In His Brother's Place

Two

Angie lay in a tangle of sheets and blankets, her eyes staring up into the darkness. Through the cheap plastic blinds, floodlights cast dingy streaks on the far wall. Out on the street, a motorcycle coughed, roared and faded into the night.

Jordan’s card lay on the nightstand. She should’ve torn it to pieces or, better yet, burned it. She’d have no need to contact him because she had no intention of accepting his offer. She and Lucas were doing all right. They had a roof over their heads, enough to eat, enough to wear and enough spare change to put a few gallons of gas in the ‘96 Toyota she drove as little as possible.

But uncertainties dogged her every waking hour. What if her business failed? She’d be lucky to find a job that would pay enough for decent day care. What if she got sick or, worse, what if Lucas did? She could barely afford baby aspirin, let alone medical insurance. What about the years ahead? Could she pay for sports, trips and music lessons? Could she pay for college?

And how would Lucas feel when he found out his father’s family was wealthy, and she’d raised him in poverty rather than take their help?

Today she’d received an offer that could end those worries. Her pride was only part of the reason she’d shown Jordan the door. To give her son a better life, she would have been willing to humble that pride. Maybe if the offer had come from Jordan’s mother, she would have taken it, ignoring the way it would have burned to accept anything from a woman who’d treated her like she was no better than dirt.

So why had she really turned Jordan down?

As if she didn’t know.

The memory of that fateful New Year’s Eve opened in her mind like a big-screen movie. An old schoolmate of the twins had thrown a party at her home. Angie and Justin had driven there together. Jordan had come later, alone.

By the time Jordan arrived, Justin had downed enough liquor to put himself in a party mood. Their recently divorced hostess had been paying him far too much attention. Worse, Justin hadn’t seemed to mind the woman’s advances. After discovering the two of them in the kitchen, locked in a sloppy clinch, Angie had had enough.

Stalking toward the front door, she’d passed Jordan in the entry. Despite their past animosity, he’d appeared like a rescue beacon in a storm. Driven by desperation, she’d asked him to drive her home.

Jordan had found her coat and guided her outside to his waiting Mercedes. The night had been cold, she remembered, but the car was still warm. As she buckled herself into the cushiony leather seat, Angie had felt herself falling apart.

That very morning, in her bathroom, she’d stared in disbelief as the plus sign materialized on her home pregnancy test. She’d spent the rest of the day in shock, wondering when and how to tell Justin. Now what was she going to do?

As the motor purred to life, she’d wiped away a furious tear.

Jordan passed her a tissue box from under the dash. She hadn’t told him what was wrong, but it appeared he’d drawn his own conclusion. “Sorry,” he’d muttered, pulling the car onto the street. “I love my brother but when he gets a few drinks under his belt, he can be a real jackass.”

Angie had huddled in silence, sniffling into the tissues he’d given her. She’d heard that pregnancy made women more emotional. Now she believed it. By the time the Mercedes pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment, she was blubbering like a fool.

Jordan had switched off the key and turned toward her. “Will you be all right, Angie?” His voice was surprisingly gentle.

She’d raised her face to the light, revealing swollen eyes and drizzly streams of mascara down her cheeks. Her throat jerked. Her lips moved in a wordless effort to speak.

He’d mouthed something that might have been a curse. Then, suddenly she was in his arms, sobbing against the shoulder of his leather coat.

He’d held her lightly at first, his lips skimming her hair as he muttered half voiced words of consolation. The manly aroma of his skin, like sagebrush after a rain, surrounded her with an aura of warmth and safety. His arms were strong, his breath a comforting murmur against her ear. She had no reason to like Jordan Cooper. But tonight she needed him.

She needed him in ways she couldn’t have imagined an hour earlier.

Had it been because her hormones were out of control? Angie wondered, thinking back. Had it been because Justin had hurt her, or because her emotional state had awakened some long-buried urge? She would never know. But even now, she couldn’t deny that she was as much to blame as Jordan for what happened next.

Her face had tilted upward, lips parting expectantly. It had seemed natural that he should kiss her. But she hadn’t anticipated the hungry heat that exploded in the core of her body to race like wildfire through her veins.

