Brant's Return

by Mia Sheridan

  “Paige, if you’re worried about something, I’m here to listen. It’s about all I have to offer”—I gave her a small smile—“but sometimes that helps.” There was once a time when the investment firm my husband, Ethan, and Aaron had run together was lucrative, but Ethan had put his share of the profit back into the business. When he died, there had been a grand total of six thousand, three hundred fifty-seven dollars and forty-three cents in our combined checking and savings accounts. Of course, he couldn’t have known that he’d leave me that way . . . At the thought of Ethan, I brought my hand to my chest unconsciously fiddling with the silver key I wore around my neck.

  “Do you realize you touch that necklace every time you talk about Ethan?” she asked, a sad smile on her lips. “Something he gave you?”

  I dropped my hand. “No. Actually, it’s a key. I found it in the pocket of the coat he’d been wearing the day he died.” The one he’d casually flung over a chair in the kitchen when he’d arrived home. It had annoyed me and I’d removed it and hung it in the hall closet before returning to the dinner waiting on the table. It was the last thing I’d done before my world exploded. I paused, my mind returning to the day a month later when I’d re-entered our home . . . the home that had become a crime scene. I’d been numb, barely hanging on. Paige had offered to be with me, but I’d needed to do it alone, needed to fall to my knees and wail in the quiet of my now empty house. My now empty world. I grimaced slightly, the memory still bringing a harsh beat of anguish. I’d begun clearing the hall closet—one task, you can complete one task, I’d told myself. When I’d removed the coat, that single silver key had fallen into my open palm.

  “Really?” Paige asked, both concern and surprise lacing her tone. “You never told me about it.”

  I gave my head a shake. “I don’t know what it’s for. There was no indication and the logo on it is so faded . . .”

  “Can I see? Maybe I’ll recognize it.”

  I brought the key from the bodice of my dress and leaned toward her as she took the key between her fingers. Her brow furrowed as she studied it. “It’s so faded,” she murmured. “Is that . . . two horses with their necks crossing?” She squinted. “One in front of the other?”

  “I think so. But I’ve looked into every horse racing facility in the area . . . every club . . .” I shrugged. “If it was anything important, I suppose I’ll never know. I looked through all Ethan’s papers, but I couldn’t find a thing that would indicate what it went to.” If my dead husband had secrets, I’d never find out what they were. And perhaps it was better that way.

  “It was probably something old that even Ethan had forgotten about.” She tilted her head, placing her hand on my shoulder, a gesture of comfort. “But why do you wear it, honey? If you’re not sure what it is . . .”

  I bit at my lip for a brief moment before sighing. “Truthfully, I don’t know. I picked up the key again, rubbing it between my fingers. “I guess it makes me feel close to him.” I offered her a tremulous smile and she gave one back, squeezing my shoulder gently before dropping her hand.

  I took a sip of my iced tea and when I looked up at her, she was staring in her own husband’s direction. For a moment, an unreadable expression passed over her pretty face. She sighed sort of sadly, glancing around the yard at the other partygoers. “Hey, is everything okay with you and Aaron, I mean, other than business concerns?”

  “It will be,” she said with a smile that didn’t look very convincing. “It’s just, we might have to sell the house and . . . well, it’s a little bit of a stressful time.”

  “Oh, Paige, I’m so sorry to hear that.” I felt helpless. She’d been a good friend to me over the last three years, even when I’d been struggling terribly. As a matter of fact, we’d become closer since Ethan had died. I hadn’t known her all that well before then, but in the aftermath of my tragedy, she’d done everything she could to be a support. I wished I could offer her more than a shoulder to lean on. But before I could ask anything else, she turned to me, smiling brightly, the shadows that had been in her expression a moment before suddenly gone. “We’ll be fine. Things will work out somehow. Anyway, enough about me. How are you doing?”

