“No. She’s up in the attic, painting.”
Jacquelyn had always fancied herself to be a frustrated artist, and she had a studio in the attic where she was able to hide out and avoid socializing with her children whenever they gathered in Denver.
“Isn’t this the first time you met her?” Brittney asked. “How did that go?”
“My mother was at my wedding reception, but I had ordered her to be on her best behavior, so you didn’t get any hint of what she’s like. But Jacquelyn doesn’t have anything on my mom. You want to see
crazy
, visit my house. Your mom isn’t even in my mom’s league.”
“Interesting…” Brittney mused. “She wasn’t bitchy and condescending?”
“Of course she was, but I told her I hate obnoxious people. That shut her up pretty fast. Once she realized her insults weren’t having any effect, she decided to ignore me, which I actually prefer.”
“Amy Dane Merriweather”—Brittney grinned too—“I’m so glad you joined the family.”
“So am I.” She pointed up the stairs. “Why don’t you tell her you’re back? I’ll call your brothers and let them know where you are.”
“Would you ask them to be sure Matt and Ken are all right? There was quite a bit of commotion when I was dragged out of there.”
“Will do.”
Brittney skirted Amy and started to climb. It was three flights to the top floor, then another scramble up into the attic. By the time she arrived, she was out of breath.
She stood for a moment, calming herself, figuring out what she should say to Jacquelyn. She didn’t want to fight with her; she simply wanted some straight answers. But with Jacquelyn, a rational discussion was probably impossible.
Her mother wasn’t painting as Amy had supposed, but over by the window and staring out at the Rockies. She was lost in contemplation, and Brittney wondered at the scenes that might play through her mind. What images would haunt such a bitter, unhappy person?
Finally, Jacquelyn sighed—with what sounded like regret—and spun around.
“Oh, hello Brittney,” she said.
She flashed no smile of welcome, didn’t rush over to clasp Brittney’s hands or hug her with relief. She’d believed Brittney to have been kidnapped, yet her reaction was so tepid that Brittney might have just returned from a trip to the grocery store.
“Hello,” Brittney replied.
“I didn’t hear you on the stairs. When did you get back?”
“Just now.”
“I take it you’re fine?”
“Yes.”
“It was extremely rude of you to abandon me at that restaurant. I was very concerned. And that man from Talbot Security had a fit.”
“Sorry.”
“You might have told me you were leaving and saved us all this trouble. Andrew was frantic with worry.”
Brittney’s life had moved so far beyond Andrew and her engagement that it took her a second to remember who he was.
Brittney groaned with dismay. “I hope he didn’t fly to Colorado over this.”
“No, he couldn’t get away, but we’ve provided him with regular updates. Where were you anyway? I didn’t have any idea what to tell him.”
“I was with Matt Monroe.”
“Who?”
“That security guard who was here.”
Jacquelyn gasped. “You went off with a security guard?”
“Yes.”
“For five days? Honestly, Brittney, I don’t understand you. The details will all come out. What do you suppose Andrew will say? You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t end your engagement. Then where will you be?”
“I don’t care about Andrew. I’m in love with Matt.”
Brittney startled herself into an amazed silence. She hadn’t realized she had such strong feelings, hadn’t realized she was going to blurt it out. And to her mother! What was she thinking?
“You’re in love,” Jacquelyn scoffed, “with a security guard? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous. I’m very, very serious. Although I don’t know if he’ll have me.”
“
Have you
for what? You’re not considering some sort of extended…bond.”
“Maybe—if I can convince him to agree. I’m not sure I can be that persuasive.”
“I swear you’re suffering from some type of mental breakdown. Perhaps we should call a doctor and have him prescribe a sedative.”
“A sedative won’t cure what ails me.”
“It can’t hurt. Not when you’re acting like a lunatic.”
Brittney sighed with annoyance, which was her usual response whenever she tried to talk to Jacquelyn. She and her mother had never been able to communicate.
The situation used to bother Brittney enormously, and the great thing about the past week was that it didn’t matter anymore. She felt as if she’d been in prison and finally released. She felt as if she’d been blind and her sight magically restored.
She braced herself. Perched on a cliff and about to jump off, she raced to the edge and leapt into freefall.
