In His Brother's Place (5 page)

Not since Justin had died.

“What’s Lucas up to?” he asked. “Will he be all right alone?”

“Lucas has dozed off. If he wakes up, he’ll know his way to the kitchen.” Angie measured cups of milk into a pan and turned the stove on low heat. The accidental brush of her hip against his sent a jolt of awareness through Jordan’s body.

“I wanted to thank you for helping with the dog,” she said. “Rudy may not look like much, but Lucas already loves him.”

Jordan lay the buttered sandwiches on the griddle. “Since he’s Lucas’s dog, that’s all that matters.”

“You’ve been exceptionally nice this afternoon.” Angie stirred the cocoa powder into the warming milk.

“Exceptionally?”
His hand caught the small of her back. The spoon clattered into the pan as he swung her around to face him. “I’m not a monster, Angie. I’m doing my best to make you and Lucas feel at home here.”

She made no effort to pull away. Her face was inches away from his own, her moist lips parted. The urge to taste those lips was more than Jordan could stand. His thumb caught the curve of her jaw, tilting her face upward. He could feel her racing pulse as he bent closer.

With a sharp breath, she backed away. Her face was flushed. “You’re about to burn the sandwiches,” she said, grabbing a spatula.

Jordan bit back an apology as she flipped the toasted bread in the nick of time. He wasn’t going to claim he was sorry for acting on something both of them wanted—and he was certainly experienced enough to know when a woman wanted to be kissed. Angie had given every sign of it. But he suspected her reason for backing off involved more than grilled cheese sandwiches.

“This has to be said, so I might as well say it now.” She’d gone back to stirring the cocoa. “I know we have...a history, Jordan, most of it bad. When Justin and I were engaged, you and your parents looked down on me and did everything you could to break us up. You even offered me money to leave him. Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? I’m not going to lie and say that there isn’t some chemistry here. But we can’t get involved—not if you expect me to stay. There’s too much baggage between us. Sooner or later it would get in the way.”

“Angie, I didn’t mean—”

“Let me finish. You brought me here because I’m Lucas’s mother. But I’m also the person responsible for Justin’s death. If I’d broken up with him, he’d still be alive. Remind yourself of that the next time you’re tempted to cross the line.”

The words slammed into Jordan like a shotgun blast. For the past four years Angie had carried that awful burden, blaming herself for Justin’s accident. She deserved to know the full story. But how could he tell her now, when the truth would drive her away? She would almost certainly take Lucas and leave. And she would never forgive him for what he’d done.

He wanted to say that he understood, even that he shared her guilt. But telling her would only make things worse.

The awkward silence between them was broken by Lucas, who came yawning into the kitchen. “I smell cocoa. Do you have marshmallows, Uncle Jordan?”

“Not this time, but I’ll add them to the shopping list.” Jordan put the sandwiches on a tray while Angie filled two mugs and a cup. They ate in front of the fireplace with darkness falling outside. A soft rain had moved in to patter against the windows.

It was nice— A little like being a family, Jordan thought. Except that he could feel the tension radiating from Angie, where she sat with Lucas nestled against her side. She’d been right, he knew. Taking up where they’d left off that night in his car would be a sure way to shatter their fragile truce and bring up the ugliness of the past. They could only move forward—as friends if they could manage it. If not, as adversaries.

But as lovers? No, it would never work. Not because he blamed her for his brother’s death—but because he blamed himself.

By the time they’d finished eating, Lucas had begun to nod off again. Angie rose and lifted him in her arms. “It’s early but I think he’s out for the night. I’m going to put him to bed.”

“You’re welcome to come back,” Jordan said.

She shook her head, as he’d known she would. “I’ve been away from my business all day and I’ve got lots of catching up to do.”

