The Promise of Lightning

by Linda Seed

  “Well …”

  “Julia, what?”

  “It’s just dinner. But it’s maybe not just family. Or, not just the Delaneys. There are a lot of people in from out of town, and we couldn’t just leave them on their own, so …”

  He braced himself. “Who, then?”

  “Uncle Joe and Aunt Marcy and the twins,” she began.

  “Okay.” He liked Uncle Joe, and Drew hadn’t seen him in a while. “Who else?”

  “Some of the guys from the Montana ranch. And Mike, of course.” Mike was the contractor Julia used in her landscaping business, and he was also her best friend. “And …”

  Here it came.

  “And who?”

  “Well … and Mom.”

  Of course, Drew knew that Isabelle would be at the wedding and at many of the events leading up to it. But he had hoped that he might be able to get a day or two into the trip before dealing with her. The reasons for his discomfort were threefold:

  1. She’d lied to him his entire life about who his father was, and he hadn’t quite brought himself to forgive her yet.

  2. This was, as far as Drew knew, the first time she’d been confronted with a room full of Delaneys since she’d carried on her secret affair with Redmond more than thirty years before. That was likely to create tension at the dinner table. And:

  3. She’d been the one who had conspired to keep Drew hidden not only from his biological father, but also from most of the people who would be in the room this evening.

  It seemed unlikely that they would all swap stories and hug like schoolgirls.

  Though he supposed anything was possible.

  “Remember that you’re doing it for me,” Julia said plaintively.

  He rubbed his eyelids with his fingers. “What time do I have to be there?”

  Drew didn’t dislike all of the Delaneys. In fact, most of them were okay, if you could get past the circumstances.

  But he disliked one particular Delaney—Liam—enough that it all averaged out.

  So he was a little dismayed that it happened to be Liam who answered the door when Drew, a bottle of wine in his hand, rang the bell at the Delaney Ranch farmhouse.

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” Liam said, his eyebrows gathered in irritation. He said it in the same tone one might say, What is this snake doing in my bathtub? or, Who crapped on the carpet? He made no move to step aside so Drew could enter.

  “Well, I’m here.” Drew stood a little taller, puffing himself up the way animals do when faced by a predator. “You going to let me in?”

  “I don’t see why I should.” Liam’s face was grim, his lips pressed into a hard line.

  “Maybe because the bride invited me. And maybe because I’ll knock you on your ass if you don’t.”

  Could Drew knock Liam on his ass, if it came to that? Probably not. Liam wasn’t quite as tall as Drew, but he had a lifetime of physical work behind him, making him strong and wiry. Plus, Liam had a history of brawling, while Drew hadn’t been in a fight since he’d been girl-slapped by Brian Cooper in the fifth grade.

  Come to think of it, Brian Cooper had made him cry. But Liam didn’t need to know that.

  In response to Drew’s baseless threat to knock him on his ass, Liam turned a little bit red in the face and took a step toward him. Drew was just wondering if he’d actually have to fight when a pretty, dark-haired woman in tortoiseshell glasses peeked out at Drew from behind Liam’s shoulder.

  “Liam? What’s wrong?” The woman put her hand on Liam’s arm, and something about the easy, casual touch told Drew that this was the vet Liam was involved with.

  “Not a damn thing.” Liam’s gaze was still fixed on Drew, steely and unyielding. “I’m just about to take out the trash.”

  Liam took another step toward Drew, and now they were both on the front porch, standing nearly chest to chest, with just inches of space keeping them from actually butting into each other. The brunette, who was tall for a woman but who was still a good four inches shorter than either of them, shoved her way in between them, facing Liam.

  She put her hands on Liam’s shoulders and whispered something to him, something that sounded like, Don’t do this. Liam, who had been looking past her at Drew with his fuck-off scowl in place, settled slightly and looked at her.

  “You should go back inside,” he told her.

