by Eileen Wilks
"I need to rent a car, remember?" She flashed Ben a quick, polite smile on her way to the sink, where she yanked off a paper towel and dampened it. "I was hoping you could drop me at a rental place on your way in. Hold out your hands, Zach."
Ben's jaw set in a way Duncan knew all too well. "You don't need to rent a car. I told you that. I've got my work truck, so you can use the Chevy. It's old, but I keep it in good shape."
"Thank you, but I'd rather rent a car. I explained that when I agreed to come here."
"If an old Chevy isn't good enough for you, you can use Duncan's Mustang."
Her eyebrows lifted. "How kind of you to offer me the use of your brother's car. As I said, however, I prefer to make my own arrangements."
Oh, but she did that well, Duncan thought, a grin tugging at his mouth. Princess to peon, with more than a whiff of mad for flavor.
"Why spend the money on a rental when you don't have to?" Ben demanded.
She finished wiping her son's hands and gave him a pat on the bottom. "Upstairs, short stuff. I laid your clothes out on the bed."
Zach protested, glancing uncertainly between his mother and Ben. Kids always picked up on it when there was anger in the air, Duncan thought. And these two fairly simmered with old anger.
People didn't carry anger around this long unless other strong feelings were involved. He made himself face that. While Gwen was busy with Zach, he crossed the room, took the spatula from Ben and said under his breath, "Try to remember you're not her big brother."
Ben shot him an annoyed glance. "I'm real aware of that."
"Then stop grabbing the reins. She's an adult. She doesn't need you to steer for her." Gwen didn't really know either of them, yet she was living in their house. Of course she wanted to have her own car, rather than depend on them.
Zach ran out of excuses and left to get dressed. She carried his plate to the sink, every stiff inch of her announcing her displeasure. "I would rather we didn't argue in front of him."
"Okay, you're right about that," Ben admitted. "Look, can we settle this later? I need to get out to the site if I'm going to have any chance of finishing up early enough to take Zach to the movies the way we planned."
"If you're in a hurry," Duncan said mildly, "I can drop Gwen off at the rental place on my way to the shooting range."
Ben scowled. "All right, all right. Do it your way. I should be back by noon."
The door didn't quite slam behind him, but it came close.
"Well." Gwen slid the plate into the dishwasher. "Thanks for offering me a ride. We'll be ready whenever you are."
"His bark is worse than his bite, you know." Duncan flipped his pancakes. They were a little singed.
"No doubt. I'm not crazy about being barked at, though." She grabbed another paper towel and began wiping off the table.
He sliced a chunk of butter into a small bowl and stuck it in the microwave. "Ben can be bossy, but he's not a tyrant. Just stubborn."
"Maybe so. But I'm not one of his employees."
There it was again – that princess lilt to her voice. He shook his head, wondering why that cool, snooty tone appealed to him so much. "Oh, Ben picked up the habit of being in charge long before he had any employees to boss around. He's been running the family – or trying to – ever since our folks died. God knows what would have happened if he hadn't taken charge of the lot of us then."
She paused, a little V between her eyebrows, the crumpled paper towel in her suddenly motionless hand. "I didn't know. I mean, I knew his parents were dead. That was in the PI's report."
He stared. "You had Ben investigated by a PI?"
"I needed a PI to find him." She jerked one shoulder in a quick shrug. "I thought I might as well find out if he'd gotten married or something in the past five years. Since I was planning to introduce him to his son."
"I see." He took the melted butter out of the microwave and drizzled it over his pancakes.
"You're either remarkably tactful or lacking in curiosity."
The amusement in her voice made him look at her, really look at her. Mistake, he thought as his groin tightened. Down, boy. But there was such self-deprecating humor in her eyes that he couldn't help smiling back. "Oh, I'm curious, but devious about it. I was the middle child until my little sister was born. Middle children learn to be tricky."
"Do they?" When she relaxed into her smile like that, she reminded him of her son – no trace of the princess now, just warm, sunny woman. "I wouldn't know, being an only child. We don't bother to be devious since the world revolves around us."
