Matt—The Callahan Brothers (Brazos Bend Book 2) (11 page)

That got Branch’s attention. He sent the brothers away, splitting them up geographically and cutting their purse strings. At the time, they thought he’d abandoned them entirely, but in fact, he’d kept a distant eye on them. They’d learned to sink or swim on their own, and the experience, tough as it was, had made a man of each of them.

They all hated their father for what at the time seemed like cruelty, but as they matured, the Callahan men began to mellow. Matt thought they probably would have reconciled if not for the screw-up that cost their youngest brother, John, his life.

With that memory on his mind, Matt’s tone was sharp as he snapped, “Can’t you shut him up?”

“He’s a friendly dog. Hunker down and let him get to know you. That’ll calm him down.”

Matt stayed where he was. “He doesn’t need to get to know me. I won’t be here long.”

Rather than respond to that, Branch managed to bend down and scoop the dog into his arm. Addressing the animal, he spoke in a calm voice. “This is Matthew, Paco. I’ve told you all about him. He’s the only one of my boys who’s moved home to Brazos Bend. We don’t get to see him much because he travels a lot protecting our country.”

The dog quieted as Matt smothered a sigh. He hadn’t moved to Brazos Bend. He kept an apartment in Virginia. Though he could count on both hands the nights he’d spent there in the past three years, it remained his permanent address. If he took the desk job he’d been offered, he’d probably buy a house.

“Come on in, son. It’s afternoon snack time. I think the Garzas baked Snickerdoodles.”

“It’s after five. You’re having Snickerdoodles instead of scotch?”

Branch patted the left side of his chest. “It’s the ticker. Doc limits me to one drink a day.”

So he substituted fat and calorie-laden cookies for booze? Matt doubted that’s what Branch’s doctor had in mind.

But that was none of his business, was it?

“I’m not staying. I was in town on an errand—I thought I’d drive by and say hello. I have to get back to the vineyard. Les has a list of chores for me a mile long.”

At mention of his partner, Branch’s expression went mulish. “I can’t believe you let that damned grape farmer run roughshod over you. He wouldn’t have anything if not for you.”

The anger that bubbled up inside Matt had been aged like fine Bordeaux. “I wouldn’t be alive if not for him,” he lashed out. “I guess that gives Les one up in my book. Always will. He was there for me when you weren’t and don’t you forget it because I never will.”

His father took it like a fist to the chin. He closed his eyes and cuddled his pet closer, his expression stricken. The tension in the air caused the dog to whimper.

Matt’s mouth settled in a grim line. He felt like a heel. “I don’t know why I even try to do this. Every time I come here, it’s the same crap. I shouldn’t come.”

“No, you’re right.” Branch set the dog on the ground, then drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “I screwed up with you boys after your mother died and we all know it. I’m trying to make amends, son, if only you and your brothers will let me.”

Amends? That was easier said than done. Way easier. “It isn’t as simple as amends, Dad. What you did to us as kids—maybe we needed that. But what happened afterward ... with John ...” Matt raked his fingers through his hair. “There’s a lot of anger.”

Branch Callahan’s voice broke as he said with wonder in his tone, “You called me Dad.”

Matt bit back a curse. He was fumbling for something to say when his phone rang. Checking the screen, he recognized Mark’s number. Good. “Excuse me, Branch. I have to take this. I’ll ... uh ... see you later.”

He stepped around to the driver’s side of his truck and brought the cell phone to his ear. “Whatcha got?”

“More than you probably want to know. Are you somewhere you can talk?”

Matt’s gaze flickered toward his father, who had turned and was shuffling his way up the walk. He looked old, Matt realized. Old and sad with nothing but a purse pet and the Garza sisters to keep him company. Matt swallowed the lump of guilt and regret in his throat and muttered, “You don’t want to know where I am.”