“Matt lives with his father-in-law,” she said.
“How nice,” Jacquelyn sarcastically replied.
“He claims he’s an old friend of yours.”
“Really, Brittney, as if I’d be
friends
with such common people. You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did, but now, I’m not so sure.” She stared at Jacquelyn, watching her closely. “His name is Ken Scott.”
Jacquelyn’s face was completely void of expression. Not the merest ripple of recognition slithered by. A moment passed, then another, and another.
“And…?” her mother ultimately asked.
“Do you remember Ken, Mother? Because he certainly remembers you.”
“I have no idea who he is.”
“Don’t you? He’s retired, but he was a cop, and he occasionally worked security for Father when he hosted important guests here at the mansion.”
“As I said, I have no idea who you mean.”
Brittney continued to study her, but Jacquelyn was impossible to read. She was so unaffected by the mention of Ken that they might have been discussing the weather.
Brittney pushed on. “He told me a curious story about you.”
“I’ll just bet he did. Don’t you have better things to do than gossip with the hired help?”
“He said you two had an affair. Twenty-six years ago as a matter of fact.”
“I assume there is a reason you feel it appropriate to raise such a topic with me, but I find it to be incredibly distasteful.”
“Trust me: I don’t much like it either.”
“You are totally out of line, and should you have the misfortune to ever again speak with this Mr. Scott, you may tell him for me that he is a bald-faced liar. If he would like to persist with this humiliating slander, I’ll have my attorneys contact him.”
She whipped away and went to her table in the center of the room, where she’d previously arranged some art supplies. She started furiously jamming items into drawers, slamming them closed.
Why the display of temper?
Brittney wondered. Was Jacquelyn angry at being accused? Or angry at being found out?
“Is Ken my father?” Brittney bluntly inquired.
“What did you say?” Jacquelyn hissed.
“Is Ken Scott my father?”
“How dare you insult me with such a question!”
Jacquelyn grabbed a large tote, threw some things into it, then marched around the table as if to storm out. Brittney’s own temper sizzled to a boil, and she stepped in her mother’s path.
“Is he my father?” she demanded.
“Your father was David Merriweather, my husband of forty years. You will not ever offend me in such a way again. Do you understand?”
“Why is my hair blond? Why are my eyes green?”
“How would I know?”
“Why have you always hated me? Is it because I remind you of Ken?”
Jacquelyn leered with what could only be malice. “This conversation is over.”
“I’m having a DNA test,” Brittney announced.
“You’re what?”
A wave of panic flashed in Jacquelyn’s eyes. It was there and gone in an instant, but Brittney had seen it. Her heart sank. While she would have the scientific analysis in order to be certain, Jacquelyn had confirmed what she was trying so hard to deny.
“I’m scheduling a paternity test,” Brittney said, “to learn for sure.”
“Are you insane?”
“No, for once I’m very, very clear on where I’m headed.”
“You would disgrace me? You would disgrace the family? And for what? Because some burned-out, retired cop told you a pack of lies?”
“But he wasn’t lying, was he, Mother? Save me a lot of trouble, and tell me the truth.”
“You absolutely will not embarrass me like this,” her mother shouted. “You will not spread this venom! You will not get any humiliating tests! I forbid it!”
“You
forbid
it? I’m twenty-six years old. It’s a little late for any forbidding.”
Jacquelyn seized Brittney by the neck, her sharp nails digging into Brittney’s nape, pressing deeply enough to leave marks.
“Your father,” Jacquelyn spat, “was a deceitful, cheating dog, and I lived with it every day of my marriage. You will not paint me with that same brush.”
Jacquelyn squeezed tighter, shaking Brittney as if she was a ragdoll, and as Brittney clutched Jacquelyn’s wrist, hoping to free herself, Dustin rushed into the room and beat her to it.
“What on earth…?” he mumbled.
He yanked Jacquelyn away and pushed Brittney out of her reach.
Jacquelyn’s animosity toward Brittney—never completely hidden—was plainly visible. If her mother had been holding a gun, Brittney would be dead on the floor.
“What is wrong with you two?” Dustin wedged himself between them so Jacquelyn couldn’t attack Brittney again.
