Shameless Read online

  Brady reaches over, and Bella eagerly goes to her uncle. His eyes light up when he holds his niece.

  “Hey, little muffin,” he teases. “Let’s give your Aunt Kat a break.”

  My heart does a strange little trippy thing when he calls me Kat. It’s so familiar. Like we’re the oldest of friends. And I want us to be friends. I suspect any girl in her right mind would want to be friends with Brady.

  Which makes me wonder what his life is like in Boston. If he has a girlfriend. Or girlfriends. Or hookups.

  Ignoring the irrational bolt of jealousy that streaks through me, I kick at a large rock and watch it skitter across the ground. When I glance up, Brady brushes a wisp of hair out of the baby’s eyes and kisses her forehead, and I swear my ovaries throb. On one hand, Brady is gruff and rough around the edges, and on the other, there’s a tenderness about him that screams husband material.

  Not for me. Obviously. But for some lucky girl in Boston.

  I’m trying not to swoon at the sight of this spectacularly hot guy holding a baby when he hands me his pad of paper and asks me to take notes. I’m finding he really likes to take notes. Every phone call he’s taken this morning is scribbled down in his notepad. The man likes a record of everything. Cal was never that organized. Which makes me wonder what Brady does for a living. I know he’s helping with his father’s company, but I get the impression there’s a lot more to him.

  I shouldn’t be nosy, but I really want to know what’s underneath that tough exterior.

  Not to mention under those faded jeans.

  16

  Brady

  We’ve been walking around the property for forty-five minutes. It’s hot as hell for November. I’m wearing a t-shirt and sweating my balls off. And Jesus Christ, Izzy is getting heavy—my arm went numb twenty minutes ago.

  I brush a kiss over her forehead and pull the wide-brimmed hat a little lower over her face so she doesn’t get too much sun. When I glance over at Katherine, she’s giving me the strangest look. It’s one of those tender expressions she’s been shooting my way whenever I hold my niece. If I’m being honest, it makes me uncomfortable.

  I can see it in her sweet expression. It’s that oh-he’s-such-a-good-guy look. Which I’m not. I would’ve resolved that shit with my brother long ago if I were.

  Averting my eyes, I push ahead on our trek. Kat explains which parts of the farm need what. The chicken coop needs re-roofing and re-wiring. The area of the barn where the lavender is hung to dry is too damp. The back field floods.

  Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

  I damn near hyperventilated when she mentioned that farmers’ fair.

  But everything gets worse when we turn along a creek that runs adjacent to the property. Katherine comes to an abrupt halt and stares down the riverbed, a haunted expression on her face.

  Mud covers all of the tree trunks along the banks to a height of about four feet. Watermarks from a flood.

  My mouth goes dry.

  It must have happened here.

  As I stare down the nearly dry creek bed, I can’t swallow.

  “Katherine,” I mutter. “Let’s go.”

  Her head snaps toward me, and for a half second, I almost reach out a hand to steady her. She’s white as a sheet. She blinks once, twice, and then, like she’s on autopilot, reaches for the baby and tucks Izzy to her chest before she treks back to the house.

  I think about it the rest of the day. The flooded creek bed, deserted like a tornado swept through and sucked out all the water.

  Katherine and I are quiet all evening, only saying the most essential things to feed Izzy and get her to bed. If I feel tortured by what I saw today, I can only imagine what she’s feeling. But I can’t bring myself to say anything to comfort her, because as much as I want to, she’d reciprocate. She’d try to make me feel better—it’s what she’s done since I arrived—and I don’t fucking deserve it. Because deep down, I feel like I abandoned my brother, and that realization, that awareness, guts me.

  So I do what I can to make things right. I accept the grief. Welcome it with open arms.

  But I feel bad that I can’t be there for Katherine.

  At night, she and I bump around each other in our own private little hell, like two stars that orbit a black hole, both afraid to move in the wrong direction.

