Falling for the Brother

She walked to her office door and he joined her. “I don’t mean to rush you off, but I’ve got a full schedule this morning,” she said, pulling the door open.

She was meeting with the managers of all of the Stand’s public businesses out on the strip adjacent to the property in half an hour.

And she had no room in her schedule, or her life, for private conversation with Mason Thomas.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MASON WAS BACK in Albina by midmorning on Wednesday, canvassing the neighborhood where his father had grown up, and where Bruce now lived with Gram. His brother’s truck wasn’t in the garage, but it was clear he’d been home, judging by the dishes in the sink. Mason had Gram’s key and her grudging permission to look through everything in the house. He still felt like dirt doing it.

Gram had said she’d fallen while trying to get some liqueur out of a top cupboard for a parfait recipe that was one of Bruce’s favorites. The stepladder was in the kitchen. Empty parfait glasses still sat on the counter. But the doctor had been insistent that the break in Gram’s arm could not have come from a fall. The bruises on either side of her chin were very unlikely to have come from a fall, either. And the previous breaks…

He was a crime scene investigator. It was his job to look for the signs that weren’t obvious. For the small thing that might tell the true story.

He didn’t find it in the kitchen. Yes, Gram could have fallen. But the fall didn’t break her arm.

At her age, however, she should’ve had other bruises from such a fall. The doctor hadn’t reported any.

Removing the phone from his pocket as the thought occurred to him, he redialed his most recent call. And when Harper didn’t answer, he left a message asking her to have someone check Gram for other bruising, just because the littlest thing could point him in a different direction. A small circular bruise on the leg would at least indicate that she’d taken physical pressure somewhere else. Even just a little bit of it. He got off before he could introduce a personal note into the recording.

He’d spent much of the drive back from Santa Raquel fighting a mind that insisted on hanging out with Harper. Replaying conversations. Thinking far too much about the past.

About what he’d done. And hadn’t done.

About her.

Remembering the softness of her lips. The passion in them. The way her tongue hadn’t been shy at all about tangling with his.

Remembering the soft moans…and the lack of shyness in the way she’d asked him to love her harder.

A box of tapioca was on the counter where Gram did most of her meal preparation. Behind an empty cereal box. He found an unused mixing bowl with a couple of used cereal bowls on the counter. A used plate and glass were in the sink. One set.

Just Bruce, eating and leaving his mess, just as Gram said he’d do. Not even bothering to put away Gram’s unfinished business.

* * *

DISAPPOINTMENT FLOODED HARPER when she saw she’d missed a call from Mason. Stupid, senseless emotion that had no place in her current situation. He’d left a message. She knew what he needed, called Lynn Bishop, their resident nurse practitioner to look in on Miriam—not an unusual occurrence when a resident came to them with injuries—and erased the thought that now she had Mason’s voice on her voice mail.

She’d saved the call. She took her lunch of veggies and a bagel out to the Garden of Renewal and sat alone, thinking about listening to the message again, trying to justify a reason for doing so. She deleted it instead and watched her phone on and off all afternoon in case he called again. She was on patrol for part of the time, and had a break from thinking about Mason while she focused on the Stand and its residents. But in her office, with paperwork in front of her, she started checking her cell again and saw the text come in from Alissa, telling her that she and Brianna were with Miriam.

A moment later, she saw Bruce’s number pop up. Grabbing the phone, she willed the alarmed pace of her heart to slow—a habit she’d adopted sometime over the past five years. She was no longer married to Bruce. His infidelity was not a threat to her well-being. She had no cause to get riled when she heard his voice.

“Hey, there,” she said, keeping her own voice calm—and filled with the compassion she’d always felt for him. The man did a hard job very well with no thought to himself. He saved lives. Even more, he truly cared about the lives he saved. As a junior officer at a crime scene, she’d once seen him with tears on his cheeks as he held a young boy in his arms while the boy bled out…