Yesterday's Scandal

by Gina Wilkins

  He found himself fantasizing about releasing the buttons of her blouse, stripping away her shorts to expose the parts of her he had so painstakingly explored in his bedroom only twenty-four hours earlier. He forced himself to clear his mind of those thoughts before he embarrassed himself.

  She smiled when she saw him. He remembered the first time she’d visited the Garrett house, when she’d been surprised to find Trent McBride waiting in the kitchen. Mac had wondered then how it would feel to be on the receiving end of one of her bright, warm, generous smiles. Now he knew. It felt great.

  Wade, Trevor and another man were gathered around the barbecue grill, holding beers and frowning intently at the sizzling meat. Trent glanced at Mac and chuckled. “They look like they’re performing brain surgery, don’t they?”

  Spotting them, Wade handed his beer to Trevor and ambled their way. “Hey, guys. Annie, you look lovely as always.”

  She smiled. “And you are as charming as always.”

  “How’s that dumb mutt of yours?”

  “Bozo is just fine, thank you. And he isn’t dumb,” she added firmly. “Just—unconventional.”

  Trent snorted. “The mutt’s got the IQ of a bowl of oatmeal,” he muttered.

  Annie pretended to be offended, but she was smiling. “Admit it, Trent, you like my dog.”

  Trent shrugged ironically. “He and I have come to an arrangement. We’ll each share Annie—to a point.”

  Wade turned to greet Mac. “Good to see you, Mac. Trent, give me that cooler and show Mac where we keep the beer.”

  Having made his point by carrying the cooler this far, Trent relinquished it without argument. He led Mac to a large, ice-filled metal tub that held a variety of canned beverages. Sharon and her companions joined them there.

  “Hi, Mac.”

  He accepted a dripping can of cold beer from Trent, then turned to acknowledge Sharon’s greeting. “Hi, yourself.”

  “It’s a beautiful day for a cookout, isn’t it?”

  The words were merely polite trivialities, but her eyes said so much more. She was glad to see him. And it shook him to realize how much that meant to him. “Yes, it’s very nice.”

  He pulled his gaze from her and glanced around the lawn, noting that the only children in evidence were three blond little girls, not much more than toddlers, playing with some plastic toys on the grass near the picnic table where the women had just been sitting. “Did your brother decide not to join you today?” he asked Sharon, wondering if Brad had chosen to stay away rather than chance another meeting with him.

  “Brad’s inside playing video games with Wade’s son, Clay, and Trevor’s son, Sam.”

  “A day like this and they’re playing inside?”

  Having overheard Mac’s question, Wade grimaced. “I told them they could stay in there until lunch is ready, but then they’re joining us out here in the fresh air. The problem is that Lucas just sent Clay a new game and of course they couldn’t wait to try it out.”

  “Remember I told you about Lucas, Wade’s brother-in-law who owns a software-design company in California,” Sharon said. “Brad thinks it’s just about the coolest thing in the world that Clay’s uncle has a company that creates video games and that Clay gets to try them out before they even hit the market.”

  “Let me introduce you to our other guests, Mac,” Wade offered, playing the gracious host. “You know Trent and Trevor, of course, but you haven’t met their brother-in-law, Blake Fox. He and Tara live in Atlanta with their daughter, Alison—the littlest one over there. Blake, this is Mac Cordero, the contractor we told you about.”

  Shaking Blake’s hand, Mac noted that the other man was golden-haired, blue-eyed and built in a way that some might have described as elegantly slender. He had the look of a 1940s film star—probably deliberately enhanced by his choice of loose, perfectly tailored clothing. But there was a sharp gleam of streetwise intelligence in his bright blue eyes that was entirely modern.

  The guy fit in well with the fair-skinned, light-haired McBrides, Mac thought, aware again of the dramatic contrast between them and himself.

  “Good to meet you, Mac,” Blake said, and though his manner was quite casual, Mac had the sensation he’d just been studied, memorized and categorized. Blake had the look of a hustler, or a particularly slick con man. Mac had encountered several of them over the years. He knew Tara was a lawyer—maybe she’d married one, as well, he thought as he returned the greeting.