  I sighed, looking off into the distance for a moment before meeting my friend’s eyes again. “More good days than bad.” My eyes lingered on a little girl with a blonde ponytail standing by a table laden with dishes of food. She was holding a triangle of watermelon, and as she bit into it, a drip of juice slid down her dimpled chin. My heart beat hollowly. The truth was, there would always be situations, sights, memories, that caused a piercing stab of pain. In fact, Mr. Talbot’s sickness—the feelings and questions the situation elicited—tore at the wounds I carried inside. Wounds that would never fully heal. But there was also a certain . . . relief in knowing that in this instance, I’d get to say goodbye. I would be a vital part of ensuring his last days were filled with peace, with love, and with comfort.

  What you do with the information is up to you.

  I cringed internally. Maybe making that phone call to his son had been misguided on my part. Perhaps if Mr. Talbot found out, he’d have my hide. But . . . I’d thought it was worth the risk. To not get to say goodbye . . . to never get the chance to say I love you one last time. Everyone deserved a chance to make amends when the time to do so was dwindling . . . didn’t they?

  Yes, they did. Even a cold stranger whose voice dripped with presumption and self-importance. Even him. Who knew the value of goodbye better than I did?

  “I’m glad to hear you’re having more good days now,” Paige said. “Those horses still got you by the heartstrings?”

  Horses. At the word, the thought of those gentle, intelligent creatures, my heart warmed, lips tipping into a smile. “Oh yes,” I breathed. “The best part is working with the trainers. It’s . . . wonderful. They’re wonderful.”

  “The horses or the trainers?” She raised her brows up and down, causing me to laugh.

  “I was referring to the horses, but the trainers are nice too.”

  “No cute cowboys at Graystone Hill, huh?”

  “No. I’m not . . . ready for any of that yet anyway.”

  “You will be, honey. Someday soon.”

  “Maybe,” I murmured, shooting Paige a smile. “Anyway, for now, four-legged boys are the only ones I need.”

  **********

  I stayed at Paige and Aaron’s house for another hour or so, finally bidding them goodbye and heading home. I was glad I’d forced myself to get out and be around other people, to spend time with a friend. It was good for the soul, a reminder that I still had a life to live, was capable of laughter and lightness. Even still.

  Some days I needed that reminder more than others.

  The truck, which had been sitting in the sun, was overly warm, and I removed my sweater, turning up the air conditioning and adjusting the vents so the cool air was blowing on my exposed skin. Better. The truck I’d borrowed from Graystone Hill rumbled to a stop at a red light. I let out a breath, glancing to the right where the neighborhood I’d once lived in began. Lakewood Estates. Just the sight of the sign beside the cherry trees planted along the man-made lake with the fountain bubbling in the middle caused my heart to constrict, my breath stalling as my hands gripped the wheel tightly.

  Bubbles, Mama!

  Yes, baby.

  I could hear her laughter in my mind and it hurt. It hurt, but oh, I prayed I’d never forget the sound. Please, dear God, let that be a hurt I carry forever.

  Those cherry trees had been newly planted when I’d first gazed upon that sign, excitement and hope fluttering in my belly along with the tiny life of my daughter.

  With effort, I sucked in a mouthful of air, filling my lungs and then letting it out in a loud gust of exhaled breath. Images assaulted me, and I clenched my eyes shut, letting out a scared squeak when a horn sounded directly behind me. Oh God. I jammed my foot on the gas, the truck lurching forward and sailing through the intersection.
>
  My heart beat harshly in my chest, and I worked to steady my breathing. In, out. After a few minutes, I felt calmer, my grip loosening on the wheel. I was okay. I was okay. It might be all I ever was, but I was alive. And living, when once I believed I never would again.

  Rolling green pastures stretched in every direction, intersected by the split-rail fencing and copses of lush green trees. A stream twined through the landscape on my right, a glimmer of deep blue-green that caught the sunshine and cast back twinkles of light. The late-afternoon sky was a soft blue, with billowy clouds dotting the horizon. My heart rate slowed, and my breath evened out as the tension drained from my spine. A dapple-gray horse grazed near the fence line that ran along the road, and I felt my facial muscles relax. Yes, I was okay.

