Right Brother (4 page)

“What do you care?”

“Does your father ever visit?”

“None of your business!”

“Are you and your mom getting help—financial help—from your father?”

Her eyes narrowed to daggers, red pulsed in her cheeks. “I know about you,” she said. “You used to be a football player. But you quit. Dad told me about you.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. I know how mean you were to him. And Grams and Gramps.”

“Really. When did he tell you all this?”

She flinched. But she didn't bend. “Lots of times.”

“I only retired after last season. January. Have you heard from him since then?”

“None of your business.”

And that was a no.

“When I left your grandparents' house this morning,” he said slowly, watching it sink in that he was calling her bluff on including
Grams and Gramps
in her list of people he'd wronged, “they said to tell you they send their love.”

She didn't back down. Not one iota. Instead, she launched a full-fledged bad-attitude sneer.

But it didn't last, as she did another of those lightning changes, startled like a deer and scooted up the remaining stairs. She elbowed him out of her way on the landing, and he stepped down to protect his balance.

The exterior door opened again and he saw Jennifer coming in, head lowered, a plastic grocery bag dragging down one arm.

In the half second it took him to absorb that sight, Ashley had the green door unlocked and open. But instead of slamming it on him, she spun around, holding its edge, looking as if she'd been standing in the doorway all the time.

Jennifer had trudged up one step when he spoke.

“Hello, Jennifer.”

Dismay swept over her initial surprise. Then she saw Ashley in the doorway beyond him, and her pace picked up.

“Ashley, you shouldn't have buzzed him in.” She stopped
on the stair below him. She would have to be even more single-minded than her daughter to get past, considering there would be two adult bodies involved. “You know the rules about strangers.”

“He says he's my uncle,” the girl said belligerently. She cut him a look, as if daring him to tell her mother she hadn't buzzed him in, because she hadn't been here and the door had been unlocked.

“You didn't know…” Jennifer's husky voice trailed off, and he saw her decide not to conduct this argument in front of him. “Why are you here?”

“I came to see you.”

The parade of reactions to that statement was about as subtle as a brass band and a troop of men on little cycles wearing fezzes, although less suited to a festive occasion. She didn't want to see him. Maybe because she wore the same ratty clothes as before, and was even dirtier. Not a chance in hell she'd listened to him about not cleaning more.

She particularly didn't want to see him
here,
he realized when she darted a look toward the cramped living area he could see past Ashley.

Then he noticed another layer of
didn't want
: she didn't want him to have met Ashley, judging by the protective frown tucked between her brows.

Then, atop those layers, another appeared. Speculation, along with a dash of hope and a heaping helping of determination.

“You came to get the projections so you can study them overnight.”

“Yeah,” he lied, because what did it hurt?

His peripheral vision caught Ashley rolling her eyes.

She could tell Jennifer that he'd been asking questions that had nothing to do with business projections or the dealership. But he could tell Jennifer that Ashley's pose at the door was
a lie, that she'd arrived not long ago herself and that the outside door had been unlocked. That equalized the balance of power and kept them both silent.

“I could meet you at the café in half an hour,” Jennifer offered.

“I've eaten.”

“For dessert and coffee then.”

“Had dessert. Don't want any more coffee.”

This time Ashley made no pretense of hiding the eye rolling. “Well, we haven't eaten, and I'm starved. So go away—”

“Ashley.”

“Well, geez,” the girl said, then subsided into mumbles under her mother's stern look. The only word he caught was
dense
.

“I'll come in while you get the projections,” he said. Seeing the inside might not be confirmation of what he'd been hearing, but it added to the evidence. “Then leave you in peace to have your dinner.”

Jennifer caught the left corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. “The projections require some explanation. Come in, and if it won't delay you too much, I'll start dinner then go over the projections with you.”

“Okay.”

“Great.” Ashley's sarcasm was about as subtle as her eye rolling. “I'll be in my room if dinner's ready before midnight.” She stalked away.

Jennifer pressed herself against the far wall to minimize contact. He accommodated her by also turning his back to the wall, to leave the most room possible for her to pass. But he'd been right about the effect of two adult bodies in this narrow space. There was no way not to touch.

Her shoulder brushed his arm. The sleeve bottom of her big shirt feathered across him—hip, crotch, hip—and he felt the instinctive stirring.

The top of her lowered head was under his nose. The blond
hair might be matted but it smelled sweet. Her knee bumped his leg as she climbed the stairs sideways.

Her gaze flashed to him. “Sorry.”

“No problem.”

Once clear of him, she shot past. At the landing she drew an audible breath, then gestured for him to enter.

A door slammed down the hallway. Jennifer seated him on the couch, excused herself, then went down the hall. He heard her open a door, speak quiet but concentrated words, close that door and open another.

He took the opportunity to look around. The couch's leather was good quality, but showed wear. Side chairs flanked a table under windows that had to overlook a parking lot by his reckoning. A wall unit held books, a modest TV and an even more modest audio unit. An aged air conditioner clogging one window wasn't turned on, even though the room was just this side of uncomfortable. A dining counter separated the living room from a kitchen that would have felt at home in a camper.

He looked down the hall and saw it made a sharp turn to the right. What were the chances he could poke around down there?

A door opening somewhere around that bend gave him his answer. He was seated again when Jennifer appeared. She had fluffed her hair, washed her face and changed into clean slacks and a shirt.

“If you'd like to look these over while I start dinner…” She handed him a binder he nearly dropped because he hadn't expected its weight.

“Would you like something to drink?” she added.