“Don’t work too late.” He rose and began gathering up the mugs and saucers. Without her and the boy, the room seemed too large, too quiet. Slipping on a light rain jacket he went outside and cleaned up the debris from the dog bath. Damned if it hadn’t been fun, with the mutt splashing around and the three of them laughing like crazy. He’d almost forgotten what fun—that kind of fun, at least—could be like.

That reminded him, he hadn’t called Whitney in days. For the past few months, he’d had an easy sexual relationship with the pretty blond socialite—a relationship he had no plans to make permanent. She was growing more possessive of late and more demanding in her needs—she wouldn’t be pleased that he’d gone nearly a week without calling. A phone call would pacify her...for now. Later, he’d figured out how to cool things down between them.

His fingers hesitated over the keys of his cell phone before he put the device back in his pocket. The call could wait until tomorrow. He’d be in town then. They could have a nice, uncomplicated lunch at
La Fonda.
She’d also be coming for his party this weekend, probably expecting to stay the night. With Angie here, that might prove awkward—another thing he’d need to deal with.

Restless, he glanced up at the second floor windows. Lucas’s room was dark, but Angie’s light was on. He imagined her bent over her keyboard, toiling into the night. There was no need for her to work—he’d told her that much. But he knew better than to try and stop her. Angie was a proud, independent woman, determined to earn her own way.

Years ago he’d dismissed her as a gold digger, scheming to get her hands on Justin’s money. He knew better now.

Wandering back inside, he spent some time going over the ranch books in his office. By the time he finished he was tired enough for bed.

He hadn’t heard so much as a whine from Rudy all evening. The mutt was probably too scared to make a peep. But it wouldn’t hurt to check the garage.

Jordan stepped out onto the patio. The rain had stopped, but the night air had taken on a distinct chill. Angie’s light was out. He imagined her curled in bed, her hair black silk against the pillowcase, her lips as soft as a child’s in sleep. Those lips had nearly been his downfall tonight, he reminded himself. If he wanted to keep Angie here, he would have to learn to treat her like a sister.

A short breezeway connected the patio to the rear of the garage. Jordan’s heart dropped as he approached the door. It stood partway open.

“Rudy?” Whistling softly, he took the flashlight from its bracket next to the door and shined it in all directions. He saw no sign of Lucas’s dog.

He forced himself to think clearly. There was no way for the mutt to get out of the patio area. Rudy had to be here somewhere.

Acting on a sudden hunch, he mounted the stairs to the balcony. Lucas’s room, which adjoined Angie’s, had its own outside door. Tonight it wasn’t locked.

Moving stealthily he opened the door. Lucas was sprawled under the covers, fast asleep. On the rug, Rudy raised an alert head. Jordan couldn’t be sure, but he fancied he heard a puppyish growl.

“It’s all right, boy. You keep your master safe.” Jordan felt an unaccustomed tug of tenderness. He’d never been fond of children. But this innocent little boy was already staking out territory in his heart.

Before closing the door, he shined the flashlight around the room. Everything was in order—clothes put away, books on the shelf, toys piled in the toy box. As Jordan moved the light beam toward the bed, something stopped him cold.

Justin’s face smiled at him from the framed photo on the nightstand.

Justin, the good brother. The beloved brother.
It was a sharp reminder that even though he was gone, Justin would always stand between Jordan and the family that could never be his.

Five

A
ngie had tried to argue her way out of attending Jordan’s party. But he’d turned a deaf ear to her protests. She and Lucas were family, he’d insisted. Keeping them hidden away would only spark nasty rumors. The sooner people learned the truth about their presence, the sooner they’d accept the situation—and Lucas. It would be better to face them at a party, when she knew they were coming, rather than running into them by chance.

He was probably right, she conceded as she surveyed her reflection in the mirror. If she faced his friends while she was ready—dressed for the part and prepared to charm—then she could control the impression she made. Her outfit—a simple black sheath, silver hoop earrings and bright red stilettos—made her look like she belonged. She knew how to dress for a party. Still, she couldn’t help feeling as if she were about to walk into a den of hungry lions. She didn’t fit in with Jordan’s crowd and probably never would. But for the sake of Lucas’s future, she had to try.

