Chess gave him a level look. "A lot of things were my fault."
Alex swallowed, knowing exactly what Chess was thinking. "You had no way of knowing about Diana." Since the kidnapping, it had become clear Chess held himself accountable for allowing Diana into the picture. "According to the police detective who talked to Cookie, Diana's been categorized as a criminal sociopath. Anyway, the detective explained to Cookie that sociopaths are experts at fooling people. You know, they reopened the investigation into Diana's father's death, which was supposedly in a railway accident. The legal settlement of that is where she got the money to offer me for the prototype and the formula for Love."
"I can't believe I employed this creature for almost year," Chess grumbled.
"If it makes you feel any better, Cookie actually feels sorry for her."
"What?" Chess looked up in alarm.
Alex lifted his ankle back to his knee again. "Er, she seems to have gotten involved in monitoring Diana's case. From afar," Alex assured an increasingly disturbed-looking older brother. "Cookie says Diana didn't have the advantages Cookie did in growing up, a loving father, and so forth and so on. And also, she wants to learn whatever she can to make Bernard Korman feel better about not having spotted a problem on his staff. She seems to think he needs support."
"I'd thought Mom was taking care of that," Chess muttered.
"Believe me. Mom is, too," Alex said, in much the same tone.
The eyes of the two men met. Alex was pretty sure Chess felt as weird as he did about their mother seeing a man romantically, particularly when that man was Bernard Korman. But it had to be twice as weird for Chess since it turned out the guy was his own father.
"Back to the formula," Chess said. He looked down at said formula, brows raised. "Alex, do you have any idea what this would smell like?"
Alex's lips twitched. "Something like overripe tomatoes, I imagine."
Chess's mouth performed a similar action to Alex's. "More like rotten eggs, I believe, although I haven't actually tested the theory." He appeared to fight down a smile. "You wanted to make it look close, but you weren't going to give them the real formula, were you?"
Alex gazed to the side. "I looked at this way. Cookie had put an awful lot of time and effort into those ads. I wasn't going to let anybody take advantage of her by underselling knockoffs."
"You took a big chance."
Alex crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head to the other side. "You gave me a job, Chess. I wasn't going to stab you in the back."
"Because I gave you a job."
Alex chanced a glance at him. He'd always thought Chess a cool character, someone without a lot of human emotion. But since Chess had married Cookie, he'd loosened up a bit. For example, at the moment he looked almost...sad. "No, it wasn't just because of that," Alex mumbled. "Hell, you're my brother, aren't you?"
"Yes," Chess replied, very definite. "I'm your brother. And the next time you need help," he added, very stern, "I want you to come to me. Do you understand that, Alex?"
Alex looked at him and, for the first time, thought he might actually be able to do that. "I understand."
There was a brisk knock, and Cookie opened the door far enough to stick her head in. "Chess, Kate and Bernard are here. Henry called that he's stuck in traffic. Meanwhile, something very suspicious is happening to that frittata deal in the lower oven."
Chess rose to his feet. "I'll be right there."
Alex noted that as soon as Cookie had opened the door, Chess's eyes had not once left her face. It was impossible to miss the pure devotion in his expression. It was that devotion Alex had first seen at Thanksgiving. From that moment on, he'd known he'd better accept the fact that Chess and Cookie loved each other.
Chess turned back to Alex. "I'm sure Bernard brought some rather 'fancy grapes.' You want to try a glass?"
Alex unfolded from his chair. He felt as though he'd been sitting there about a year. "Sure."
Chess let Alex get ahead as the three of them made their way back toward the kitchen via the living room. He looped an arm about his wife's waist.
"Bernard and Kate have to leave early to drop in on his oldest daughter," Cookie said. She glanced up at her husband. "You're going to have to meet them someday, you know."
He stifled a grimace. "I suppose so. But not tonight, darling. I'm just getting comfortable with my first family."
