Broken (Brody Brothers Book 4)

by Stacy Gail

  She nodded, pleased he didn’t think it was weird she didn’t have a single personal picture or family photo. The fact was, there hadn’t been a lot of moments of happiness in her early life that she’d wanted to capture. “Thanks to my work on Passion for Fashion, I’ve gotten almost as good at photography as I am at design.”

  “You don’t actually work up here in this oven, do you?”

  Was he trying to be offensive? “Some of my work has now overflowed into the backroom downstairs. Cutting tables and embroidery machines take up a lot of space, and since Cleone won’t hire more seamstresses to deal with increased customer demand, I guilt-tripped her into letting me spread out when it comes to production. She’s actually very understanding about the overflow.”

  “She damn well should be,” he muttered, going to the little A/C unit in the window to check the settings. “She’s profiting off making you work like a slave in a fucking sweatshop.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, momentarily abandoning her interest in opening her lemonade. “Cleone, and Cleo for that matter, are pretty much the only friends I have in this world, Des. More than that, they were there for me when I needed them most, so I owe them everything. Watch what you say about them.”

  “If they gave a damn about you, they would’ve spent the money to make sure you don’t die up here. Hell, they’d hire a whole production line to stitch your designs together instead of leaning on you to do every goddamn thing, from design to production. That’s not what I wanted to talk about, though,” he added when she opened her mouth to blast him. “I just want to know one thing from you.”

  “Oh. Right. That.” Setting aside her ire over the slur he’d made against her friends, she sucked in a steadying breath. Time to get this over with. “You were right when you said I owed you an apology. I’ve had time to think about it, and if our roles were reversed, and you thought I was after you for, say, your gazillions of dollars when that thought’s never even occurred to me, I wouldn’t just feel insulted, I’d be hurt. So, for me to suspect that you’re only interested in me because of Smiley Lake—especially now that I didn’t inherit it—is insane. I was wrong to accuse you of that, so I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

  He’d gone almost unnaturally still while she spoke, and he remained that way for several beats after she was done talking. Then he raised a hand, palm up. “Come here.”

  Surprised, her feet began to move without her telling them to. Traitors. “What is it?”

  “It’s cooler over here if you stand right next to the air vents, and you’re looking a little overheated.”

  “Am I?” Her hand slid into his, and every nerve was suddenly aware of how rough and callused his hand was, and how huge it was compared to hers. A man with big hands… “Um.” She cleared her throat and tried to appear nonchalant as she forced herself to meet his gaze as if she weren’t secretly jumping out of her skin. “I guess I’m no good at apologies.”

  “No, you’re amazing. At apologies, and a helluva lot more.” His fingers closed over hers, and she told herself it was only her imagination that made her think the pressure of his grip was oddly possessive. “Thing is, getting an apology out of you wasn’t why I wanted to talk to you in private.”

  She blinked. “You… Are you saying you didn’t want my apology?” If he made her go through all of that and was going to throw it back in her face…

  “Oh, I wanted it all right, and I’m grateful for it. Apology accepted.”

  Whew. “Good. Thank you.”

  “What I want to know has nothing to do with that. What your friend said downstairs about your father beating the shit out of you… Did Able ever raise a hand to you?”

  All at once, the room lost every ounce oxygen. Her skin iced over, and she flinched so hard her hand became dislodged from his.

  No.

  No.

  No one could know. She couldn’t bear that.

  Especially Des.

  Des could never know.

  “Goddamn it.” It was so quiet she almost missed it. All she could hear was the sudden rushing throb of her pulse drowning out the world. “God… damn it.”

  “Leave.” The word jettisoned from her like a bullet, because she was very much afraid she was going to puke all over him. That was one humiliation she’d like to avoid. “Please, I need you to leave, Des. I’m not feeling well. The heat is getting to m—”

  “It’s not the heat. It’s. Fucking. Him.” The savagery in his tone shocked her so much she opened eyes she didn’t remember closing to look at him, and the rage she saw in his face was nothing short of terrifying. “That fucker hurt you, didn’t he? Tell me.”