  “No, you should.” Her tone was firm but gentle, like a grade-school teacher scolding her favorite student. “Go on.” Her hands still on his shoulders, she turned him around and gave him a little shove toward the open door.

  “Goddamn it, Megan,” Liam protested.

  “What’s your mother going to say if you get into a fistfight on her front porch?” the woman asked.

  That was what finally caused Liam to grudgingly go into the house, leaving Drew alone on the porch with the woman who quite possibly had saved him from grave bodily harm.

  When he was gone, she held out her hand.

  “Megan Scott.”

  “Drew McCray.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re Julia’s brother. And …”

  “And Liam’s bastard cousin, yeah.” He shifted his stance, the bottle of wine sweating in his hand. “Thanks for calling off Cro-Magnon Man.”

  Her expression turned from mild curiosity to scorn. “I’m pretty sure I heard you threaten him. That might have had something to do with his attitude.”

  Of course she was going to be on Liam’s side. She was sleeping with the guy, after all—though Drew couldn’t imagine why.

  “That was right before he called me trash, wasn’t it?”

  Inside the open door, a crowd of people were milling around with plates and drinks in their hands. Julia spotted him and came out onto the porch, bringing a much-needed shot of sunlight.

  “Drew! You’re here! Oh, I’m so glad!” She threw her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. “Have you met Megan? Come on inside! I want to tell Sandra you’re here.”

  As Drew went into the house with Julia, Megan stood on the porch and watched him go. Everything Liam had said about the guy was starting to make sense.

  For two years, Megan had been hearing stories about Drew McCray, most of which were intended to justify Liam’s intense dislike for the man. Megan had thought Liam was being unreasonable—as he’d been known to do—but now, she was starting to think maybe he was on to something.

  This was Liam’s home, after all. And McCray had come to the door already looking for a fight. What kind of guest behaved that way? What kind of man showed up at another man’s home and threatened to hit him?

  Despite Megan’s mixed feelings about Liam, her natural sense of loyalty kicked in. Sure, she was planning to break up with him. And yes, their relationship was hanging on by its metaphorical fingernails. But that didn’t mean she was going to let some guy walk in here and be hostile to the man she’d once loved.

  She straightened her spine, turned toward the house, and marched inside to tell Drew McCray exactly what she thought of him.

  Once Julia swept Drew into the house, there was too much going on for him to think about the confrontation with Liam—or the one with Liam’s girlfriend.

  The big front room of the farmhouse was full of people, some of whom Drew knew, some he didn’t. He exchanged a hello and a handshake with Liam’s brother Ryan, who, Drew had to admit, had always been decent to him. He saw his uncle and aunt, and spent a few minutes catching up on what they were doing, and what he was doing, and how long it had been.

  Everybody seemed to have paper plates full of food and glasses of this or that—wine, beer, iced tea. Across the room, Drew saw Orin Delaney, the man who’d turned out to be Drew’s uncle and who would soon be Julia’s father-in-law. Drew made his way through the crowd, said a few perfunctory words to the man, and shook his hand.

  “You’ve got to come into the kitchen and say hello to Sandra,” Julia said, her hand on Drew’s shoulder, guiding him.

  Sandra, by most
people’s reckoning, was the most formidable of the Delaneys. She stood only five feet tall, which brought her up to Drew’s shoulder, but her presence made it seem like she filled any room where she happened to be.

  In the kitchen, Sandra was shuffling around in jeans, a San Francisco Giants baseball jersey, and sneakers, her graying hair caught back in a ponytail. She was barking orders to a handful of people as she stirred something on the stove. “Breanna, you get the rolls out of the oven and set them out to cool. Gen, the salad looks like it’s been attacked by a pack of starving wolves. You go on and make up some more. You’d think nobody’s had a meal for a week. Hmph. By God, Michael, I’d think you could put out some silverware without so much complaining. Get to it, boy.”

  Despite the grumbling and the scowling, Drew knew from his previous dealings with Sandra that she was happy and in her element when she was ordering around a group of people—especially when she was feeding them.

