by Lori Foster
“Only sixteen.” Mary shrugged. “She used to say she was a baby raising a baby, but she was still saying it when she was twenty-six, and then thirty-six.” Her hand gripped his for a brief moment, then loosened and she pulled away. “They found her naked in bed, a needle in her arm. It was obvious she’d had sex multiple times that day.”
They found her. Thank God Mary hadn’t walked in on that. “How’d you find out?”
“I got a call.” Her shoulder lifted in a shrug that belied all the things she had to feel. “Her house, her belongings, became my responsibility.”
She said nothing else, but Brodie assumed the house was the same one she’d grown up in. There had to be conflicted emotions galore, although she’d kept her tone detached.
Was that how she coped? By separating herself emotionally?
He had the awful suspicion she’d been doing so for much of her life.
Aching for her, Brodie returned both hands to the wheel. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but he tried it on for size. Keeping his breathing even and steady wasn’t easy, not with the vise of compassion now squeezing his heart. He hoped Mary would share more, and after a few minutes, she did.
It was as if she’d needed that time to formulate her thoughts, to find a shortcut to the telling so she could get it said without all the pesky names and dates.
Without the hurt.
“I’d moved away when I was seventeen.” Another pause.
No one moved away at that age. What she’d meant—how he took it—was that she’d escaped at seventeen, and goddamn it, he wanted to hold her, to somehow soothe the desperation she must’ve felt.
At seventeen, his mother had still been...well, mothering him. To this day, in fact, he had that luxury.
And now he wanted to call his mom and say thank you. Thank you for always listening, always caring, always being there. He’d take care of that later tonight.
“I got a job at the local grocery mart,” she explained. “I had my own rinky-dink apartment. Sometimes the heat didn’t work, and the only air came from an open window.” Her laugh was a soft sound of sad accomplishment. “Not in the best part of town, but I loved it. I was determined to make my life different, to do things my own way, the right way, you know?”
He nodded. Understanding Mary as he did now, he could almost feel the drive that had made it possible for a young lady with no family backup to get out on her own. “That took guts.” Guts and desperation.
Her mouth turned down in a quirk. “I thought it would make a difference, but it was like everyone watched me, waiting to see which type of freak I’d be, if I’d follow in my mother’s footsteps or if I’d just crawl into a hole and die.”
“Fuck ’em.”
That earned him an honest grin. “My attitude was more like I’ll show them.”
Show them how? he wondered.
He no sooner thought it than she explained.
“I tried sex, just to prove I wasn’t damaged.” She sighed. “It sucked, but I figured at least I wasn’t a virgin anymore so everyone could stop taking bets.”
His heart skipped a beat. Incredulous, he asked, “That happened?”
“Or so I heard.”
She said it as if it didn’t matter, but he didn’t buy it. “The first time for anyone—man or woman—is awkward.”
“That’s what I assumed. It took me a while to work up the enthusiasm for it, but I tried again, thinking a different guy might make it better.”
Already sensing the outcome, Brodie rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess it wasn’t?”
“It was worse, actually.”
Well, damn. “Define worse.”
Her mouth screwed to the side, then she let out a breath. “The act itself was disappointing. Fast, sweaty and...sort of gross, if you want the truth. But the biggest problem was that I didn’t hide my disappointment well enough.”
“You complained?”
“Of course not. I’m not mean.” She picked at a nail, her gaze avoiding his. “But I guess I was too quiet and he took offense. He went off loudly enough that people out on the street heard.”
His heart wanted to break at the same time he seriously wanted to find the little prick and snap him in two. “Did he hurt you?”
“He never touched me, not after the sex.”
The sex. What a terrible way to refer to something that should have been satisfying.
“When he got furious, I told him to get out, and he did.”
Thank God. “I hope you ignored him after that.”
“I tried.” She gave up on her nails and turned to stare out the window. “Since he trashed me to anyone who would listen, I was the talk of the town for a while—definitely not in a nice way. I wasn’t sure what to think about the sex stuff. My mother never turned down anyone who showed up with cash, because cash meant drugs. But...” Stress showing, Mary folded her arms around her middle and gave a sad, embarrassed laugh. “Sometimes the way she carried on, I couldn’t tell if she was excited or being hurt. It was confusing.”
Fuck. Brodie clenched his jaw and tried to speak softly. “That must have been awful.” I’m a master of understatement.
Her arms tightened defensively. “We had very thin walls—not that it mattered when they seldom remembered to close the door.”
The flippant words cut him. “That happened with you there?” How else would she know?
Mary nodded. “I always locked myself in my room. Turned up my music.” Her lips quivered, then firmed. “I pretended to be somewhere else, until I was finally old enough to make it happen.”
Fury spilled over, making his words harsh. “How the hell did this righteous little town let it go without doing something?” At the very least, a neighbor should have helped her out of that sick situation.
Mary rested back against the seat, but her posture was stiff, not relaxed. “The sheriff visited my mom often.” She turned her head toward him, and for only a second her lips quivered. “With fifty bucks in hand.”
