Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) (3 page)

“Finding my center,” she replies without irony, “I’ve told
you this—”

“No, I mean
here
. In this house,” I clarify, glancing
back at the mountain man in the doorway. “We can’t be staying here. Are we
renting a cabin somewhere nearby, or—?”

“What? No!” Robin laughs, “We are staying here, Anna. Didn’t
I remember to send you the address?”

“You did, but—It’s just—This house already appears to be
occupied,” I say pointedly, trying my best not to be rude to the man at my
mother’s shoulder. He looks like he could snap me in two without even breaking
a sweat.

My mom glances back at the bear of a man. “Well of course
it’s already occupied,” she tells me, “This is John’s home, after all! He’s
been nice enough to put me up during my stay here in Montana.”

I clench my teeth to keep my jaw from falling open. “Huh.
Well. You forgot to mention that particular detail,” I tell my mother.

For the last few months, I assumed my mom was renting a
place of her own out here, or living in a motel. She never once mentioned that
she was shacking up with someone. Let alone a man. But that’s Robin Porter for
you. No detail is too crucial for her to overlook.

“I was wondering why you looked so spooked before,” John
chuckles gruffly, offering his hand to me, “I’m John Hawthorne. An old friend
of your mom’s.”

“I’m Anna,” I reply, watching my hand get swallowed up by
John’s gigantic mitt, “If I’d known we were going to be your guests, I would
have worn fancier leggings.”

John lets out a bark of laughter, his bearded face breaking
into a smile, “No need to fancy yourself up for my sake. Just think of this as
your home away from home.”

As I watch, John’s hand lands lightly on my mother’s
shoulder and lingers there. She beams up at him, eyes glimmering with fondness.
Aha
. Perhaps “friendship” is too casual a word for what these two
actually have going on out here in the woods. Why am I not surprised? In the
years after dad died, our farmhouse became a veritable watering hole for mom’s
new boyfriends. She’s always been a rather liberated woman, and I always
respected her right to a little happiness in the wake of dad’s death. But it
wasn’t the easiest thing, having her fall into the arms of a dozen different
men while I tried to finish high school. At least this affair went down halfway
across the country.

“What’re we standing out here on the porch for? Come on in,”
John says, leading the way inside, “I’ll put your things in one of the guest
rooms and show you around the place.”

“Sophie will be here before long,” my mom tells me, as John
carries my backpack upstairs, “It’ll just be the four of us tonight. Maddie
won’t be here until tomorrow. And John’s boys are off camping in the woods
tonight, if you can believe it.”

“John’s
boys
?” I echo, trying to keep up with all
these revelations, “John has kids, too?”

“Yep! Three sons,” Mom says, reaching up to brush a lock of
hair out of my face, “They’re hardly kids, though. The youngest is a few years
older than you.”

“Oh?” I ask, the cogs of my mind spinning.

“In fact, you just missed meeting them,” she goes on, as
John appears at the top of the stairs, “The two younger ones just headed out a
few minutes ago. Hey, did you pass them on your way in? We told them to be on
the lookout for any pretty young women wandering around the woods.”

The stunning face of the brown-eyed stranger comes back to
me in a flash. Now that I think about it, he didn’t seem surprised to see me at
all. Perhaps because he was expecting to run into me. He wasn’t just some
random hiker passing through, he was John’s son! John’s insanely attractive,
mysteriously enticing, totally magnetic son who must have known full well I was
lying about being out on a photographic nature walk. All that bullshit about
the nasty old fucker who lived in this house was just to freak me out. What a
dick
.

And now, it sounds like we’re going to be housemates for the
next couple of weeks. This just keeps getting better and better.

“Ready to see the rest of the joint?” John asks, rubbing his
calloused hands together.

“Sure,” I say blankly. “Lead on.”

Even through the din of my warring reactions, I still feel a
vast appreciation for how beautiful this house really is. Every single detail
has been hand-picked, and in many cases hand-crafted. Sleek mid-century decor
offsets the rustic feel of the architecture, lending the house a cool,
sophisticated touch while still feeling cozy and remote. A door off the kitchen
leads to a back patio, and a long dock reaches out into the clear lake across
the grassy backyard.

“Did you really build this place yourself?” I ask John,
taking in the view from the patio with awe.

“Well, me and my crew did,” he chuckles, “I own a
construction firm here in town. Started it up about the time my youngest boy
Finn was born.”

Finn
. That’s the name of my new tormentor, then. Finn
Hawthorne.