He chuckled and carried his pancakes to the table. "I can't remember the last time Ben made pancakes for breakfast. Thanks for inspiring him."
"Zach's the inspiration." She threw herself back into motion, heading across the kitchen. "Which is wonderful, just what I'd hoped for. Being Zach's father is obviously important to Ben." She opened the door. "Where's the trash?"
"Under the sink. You don't stand still much, do you?"
"Not willingly." She hurried back across the room to toss the paper towel in the trash. "I guess that's all the damage I cam do here without snatching your plate away. Most people get testy if I do that before they finish eating."
"Something of a neatnik, are you?"
"It's one of my more annoying flaws. I'd better see what's keeping Zach."
"He's okay. We haven't heard any loud crashes." Duncan took a sip of coffee. "I was fifteen when my folks were killed. Ben was twenty-one. He dropped out of college, talked the construction company where he'd been working in the summers to take him on full-time and persuaded the court he was a fit guardian for the lot of us." Duncan put down his mug. "You didn't ask, but I thought you ought to know. He comes by his managing ways honestly."
She tipped her head to one side. "I always wanted a brother or sister – someone who could do for me what you just did for Ben. Someone with all that shared history. I never intended for Zach to be an only child, too."
"Does he have to be?"
"I don't know." She had a look on her face that made him think she wanted to clean something, and quick. Her glance fell on his mug, which was half-empty. She grabbed it and carried it to the coffeepot, which put her back to him. "I'm not sure what you know. What has Ben told you about my health?"
Ah. Easier to talk about some things when you weren't eye to eye. "He said you were diagnosed with breast cancer a year and a half ago. The lump was small and they think they got it all. You had radiation before the surgery, and you're on some kind of hormonal treatment."
"Tamoxifen. I'll take it for another three years. It suppresses estrogen production. They think high estrogen levels are linked to the type of cancer I had."
Duncan's grasp of female biology tended to be more hands-on than scientific, but he thought he saw where she was headed. "Would pregnancy affect your hormone levels?"
"Yes. They don't know how much of a danger that is, though." She turned around, his mug steaming gently in one hand. "You have no idea what a relief it is to talk to someone who can say 'cancer' right out loud without stammering."
"Ben's not usually one to tiptoe around a subject."
"A lot of people are uncomfortable talking about it, though. My mother avoids the word as if it referred to a social disease." The quick flash of her grin suggested his was a harmless oddity, nothing that troubled her.
"She's afraid for you."
"Yes. Yes, she is. And now I really need to check on Zach. If you think the only kinds of trouble he can get into are noisy – well, obviously it's been a while since you were four."
"Okay. But I'll appreciate that coffee a lot more than he would."
She frowned at the mug she was about to carry out of the room, gave a little shake of her head and crossed to hand it to him.
Their fingers brushed. He allowed for the quick jab of pleasure and congratulated himself for pulling his hand back smoothly without spilling the hot coffee – in spite of the slight jerk of her hand
.
She blinked, stepped back and gave him one of those polite smiles before leaving the room.
Duncan sat at the table without moving, looking at the bright blue square of sky framed by the window over the sink and trying not to enjoy the slow burn of arousal. Or the knowledge that she'd felt it, too.
It seemed they were both going to have to be careful.
* * *
On Gwen's third morning in Highpoint, she stood with her eyes closed, letting water stream over her back and shoulders, and blessed the unknown genius who'd invented showers. Sometimes she thought the only thing keeping her sane were these few minutes at the start of every day when she could stand beneath lots of lovely hot water.
Sanity, of course, was relative. Her mother thought she was nuts to have contacted Ben in the first place, but Gwen was more certain than ever that she'd done the right thing. Zach and Ben had bonded so fast it had been like watching some kind of cosmic superglue in action.
There were other aspects of her journey she wasn't so sure about.
She'd wanted answers, she admitted a she poured a dollop of baby shampoo into her palm. Closure. Oh, she'd hoped for more – hoped there might still be a spark between her and Ben. Something to build on.