That did it. Soon as possible, he’d find a way around her privacy edict and introduce her to his mom. Mary Daniels was in bad need of motherly affection, and no one liked doling it out like his mom.
He could almost understand why the people around her had made assumptions. The wonder of it all was that Mary had survived, even thrived, with only a few quirks of her own. She hadn’t followed her mother’s path, and she was intelligent enough to know that sex had to be better than what she’d seen and heard.
As if to prove his point, she said, “I tried again when I was older, smarter.” She shook her head. “I slept with a man I liked, and I thought that would make it better, but I guess liking him had nothing to do with it. I finally decided that the town was right, and I had issues.”
“You don’t.” He said it with firm conviction, determined for her to believe him.
Her mouth curled. “Thank you for helping me to figure that out.”
“Oh, we’ll do lots of equations, Red, anytime, anywhere you want. Say the word and I’m on it.”
She smiled, a genuine, happy smile this time. “It’s nuts, but I can hardly wait.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BRODIE HAD A shit-ton to say to Therman when they reached his house later that afternoon, but all his concentration seemed to be elsewhere.
The idea of his Mary, so proud and independent, having such a tragic background ate him up. The more he stewed on it, the sicker he felt. The angrier he got. The more he wanted to show her just how perfect she really was.
But he couldn’t do any of that yet.
On the return drive, she’d taken that long slinky ponytail and twisted it up into a hideous bun that he seriously hated. Not because it looked that bad—he wasn’t sure Mary could look bad, though God knew she tried—but as soon as she’d restrained her hair, she’d become a di
fferent woman.
She’d gone from being vulnerable and open to emotionally buttoned-up and almost cold.
But now, after everything she’d shared, he could see through the tiny cracks in that brick wall she’d built around herself. He still had questions, dozens of them, but he’d made some major progress.
More important, he was starting to understand the need for the bricks. He could almost imagine her putting them in place one by one over an upbringing of shame and rebellion and hurt.
Which was exactly how he’d take them away—one by one.
For now, though, he needed to concentrate on the encounter with the boss. Making demands without getting personal would be tricky.
Not that Therman was stupid. He had a feeling the man had taken one look at him with Mary and seen the fireworks going off between them. After having them visit together several times now, Therman likely had a grasp of their relationship.
He might be older, and he might be crippled, but he was still a man.
Both Howler and Mary were silent beside him when he rang the bell on the massive front doors. In his fist he held the sadly rumpled bag that supposedly contained an Oscar and documentation.
Mere seconds later, Vera greeted them with loads of drama.
“Mary!” Arms open, she swept Mary in and hugged her briskly from side to side. “Oh my God, I was so worried.”
If Brodie had ever bothered to imagine the personality and behavior of a housekeeper, he wouldn’t have envisioned anyone like Vera. She acted more like a favorite aunt than the person responsible for Therman’s mansion.
It was one of the reasons he liked her so much.
Behind Vera, an apron tied around his waist, Burl grumbled, “Turn her loose before you squeeze her to death.” Then in explanation to Brodie, he added, “Therman told us what happened. You’re both okay?” He frowned at the bandage on Brodie’s head.
Before he could answer, Vera spoke again. “We expected you yesterday and then early today, and now it’s afternoon and it’s not like you, Mary, to not be here when Therman requested.”
“I told him we couldn’t.” Brodie didn’t explain that Mary had been in the shower at the time. Telling Therman was bad enough, and if Mary knew, she’d probably have his head.
“I kept imagining the worst.” To shore that up, Vera clutched her hands together.
Burl put his arm around her. “When Therman worries, we all worry.”
Damn it, Brodie grumbled to himself, how could he vent when being met with concern?
“Sorry,” Mary said in a rush, one hand checking her already smoothly contained hair while her face went hot. “We should have gotten an earlier start, but...we had to clean the car before we could leave today. After the storm yesterday and everything...everything that happened...” She drew a breath and tried to calm her racing words. “Well, it had gotten pretty muddy.” She smiled, a false, brittle smile.
Brodie hated that she had to explain herself in any way, that she might actually be regretting their time together. She had a right to her own time, and the right to spend it any way she wanted.
Especially when she spent it with him.
“What happened here?” Burl asked, nodding at the bandage on Brodie’s head.
“It’s nothing,” Brodie said, and without thinking, he deflected the attention by saying, “Mary got a little bruised up.”
“Bruised?” Jolene asked as she walked behind Therman’s wheelchair. “Where are you hurt, Mary?”
Well, hell. They’d all converged on them so quickly, coming from all corners so that Brodie could barely keep track.
The house was just too damn big, with too many ways to sneak up.
Mary turned her hot face to Brodie in accusation.
Yeah...he wasn’t supposed to know about any bruises. “Remember you said you hit your hip when you...” Were attacked. But she wouldn’t like him saying that, either, so he censored himself with “Fell?”
“It’s fine,” she stated through stiff lips, then subtly tugged her shirtsleeve down her arm to hide the angry rash there.
Howler pushed around them both, tail swinging, and made a beeline for Therman.
