Just Give In… (8 page)

“Not a single one, but all that’s going to change.” Austen met her eyes, and she saw the determination there. Romantic and fool-hardy. Brooke found herself liking her brother more and more.

“So tell me what you’re doing now?” Brooke asked, and for the next half hour, Austen told her about his life. He talked about his job for the railroad commissioner, helping out on her campaign for governor and keeping an eye on construction of the new rail line through the town. He bragged about Gillian’s contributions to the town, he talked about Tyler and his surgical advances in New York, but not a word about the house on Orchard Lane, or Frank Hart. No questions about Charlene Hart at all, which was probably for the best since Brooke didn’t like to speak ill of her mother. Brooke had lied to her brother once, and she wasn’t happy about the idea of lying again.

“Now that you’ve heard the Austen Hart saga, how about you? When I saw you in New York, you were getting married, too, weren’t you?”

Sadly, Brooke shook her head. “It wasn’t meant to be.” True love couldn’t be bought or rented for two hundred dollars an hour. “I think we were at different places in our lives. Different dreams. Different goals.” Peter, her pretend fiancé had wanted her to pay for a cozy hotel suite at the Plaza. Brooke merely wanted to make a good impression on her brothers.

Gillian nodded. “I know. You can’t fill out some application and get love made to order. You fall when you fall.”

Her mother clucked her tongue, then began clearing away the dishes. “I knew Junior was all wrong for you.”

After her mother bustled from the kitchen, Gillian looked at Brooke apologetically. “I’d love to have you bunk here, but we’re overflowing as it as. Mom and Dad moved in with me a few years ago, and they have the guest room, and Austen takes the couch, and I can’t ask you to sleep on the floor. Once the construction on the new house is finished, we’ll move in there and let Mama and Daddy take over this place. Hopefully they won’t decide to give this one away, either.”

“I wasn’t expecting to intrude…” Brooke started, but then Gillian interrupted.

“There’s a nice little hotel just down the road. The Spotlight Inn. Tell Delores you’re family, and she’ll treat you right.”

Brooke thought of the fifty dollars in her pocket and wondered if the family discount would be enough. Better to save her money for more important things. Like gas, or food. Not wanting to complain, she managed a smile. “The Spotlight Inn sounds lovely. I’ll check in tonight.”

I
T WAS THIRTY MINUTES
of courteous chit-chat, before Gillian found the opportunity to drag her fiancé into the living room, without seeming rude.

“Now, Austen,” Gillian said, using her most patient voice. She loved this man dearly, but at some point in their relationship, he would need to start telling her things. “I know you think I’m just some dizzy-headed blonde, in spite of the fact that I’m the duly elected sheriff of this town, and have spent the last five years keeping it afloat. Not that any of that is important, mind you, because I would be a very small-minded woman if I let such thoughts wound my pride. However, during the last seven months we’ve been together, we’ve made sacred promises to each other. We are to be married in a mere forty-five days because we have created a relationship based on trust and honesty. And yes, you have explored my body more intimately than any gynecologist ever could. As such, I am deserving of the truth. A sister? Sweetie, as far as deep, dark secrets of your past, a sister is the least of your concerns. A sister is family, a blood relation, a woman who shared your mother’s womb.”

Austen’s face squared into what Gillian termed his stubborn look. “I didn’t grow up with her, Gillian. She cruised some all-American life, and yes, we share some DNA, but she’s pretty much a stranger. I don’t know squat about her.”

Glancing toward the closed door to the kitchen, Gillian was glad she had insisted on extra insulation for the house, but since she didn’t believe in leaving anything to chance, she set her voice to a whisper. “And you won’t know anything unless you talk to her.”

“You’re going to make me do this?”

“Don’t you want a sister?”

“No. I have one brother, and it took me nearly twenty-five years to understand that one. Besides,” he grabbed her hand and his eyes went all dark and moonstruck, “you’re my family, Gilly. You’re my heart, my soul, my blood. How am I supposed to have room in my heart for anyone else?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Romantic talk will not relieve you of your familial obligations. Why, if you gave her half a chance, you might end up liking her.”

