“I can only assume you don’t own a mirror.” Before Grace could ask about that, Mallory raced on. “Look, come into the store for lunch the day after tomorrow. You can meet Leah, and we’ll gripe about Callen, or not. It’s your choice.”
Grace picked not. He was angry enough without her adding “invading his privacy” to the list of things he suddenly hated about her. “I bet he’d love to know he’s the topic of lunch conversation.”
“I’ve made it clear I can say whatever I want about him, whenever I want.”
Now that was interesting. “Made it clear to?”
“Callen.” Mallory shrugged. “We have an understanding.”
Actually, now that Grace thought about it, the word “interesting” didn’t even cover it. She fought off a little bit of awe for her new friend. “Which is?”
“When he acts like a dick, I call him on it.”
What little movement seemed to be happening in the diner stopped. It was as if someone had turned the sound the whole way down. Even Grace held her breath. She stopped once she realized she was doing it. “You might need to teach me that skill.”
“You’re on.” Mallory slid the card closer to Grace. “Friday at noon.”
***
After years of living in military housing, of dodging bullets and IEDs on deployments, Declan loved living at Shadow Hill. Even with the dusty rooms filled with stacks of paper and peeling wallpaper, it was the closest to a stable home he’d ever had.
His mom had tried. Charlie walked out, screwing over clients and dumping a heap of liability on his wife and sons. He didn’t pay support. Instead, he saddled them with his criminal reputation until people whispered so much that Declan’s mom couldn’t find a job. A few years later, Charlie came back and grabbed Callen to travel along on the nationwide scams, leaving their mother in a puddle on the floor.
Declan remembered it all. The crying, the days without food. Hating his father and blaming Callen for not breaking away and coming home.
But everything changed. More than twenty years had passed, and Charlie died on the eve of his trial. His mother, Declan’s grandmother, died soon after, leaving behind her house and all the questions about how she bought it and where Charlie hid the money and property he stole from his victims.
With the years of estrangement behind them, the house allowed the brothers to come back together. Declan refused to lose Callen again. If that meant escorting Grace out of town or holding back his mom from telling whatever other secrets she hid about their upbringing, Declan would do it. Callen needed a break, and Declan vowed to make sure that happened.
They all had to survive the next ten minutes first.
Mom busied herself at the farm sink under the window in the kitchen. She had her back to Callen and Declan where they sat at the kitchen table as she stirred a wooden spoon in a glass pitcher of what he guessed was iced tea.
When she turned around, she held the container in front of her like a shield as she stared at Callen. “I met a friend of yours a little while ago.”
Callen didn’t look up from the newspaper in front of him. “Didn’t realize I had any of those in this town.”
Her hands tightened on the glass. “Grace . . . something.”
He closed his eyes. “Damn it.”
This topic Declan could handle. “I met her, too.”
“Pretty.”
Declan looked from his mother’s painfully hopeful expression to the top of Callen’s head. “Very.”
“Let’s change the topic, preferably now.” He flipped a page and went back to reading. Looked like he found something pretty damn interesting in the want ads section.
Mom put the pitcher down on the wooden kitchen island with a loud clank. Even Callen glanced up as she wiped her hands on a towel, then threw it on the counter.
Crossing in front of them, she walked out of the kitchen and through the open doorway into the family room, closer to the front of the house. Without a word, she scanned the built-in bookshelves and picked out a few books, loading down her arms with them.
The chair creaked as Callen turned around to watch her. “Okay, I give up. What are you doing?”
She studied the spines. “Getting some things together.”
“Why?”
Declan wanted to let this play out, to give them a chance to work through the hundreds of things they needed to say to each other. And he would have if a thought hadn’t jumped into his head. “Are you leaving town?”
She faced them with her head tilted slightly to the side. “No, Callen is not that lucky.”
The legs of the chair screeched against the hardwood floor as Callen angled his chair to face her. “I didn’t tell you to leave.”
“This is the most you’ve spoken to me in the last five days.”
Callen stood up so fast the chair almost toppled to the floor. “Is that really a surprise, under the circumstances?”
There it was. The topic that lingered and tainted everything even though Callen refused to talk about it. He took shots at her and she grimaced through them, but nothing got settled.
Usually at this point Callen’s anger battled with his still all-consuming love for the woman who raised him for as long as their father allowed. Then he’d storm off. Declan decided to short-cut that scene. “Okay, enough.”
Callen shrugged as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a water bottle. “Fine.”
“Unless you actually want to have this out, which would be pretty damn fantastic for those of us who get stuck watching from the sidelines.” Declan glanced at his mom. “You can explain to Callen why you hid the truth about his birth mother for all these years.” When Callen took a step toward the doorway to the hall, Declan turned his attention there. “And you can listen and maybe respect the woman who is your mother in every sense of the world except blood.”
The rip of plastic against plastic rang through the quiet room as Callen tore off the cap to the bottle. “Don’t do this, Declan.”
