“It’s a good thing you don’t have to live here.” Maggie crossed her arms as her spine stiffened. “What time are you coming over tomorrow?”
“I don’t mean you or Amber.” His tone softened. “I just…”
“You don’t want to be in Tawnee Valley. Completely understandable after you’ve spent the past eight years alone over in England.” Damn him for making her care about him even an inch.
“I kept busy and kept my nose out of other people’s business.” Brady walked over to her until they were close enough to touch. “I don’t need to be watched like a hawk or told when I’m out of line by anyone but you, Maggie. Amber is your responsibility and I won’t begrudge that, but she’s not this town’s child and they have no say in what we do.”
Her anger softened a little with his words. With him this close, it was like standing next to a live wire. She wanted to grab his shirt and kiss him. Finish what they’d started a few days ago. She breathed deeply and ended up filling her lungs with the scent of him—sandalwood and that underlying scent that was uniquely Brady.
He stepped closer, almost hesitantly, as if to give her the chance to push him away. The angry words faded into the background, just noise that hadn’t mattered. Eight years dropped away in an instant and she felt eighteen again, at a crossroads that didn’t have a good ending, no matter which way she looked. Her mother’s diagnosis had meant staying home and helping her. There had been no other family to turn to, and they couldn’t have afforded a nurse with the level of treatment her mother had needed.
For one night, she had wanted to feel free, uncaged. She’d wanted Brady. They had gone upstairs to his room with no backward glances. Every touch had been torture and pleasure, both of them knowing that when the morning came, it would be time to return to their lives as if nothing had happened between them.
“Maggie?” Her name tumbled from his lips and he leaned toward her, daring her to close the last bit of distance like she had in New York.
Her body swayed toward him as if it couldn’t resist his pull.
“Mommy, I forgot a towel,” Amber yelled over the noise of the shower.
Maggie tried to find something more in Brady’s eyes, but the shutters fell and he stepped back.
“I’ll be right up.” Maggie didn’t move. They weren’t kids anymore. Both had responsibilities elsewhere, and their paths were only joined by one thing—Amber. That’s all they had between them.
Brady cleared his throat. “What time does school let out?”
“Three.” Maggie was glad the word came out without being breathless.
“Tell Amber good-night for me.” He brushed past her and headed to the front door.
She sighed and let out a little shiver before turning to go upstairs.
“Good night, Maggie,” he said softly as the door shut.
Brady stood on the front porch of his childhood home. A whole host of memories had swarmed in to greet him. From toddler to teenager, he’d spent many days on this porch, dreaming of a future far away. He’d loved his parents and wanted to make them proud, but farming had never been his passion.
He’d made sure to be the best at anything he tried. To be better at school and sports than his two brothers. It hadn’t mattered. Sam was his father’s favorite and Luke had been their mother’s favorite. Not that Brady had been neglected. He’d been loved. He’d just been different. Never quite fit in.
As he was getting ready to knock, the door swung open.
“Brady.” Sam moved out of the way to let him through.
So many emotions played through Brady’s mind. Guilt, hurt, past resentment. Nothing compared to the anger for keeping Brady’s daughter a secret.
“Sam.” Brady rolled his suitcase into the dining room and shrugged off his laptop bag. Nothing had changed in the house. Sam had kept it exactly as Mom had left it. Everything had aged, though. What was once a cream-colored paint had yellowed. From here he could see that the kitchen vinyl was worn from years of boots treading across its surface. The place was clean but far from spotless.
“I made up your bed.” Sam moved farther into the house, going through the doorway that led to the kitchen.
Brady closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was as if he had only been gone for the school year and not eight years. He should have decked Sam when he answered the door, but nothing would come from a confrontation. Sam wasn’t going to change.
From the kitchen came the sounds of a chair rubbing against the floor and a newspaper rustling. If Brady weren’t emotionally drained from meeting Amber and dealing with Maggie, he might have gone in there and started in on Sam for his lies. Instead, Brady lifted his suitcase and climbed the stairs to his old room. The doorknob was still loose in the casing and made a metallic rattle when he opened it.
Exactly as he left it with the exception of the quilt. Brady had taken the quilt his mother had made for him when he left. Even though he’d felt compelled to leave everything behind and start a new life, he couldn’t let go of such a simple thing as a blanket.
The double bed barely fit in the small room and left little room for the dresser. When he was fourteen, Mom had found the old bed frame at an auction.
As always, if Mom had wanted something done, the three of them would move heaven and earth for her. They’d managed to get the bed up the narrow stairs with a few bruises and a lot of cussing. Brady ran his hand over the smooth wood footboard. Now he barely spoke to his brothers. Luke kept in touch when he could. He had always been the mediator between Brady and Sam. But their lives were all so different and without Mom and Dad to draw them together…
Pushing the thoughts from his head, he quickly unpacked his suitcase and tucked it away under the bed. He hadn’t worked at all today but since it was Sunday, it probably didn’t matter.
He would have to find somewhere else to work. Sam had to have a computer hidden somewhere in this house, which meant there might be a decent desk and chair for him to work on.
Shouldering his laptop bag, Brady made his way downstairs. Anywhere he went in town, he would run into people from his past and his parents’ past. Interruptions would eat into his work time.
He walked through the farmhouse, trying to ignore the memories floating on the edge of his mind and to concentrate on finding somewhere to work. The main difference in the living room was the fancy flat-screen TV and stereo components. Gone was the old tube TV console and rabbit ears. Their father had always complained that if you had time to sit, you had time to work. There were always chores to be done.
Obviously, Sam didn’t feel the same way.
The little room had a meager office with an old dial-up modem hooked to the modern computer. Brady wondered if he could even get a signal for his wireless router this far down in the valley.
The metal folding chair and particle-board desk wouldn’t be ideal for working long hours. Back in the dining room, Brady set his laptop on the table and stretched out his shoulders. He could hear the rustle of a newspaper from the kitchen.
If