  When she caught sight of Drew standing in the doorway to the kitchen, she stopped what she was doing and turned, her hands on her narrow hips, to appraise him.

  “Well, there you are, boy. If you thought you could come to Cambria and just hide out in some damned hotel without coming out here to get a meal, then I’d say you were wrong.” She looked him over, from his shoes (work boots) to his hair (russet, a little too long, slightly mussed). “Well, I guess you better put that damned bottle down and get over here so I can get a good look.”

  Feeling awkward, Drew set the bottle of wine down on the big butcher block table in the center of the room and went to stand in front of Sandra.

  Without warning, she reached out and pulled him into a firm hug. “It’s good to see you,” she muttered, her voice low so only he could hear. When she pushed him away, he saw moisture in her eyes. She blinked, put the stern look back on her face, and returned her attention to the pot she’d been stirring.

  When Drew had been here a couple of years before to discuss his inheritance and meet this mystery family of his, Sandra had been the most matter-of-fact about his presence, and, now that he considered it, about his very existence. She hadn’t been warm—he didn’t think he’d ever seen her be warm to anyone—but she’d taken him in and accepted him when others had viewed him with suspicion.

  Still, this show of emotion came as a surprise, and he found himself overtaken by a little of it as well.

  He was just about to ask Sandra how she’d been—or, at least, whether he could do anything to help with the meal—when the kitchen door swung open and Megan Scott came in, her eyes hot with indignation.

  “Drew? I don’t believe we finished our conversation.” She delivered the line with the controlled anger of someone who was about to go to battle with a hostile customer service rep.

  Drew felt his defenses slide back into place.

  “I kind of thought we did,” he said.

  “If we could have a word?” Megan stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her lips tight.

  “I’m busy,” Drew said, and turned away from her.

  “You’re busy.”

  “I was just about to help with this …” He looked around the kitchen. “Salad. I was just going to help Gen, here, make this salad.”

  “Don’t bring me into this,” Gen said.

  “You need some help, Sandra?” Drew asked.

  “Don’t bring me into it, either, boy. A woman wants to have a word with you, I’d say you best go have a word. Now go on, get.”

  Drew mentally flailed around for an alternate excuse. “But I haven’t even seen my mother yet.…”

  “She’s still at her hotel,” Julia put in, from where she’d been gathering paper plates and napkins to take out to the buffet table. “Should be here in half an hour.”

  Well, shit.

  “You got any more excuses, or are you going to go talk to the woman?” Sandra demanded. She raised her eyebrows at him meaningfully.

  Drew brooded a little, but decided there was no getting out of it.

  “Fine.”

  He followed Megan out of the kitchen, down a hallway, and into what appeared to be Sandra’s sewing room. They stood in a little room cluttered with a sewing machine, plastic bins full of buttons, tape measures, scissors, and thread, and bolts of cloth. Megan closed the door and turned to him.

  “What’s this about?” Drew said, as though he didn’t know.

  “I want to know what your issue is with Liam.” She glared up at him.

  He shifted his stance uncomfortably. “I figure my problem with Liam is between me and Liam.”

  “You threatened him.”

  “He was being an ass.”

  “So are you.”

  He started to say something, then stopped. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin and looked at her ruefully. “Yeah. Shit. I guess I am.”

  The turn in the conversation seemed to take her by surprise, and she blinked at him a few times.

  “All I’m saying is, you didn’t have to—”

  “I know. I get it.” He held up a hand to stop her. “It’s just … I don’t know how much you’ve heard about my history, but it’s not exactly a picnic at the beach, me being here.”

  “No. I guess it’s not.” The anger seemed to have leaked out of her, and she gave him a look of sympathy.

  That might have been worse than the anger. No man wanted a pretty woman’s pity.

  “You should apologize to Liam.” Her voice was softer now.

  “Like hell.”

  “Drew—”

  “Like hell,” he repeated. “But I’ll keep my distance, if he’ll do the same.”

