Ready to say she was done for the night, she glanced at the man who was now into his second set of butterflies.
She never shortchanged her cardio.
“No, there’s been no testing done.” On the treadmill in front of the mirror, her back to him, she started a slow jog.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MASON LIFTED HIS ARMS. Focused on his form. You didn’t dick around when you were dealing with hundred-pound weights.
Nothing had changed.
He wasn’t a father. He just wasn’t not one. Been that way for over four years. He lived with it.
Seeing those drawings, the toys, the books—the kid had to be reading at the third-grade level—he knew more about his niece. That was all.
But his gut wasn’t buying it.
There was a reason he’d been content to stay away from Bruce and Harper and Brianna. He couldn’t and wouldn’t try to claim his brother’s family, steal it away from him.
And he couldn’t trust himself to ignore his need to find out if he was a father. The father of a very special little girl. He already knew how dangerous being around Harper was to him.
Moving on from curl to shoulder push-ups he counted. Welcomed the sweat dripping down his back. And tried not to watch Harper run. He couldn’t clearly make out the shape of her breasts under the tent she was wearing, but he knew how they fit his palms. Knew how responsive her nipples had been to his touch.
He could imagine...
No! He couldn’t imagine. Harper was as off-limits now as she’d always been. Even more so as he investigated his brother for elder abuse. People might suspect that he was out to get his brother. Anyone who thought he wanted to prove that Bruce had hurt Gram was 1000 percent wrong.
Bruce was the kid brother he’d always watched out for. It would be a mammoth blow if Mason was the one to bring him down. And he dreaded coming up with those findings, but knew that if he did, Bruce would be forced to see the truth. To accept the consequences, get help. Gram would be safe again. And there’d still be hope of a future for their family.
But there’d be absolutely no chance of ever having any kind of relationship with his brother if he took Harper, too. Because that was how Bruce would see it if Mason got involved with her.
Not that he was saying she’d have him. But he had a pretty good idea that he could tempt her into...something.
Nothing. He couldn’t tempt her at all.
And there’d be no more talk about testing with Brianna, either. Bruce was a responsible father. He loved the little girl, who, by all counts, was doing very well. Growing up healthy and happy.
Mason knew his place. He’d accepted that he was paying for the mistake he’d made in allowing himself to have sex with the woman his brother loved. And where Brianna was concerned, he was out.
Putting down the weights, he moved to the all-in-one machine. He looped his feet under the steady bars, lay back with his head toward the floor and did a hundred sit-ups, followed by leg lifts.
He’d just walked over to the opposite side of the circular machine, ready to add weights to the arm presses, when Harper finished her run.
Even with her sweat-soaked hair, the woman was gorgeous. So beautiful that when she smiled at him, he was instantly hard again.
“You done with leg lifts?” she asked.
Plopping down onto the arm-press bench, he nodded. Adjusted himself.
And thanked the Lord that she moved on to leg lifts—around the circle from him. Anything he might see would only be in the mirror and he wasn’t looking there. He wasn’t sure how much more temptation he could withstand without embarrassing himself.
“I heard today that you were a browbeaten wife.” He’d meant to lead into it slowly, with words that were a little less...descriptive.
Harper’s chuckle sounded completely natural. “Who told you that?” she asked lightly.
“One of the people I questioned.”
“One of Miriam’s friends?”
He’d mentioned that he’d spent the day interviewing Gram’s friends. “Yes.”
Including one who’d been close enough to see the inner workings of the Thomas family during the year Bruce and Harper were married.
“You’re talking about Grace Parnell.”
Right on the mark. He pushed one hundred and seventy-five pounds of weight together at chest level.
“Wow. I thought Grace was a friend...” He’d like to think the break in her voice was due to exertion but she’d released her feet from the leg-lift bar and was sitting still on the bench.
Finishing his rep, Mason went over to the seat next to hers. “She considers you a friend,” he said. “In fact, she asked about you and when I said you were well, she not only wanted confirmation, but details. She said she thought of you as a surrogate granddaughter and that she misses you.”
Harper’s sideways glance held doubt. Distrust.
He couldn’t blame her. Especially considering the possibility that Bruce had been mentally manipulating her for years. He’d occasionally wondered, but after speaking with Grace, real suspicion had set in.
“She said the two of you would talk about something—even something simple like where to go on vacation or what to have for dinner. According to her, you’d have solid ideas about what you wanted or didn’t want, and then you’d talk to Bruce and suddenly you were doing the opposite. Sometimes they were things you’d said you wouldn’t do. Like the time you went to an adult resort with topless bathing...”
He hadn’t intended to mention that. He couldn’t stand the image of his brother parading Harper around topless. Some things were meant to be private—and enjoyed that way.
“The only topless bathing was on the beach. And we didn’t go down there. We stayed up at the pool.”
So...good to know. Not his business or relevant to this conversation. “But you went.”