  “I told you, he killed my mother.”

  “That’s what he did to your mother, Winsome. That alone should be enough to get him a one-way ticket to hell, but that wasn’t what I asked. I’m asking what he did to you.”

  Blindly she cast about for something to give him so he would go away. “He… There was a puppy I found. A scrawny, helpless little mutt digging in our garbage. I’d always wanted a dog, and this little guy obviously didn’t have anyone in the world. It was love at first sight, so I kind of coaxed him back to the house. My father, he…” A devastated whimper broke from her clenched throat, and the memory of the horrible screaming of that puppy was so awful she had to put her hands to her ears to shut it out. “He stomped on that little baby until he was nothing but… but mush, and it was my fault because I had always wanted a dog and I made him come home with me.”

  “Stop. Baby girl, stop.” He was suddenly there, pulling her hands from her ears to wrap them around his shoulders. Then she was up in her arms, her feet leaving the floor before he moved to sit on the futon with her in his lap. “Listen to me, okay? Able Smiley was a sick motherfucker who took joy in bringing agony to the people around him. Believe me, I know people like him

  all too well.”

  She tried—and failed—at stifling a sick little shudder. “If it hadn’t been for me, that dog would probably still be alive today. I just wanted something to love, and to have something in this world that would love me back. But I was wrong to want that. Wrong and selfish.”

  “Bullshit.” The arms around her tightened. “Wanting something like that is never wrong, or selfish. It’s beyond beautiful, like you.”

  She shook her head, hating that he couldn’t seem to see her ugliness. “I’m not—”

  “You’re a fucking knockout, so find a way to cope with that fact. What’s more, you’re the polar opposite of that bastard who raised you. You have so much love in your heart that you still cry over a long-dead puppy and blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. That tells me you’re a good woman, Winsome, and a superior human being. I’ve never met anyone finer than you. My God, woman, you take my breath away.”

  She sniffed, and that was when she realized she was crying. “You don’t know me, Des.”

  “I’m beginning to think I know you better than anyone on earth.”

  At last she looked up at him, baffled as she wiped at her tears. “Why? Because you used to sit next to me on a school bus?”

  “Because,” he said, his eyes so somber she couldn’t help but stare, “I think we may have walked the same path while growing up.”

  That shocked her into stillness. “What?”

  “You know the basic gossip about me—the lovechild of Delphine Faircloth and Keir Brody, making me Bitterthorn’s most famous bastard.” That weird blankness crept into his voice again, but she was beginning to learn he used that robotic tone when he delved into painful subjects. Numbing everything inside just to endure it was something she recognized all too well. “What people don’t know—though I’m sure some suspected it—was that Keir’s wife, Della, turned into a fucking psychopath when I was abandoned on the Brody doorstep.”

  Winnie’s brows shot up. “You’re right, I didn’t know that. Did she really?”

  “Put yourself in her position for a second. One day, you�
�re little Miss Suzy-fucking-Homemaker with three adorable little boys, replicas of their father and the man you love, and your life’s perfect. Then some woman rolls up, dumps a kindergartener on your doorstep who looks just like your sons and says he’s the bastard son of your husband, and she’s got the DNA tests to prove it.”

  Winnie winced as she imagined the scene. “That would rock anyone’s world a bit.”

  “A bit? It tore Della Brody’s world so completely apart she became unmoored from any semblance of reality. Almost from the get-go she called me an evil, hell-spawn demon. She believed it too, right up to her dying day.”

  “How did she die?” Winnie’s brows slammed down, horrified at the damage that kind of vile poison could do to an impressionable, confused child. “I didn’t pay much attention to things like that back when I was a kid, but I do hope she died soon after you arrived at Green Rock Ranch.”

  “I should’ve been so lucky. I had to endure eleven years of daily terror from that damn lunatic before my spineless ass of a father took her up in one of the ranch’s airplanes and slammed it nose-first into the ground.”

