brothers had been teasing him for years that his house looked like one of those ancient bookmobiles had pulled through the front door and exploded. Volumes of every conceivable genre and subject were crammed into shelves and stacked in corners. Each room in the rambling, ranch-style home smelled of printed words bound by glue, cardboard and stitching. The aroma was reverent to Cullen, something most people, and certainly his obnoxious brothers, would never understand.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Hunt had displayed a love of cooking at an early age and the kitchen had long been his sanctuary. Their older brother Joiner loved all things equine. The inside of a barn, smelling of horse sweat and leather tack, was his place of solace. And then there was the oldest, McCarthy, a natural bean counter whose blood pressure was kept steady by frequent immersion in spreadsheets and 401(k) statements.
As much grief as they’d always given Cullen over his obsession for education, the four Temple brothers shared a bond when it came to having a passion. And each man’s passion seemed to come from deep inside and wouldn’t be snuffed out or denied.
Alma said their parents had been no different, and from Cullen’s earliest memories, he had to agree. Their father was a surgeon who’d given countless hours to the hospital and the community it served. And their mother had had an incredible green thumb and knack for growing things. The constant cycle of fertilizing, planting, nurturing, weeding, pruning and picking had been what she’d adored, second only to the five men in her family.
Yep, no doubt about it, they were all destined to obsess, just as their patriarch had once done over striking it rich in the East Texas oil fields. That thought reminded Cullen that he’d offered to tell Sarah about his grandfather. Maybe he’d get that chore over with today since it was best to let the old skeleton out of the closet early and be finished with him. Even so, being endowed with the Temple name in these parts would never completely allow Cullen to bury Pap’s notorious legacy.
“Anybody home?”
“In here,” Cullen shouted. Rocket growled, a sound too small and endearing to be threatening.
“Hey, little brother!” Joiner’s voice boomed from the front entryway.
“I’ve gotta start locking my door,” Cullen called from the den that served as his study.
“Yeah, as if anybody with a lick of sense would want to steal a stack of old books.”
Rocket scurried to investigate the newcomer, skidding to a stop as he was confronted by cowboy boots and jean-clad legs.
“Whoa! Who’s this?”
Joiner squatted, held open his arms and Rocket went into the embrace as if his long-lost friend had come home from the war.
“As I said, I should start locking the door because it seems my new watchdog isn’t gonna keep out the riffraff.”
“Since when do you have an animal in your home?” Joiner gathered Rocket’s long limbs and stood, reminding Cullen of a cowpoke holding a rescued calf.
“Since that one wandered out from behind a Dumpster at the pizza restaurant begging for a handout.”
“You took in a stray?” Joiner seemed incredulous, and rightly so. Cullen had always been too focused on his studies to make room for an animal in his life, much less in his home.
“How could I resist that face?”
“Looks like your boy’s got a lot of golden retriever in him,” Joiner noted.
“That’s what the vet said when I took Rocket in to get him checked out and vaccinated.”
Cullen watched his brother tenderly cradle the pup, stroking his blond coat and floppy ears while Rocket poked his curious nose at Joiner’s shirt pocket.
“Can he have a peppermint?” Joiner fished out a striped candy.
“Just this once. But if he throws it up, the mess belongs to you.”
Joiner settled Rocket on the rug, tore open the small cellophane packet and offered the treat. The puppy sniffed it and turned uncertain eyes to his master. Warmth shot through Cullen’s heart at Rocket’s request for approval.
“It’s okay, you can have it,” Cullen assured his new buddy.
Rocket scooped up the candy with a swipe of his pink tongue and crunched it between puppy teeth as sharp as carpet tacks.
“How many years have you been carrying Life Savers in your pocket, Joiner?”
“As many as I’ve been coaxing and training horses. They all seem to cooperate a little better if you sweeten the deal.” He stood but kept an eye on Rocket as the puppy enjoyed the treat.
“Think that principle applies to girls and cookies?” Cullen had purchased an assortment of baked goods, hoping to win favor with Carrie, Meg and Hope. And maybe Sarah.
“Sugar and females have gone hand in hand since the Garden of Eden. I personally think the forbidden fruit was a MoonPie instead of an apple.. I can’t imagine why it would be any different today,” Joiner replied. “Why do you ask?”
“I have company on the way.”
“If you already have plans, why’d you ask me to come by?” Joiner slanted a questioning glance at Cullen.
“I figured it might be nice to invite my brother over for a swim and some lunch.” Cullen tried to sound offended by Joiner’s suspicion.
“My, aren’t you domestic all of the sudden.”
“A new friend from the university is bringing her three daughters over to use the pool.”
Joiner’s head snapped back, his eyes wide.
“A new friend? Anybody I might recognize?”
“It’s always a possibility in a town this small. Her name’s Sarah Eason.”
“Joe Eason’s widow?” Joiner asked, his brows drawing together.
“You knew her husband?”
“I met him at the gym years ago and we played racquetball a handful of times before he got too sick. Nice guy. I’d heard he passed away a while ago.” Joiner gave a sad shake of his head.
“Did you ever meet his wife?”
“No, never did. I was aware that Joe was married with kids, but guys don’t do much more than point and grunt within the perimeter of the gym. Where’d you meet her?”
“Sarah’s auditing the lecture I took over for Blair this semester.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that? McCarthy mentioned you were teaching a class of your own now. Aren’t you worried responsibility might cramp your style?”
“That’s the pot callin’ the kettle black,” Cullen scoffed. “You’ve never been responsible for more than shoveling horse manure in your life.”
“Hey, that’s not true. Ninety percent of my time off the polo field is spent fundraising.”
