Reclaiming His Past (23 page)

Aiming for his weak spot, she said, “When we were camping together, Juliana confided in me. Whatever secrets you're harboring have her worried. As her sister, I don't approve.”

His lids flared. Anxiety pinched his rugged features. Casting his gaze about, he moved closer. “What did she say exactly?”

“That you're acting strangely and avoiding her.” A horrible thought struck her. “You haven't taken up with another woman, have you?”

The color drained from his face. His gaze turned deadly, and Jessica wished to recall the words. He gripped her upper arm none too lightly and, steering her outside and onto the boardwalk, marched her to the alley beside the building.

“How could you suggest such a thing?” he demanded, throwing his arms wide. “Your sister is the only woman I've ever loved. I wouldn't do anything to risk losing her. Surely you know me better than that.”

“You're right. I spoke before I thought.” Evan was a loving, devoted husband and father. “But why all the secrecy? What's going on, Evan?”

He kicked at the dirt beneath his boots. “I'm working on something. A surprise for Juliana.”

“What is it?”

“I'm not telling my sister-in-law before I've told my wife.”

Jessica studied his face, instinct telling her to trust him. “Fine. You'd better tell her soon, though. Who knows what scenarios she's cooked up to explain your behavior.”

His smirk vanished. “I know. She's tried to pry it out of me every way she knows how. I've managed to keep her questions at bay. I don't like worrying her.”

“How long before your surprise is ready?” Curiosity made her temporarily forget her own sorrows for a moment. Would a man ever go to this much trouble for her?

“Not much longer, I hope. Keeping secrets from your loved one, even innocent ones, takes its toll on a relationship.”

Jessica stared at the livery building, desperate to see Grant but aware it wasn't a good idea. She didn't need the reminder. She'd gotten burned by Lee's secrets, and now she was harboring one of her own. One she'd take with her to the grave.

Why tell Grant she loved him when it wouldn't change a thing?

Chapter Twenty-Four

G
rant left the stuffy confines of the livery and, stalking to the copse of trees yards from the rear entrance, discarded a bucketful of dirty water. He squinted into the sun and swiped his shirtsleeve across his brow. They were having an unseasonably sweltering day. His boss assured him the cooler weather would return by next week. Grant didn't bother reminding him he might not be around next week.

Like the attitudes of the rest, Warring's, too, had undergone a drastic change since his true profession had become common knowledge. The older man didn't hover anymore when Grant cared for the horses and mules, nor did he bother overseeing the customers' transactions. It appeared the title of US Marshal evoked instant respect, whether it was deserved or not.

Billowing the front of his shirt to unstick it from his skin, he didn't hear anyone approach.

“Garrett?”

Grant stilled. He didn't have to turn around to know who stood behind him. No one called him that.

Lord, give me strength.
Lowering the bucket to the ground, he turned, coming face-to-face with his brother.

Heart thudding, he looked into a face remarkably like his own. “It's Grant, actually. That's the name I go by. Folks are used to calling me that, and I'm used to hearing it.”

“I don't care what name you use, big brother,” the shorter man grunted before enveloping him in an enthusiastic hug. Pulling back, Aaron gripped his arms. “We've had some close calls before, but this time around I was beginning to think I'd lost you for good. Praise God you're all right!”

Grant subtly disengaged from his hold. He didn't want to ruin this reunion, but he wasn't up for more displays of affection, either. He'd half hoped—irrationally—that one glance at his brother was all that it would take to unlock the past. His damaged brain was stubbornly refusing to cooperate, however. As he stared into his younger brother's face, he sensed a deep connection. He just didn't have facts or events to attach to it.

Dressed in neat blue trousers and a white button-down shirt beneath a gray-and-blue vest, Aaron was clean-shaven, with blond hair that was cut military short. Despite his travels, his boots were immaculate. The shiny silver star nestled proudly over his heart. A small scar was visible on his chin, where a bullet or knife blade had nicked the skin, perhaps? Theirs was a risky occupation fraught with danger.

“Did Taylor tell you about my problem?”

Aaron's smile vanished. Stroking his jaw in a weary gesture, he said, “Yeah. I got into town about an hour ago and went straight to the sheriff's office. Timmons and Taylor were both there. They told me everything.”

