy."
He waggled an eyebrow at her. "What're you doin' later, MaryJo? I've got a cookie sheet with your name on it."
"Oh, no," she corrected, "you need to do it right. You need a pizza stone. That will totally turn her on."
"Seriously?"
"It gives off the vibe that you're actually a serious cook. It wouldn't hurt to have a few different selections of olive oil, too." She thought fleetingly of starting a list for him. "Maybe some spices."
His sigh was exasperated. "I don't suppose I can buy the stone thing at the grocery store?"
"You know what?" She glanced at him. "I've got a spare at home." She liked the idea of encouraging his enthusiasm. Though Curtis had been friendly and engaging, there was a guarded quality to his eyes, a toughness to his features. The brothers' eyes were similar in their startling blue color, as was the set of their jaw. They were definitely related. But, Curtis carried a solemn weariness Travis didn't seem to be burdened with. Or perhaps he just hid it better. She couldn't help sensing that life had punched Curt in the chops a few too many times. "The next time I see Travis, I'll leave it with him so he can give it to you."
As Travis re-entered the living room, his smile was friendly, but the expression in his eyes was grateful. For the hundredth time that evening, she wondered what was going on between them. She couldn't help feeling as though she were acting as some sort of intermediary between feuding countries. Yet, there had been no harsh words.
"Trav, you hear that? MaryJo is going to give you a pizza stone for me."
"Great. I'll call you once I have it and you can swing by to get it." He hesitated, as though he suddenly had to think carefully before he spoke. "Maybe we can break it in together."
Curt's expression became guarded. "Yeah—that could work." He turned his attention back to the game. Because she was becoming adept at reading Travis, MaryJo caught the fleeting wince of disappointment before his expression went carefully neutral. And suddenly, she understood. They were not close—though Travis clearly wished they were. Like a puzzle, she worked out the few pieces she knew. There had been an accident. Perhaps that had something to do with their estrangement? Or maybe it was something to do with their childhood? Their mother? Travis had mentioned protecting Curtis. Maybe from all those step-fathers? And then he'd left for college. Which would have left Curt without a defender.
Her gaze drifted to where Curtis sat on the floor, before shifting back to Travis. Don't do it, MaryJo. Her inner voice prodded her to leave them to their own problems. Who was she to meddle? Likely, she could make it worse. Yet, she couldn't forget that look on Travis' face. It was one of the few truly unfiltered expressions she'd seen.
"What do you do, Curtis? For work, I mean?" Mentally, she crossed her fingers. "Are you an IT guy, like Travis?" She sensed Travis stilling before he eased onto the couch near her.
"No—I didn't get to go to college." His response held an edge—as though he expected the questioning to become personal. "I've been apprenticing as an electrician. I have a few months left before I can go out on my own."
Schooling her expression, she peeled the label from her bottle to give her hands something to do. "Do you like it? Is it commercial or residential work?"
To her surprise, Curt began talking. Warming to his topic, he explained he was doing commercial work and that he was thinking of specializing in security systems. After a few minutes, Travis cautiously dropped in a few of his own questions.
"MaryJo's dad runs a security consulting business." When Curt cut her a questioning look, she nodded, but wanted to let Travis do the talking. "She even took me on a stakeout," he added.
At that, his head swiveled. "No way. Seriously?"
When Travis grinned at his brother, she experienced his pleasure straight down to her toes. They were talking. Given how animated Travis grew as he recapped their frigid, car-bound evening, even she was chuckling over his descriptions. By the time he'd finished, MaryJo found herself promising to include Curt on an upcoming stakeout.
A few hours later, she was tired, but happy over the unusual twist to her evening. She'd had a great time with both brothers, despite being roped into a charity basketball game in a few weeks. The game would've been fine. It was the practice Curt wanted to wedge in this weekend. "Is it really at eight-thirty?" Stifling a yawn, she called after him. He was already in the foyer, ready to leave. "I can't sleep in?"
"Eight-thirty, sharp," he called over his shoulder. "The court is reserved. I'll bring the coffee."
