Falling for the Brother

Domestic violence charges would get him some jail time. But they weren’t going to put him away for long.

They could end his career, though. And Harper couldn’t even imagine what that would do to him. Or what he might do because of it.

To better ensure her daughter’s safety, Harper agreed to stay at the Stand on Sunday night. Lila offered her and Brianna her own personal suite, used whenever she had reason to be at the Stand overnight.

Just off the managing director’s office, the suite, decorated in Victorian style with lace and roses, included a little kitchen and sitting room as well as the bedroom.

Mason had driven his rental car over to her apartment to pick up a list of things for her and Brianna. Bruce had never been to the apartment, but he knew the address. As she tucked Brianna into bed that night, the little girl was a bit hyper due to her excitement at having a sleepover and being able to play with her friends after supper. Harper sucked in her breath over another stab of debilitating doubt, accompanied by a physical pain that sliced through her.

Bruce had grabbed her with such force, she could have dropped their child. He might have caught her. He might not. The fact that there’d been that much violent anger in him…

How could she have forgotten that?

Was she nuts?

Miriam had gone into a session with Sara, who’d been called in, as soon as they’d returned to the Stand that afternoon. Lila had suggested Harper have a session, too, if she needed one, but she’d said she was fine. She’d gotten away from Bruce. Wasn’t afraid of him even then.

No, what she was afraid of was not being in control of her own mind. Bruce had spent so much time convincing her that he adored her, that he’d never hurt them…she’d somehow dismissed the time his fear of losing control had gotten the better of him—the morning she’d taken away all his control of her by leaving.

He’d shown her, and she hadn’t seen. She’d felt bad for him—knowing how much he loved her. Knowing how much she’d hurt him. Not once, but twice.

And now…as of that morning…a third time. He’d kept her on the hook by manipulating her heart, taking advantage of her ability to feel compassion, commanding constant sympathy from her as if she was a damned emotional puppet.

How did she trust her own heart when she knew it could be so easily manipulated? How did she know if what she was feeling was real, or orchestrated by someone else?

She’d called her parents shortly after she’d returned to the Stand, telling them what had happened. O’Brien and all the Albina police had been notified and were on alert. They’d be putting extra patrols on her parents’ home. Her father had loaded his shotgun, too, he’d told her.

She’d smiled then, remembering how he’d used that old thing to teach her to shoot—strictly target practice. Remembering their conversation as she closed the bedroom door behind an already-drowsy Brianna, she felt an acute longing to be back home—with her parents—tucked securely into the twin bed she’d had as a child. Wanted to work the fields with them, where you could believe what you saw, where everything followed the rules. Weeds were weeds. They were hardy and determined, and you could dig them up. They’d be back. You’d always be fighting them. But you could always dig them up. You just had to stay diligent.

Her parents had taught her that lesson before she’d started kindergarten, before she’d ever ventured out into the world.

She’d been prepared. Had the inner resources, the proper tools, to make it in life.

She’d been so strong. Physically, but mentally and emotionally, too. So aware. She’d left Bruce when she’d seen that the relationship wasn’t going to be healthy because of his lack of trustworthiness. She’d divorced him.

But she hadn’t gotten rid of him.

She’d just never seen that Bruce was a weed.

And had no idea how to live with the damage his roots had done.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Three Months Later

MASON STOOD AT the side of the grave, in a three-piece suit and tie, his gaze on the closed casket raised above the hole in the ground. Next to him, close enough that her arm touched his, was Miriam, her hand in Elmer Guthrie’s. They’d had a quiet wedding at the Albina courthouse the month before, and were living in Miriam’s house.