Chapter 3 #3
She sighed and said, “Nobody knows this yet?—”
“I’ll never tell,” he said, repeating her earlier promise back to her. He even did the lock-the-lips, toss-the-key move.
That made her smile, and her smile made him smile back. Something moved between them, this unseen energy, attraction, something. He hadn’t identified it yet, but he always felt it around her.
“The truth is,” she said, her smile dying slow, “I almost killed Manny.”
He swung his head her way.
“He had a heart attack right in front of me. I froze till Dad reminded me I was the only medical professional on hand. I couldn’t feel his pulse, but it was just because my own was pounding so hard.
I almost shocked him with the portable defibrillator, but he came around just in time.
I could’ve killed him.” She gave a shudder that told him how much this had been bothering her.
“And you haven’t told anyone. Not even the She-Brands?”
He knew using that term would bring back her smile. That was why he’d used it. It eased the guilt and shame in her eyes, but only briefly. “I’m just so embarrassed.”
“Well, don’t be. You’ve only been a nurse for a year.”
“And already almost killed someone. Think of my body count after five. Or ten!”
“Come on, don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I just don’t…” She lowered her head, closed her eyes. “Your second day back and I’m dumping on you.”
“I don’t mind. Please, now I’m invested in the story. You just don’t…?”
“I just don’t feel like a nurse. I never have.
I thought it would come to me eventually, but it hasn’t.
Even in school, I felt like an imposter.
Like a little girl playing dress-up with her sainted mamma’s scrubs.
” She tried to swallow, then tried again.
“It’s hard to explain,” she said. “I don’t expect you to understand. ”
“Oh, no. I understand completely.”
“Do you?” she asked, and he could tell by the way she searched his face that she really wanted to know. “Wait, do you feel like you’re not a real country music star because you’ve only had one hit song?”
“I know I’m not a real country music star,” he said. “But what I was getting at is…” He’d never said aloud the thing that had been eating at him his entire life. He could hardly believe he was about to say it to her. “I don’t feel like a Brand.”
He started the truck and backed out, then put it into gear and started toward home before he looked at her, taking his eyes from the road for a second at a time to do so. She was gazing at him in confusion. “Because you’re adopted?”
“Because it isn’t Brand blood in my veins, Lily. It’s not even good blood. It’s a killer’s blood.”
“Ohhhhh.” The sound emerged soft and breathy.
She put a hand on his shoulder. So small, her hand. Warm.
“Maria told me the story. How your mother left you on the front porch while she ran from your birth father. How he caught up with her and—” She lowered her eyes.
“Killed her.”
She nodded. “But that’s who he is, not who you are.”
“Was,” he said. “He died in prison. Left me some shit, none of which I’ll accept, but Manny’s place was put into my name before he died.”
“And Manny doesn’t want it.” She shook her head slowly, making sense of the parts of their conversation she’d overheard. “Well, if you don’t want it, you could sell it. But it would be a shame if the new owner tore it down or put in a Dollar Mart or something.”
“That’d break Maria’s heart.”
“Mine, too, to be honest.” Lily sighed. “I guess you’ve got some thinking to do.”
“Sounds like we both do,” he said. By then they were nearing the log cabin at the edge of town, just past Main Street on the right. He pulled in, and she opened her door. “You want to come in?”
Her eyes were so pretty, and big, and blue. He wanted to say yes. “I’d better get back.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “Thanks for the ride. And again, your secret’s safe with me.”
“No secret, really. I’m just waiting until I know what it is I want to tell ‘em. You know?”
“Whether you’re keeping the place or selling it or what,” she interpreted, nodding, standing in her driveway with the truck door open.
“You know, maybe you shouldn’t wait to tell your cousins.
They usually have pretty good insights on things.
Talking it out with the gang might help you decide what to do. ”
He nodded. “How’d you get so smart?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Well, my brother’s a certified genius, so…DNA?” She smiled so brightly he forgot to breathe for a second. “See you around, Ethan.”
“See ya,” he said.
She closed his truck door, turned, and walked over a footpath with weeds coming up between the stones. She put her key into the lock of a green front door, then turned and waved before disappearing inside.
On the drive home, Ethan kept thinking about the things she’d said, mainly that he ought to run this past the cousins before he made any decisions, not after.
He thought about calling Maria, then decided to leave her be. She was a newlywed. And Willow was the newest deputy on the Quinn PD and in a perpetual state of panic about living up to her uncle’s legacy.
Hell, now that he thought about it, feelin’ unworthy might be a Brand family tradition. Must come from having such exceptional parents.
Ethan told his phone to “call Drew,” and she answered on the third ring, saying “Hey, Bubba. What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’s wrong. I’m callin’ a bunkhouse bonfire.”
“Hell, yeah!” she said. “When?”
“Tomorrow night, if everyone can make it.”
“Well, that’s a yes from me. Who’s bringin’ what? What do you still need?”
“Um…well, I was hopin’ you’d help me organize all that. Willow usually does it, but she’s busy with the new job and all.”
“Huh,” she said. “Why does Willow usually do it?”
He frowned. His youngest cousin’s tone had taken on an edge. “I don’t know, exactly.”
“Why doesn’t the person who calls the bonfire do it? Oh, wait, is it because he has a penis?”
He almost dropped the phone. Since when did little Drew use that word?
“That isn’t what I meant!”
“If it’s not what you meant, then why didn’t you call Baxter or Orrin or Trevor to organize it? You automatically think of Willow or me, and you’d have asked Maria in between if she hadn’t just got married.”
He lowered his head. “You’re right, Drew,” he said, realizing that all four male Brand cousins relied on the females to handle the organizing of their frequent bunkhouse bonfires. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right.”
“Dang straight I’m right.”
His hope of help was dwindling. “I don’t…It’s just that I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”
“Neither am I. Neither were Maria or Willow ’til somebody made it their job.”
“Well, that’s probably true, but?—”
“Let me help you get started. We’ll need about six pizzas, nobody wants anchovies, multiple bags of chips, various flavors, and a lot of beer. Which of those things would you like me to bring?”
She wasn’t going to give in, was she? “Um, chips?”
“Very good. Now repeat this phone call to Maria, Willow, Baxter, and Trevor. Better yet, use the dang family text loop you avoid like the plague. Assign each cousin something to bring—divvy up the pizza and beer costs among all of us, so nobody’s paying the whole shot.”
“What about Orrin?” She’d listed every cousin but her brother.
“I’ll tell him. We’ll go in together on the snacks and bring enough for everyone.”
“Okay.” He felt chastened by a child.
“Oh, and don’t forget to invite Lily. She’s part of the family now. You wouldn’t know that, bein’ gone most of the time.”
Man, she was really letting him have it, wasn’t she? “Okay,” he said again. She’d managed to make him feel like she was the one pushing thirty and he the barely twenty-three-year-old.
“Good. See you tomorrow night.”
She disconnected. He shook his head. The kid was right. She was also growing up and becoming a spitfire too.
He rolled his eyes, then turned on some mellow country music.