The party was an annual pre-holiday event. Most of the guests would be business associates, Jordan had told her. But there would be personal friends among them—some who’d known Justin and even a few who’d known
her.

Glancing out through the twilight she saw cars coming up the drive—Jaguars, Porsches, a red Maserati, a vintage Corvette and more, all reminders of her own lowly status. Maybe it wasn’t too late to disappear.

Jordan tapped lightly on her open bedroom door. “Ready?”

She turned to face him. “This is a mistake, Jordan. People are going to talk.”

“Let them.” He walked toward her. “After the first buzz, you’ll be old news. You look ravishing, by the way.”

Angie ignored the compliment. “You didn’t need to come up here. I’m perfectly capable of going downstairs by myself.”

“And hiding in the corner?” His eyebrow quirked. “I’m not about to sweep you under the rug, Angie. You deserve better and so does Lucas.”

Angie gulped back the nervous lump in her throat. “Speaking of Lucas, have you checked on him?”

“He’s in the den, watching movies with Carlos and Rudy. They’ve got pizza, popcorn, root beer, the works. If you don’t show up sooner, Carlos has instructions to tuck him into bed at nine.”

“Thank you,” Angie said, meaning it. One thing she and Jordan had agreed on—Lucas was not to be trotted out and put on display for the party guests. The news that Justin had left a son would cause enough buzz for now.

More than enough to stir up a beehive of wagging tongues,
Angie thought as they reached the top of the stairs. Only Jordan’s firm hand at the small of her back kept her from bolting.

By now most of the guests had arrived. About forty in number, they milled in the open space of the parlor, dressed in elegant evening clothes, nibbling hors d’oeuvres and sipping cocktails. Jordan had hired a catering service for the cocktails and light buffet, sparing his small household staff, but Marta was there, watching over her kitchen. The housekeeper had warmed to Lucas, but she still cast cold-eyed looks at Angie—as she’d likely be doing tonight.

Eyes swiveled upward as Angie and Jordan descended the curving staircase. The murmur of conversation died into silence. “Smile!” Jordan muttered under his breath. “You’re not going to a blasted funeral.”

Angie arranged her features into a confident mask. Her four-inch heels wobbled with every step. She clasped Jordan’s proffered arm. Even that small gesture would raise eyebrows, but it was better than risking a tumble.

They had reached the foot of the stairs. Plucking a flute of champagne from a passing tray, Jordan pressed the stem into her hand. She took a tiny sip, resolving to remain clear-headed for the entire evening.

“Chuck, this is Angie Montoya, my late brother’s fiancée.” Jordan introduced her to a middle-aged stranger, one of his employees. “She and their son are staying here at the ranch.”

So there it was, the unvarnished truth in two neat sentences. The bespectacled man murmured a polite greeting, appearing disinterested. Maybe Jordan had chosen him for practice.

Variations on the same theme were repeated with another half-dozen guests. Responses ranged from cold politeness to curiosity. Angie pulled Jordan aside. “I’m sure the word’s gotten around by now,” she whispered. “There’s no need for you to hover, Jordan. Go tend to your party.”

“You’ll be all right?”

“Just go.”

Angie stood alone next to the Georgia O’Keefe painting of white Datura blossoms. She took nervous sips of champagne, fighting the temptation to leave. That would be the coward’s way out. She needed to prove that she could stand up to this snobbish crowd on her own.

Her gaze scanned the room. She recognized a few people from her time with Justin; but most of the guests were strangers. A leggy blonde, elegantly clad in green silk jersey, had attached herself to Jordan’s arm. She was laughing, leaning against him as she balanced her drink in her free hand. Jordan appeared to be enjoying her company. Angie remembered the late-night call she’d made to him from her old apartment. When he’d answered his cell, she’d sensed he wasn’t alone. As she made the obvious connection, something hardened the pit of her stomach.