Christ, even his name is sexy as hell. Why is it always the
total assholes who get all the sex appeal in the genetic lottery?

“You must be hungry,” Mom says, trying to tow me back into
the kitchen, “Why don’t I fix you something?”

“I’m fine,” I tell her, planting my feet, “Really. I’m just
gonna take a look around the property. Get my bearings.”

“OK,” my mom chirps, looping her arm around John’s waist,
“Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me!”

I smile tightly as they walk back into the house, closing
the patio door behind them.
Actually
, I want to call after my mom,
this
is the first time I’ve known where to find you in months.
But there’s no
use trying to make her understand. The second I try to talk about my mom’s
problematic behavior, she goes into full defensive mode. I learned very early
on that there’s no forcing Robin Porter to act like an adult—or a mother, for
that matter. What’s the point of trying now?

Forcing myself to take deep, steadying breaths, I bound down
the patio steps and head off across the grassy lawn. I’ve promised to visit for
two weeks. I can’t go losing my shit on day one, now can I? My sisters will be
here before long, and my duties as peacekeeper will be in very high demand.
Might as well enjoy a moment of peace before this place becomes a veritable war
zone of family tensions. Happy summer vacation to me!

Chapter Two

I’m sitting cross-legged at the end of the dock, resting after
a long afternoon of tromping through the woods. I give my head a roll back and
forth on my shoulders, breathing in the cool breeze skimming across the lake.
Savoring the last few moments before the family feud kicks into high gear.
Right on cue, I hear the patio door open with a clatter, my mom’s enthusiastic
voice carrying out across the lawn as she babbles on happily. Glancing over my
shoulder, I spot a lithe, graceful figure stepping out on to the deck, a
shimmer of caramel blonde hair.

My middle sister, Sophia, has arrived.

There was a time, not too long ago, when a reunion with
Sophie would be cause for giddy, irrepressible excitement. With only two years
separating us in age, Sophie and I were inseparable for most of our childhood.
She was my first best friend, my constant confidant, my soul mate…That is,
until she entered the moody crucible of her teenage years with me right on her
heels.

The last couple of years we spent under the same roof,
before she went away to college, were fraught with sisterly dramatics. And
since Sophie’s barely spent any time at home since Dad died, we haven’t really
had a chance to rebuild our relationship. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ve
forgiven her for staying away during these last three years. With mom going to
pieces, I needed an ally in that house—not to mention a shoulder to cry on. But
there’s no changing the past, and certainly no use dredging it up. With a sigh,
I pull myself to standing and head on up to greet my sister.

“
Oh look!
” Mom chirps, as I approach
the back patio “Here comes your sister!”

Sophie spins around to face me, her gold-flecked blue eyes
are wide mirrors to my own. Her lovely, sculpted face—usually pulled into an
expression of cool skepticism—is open and searching as she lays eyes on me. For
a moment, I feel the urge to rush up and give her a giant bear hug. I’m taller
than her these days, but I’m sure her strong dancer’s arms could pick me up and
whirl me around, just like when we were kids.

If only reconciling could be that easy.

“
Look, Anna! Sophie
’
s
here!” Robin exclaims, flapping her hands excitedly.

“Yeah. I see that, Mom,” I tell her, tamping down my
expectations for a happy reunion as I walk up onto the deck. “What
’
s up, Soph?
” I ask my sister.

“Not too much,” she replies evenly, “Just got in.”

An awkward pause rises up between us as we take each other
in. Every time I see Sophie, she looks more composed, more poised. More like an
adult, I guess. She’s going into her final year of acting school at Sheridan
University, here in Montana. Sophie’s always been the performer in our family,
and the most conventionally gorgeous of us three girls. She’s an insanely
talented actor and dancer, and I have no doubt that she’ll be able to make a
life for herself in the performing arts. To be honest, her artistry inspired me
more than anything as I took up photography. Everyone assumes that I take after
my mom that way, being a visual artist and all. But Sophie was my hero growing
up, not my mother. I wonder if my sister has any idea.

“Why don
’
t you show your sister around
the place?” Robin says to me, restarting the conversation with a jolt.

“Sure,” I reply as Mom takes her leave of us, “
No problem.
”

As Robin disappears into the lake house, Sophie launches
into gossip-mode.

“So, what
’
s the deal with that?” my
sister asks conspiratorially, nodding at our mother.

