Brant's Return

“Okay. What was in it?”

She bit her lip, looking away for a moment. “Money. And a car.”

I blinked in confusion. “Why would he hide it from you? And how much money?”

“I don’t know why he’d hide it from me. That’s what I’ve been asking myself. I have no idea. It’s a lot of money, Brant. About three million dollars, although I didn’t do an exact count. And the car is obviously expensive. I wrote down the number on the dashboard but have no idea what to check.”

“Where would he have gotten that kind of money?”

“I don’t know. I’m at a loss. We had enough, but we weren’t rich by any stretch. I started to wonder if he stole it from the company—or if his business partner was into something shady and Ethan was the one trying to protect the company by hiding money. A lot of scenarios ran through my mind.”

I sat against the headboard and she moved next to me, bringing her legs up under her. I thought about everything she’d told me about the murder of her husband and daughter. “Belle, do you think the crime against your family had something to do with that money? Do you think your husband was involved in something that ended up getting him and your daughter killed?”

&n

bsp; She flinched, a small flash of pain that moved over her face quickly, before she shook her head. “I thought about that too, but the man who broke in to our house never said a word about money. He took what was in our wallets, and the jewelry we were wearing, but that was it. He didn’t ask about any money, and he didn’t do a search of our house. He never left us alone.”

I kept thinking about that, but after a second, had to move the picture of Belle tied up in a basement, terror in her eyes, out of my mind. It made me feel crazy, violent. I moved my palm to her thigh, needing to make contact, needing to remind myself she was safe and unharmed, right next to me. “Do you think your husband was making more money than he told you and was hiding it away so you wouldn’t know?”

She chewed at her lip, looking down at my hand on her thigh. “That’s sort of the conclusion I’ve been coming to. I even think . . . he was planning on leaving me, at some point. He just hadn’t yet, so it would make sense for him to hide money in cash where there was no paper trail connecting it to him.”

My eyes moved over the lines of her face. God, that any man could have had her and not wanted to keep her with every fiber in his being? It was beyond me. “Would the people he worked with be able to confirm that for you? I mean, the part about him making a lot more money than he told you about?”

She nodded. “Probably. But his partner, Aaron, is my best friend’s husband, and she left him a couple of days ago. She told me some things that gave me serious doubts about him—said he’d been violent with her a few times, which made me question his character, his honesty. And the money could have been there longer than three years. Obviously no one is missing it. No.” She shook her head again. “I think you’re right about him lying to me. Hiding it so he wouldn’t lose half in a divorce. I’m just not sure what to do with that money now.”

I blew out a breath. “Let me ask my lawyer about it. He’ll know the best course of action. Hey”—I turned toward her more fully—“we’ll figure this out together, okay? You are not alone, Belle. Not anymore.” The relief that flitted over her expression caused my heart to squeeze. She was strong, but how often had she felt alone with her struggles? How often had she needed to lean on someone and no one was there?

For a moment she simply stared at me, so many emotions passing over her face, and so quickly, that I couldn’t define them all.

“I don’t ever want you to be alone again, Belle.” I pulled her to me, crushing her to my chest. Protectiveness rose inside me, even more fiercely than it had that night in the distillery when she’d told me of her heart-wrenching tragedy.

Thinking of that night made me remember the small item I’d brought for her from New York, still sitting in my overnight bag. I released my clasp on her and got up, plucking the small box from my bag and returning to bed. She looked at me in confusion as I handed it to her, and I suddenly felt uncertain, nervous about how she’d react. I pushed a hand through my hair. “I, ah, saw this in the window of a vintage jewelry store near my office. It . . . reminded me of you.”

She tipped her head, her eyes moving over my face before she looked down, lifting the lid off the box and staring at the piece of jewelry inside. For a moment she didn’t speak and my heart began to pound as I second-guessed the gift. “It’s nothing expensive. And I know it looks old. It is, actually. Old. Vintage. The woman at the store wasn’t sure where it—”

“The purple orchid of Caspian Skye,” she whispered. Her eyes rose and they were shimmering with tears. As she looked back down, she used her index finger to run over the chipped petals of the antique metal pin I’d spotted as I’d left my office three days before. My heart began to slow. “I don’t expect you to wear it, I know it’s pretty big. I just wanted you to have it.”

“It’s priceless. Thank you.” She set the box on the bedside table as she brought her mouth to mine, and there was something new and different in her kiss. What did it mean?

For a time, all the words and worries, the questions and plans, drifted away as we lost ourselves in each other once again and the next time we woke, dawn had arrived. Isabelle stirred next to me, her body silky and warm beside my own. She tilted her head back, her eyes soft and still full of sleep as she used her thumb to trace my lips. “Yes, Brant, I’ll be yours,” she whispered.

**********

That Monday morning, I’d returned to New York to take care of business regarding my bar opening. Isabelle had used the week I was gone to break the news to my father and May that she’d be returning to New York with me for a few weeks. She’d also hired a home health nurse to monitor my father for the short time she’d be away. She’d told me on the phone he’d seemed pleased about her requested time off and grumbled about the home health nurse, but she’d put her foot down on that front and he’d acquiesced.

A thoroughbred that had been trained at Graystone Hill had won a big race at Kentucky Downs the weekend before—while Isabelle and I had been completely wrapped up in each other, ignoring the rest of the outside world—and May insisted on throwing a celebratory gathering, inviting not only the staff of Graystone Hill, but family and close friends of those who worked there as well.

I wondered if, for May, the party was also an acknowledgment of the fact that Isabelle was spreading her wings, taking a chance, and that that, too, was worthy of a celebration. Hell, maybe in the wake of my father’s diagnosis, any reason for a celebratory gathering was a good one.

I’d only arrived back that morning and May had laughingly told me to stay out of the way while she got the house set up for the guests that would be arriving soon. During our time apart, I’d been so hungry for Isabelle, my desire felt as if it was bordering on obsession. And even though it was mid-morning and the house was already loud with people walking in and out, I’d been tempted to pull her inside a linen closet just to taste her for a brief moment. Just to pull her against me and inhale her scent, to know that she’d ached for me as I’d ached for her. I’d died a slow death alone in my own bed in New York, my body hot and throbbing, desperate for her.

My father, whose coloring was better since his treatment, seemed not only pleased by the turn of events, but comforted, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. I hadn’t been all that surprised that she’d turned down my rash marriage proposal, but she’d said yes to us, to being together, and perhaps sometime soon, I’d ask for her hand again and she’d say yes. He wouldn’t have to worry about Isabelle anymore. He’d handed that task to me and I’d gladly taken it after all. How full of surprises life could be. Harrison Talbot and I on the same team so to speak. Did wonders never cease?

It was a brisk autumn day and May had set the party up inside the house, clearing the furniture in the living room off to the sides so people could mingle. Music was playing from an old record player in the corner. I recognized it. It was my father’s; he used to play jazz music on it when I was a kid and dance in the kitchen with my mother. That caused a brief pang of painful nostalgia, but I was too damned happy to be back with Isabelle to let anything dampen my mood. Food and drinks were laid out on the dining room table, and the farm employees, their families and a few friends, my father, May, Belle’s friend Paige, and Detective Miller—chatted and mingled.

As Belle talked with Gus and his wife, Edna, I excused myself to get us both a drink in the kitchen. As I was scooping ice into a glass, Paige entered the room, smiling and placing her empty glass on the table.

“Ice?” I asked, holding the silver ice scoop over her glass.