Cookie stopped to wrap her arms around his waist. The smile she turned up at him made Chess glad to be alive. "You are getting comfortable," she said. "Happy?"
"Euphoric." He bent to kiss the tip of her nose. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"
Cookie's expression changed to one of amusement. "Chess, you have never told me that you love me."
"What?" Chess turned her chin up. "You're kidding."
Cookie smiled. "Not in words, anyway."
Chess rubbed her lower lips with his thumb. "I love you, Rebecca." The words uncovered a wellspring inside of him. Emotions flowed forth like sparkling water. "I truly, deeply love you."
She framed his face with her hands and smiled. "I love you, too." Then, lowering her hands, she tilted her head. "Can I get an advance on the indulgence I'm going to engender later tonight?"
The arms he had around her waist tightened as he thought about 'later.' "Anything, my love."
She drew one of his hands over her stomach. "I'd like to name the baby David."
Happy warmth spread from his heart. "It might be a girl."
"Then we could name her Charlotte, after my mother." Her eyes sparkled up at him brightly.
His chest tightened. He'd found both a mother and a father. Cookie had neither. But she had a husband, and Chess determined right then and there that he would provide her with enough love to make up for whatever relatives she lacked. He smiled, realizing at least one way to do so. "David this one," he agreed. "Charlotte the next."
He knew by the sexy dance in Cookie's eyes that his guess hadn't been off by an inch. She pulled gently back from his arms, but her smile held all the love he could have wished. "Come on," she told him. "Our family is waiting."
The End
About the Author
Alyssa Kress completed her first novel at age six, an unlikely romance between a lion and a jackal. Despite earning two degrees from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and spending nearly a decade in the construction industry, she's yet to see her feet stay firmly on the ground. She now lives in Southern California, together with her husband and two children.
You can learn more about Alyssa Kress and her other novels at http://www.alyssakress.com.
Other books by Alyssa Kress:
Marriage by Mistake
The Heart Heist
The Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way
Asking For It
Love and the Millionairess
Working on a Full House
Your Scheming Heart
I Gotta Feeling
The Fiancée Fiasco
If I Loved You
That'll be the Day
A Perfect Knave
Preview of Good Neighbors
(Book 1 of the Home Again Series)
Note to self: make sure someone's at home if you're going to return unannounced after ten years.
Erica stood before the new, paneled wood door with the stained glass insert—stained glass!—and decried her own lack of foresight. She'd told her brother Clint she'd drive to Palmwood from Los Angeles after he'd warned her their father probably hadn't much longer to live, but she hadn't been very specific about when.
Now she stood on the front porch of a house she barely recognized with no way to get inside. For God's sake, there were roses growing beside the porch and the lawn was actually green. When she'd lived here, the front yard had been more dirt than plants, and there certainly hadn't been any flowers.
"Damn," she breathed. The sun had set shortly before and a chill was creeping into the air. The cotton jacket she wore over her s
hort-sleeved T-shirt wasn't designed for high-desert evenings when the temperature could plummet thirty degrees.
Probably everyone was at the hospital. Probably she ought to get this over with and go there, too. She'd come this far, might as well go all the way. Emotional insurance. That's what she'd told herself she was taking out by rescheduling her physical training clients for a week and driving back to a town and a person she'd never cared to see again. Making sure it wouldn't haunt her for the rest of her life that she hadn't said goodbye to her father, though even he would have to admit he hadn't earned this much devotion.
"Erica? Hello, are you Erica?" The voice came from the house next door. It was a deep voice, masculine.
Erica turned to see a rather tall man waving to her from the edge of a wide railed porch. Light from the open door behind him put him in silhouette, so she couldn't see his face.
"Are you Erica?" he asked again.
"Um..." The house that used to be next door was gone, with this two-story, crafted wood deal sitting in its place. She was pretty sure the man who'd just hailed her was nobody she'd ever met. He had broad shoulders and was wearing a button-down shirt and jeans.
