The Secret Twin

by Catherine Mann

  If only she didn’t have to look at the hurt in his eyes. “Brea, we’re already in a relationship. Why are we arguing about the label? Call it fake if you want, but I think we both know the feelings are getting pretty damned real.” He touched her knee, and heat spiked inside. “The attraction we feel is pretty damned real.”

  Her shoulders tensed. He was asking for too much. She wasn’t ready. “Are you sure it’s me you want and not just a replacement family for the one you lost?”

  His hand jerked away and his head snapped back as if he’d been slapped. “That’s a low blow.”

  “Not if it’s the truth.” She wanted him to deny it.

  “Sure we started things with some calculated agendas. Have you considered I wasn’t just a buffer? That you only want me as an excuse to stay close to your family without actually committing to facing your past?”

  Speaking of low blows. His words knocked around inside of her, painful, and maybe even partially true. And if it was even the least bit valid, she’d been horribly unfair to him.

  She needed to run, fast. She needed her own space, the quiet of her apartment; she couldn’t handle his expectations. Her eyes stung. She was dangerously close to bursting into tears over losing what they’d shared. But she couldn’t give him what he wanted, and she did care too much to hurt him, especially after all he’d been through.

  Determined to save her pride, if not her heart, she wrapped herself in the blanket to shield herself for a bolt to the bathroom, where she could get dressed.

  And hide her tears.

  She looked up at him and whispered, “Gargoyle...”

  Then she walked out.

  Because there was no safe word for the kind of situation she was in now.

  Ten

  Ward had thought his world had exploded when he’d divorced. He’d also thought he would be insulated from that kind of pain again.

  But losing Brea had opened up that old wound all over again.

  Ward couldn’t deny the truth. He missed Brea, wanted her in his life, but seeing those tears in her eyes made him realize just how high the stakes were. She’d already been hurt too much by people claiming to care for her. Even though he was in this emotionally, he wasn’t sure he could manage a forever commitment. He refused to let her be hurt again. So he had to let her go.

  Every accidental meeting at the office over the past two weeks was like alcohol poured on the pain, and he didn’t have any idea how to keep from making the same mistakes. He didn’t have a clue who to turn to for advice, which told him all the more how badly he’d screwed up his life.

  Isolated. Again.

  Right in the moment when he’d realized he had started building something with her. Offering her a relationship had been a big move for him.

  And now she really wouldn’t need him anymore.

  He looked down at his notes on his desk. Shana had called, giving reports on the missing aunt and uncle. Police were expecting to pick them up within the week for questioning. They were already wanted in Canada for running a scam on tourists by selling bogus travel packages to tour the North Pole. Now there was a trail connecting them to the plane crash. Crime seemed to cling to their footprints, infiltrating every action.

  But as far as Shana could determine, the criminal activity seemed to pertain only to the pair. Bottom line, it didn’t appear that Jeannie had anything to do with what her brother and sister had done.

  Brea would have a clean slate to reintegrate with her family.

  His heart swelled. He was happy for her. Of course. He cared about her a helluva lot. If only there was a way to be sure he wouldn’t eventually hurt her if they resumed their affair. If only he wasn’t smack-dab in the middle of her family’s business. There was no way to avoid seeing each other if the relationship ended.

  Could he handle that? Was he willing to leave the business for her sake?

  A knock on his office door drew his attention away from his computer. “Yes?”

  The door opened to reveal Felicity Steele, the social worker married to Jack Steele’s brother, Conrad. “I’m just dropping off the reports from the meeting.”

  “The meeting?” His mind reeled as he went through his mental schedule. Realization dawned on him. “Oh, hell, the meeting.”

  He hit himself on the forehead. How could he have forgotten he was supposed to have met with the Alaska Oil Barons, Inc.’s, charity foundation for the revealing of the new therapy-dog program?

  “Please accept my apologies. I have no good excuse for not being there, other than I lost track of time. Name the penance and I’ll do it.” He pulled out his checkbook.

  Felicity stepped inside, a folder tucked under her arm. “While we wouldn’t turn down money, we can always use extra volunteers for story hour.”

  His heart ached at the thoughts of all the stories he’d read to Paisley. All the stories he hadn’t been able to read after the divorce. And then something shifted inside of him.

  He might not be able to show his stepdaughter how much he loved her, but he could channel that and share it with others. “Send me a calendar of available slots, and I’ll be there. No forgetting this time.”

  “Thank you. The kids will love you.” She set the file on his desk. “We also still need someone to dress up as the Easter Bunny for the spring party.”

  Ward laughed, the sound raspy along his raw throat, and even more raw emotions. “Not a chance.” Then he tapped the folder. “What’s in here?”

  “Handouts from the meeting, photos of the dogs and their handlers.”

  “You could have emailed those to me.” He searched her face for her real agenda.

  “I could have. But since I was already so close, I decided to pop by.” The look in her brown eyes intensified as she touched the manila folder again. “And quite frankly, I’m worried about Brea.”

