A Family Affair: The Wish: Truth in Lies, Book 9

by Campisi, Mary

  His smile spread. “You haven’t answered me yet. Natalie Servetti, will you marry me?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes!” When he placed the ring on her finger, she held her hand in the air, delighted in the sparkle of the solitaire on her finger. Robert stood and pulled her in his arms, kissing her with a conviction that told her there would be no more delays or skimpy promises. From this moment on, she had his heart, all of it. And he had hers.

  * * *

  News of Adam Brandon’s sudden departure and the reason behind it created enough speculation to keep people guessing for weeks. Some said an emergency called him back, leaving no time for thank yous or good-byes. Others said he’d finished his job and headed out without bothering to bid adieu because Magdalena and the folks in it had been nothing more than an assignment. Still others said something must have happened to make him bolt like that, and it was the “what” that had them guessing. But there were one or two who’d seen the young man a day before he left, eating lunch alone at Lina’s Café, his handsome face sadder than Lily Desantro’s when she didn’t get the last piece of Lina’s cherry pie.

  What could that be about? Nobody knew, but everybody wanted to guess.

  A woman?

  A deal?

  An illness in the family, maybe even a death?

  Speculation and deduction said it wasn’t a woman, not with movie-star looks and charm like that man had. What woman wouldn’t fall all over him, give him anything and absolutely everything he wanted? But then why such a long face? Men like that might take losing out on a business deal and the money that undoubtedly went with it as personal. That could be it, but maybe it had to do with family, like an illness, or heaven forbid, a death?

  The town hovered on the family issue and a few searched the Internet for information on Brandon and what do you think they found? Matthew Brandon, bestselling fiction writer of the Jack Steele Private Investigator series has one brother, Adam, and a sister, Amy.

  What??

  The discovery that the man’s brother was the famous author Matthew Brandon had the whole town reworking theories on why the man left, but now they slapped a “why didn’t he tell us who he really was?” on it. Speculation persisted, the greatest from Rex MacGregor, the very man who opened his doors to Adam Brandon. Bree didn’t speak with her father for three weeks, but at the end of the fourth, after yet another phone call from her mother, begging Bree to forgive her father for his “grave error in judgment,” she agreed to see him.

  There were a lot of tears in that meeting, most coming from her daddy, but Bree shed a bucket or two, and not all of those tears had to do with the estrangement. A lot of those tears had a whole different reason for spilling, and the reason had a name and a face: Adam Brandon. She missed him, wanted to talk to him, hear his laugh, see the sparkle in his eyes, the kindness in his voice. She loved him, and he’d said he loved her, too. And what had she gone and done with that? Thrown it away, stomped on it, called him names, destroyed what might have been. No amount of tears would ease the pain of knowing what might have been.

  Bree and her father came to an agreement of sorts, one that nixed the idea of selling the company and gave her full control in five years. All he required from her was a promise not to bury herself in work but live her life, stay in touch with her friends, spend more time with the girls, and when the time came, if it came, open up to caring about someone again. He’d danced around the last issue and when he hinted the “young man might want to hear from you,” that had been the last thing she’d expect him to say and the one that made her turn away so he did not see her pain. But a parent knows; a parent always knows. There’d been no more talk of the young man but Daddy held her until she stopped shaking and the sniffles subsided, just like he’d done when she was a little girl and their Irish setter, Penny, got out of the fence and ran away. Will Carrick found her at Boone’s Peak, muddy and full of briars, and more than eager to jump in his truck. He’d brought her home and Bree and Daddy bathed her, fed her, and for the very first time in Penny’s four years of life, Mama and Daddy let her sleep in Bree’s bed.

  But Adam Brandon hadn’t run away; he’d been chased, kicked out, and told he wasn’t wanted. Nobody was sending him back to Bree, not to her doorstep and certainly not to her bed. She never should have let him go. She should have listened to him, tried for once in her upside-down life to be patient and logical. Then she would have seen and understood his words, would have known that if she sent him away, she’d be sending part of her heart with him.