"Liam's over here with me," the man told her, apparently assuming she was Erica, though she hadn't admitted it. "Why don't you come on in?"
She really should have nailed Clint down on specifics. Why was her teenage brother, Liam, in the house of this stranger? Surely he should have been with Clint. "Um...sure." Erica turned and walked down the steps of the repaired porch and walked her tooled cowboy boots across the two driveways toward the silhouetted man.
"I'm Brennan Swift," the man said as she approached the bottom of his porch steps.
Erica could now see him better. He wore a warm smile on a face of regular, if not downright handsome, features. His hair was dark and looked like he was a week or so behind on a haircut. When she got close enough, he held out his hand and shook hers. He had a firm grip.
"Please come in. I'll tell Liam you're here."
The man did nothing to indicate an opinion of Erica or that he knew a single detail about her: no wince, no squint, no subtle lowering of eyelids.
That didn't matter. Her imagination supplied him with all the judgments her father's neighbor might make, should he know the bare facts. She was the daughter who'd left at age eighteen and never looked back. She was the one who never called or emailed or visited her last remaining parent. True, she'd stayed in touch with her two younger brothers, but certainly not with her father.
She felt her shoulders lift slightly as she followed the man into the house.
The ceiling rose two stories, soaring over an open-plan living area. Erica got the impression of a lot of handcrafted wood details elegantly executed. Had Clint done the work? Whoever had, some serious money had been involved. A stair wound around the side of the room and up to a railed walkway, presumably leading to some bedrooms.
The place gave the same impression as the man who'd led her in: unself-conscious confidence. She felt a familiar, and she knew completely unreasonable, resentment.
He now went over to the foot of the scrolled staircase. "Liam!" he shouted, looking upward. "Your sister's here!"
"What?" came a muffled voice from above. It wasn't a voice Erica recognized. Except for one visit to her apartment in Los Angeles from Clint and Liam about four years ago, she hadn't seen either of her brothers, in the flesh, since leaving home. She was a little taken aback, truth be told, to hear the tones of a man rather than a boy.
"Your sister. Erica. She's here!"
"Oh." A pause. "Wow."
Wow? Erica blinked a few times, surprised by this show of enthusiasm. She tried to keep in touch, but it wasn't as though she'd ever been a real sister to Liam. He'd only been five when she'd left.
"Erica." A lanky boy appeared at the upstairs stair railing, his brown hair overgrown and scruffy. He had earbuds in, but pulled them out. He was smiling. Dimly, he looked like the last photo Erica had seen of him from Clint's Facebook page. "You came," Liam breathed.
In that moment Erica felt like the most selfish, self-absorbed creature in the universe for having ever considered not coming. She wasn't the only one with emotional needs here. Her fifteen-year-old brother had wanted her to come.
"I'm so glad," Liam said and rushed down the stairs. Once he reached her, to Erica's astonishment, he embraced her.
Awkwardly, she did her best to hug him back.
"Thank you," Liam murmured. "Thank you for coming."
The lingering guilt was beginning to grow like a cloud. She'd been the most absent sibling she could possibly get away with.
Meanwhile, she was aware of Brennan Swift, the neighbor, watching.
"Are you planning to stay in town?" Swift asked, once Liam had released Erica. "Liam's been bedding here. You're more than welcome to do so as well."
Really? Erica's brows dipped. They'd met, like, five seconds ago.
Brennan lowered his eyes. "Your father's a good friend of mine." He looked up again. "I consider his family my own."
Erica's frown only deepened. Her father had friends? Close ones? It was hard to imagine. "I'm sure that's very, uh, nice of you, but I don't know. I really hadn't planned..." Anything. She'd left in such emotional disarray that she'd neglected to determine a number of critical details. She supposed, if she'd thought about it, she'd assumed she'd be staying in her father's house and that Liam would be with— "Where's Clint?"
Brennan glanced toward Liam, who looked back. Some sort of silent communication passed between them.