Austen glanced at the door, glanced at Gillian, then sighed. “All right, but did you see the car? She’s got money, her stepfather was some save-the-world preacher and, Mom—goddammit, Mom turned into one of those mothers who makes homemade soup and wears aprons.”

And then Gillian understood. On the outside, Austen was some big macho doofus, but on the inside, he was just a little boy who’d had his mother stolen away. She wrapped her arms around him, soothing wounds that would never heal. “Your mother left the best part of the Hart family behind.”

“Except for Frank.”

“Except for Frank, but in spite of your mother’s bad decision-making skills, I don’t think Brooke has had such an easy time of it.”

He pressed a warm kiss on her hair. “You’re just saying that to make me like her.”

“Did you see her boots?”

“No.”

“Austen, those boots looked like something the dogs had chewed up and spit out. She needs a family. She needs a brother. She needs a home.”

“You know all this because of your top-notch investigative skills?”

Gillian smiled. “Call it women’s intuition.”

He laughed, slid a familiar hand down her backside and squeezed. “What’s your women’s intuition telling you now?”

Her hips moved forward in a frankly provocative invitation, but true love would not be denied. “Sneak into my room later, and we’ll discuss it in extensive detail.”

Austen heaved an extravagant sigh. “Tell me that someday we’ll be able to share a bed for the entire night. It’s like I’m sixteen all over again.”

She patted the Texas Longhorn beneath his fly and then moved away, before they were doing it on the sofa again. Having herself, her parents and Austen all living under one roof was a painful exercise in delayed sexual gratification, but Gillian knew that once they were married, these days of stolen quickies and shared showers would be behind her.

Before she could leave the living room, Austen snagged her by the waist and pulled her close for a deep kiss.

T
HE WEEKEND PASSED
like the world’s longest hangover but Jason hadn’t touched a drop. Normally, he lost himself in the art of repair, or a drive to San Angelo where he would inspect the scrap yards for whatever caught his eye. Or maybe he would call his father, say hello to the old man and listen to him rail about the Orioles or his property tax bill or his most recent trip to the doc.

Not this time.

It weighed on Jason’s conscience, not knowing that she was okay. He had assumed the worst about her, and he’d been wrong. Now she was back out there alone.

He was a moron.

His conscience wasn’t going to shut up until he knew she was sleeping safely under somebody’s roof. Somebody that wouldn’t take advantage of her—like he had, he reminded himself, which only made his conscience holler more.

By Monday morning, he spurred himself to action. For Jason this meant driving into town and wandering aimlessly until he could discover some answers.

It took him thirty-seven minutes to discover that he wasn’t a good aimless wanderer, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t do casual.

Blame it on the military.

At the Hinkle’s, he picked up some eggs and milk. At Zeke’s Auto Garage he ordered a new air filter. At Dot’s, he bought himself a cup of coffee, and read the
Tin Cup Gazette.
After reading a four-page account of the Friday night bingo game where Father Louis banned Emmaline Herzog for cheating, Jason remembered why he didn’t like the
Tin Cup Gazette.

Once his cup of coffee was empty, he took a long, hard look at his purchases, and donated the milk and eggs to Dot. In the future, he would know that perishables were the last to be bought, not the first.

At the First National Bank and Trust, he opened another safety deposit box, walking away with a brand-new coffee maker as part of some promotional event. The library had a closed sign in the window, so he proceeded to the town hall to find out if he had any unpaid parking tickets.

For six freaking hours, Jason wandered the four streets that made up downtown Tin Cup, in the process learning several things. Brooke’s brother was not getting coffee or buying groceries or cashing a check at the bank or chatting with the sheriff at the Town Hall. If Brooke’s brother was going to turn unsociable, why did he have to pick this day to start?

But then, as the afternoon sun was starting to fade, Jason finally spotted the elusive Austen Hart exiting the post office.

Jason plotted his strategy, deciding that if he walked east on Main, backtracked up 17, he could probably duck into the feed store and bump into Hart on the way out.

Everything worked exactly right. Jason exited the store, taking a position in front of Hart, then halting abruptly.

“Whoa, sorry. You okay?” the man asked after he’d run into Jason, which was what Jason wanted, but he still felt like a moron. Oh, yeah, because he was.