  When her father stopped over late Saturday morning, almost five weeks after Adam left, he brought a flat of purple pansies and a bag of soil that he assured her would brighten her spirits, even though she hadn’t said a single word about her spirits being gloomy. Bree gathered up her garden gloves and spade and followed him through the gate to the backyard and the two barrel planters on either side of the deck.

  Her father set the soil and flat of violets on the ground and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Where are the girls?”

  Bree pointed to the sliding glass door leading to the kitchen. “Ella Blue and Lindsey are inside cleaning the pigpens they call rooms and Scarlett is at the neighbor’s.”

  “Good, because I’ve been thinking…”

  “Daddy.” The tone in his voice told her she wasn’t going to like this next part. “Please don’t.” They both knew what she meant, but when her father took her hand and motioned for her to sit on the deck steps, she knew he was going to have his say.

  “You need to make things right with Adam.”

  “What?” Bree turned, stared at her father. “Why would you say that?”

  He laid a big hand on her knee, patted it. “Because I’m responsible for what happened and I can’t sit by and watch you two living separate lives.” He let out a sigh, cleared his throat. “I said some pretty hurtful things to the man, words I now realize weren’t true, and I regret them. I wanted to keep you safe so you’d never get hurt again, but how was I really going to do that? The second you step into the world, you risk getting hurt. It’s called life and we’re put on this earth to live it, not fear it.” His voice dipped, smothered with tenderness. “A parent will do anything to help his child, even if it means letting go.”

  “Daddy?” She didn’t like the look on his face, like he was about to cry. “What are you saying?”

  “Part of me worried if you took up with Adam Brandon, you’d scoot off to Chicago with the girls and your mama and I would only see you on holidays and birthdays. I didn’t want to be that kind of grandpa, but that’s selfish and I’m ashamed of it. You have to go where you find your happiness, and like Pop told me, it has to be your definition of the word, not mine.”

  “You talked to Pop about me?”

  He nodded. “The man wasn’t very happy with me. Between him and your mama, I heard a lot of squawking about how I butted in when I shouldn’t have and how I needed to make it right.” Her daddy dragged a hand over his face. “I can’t stand being at odds with your mama, but until you make things right with Adam, she’ll make me suffer with those evil-eyed stares and pinched lips. You know how your mama does when she’s not happy.”

  Make things right with Adam? How was she supposed to do that when she’d been pure miserable to him? “It’s not that easy.”

  “Never is when something worthwhile’s involved.”

  “He won’t want to see me again.” Why would he? Adam Brandon could have any woman he wanted; surely he wouldn’t be mooning over a pain in the butt who didn’t know a good thing when it stood right next to her.

  “I think he would. At least that’s what Roman says.”

  “Roman? When did you talk to Roman?”

  “Yesterday. Seems Adam’s convinced Roman to send him overseas for nine months, or maybe it was nineteen months.” He paused, rubbed his jaw. “Italy and France, maybe? Or was it Australia?” He shrugged, his bushy brows pinching together. “Can’t say as I remember. Not sure what he’s doing ther
e either. All Roman told me is that Adam hasn’t been the same since he got back from Magdalena. Quiet, withdrawn. Roman thinks his friend is trying to forget something, or someone, and that’s why he’s leaving.”

  Bree bit her lip. Adam was miserable and she’d done this to him. She didn’t want him to go gallivanting to who knew where until who knew when. What if he decided not to come back? There’d been a sense of comfort these past weeks knowing he was in Chicago, knowing she could look at the clock and think about what he might be doing. She’d even pictured herself in the city, in the very restaurant where they first met. But now that would end; now her pretend world would crash and she really wouldn’t ever see him again.

  “Go to him, Bree. Your mama and I will take care of the girls. Don’t think about what I want, or what your mama wants, or how you could get hurt. Don’t think about any of that but what’s in your heart. Tell him what’s in there and do it now.” His eyes misted. “But do it before it’s too late.”