  At one point, Izzy stirs, but when I peek into her room, Katherine is already there. For hours, I hear the rocking chair creek on the hard wood floor. I wonder if she’s obsessing about her last interactions with Cal the way I am. Even the smallest things seem momentous now. Death does that. Sticks everything under a magnifying glass and makes each scratch or cut feel like a gaping wound.

  The next morning, it’s obvious neither of us slept, but we don’t discuss it.

  Instead, I talk to my dad before surgery. I shovel out shit from the barn and chicken coop. I finish two landscaping estimates via email. I stare at the itemized funeral arrangements, resigned to the fact that I’ll be broke soon.

  The best laid plans...

  Around noon, a soft knock on the office door interrupts me, and I look up to see those golden eyes.

  Katherine drops off a sandwich, and when she’s almost out the door, I blurt it out. “Did Cal or Melissa ever discuss selling the farm?”

  She freezes, her arm on the door frame. She shakes her head no, with obvious disappointment in her expression. When she doesn’t say anything, just walks out, I have the irrational desire to yell after her and ask her what the hell my options are. I want her to understand the fucked-up position I’m in. Jose has my dad’s business under control for now, but I’m hemorrhaging cash like a broken ATM.

  I can’t handle this mortgage, my parents’ mortgage, and the rent for my apartment in Boston. Never mind my school loans and the payments my parents still owe on their trucks and equipment. Cal’s modest life insurance policy will take at least six weeks to process. That will bring a small reprieve, but it won’t get me through the long haul.

  What the fuck do I even know about farming? Sure, I have experience landscaping, but that’s short-term work. It takes a shovel and a little elbow grease to plant things. But actually nurturing something to grow month after month, year after year? That requires dedication. Fortitude. Hell, even love.

  I stew in these thoughts as I busy myself with an estimate for Jose. I even call a realtor, curious if anyone would even buy a goddamn lavender farm. I’m surprised when he tells me they’re growing in popularity.

  “But it’s a niche market,” Kent, the realtor, explains, “so I’m not sure if I have any clients who are looking at the moment, but it can’t hurt for you to make cosmetic improvements in case someone turns up.”

  He says he’ll do a little research and get back to me.

  Selling the farm has to be the answer, but it’s one that makes me feel like shit for wanting to dismantle something my brother loved.

  Several hours later, after I’ve bathed my niece who was covered from head to toe in spaghetti sauce, my mother calls to tell me my dad is out of surgery. Mom says he’s being a “grumpy pain in her tushie” but sounds relieved. The moment the call ends, I make sure Kat doesn’t mind watching the baby, and I head for the only thing that can offer me relief. The Harley.

  It’s dark when I return, and all of the lights are out. I stare at the humble farm house, wishing I could drown my sorrows in bourbon. But I don’t. Because the least I can do is show up to my brother’s funeral sober.

  Afterward, all bets are off. I don’t plan on stopping until I see the bottom of the bottle. I’m not a drinker, but I need something to relieve the pressure. Anything.

  17

  Brady

  The black suit hangs on the door of the closet. It’s the one decent thing I brought to wear.

  At nine-thirty, after I knot my tie, I open the office door just as Katherine strides out of the bathroom.

  For a second, all I do is stare. And then my heart kicks into high gear.

  G
one is the messy bun. Gone are the work boots and jeans. Gone is the mud from under her nails. The woman in front of me is stunning. Sophisticated.

  Her chestnut hair hangs in thick waves along her shoulders. For the first time since I’ve been here, she’s wearing makeup. Those amber eyes are smoky and intense, and her lips are slicked in pale gloss.

  I study the slant of her neck and how it dips beneath a fitted black dress that buttons down her body, starting just above her breasts and leading down her slender thighs.

  The fabric clings to her curves, and even though everything is covered, I can’t help but wonder what’s underneath.

  I blink. Once. Twice. Then I notice sleek four-inch heels, and my lips part.

  “You look nice,” I rasp as I move around her.