“What, Mom and John?” I reply, crossing my arms, “You
’
re asking the wrong person. I didn’t even know she was staying
with him until I got in from Vermont.”

“You mean she didn’t even tell you?” Sophie exclaims, taking
a step toward me, “But…you guys still live in the same house!”

“Eh. Nominally,” I dodge, not wanting to upset my sister by
getting into the specifics of Mom’s disappearance. “I stopped trying to keep
track of her years ago. It
’
s better to just let her do her
own thing. You know she
’
s going to anyway.”

“Christ. You sound more like the mother than she does,”
Sophie observes, her smooth brow furrowing in sisterly worry. 

“
Well,
” I say wryly, “Someone has to be
the mom in our relationship, right?”

A disquieted look comes over Sophie’s beautiful face. But is
it compassion or guilt she feels over my predicament with Mom? Somehow, neither
option is satisfying to me. I don’t want her guilt, and I certainly don’t want
her pity. I guess what I want, more than anything, is for her to have been
there for me after Dad died.

For us to have been there for each other.

“So, you want to see this place or what?” I say quickly,
swallowing the sudden knot that rises in my throat at the thought of our
father.

“Oh. Uh. Sure,” Sophie says, following me into the house,
“Might as well.”

I lead Sophie through the cursory tour I just received from
John, making small talk about the decor and architecture. As we walk down the
long upstairs hallway towards Sophie’s guest room, I can’t help wondering what
it’s going to be like around here when all these bedrooms are filled. In no
time at all, I’ll be staying under the same roof as Finn Hawthorne…and his big
brothers, I guess, though it’s Finn who looms large in my imagination.

“So…Where are these sons I
’
ve heard
about?” Sophie suddenly asks, in a moment of what must be pure telepathy.

“I barely caught a glimpse of them when I got here this
morning,” I tell her, plopping down on the bed with what I hope looks like
nonchalance, “The two younger ones are off camping tonight. They
’
re
getting back tomorrow afternoon. And the oldest one hasn
’
t
even shown up yet.”

“What are they like?” Sophie asks eagerly, sitting down
beside me.

“Tough to say,” I reply, “They
’
re
pretty quiet. Barely said a word to me before they left,” and before I can stop
myself, I add, “Real hot though.”

“Oh yeah?” Sophie laughs, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I say quickly, letting my hair fall across my face
to obscure any blush that might be rising there. What am I saying? By the looks
of it, Robin and John are something of an item. I can’t go getting all hot and
bothered about Finn if that’s the case. That would just be
weird
. But
now that I’ve swiftly changed the subject, it seems that Sophie and I are out
of things to talk about. And for some reason, that makes me unaccountably
upset. 

“So… How has your gap year been so far?” Sophie offers,
trying to reboot our talk.

“You really don
’
t have to do that,” I
snap, surprising myself.

“Do what?” Sophie asks, taken off guard.

“Make small talk with me,” I clarify, “I
’
m
your sister, not your dentist.”

“Well, you
’
re not really giving me an
opening Anna,” my sister says frankly, stoking my temper even more, “I
’
m just trying to—”

“
Look,
” I cut her off, “Things are
going to be weird between us, Sophie. It
’
s inevitable. I
just wish you wouldn
’
t try to muscle through it. You
’
re supposed to be the one other Porter woman who
’
s
as allergic to bullshit as I am, right?”

A wicked glint sparkles in Sophie’s eye. I can feel the
artifice falling away from our conversation as we fall back into our roles as
partners in crime.

“What,” she replies gamely, “You don
’
t
want me to puke rainbows and butterflies all over you like Mom does?”

“Or obsess about saying the perfect thing at the perfect
time to the point of insanity, like Maddie,” I add. 

This draws a peal of bell-like laughter from my middle
sister. Maddie, the oldest Porter girl, was always the butt of our childhood
pranks. She and our dad Archie were inseparable, even after she went away to
college when I was thirteen. But when Dad died, she only put more distance
between herself and the rest of her family. In a way, joking about her like
this is me and Sophie’s way of keeping her close.

“Just be real with me, Sophie,” I continue, raising my eyes
to hers, “Isn
’
t that what your fancy drama school is
supposed to be teaching you how to do?”

“
Sure, onstage,
” she chuckles, “Real
life is far more complicated.”

“Tell me about it,” I mumble, flopping down onto my back.

Sophie lays down beside me, turning to face me on the
pillow. “For real then. How are you actually doing, Annabel?”