  God, I loved this land. Loved the peace it brought, serenity that settled deep in my bones. Graystone Hill was in Kentucky, but the Ohio border was so close and the land much the same as the Ohio countryside where I’d been born and raised. This beautiful part of the country spoke to my heart and soul, made me feel a deep sense of . . . belonging.

  He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.

  By the time I turned the truck onto the side road that led to Graystone Hill, I felt centered and in control of my emotions again. There was a black SUV parked in the driveway off the side of the house that I didn’t recognize, and I pulled up behind it, wondering whom it belonged to. The men and women who worked at Graystone Hill parked in the lots near the stables. Now that Mr. Talbot spent so much time at the house, and an increasing amount of time in bed, the only other car generally in the driveway at the main house was May’s. Her car was parked there now, though she only worked until two on Saturdays, and then she wouldn’t be back until Tuesday morning.

  I grabbed the pie box out of the back seat, balancing it carefully as I walked to the house. Once inside, I dropped my keys in the basket on the foyer table and headed toward the kitchen. My steps slowed as I heard voices coming from that direction.

  During the week, the employees who worked in other areas of Graystone Hill were in and out of the main house, grabbing coffee and lunch, or conducting business with Mr. Talbot. But on the weekends, the main house was generally quiet with only Mr. Talbot and me in residence, and May on Saturday mornings.

  A deep, smooth chuckle caused my footsteps to falter as I made my way to the kitchen. Who was that? In reaction to the male voice, I reached to pull my sweater closed and realized I’d left it in the car. But the movement caused the pie box in my hand to wobble and spill forward, and I let out a gasp, leaning forward suddenly in an attempt to steady the pie. It didn’t work and the pie slipped from my hands, both the box and me spilling into the room, the pie landing with a soft thud on the hardwood floor.

  “Oh, dear!” I heard May say as I caught myself and quickly squatted down to retrieve the pie. There was suddenly someone squatting down on the floor with me, his knees brushing mine as we both reached for the pie box. I looked up and came eye to eye with a dark-haired man. I sucked in a breath as his blue eyes met mine, that ridiculously handsome face I’d seen staring back at me first from the magazine article and then from the computer screen stealing my breath. For a moment I could do nothing but blink at him stupidly, my mouth hanging open. He was close. Very close and he was . . .

  My God.

  He was even more stunning in person, because he wasn’t only handsome. He was also solid and broad and exuded a masculine intensity that made my heart skitter nervously in my chest. He’s here, my heart whispered inexplicably, both seeming to speed up and slow down at the same time. Oh. He was here. He had answered my call after all.

  “I got it,” he said, pulling the pie box toward him and beginning to stand. My fingers slipped away and I stood as well, forcing my gaze to May who had come around the counter to help.

  “It’s only a little bit smashed,” he said, and for a second I had no earthly idea what he could be referring to. What was wrong with me?

  “It’ll taste just as good smashed or not,” May’s voice said from beside me as Brant handed the pie to her. “Oh, it’s peach. Your favorite, Isabelle.”

  With effort, I forced my gaze to May. “Yes,” I murmured, giving my head a small shake. “It should still taste good. Sorry. That’s from Paige.” My gaze moved to Brant just as my sundress strap slid off my shoulder. I pulled it back up distractedly and his eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze on the place where my hand held my strap on my bare shoulder. I looked away just as his eyes began lifting to mine. “She says hi,” I mumbled to May, hating the breathiness in my voice.

  “How kind of her,” said May. “You thank her for me next time you see her. How was the picnic, dear? I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”

  “I left early. I have some work to do.”

  May laughed. “On a Saturday?” She made a tsk-tsking sound in her throat. “Brant, this workaholic is your father’s secretary, Isabelle Farris, the woman who called you. She lives here at Graystone Hill.”

  Brant gave a wry tilt of his full lips, his gaze measuring, that condescension I’d first heard over the phone now directed at me in his expression. “So I heard.”