“Grace used to tell me that I let Bruce control me, but I don’t and I never saw it that way.” Harper looked him straight in the eye. “She’s been a widow a long time, living alone a long time. She didn’t understand, as I did, that in a healthy relationship both parties’ needs and wants have equal importance. And that means compromise. So I didn’t always get my way.”
Mason waited a second before responding, not sure which part of that to address first. Or at all.
A marriage that only lasted a year didn’t indicate a healthy relationship. But he saw no point in belaboring the obvious.
“So you feel that your wants and needs were equally considered? That you got your way 50 percent of the time?” He felt slimy, like some kind of voyeur, digging for a look inside his brother’s marriage.
Harper nodded. Mason wished he was convinced.
“Grace says that when you left, Bruce started doing to Miriam what he did to you.”
Her instant frown—without any sign of alarm—told him her confusion was real. That didn’t mean Grace’s perception was any less real, only that Harper didn’t see what Grace, an outside observer, had noticed.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harper said slowly, as though searching her memory. His dread grew. Was it possible that Harper really was a victim of Bruce’s manipulation and didn’t even know it?
Mason had grown up a victim of it, but at least he’d been a knowing participant; he’d given in by choice, not because he’d been controlled. In the early years he’d hoped Bruce would mature, find his own sense of worth, that his jealousy of Mason—and his hero worship, too—would ease. He’d wanted to protect his little brother from himself.
Instead, he was beginning to see that he might very well have helped enable a monster.
“He spins a picture of the truth in such a way that you feel empathy for him. He plays on people’s sincere desire to care for each other, to be compassionate, and he does it so effectively,
he gets whatever he wants. He uses love as a means of control.”
She shook her head. “What are you, some kind of behavioral analyst now? I thought your skills were more in gathering evidence for the lab.”
“I’m not the science guy. Or the behavioral analyst. I’m the guy who can find a needle in a haystack and who can figure out how it got there. My skills are observation, paying attention, listening. When I’m at my best, taking it all in, the pieces fall into place and I can see the complete picture. The lab guys and the behavioral guys and the arrest warrant guys take it from there.”
It was a completely elementary explanation—beneath her—and yet, he had a feeling that at the moment, it was exactly what she needed.
Was she looking for something from him that would give her confidence? Kind of felt that way. Or he could just be kidding himself. Lord knew he wasn’t at his best on this one. Far too close to the situation. And yet, with O’Brien’s willingness to watch Bruce and allow Mason time to find the truth without damaging Bruce’s reputation, he had to do everything he could. Bruce was family, and going above and beyond was what family did.
“So...” She was still meeting his gaze, and yet seemed not to be as...vibrant as she’d been when he’d first sat down. “As the observation guy, can you give me an example of what you’re talking about here? I mean, it seems like you think Grace was right in her impression.”
In one way or another, Mason had traveled shaky ground more times than he could count. He couldn’t remember ever being nervous about it. Until that moment.
“Okay, an example. He’ll tell you why he can’t eat asparagus... Because it reminds him of the night our grandfather died. He’d been in trouble for not eating it. That same evening, Grandpa had a heart attack and died. Bruce hasn’t been able to touch the stuff since.”
Harper nodded. “Yes, so? It’s true. Asparagus was a trigger for him. He couldn’t tolerate even the smell of it. So because I loved my husband enough to understand that and not serve asparagus, I’m somehow being manipulated and he’s an abuser?”
As though a bomb full of shrapnel had gone off, Mason felt blasted by stinging pellets. She’d loved her husband—not Mason, her husband. Mason had known that, and yet he’d allowed himself to believe, for one night, that she’d felt something for him, too. Ping, went the first hit.
He’d pulled the asparagus scenario out of his past—not repeating anything he’d heard from Grace. Expressly so Harper wouldn’t feel any personal connection and get defensive. Ping.
Her tone told him he was losing her. Ping.
Bruce’s manipulation had worked on her, too. Ping.
She’d loved her husband... Ping. Ping. Ping.
“Our mother used to insist that you sit at the table until you finish your dinner. Bruce used to get away with not eating asparagus by cramming it in his mouth and holding it long enough to get upstairs and spit it out in his dresser drawer.” He knew because when his brother had forgotten to dispose of the dried mess one time, Mason had done it for him, thinking Bruce would realize he had his back, that he wasn’t out to show him up in front of their parents.
“The night our grandfather died, Mom wouldn’t let him leave the table until he showed her he’d swallowed his asparagus. He wouldn’t, so he was sent upstairs to bed. Our grandfather, Mom’s dad, was at home with his third wife. He did die that night, but we didn’t hear about it until the next day. So, yeah, it’s possible that Bruce somehow came to associate Grandpa’s death with the taste of asparagus. As a kid, he got away with the story. He never had to eat asparagus again.”
Harper’s shoulders were sinking. “That’s one possible explanation,” she said. “I’ll admit that the way he told it to me was somewhat different, but we form perceptions as children that we sometimes carry with us into adulthood. Who’s to say what connection Bruce made between not eating asparagus and his beloved grandfather dying? Maybe as a kid he somehow thought it was his fault—payback for being naughty.”
