Falling for the Brother

“Yeah.” The colorful drawing of a house and orange trees was impressive—at least in her admittedly biased opinion.

“That’s pretty incredible for a four-year-old, isn’t it?”

His words brought home to her how little he knew of his own niece. The lapse seemed suddenly criminal, so she led him into the kitchen to get a look at the refrigerator covered with various art projects. “She’s precocious intellectually, and she’s testing right-brain gifted, as well,” she told him. The whole idea scared her; she had no experience raising any child, let alone a gifted one, but she wasn’t about to reveal that.

Brianna was her daughter. She’d do what she had to do.

According to the psychiatrist who’d done the testing recommended by Brie’s teacher at The Lemonade Stand the previous spring, Brianna’s drawings showed an understanding of depth perception that most children didn’t have.

Harper liked to focus on the shapes that were still babyishly not straight, or true to form. The coloring that was outside the lines. She’d also put Brianna in art lessons at the Stand with Julie Fairbanks, who was getting married next month.

Julie had just asked Brianna to be her flower girl. Joy Walsh, an eight-year-old Brianna idolized who’d lived at the Stand for a while the previous fall, was going to be junior bridesmaid. The wedding would be a lavishly beautiful society event—another thing Harper had to be nervous about. She loved Julie. She’d never been to a society…anything in her life.

Mason didn’t make any other comments about Brianna’s work. Didn’t ask any questions about his niece. But he took his time looking at every drawing, every photo of Brianna at different stages and all the toys, even studying book titles.

His job centered on taking in his environment. He was there because he figured her for a key witness in the case he was working. No other reason. Her insides squirmed anyway.

Every nerve in her body was on alert.

She didn’t dare stop him, didn’t want to inadvertently draw him into any conversation except the one he’d come to have with her. About Bruce and Miriam. About whatever Miriam’s friend had told him. Harper would help if she could.

There just wasn’t much she could do. She really hadn’t seen Miriam in the four years she and Bruce had divorced. She could only attest to the fact that, to her knowledge, Bruce had always been wonderful with his grandmother. He’d made a point of having family dinners with her. Of calling her. Stopping by any chance he got. Anyone could see how much he loved her.

Brianna had nothing to do with any of it.

And Mason had nothing to do with Brianna. Messing with the status quo wasn’t a good idea.

The thought occurred to her that he might venture upstairs, but she quelled that twinge of fear with the denial she could give him without question—she didn’t want to wake her daughter.

As he neared the end of the room that led down to the gym, Harper was there ahead of him, leading the way as quickly as she could. Her all-in-one gym machine beckoned. She’d do some seated chest flies first. Knowing that as a former FBI agent, Mason would be fully versed in working out, she went straight for the all-in-one gym and left him to look around and determine a course for his own workout.

“I usually listen to music,” she told him, nodding toward the portable Bluetooth speaker on the small table in the corner. “But since you’re here to ask questions…”

Sitting, she spread her arms, placing them against the pads. The machine was set at the twenty-five pounds she was doing this week; she wanted to work her muscles, not build them. She wished he’d get on the treadmill. His back would be to her then, and she’d just have to avoid the mirrors. With him just standing there by the watercooler she’d purchased secondhand for a song, watching her, her breasts felt completely exposed. She pulled the pads together with ease. Held them for a count of ten.

He hadn’t moved. Was still watching her. She had to spread her arms wide again. Slowly. Or the weights would bang down and give away her agitation.

She could feel her nipples hardening. Thank God she’d had the wherewithal to put on the oversize shirt.