  Eager to get some distance, I turn toward the kitchen and pour us two cups of coffee. She must be wearing contacts today. That’s why she looks so different.

  When I hand her one mug, she glances down at the cup and then reaches for the cream and a packet of sweetener.

  Shit. She’s been making my coffee all week, and I have no clue how she takes hers.

  Way to be considerate, dickhead.

  After a few half-hearted sips, she sets her mug down. “I’ll get the baby’s things, and we can leave,” she whispers.

  She returns with a giant green bag that I can only assume houses an entire Babies ‘R Us store and reaches for Izzy, who’s sitting in her playpen.

  I bundle the girls in their coats, because it’s actually cold outside today. Which I figured out when I froze my balls off this morning feeding all of the animals.

  After we load Izzy into her car seat in the extended cab of Melissa’s truck, I offer Katherine a hand and help her up.

  The drive is quiet. Even Izzy is silent, like some part of her realizes what she’s lost.

  When we pull into the parking lot of the funeral home, I fight the overwhelming tide of sadness that pulls at my gut.

  You’re not supposed to bury your younger brothers. You’re supposed to grow old together. Get houses in the same neighborhoods. Take your kids to Little League and debate how far the Red Sox will go at the end of the season.

  Not this.

  As soon as we enter the building, people rush to greet Kat and offer their condolences. Izzy clings to me, and I gently bounce her in my arms as we wade through the crowd and head for the front of the room.

  Suddenly, she lunges forward and starts wailing, “Mommm! Mommmm! Dadadada!” I turn to find several blown-up photographs of Melissa and Cal staring back, leaving me speechless. But when Izzy’s bottom lip quivers and tears stream down her face, a gaping hole breaks open in the center of my body.

  My heart clenches, and my vision blurs.

  When a soft hand reaches for mine, I clasp it. Katherine’s voice warbles, barely above a whisper. “I thought it would be nice to have photos since it was closed casket, but… I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Her eyes are just about to spill over with tears.

  “It’s okay.” I swallow and struggle to clear my throat. “It’s okay. This… was very thoughtful. Thank you.” Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I pull her in close and kiss her forehead. We stay like that for a moment. Just the three of us. Until I can breathe again.

  We settle into the front row seats reserved for family, and Izzy reaches for Kat, who snuggles her close. A minister says a few words, but all I can see are my brother’s blue eyes staring back at me. He looks so happy. And I begrudged him this happiness.

  I try to listen to the minister, but I can’t concentrate on anything but the two caskets on the dais. I study the mahogany finish. The polished handrails. The delicate carvings along the lids. It’s all so permanent.

  I’m finally jarred when Izzy crawls into my lap, and Kat and I end up passing the baby back and forth.

  An odd sensation comes over me when I watch Kat kiss Izzy. In different circumstances, she’d totally be the kind of girl I’d go for. She’s sweet and thoughtful. Funny and outgoing. The girl-next-door but also incredibly sexy without even trying.

  I shake the thought from my head. Never gonna happen, man. You’re headed back to Boston.

  The hollowness in my chest swells.

  The minister talks, about what, I’m not sure. Finally, he motions toward me, and I realize he wants me to come up to the podium. I vaguely remember Katherine asking if I wanted to say something today. I thought I declined, but clearly, that’s not what the minister thinks.

  Straightening my suit, I walk up.

  Grateful the audience can’t see my white knuckles gripping the podium, I take a deep breath. My attention lands on Katherine. When our eyes meet and she nods slightly, the words spill out of me.

  “I want to thank everyone for coming. My parents can’t be here today because of my father’s medical condition, but they extend their gratitude. They’ll be having a memorial service in Boston once my father has recovered, and I’ll be sure our friends and family back home know how many of you came to extend your condolences.”