A growl of surprise escaped his throat as he felt her response. As the kiss deepened, his arms tightened around her. Whimpering, she caught the back of his head, pulling him down to her. Her fingers raked his thick hair. Her mouth opened to welcome his probing tongue.

His hand had found its way inside her coat. Through the thin silk of her dress, his caresses triggered whorls of exquisite sensation. Angie moaned as his palm cupped her breast. She was spiraling out of control, drunk with wanting more, wanting him. As his fingertip traced a line beneath the hem of her short skirt, her thighs had parted in open invitation …

But something wasn’t right, an inner voice shrilled. This man had never even pretended to be her friend. Scheming, opportunistic Jordan would stop at nothing to break his brother’s engagement.

Suddenly it had all made sense. Jordan meant to sleep with her, tell Justin about it, then celebrate his victory as Justin dumped her and walked away.

And she was playing right into his hands.

“No!” She’d twisted away from him. Her palm had struck his face in a wrenching slap. Calling him the worst names she could think of, she’d scrambled out of the car. Jordan had made no move to stop her as she fled up the walk.

The following morning Justin had appeared at her door with flowers and apologies. Even after they’d made up, Angie had been hesitant to tell him about her pregnancy. And she’d never told him what had happened in Jordan’s car.

The next time she’d seen Jordan was on her birthday, when he’d come to tell her Justin was dead.

Turning over, Angie punched air into her flattened pillow. She’d never known Jordan Cooper not to have an agenda. And there was no reason to doubt he had one now.

What did he want? Not her. Not sex. An attractive, powerful man like Jordan would have no trouble getting women. The issue was more likely control—legal and financial control over his brother’s son and maybe over her, as well. Whatever Jordan’s game, she’d be a fool to play along. When it came to pulling strings, the man was way out of her league.

Bottom line—she didn’t trust him.

And she wasn’t sure she trusted herself, either.

From the parking lot, curses and the sound of running feet broke into her thoughts. A gunshot rang out, followed by two more. One bullet chunked into a panel below the window. Another cracked through the glass and chipped the door frame on the far side of the room.

“Mama, I’m scared.” Lucas stood in the bedroom doorway, clutching his teddy bear. The bullet had almost hit him.

“Get down! Now!” Angie dived out of bed and pulled her son to the floor. Heart pounding, she lay on the rug, protecting him with her body as another shot shattered the window and slammed into the mattress. An eternity seemed to pass before she heard sirens wailing down the street. Gang fights happened in this part of town, but she’d never known one to come this close.

Lucas had begun to sob. “The police are on their way, Lucas,” Angie whispered. “Lie still. We’ll be safe soon.”

And they would be safe, she vowed. She would get her precious son out of this neighborhood and give him a decent life—even if it meant making a deal with the devil.

Inching forward, she switched on the bedside lamp, found Jordan’s card and fumbled for the phone.

Angie stood on the balcony, gazing down into the courtyard of the rambling Cooper home. The last rays of sunset cast an amber glow over hundred-year-old adobe walls. The tinkle of an ancient stone fountain blended with the distant call of a desert quail.

She’d been here before. But with the sadness of losing Justin coloring her memories, she’d forgotten how enchanting this place was. Justin had told her about the time, money and love his mother had lavished on refurbishing the historic hacienda. Everything here was perfect, from the stately, exposed vigas that supported the roofs to the Chimayo rugs, the priceless Pueblo pottery and the two Georgia O’Keefe paintings that flanked the great stone fireplace.

Now Jordan lived here by himself. Was he aware of the beauty around him, Angie wondered, or only of its value? What, exactly, made Jordan Cooper tick?

Last night, when she’d phoned him, he’d answered at once; but his manner had been so brusque that she’d suspected he wasn’t alone. At first light, a pickup had arrived with two men from the ranch. They’d boxed up Lucas’s toys, Angie’s computer and their other personal things and had them on the road in less than an hour. Angie, with Lucas in her car, had followed the truck to Santa Fe and from there to the ranch.