"Clint is...having some issues," Brennan carefully explained. "He didn't think it would be a good idea for Liam to be around until he can, uh, resolve them."
Issues. A powerful shaft of fear struck Erica. Surely Clint hadn't started drinking. He'd know better than to go that route, right? She resisted the urge to clear her throat. "What kind of issues?"
Again, Brennan and Liam shared a look. "Uh..." Brennan was clearly hesitant to blab. Then a look of horror came into his expression when he caught Erica's eye. "What? Oh, no. Not drugs or alcohol— It's marital issues. He's having some problems with his wife."
"Soon to be ex-wife," Liam muttered. "We hope."
"Oh." She'd had no idea. She'd never even met Clint's wife, Judy. They'd married in a big hurry two years ago and Clint rarely mentioned her when he called or emailed. But now it made sense that Liam might be staying with this neighbor rather than with his older brother, whose domestic life was apparently in a state of flux.
But what was Erica supposed to do?
The Brennan fellow again seemed to sense what she was thinking. He spoke slowly. "I suppose...you and Liam can move back into your own house." He glanced toward Liam. "Now that your sister's here, you can go back to your own place, your own room and everything."
Liam brightened. "You're right. Not that I can't take care of myself perfectly well," the teen assured Erica. "I make my own meals and do laundry and everything. But people would freak out if I were living all on my own."
Hold the phone. What was going on here? They were moving her in, setting herself up as some sort of parent. She'd only thought of staying a week at the very most. In fact, she had a client scheduled for next Wednesday.
But it was impossible to miss the relief in Liam's eyes. He was no longer alone, depending on the kindness of strangers. Besides, what could she say? Oh, no, perfect stranger, supposed friend of my father, you take responsibility for my little brother, not me?
She met eyes with the other man. Once again, her imagination had him judging her, as if he were somehow in possession of the facts: she was the absent sister, left Liam home when he was only five years old with an uncertainly sober father, barely laid eyes on the kid, who was now about to lose his only parent. And even now she was hesitating about being the responsible adult in the house when clearly nobody else was currently available.
Irritation crept through her like an ant army. What about Alex? Shouldn't
the Brennan Swift of her imagination also condemn the oldest brother, Alex, who'd left home and had not only never looked back but had never even contacted anybody, had completely disappeared? After setting himself up as the one they all looked up to? Erica didn't even know if he was still alive.
But Alex wasn't here and she was.
The irritation crawling through her might have originated around Brennan, but it was quickly circling around herself. Man up, sister. You are here.
"Good idea," Erica said, looking the officious Brennan neighbor Swift straight in the eye. "Why don't you go get your things, Liam? We'll go home together."
~~~
Brennan didn't like making snap judgments about people, but as he watched Erica turn toward his front door as though to lead Liam out—without actually giving the kid time to fetch his things from Brennan's spare bedroom and clearly wanting to make a point that Brennan was unneeded—he didn't think it was any longer a snap judgment to dislike the woman.
Her whole attitude was stiff and standoffish. True, Brennan was a stranger to her, but why was that? Because she'd deliberately absented herself from her father and rest of her family for the last ten years. Otherwise, she'd know how close Brennan was to Richard, Clint, and Liam.
So close that he'd promised Richard to see to Liam's welfare. Now Brennan intended to do just that. Even if he'd suggested Erica take Liam home, that didn't mean he was bowing out of the situation, not until he could make sure this would work out to Liam's advantage.
"All right, then, Liam. Let's go get your things from upstairs," Brennan declared.
She stopped her compact, athletic body and whirled, her mouth open.
Brennan turned away before she could think of some reason she needed to whisk Liam away without his clothes and his school supplies.
"Ah, I didn't have time to clean up or anything," Liam blurted, hurrying up the stairs first.
"Don't worry about it," Brennan gently told him, following up the wine-colored stair runner. "Nobody's grading you on neatness this week."
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