  I glance over at the photos. “Melissa, thank you for being a wonderful wife and mother. It’s clear from everything I’ve seen at your farm how dedicated you were to my brother and niece. I’m honored you were my sister and hope you know how loved you are. Half of South Texas showed up here today to honor your memory.” Heads nod in the audience. “I wish things had been different. I wish we had gotten to know each other, and you could explain why we have two pygmy goats and a baby raccoon.”

  Everyone chuckles, and a sad smile tilts my lips as I loosen my grip on the podium.

  “I also need to thank you all for welcoming my brother. He loved this place. Loved living here with Melissa and Isabella. I don’t know if you know this, but he basically dropped everything in Boston to move here and be with Mel.” I shrug, not sure if people will understand what I have to say but needing to say it anyway. “He and I didn’t see eye to eye on this, but the great thing about Cal is he didn’t need people’s approval to do what was right for him and his family, which is something I’ve come to admire about my brother.”

  I rub my jaw, realizing I didn’t shave. “I, um, I let him down. For so many reasons. So I need to apologize to you, Cal, for being an ass”—I glance back toward his casket —“and not trying to see things from your perspective.” A sniffle in the front row catches my attention as Katherine wipes away tears. “What I didn’t understand is that when you find your own little slice of heaven on Earth, you do everything you can to preserve it. To protect it. To nurture it. The way you would your lavender fields.” Katherine’s eyes meet mine, and I swallow back the lump in my throat and look away.

  “Brother, I hope you’ll forgive me. Please know that I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to make it up to you and caring for Isabella. She and I have agreed that she’s not dating before she’s thirty, so that should please you. And in case anyone has other ideas, I found your shotgun, so we’re all good.”

  The audience laughs, and I try to get past the ache in my sternum so I can finish. “I’ll miss you, brother. Forever. And as long as I have breath in my lungs, I’ll love and care for your daughter.”

  When I get back to my seat, Katherine is crying softly, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m pulling her and Izzy into my chest where Kat openly begins to sob. The baby crawls into my lap, and I hook my arm around her and hug her closer, vowing to do my best to take care of her. Her chubby little cheek drops to my shoulder, and it’s all I can do to keep from breaking down myself.

  18

  Katherine

  When the service is over, Brady grabs my hand and tugs me alongside him. People hug us and cry, and I’m barely putting one foot in front of another. The cemetery is worse. So much worse. Brady holds Izzy and keeps a comforting arm around me the whole time, and even though my heart aches for the loss of my friends, a strange warmth comes over me when he grips me tighter.

  I stare up at him as we walk to the truck, and whe
n our eyes connect, the pain of today ebbs away just a little bit, making me wish I knew him in different circumstances. Because in another lifetime, in a parallel world—one where he doesn’t live on the other side of the country—I think he’s the kind of man I could love.

  The realization is so strong, so jarring, I trip, but he hangs on to my arm and keeps me from wiping out.

  “Careful, Grace,” he mumbles, and even though I’m embarrassed, I smile.

  As I’m regaining my bearings, Mrs. MacIntyre stops in front of us. “Give me the baby. Y’all need a night to recuperate, and if I know you”—she points at me—“you’re working yourself to the bone. You can pick her up in the morning.”

  Brady looks to me, and I introduce them. “This is our neighbor, Mrs. MacIntyre. She watches Isabella sometimes when I work at the diner. She’s been out of town, or I’m sure you would’ve met her by now.”

  He frowns and stares at me a moment. “You work at a diner?”

  “Yes, but I took this week off. I go back on Monday.”

  His frown turns into more of a scowl, and I feel like I just poked a bear.

  Mrs. Mac ignores our conversation and takes Bella, who grins up at her. “Hey, little miss.” She turns to Brady. “Call me if you two need anything. Is there milk in here?” She points to the diaper bag.

  I nod, but before I can say anything, she pats my arm, turns on her heel and waltzes off.

  As we watch our neighbor cross the parking lot, Brady whispers, “Please tell me we didn’t just send her off with a lunatic.”

  And then I laugh for the first time today, and it feels surprisingly good.