  Blake turned to the auburn-haired woman who’d approached as the introductions were made. “Mac, this is my wife, Tara.”

  Extending her hand, Tara smiled warmly, dispelling his initial impression of coolness. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Cordero. My brothers have told me you’re remodeling the Garrett house. I’ve always thought it was a fascinating old place. I’m glad someone else recognized its potential.”

  “Okay, I’ve waited long enough.” The woman Mac had identified as Jamie McBride pushed good-naturedly forward, multiple earrings dangling, numerous bracelets jingling. Her flame-red hair was chopped in a stylishly haphazard fashion and her willowy figure was boldly displayed in a brightly colored, spaghetti-strap top and brief denim shorts. Her lips, fingernails and toenails were all painted a bright fuchsia. “I want to meet this fascinating man who has the whole town talking.”

  Trevor sighed. “Mac, allow me to introduce my wife, Jamie. If your first impression is that she’s basically a fruitcake—well, you’d be right.”

  Jamie laughed and punched her husband’s arm. “I just want to meet him, Trev. It isn’t often we get a dashing stranger in this town.”

  It was obvious to Mac that this stage-actress-turned-high-school-drama teacher loved attracting attention with her unconventional behavior. Happy to oblige, he took her outstretched hand and bent to press his lips to it. “It’s a great honor to make your acquaintance, Mrs. McBride.”

  She giggled. “I know a rogue when I see one—and I adore them. You can stay.”

  “Very considerate of you. Especially since this is my house.” After making the dry comment to her cousin’s wife, Emily Davenport stepped forward to be included in the introductions. “I’m Emily, Mr. Cordero. I’m so glad you could join us today.”

  “I appreciate your hospitality. And I answer to Mac.”

  Jamie nodded firmly. “That’s good. This is a cookout, not a business meeting.”

  “Mommy. Claire’s eating grass again,” the eldest of the three little girls playing by the picnic table announced, causing all the adults to spin around.

  Mac watched as Jamie immediately abandoned her outrageous behavior and responded maternally to her stepdaughter, Abbie, who had loudly tattled on her little cousin. Emily diverted little Claire’s attention from snacking on the grass, and the men went back to their cooking.

  For a moment, Mac couldn’t look away from the children. His son would have been about their age now, he thought. He could easily picture dark-haired, dark-eyed Emilio toddling on the grass with these pretty little girls. The image made him almost flinch with an old, long-suppressed pain.

  Sharon placed a hand on his arm. “Mac? Is everything okay?”

  He forced a faint smile. “Everything’s fine. I was just watching the kids.”

  “Cute, aren’t they? I wish Caleb and Bobbie were here, so you could meet them, too. They’re such a wonderful couple.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to meet them.” Caleb McBride might prove to be the only man still living who could provide the answers Mac was looking for. He sure as hell didn’t seem to be making much headway on his own.

  During the next few hours, Mac couldn’t quite understand why his mood grew steadily darker and heavier. The company was entertaining, the food delicious, the weather perfect. With the exception of Brad Henderson, who had almost turned purple when he saw Mac, everyone had been very friendly. But it seemed the more pleasantly the afternoon progressed, the grimmer Mac felt.

  The McBride relatives chattered spi
ritedly all through the meal, catching up on recent events in each other’s lives, sharing tidbits of innocuous gossip from around town, bragging about their children. And then they lapsed into reminiscing, sharing embarrassing tales about each other, teasing mercilessly, finishing each other’s sentences as they tried to explain to the spouses and guests who didn’t already know the stories. The anecdotes were amusing. Mac chuckled at the appropriate times and made the right comments, but he couldn’t say he was actually enjoying them.

  “Remember the time Trent got locked in Grandma McBride’s root cellar?” Tara shook her head with a smile as she addressed her brothers and cousin. “He was just a toddler, not much older than our Alison is now. Savannah got hysterical. She’d just read a book about the Lindbergh baby and she was convinced Trent had been kidnapped. She didn’t calm down until half an hour or so after Trent was found.”