Well, she had gotten one answer, hadn't she? Smiling ruefully, she lathered and rinsed. There was no doubt at all that Ben had fallen, and fallen hard, for their son. He barely seemed to know she was in the same room when Zach was around. And frankly she'd seen more of Ben's brother than she had Ben.
And that was okay. The whole purpose of this trip was to give Zach a chance to develop a relationship with his father, one that didn't depend on having her around. So she'd encouraged Ben to take Zach to the movies, the park, wherever.
The fact was, the spark wasn't there for her, either. Not anymore.
Maybe the connection she'd felt five years ago had been the product of wishful thinking. Or maybe it had gotten buried under their mutual anger or had simply withered over the years. Heaven knew she wasn't the same person she'd been five years ago. She'd been so angry after her father's death, flying off in all directions.
Gwen squirted lavender-scented bath gel into her hand and smiled. The scent made her think of the friend who had given it to her. Kelly laughed loudly, cried easily and took life in bigger bites than anyone Gwen knew. She never let fear dictate her choices. Gwen wanted to be like Kelly when she grew up.
Of course, Kelly would probably say Gwen was looking for labels, not answers – tidy little pigeonholes where she could file memories and feelings.
She'd probably be right.
Gwen reached for her razor. Her fingers brushed the other razor sitting on the shelf, nearly knocking it off.
Duncan's razor.
A little thrill shot through her. How absurd. But it had been a very long time since she'd shared a bathroom with a man. A long time since she'd shared anything remotely intimate with a man.
It was inappropriate to think of sharing the bathroom with Duncan as some sort of intimacy, she told herself a she drew the razor along her leg. No, it was just plain dumb. She frowned and started on her other leg. It would be worse than dumb to think about intimacy and Duncan. More like courting disaster.
Quite aide from the sexual buzz she got around him, though, she liked him. She liked the way he moved and the way he smiled – slowly, as if a smile was something to be savored, not rushed into. Most of all she liked the way he listened. When she talked to him, she felt as if he gave her his complete attention. Rather the way most men focused on the Super Bowl or sex, she thought, and sniffed. As if nothing else mattered.
The buzz wasn't going to be a problem. She wasn't about to act on it, so it would fade in time. For now … well, he wasn't around all that much.
Gwen shut off the water, grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower stall, automatically facing away from the big mirror over the vanity. Whatever Duncan did with himself during the day, mostly he did it away from' the house. Something was eating at him…
And why did she think that? Gwen shook her head and rubbed herself briskly with the towel. It wasn't as if she was good at reading people. The law was so much easier to understand.
"Mom! Mom!" Zach called from the other side of the door. "I'm gonna go eat breakfast now!"
"Okay, sweetie." Gwen wrapped the towel around her hair and reached for her lotion. "Save me some toast."
"'Kay!"
She heard his feet thudding down the stairs. How could such a small boy sound so much like an elephant in a hurry? She smiled and smoothed lotion up her arm to her shoulder, and down over her breast. Then the left side – arm, shoulder and breast. The little ridge of he scar. The dip on the side of her breast where there used to be a plump curve.
Gwen's hand hesitated. Then, impulsively, she faced the mirror.
The surface was still fogged over. She pulled the towel off her head and swiped it across the mirror, then stood still and looked.
Narrow shoulders, on the bony side, but okay. A flat stomach with thin white stretch marks around an "innie" belly button. Skinny thighs, but a nice butt, she thought. Pubic hair more white than blond – she'd wondered sometimes if her mother's hair was this pale down there. Then felt guilty, as if she were intruding on her mother's privacy. Deirdre was a very modest woman.
Then there were her breasts. Modest little things they were, to be sure. She'd always wished they were a teensy bit bigger, but had been secretly pleased with their shape. At least she wouldn't have to worry about sagging when she was older, and she'd always been able to go braless. Even now, though she never wore snug-fitting tops anymore.
Pretty little peaches high on her chest … wall-eyed, lopsided breasts.