Was it jealousy?

Ridiculous!
She
shook her head. Jordan wasn’t her property. He’d had a life before tracking her down, and that hadn’t changed. Why should it?

“Angie? My God, it’s really you!” The speaker was a lanky, sandy-haired fellow who’d been a friend of Justin’s. She groped for his name. Travis? No, Trevor. That was it. Trevor Wilkins.

“It’s been a long time,” she said guardedly.

He moved close, looming over her. “You disappeared on us after Justin’s crash. I always wondered what happened to you.”

“What happened to me was my son. But if you’ve had your ears open tonight, you probably know that.”

“I did hear something to that effect. In any case, motherhood becomes you. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

Good grief, was the man hitting on her?
Angie edged backward against the corner of the fireplace. Trevor closed the space between them. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. Her gaze darted past his shoulder to where Jordan was standing with a cluster of his guests. He appeared to be lost in conversation, the striking blonde still draped against his side.

“You know, Angie, I always did have a thing for you,” Trevor was saying. “With Justin gone and Whitney, over there, staking her claim to Jordan, I was hoping you and I...”

“What I’d really like to do is catch up with the old crowd,” Angie said, grasping at any excuse. “Jordan said some of them would be here. Maybe you could walk me around the room to find them.”

“Sure. They’ll all be glad to see you again.” He offered his arm. “Maybe later, you and I could—”

“Later I have a three-year-old to take care of. For the present, the only man in my life is my son.”

* * *

As he watched Angie walk off on Trevor’s arm, Jordan felt a tightening in his gut. At first she’d looked as if she needed rescuing, but Trevor had evidently won her over. She was chatting away, looking perfectly happy.

And so damned sexy he wanted to fling her over his shoulder and carry her off to his bed.

Whitney was walking her manicured fingernails up the sleeve of his jacket in a silent demand for attention. The glamorous blonde had her charms, but her insistence on always being center stage was wearing on him. Ignoring her ploy, he tore his gaze away from Angie and forced himself to focus on what Len Hargrove, his firm’s longtime attorney, was trying to tell him.

“You didn’t ask me, Jordan, but my advice would be to take your time. Make sure the boy’s really Justin’s before you take any legal steps. For all you know, the mother could have cooked up this scheme to take advantage of your family.”

“Take advantage?” Jordan had to rein himself in to keep from decking the man. “She never contacted me at all—I’m the one who tracked her down. When I did, she showed me the door. She only agreed to come here after a gang fight broke out within shooting distance of her apartment. Is that what you’d call taking advantage?”

The lawyer frowned. “I can understand your sympathy for her. But shouldn’t you at least have a DNA test done?”

“To prove what I already know?”

“It never hurts to be sure.”

Jordan thought of Angie and how it would wound her if he demanded proof of Lucas’s paternity. “I
am
sure,” he said. “Everything adds up. The boy’s a Cooper. Case closed.”

“What does your mother have to say about all this?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Jordan felt a shadow of misgiving as he spoke. Sooner or later the issue of his mother would have to be faced. Meredith Cooper was in declining health, but she was of sound mind and still the legal head of the family. The future could hinge on her acceptance of Lucas—and Angie, whom she still blamed for Justin’s death. Since Jordan had vowed to spare her the truth about that tragic night, he’d be walking a tightrope.

That was the trouble with secrets. They had a way of surfacing right when they could do the most damage.

“Jordan, be a sweetie and steer me to a margarita. I’ve got a powerful thirst.” Whitney’s throaty voice broke into his thoughts. This time Jordan welcomed her demand. He’d gotten sucked into a conversation that should’ve taken place behind closed doors. Next time he met Len, he’d stick to a less volatile subject.

As he guided Whitney toward the bar, he caught a glimpse of Angie. She was standing on the far side of the room chatting with a cluster of their old friends. Jordan knew she’d been nervous about meeting them again, but she seemed to be managing fine.