  * * *

  It had been thirty-six days since he’d last seen Bree. Thirty-six days since he’d lost all hope for a future with the woman he loved. Maybe he should give up women altogether or settle for the ones who would be and do anything for him as long as he opened his wallet. He bet he could even find a tall woman with strawberry-blond hair and long legs who didn’t mind being called Bree. She’d probably agree to faking a southern accent, too, and if he gave her enough attention and trinkets, she might even agree to playacting as though she were Bree.

  And what would that prove? That he was sick and deranged? That once again, he’d been blindsided and obliterated by a woman? It would prove exactly nothing and while he might play what-if scenarios, Adam knew he’d never do it because no matter what the woman said or how she looked, and no matter if she had a great southern accent, she was not Bree.

  That was the problem, that would always be the problem, and he’d damn well better get used to it. Roman and Angie had taken pity on his sorry soul, invited him to dinner, opened their home, and given him a glimpse of family life, the life he’d wanted with Bree, the one he’d never have with her. After the second invitation, Adam declined because witnessing true marital bliss only made him feel worse. Instead, he’d taken to staying at home, reading and making gourmet meals that ended up in Roman’s refrigerator. He’d planned to have a few glasses of wine tonight, fix ahi tuna with a side of couscous, but Roman had conned him into a business dinner downtown.

  The restaurant was the last place Adam wanted to go, but Roman had insisted, said the potential client, a woman, was a big fan of the place. Great. He had to spend the evening with a woman in the restaurant where he met Bree Kinkaid. Just great. When Adam couldn’t stall any longer, he grabbed his jacket and car keys and headed out the door. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could leave. When he arrived at the restaurant, the hostess greeted him. “I have a 6:30 reservation. Brandon.”

  She checked her list, smiled. “The other party is already here.” Another smile. “Please, follow me.”

  Adam sucked in a breath, wished for the twelfth time the potential client hadn’t chosen this restaurant. How was he going to be able to think of anything but Bree Kinkaid?

  “Here we are, sir. Enjoy your meal.”

  He didn’t hear the hostess because he was staring at the woman in the booth. She had her head bent, but the strawberry-blond hair pulled him in, choked the breath form his lungs. How many “Bree Kinkaids” had he seen since he’d left Magdalena? Every strawberry blond was a potential Bree and yet none of them were. Nobody was Bree Kinkaid but Bree. The woman lifted her head, met his gaze, her full lips half-parted. “Hello, Adam.”

  Bree Kinkaid. He stared, blinked, stared harder. The woman who’d haunted him for weeks was a touch away. Adam swallowed, forced a nonchalance into his voice and said, “Bree. What a surprise.”

  She offered him a smile, soft, hesitant. Hopeful? “Will you join me?”

  Adam slid into the booth opposite her, took in the paleness of her face, the dark smudges under her eyes. “Are you okay?” Her bottom lip quivered and she started to nod, then shook her head. He forgot that she’d driven him out of Magdalena and told him he disgusted her, forgot all of it but the pain and vulnerability staring back at him. He reached across the table, clasped her hand. “Is it the kids? Did something happen?”

  “No, they’re fine.” She met his gaze, her eyes bright with tears. “Oh, Adam, I was so wrong about you. I am so sorry.”

  So. This was about them. He eased his hand from hers, settled back in the booth. Before he could comment, the waiter appeared and he ordered a scotch, glad the break in conversation gave him an extra few seconds to consider his response, whatever that would be. What would he say? Why are you sorry, Bree? Tell me, in detail. Or, You were pretty firm about your opinion of me the last time I saw you. What’s changed? But when the waiter left, Adam said none of these things.

  “Adam? Don’t you have anything to say?”

  Oh, yes, he had plenty to say, starting and ending with Are you going to change your mind tomorrow? Or next Tuesday? Will I be a villain or a hero then? What will I be, Bree? But he settled for “Apology accepted.” That answer didn’t seem to satisfy her because she sniffed twice and those full lips trembled. What did she expect? They were over, no matter what she said or why she was here, but his damnable heart didn’t seem to agree. He forced logic to ignore his heart. “You know, you could have called to apologize instead of making the trip.”