  I stood taller, raising my chin slightly and forcing a small smile. “Mr. Talbot.” I stepped forward, reaching my hand out. “I’m glad you were able to come . . . home, after all.”

  His smile slipped very, very slightly, but he caught it, reaching out and taking my hand in his. A small spark of . . . something seemed to pass between our skin, and I startled, letting go of his hand quickly. God, this man shook my nerves up. I needed to get hold of myself. “Please, call me Brant. My father is Mr. Talbot.”

  “Speaking of your father,” May said, “do you want me to go up and tell him you’re here? He’ll be waking up from his nap soon.” Her expression was kind, but May wrung the hem of her apron in her hands, obviously not relishing the thought of being the messenger in this situation.

  Brant chuckled again. “I wouldn’t throw you to the wolf like that, May. No, I’ll go up and let him know I’m here. You might want to put some earplugs in before I do.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “May I speak to you in private, Mr.—Brant?”

  Brant turned back to me, his expression surprised, smile fading. He glanced once at May who was looking between the two of us. “Sure.” He stood from the counter stool, coming to his full height. “May, we’ll finish catching up later.”

  “Tuesday morning,” May said, untying her apron strings. “That’s when I’ll be back.” She turned away, but I heard her mutter, “Hopefully the storm will have passed by then.”

  Brant followed me into the hall, and I turned, intending on leading him to my office so we could sit and talk. I figured he’d want to know more about his father’s condition than the little I’d told him on the phone. And I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to cause his father any undue stress. I had orchestrated this. I was responsible for ensuring it was handled properly.

  But I startled, turning when I felt Brant’s hand on my arm, that same small shivery sparkle dancing underneath my skin at his touch. This time, he was the one to break the contact. “This right here is private enough.”

  I was taken off guard momentarily as I stared into his cold blue eyes. If there had been passion, life shining from this man’s eyes once, either time or circumstances had taken it from him. Or perhaps he’d tossed it away in lieu of the rigid composure he carried now. For some unknown reason, Brant Talbot had decided he didn’t like me, and that was fine, but I cared for his father, so I would make every effort to protect him. “O-okay then.” I held eye contact, ignoring his intimidating presence as best as I could. “I think we should get a few things straight.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Brant

  I leaned against the wall, putting my hands in my pockets, as I allowed my eyes to peruse her slowly. Her knee-length sundress fluttered around her slim legs, showcas
ing delicate curves in all the right places, but it was obviously cheap. The sandals on her feet were scuffed and well worn. Her skin was smooth and tanned as though she spent plenty of time lying around the pool. Secretary my ass. Although my father sure had picked a pretty one this time. Pretty and young. This girl couldn’t be a day over twenty-five. She fidgeted under my stare. Good. “Say what needs saying, Ms. Farris.”

  She paused momentarily, her big, brown doe eyes shifting to the side before meeting mine again. A tendril of hair slipped out of her braid, and I had the craziest urge to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear. That hair—it was like mahogany silk. Would it feel as soft as it looked? I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, curling them into fists and shutting down ridiculous and pointless fantasies about my father’s little trophy girlfriend.

  “I’ll go up and let him know you’re here once he’s awake,” she said, exhaling a breath. “I’m the one who called, and from what I hear, he’ll need at least a little preparation before he sees you. I want to minimize any potential stress.”

  I regarded her. Potential stress i.e. my presence. “Fair enough. You know him better than I do.”

  That seemed to take her off guard for a second. “It has been thirteen years.”

  “Almost fourteen actually.”

  She tilted her head. “Well, like I said, I’m glad you made the trip. I hope it will be good for both of you.”

  “What kind of cancer does he have?”

  She sighed. “It started out in a muscle. He had surgery to remove the tumor, and then a bout of chemo, but it had already begun spreading. Now . . . well, it’s everywhere. His lungs trouble him the most.” She winced slightly, and I felt a small answering twinge in the region of my chest. Maybe she really did care about the old guy.