"For me to play that early on a Saturday morning, I'll need a donut, too." Not catching his response, she heard them laughing as they stood on the porch. When Travis returned to the kitchen, she was busy putting on her coat.
"Mariela-"
Surprised by the gruff catch to his voice, she turned. And was engulfed in a bear hug. "Travis? What's wrong?"
He kissed her, his mouth warm, teasing, coaxing a response from her. Floored by his reaction, it took several seconds before the sparks began shivering through her and she relaxed against him. When he finally raised his head, she was stunned by the fleeting glimpse of emotion she discovered in his eyes before he shuttered his expression. "Thank you—for tonight. I know I dragged you in here . . . but my brother-" He hesitated for several pained seconds. "He and I . . . have had our issues."
"I figured it was something like that. When did you grow apart? When you left for college?"
He nodded. "When I came home . . . I tried to reconnect, but Curt wasn't interested. After graduation—still no luck. He just . . ." His arms dropping away, he took a step back from her. "Then . . . he had the accident." Pulling out a chair, Travis sat down heavily. "I was there, of course. I paid for everything. The medical bills, the rehab, the physical therapy. I've tried to help him find jobs . . . but he refuses my help. Until this charity tournament he organized, I haven't seen much of him."
"He wants to be close to you, Travis."
"You're wrong." Glancing up at her, his face held a curious expression. "He makes excuses to avoid me." His voice was flat, unemotional. "When I ask questions, he gives me one word answers."
"Maybe he thinks you’re grilling him." MaryJo smiled. "I can see it in his face. He wants you to be proud of him-" She hesitated, the voice of doubt clanging for attention. Don't get involved. "I sense . . . whatever happened in the past—it's holding him back. As though he doesn't think he's worth it. Like he's embarrassed—or burdened."
"How are you doing that?" His expression astonished, Travis cut her off.
She startled, trying to not take offense at his tone. "I just-" Unsure herself, she shrugged. "Curt wants you to see him as an equal—not as the younger brother who always needs your help."
"But he does need my help."
"Try viewing it through his eyes," she suggested. Carefully choosing her words, she pointed out the obvious. "He felt left behind.
Abandoned-" When his eyes flared with anguish, MaryJo realized she'd chosen the worst possible word. He feels guilty. For whatever had happened to his brother, Travis believed he was responsible.
"Not that it was your fault." Fumbling to fix the error, she hurried to explain. "You were eighteen. You had to leave. Like every kid leaves for college," she emphasized. "You don't give up your life because you're leaving a younger sibling behind."
"I should have," he muttered. When she would have disagreed, he pinned her with his eyes, stopping her breath with the bleakness she found there. "You don't know—what it was like."
A thick, tense silence encircled them. Afraid that anything she said would be entirely wrong, MaryJo released a nervous breath. And took a leap of faith. "Was it awful?"
Her whispered question hung in the implacable void between them. For several seconds, she wondered whether he would bother answering. She thought about gathering up her coat and simply slipping out the door with an apology. But he looked so . . . vulnerable. So alone. A strong, confident giant who exuded self-assurance in every other way.
"Awful—isn't a strong enough word." He released an agonized breath. "It was-"
"Don't-" Shocked by a wave of compassion, she didn’t need him to explain. Didn’t want him to relive the pain shimmering in his eyes. "Let’s not go there," she suggested. "I can't pretend I understand what you both went through, but if you fast forward . . . to now-"
Though his expression remained impassive, his eyes nearly burned her with their focus. Her senses prickling, she could only imagine what he was thinking. He'd opened himself to scrutiny—something clearly foreign to him. Something so distasteful, he would likely resent anything she said. "This is none of my business. I should . . . go." When she rose from the chair, his hand shot out to stop her.
"You helped me tonight. Please—tell me what you think." Though his eyes reflected anguish, his words were devoid of emotion. "Please."
Releasing a deep breath, she nodded. If she exited this conversation unscathed, it would be a miracle even Saint Simeon would have trouble pulling off. "Okay. I'm guessing that when you came home from college—you probably expected to start up where you left off, with the same big brother role."
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