  She gasped. “He killed them?”

  His shoulder shifted. “No one knows for sure what happened, other than it wasn’t mechanical. It may have been intentional, or maybe she somehow interfered with him while he was flying. I don’t know, or care. The only thing that mattered was that I was finally free of that monster, so I wasn’t joking when I asked if you were going to dance on your father’s grave. I know the kind of relief the death of a monster brings.”

  “Then you know I’ll never dance on his grave, because all I care about is forgetting Able Smiley ever existed,” she said, staggered that she could talk so openly about her feelings with this man, when she couldn’t bring herself to do that with Cleo. Because he knew, she realized. He knew the depth of agony a so-called parent could bring to the world better than anyone she’d ever known. “He doesn’t deserve another second of my time.”

  “Because he hurt you? Abused you?”

  Words jammed in her throat, so much so it made her eyes sting, but she wouldn’t let them out. She couldn’t. The dirtiness she carried inside would pollute them both, and he didn’t deserve to carry that burden. “I never said that. I don’t know why you think that.”

  “Twice now I’ve asked you if your father hurt you. And twice you’ve told me about how he killed your mother, and a helpless stray dog. But you never answered if he hurt you. Which is actually an answer in a roundabout way. Isn’t it, Winsome? He hurt you so much you can’t even put a voice to it. Can you?”

  Damn it, how could those beautiful eyes of his see so much? “You really need to leave.”

  “I know. Too much, too fast. I get it.” He brought his hand up to cradle the back of her head and held her there while he kissed her as if she were something infinitely fragile. It was so moving, the care flowing from his touch, that it made her eyes sting all over again. Blindly she tried to give as good as she got, and when he finally raised his head to look down into her eyes, she could only hope he’d felt the gratitude she’d tried to convey to him. “You gonna be okay?”

  “I’m always okay,” she whispered, trying to smile. And she wasn’t lying. It would probably take her the rest of the day—and undoubtedly a sleepless night—to get back on her feet, but she’d do it. After all, that was how she’d always had to be. “About what happened downstairs a little while ago… Do you want me to thank you for saving me from broken ankles that were never actually in danger of breaking?”

  His eyeroll was a masculine masterpiece. “Just promise me you won’t go diving off your little baby stage thing while wearing ankle-breakers, and I’ll be happy.”

  “It’s called a platform, or plinth, if you want to be fancy. And I promise not to go diving off it.”

  “Good. And no more taking your bra off in public.”

  At that, her face went nuclear. “You weren’t supposed to walk in like that.”

  “Winsome, it’s a public shop. I could’ve been any swinging dick waltzing in at that moment to see that show, and that could’ve put you in a shit-ton of trouble. I’ll buy you a dozen neon bras, but you’ve got to promise me you’re going to keep them the fuck on while you’re in public.”

  Oy. “I can’t believe you’re making me promise this.”

  “I can’t believe I have to, but here we are. And just so you know, I’m not letting you go until you give me your word.”

  Amazing, how he thought being released from his comforting arms was some kind of incentive. “I promise I’ll keep my bra on in public. And by far, that is the weirdest promise I’ve ever made.”

  “I’m good with that.” He tightened his hold on her and stood, then gently put her down, as if he feared she might shatter her if he handled her too roughly. “I’m going to text you before bed, just to make sure you’re okay. What time do you usually go to bed?”

  She looked at him in surprise. Why would he think she wouldn’t be okay? “It depends. If I’m on a creative jag, it could be three o’clock in the morning before I turn out my light.”

  “You need to get yourself used to a rancher’s timeclock, woman. I’m texting you at ten tonight, and I’ll expect you to answer before you get your ass to bed as well.”

  “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you try to get used to a designer’s schedule?” Which was no schedule at all, but that was hardly the point.

  “Not gonna happen.” He caught her by the nape and reeled her in for one last kiss before he turned for the door. “By the way, if you don’t answer my text, I’m coming down here to kick your door in, because I’ll think you’ve died of heatstroke.”

