Right Brother

by Patricia McLinn

  “And you—you weren’t much of a player at all.”

  That same memory continued in Trent’s head. Sitting in the stands, his middle school game, played on a mudflat far from the glory of the varsity field, now long over. In that moment, Trent had seen the potential for the deep defender to intercept the pass Eric was about to throw.

  He’d sat forward, watching the play, while also playing it in his head, with him as that defender. Ignore the receiver’s fake, take two quick steps to cut inside, and have a clear shot at the pass. He didn’t need the dazzling skills Eric possessed, he didn’t need the impressive size some linemen possessed. He needed quick feet, the ability to see possibilities ahead and the faith that he could turn those possibilities to his advantage.

  The defender on the field didn’t make that play. Eric’s pass reached the receiver and became a touchdown. But from that point on, Trent had honed his quick feet, his ability to see ahead and his faith in his abilities.

  “Not then, I wasn’t much of a player,” he agreed with his niece. “But I worked and I got better.”

  The girl flushed. Blotches marbled her skin. She was too young not to want the fairy tale of her handsome prince of a father, and too old not to recognize some of the truth about him. He felt sorry for her.

  “He hurt his knee,” she said defensively.

  Someone more accustomed to dissembling would have recognized that by giving her father an excuse, she’d highlighted his failure. By saying the words, she’d acknowledged that, unlike what Trent had just said about himself, Eric hadn’t worked hard and he hadn’t gotten better.

  “He did hurt his knee.” He eyed her. He could let it go. But he wasn’t sure that was for the best. “You know how many NFL quarterbacks have played after that same injury? How many college players? They had to do a lot of rehabilitation, but they played.”

  “I’m not going to discuss this with you,” she said haughtily. As if he’d started this pissing match.

  “Fine. I’ve got something else to discuss.” He gave her no chance to respond. “You don’t leave that apartment without your mother’s permission again.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “I can tell you what I’m going to do, though. If I find out you’ve gone out like that again, I will make sure your mother knows.” He tipped his head. “Or I might decide to deal with you myself.”

  Her eyes flared wide, but only for a second, then the diva returned. She stalked off.

  “We’re ready for—Ashley?” Jennifer had come out the door and started toward them. Now that her daughter was making a beeline for the street, she changed her path like the arrow on a magnet swinging around to follow true north and went after the girl. “Where are you going?”

  The girl stopped with an air of martyrdom during a brief exchange that Trent heard only part of. It included surly snippets about Done everything you asked, just want to go home and watch a movie and It’s broad daylight from Ashley and Are you sure you’re feeling okay? and Be careful, then, finally, Call me when you get there from Jennifer.

  Then his niece walked away, while Jennifer looked after her.

  Her shoulders lifted, then dropped in what looked to be a sigh that started from the depths of her toes, before she turned and zeroed in on him. Frowning, of course.

  “What was that about?” she demanded when she got close enough.

  “Family bonding. Ready to start these interviews?”

  She looked at him, uncertain. “Ashley didn’t look happy with you.”

  He nodded, unperturbed. “Exactly. Just the way I’m bonded with all of my family.”

  “Agreed?” Trent asked.

  Jennifer was thoroughly unsettled—not by the interviews, which had gone remarkably well—but by Trent Stenner.

  That episode with Ashley in the parking lot had started her feeling of being unsettled. Could he really be that blasé about his niece’s apparent hostility? And what about equating it with his other family relationships?

  Her concern wasn’t based on any maternal ideal that an uncle should be crazy about Ashley. It was based on practicality. If Trent felt that way about family, she came back to her original question: why was he here?

  And most important, what impact might his motivations have on the dealership’s future?

  She couldn’t complain about his behavior tonight. He’d been pleasant and professional and relaxed. With both the interviewees and with her.

  The problem with that was she kept forgetting he was Trent Stenner. Trent Stenner.

  In the minutes she’d allowed between interviews, she’d found herself relaxing into an honest, open discussion with him of the candidates’ merits.

  And then she’d catch a glint, a light in his eyes…. Sometimes she thought it was a look of interest, though not quite the I’m-a-man-interested-in-you-as-a-woman look. Sometimes it was a look like someone trying to work out a scam. But as the scammer or the scammee?

  If he was trying to scam her that would be awful, but the result could be just as bad if he thought she was trying to scam him.

  And then it would hit her again. Trent. Stenner. He was Trent Stenner! What was she doing being relaxed and honest and open with him?

  It was like slipping into a pleasant dream, then slapping your own face to bring yourself back to reality. Not a great way to spend an evening.

  “So, we’re agreed?” His repeated question pulled her attention to the present.

  They’d locked up and turned everything off except safety lights guarding the back lot. Now they stood under the trees, Trent with one foot on her car’s bumper, her leaning against the closed driver’s door. She would have dust on her slacks. But she was too tired to stand straight.

  The past thirty hours had held more than a week should.

  “Agreed?” she asked.

  He gave her a searching look from under those dark brows. In this more-shadows-than-light, he looked more dangerous than ever. Dark and powerful and contained. The containment seemed most menacing of all.

  “About hiring Jorge to head service.”