Marta, the graying housekeeper, had fed them cheese quesadillas and shown them to their rooms on the second floor of the newer guest wing, where their boxes were waiting. The woman had been coldly polite, which puzzled Angie until she remembered that Marta had watched the twins grow up. Justin had been her special pet.

It wasn’t going to be easy living in this house where people viewed her as the enemy. But Lucas seemed happy to be here. She owed it to her son to make this work.

Jordan had yet to show his face. He’d promised to leave her alone, but a word of welcome would have been reassuring. Now, as the twilight deepened around her, Angie couldn’t help feeling like a stranger, unwelcome and unwanted.

Jordan paused in the shadowed doorway, studying Angie where she stood against the wrought-iron balustrade. She wore a simple turquoise sheath with flat-soled shoes. A white cardigan wrapped her against the evening chill.

For a moment Jordan found himself wishing he could erase the past, stride forward and meet her for the first time. But that was fantasy. Reality was Justin’s absence and Justin’s child—and the misstep that had changed everything.

Stepping into the light, he cleared his throat. “So here you are. Dinner’s on the table. Where’s Lucas?”

“Lucas had a bowl of cereal and went to sleep an hour ago. It’s been a long day for him.”

“Is he all right with the move?”

Her laugh sounded strained. “As far as Lucas is concerned, this place might as well be Disneyland. I’ve never seen him so excited.”

“And how about you?” As she fell into step beside him, Jordan checked the impulse to brush a hand across the small of her back.

“This isn’t about me. I’m here for my son.”

“I didn’t bring you here to punish you, Angie. What do you need?”

“Time, maybe. It’s not your job to make me happy, Jordan. I’m a big girl. I can work things out for myself.”

They’d reached the stone steps that descended to the patio. As she moved ahead, her perfume drifted up to him—a light floral fragrance with a sexy undertone that slammed into his senses, spinning him back in time.

He’d only meant to comfort her that night in his car. But before he knew it the situation had grown too hot to handle. By the time his fingers brushed Angie’s bare thigh, Jordan’s manly urges had taken over. Hang the consequences, he’d wanted her.

Angie’s blistering slap had brought him back to his senses. He’d deserved her rebuke that night, and he’d done his best to accept it as a lesson learned.

But the sweet, hot feel of her had burned into his memory—and into his conscience. Now the damage was done, and there could be no going back.

“I need to apologize for waking you up last night,” she said. “I’d have waited till morning, but after that scare—”

“No, you did the right thing. And you didn’t wake me up. I was just … busy.”

“Oh.” There was a world of knowing in that single syllable.

“I’d have shown up this morning to help you move, but I had some important business in town. I only just got home.”

“Business.” She shook her head. “Justin always said your business was the great love of your life. He claimed that sometimes it was all he could do to drag you away from your desk to spend time with him and your parents.”

They’d entered the older, central part of the house. The living room had been left dark, but lamplight glowed through the open door of the dining room on the far side.

“There’s more than one way to see to family,” Jordan said. “If it weren’t for my investment business, we’d be selling off parcels of land to keep this place solvent. Picture ugly housing tracts in all directions.” He paused, dismissing the subject. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

Jordan’s smile was forced. Just being with Angie ripped open old wounds, probably as much for her as for him. They were both playacting tonight, making believe the past didn’t exist. But how long could they keep up the pretense before the masks fell away?

The hand-hewn table was medieval in size, a relic of the days when the ranch had entertained flocks of guests. Tonight Angie and Jordan sat alone at the end nearest the kitchen, eating chicken and sausage paella with crisp green salad and red wine. Carlos, Marta’s shy young nephew who’d served the meal, had been friendly. But, then, he hadn’t been here four years ago, Angie reminded herself. Odds were he and Justin would never have met.

Her gaze shifted to her dining partner. She’d never had a problem telling Justin and Jordan apart, mostly because of how they’d behaved toward her. But tonight, with Jordan making an effort to be pleasant, the resemblance was uncanny. Except for the awkwardness that hung between them, it could’ve been Justin sitting across from her, smiling and making small talk.

