Always Look Twice

by Dawson, Geralyn

  When Mark made no move toward the boxes, Branch darted a pleading gaze toward Annabelle and added, ‘‘I heard through the grapevine that you might be willing—’’

  ‘‘Tell me now, Branch,’’ Mark said. ‘‘Just . . . tell me.’’

  Branch blew out a heavy breath, fortified himself with a gulp of milk, and said, ‘‘Working through the bad stuff with your brothers has taught me that if I ever got the chance to talk to you, I shouldn’t spend the entire time telling you how sorry I am for the harm I have done you. So I won’t. It’s all in the letters, anyway. What I think best is for me to explain why I did what I did by telling you about Vicki Hansen.’’

  In the midst of throwing up his emotional walls, Mark halted. ‘‘Carrie’s mother?’’

  ‘‘In the years after I sent you boys away from Brazos Bend, I had people working for me keeping an eye on you all. After you married your waitress, I . . . um . . . hired her mother.’’

  Mark’s brow furrowed in disbelief. He’d never seen that one coming. Although maybe he shouldn’t be surprised, considering both Matt and Luke had learned that Branch hired keepers for them during those years.

  ‘‘That’s why she moved to Savannah when you were stationed at Fort Stewart,’’ Branch continued. ‘‘I paid her five thousand dollars every month. Plus, she had an expense account she was supposed to use to give y’all things you needed. I knew you wouldn’t take them from me. She said she bought appliances, clothes for the girl, a car.’’

  Mark dragged a hand down his bristled cheek as his thoughts returned to those years. They’d struggled from paycheck to paycheck. That first Christmas, they’d bought gifts for each other in a pawnshop. Carrie’s mother never bought them a damned thing.

  He’d never much liked the woman.

  ‘‘Anyway, when Vicki told me you’d been sent overseas and your wife was expecting, I went out to see Carrie. Didn’t tell her who I was, of course. Pretended to be her mother’s new beau. That was a nice little place the two of you had. She’d taken typical base housing rental and put a lot of love into it. I thought everything was going fine for you two. I thought that of all the boys, you had your life most together, and that you would be fine if we could just get you home from Kuwait.’’

  ‘‘That was a great little house . . . ,’’ Mark murmured. ‘‘Meant a lot to me.’’

  ‘‘Because it was home.’’ Branch pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. ‘‘You wanted a home. I’d taken the one you had away.’’

  Mark couldn’t argue with that and anger put a bite in his next words. ‘‘If you thought we were doing so well, why threaten to take our child away from my wife?’’

  ‘‘That’s the heart of this story, isn’t it?’’ Branch sat back hard in his chair and closed his eyes. ‘‘I don’t want to tell you this, son. Truly, I don’t. But dammit, these secrets . . . they’re weighing on me. I hate the thought of standing in front of Saint Peter still toting the burden.’’

  ‘‘Tell me.’’

  Branch nervously drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘‘During that trip to Georgia it became clear to me that Vicki Hansen was misappropriating the funds I sent for you and Carrie. When I called her on it, she played the female card and I fell for it.’’

  ‘‘You slept with Carrie’s mother?’’

  ‘‘No . . . no . . . not that she didn’t attempt the seduction route. No, she went all teary and vulnerable and weak . . . played me like a fool. It worked for a time. But then a couple months before your baby was due, I wised up. That’s when she did a one eighty. She threatened me. Tried to put the squeeze on me. She basically tried to sell that baby to me, Mark. I was frightened for your child, having that woman in its life with you halfway across the world and unable to protect it.’’

  Annabelle reached over and gave Mark’s knee a comforting squeeze.

  ‘‘I ranted and raved and I decided I had to do something. This was your child, my grandchild. I wanted the baby and your Carrie safely away from her extortionist mother.’’

  ‘‘So you sent the lawyer,’’ Mark said, his tone bitter.

  His father winced and leaned forward in his leather desk chair. His hands gripped the edge of his desk hard. ‘‘Mark, Maddie told me your version of what happened. Well, it isn’t true. That’s not what happened. I never sent a lawyer.’’

  ‘‘Bullshit. Carrie wrote me a letter right before she died and told me so.’’

  ‘‘Was the letter in her handwriting?’’