After a beat, Mark snapped, “Damn. You’re at his house, aren’t you? You’re just a cliché, a glutton for punishment. Don’t get caught up in his schemes, bro. He’s playing on your sympathies, isn’t he? Trying to make you feel sorry for him. Trying to worm his way back into your life. He’s been halfway successful with Luke. Don’t you dare let him do the same thing to you.”

“He’s bought a lapdog, Mark. A lapdog! He’s an old man with a bad hip, a cane, and a purse pet. I can’t help but think that one of these days he’s going to drop dead and ...”

“And what? None of us will be there to cry over his corpse? Serves him right.”

Matt shut his eyes. Frustration made his voice tight. “Let’s not talk about Branch. Do you have information for me?”

Mark Callahan paused a moment before laughing softly. Hearing it, Matt knew he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

“Your bird hasn’t used her credit card since leaving California. However, she did buy a milk shake at the Dairy Princess, and she asked Kathy to recommend a good place to stay.”

Matt closed his eyes. “A place to stay?”

“She’s checked into Cottonwood Cottage Bed and Breakfast. She’s rented a room for a week.”

“You lie.”

“I called Kathy Hudson to get an accurate view of what was happening in Brazos Bend.”

The owner of the Dairy Princess was the pulse of Brazos Bend. If Kathy said it, it was true. Torie Bradshaw was still in town.

Matt dropped his chin and banged his head on the steering wheel. Maybe he should have defected to the Russians when they asked.

Chapter Six

Torie stood at the second-floor bedroom window and gazed with delight at the scene taking place along the roadside across from Cottonwood Cottage B and B. On this beautiful spring evening with the sky painted a dusty rose, three couples had plunked their young children and toddlers into the ocean of blooming bluebonnets to pose for photographs. Her artist’s eye framed the shots she’d take, and driven by an urge to escape into innocence, she grabbed both her camera bag and her dog and headed downstairs.

“Ms. Bradshaw?” the B and B’s manager called out. “I’m sorry, but I forgot to return your driver’s license when you checked in.” Giving a little laugh, she added, “All that cash distracted me. I can’t recall the last time a guest paid their bill in cash.”

“No problem.” Torie pocketed the license, then explained with a smile, “I’m weaning myself off credit cards. I learned they can be evil things.”

It was the same excuse she’d used as she traveled across the country. She’d made it a point to stay at independently owned bed-and-breakfasts. They all asked to see identification at check-in, but she’d decided the risk of using her own name was minimal, since it wouldn’t go in any database. Besides, she’d signed everything “Vicky Bradshaw”—a name she’d never used in her life.

It was a decent compromise, she decided, and since she’d had no false identity documents lying around, she hadn’t exactly had a choice.

Outside, she captured some great candid shots of Mom and Dad trying to pose their squiggling kids. After deflecting some suspicious stares by focusing on Gigi as a model—the sweet pea was such a ham—she got the shots she wanted when a towheaded toddler decided playing with a puppy was more fun than sitting still.

The boy’s parents introduced themselves as Janice and David Williams. Torie responded, naming herself Vicky Bradshaw. “Ryan is our first,” the young mother told Torie. “My plan is to take a bluebonnet picture every year until he graduates high school. I want a collage that’s a little different from the usual school pictures.”

“That’s a great idea.” Torie grinned at the playful boy and tail-wagging dog, grateful that Gigi was tolerant of children. When the boy dropped down on his diapered behind and Gigi climbed into his lap and laved his giggling face with her own brand of kisses, Torie shifted into professional mode, excited by what she was seeing in her camera lens.

“You look like you know your way around that fancy camera,” David Williams observed.

Torie lowered her Hasselblad. “I’m a professional photographer.”

“Oh? Jim Barker has added help at his studio?”

From that, Torie gathered that Jim Barker had the only studio in town. “No, I’m just visiting in the area. I work freelance.”

“That’s interesting.” Janice’s eyes lit with curiosity. “How does it work? Are you hired to take certain sorts of pictures or is it the other way around? You take pictures and then you sell them?”