  “Oh, yes, absolutely.”

  Jorge O’Farrell was young, sharp and hungry. He’d had his own garage in Chicago that had burned down under mysterious circumstances. Some folks in town whispered about the mob. Whatever the cause, he’d returned to Drago and moved in with his parents. He’d smiled when he’d said that was great motivation to work hard so he could afford his own place, but his dark eyes had remained intense.

  “As long as his references check out,” Jennifer added. “I’ll start on that tomorrow.”

  “Good. I like Carol and Herman for sales. And you can’t argue with Hank’s experience. I know,” he added before she could do more than open her mouth. “As long as their references check out, but since Hank worked here for four years, his shouldn’t be any problem. Okay, then, since I’m going to be general manager—”

  That sounded decidedly grim. Decidedly, to stem any arguments from her, she thought. And grim, because he dreaded holding the position.

  “—that brings us to sales manager. There’s Chelchem.”

  Bert Chelchem, Eric’s sales manager, was the top candidate on paper.

  She sighed. “He has experience and certainly knows the dealership. And with neither of us experienced in running a car dealership…”

  “I don’t like him, either,” Trent said.

  “Either? I never said I didn’t like him.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “I never meant to—”

  “Don’t worry. He didn’t have a clue. And that pretty much wraps up the file on Bert. What about Mr. Warner?”

  Jennifer almost smiled. Elliott Warner had been sales manager under Franklin, so Mr. Warner is what Trent grew up calling him.

  “You heard him—he won’t work any more than part-time,” she objected.

  “Part-time’s okay. You can fill in the rest.”

  “Me? Sales manager?”


  “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be general manager.”

  “General’s easier to do than sales manager. You have to really know about selling and all that.”

  He chuckled. “Then you should agree that you’re a better choice for the job than I would be.”

  “But you—you played football.”

  “Yeah. And that would mean what?”

  “People like to buy cars from celebrities.”

  This time he laughed. “Honey, I’m no celebrity. Not even here in Drago. Just a working stiff on the football field who showed up every day. But I am the guy who’s putting in the big bucks for this operation, so I say I’m General Manager, Mr. Warner’s part-time Sales Manager and you’re part-time Sales Manager and, uh, part-time Assistant General Manager. Yeah, that’s good. That way you’re officially over Mr. Warner, so there’s no question you have authority to make decisions.”

  And no question that she reported to Trent, as the General Manager. But the fact that she’d be reporting to him as his assistant wasn’t the reason for her reluctance. What did she know about selling cars? Nothing about cars, and judging from her performance in real estate, not much about selling.

  “Trent, I don’t think—”

  “I do. It’s settled.”

  “But—”

  A light swept over them, and they both jerked around, as if they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

  “Everything okay?” came Darcie’s voice, only a second before she became visible beyond the light.

  “Just fine,” Jennifer said when Trent didn’t answer immediately. “We started interviews tonight. We’re just recapping.”

  Jennifer suddenly became aware of the thrum of Darcie’s police car in the background, along with chatter over the police radio. She’d been so intent on her discussion with Trent she hadn’t heard them.

  “I heard about the interview session. How’d it go?”

  “Good.” Jennifer gave Trent a quick look, uncertain. Then she leveled her chin and repeated, firmly, “Good.”

  “Great. And I hope you know you got a fantastic deal, Trent,” Darcie said. “Congratulations.”

  “For getting all this?” he asked dryly, with a sweep to the dealership’s lumpy shadows behind them.

  “Sure. But more for getting Jennifer’s help as part of the deal. You’ll be thanking your lucky stars. I guarantee it. She’s—” She interrupted herself to listen to the radio. “Gotta go.”

  Her teeth flashed white in a grin as she backed out, waving through the open window.

  Trent turned to Jennifer. “Sounds like you and Darcie are good friends.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  His dark brows drew down. “Were you before?”

  “In high school? No. We got to know each other five or six years ago.”

  She and Darcie happened to sit next to each other at the annual Lilac Festival dinner-dance that spring. Eric had been at the head table.

  “Mingling with the peons, huh?” Darcie’s question had had an edge.

  Later, Darcie had come around a corner to find Eric berating his wife. What was she doing mixing with the ordinary people—he probably would have said peons if he’d known the word—when she was a Stenner? How dare she make a spectacle of herself because she was in another one of her stupid moods?

  Darcie retreated, as people always did. But Jennifer had caught a flash in her expression that went beyond the embarrassment most people showed. A flash that somehow transformed into words in Jennifer’s head.

  You don’t deserve to be treated this way.

  The words had circled in her head. Intriguing, a little frightening.

  Later, Eric left with a group, stranding Jennifer. Darcie had offered her a ride home. They hadn’t become friends that night, but Jennifer thought it might have been the start.

  She blinked, abruptly aware of silence in the here and now.

  Trent was watching her.

  “Darcie marrying Zeke is kind of a surprise, isn’t it?” he asked. “Kind of strange, a tech genius and a small-town cop. Even if they did know each other as kids.”