Either she was more clearheaded and forgiving than anyone he’d ever met. Or Bruce had done a number on her.
“We hardly knew the man,” he said now. “Mom’s dad left them when Mom was in high school. She lost contact with him after that, and although they were in touch later, it was a visit every few years, that type of thing. He’d stay for a couple of days, with occasional phone calls between him and Mom between visits. Some years we got Christmas cards from him. One year, I got a model airplane. Bruce didn’t get anything.”
His grandfather had figured Bruce would be too young to know who the present had come from, so it wouldn’t matter; Mason had overheard his mother tell his father, who’d been noticeably upset. They’d taken the plane away from Mason and gone out and bought both of the boys presents—Mason’s being another model airplane.
“Maybe he thought he was a bad boy and that was why his grandfather didn’t like him. Maybe he decided that he’d no longer have a chance to show his grandfather that he was a good boy.”
Was she for real? Or playing devil’s advocate? His best self should know the answer to that question.
“Bruce holds things over people. Reminds them of some grievance he’s got against them, something they’ve supposedly done to him. That way, they’re more prone to make amends. His charm keeps them on his side.”
Again, Harper shook her head. “I really think this is all a bit much,” she told him. “It feels like you’re digging too deep here.”
Because he was hitting a vulnerable place? Or because Grace had been overdramatizing? She’d always been the calm, nurturing one of Gram’s friends. The one Mason had most enjoyed talking to. The one whose opinion he’d most respected.
“So you didn’t ever feel you had to make amends?”
“Of course I did! But everyone feels that way about their partner—or should feel that way if the relationship is going to survive.”
There it was again—that reference to a lasting relationship. They were speaking of a marriage that had only survived a year. So were Bruce’s references to him and Harper getting back together actually based in some truth?
“No one’s perfect,” she continued. “I’d make mistakes, say things I didn’t mean, especially when I was pregnant and tired.”
She’d been pregnant through most of that one-year marriage.
“I’d be an idiot if I didn’t apologize and try to make amends.”
“Did Bruce apologize as often as you did?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t keep track.”
“Do you feel like he did?”
She’d looked away, brought her gaze back to his. “I truly don’t know, Mason. I feel I apologized a lot, but people always notice their own apologies more than another person’s. Because, if the apologies are sincere, it hurts having to give them, so you feel them more acutely.”
“Grace says he seemed to keep you in a state of constant guilt. You were always trying to appease him, rather than please him. Her words, not mine.”
Harper had little reaction to that. Showed no confusion. Didn’t frown. She just sat there, as though she was thinking seriously but unemotionally about what he’d said.
With her arms behind her on the bench, she scooted back and rested against the bars of the machine. Her nails were well-groomed. And short. Preferable, in his opinion. Less chance of hurting a guy when her hand was on his...
She should smell like sweat. He caught a whiff of something that smelled more like soap. A residual scent from her shampoo? Maybe the spray she’d put on her hair?
His training, which had taught him to notice the smallest detail, didn’t always serve him well.
He didn’t know which was worse. Dealing with his inappropriate sexual arousal or listening to her talk about her marriage to his brother. Defending his brother.
“I have no idea how Grace would have known, but I suppose I did fee
l a sense of perennial guilt where Bruce was concerned. But it wasn’t because he barraged me with anything. On the contrary, the guilt came from within me.”
His discomfort took a turn, but was no less difficult to deal with.
“You’re certain of that? He didn’t hold anything over you? Didn’t expect things of you because you’d done something to displease him?”
Her frown had returned. Lifting her feet onto the bench, she hugged her knees to her chest. He didn’t miss the closed body language in that one.
“What if you’d contacted me, for instance?” He’d told himself their night five years ago was off-limits. Anything to do with that night was off-limits. But he’d already blown that all to hell with the whole Brianna-testing thing.
He was beginning to see that there was no way to delve into her relationship with Bruce—or to gain a true understanding of his brother at all—without looking at how that night had changed life for all of them.
“Did you ever think about it? Ever think maybe I should be invited to Christmas dinner and then try to approach him about it?” They’d only had one Christmas as husband and wife. “Or since the divorce...you’ve never called to ask if I’d like to spend some time with my niece.”
“That would be disloyal to Bruce. I don’t want to be married to him, but he’s still the father of my child.”
There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation over that. And chances were pretty good that she was right—that Bruce was Brianna’s father. Bruce had been with her a lot more than Mason had—and after the antibiotic would’ve had more time to interfere with her birth control. But still...was he the only one who’d spent four years wondering what he might be missing? Years that he’d never get back?
He couldn’t really blame her for not calling. Or blame Bruce, either. She was being loyal to the man she’d loved—as had he all those years. Both of them understanding that they’d wronged Bruce. Both of them trying to make amends.
“And you knew it killed him to find out we were together.”
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