“My calendar’s clear for tomorrow,” he said. “I was thinking Lucas would like to see more of the ranch—with you along, of course.”

Hadn’t he resolved to keep his distance? Angie squelched the urge to argue. Lucas, she knew, would love an outing. “What a coincidence. My calendar’s clear, too,” she said.

“I know you’ve ridden a little. We can take horses up to the springs for a picnic. You’ll want to hold Lucas on your lap, but I’ve got a gentle old mare that’ll be fine with that.”

“Sounds good.” It was like Jordan, she thought, to plan the day and assume she’d just go along. Justin would’ve come up with the idea, then left her to carry out the details.

The silence had grown awkward. Angie scrambled for a new subject. “I’m surprised you aren’t married by now, Jordan,” she said.

“I was. Three years ago. Needless to say, it didn’t work out.”

“May I ask what happened?”

“About what you’d expect. She wanted a social life. I was always working. I wanted a family. She wanted fun. Somebody else came along.” He took a sip of Cabernet. “Can’t say I blame her for what happened. After eight months we were both ready to pull the plug.”

“You wanted a family?” Somehow that surprised her.

“After Justin’s loss, I felt I owed it to my parents to continue the Cooper line. But it was a bad idea. I don’t have the patience to be a decent husband, let alone a decent father.”

Angie had gone cold beneath her sweater. Was this why Jordan had brought Lucas here—to serve as the ready-made family heir?

It was a monstrous burden to place on a small boy. But then, she should’ve guessed what Jordan had in mind. He wasn’t thinking of Lucas. He was looking for a convenient way to discharge his family duty.

What would that mean for her? Was Jordan planning to ease her out of the picture? What if she chose to leave? What if she met someone and wanted to get married? Would Jordan fight her to keep his brother’s son?

Her first impulse was to confront him. But a blowup on her first night here wouldn’t be wise. She would bide her time, Angie resolved. She would watch and be wary. Any decision she made would be in the best interest of her son.

Even if it meant taking him away from this place.

She stared down at her half-finished plate, her appetite gone. “I should get back to Lucas,” she said, standing. “He might wake up and be frightened.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Jordan had risen, too.

“No, it’s all right. Finish your dinner.” She spun away from the table and plunged into the shadowed living room. With her eyes unaccustomed to the darkness, she could just make out the stairs. She headed straight for them.

“Angie! Wait—!”

Something crashed to the tiles as she stumbled against a side table. Her first frantic thought was that whatever she’d broken had to be expensive. As far as she knew, Meredith Cooper had never paid less than eight hundred dollars for a piece of pottery.

Her second thought was that she’d hurt herself. A sharp throbbing came from just above her knee, where she’d struck the edge of the table. Clutching the spot, she crumpled onto a nearby footstool.

“Are you all right?” Jordan’s face emerged from the darkness. He crouched beside her.

“I’ll pay for what I broke,” she muttered between clenched teeth. “No matter how much it cost or how long it takes… .”

“The damned thing’s insured. Don’t worry about it. Let’s have a look at you.”

Switching on a table lamp, he lifted her hand away from the injury. As his fingertips explored the rising lump, their touch sent shimmers of heat up her thighs. She was acutely aware of his nearness, the scent of his hair, the sound of his breathing. A moist ache stirred in the depths of her body.

“You’ve got a nasty bruise,” he said. “We keep an ice bag in the kitchen. Hang on. I’ll fill it for you.”

“Please don’t bother. I’ll be fine.” Her heart was pounding. She needed to get away.

“No bother. It’ll only take a minute.” Rising, he strode back through the dining room and through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Angie waited until the door had closed behind him. Then she pushed to her feet, limped out to the patio and fled up the outside stairs.

Lucas was asleep in his father’s childhood bed, his hair a dark spill on the pillow. Aching with tenderness, Angie gazed down at him. Her son was so precious, so innocent and trusting, and she was all the protection he had.

All she wanted was what was best for him. But how could she know what that was? Was he safer in this place with no gangs, no sirens, no gunshots in the night … or would he be better off far away from the cool, calculating man downstairs whose agenda hadn’t yet come to light?