  ‘‘Yes, of course it—’’ He broke off abruptly as he remembered. The handwriting had been shaky. Real shaky. She’d apologized for it and said she was scared. Frightened half to death. After all, the lawyer told her she couldn’t win against the Callahan money. ‘‘Are you trying to tell me you never demanded Carrie move to Brazos Bend?’’

  ‘‘I went to see her, intending to tell her just that. But it never got that far.’’ Branch took another drink of milk. His hands trembled, spilling liquid over the glass. ‘‘Because . . . I found out the truth. I found your Carrie there with . . . him.’’

  ‘‘Him?’’ Mark’s spine snapped straight. He stared at his father intently.

  Branch dropped his gaze to his lap, drew a deep breath, then looked up and stared his son right in the eyes. ‘‘A man. Her lover. He was the baby’s real father, Mark. Not you.’’

  Seconds ticked by . . . maybe minutes . . . and Mark didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as he tried to process the old man’s claim. Finally, once the words made sense, rage washed through him. He shoved to his feet, knocking his chair over. It clattered against the hardwood floor. ‘‘Shut the fuck up. That’s bullshit. Why the hell would you tell a goddamned lie like that?’’

  ‘‘It’s the truth.’’

  ‘‘I’m not going to listen to this.’’ Mark stormed toward the door.

  His father’s quickly spoken words chased him. ‘‘Her baby wasn’t born April tenth. I didn’t send her a letter on April twentieth. I didn’t threaten to steal her baby and send her fleeing into the path of a drunk driver. Those are all lies. Her baby was born full-term in March, which meant you were away at some of the Ranger special training when she got pregnant.’’

  Mark halted, breathing like he’d run ten miles.

  ‘‘When I went to see her, to convince her to move to Texas to have her baby, she was already in the hospital. He was with her. I saw the baby.’’

  Mark whirled on his father. ‘‘You are the fucking liar!’’

  Branch forged ahead. ‘‘I didn’t want to believe it. I checked blood types right then and there. I knew you were A. Carrie’s hospital bracelet had her as an A. Your baby could only be an A or an O. That little girl had type B blood.’’

  Mark’s fists clenched. He wanted to leap at his father, to pound on the old bastard. To shut him the hell up.

  ‘‘I left. Came back to Texas. Tried to decide what to do. I didn’t want her sending you a Dear John letter—those tend to get soldiers killed. Took me a week to figure out how I thought it best to handle the situation. By the time I went back, she was gone.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean, gone?’’

  ‘‘They didn’t die in a car wreck, Mark. She didn’t die. Your wife ran off with her lover and bastard child.’’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The hysterical giggle began just below Annabelle’s breastbone and bubbled up into her throat, though she managed to clamp down and hold it back.

  Mark was married. Still married. To someone else.

  Good Lord.

  The veins in his neck bulged as he shouted at his father. ‘‘This is bullshit. Complete and total bullshit.’’

  ‘‘I wish it were,’’ Branch fired back.

  The way Mark glared at his father reminded Annabelle of the old saying about if looks could kill.

  ‘‘Carrie didn’t have an affair. She loved me. We were in love!’’ His voice broke as he added, ‘‘She wouldn’t do that to me!’’


  ‘‘She said you were gone, that the Rangers took up all your time. She was young. She was lonely. You were away a lot. He was there for her.’’

  Annabelle ached for Mark, ached for herself. Hadn’t they already been through enough for one day?

  ‘‘So, who was he?’’ Mark sneered. ‘‘This phantom lover?’’

  ‘‘Kevin. A man named Kevin Starr.’’

  Annabelle watched the name hit Mark. He recognized it. He recognized the name and it threw him for a loop.

  The tick of the clock sounded loud in the sudden quiet. Finally, in a cold, low tone, he asked, ‘‘Where are they?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’ Branch lifted his chin. ‘‘I didn’t keep track of her.’’

  Mark’s bitter laugh rang out. ‘‘You expect me to believe that? You? The control king of the world?’’

  ‘‘Look. That was, what, seventeen, eighteen years ago? And when was the last time you had anything to say to me?’’

  ‘‘When John died.’’

  Branch waved his hand. ‘‘Other than then. You only talked of John then, and it was ugly. Was I supposed to bring this up at your brother’s memorial service? I don’t think so.