  She nodded, the frown deepening, shoulders slumping. “I could have, but I wanted to do it in person.” Bree paused, cleared her throat. “I wanted to see you.”

  Silly heart of his pounded against his ribs so damn fast it hurt. He refused to acknowledge the reason. “I see.” The waiter delivered his scotch and Adam took a healthy swallow. Then another. “Roman told me I was meeting a potential client. So, the two of you set this up?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And nobody thought to just tell me the truth? You were coming to Chicago for a personal meet-and-greet and to extend an apology?”

  Bree looked away. “We weren’t sure you’d agree to a meeting.”

  “Ah.” He rubbed his jaw, studied her. “A meeting. Interesting word. Very business-sounding, considering our history.”

  Bree blushed a strawberry pink and blurted out, “I want you to come back to Magdalena and MacGregor Cabinets, finish what you started. You’ve analyzed the manufacturing area, but what about purchasing and engineering?” Her face turned pinker, her voice more animated. “We could be a lot more efficient and with you guiding me—”

  “No.”

  Those amber eyes glittered. “No? Just like that?”

  “It would never work.” He was not going to sit beside her every day and maintain a business relationship with the same woman who’d pierced his soul and stolen a chunk of his heart. Nope. No way.

  “It could work.” She spread her hands on the table, leaned forward. “We could make it work. Daddy said he’d stay out of it, wouldn’t bother us or our decisions.”

  Was she talking about MacGregor Cabinet decisions or them as “couple” decisions? The woman had already spun him around three times and he had a hard time following her train of thought. Typical Bree Kinkaid. Never a dull moment. “You want me to come back to MacGregor Cabinets and work beside you every day.” He paused, eyed her over the rim of his glass. “Like before.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He really could get lost in those eyes, and that voice with its soft drawl was every man’s fantasy. “Except it wouldn’t be like before, would it? We’d be business partners. Period.”

  She eyed him, stumbled over the next word. “Well…”

  “Right. Well.” Her lack of conviction annoyed him. “Of course, you might pick up with the whole I-don’t-want-a-relationship thing again and tempt me with no-strings sex. And I might be fool enough to consider it, but I still have the scars from the last time, so I think I’ll exercise ca
ution and pass.” Bree stared at him as if she didn’t quite understand. Fine, he’d spell it out for her. “No thanks.”

  “What if this weren’t no-strings? What if I wanted strings and whatever else went with it? And what if I said I didn’t care where those strings led?” She paused, licked her lips. “Maybe they’d lead to Chicago, but I wouldn’t care. What then?”

  Was she saying she wanted a serious relationship with him, no restrictions? Adam sipped his scotch, studied her. “Why don’t you translate all of the what-ifs for me and say what you really mean and what you really want? Can you do that?”

  “Of course I can.”

  If this weren’t such a serious situation, he’d laugh, or at least smile. Bree always thought her convoluted methods of conversation were transparent and intelligible. Usually, they were neither, but that’s one of the things that intrigued the hell out of him. Life with Bree would never be predictable or boring. Still, he wanted her to spell out exactly what she was offering. “I’m listening.”

  She sat up prim and proper like she was in a classroom and had been asked to recite a passage she’d memorized. “I messed up. Bad. I didn’t trust myself enough to trust you and what you were offering. I was so dang afraid to open my heart that the second I found out you hadn’t told me the truth about why you were in Magdalena, I shut down and refused to listen to anything you said. I did some serious heart-searching and realized I’d sent away the most noble man I’d ever met, all because I was afraid, but I’m not afraid anymore.” She paused, cleared her throat, and held his gaze. “Not true. I am afraid but that’s not going to stop me from going after what I want.” Her voice dipped. “And I want you, Adam Brandon. I want a life with you. So, please don’t go. Please.” She clasped her hands in front of her as if in prayer. “I mean, I know I can’t tell you what to do, but would you think about staying?” Her eyes misted, her voice cracked. “Please?”