Absently, Jason rubbed his shoulder, which didn’t hurt, but at least it was something to do. “Fine.” Then he scanned the streets, frowning. “You know where I could get a twelve-volt battery?”

Austen laughed. “Not here.” He held out his hand, one of those good ole boy sort of shakes. “Austen Hart.”

“Jason Kincaid. I don’t get into town much. You live around here?”

“At my fiancée’s house for the moment. I own a place that should’ve been condemned by the county. It’s going to take some time to fix. You?”

“Five miles west on County Road 163.”

“The old Hinkle place? That property runs up to mine. That’s you?”

At Jason’s nod, Hart continued, a lot chattier than Jason could ever be. “We’re neighbors. After we get it fixed up, we’ll have you over, throw some steaks on the grill.”

“We?” Jason asked, taking the opening, running with it. “You have family here?”

“Gillian’s my fiancée. She’s the sheriff,” Hart answered, which wasn’t what Jason had hoped to hear.

“Nice to have connections.”

“Sometimes I speed, just so she can cuff me,” Hart said with a friendly laugh.

The man was easy to like, knew how to converse with anybody, but he said nothing about Brooke. Jason racked his brain for impromptu conversation, but Dog’s limited vocabulary skills meant that Jason was out of practice. “Not a big town. You grew up here?”

“Me and my brother. Don’t believe what you hear. Long story.”

Another opening. Steer it back to the family.

“You know, I would’ve killed to have a brother. It was me and my little sister, and she was always tailing after me. Eventually she grew out of it, but not soon enough. Know what I mean?” The story wasn’t true. Jason had five brothers and one sister, Sara, who was still in Baltimore. Sara had never followed any of the Kincaid brothers around, but creating some sort of friendly rapport was Jason’s last shot at interrogation. At first he thought he’d blown it, but then Hart nodded like he agreed.

“It’s good you know your sister. Mine just showed up on my doorstep this week. Up until last year, we didn’t even know she existed. Now that she’s here, I’m as clueless as a pig wearing a watch.”

At least that was some progress. Jason shot him a sympathetic look. “Families are a true pain in the ass. That’s why you’re in town? Escaping all that estrogen at your fiancée’s?”

Hart shook his head. “Brooke—that’s my sister—isn’t staying with us. The house is packed as it is, so Brooke took a room at the Spotlight. The inn’s not real fancy, but at least this way she gets her own bed and doesn’t have to wait in line for the shower. Mornings are killer at the Wanamaker house.”

Jason smiled stupidly, but inside he was seething. He knew that Brooke wasn’t at the Spotlight Inn. No, she’d be homesteading it in her car, parked on some desolate part of the highway, a target for overzealous cops or where serial killers could happen upon her.

After a fast check at his watch, Jason pretended to be rattled, not hard since he was still seeing red. “Look at that! Four o’clock. Time flies, doesn’t it. Listen, it was great to meet you. I’ll see you around.”

With that, Jason set out on a search-and-rescue mission. Hopefully Brooke would see things in a practical manner and come home.

Probably not. Bring the heat, bring the stupid. It was the Army way.

B
ROOKE DIDN’T WANT
to be happy to see the Captain. She didn’t want to be relieved when his truck popped into view, but she was. When she watched his long body climb out of the cab, she felt a heavy weight lift from her shoulders.

Weakness and knotted muscles, nothing more,
she told herself, still mad that he’d misjudged her. It wasn’t relief, but the heat of the sun making her dizzy. As he approached her car, she schooled her features into appropriate disapproval.

The Captain opened the driver’s-side door and scowled. “You could have come back.”

Brooke snorted. “I’m the crazy lady, remember? The flaky little nympho who chases men across the country because I looove them.”

The scowl deepened. “I’m sorry.”

“Your apologies would mean a lot more if you didn’t keep screwing up. You should move back from the door. You’re blocking my view.”

“Why didn’t you tell your brother you couldn’t afford the hotel?”

“Would you tell your family that you couldn’t afford a hotel? Would you tell your family if there was a problem? And don’t even think about lying to me, because I know you better than that.”