“Thanks, yes.” A drink could provide a prop now, a reason to linger later. He followed her to the kitchen, taking a seat on one of two stools at the dining bar, which was empty except for a glass jar holding a yellow rose not quite opened. Not a store-bought rose, he thought, judging by the holes in
two of the leaves framing the bud. She turned, a frown between her brows again.

The stool creaked as he shifted on its hard seat.

“You'll be more comfortable on the couch.”

“I'm comfortable here.” He could observe her. “Don't you eat here?”

“We have a little balcony. We eat there in the summer.”

How little was little? He'd seen no sign of a balcony.

She poured lemonade over ice and placed the glass before him, her gaze going from the folder to him and back. Dutifully, he opened it.

“The blue tab is the historical section.” She took a container from the freezer and put it in the microwave. “That incorporates figures from when your grandfather and father ran the dealership.”

“No red tab? Isn't that the color you'd need for when Eric ran it?”

“The figures from that period are also under the historic section,” she said with little inflection, pulling things from the refrigerator.

She'd taken out a blotchy green-and-brown item wrapped in plastic with a red sticker saying, Reduced For Quick Sale.

“The yellow tab is for current demographics. Market penetration dropped a lot, so improving it would go a long way to turning around the dealership. But even without that, it can be a success as you'll see by the information behind the green tab.”

“Green for money?”

She shot a look over her shoulder. The woman could pack a lot into a look. A slice of annoyance that he'd called her on it, some surprise he'd figured it out, even amusement. “Black might have worked,” she said, “with the connotation of being in the black. But green is more cheerful.”

“Good choice. Because black-and-blue makes me think of pain.”

Only after he said it did he remember that blue was associated with the dealership's past—and the family members who'd run it. So she could interpret him as meaning money and family.

“Professional hazard,” he clarified. “You know—bruises.”

But she'd already shot another of those looks at him, and this one seemed to hold understanding and sympathy, at the same time it informed him confidences would not be welcomed.

Oh, hell, maybe he was making up these emotions he was ascribing to her. He didn't know the woman, that was for sure. Hadn't known the girl, either. What little thought he'd given to her then had been that what you saw was what you got, and what you saw was vacant prettiness.

Now that she'd peeled off outer layers, he could see the blotchy item was a head of lettuce. Only it looked the way the plants Liz had insisted on buying for his place had looked when he'd returned from training camp after they broke up last year. Jennifer put the sorry, limp lump in a large bowl, ran water into it, added ice cubes, then put it back in the fridge.

He flipped to the green tab. “So green's for the future now that Zeke Zeekowsky's bringing part of his company here.”

“That's right. The population is going to expand. People will not only be looking to buy cars, but service also could provide steady income. Now we have to go to Pepton. See the map with projected density of population and present repair shops?”

“Uh-huh,” he said.

But he wasn't looking at maps or population density. She bent to get a pan from a drawer below the oven and Trent leaned forward to watch the way the fabric tightened over her rear end.

Not that that meant anything, he reminded himself as he straightened. She was a woman—an attractive woman—and
he was a man. A man whose last serious relationship had ended a year ago and who wasn't inclined to one-night stands.

The contents of the container from the microwave went into the pan on a burner. Precooked ground beef, he thought. She added a jar of salsa and stirred slowly, blending the salsa's red around and through the darker meat. The motion was deliberate. Almost sensuous. She turned down the heat and with quick, deft movements, she shredded cheddar cheese.

She took individual bowls from the cabinet. Then she retrieved the large bowl from the refrigerator. She took out the lettuce, reduced in size but miraculously restored. She drained it, dried it, then cut that up, too, putting the shreds in each bowl.

“Questions?”

About a million. He had no idea why, of them all, “What are you cooking?” came out of his mouth.

“A version of taco salad. Quick, simple and covers most food groups.”

“It smells great.”

“I'd invite you to stay—”

Damned if his mouth didn't water, even after that café dinner.

“—but you said you already ate.”

“Why aren't you and Ashley living in the house Eric built?”

One quick, surprised look was all he got before she faced away from him. “That has no bearing on the sale of the dealership.”

Not bad. Didn't give an inch, but didn't punch a potential buyer in the nose. “I can ask around town. Most might not tell me. But even those who think they're not telling anything will give away a bit here and there.”

She chopped at a pair of tomatoes with verve. He didn't care to guess whose face she imagined as she whacked away.

“It serves no good purpose for you or anyone to know all
about my marriage ending. It ended. That's all you need to know.”

“I didn't ask all about your marriage ending. C'mon, Jennifer. I heard you got the house in the settlement. When you sold it, the prof—”

She made a derisive sound, then came to a full stop.

“Do you want me putting pieces together or do you want to tell me your version?” he asked evenly.

“It's not your business.”

“I'm making it my business. Let's say I want to know whom I'm dealing with. I can check public records. But—” he dropped one hand on the open page “—that'll waste time I otherwise could spend studying this.”

Her next words came reluctantly. “Eric had taken out a second mortgage plus other loans on the house. With income from the dealership falling… In the end, the sale barely covered the loans.”

“That's when he left?”

He saw her recognize that she might as well tell him; otherwise someone in town would. “He'd already left.”

It was that harpy, Jennifer…. Demanding this, demanding that. Drove the boy right into debt from the start.

He hadn't believed or disbelieved his father when Franklin said that. He hadn't cared whether it was true. He barely knew this woman. The child was a blood relation, sure, but he hadn't felt obligation to blood relations for a long time. Why concern himself with this mother and daughter now?

He swore mentally. Emphatically and repetitively.

Because he could ask himself logical questions from now until Super Bowl Sunday and it wouldn't change that he did feel an obligation.