only a second. He roused himself in plenty of time to curse Alec for refusing to let him make his own way to the big wicker swing that hung at the rounded oval end of the veranda. Laurel, recognizing correctly that his brother didn’t like her seeing him being carried, moved back into the house. She returned with a glass of ice water when Gregory was settled.
For a second, Alec was aware of a flash of jealousy; Laurel had never brought him a glass of water, never looked so concerned for his health. Of course, he had never collapsed in her front yard, either.
Watching Gregory drink the water, studying the haggard paleness of his thin face with its straggly beard, Alec said to him in abrupt decision, “I should have known this was too much. Rest a minute, then I’ll take you back home.”
“Don’t worry about me, little brother,” Gregory answered irritably. “I’ll be fine right here. You just get on with your job.”
“It’s my job to worry. It’s what I’m here for.” Alec kept the words patient, but implacable. “It will only take a few minutes to run you back.”
“I said I’m fine. I’ll just sit here and watch you flex your muscles. Maybe the nice lady will keep me company.”
Alec was afraid she might at that, which was one reason he was determined to get Gregory away. Without looking at Laurel, he said, “Mrs. Bancroft is busy. Come on, now.”
“I’m not that busy,” she corrected him in clear tones. “I’ll be glad to sit down for a little while.”
“You don’t have to,” he said, the words stark as he finally allowed his gaze to move over the cool, lovely planes of her face, the sunbeam sheen of her hair, the long, flowing skirt of lavender cotton she wore with a cool sleeveless blouse.
She gave a brief smile without quite meeting his gaze as she answered, “I know that.”
Gregory glanced from one to the other, as if becoming aware of the undercurrents between them. “See?” he said with satisfaction as he waved a hand vaguely toward Alec. “Run along. We don’t need you.”
Alec felt his stomach muscles tighten as if in anticipation of a blow, but there was nothing he could do. He turned on his heel and went back out into the hot sun.
Laurel, watching Alec go, thought he was upset. He was concerned about his brother, and who could blame him? He was also mad at her for going against him. That was too bad. As Maisie would put it, he could get glad in the same britches. Laurel wanted to talk to Gregory.
Looking around, she caught the arm of a rocking chair and dragged it closer to the swing. As she sat down, she said easily, “It’s been so hot and humid these last few days, it could get to anyone who isn’t used to it. I really don’t know how Alec stands it out there all day.”
Gregory glanced at his brother with a brooding look in his eyes. “He’s strong as a bull elephant, can stand anything.”
“Most of the time he doesn’t even wear a shirt.”
He looked at her, the expression in his brandy-colored eyes bland. “Sun doesn’t affect him quite the same as you and me. He has Native American blood.”
When it appeared he was not going to elaborate, she said, “You mean your father was a Native American?”
“Not mine, just Alec’s.” His smile was thin, as if he had expected some reaction from her that he had not received. “Actually, I think the guy was a half-breed, though who knows? He didn’t stay around long enough for anybody to find out too much about him.”
“I see,” Laurel said. The main thing she understood was that Gregory was trying to shock her, though she didn’t intend to provide amusement for him by allowing it. Features composed, she glanced from him to his brother. She had thought Gregory’s illness accounted for his slighter frame and lighter skin coloring, but it appeared she was wrong, at least in part. At the same time, she didn’t believe Alec was immune to the sun’s effects.
Gregory’s gaze was tinged with black humor as he studied her face. “No, we’re not much alike, are we, Alec and I? My dad was your typical WASP, some kind of traveling salesman from the West Coast who took our dear mother away from all this.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture that took in Hillsboro and the state of Louisiana as well as the woods around them. “Our younger sister Mita, now, was fathered by an Asian. Being your typical sixties and seventies woman, Mom was determined to prove her lack of prejudice. Besides, she liked having her own variety pack of kids, or so she said. She bought into the whole earth-mother, single-parent bit. Didn’t care whether the fathers stayed around or not.”
“She must be an unusual woman.”
His lip curled. “She was in her way. She died trying to have a Latino baby. At least we think that was the nationality, but only she knew for sure. Anyway, something went wrong and neither she nor the baby made it. I guess she was getting a little old for it since I was eighteen at the time.”
“I’m…sorry,” Laurel said, not sure whether she meant for his loss or for her urge to pry that had led her into so private a history.
He looked away. “I don’t suppose it matters. It was a long time ago.”
She thought it did matter—possibly always had, always would—to him and Alec both, but she couldn’t say so. Instead she said, “You were young to take on so much responsibility.”
“Me? Responsible?” He laughed, a harsh yet hollow sound. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”
“But, well, I assumed there was no other man around to take over.”
“There wasn’t, except for Alec.”
She leaned her head against the high seat-back, rocking a little as she frowned in thought. “But he must have been, what? Only thirteen? Fourteen?”
“Something like that. Our little man, though, he was always big and tough for his age.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” She stopped rocking.
“You wouldn’t,” he answered with an edge of rudeness as he looked around at Ivywild. “You’ve always been respectable, I would imagine. I bet you’ve never been hungry, really hungry, a day in your life. You’ve always known exactly who you are, where you came from, and where you belong. No doubts, no wild guesses, no looking for yourself in the bottom of a bottle or in the white dust of some drug with a name you can’t pronounce….”
He trailed off, but she did finally understand. Gregory had been a drug user at eighteen, and so Alec had taken over, fending for himself and his little sister.
“Surely some government agency could have helped out?” she asked.
“Oh, right. Helped Alec and Mita right into separate foster homes, is what they would have done. No way, not on your life. Alec fooled them when they came around. He may be a bastard, but he’s a smart one. Of course, he had old lady Chadwick by then.”
A chill moved over Laurel. In her compassion for Alec—for them all, really—she had almost forgotten the point of her questions. Lips stiff, she said, “Old lady Chadwick? Who was she?”
“Our