“For real? Better, lately,” I tell her honestly, “Being out
of that hell hole of a high school has helped.”

“
No kidding,
” she smiles, “That place
couldn
’
t handle you, anyway.”

“It
’
s more that I was bored stiff by
the end,” I reply, “The whole thing just felt so…irrelevant, after Dad…”

“Yeah,” Sophie says, her voice growing soft, “
I
don’
t know how I would have faked giving a shit about prom and college
applications and whatever, after losing him.”

“You
’
re lucky,” I tell her, “You got to
go off and study something you actually cared about. Imagine trying to sit
through abstinence-only sex ed while your entire world was being blown apart.”

“
Good lord,
” she groans, bringing her
palm to her forehead, “They
’
re still doing abstinence
only? Are they out of their minds?”

“Just very, very repressed,” I reply, “How did we get stuck
in the only conservative bubble in Vermont, I ask you?”

“Just lucky I guess,” she laughs, shaking her head, “But you
’
re free now, right?”

“Right. And since Mom
’
s been away
playing Backwoods Barbie, I
’
ve had the farmhouse to
myself, too.”

I decide to spare her the darker aspects of my solitary life
in Vermont. The anxiety, the loneliness, the anger at being left to fend for
myself. We don’t need to get into that on the first day of vacation, if ever.
This rare moment of peace between us is too precious to interrupt.

“I
’
m really glad you decided to come
out here, Soph,” I tell her.

“Me too,” she smiles, “Even taking Mom
’
s
little surprise into account. I really needed to get off campus for a second,
myself.”

“How come?”

“Oh, just some boring boy trouble…” she says, trying to wave
my question away.

“Go on…” I push her, wanting to hear more about her
mysterious college life.

“
Well,
” she begins, giving in, “I may
have gone and gotten myself a little crush on one of my teaching assistants…”

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” I nod.

“And I may have made out with him in the bathroom of a bar
on the last night of classes,” she adds.

“Uh huh. Still follows.”

“And I may be having a little trouble thinking about
anything but how much I want to jump his bones,” she gushes, flopping
dramatically onto her back.

“Damn,” I remark, “
I don’
t think I
’
ve ever seen you hung up on a guy like this.”

“That
’
s because he
’
s
not just any guy,” she says earnestly, “Seriously, Anna. This dude is perfect.
He
’
s smart, and gorgeous, and he stands up for the right
thing no matter what. And you should see the size of his—”

“OK, OK,” I cut in quickly, “I get the picture. He
’
s perfect. But if you
’
re so nuts about
him, what
’
s the problem? I
’
ve never
known you to hold back on going after whatever guy struck your fancy.”

“It
’
s different with him,” she says, “I
’
m used to guys falling all over themselves for a chance to get
in my pants. I
’
ve never had to work at snagging one
before. But his guy? He
’
s…harder to get a read on, I
guess.”

“Maybe now you
’
ll know what it feels
like to be a mere mortal, where men are concerned, now that your sex goddess
jig is up,” I tease her. A fresh wave of disappointed frustration rises up in
me as I remember Finn Hawthorne’s indifference this afternoon. He looked at me
like I was a little kid. A plaything. And I’m sure that meeting me for real in
the context of this vacation isn’t going to make matters any better.

“You should talk,” Sophie says, looking me up and down,
“Have you seen yourself lately? When the hell did you get drop dead gorgeous?”

“Changing the subject, are we?” I laugh, pleased by the
compliment all the same. “Fine. But if you need to unburden your aching
heart…Make sure to find another sounding board. I can
’
t
stand that mushy shit.”

“There
’
s the Anna I know and tolerate,”
Sophie says, giving me a shove off the bed.

“
At your service,
” I grin, bowing
theatrically for her benefit, “Now, if you
’
ll excuse me,
this welcome wagon has reached the end of its line.”

I head down the hallway to my own room. There’ll be plenty
of time for sisterly bonding over the next couple of weeks. Right now, all I
want is a little alone time to upload my latest batch of photos and lose myself
in editing them. Anything to get my mind off the impending return of the
Hawthorne brothers. This house may be gigantic, but I still can’t imagine how
it’s going to hold not one, but
two
families of four. Not without some
sort of incident, that is. Between Sophie’s quick temper, Maddie’s
perfectionism, Robin’s flakiness, and my bluntness, I don’t imagine the Porter
women are going to be the easiest of houseguests. I wonder what flaws and
idiosyncrasies the Hawthorne men will add to the combustible
mix?