  “A surprise to them, maybe, not to anyone else.” She smiled. “Actually, Darcie would tell you it’s wonderful and strange. Separate, they’re fantastic, and they’re even better when they’re together. Wait until Zeke comes back. You’ll see.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait. Zeke’s gone a lot even though they just got engaged?”

  “It takes a lot to prepare to move part of a company halfway across the country. Darcie understands. Besides, she’s not exactly a clinging vine.”

  But he still looked skeptical, and it irked her. How could he doubt Zeke and Darcie when he hadn’t even seen them together?

  “How’re they going to keep the wedding private?” he asked. “Won’t the media be crawling all over town? In a town this size it won’t be hard to track them down. Or maybe they want to be tracked down—you know, that saying about any publicity is good publicity.”

  “No, they don’t want it. But Drago rallies around its own. Sure reporters ask nosy questions and dig for information, but everyone gives them blank stares if they don’t want to answer.” It struck her that apparently people hadn’t done that when Trent had asked about her. She hurried on before he could point that out. “In the meantime the journalists eat at the café, buy gas and—”

  “Too bad they won’t buy cars here,” he muttered.

  “But the Zeke-Techers will. Well, you have an early flight, right?” she added briskly, not liking the trend of his thoughts. “So, I’d better let you go.”

  “Yeah. When I have an idea of when I’ll be back, I’ll let you know.”

  Were those his doubts or hers that made his vagueness sound so ominous. “How long do you think that might be? There’s so much to do.”

  “Minimum of a week.”

  “A week?” Dismay dripped from her words.

  “I’ll have to drive back from California so I have my car here. And that’s after everything else I’ll have to pull together there.”

  “What kind of car?”

  He hiked up one eyebrow. This time she had no trouble reading his reaction. He wondered if her question represented the appearance of the material girl he so clearly had expected.

  She drew in a breath. So what if he misjudged her? A lot of people did. Sometimes it worked to her advantage. And, besides, she couldn’t control what he thought of her.

  “BMW,” he said.

  She immediately shook her head.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “You can’t drive a BMW around here.”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “You’ll need to drive a dealer car. Just like your father did. As a rolling advertisement for Stenner Autos.”

  “Damn. Okay, you’ve got a point.”

  She started to turn away, ending the discussion now that she’d won.

  “But—” His emphatic syllable brought her head back around to face him. “If I have to drive a dealer car instead of my own, then so do you.”

  “Mine’s the same make as half the new inventory we’ll be getting.”

  “Not exactly a rolling advertisement for Stenner Autos, though, is it? I’ve heard that car when you finally get it started.”

  She hated that he was right. She hated that her car was only one manifestation of her earlier messed-up priorities, which had put getting a degree and preparing for a career low on her list.

  “Okay.” She said in a low voice. “I’ll use a subcompact.”

  “Luxury SUV.”

  “Compact.”

  “Station wagon.”

  “Sedan.”

  “With all the extras.”

  “Trent—”

  “Extra safety features.”

  She sighed. “Okay.”

  Pretty as a picture.

  Jennifer had watched the float carrying the Lilac Queen and her Court go by. Everyone smiled and clapped, and people dashed into
the street to snap pictures of them, while the girls on the float smiled and waved, and smiled and waved.

  She’d turned and told Mom she wanted to be on that float someday. Her mother had entered Jennifer in her first pageant that year.

  “Did I hear right? You’re giving up the Beamer?”

  Linc had been leaning back in the easy chair, legs stretched out, hands behind his head, watching Trent pack. Now he sat straight, gaping.

  “Yeah. Ike’s going to keep it in his garage,” Trent said. “Take it out for a workout now and then.”

  “I just bet he is. Have you seen that man drive?”

  “Don’t remind me. But he’s keeping it for free, and I don’t have time to find anywhere else. Besides, he knows I’d kill him if anything happens to it.”

  “And you’re satisfied about this place?” Linc circled his head to indicate the town house. He’d brought papers that needed signing, saving Trent the drive to his office, but he’d flatly refused to help pack.

  Trent was packing personal items that would go in storage. Surprising how few things he had once he eliminated clothes and other necessities he’d take to Drago and the household stuff he’d leave for the renters.

  “He seems like a good guy.” He’d been lucky. A player just traded to the team from Boston needed a furnished place he and his wife could rent. “It’s a hell of a lot better than renting to a group of rookies who’re barely housebroken. Besides, you looked over that lease agreement. So I expect it’s airtight.”

  “It’ll do.” High praise from Linc. “But leaving here, your friends, your car, your home—even if it isn’t exactly the Taj Mahal. I never have understood why you wouldn’t get a real house. That’s weird enough, but leaving like this—I never expected this of you. And for what?”

  “Go ahead, rub it in—remind me I swore up and down when you brought that Lexus dealership offer to me that I wouldn’t have anything to do with selling cars. Ever.”

  “Oh, that part doesn’t surprise me. I could have talked you into it if I’d really thought it was the right thing. I meant that you’d have anything to do with Stenner Autos. That’s what surprised me—not the cars, the family part.”

  Trent shrugged.

  It didn’t dislodge Linc’s penetrating gaze. “You’re a weird breed, Stenner. It’s not that you don’t like families and all that goes with them. You do. Because you sure spend enough time with mine.”