“It’s usually a combination of both,” Torie explained. “Even when I’m on assignment, I’ll take photos that interest me. I have a list of regulars who often buy my stuff. In fact, I know of a travel magazine that would probably take one of these of your Ryan. Would you be willing to sign a release?”

“You mean, to get Ryan’s picture in a magazine?” his mother asked.

“What would it cost us?” his father added with a frown.

“Nothing.” Torie smiled her reassurance. “I’ll give you copies of the photos, of course.”

Janice Williams’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Our Ryan in a magazine? How exciting! We’ll be happy to sign a release.”

While Torie pulled the form from her bag, Janice peppered her with more questions. Torie basked in the woman’s admiration. It felt good to be appreciated for a change. Only when the woman asked what brought her to Brazos Bend did Torie hesitate.

She certainly couldn’t announce that she was hiding from a stalker. This was a small town. She’d already been asked the question twice. She’d faded it with the Dairy Princess woman and the manager at the B and B, but now she obviously needed some kind of cover for her time in Brazos Bend.

“It’s the bluebonnets,” she said, seizing on the first possibility that popped into her mind. “I’m putting together a coffee-table book of springtime in the Texas Hill Country.”

That’s all it took. The Williams suggested so many places for her to shoot that Torie actually began warming to the idea of a book.

David Williams read over the release and while he asked her a few questions about it, Janice shared her good news about Ryan’s magazine debut with one of the other couples. That mother made a beeline to Torie, saying, “Would you take my Amy’s picture, too, please? Not for a magazine or anything. Just for me? I’ll be happy to pay you. I need a photo to include in our Christmas cards next year, and I want one that shows just how beautiful Texas can be.”

She gestured toward the glorious sunset above the wildflower-blanketed field and added, “How people who are still buried in snowfall this time of year can climb on their snotty high horse about Texas being an ugly place is beyond me.”

When Torie agreed, the third mother repeated the request and before Torie quite knew what was happening, Janice Williams got on her cell phone. Torie soon found herself booked for half a dozen sittings the following morning and another five that afternoon. Three of the eleven requested Gigi’s participation, also.
 

It was dusk when she waved goodbye to her new friends. Torie decided the best thing about the bluebonnet interlude was that she spent a good forty-five minutes not thinking about either her stalker or Matt Callahan. She’d met six very nice people and played with four delightful little kids. The respite was welcome and relaxing and exactly what she needed.

Unfortunately, it ended when a dark blue pickup came tearing down the road. Brakes squealed; the truck shuddered to a stop. Matt Callahan climbed from the cab with frustration simmering in his eyes.

“At least this enemy I can see,” she told Gigi, who, having concluded her exploration of the bluebonnet field, trotted up to Torie and let out a demanding whimper. Torie scooped her baby up into her arms.

Gigi growled at Matt when he approached. He bared his teeth right back.

“You are a pain in the ass, lady,” he said by way of greeting.

He looked tense and bedeviled with his temper on a slow boil, but in his presence, Torie felt that last lingering bit of tension roll off of her. She wanted to smile. She wanted to melt against him, to be held tightly in the strong, safe haven of his arms.

How foolish was that?

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” he demanded.

She glanced around and shrugged. “Walking my dog.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Leash laws, huh?”

Aggravation snapped in his eyes. “You can’t stay here. This is my town.”

“Hmm. So we’ve, what, shifted from
Goldfinger
to
High Noon?
”

“Whatever it takes, sweetheart.” He braced his hands on his hips. “I could make this place unsafe for you with a phone call.”

“What do you mean?”

When he smiled, Torie shivered with apprehension. “This story of yours is quite compelling. The tabloids write about what Jack and Julie had for lunch. A story about their former dog’s life being endangered would make the front page of
The National Enquirer
. I’ll bet it’d even make
People
.”

His nerve took her breath away. “You’d use a poor defenseless puppy that way?”