  He sat up straight, concern burning his gut. “Is something wrong with her? Is she hurt?”

  Horrible scenarios pumped through his mind. Each one put her in a hospital room. Had she leveraged the information Shana had collected and decided to confront the people responsible for the tragic accident that had ripped her family apart? Sure, she’d been impulsive in the past. But something like that...

  Felicity shook her head gently, her counselor training apparent. “Not in the way you mean. She’s quiet and in retreat, just like you are.”

  His heartbeat calmed down, but his mouth grew taut over the intrusiveness of her statement.

  “Obviously we broke up.” Not that it was anyone’s business. And yes, he was in one helluva bad mood.

  “Must have been over something horrible.”

  “What do you mean?” He adjusted his tie. Attempted to put himself together. To gain control of the situation. Of everything.

  Including his emotions.

  “You’ve both been through so much in the past and yet you’re still standing. So to send you both into such a sad state, I can only surmise something bad happened.”

  He searched for the right words to explain what had wreaked such devastation in his life.

  “We had a fight.” It sounded lame, even to his own ears as he vocalized it.

  “Hmm...” Felicity mulled silently.

  Maybe this wasn’t intrusiveness on her part, but caring about Brea. And if so, that meant a lot. Ward wondered if he’d found the person to turn to for help after all. “I know you’re not my counselor, and I wouldn’t want to take professional advantage...”

  She sat down in the leather seat across from him. Smoothing her simple purple dress, she gave him a reassuring, genuine smile. “You would like some advice.”

  “Yes. Brea thinks I only want her in order to replace the family I lost with her family. I accused her of using me to stay close to her family without facing her past.” Words came out of his mouth with the intensity
of a waterfall crashing down. “Truth is, I think maybe she was right about me. Divorce was hell for me. Losing my wife...but also losing my stepdaughter.”

  “Divorce is never easy,” she said wisely, “and it’s even tougher when children are involved.”

  He nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

  “Sounds as if you and Brea had quite an argument.” She steepled her hands. Raising a knowing brow, she added in a gentler tone, “It also sounds like when you’re finding a person to love, things like common wants and families are important.”

  Ward’s brows knitted together. He stayed silent for a moment longer. Processing. “So, you’re saying it’s okay if we were right in what we accused each other of?”

  “If you love each other, then yes.” She held up a hand. “But I don’t need the answer. It’s something only you need to know for yourself.” She stood and backed away from his desk. “And I’ll leave you with that since I need to get back to the hospital. Please feel free to reach out if you need someone to talk to.”

  Her generous offer hung in the air after she left. He sifted through what she’d said and stumbled on a part he’d missed at first.

  She’d said something about loving each other.

  Love.

  He hadn’t even given a thought to that. He’d closed off his mind to letting that emotion back into his life. That was the one thing he hadn’t offered when he’d asked Brea to keep their relationship going day by day. She deserved so much better. And he found that he wanted to give her that. He was determined to do so. He’d learned from the past and wanted to commit fully, no holds barred, to a future. With Brea.

  He was beginning to realize it wasn’t a matter of “allowing” the feeling. Love climbed walls, breached defenses.

  Love had claimed him again.

  He’d fallen for Brea, and there was no turning back.

  * * *

  Brea had spent two weeks in a daze, most of which she’d spent in her apartment, with ice cream, trying to figure out what to do with her life now that she had a clear path to reuniting with her family.

  Now that she’d alienated a man who would be tied to that family far into the foreseeable future.

  Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, she spooned up another taste of Moose Tracks ice cream. The television droned on with another romantic film that just made her feel worse about her life. But she couldn’t seem to stop.

  Family had called to check up on her and she’d made a slew of excuses as to why she was too busy to take them up on their invitations. Every excuse except the real one. She’d cried herself into dehydration. She’d hit the wall.

  This was one blow too many.

  The only thing that had stirred any interest in her was Shana’s call about finding proof of a phone call between Lyle’s cell and the airplane mechanic. Shana had turned it over to the cops.

  Finally Brea might have the answers she sought.

  A knock on the door pulled her from her self-pity. She placed her ice cream down, muted the television and padded to the door. She peered through the peephole and found the last person she expected...

  Her father.

  Jack Steele stood on her doorstop with a crockery pot in his hands. And a part of her that remembered her father from long ago realized he had his quietly determined look on his face. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  She opened the door, leaning against the frame. “Hello, Dad. What brings you here?”

  He extended his hands. “Caribou stew. It’s been cooking all day and I thought you would like some. We’ve all been worried you’ve caught a flu bug.”

  Her eyes burned with tears and she fought hard to blink them back. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful. Come in.”

  She waved him through and gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen.

  His heavy footfalls thudded along her hall rug. “I’m glad to hear you’re all right. No offense but you look like you may have a sinus infection.”

  She wasn’t surprised. Her red eyes and nose probably gave that impression. She’d certainly rather everyone believe that than the truth that she’d hurt one of the most honorable men she’d ever met.