  “I’ll answer,” she promised, gesturing in exasperation. “My God, you’re pushy.”

  “Hell, yes, I am, and don’t you forget it. One last thing,” he added, opening the door, “I vote that what you’re wearing is cute as hell, and damn near see-through. I like. Ten o’clock.”

  With that, he shut the door while she stared on in horror.

  *

  “I think Mom’s decided to turn that whole Des Brody episode into a plus for the business.” Cleo, dressed in short-shorts and a yellow tank, sat next to the loudly humming A/C window unit in Winnie’s apartment, while Winnie dished up some ice cream. Pralines and cream was an absolute must for the crazy day she’d endured, and she wasn’t about to go to bed without treating herself. “By the time she closed up shop today, I heard her bragging to Maybeline Schroeder that Cleone’s Closet is now commonly frequented by the Brody family.”

  “Wow.” Not sure whether to shake her head or laugh, Winnie handed her friend a bowl of creamy goodness before slumping down onto the futon. “That’s an impressive stretch, even for your mother.”

  “Mark my words,” Cleo mumbled around a mouthful of pralines and cream, “by tomorrow, you’re going to either be famous, or infamous, depending on how the Bitterthorn grapevine goes. The last Brody bachelor came into Cleone’s Closet to pick you up—his words, not mine. I just wonder how the gossips are going to spin it when they tell everyone how he saw you taking your bra off.”

  “Oh, God.” With a groan, Winnie dropped her head back against the cushion and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m doomed.”

  “At least you’re not boring.”

  “That’s not a comfort. I’m fine with being boring. I used to be invisible, especially to Des. Guess I’m not anymore.”

  “I am surprised he dropped in on you, when he so obviously put the ball in your court a few days ago. I thought it was going to be up to you to make the next move.”

  “Well, I didn’t.”

  “Which is why I find his sudden appearance so interesting.” Cleo moved over to join her on the futon, her eyes bright. “You know what I think?”

  “I think you’re going to tell me what you think no matter what I say.”

  “I think Des couldn’t wait on you to make a move a moment longer,” Cleo went on, ignoring Winnie’s p
ut-upon sigh. “That’s why he showed up today to pick you up. He wanted to force the issue.”

  “It worked. I gave him the apology he wanted, and he graciously accepted.” Before he got her so upset she fell to pieces in front of him. Then he’d held her and kissed her with so much emotion she whiplashed from churning anguish straight into fluttery arousal.

  After a day like that, it was no wonder she needed ice cream.

  “What I want to know,” Cleo said, licking her spoon, “is whether or not he got what he really wanted.”

  Winnie gave her a funny look. “I told you, I gave him the apology he wanted.”

  “He didn’t come here for that, girlfriend. He said he came here to pick you up. So? Did he?”

  It was getting ridiculously hot in her apartment. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “When a man like Des Brody says he’s there to pick you up in front of a room full of people, it’s not for just an hour or two of a little slap-and-tickle kind of fun. He was here to pick you up. As in get with you in a meaningful, man-woman kind of way. When he said that in front of everyone without batting an eye, he looked rock-solid serious to me.”

  Winnie stared at her bowl of melting goodness without seeing it. “I wish I knew more about that whole man-woman thing, because I didn’t see it that way at all.”

  “Well then, what about when he saved you? Did you see that?”

  That brought Winnie’s baffled gaze up. “What are you talking about?”

  “That moment when he leapt forward to save his damsel in distress from breaking an ankle. Not going to lie, I nearly fainted dead away at his protective, almost loving gallantry, and I wasn’t the only one.”

  “Cleo, I was in absolutely no danger of breaking anything.”

  “I know that, and so does every other woman who witnessed that moment. The point is, Des didn’t know you weren’t in any danger. He took one look at your shoes, thought they were going to murder you, and leapt into action to catch you in midair like he was freaking Superman. It was adorable.”