  “I can’t say I remember that,” Trent murmured, looking uncomfortable when his fiancée smiled quizzically at him.

  “Savannah?” Mac asked, playing his part.

  “Our cousin,” Trevor explained. “She’s a year older than Tara. Her father, Jonah, was our dad’s youngest brother. Uncle Jonah died when Savannah was only ten. Trent and I don’t even remember him.”

  “Neither do I,” Emily said, “but I wish I did. Everyone who knew him loved him.”

  “I remember him a little,” Tara said. “He was a lot like our dad—very good-natured, always cutting up. He had a deep laugh and carried butterscotch candies in his pocket. He was a salesman and he often brought gifts for everyone when he came back from a trip. And he absolutely adored Savannah.”

  “He spoiled her rotten,” Trent commented. “She grew up thinking she was a princess because her daddy always told her she was.”

  “Yes, well, she had to get over that when she became the mother of twins,” Tara said matter-of-factly.

  So everyone had loved Jonah McBride, the salesman who’d often been away on trips. Had Anita Cordero loved him, as well? Wouldn’t it be ironic if the man she’d spent her life missing and hoping to someday see again had died less than ten years after he’d deserted her?

  How would Jonah’s little princess react to finding out she had a younger brother she’d never known? A brother who had been denied the camaraderie and memories she shared with her cousins. A brother who had never known what it was like to be spoiled by a doting father.

  “Is everyone ready for dessert?” Emily asked, standing. “We have several types. Wade and Clay, Sharon brought her strawberry cake that you both love so much.”

  Wade and his teenage son immediately wore identical looks of greed. “Sharon makes the best strawberry cake I’ve ever tasted,” Wade told Mac. “Wait’ll you try it—pure heaven.”

  Sharon laughed softly. “Mac’s allergic to strawberries. He’d be better off having some of Emily’s famous German-chocolate cake.”

  “I like German chocolate,” he assured her, aware that some of the others were looking at them speculatively now—probably because Sharon had spoken about him in such an indulgently familiar tone. If they hadn’t already suspected something was going on between him and Sharon, they probably did now.

  Somehow during dessert the conversation turned to the rash of break-ins lately, and the near-tragic accident through which Mac and Sharon had met. It was during that discussion that Mac learned Blake Fox was a private investigator in Atlanta; Wade seemed to value his advice about tracking down the culprits. Aware that Mac was listening closely, Wade turned to him at one point and said, “Do you have anything you’d like to add, Mac?”

  “Sounds to me as if you’ve got it covered,” Mac answered with a slight shrug.

  “What would he know about police work?” Brad muttered across the table, his tone jeering. “He just fixes up houses.”

  “Tell that to some of the crooks he put behind bars in Savannah,” Wade answered, implicitly rebuking Brad for his rudeness.

  Mac swallowed a groan. He hadn’t meant for this to come up today. He should have known better. Even among this relatively discreet group, secrets seemed to have a way of coming out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “YOU WERE A COP, Mac?” Blake asked, apparently the first to understand the reference.

  He nodded, almost feeling Sharon’s startled gaze on his face. “For ten years. I retired a few years ago to become a restoration contractor, something I’d always been interested in trying.”

  “I don’t suppose you want me to mention your citations? Or the fact that you retired after being shot in the line of duty, saving a group of innocent bystanders from a lunatic with an assault rifle?”

  Wade’s expression was so bland Mac was half tempted to punch him, just to see if it ruffled him. The chief really had investigated him thoroughly. Hell, he’d probably even talked to Mac’s superior officers in Savannah. He’d been right when he’d assumed that there wasn’t much that slipped past Wade Davenport.

  “You were shot?” Sharon whispered, looking pale.

  He shook his head reassuringly. “Just grazed. Hardly a scratch.”

  It was a lie, of course. He’d been hospitalized for ten days. But he saw no need to go into that now.

  Jamie McBride was the one who broke the startled silence, and of course she did it with an outrageous comment. “Cordero-the-hero,” she murmured, tongue in cheek. “That’s what they call you around town, you know, because you saved Sharon’s life that night. Just imagine the name you’d pick up if they heard about this.”