  He pushed past her and left the sewing room without letting her get in another word.

  Megan stood alone in the empty sewing room, thinking about what had just happened.

  She knew it hadn’t been her business to confront Drew about his treatment of Liam, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. If there was one thing her parents had taught her, it was that you stand up for your people. And Liam was still her person, at least for another week.

  She’d stormed in here assuming that Drew was a rude jerk, just like Liam had told her he was. But she wasn’t sure he was as bad as all that. He seemed like a guy in an uncomfortable situation who didn’t quite know how to handle himself.

  It sucked when you were all set to have a good rant, and the person you were ranting at ruined the whole thing by admitting to being wrong.

  The sensation was unfamiliar to her, because Liam would never admit to being wrong, even though he often was.

  And maybe Liam had been wrong this time. That thing he’d said about taking out the trash? Now that she thought about it, the remark had been especially unkind considering Drew’s uncertain place in the family.

  If there was a good rant to be had, it was possible she’d directed hers at the wrong person.

  Chapter Four

  The weather was good, so the party—which wasn’t even technically a party—had spilled out of the house and into the front yard, where Liam and Colin had set up patio chairs and a barbecue grill. Their father, Orin, looking ruddy and stout and somewhat embarrassed by the attentions of the crowd, cooked hamburger patties on the grill while groups of people stood around and talked. Michael and Lucas, Breanna’s boys, threw a football on the grass with Alice and Avery, Joe and Marcy’s eleven-year-old twins.

  The mood was casual and festive, and Drew probably would have been enjoying himself under other circumstances. As it was, though, he was gauging how long he had to stay for the sake of good manners before he could quietly slink away to his hotel.

  His mother hadn’t arrived yet, so that was one box he hadn’t checked off—and would have to before he could go.

  He stood on the front porch drinking a beer and talking to Colin, the groom-to-be, while he waited. If there was any Delaney he really had to get along with, it was Colin, since the man was going to be his brother-in-law.

  Colin was okay, by Drew’s estimation. He was a law
yer and the Delaney family’s money manager, and in fact, a couple of years before, he’d been the one to track Drew down from the bunker he’d crawled into to hide out from his creditors. By the time Colin was done with him, Drew had enough money and assets to buy most of his creditors.

  Not that he’d want to.

  Colin was smarter and a little more polished and sophisticated than the rest of the Delaneys—traits that had intimidated Drew when he’d first met him. But now, after a couple of years of slowly getting to know him, Drew was forming a tentative friendship with Colin. Which was good, because he’d likely be showing up at Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners for the next God-knew-how-many years.

  Now, Colin was leaning against the porch railing with a glass of white wine in his hand. He was wearing a blue and white striped button-down shirt and a pair of linen pants that looked freshly pressed, in contrast to Drew and the rest of the Delaneys, who had gone for jeans or shorts and T-shirts. Colin’s dark hair looked like he’d gotten it cut at an expensive salon, and his face was impeccably shaved.

  “Did you see the documents I sent you on the Bay Area property?” Colin asked. He was keeping his voice casual, but Drew suspected it took some effort not to show his annoyance.

  “Yeah, I saw them. Didn’t read them, but I saw them.”

  “Drew …”

  “Just do whatever you think is right. I’ll vote however you want.”

  Colin turned and looked out over the yard, likely in an attempt to keep from throttling Drew.

  As part of Drew’s inheritance, he’d received a sizable share of the family corporation, which required him to vote from time to time on matters involving investments, property management, and other issues of importance.

  But Drew didn’t know shit about investing or property management. Colin did. Why shouldn’t he let Colin call the shots? He’d done all right so far. Better than all right.

  The way Drew saw it, none of the Delaneys really wanted him making these kinds of decisions anyway. It wasn’t his family legacy the way it was theirs. The shares were his, and the money, too, because of his blood, not because of anything he’d done to earn it. Why pretend otherwise?