  She didn’t feel up to admitting she’d been crying nonstop.

  “I’ve just been hibernating for a while, thinking things over.” Aspects of the truth were slipping out involuntarily. She blew her nose into a tissue, attempting to recover. “How are you doing with everything?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, setting the red crockery container on the counter.

  She dropped down onto one of the barstools. “I heard there’s a warrant out for Jeannie’s brother and sister’s arrest. I know that must be hard for Jeannie.”

  Shana hadn’t seen any signs of involvement from Jeannie, and nothing Brea had found indicated otherwise.

  “My heart hurts like hell for Jeannie. Lyle’s been picked up. We just heard from the police a little while ago. Her sister hasn’t been located yet.” He lifted the lid off the pot, stirring. “Her family’s brought enough grief to her with the way her sister abandoned Trystan. But Jeannie just says Trystan’s better off and that he’s her son. That she has what matters...her kids...our marriage.”

  The scent of the stew wafted in the air, stirring childhood memories. This was a family staple, a recipe handed down from her grandmother to her mom.

  Jack stirred slowly. “I never have been able to make this as well as your grandma. Naomi seems to have the knack, but she isn’t sharing the secret ingredient with me. But it’s not bad. I like to cook it. Makes me remember...”

  Jack stirred the stew, overwhelmed at having all the kids to himself while Mary slept. Of course, the fact that he’d been up half the night with a colicky Aiden could have something to do with that.

  He had the kids helping him cook, and mostly their feedback had been, “But that’s not how Mom does it.”

  Broderick was chopping the tomatoes, while Naomi and Brea were cutting bunches of thyme into smaller pieces, carefully. Delaney was reading the directions from the recipe card while Marshall made trips back and forth to the pantry.

  They had this locked and loaded. He hoped.

  “Why can’t Mom just make this?” Broderick sighed, huffing in exasperation.

  Naomi rolled her eyes at her teenage brother and mimicked him. “Broderick needs his mommy to cook for him.”

  “Your mother has been taking care of baby Aiden. She needs a break,” Jack said with a patience he was far from feeling. He wanted a nap. Some said he should have hired a sitter, and they did have one on hand, in addition to his wife’s mom for emergencies. But he also wanted time with his kids, and he knew they needed him right now, with a new brother in the house. His mother-in-law was with Mary and the baby. They were a family.

  Him, his wife and their six beautiful children.

  “I don’t see why that means she can’t make the stew. Hers is the best,” Brea said, smelling the thyme.

  Jack smiled. “It is. But I think we all make a good team. And you know how your mother is always surprising you with things?”

  Brea and Naomi exchanged grins, thinking back to their mother’s most recent surprise: a playroom she had painted to mimic the Alaskan wilderness when it was too cold to go outside.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Broderick nodded.

  “Well, it would be cool to give your mother a surprise, too.”

  He loved his wife and kids more than air. He would do anything for them...

  * * *

  The memory curled through Brea as surely as the aroma from the stew. Except this was steaming through from her brain to her heart.

  Her father was Jack Steele. And she wanted her family back.

  “It was hell for me when I realized you’d been home as Milla Jones and didn’t trust us enough to let us know you were alive. I thought I’d lost you all ove
r again. That you didn’t care about me.”

  His words brought those painful months back in startling clarity.

  Pain swelled in her chest. A tightness needing release, needing air and light instead of isolated darkness.

  “I want you to know, Dad, I was sick for a long time after the crash—very sick. It wasn’t like I climbed on that plane one morning and the next morning just decided my family didn’t want me.” Her inward gaze sorted through those initial months. The bevy of tears that would not stop. “The confusion was more of a gradual thing. I was grieving and alone, and very weak.”

  He listened with somber eyes. “I’m glad the Joneses kept you safe.”

  “How can you feel that way about them after they took me from you? Surely they had to know who I was...” A memory filled her head, of those early days after she recovered, of her sitting crumpled on the couch. Clutching her knees to her chest, her voice hoarse from crying and declaring her identity to her adoptive parents. “I told them who I was.”

  Jack looked down into the soup for a long moment, and she thought she saw his jaw flex for a moment before he looked at her again, with his face returned to calm. “The officer who called us about Lyle... He said the man apparently confessed to a couple of things... He was there at the crash site. He’s the one who found you alive. Apparently he wasn’t as adept at killing face-to-face as he was at making it happen by proxy. He knew the Jones couple and paid them to keep you until he could figure out what to do. I think they must have decided to protect you from our family because they perceived us as a threat to you.”

  Her lips trembled. Emotions rolled through her in a chain reaction—relief, grief, rage, all tangling together and making it tough to draw in air.

  She gripped the counter for a moment, biting her lip to hold back a cry that would only upset her father when he’d been through enough. Finally she was able to draw a steady breath. “That’s bighearted of you.”

  “Did they love you?” Jack Steele looked up from the stew again. His steady gaze resting on her.