  Mac felt his cheeks darken, the closest he’d come to a blush in years. Wade laughed. Trevor rolled his eyes in resignation at his wife’s impudence. Brad Henderson made a sound of disgust and pushed away from the table. “C’mon, Clay, let’s go check out your new game. I’m starting to get nauseous.”

  “That boy really doesn’t like you, Mac,” Wade said when the teens had left, with Trevor’s almost-seven-year-old son tagging eagerly along.

  “It’s just taking him longer than most people to respond to my natural charm,” Mac drawled in return, making Wade chuckle.

  “Mac thinks Brad is a bit threatened because Mac and I have become friends,” Sharon said, looking concerned about her brother’s behavior.

  Trent shrugged. “Makes sense. Teenagers don’t like change.”

  “That’s what I told Mac,” Sharon agreed quickly. “All Brad needs is some time and understanding—”

  “And a good swift kick to the butt,” Trent murmured.

  Mac chuckled at Sharon’s expression. “That’s what I told her.”

  “Sympathy and understanding only go so far with teenagers,” Wade advised Sharon. “Sometimes it takes a tougher approach.”

  Sharon sighed and lifted a hand to her temple. “Okay, I’ll try.”

  “Brad’s a good boy,” Emily said firmly. “Don’t let them upset you, Sharon.”

  Sharon looked only marginally reassured.

  One of the younger children—either Emily’s Claire or Tara’s Alison, Mac tended to mix them up—toddled up to him and set a stuffed toy on his knee. She looked up at him with enormous blue eyes, apparently waiting for him to make a comment. “That’s, uh, real nice. Claire,” he added, figuring the odds were pretty good that he was right.

  “That’s Alison,” Abbie informed him with a haughtiness that was rather pronounced considering she wasn’t even four yet. “Claire’s over there.”

  He really wasn’t faring very well with the younger set here today, Mac thought resignedly as the little girl he’d misidentified bustled happily away.

  The child looked healthy, he mused, watching her chubby little legs pumping along. All the McBride descendants looked downright robust. He fervently hoped the same would prove true of any future off-spring. No parent deserved the kind of heartbreak he had been through.

  He glanced at his watch. The afternoon was well advanced. Shadows were lengthening in the yard. The kids were starting to look tired. And so was he, he imagined. He neede
d to get away.

  Sitting next to him, Sharon leaned closer, masking her voice beneath the lively chatter of the others. “You look as though you’re getting ready to bolt.”

  “I need to run by the house,” he said. “The electricians were there this morning and I like to make sure everything’s locked up after the crews leave.”

  Sharon stood as he did. “I’ll walk you to your truck.”

  Looking only at her, he smiled a little. It calmed him to focus on her at the moment. Helped him concentrate on the present rather than the past.

  Mac took his leave of the others, all of whom assured him they’d been delighted to have him there.

  “I’m so glad you could come, Mac,” Emily said, her hand in his. “Please visit us again.”

  He looked into her friendly blue eyes, seeing nothing but warm sincerity in her expression. A very nice woman, he thought. Would he ruin her comfortable life if he pursued his private investigation, if he made it publicly known that her father could be his, as well? He hadn’t really cared when he came here who might be hurt or embarrassed if the truth was revealed, but that was before he’d met the McBrides. Before he’d been welcomed so graciously among them.

  Whether they knew it or not, they were his family—and he didn’t know how much, if anything, he owed them because of that coincidence of genetics.

  Sharon was still thinking of her brother as she accompanied Mac around the side of the house. “Brad really will come around, Mac. He just needs time.”

  Time. He considered that a moment. It would be several months before the renovation was finished. While it wasn’t absolutely necessary for him to oversee every day of the work, it was his practice to be very actively involved in his projects from beginning to end. He enjoyed the work, and took great satisfaction in watching the daily progress.

  It was not his practice to get involved with a woman in town during his jobs. There had been the occasional encounter since his divorce; he hadn’t quite lived a monk’s life since his divorce. But not far from it. And none of the few other women had made him question what he wanted or where he was headed the way Sharon did.