The surgeon hadn't told her that her nipples might not match after the surgery. Her left nipple pointed out slightly, pulled toward the scar. And here … she found the spot with her fingers, as well as her eyes. Here was that dip, the funny-looking dent in the side of her breast where the surgeon had removed breast tissue along with the lump.
She was extremely lucky. Gwen stroked the dent lightly and assured herself of that. Maybe her breasts weren't as pretty as they once were, but ten years ago they would have taken her whole breast, not just scooped out a bit of it. Twenty years ago they would have taken the breast, all the lymph nodes and the chest muscle.
Twenty-two years ago her aunt had died … after they cut away her breast, lymph nodes and chest muscle.
Gwen looked away, reaching for her sweater. Then made herself stop and look back at the mirror. What would a man think, how would he feel, about her lopsided breasts?
She used to think she was pretty good at sex, however lacking she might be at relationships. There were rules for sex. Some were obvious: be considerate. Don't lie. Both partners should be free. Always use protection. Don't have too many partners – well, that one was a bit ambiguous. Gwen interpreted it to mean, "Be very, very picky." Kelly claimed that was just another way of playing it safe, but Gwen thought playing it safe was sound policy for the relationship-impaired.
People didn't come with rules. She wasn't good at people, and she wasn't sure she'd still be good at sex, either. It had been so long…
Gwen ran her fingertips over the side of her breast again. The dent was very noticeable to her eyes, her touch. Maybe it wouldn't be so obvious to a man, though. Men were usually focused on the main event, weren't they? Football was all about scoring, and sex meant intercourse. Although Duncan wasn't as—
Horrified, she dropped her hand and snatched her panties from the neat pile of clothes on the closed lid of the toilet. No way was she going to think about sex and Duncan. He was an interesting man. She liked him. Nothing wrong with that. But add a jolt of sexual sizzle to liking, and you ended up with a recipe for trouble. He was her son's uncle, for heaven's sake!
Gwen pulled on her panties and slacks, yanked her sweater over her head and grabbed her hairbrush. The plain fact was, her hormones did a happy dance whe
never Duncan was in the room. The good news was that he didn't have a clue. Neither did Ben, thank goodness.
She wasn't responsible for her hormones, just her actions. As long as she made sure everyone else remained in the dark about that blasted sizzle, they didn't have a problem.
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
Colorado air was different from Florida air, crisp and dry and spiced with pine instead of hibiscus or jasmine. It was also too damned chilly.
Gwen sat on a wooden lawn chair and tried to ignore cold fingers and toes, the distractingly different air and a sky so huge and blue she felt as if she'd fall up into it if she stared too long. She had to make some progress with this title search. She'd been online most of the morning trying to conduct a search of the Bureau of Land Management's database, but her little jumping bean had different priorities.
Finally she'd taken Zach outside to run off some of that energy. Her laptop could run off the battery for a while, and she had a decent connection speed with her cell phone.
"Look at me! Look at me, Mom!"
She glanced up – and swallowed. "Wow." She stood and the thirty-five-hundred-dollar laptop nearly fell to the ground before she caught it and closed it. "That's super, honey," she said as she walked really fast to the tree where he was dangling upside down.
She got her hands on him just as he started to slip. Her heart was playing handball off the wall of her chest. "You're a great acrobat, but gymnasts use a spotter, you know."
"They do?" he said as she guided him to the ground. "What's a spotter?"
"Someone who stands by to help them do their tricks right. So they don't fall on their pointy little heads." She wanted to get on her knees and hold him tight. She ruffled his hair.
He giggled.
"He keeps you busy, doesn't he?" a feminine voice said.
Startled, Gwen glanced to her left. An older woman stood at the fence beside a newly budded bush. Her hair was a tight cap of grizzled gray curls. She wore glasses with lavender frames, a plain white shirt and jeans. Everyone in Highpoint seemed to wear jeans. But, Gwen thought, this woman surely bought hers in the boys' department. She was tiny, no hips.