“Tell him,” Brittney taunted. “Admit it! Admit it to him! Admit it to me!”
Jacquelyn was trembling, breathing hard—as if she was a boxer in the ring. “I’ll make you sorry for this,” she informed Brittney. “The rest of your life, I’ll make you sorry. I’ll get even with Ken Scott too.”
“There’s nothing you can do to me, and from now on, I’ll always protect Ken. Go threaten someone who’s afraid of you, because it isn’t me.”
“Who is Ken Scott?” Dustin asked. “Is that the old guy over at Matt Monroe’s? I just came from there. He’s harmless.”
“I guess it depends on your definition of the word,” Jacquelyn said. “He’s a drunk and a liar.”
“Why are you fighting over him?”
Brittney steeled herself, feeling as if she was leaping over that cliff a second time.
“Ken Scott is my biological father.”
Dustin scowled. “Your…
what
?”
“My father.” She nodded at Jacquelyn. “She had an affair with him.”
“No, no”—Dustin frowned—“that can’t be right.”
“It is.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Ken told me.”
“You believed him? He’s so full of shit, Brittney.”
“No, he’s not.”
“He was trying to upset you. They looked broke as hell. He’s probably thinking he could persuade you to cough up some cash.”
“It doesn’t always come down to money, Dustin. Some situations are exactly what they appear to be.” Suddenly, her knees were too weak to support her. She stumbled over to a chair and eased herself down. “I had a sister I never met. She was killed in a car wreck. And I have a nephew. I have a whole new family that cares about me.”
At the pronouncement, the world seemed to stop spinning. Silence filled the room. The three of them gawked at one another, struggling to find a remark that could adequately address what she’d said, but there was no appropriate comment.
After a lengthy, awkward interval, Jacquelyn squared her shoulders and faced Dustin.
“Your sister is crazy,” she stated, “and I have no wish to continue dealing with her when she’s in this condition. I’m flying back to Santa Fe.”
“Good,” Brittney muttered.
“Call me a car,” she ordered Dustin. “I’d like to leave immediately, and I am never—I repeat:
never!—
returning to this accursed house again. Nothing worthwhile ever happens while I’m in it. Brittney, don’t send me an invitation to your wedding. For it will be a waste of a stamp.”
“There won’t be a wedding,” Brittney said.
“Lucky for Andrew,” Jacquelyn sneered, “that he escaped in the nick of time.”
She marched out, her regal attitude on full display. Brittney and Dustin were frozen in place, listening as she tromped down the stairs. Eventually, her strides faded.
“What do you need?” Dustin inquired into the quiet that followed. “What should I do?”
“I have to head over to Ken’s. I need to apologize for the trouble we caused, but I’m a little shaken up. Could you drive me?”
He tsked with dismay. “Don’t go over there.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“You’ve had a terrible shock. Just…take a few days. Figure out what you want.”
“I know what I want.”
“It can’t be this guy and his family. That can’t be your choice.”
“Why can’t it be? Am I better off here? Maybe you’d prefer that I fly to Santa Fe with Jacquelyn. I could stay in her guest bedroom. She’s always been so
kind
to me. I’m sure I’d be welcome.”
“Let’s talk to Lucas. Let’s ask his advice before you run off half-cocked. Or how about Amy? She’s the most sensible person I’ve ever met.”
Brittney stared at him, wondering how they could be siblings, but really have no link, no bond.
“You have blue eyes,” she murmured.
“Yes…I do,” he slowly agreed.
“My eyes are green. My hair is blond. Weren’t you ever curious why I was so different from the rest of you?”
“No, because you’re
not
different. You’re one of us, and I don’t care what preposterous story some lonely old man is telling.”
“Now that we’ve learned the truth about my parentage, will you and Lucas demand that I give up my inheritance?”
“What? No! Jacquelyn is right: You have absolutely fallen off the deep end. Get a grip.”
“I’ve never belonged in this family, and now, I’m even more confused. Where do I belong?”
“Well, you certainly won’t gain any clarity by racing off to hang with Matt Monroe and Ken Scott. You have to suspect their motives. If you won’t question their intentions, I’ll question them for you.”