Trevor’s hand rested possessively at the small of her back. The bastard hadn’t wasted any time making his move. But that was none of his business, Jordan reminded himself. Angie was her own woman. He had no right to dictate her personal life.

Leaning close, Whitney blew an alcohol-scented breath into his ear. She’d be expecting to stay the night, of course. But he wasn’t in the mood for going through the motions, which was all their relationship had amounted to lately. Freeing her to find someone else would be a kindness, Jordan told himself. But that didn’t mean it would be easy. He didn’t like hurting people. He’d done enough of that in the past.

Now, with Angie and Lucas here, that past was coming back to haunt him.

* * *

Angie woke with a start. After an instant’s confusion, she realized she was in the den on the sofa. The lighted digits at the base of the big-screen TV showed the time—11:25 p.m.

It all came back to her now—how she’d excused herself from the party at nine-thirty and gone to make sure Carlos had put Lucas to bed as instructed. She’d found the den dark, the TV turned off and the snacks cleared away.

After a long evening in high heels, her weary feet had demanded a rest. Kicking off her red stiletto pumps, she’d curled up among the cushions. She’d planned to return to the party in a few minutes. Instead, she’d fallen sound asleep.

Gathering her shoes, she tiptoed out of the room. The party was over, the house dark and quiet. The only sign of life was a faint light from the hallway that led to the master suite, where Jordan slept.

Resolving not to disturb him, Angie crossed the darkened parlor. She had just reached the staircase when a woman’s angry voice shrilled down the corridor.

“This isn’t about us, Jordan. It’s about
her!
I was watching you tonight! You couldn’t take your eyes off that cheap piece of trash!”

Angie froze as she realized the woman was talking about her.

“Keep your voice down, Whitney.” Jordan spoke in a calming tone. “Angie has nothing to do with this. I’m trying to do the right thing by my brother’s son. That’s all.”

“Ha! I heard the way you defended her to that lawyer. I was afraid you were going to punch him. That little
chiquita
is reeling you in, just like she did your brother!”

“That’s enough.” Jordan’s voice had dropped to a growl. “I’d advise you to go now before we say things we’ll both regret.”

“Fine! I’m going, and I won’t be back. But you’re a blind fool, Jordan. That girl will destroy you, just like she destroyed Justin!”

With those parting words, Whitney stormed into the hall, slamming the bedroom door behind her. Angie shrank into the shadows as the blonde woman charged past her and out the front door. Seconds later the roar of an engine and the squeal of tires faded into silence.

Angie hardly knew what to think as she processed everything she’d overheard. She knew that Jordan was attracted to her—that much had been perfectly clear. But the blonde woman had implied that it went much further than that—that he cared for her, that he
defended
her, that she truly mattered to him above and beyond her role as Lucas’s mother. Was it true?

Did it matter? She’d already decided that they couldn’t be together. The past was too much of an obstacle to overcome. Jordan would never be able to fully forgive her for what happened to Justin. And now she’d ruined things for him with his girlfriend, too.

Stumbling in tear-blinded haste, Angie started up the stairs.

“Angie?”

She turned. Jordan was standing below her, his face pale in the reflected light from the front porch. “You heard that?”

She nodded, wishing she could shrink to ant size and crawl under the nearest rug. “I never meant to. I’d fallen asleep in the den, and I was on my way back to my room.” She faked an unconvincing laugh. “Maybe we can pretend it was just a bad dream I had.”

“Come down here.” His voice sent a quiver through her body. Angie willed herself to move toward him. Pretending, she sensed, was no longer an option.

* * *

They stood face-to-face at the foot of the stairs. Even in the darkness Jordan could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

“This is all my fault,” she whispered. “I should never have come here.”

“None of what you heard was your fault. Whitney and I were headed for a breakup. It was just a matter of getting it over with.”