  ‘‘No, you haven’t talked to me in twenty years, Mark. I didn’t know you had been mourning her all this time. I assumed that after she ran off, she sent you that Dear John letter I had fretted about. I assumed y’all were divorced and that you were over her. From the reports I had, you certainly didn’t shy away from the ladies when you returned stateside. Hell’’— Branch glanced at Annabelle as if seeking help—‘‘you did move on. You remarried!’’

  She swallowed a wounded whimper while Mark prowled the office like a panther.

  ‘‘Think about it, Mark. Not even your brothers knew about Carrie. How would I have known what her mother did? I didn’t. Not until Maddie sprang the sorry pack of lies on me after you got shot trying to help Torie. I didn’t know you carried that baby picture around in your wallet. All this time, I knew you hated me, but I thought it was because of what I did after the factory fire, especially after I screwed up with John. I didn’t have a clue that you held these lies against me, too.’’

  ‘‘Christ,’’ Mark muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.

  Branch was breathing hard and Annabelle watched him warily. The way their luck had been running, Mark’s father would have a heart attack right here and now. And yet, she didn’t want to interfere. It was time—past time—these two hardheads had this conversation.

  ‘‘By then, everyone was pissed and no one would listen to me. I admit, I got pissed right back. For a while, I quit trying to get anyone to listen. That was a lonely time. A hard time. One, admittedly, I brought on myself.’’

  ‘‘Gee, you think?’’ The sneer was back on Mark’s face. ‘‘You faked a heart attack and people almost died.’’

  Regret rolled across Branch’s face. His tone grew somber. ‘‘Yes, I did a horrible thing and it cost me. It changed me, too. Believe it or not, I finally learned from my mistakes. Then, after Luke’s girls were born and Maddie convinced him to allow me back into their lives, I didn’t want to rock the boat, to risk losing the little I had, so I kept my mouth shut. The fact is that I’ve made a lot of mistakes that I’ll regret to my dying day. I’ve done some terrible things, Mark, but faking the death of your wife isn’t one of them. I have no proof to give you other than my word.’’

  And his son obviously didn’t believe that word. Annabelle couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the pitiful old man with little more than a big house and a Pomeranian.

  Mark stopped in the middle of the room, shoved his hands in his pockets, and rocked on his heels. ‘‘Why would her mother do something like that?’’

  ‘‘Spite. She hated me. First, I cut off her gravy train. Then, I rejected her. Finally, she wanted me to track down her daughter and I refused to do it. I never dreamed she’d take her revenge the way she did. Sending you that letter, faking the car wreck. That was cold.’’

  ‘‘No.’’ Mark scowled and shook his head. ‘‘Vicki couldn’t have faked that car wreck. Hell, I read the police report.’’

  ‘‘After Maddie told me what you thought, I hired an investigator to go looking for Vicki. Didn’t you ever wonder why your wife died and is buried in a Podunk town in Alabama? That’s because your mother-in-law was sleeping with the police chief there. He helped arrange the whole thing. Have those graves exhumed if you need proof. Bet you every penny I own that they’re empty.’’

  He blew out a long, heavy sigh. ‘‘That woman was damned crazy, Mark, and she hated me by the time I was done with her. I think your Carrie left her as much as she did you.’’

  For a long moment, Mark stared at his feet. When he looked up, his green eyes gleamed with determination. ‘‘I don’t believe it. Even if the baby wasn’t mine, she wouldn’t have run off without a word. Carrie wouldn’t have done that. You didn’t have the detective look for her?’’

  ‘‘No.’’ Branch shrugged. ‘‘I figured . . . well . . . she could have found you if she’d wanted to, Mark. She knew you were from Brazos Bend. I’ve lived in this house for forty years.’’

  Annabelle watched that truth sink into Mark. Moving slow like an old man, he reached down and righted the chair he’d knocked over. ‘‘I’m leaving. I have to go. C’mon, Annabelle.’’

  She rose from her seat, feeling a little shaky. She could only imagine what Mark was feeling. He’d be hurt. Bitter.

  Plenty of pain and bitterness to go around.

  When Mark reached the threshold of the study door, his father asked, ‘‘Son . . . will I see you again?’’