“It would be a favor to the rest of the people in this household. To all of us who love you both and want this issue put to rest.” Declan knew he was asking a lot. Probably too much.
They grew up thinking they all shared the same father and mother. That Charlie breezed in one day and their mom let him sweep ten-year-old Callen away and into a life of crime. But it turned out Charlie wasn’t the only one with secrets. He had five wives in his lifetime, not four, and the first was Callen’s real birth mother. A woman no one but the woman standing in the middle of the family room knew about until a few weeks ago when their collective past starting blowing up.
Callen clenched his teeth together hard enough for his jaw to make a cracking sound. “Find another subject. Now.”
“Declan doesn’t have to. I will.” Mom smiled as she set the stack of books on the edge of the table with shaking hands. “I figured my grown sons needed a little privacy, so I’m giving you all some space, but not so much that you think I’m running away. Just enough to let you live your days without me being under foot all the time.”
Declan glanced at Callen. “I think that last part about running away was for your benefit.”
The days had passed in slow motion over the last two weeks as Callen and Mom played an annoying chess game. She walked into a room and he walked out. She apologized and he replied with something like “whatever,” but nothing got resolved.
Not that Declan could blame Callen. The guy had been gutted and turned inside out. Everything he thought he knew—what they all thought they knew—turned out to be wrong. Declan had his own issues with his Mom’s choices and her decision to hide the truth for all those years. But that was nothing compared to the betrayal Callen had to feel.
The guy was a runner. He stayed on the road, and before Shadow Hill, he only checked in now and then. Thanks to that, every morning Declan woke up
and for the first few minutes laid there begging the universe to cut them all a break and let Callen still be in the house. If a morning came when Callen gave in and took off, Declan knew he’d blame Mom for pushing Callen away . . . and he hated that.
“With Sophie on the road with Beck and most likely to stay here with him when they get back into town, I’m going to move over to her old place. We talked about it last night on the phone and arranged everything.” His mom’s voice never wavered. She stood there, proud but with exhaustion tugging at the corners of her eyes.
Declan would feel bad about that later. For now, he had a bigger question. One that seared across his brain and demanded an answer. “You’re going to live with Tom?”
Tom Erickson, the Shadow Hill handyman. The same guy who knew their parents all those years ago when he was a teenager and they were first married. They all lived on the same street in Sweetwater before Charlie ripped the town off and left Mom behind to answer for the crimes she didn’t know about until the town’s coffers were bare.
Tom, the guy who clearly had a decidedly not-just-friendly thing for their mom.
Yeah, no fucking way.
She shot Declan the same no-nonsense look she used when she made it clear she didn’t want to hear who started what fight when they were kids. “I’ll be renting the apartment over his garage.”
Callen slowly lowered the water bottle. “Isn’t that the same thing as living with the guy?”
“I had the distinct impression you didn’t care what I did.”
Pain flashed in Callen’s eyes, but he blinked it out. “I never said that.”
Jesus, they were driving him nuts. “I’m two seconds away from locking you two in a room and making you fight this out.”
Mom brushed her fingertips over the cover of the top book on her pile. “I’d be fine with that.”
Silence screamed through the room. They all stood there, not moving, before Callen spoke into the quiet. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I’m still your mother.” The words sounded harsh, as if each one had to be ripped out of her.
“Are you?”
“Yes, Callen. I am.” Petite and fast, she didn’t wait around. Not after Callen landed his usual verbal killing blow. She scooped up the books and left the room.
Declan waited until he heard her footsteps on the stairs and could see her legs disappear out of sight before turning back to Callen. “Do you have to do that?”
“Be honest?”
“I don’t believe for one second you think sharing a gene pool is the only thing that defines a family.” They shared a shitty father as well as a loving and decent mother, and Declan would stick by that stance no matter what a DNA test said.
Callen hesitated for a second. “No, but I’m not ready to deal with what she did and didn’t do just yet.”
“Well, you need to get there, and soon.”
“I can make my own decisions.” Callen ended his pronouncement by downing the rest of the contents of his water bottle.
“You have every right to feel gut shot.”
“Thanks for that.”
Declan ignored the attitude. “But as your brother, I’m warning you that if you don’t explode soon, have some reaction other than shutting down and flinging barbs at mom, I’m going to take you outside and beat the ever-loving shit out of you.”
Callen smiled. “Name the day.”
“If the roles were reversed you’d be all over me until I dealt with this.”
The smile disappeared behind a narrow gaze. “That’s not true.”
But it was. Callen kept his common sense and skepticism long after the rest of them did, not because he was a pessimist or negative. Because he wanted everyone safe. The end result could be annoying, but Callen came from a good place. His actions spoke to his devotion to family. He liked to pretend that side of him didn’t exist, but he showed his love for all of them every damn day.
“Believe what you want, but know this. It’s my turn to protect you.” When Callen’s frown deepened, Declan continued. “What? You think you’re the only Hanover brother with the right to get up in everyone’s business?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
Declan snorted. “Not anymore.”