The boxes from Lucas’s old room were piled next to the bed. Angie had unpacked his clothes but left his toys, books and other small possessions for tomorrow. Now she found herself rummaging through the cardboard cartons, her fingers seeking then finding the familiar shape, the oval frame surrounding a childproof Plexiglas surface.

The moon gleamed through the window, casting its soft light on Justin’s photograph. Angie’s finger brushed the corner of the smiling mouth. This man was Lucas’s father, not the gruff, scheming imposter who masqueraded behind the same face. She would remember that truth in the days ahead, and she would make sure Lucas remembered it, too.

Setting the photo on the nightstand, she turned it toward the bed, where the boy would see it when he awakened. Then, with a last glance at her sleeping son, she tiptoed out of the room.

Three

Jordan was at the kitchen table, drinking his early morning coffee, when a rumpled elf appeared in the doorway. Lucas’s cowlick was standing straight up. His blue-striped T-shirt was inside out and his sneakers trailed untied laces.

He stared at Jordan for a thoughtful moment. “Are you really not my daddy?” he asked.

“I’m really not your daddy.” Jordan tried to ignore the unaccustomed tug at his emotions. “I’m your uncle Jordan, and that’s what you can call me.” He looked the boy up and down. “I take it you dressed yourself. Where’s your mother?”

“Mommy’s asleep.” His wide dark eyes, so like Angie’s, roamed the kitchen. “I’m hungry. What’s to eat?”

Jordan rose. Most days, coffee was all the breakfast he wanted. Marta wouldn’t be here till after eight, and it was barely seven. He could hardly let a child go hungry that long. “What do you like?” he asked.

“Pancakes.”

“All right, I’ll see what I can do.” There was a box of pancake mix in the cupboard. Gathering dishes and utensils, Jordan set to work. The first three pancakes stuck to the griddle and ended up in the trash. On the next try he had better luck. He was able to drop three respectable-looking pancakes onto Lucas’s plate.

The boy stared at the pancakes and shook his head.

“Now what’s the matter?” Jordan demanded.

“Mommy makes pancakes like a teddy bear. I want a teddy bear.”

Blast it, where was the boy’s mother? Jordan sighed. “So how do I make a teddy bear?”

“Like this.” Lucas arranged the pancakes to form a head and ears. “But the head is bigger and they’re all stuck together.”

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Jordan muttered as he spooned batter onto the hot griddle. With careful turning he just managed to get his creation off in one piece. “How’s this?” he asked as he eased it onto the plate.

“Not as good as Mommy’s. But you’ll do better next time.”

Jordan turned off the stove, added butter and syrup to the lopsided teddy bear pancake and poured a glass of milk. Then he sat down to finish his lukewarm coffee. Lucas was digging into his pancake like a little trooper.

Justin’s son.

Jordan sensed impending chaos. He was just beginning to realize how a child—and that child’s mother—would affect his well-ordered life. Having them here wouldn’t be easy. But if anything could be done to repay the terrible debt he owed his family …

“Lucas Montoya! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Angie stood in the doorway, hastily dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt. Her feet were bare, her hair tousled, her face a thundercloud.

Two thoughts flashed through Jordan’s mind. The first was that, even early in the morning, Angelina Montoya was one sexy woman. He could get used to seeing her like that—uncombed and sleepy-eyed, her feet bare and her shirt clinging to her trim little body. The second thought, more sobering, was that she hadn’t given Lucas his father’s name. Sooner or later, whether she liked it or not, that would have to be remedied.

“Uncle Jordan made me a teddy bear pancake.” Lucas flashed her a syrupy grin.

“Oh?” She frowned. “You didn’t have to do that, Jordan. I’ve made my son’s breakfast every day of his life. There’s no reason that should change.”

She was glaring at him as if he’d tried to kidnap the boy. Jordan got the message. The battle lines had been drawn. “I was here and he was hungry,” Jordan said. “Sit down and I’ll make you some pancakes, too. Do you want teddy bear or regular? I do both.”