  Mark paused, grimaced, then shook it off. ‘‘You have been a meddling bastard most all of my life. You’ve made some stupid, horrible, fatal decisions. Told some terrible lies. That said, portions of this story make sense. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to accept it or excuse it . . . or make peace with it.’’

  At that, a tiny bubble of bitter laughter did escape Annabelle’s throat. Mark shot her an unreadable look before he continued. ‘‘One thing I do know, however, is that I’m done running away from my past. So, yeah, I’ll be back.’’

  As Annabelle followed him out the door, Branch called softly, ‘‘Take care of him, Annabelle. Please, take care of him.’’

  Not knowing what to say, she simply waved a sad good-bye.

  The night was moonless, dark, and heavy as they left Callahan House. Climbing into the SUV, neither Annabelle nor Mark spoke. The silence continued during the drive out to the lake house. They passed beneath a streetlamp and light flashed across his face, revealing that his thoughts were somewhere else. Sometime else.

  With someone else.

  She wanted to cry. Instead, she sucked it up and asked herself how she wanted to play this. She considered the question all the way to the lake, a trip that took forever, but not nearly long enough. They went in through the kitchen door into the darkened house. Mark switched on the light above the sink. She saw a myriad of emotions etched across his expression— pain, grief, and disbelief among them—as he took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the tap.

  He drank the entire glass; then finally, he spoke. ‘‘Belle . . . this is a mess.’’

  She gave him a sad, sweet smile. ‘‘That’s one way to put it.’’

  He set down the glass. ‘‘Carrie . . . that baby was mine, Annabelle. Branch is wrong and I have to find out what happened.’’

  ‘‘I know you do.’’ Then, because her knees were a little weak, she pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down.

  ‘‘Kevin Starr was an old friend of hers who had moved to Savannah, too. While I don’t believe for a minute that she cheated on me with him, for Starr to be on Branch’s radar . . . there is smoke of some sort.’’

  Annabelle chose her words carefully. ‘‘With all the parental stuff going on, the interference, her fear . . . she was young, Mark. Awfully young. Anything co
uld have happened.’’

  He dragged a hand down his face. ‘‘I thought I’d moved past all this. Honestly, I did. I was ready to let it all go. Ready to commit to you. Before the debacle with Kurtz, I had decided to duck out of the hospital and buy you a ring. Matt got Torie’s here in town and she really seems to like it.’’

  Annabelle knew he didn’t realize he’d just plunged a knife into her heart, so she said simply, lamely, ‘‘It’s a beautiful ring.’’

  ‘‘But I can’t just go off,’’ he said, his hands fisting at his sides. ‘‘We can’t forget that someone is out there killing Fixers.’’

  She’d never seen him look so torn, so worried, and it was in that moment that Annabelle finally decided just how she had to handle this. ‘‘I haven’t forgotten anything, Callahan, including how good you are in the field. Are you afraid you can’t take care of yourself?’’

  ‘‘No. That’s not it.’’

  She folded her arms, silently challenging him to dare say he worried she couldn’t take care of herself.

  Mark was smarter than that.

  ‘‘I’ll hook up with Tag and Noah,’’ she told him. ‘‘We will cover the Fixer issue. You can focus on . . . old ghosts.’’

  In a soft, low rumble, he said, ‘‘I don’t want to leave you, Belle.’’

  She smiled sadly. ‘‘You really don’t have a choice, do you?’’

  ‘‘No. No, I don’t.’’ He briefly closed his eyes. ‘‘I have to find out what happened. Find out the truth. Find my . . .’’

  She finished it for him. ‘‘Find your wife.’’

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. Guilt clouded his green eyes. ‘‘I don’t know how long this will take. I don’t know what I will find.’’ He leaned back against the cabinet and gripped the edge of the granite countertop. With grim stoicism he declared, ‘‘I can’t ask you to wait.’’

  She swallowed, drew a deep, bracing breath, and rose from her seat, fighting back the pain in her stiff muscles and in her breaking heart. ‘‘I’m whipped, Mark. I am going to go soak in a hot tub, then fall into bed.’’

  Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she crossed the room to him. She reached out and brushed her thumb across the ridges of his knuckles, gone white from the force of his grip. ‘‘Go make peace with your ghosts, Mark Callahan.’’ Lifting her hand, she gently touched his face. ‘‘Go heal your heart.’’