Chapter Three
Grace had been in Sweetwater for exactly two days. Her sightseeing consisted of one stop at Callen’s house and numerous trips to Rosie’s Diner, where she ate every meal. One more side of french fries and she wouldn’t fit in a booth.
The desperate battle with her waistline brought her out to Schneider’s Grocery this afternoon looking for something she could throw together for dinner back in her room. Preferably something with a vegetable. The pre-prepared offerings were limited, but the produce selection turned out to be impressive, and now she had a salad to munch on at the bench she spotted at the park just outside the main downtown area.
Of course, she had to be able to find the park again. It would not kill the town to print a map. Maybe put up a sign.
She stepped outside the store’s automatic glass doors and turned. Three spaces down sat her rental car. The two guys hovering around it were a new addition to her Sweetwater welcoming committee.
Bag in hand and keys at the ready, she walked up and joined them on the sidewalk. “Is something wrong with the car?”
Because if she had a flat, this would be the perfect trip to Hell.
The heavyset man, the one who also happened to be dressed in a police uniform with a tag that read DARBER, spoke up, while the other guy continued to stare at her front driver’s side tire. “You’re in a green zone.”
She glanced around for some sort of traffic warning but didn’t see one. “Excuse me?”
“This space is for loading and unloading only.” The Darber guy pointed at the fading paint on the curb.
She’d missed it before. Not that anyone could blame her. The paint job looked years old and amounted more to chips of green paint than anything else.
Still, the guy wore a badge and carried a gun, and she’d respect that until he proved to her he didn’t deserve it. She tried to ignore how his gut pushed his belt down and had his weapon riding lower than it should have been.
Seeing an out-of-shape police officer was the kind of thing that would have driven her law-and-order father mad when he was alive. These days she sympathized with a thickening waistline. “My mistake.”
“No worries. We can go with a warning this time.”
Maybe that was one of the benefits of a small town—no ticket quotas. “Thanks.”
“I’m Clay Darber, the police chief here in Sweetwater.” He put his hands on his hips, inadvertently shoving his pants even lower as he gestured toward her with a nod of his head. “You new in town?”
“Brand-new.”
She may as well be wearing a big flashing red light on the top of her head. Even now as she stood there with her plastic bag full of salad fixings—basically the most boring lunch ever—people walking on either side of the street stopped conversations and glanced over at her. No one was outwardly rude. More like interested-bordering-on-nosy, which matched what she knew about human nature.
She tried to think positively. At least she wasn’t getting a parking ticket. But the longer she stood there with the chief and some other guy who seemed content to stare and scowl at her, the more she wished she’d gone to the diner . . . again.
The otherwise silent guy piped up. “Staying?”
She guessed that meant in town; or at least that’s the question she answered. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Regardless of the duration, I’d keep away from the dark-haired one.”
She had no idea what that meant. “Excuse me?”
“Marc, don’t.”
The .chief waved a hand in the air and tried to step in front of his friend, but the guy pushed
his way forward again. “She’s trouble.”
Dark hair? Grace knew two people in town, neither of whom were speaking to her at the moment. She tried to remember but nothing came to her. Then a flash. Her mind zipped to the diner yesterday and Kim Hanover talking with a policeman at the counter. She didn’t remember seeing this Marc guy, but maybe. . . “Wait, you mean Mallory?”
“The Hanover clan, Mallory, all of them. Stay clear.”
Okay, the whole stalking thing was a bit creepy. Grace could only dwell on the sensation for a second, because her defensive hackles began to rise. She barely knew Mallory, and she’d met the middle Hanover brother, Declan, for all of two seconds, but Grace had long grown tired of people talking shit about Callen.
Unless it was her. She could say whatever she wanted, because he ran away from her and that gave her the right to be angry. Throw-pots-and-stomp-around furious, even.
But there was no way she letting this Marc guy think he was in charge of her decision-making. “I’ll go ahead and pick my own friends, but thanks.”
Chief Darber nodded. “Of course.”
From the flat mouth and dead eyes, no question Marc planned to take a different tack. “Don’t ignore smart advice, young lady.”
Young lady? He’d crossed the line into full-on annoying territory. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. She would not lose control. “I never do.”
“Have a nice day, ma’am.” The chief looked like he’d tip a hat to her if he were wearing one.
He moved and tugged on Marc’s sleeve to join him, but the guy held his ground. “She needs to—”
The chief tugged harder. “Marc, that’s enough.”
“You’d be wise to listen to me now.” Marc called the threat-disguised-as-advice over his shoulder. “Before it’s too late.”
Grace watched the men go. They walked with their heads down and Marc’s arms flailing around, as if he were arguing about the display they’d all just survived. The scene gave her a tiny taste of the garbage Callen dealt with on a weekly basis. Took the edge off her frustration in not being able to connect with him and explain that she never set him up or worked with Walker against him.
Long Way Home Page 3