While avoiding everyone else’s eyes, Therman quietly greeted the dog.
That’s right, Brodie thought, you should feel bad.
“Well.” Jolene gestured at the hallway. “We can talk over dinner.”
“Dinner?” Mary asked, still fussing with her clothes. “Isn’t it too early?”
Already Brodie knew that Therman liked his routine and didn’t vary it often. He really must feel repentant if he was trying to accommodate Mary.
“We assumed you’d be hungry after your ordeal.” Burl smiled a little too brightly. “I hope you are because I’ve made prime rib with pan-seared brussels sprouts, butter-roasted carrots and baked potatoes.” He sniffed the air. “Divine, am I right?”
Vera leaned in to say, “Cooking is his way of fretting. He was as worried as me.”
Brodie took the hint. “Yeah, smells good.” And actually, it did. Luckily Burl wasn’t one of those fancy chefs who prepared snails or oysters, and he didn’t dump wine sauce on everything. He made real food and Brodie hadn’t been disappointed yet.
“I need to talk to Therman first.”
Therman’s mouth tightened. “So talk.”
“In private.”
“Brodie,” Mary whispered beside him.
He said, “It’s important.”
Therman started his chair forward. “We can talk over dinner.” Howler loped along beside him.
“If that’s how you prefer it...” He didn’t mind airing his grievances for the masses. The request for privacy was for Therman’s sake.
Once everyone had gone ahead, Mary glared at him. “What are you up to?”
Brodie shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and prepared himself for her anger. “I told you I wanted to talk to him.”
“Without me?”
His eyebrows shot up. “I assumed you’d join us.” Even though he knew her presence was going to complicate things, he would never exclude her.
“Oh.” She hesitated, but they were now too close to everyone else for her to give him hell. She settled on a warning glare instead.
He hadn’t been paying much attention, but instead of going to the formal dining room, where he’d eaten with them before, they stopped in another room next to the kitchen. It was smaller, but no less impressive.
A wall of windows went up to the high ceiling, letting in lazy sunshine filtered by fat clouds. Along with a spectacular view of the grounds, it gave the impression of eating outside.
Burl and Vera hustled off to bring in the food.
“I chose the morning room,” Jolene said as she ensured Therman got properly situated at the head of the table. “It’s cozier, and after the storms yesterday I decided we should take advantage of the sunshine.”
“It’s nice,” Brodie said. The table wasn’t as big, and that’d make talking easier.
As soon as the food was set out, Therman asked, “You want a drink?”
Brodie gave him a direct look. “I never mix alcohol with business.”
Expression falsely serene, Jolene said, “Today is to welcome you both home, not for business.”
“I’m afraid it’s going to have to be both.” Brodie didn’t yet sit, and maybe because of that, Mary didn’t, either.
She stood beside him instead, appearing equal parts determined and appalled.
Vera and Burl shared a glance.
“Mr. Crews,” Jolene softly admonished.
Which only made Brodie laugh. “So it’s ‘mister’ now, huh? Is that your way of telling me to mind my manners?”
Her eyebrows arched. “Did it work?”
“Sorry, no.” But he wouldn’t debate with Jo
lene. This was strictly for Therman, and Therman alone. Better to get it done and over with. “From now on, Jack lays out my travel plans.”
Mary gasped, but Brodie kept his gaze on Therman. Plotting the route was part of what she normally did, but he’d find a way to make it up to her later.
Sitting back in his seat, one hand on Howler’s neck, Therman considered him. “Jack is your brother.”
“You did your research before you ever hired me. I assume by now you’d know Jack as well as you know me. Probably Charlotte, too.” After all, he’d been on the job for more than two weeks.
Therman gave a single nod of acknowledgment.
“Perfect. So you know he’s qualified.”
Jolene picked up her wineglass. “Mary is qualified.”
Brodie appreciated her loyalty. “Yes, she is.”
Therman laid his hand over Jolene’s and she subsided. But it was out there now, and Brodie damn well planned to address it.
“In fact, Mary is one of the most qualified people I’ve ever met. She’d also do damn near anything Therman asked her to do.” His gaze held Therman’s. “But I won’t.”
A thick silence settled in the room until Burl coughed and Vera shushed him. He knew he was doing the unthinkable, and he didn’t care.
Beside him, Mary stiffened. “You don’t get to speak for me.”
“I wouldn’t even try.” He stared only at Therman. “If you want to fire me, fine. That’s your decision.”
“I’m not firing you.”
Refusing to show the relief he felt, Brodie continued. “Then destinations go to Jack, and he sets up the route. If he thinks anything looks too shady, alternate plans have to be made.”
“That’s absurd,” Mary snapped. “Oftentimes there’s a rush. I already explained that to you. Therman can’t just change his plans at your or your brother’s whim.”
This would have gone better if he’d had Mary on his side, but he’d already known how she’d react, so he rolled with it, saying, “Obviously, Mary feels differently. You already know she’s loyal to you, Therman—loyal enough to walk into an obvious trap because you asked it of her. Clearly she knows her own mind and can make her own decisions.”