“So you understand that I don't remember you.”

Pain flashed in Aaron's eyes. Grant's lack of recognition and cautious reception was hurtful, that much was clear. He tried to put himself in Aaron's place. The most significant person in his life was Jessica. The idea that she would wake one day and not remember a single thing about him was devastating.

“I know that's difficult for you to comprehend,” Grant tacked on.

“I understand you have questions. And I realize it will take time for you to trust me. You're the cautious type.”

The bit of insight thrilled Grant. Here was the one person in the world who'd known him since childhood, who knew his likes and dislikes. His strengths and faults. Aaron had the keys to unlocking his history.

“I am? Why?”

“It's something you develop over time in this line of work. Dealing with criminals on a regular basis makes you cynical.” He scowled. “Susannah's behavior didn't help matters.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Aaron exhaled. Twisting slightly, he scanned the lane behind the row of businesses. “We've a lot to talk about. But I've been riding like the wind these past days to get to you. I'm saddle-sore, in need of a bath in a real copper tub, not a river, and I'm famished. Is there somewhere we can get something to eat? I'll answer your questions over a cup of coffee and a hot meal.”

Grant belatedly noticed Aaron's eyes were bloodshot and fatigue tightened the skin across his cheekbones.

“Sorry. I didn't think.” Gesturing toward the main thoroughfare, which was hidden by the livery, he said, “Let me tell my boss I'm leaving. We can get something to eat at the Plum Café.”

Aaron gave him a strange side-glance. “Your boss is Governor William Cameron.”

“For now, it's also Milton Warring.”

“Whatever you say.”

Warring waved him off without a word of complaint. Apparently the presence of three marshals in their mountain town was a rare and unique occurrence. The livery owner wasn't about to go against their wishes.

He met Aaron out front after divesting himself of his apron and washing the grime from his face and hands. Their walk to the café did not go unnoticed. Aaron didn't seem to mind. He was probably used to people staring when he arrived in a new town.

Questions about his brother's life bubbled to the surface. Was Aaron happy doing this job? Was there a girl somewhere out there who pined for him?

As usual when he strolled through the heart of town, Grant found himself scanning the boardwalk for a glimpse of flame-red hair. He hadn't seen Jessica in almost a week, and he was miserable without her. Living with her relatives made the situation nearly untenable. Once this week, he'd returned from work to find Jane ensconced in the living room, her newborn tucked in her arms. For a split second, he'd seen Jessica in place of her twin. He'd envisioned coming home to her and their children. Clara's chattering and spinning about in circles had wrenched him back to reality before he could make a fool of himself.

When Jane had asked if he'd like to hold the baby, he'd muttered an inane excuse and escaped upstairs. He'd been so upset that he'd remained in his room rather than risk seeing her again at supper.

He kept telling himself it was bound to get worse before it got better. That the throbbing, bleeding hole in his heart would eventually scab over and heal once he'd put miles between them. Like the wound in his side, he'd be left with ugly scars. But he'd survive. He had to.

There were no good choices available to him. He had a life in Virginia to resume. Responsibilities. As much as he yearned to stay, he couldn't.
It's not just the job or the duty, though, is it?
an inner voice needled.
It's the possibility you were a miserable excuse for a husband that's holding you silent.

“Who are you searching for?” Aaron paused outside the café, his hand on the knob.

Grant tore his gaze from the passersby. “No one.”

One blond brow quirked in disbelief. “Right.”

Grant remembered something. “I've been on the receiving end of that particular look plenty of times, haven't I?”

Laughing, he pulled the door open. “As your little brother, it's my job to pester the truth out of you.”

Settling in a semiprivate corner table, they placed their orders. Aaron aimed a wide smile at the hostess and asked for a whole pot of coffee to be brought to their table. She blushed and stammered before rushing to do his bidding.

Grant shook his head at how naturally Aaron switched on the charm.

Discarding his hat on the seat next to him, Aaron leaned back in his chair and toyed with the napkin atop the table. “I suppose you'd like to hear about your marriage first.”

“Actually no. I'd like to start with you.”

His brows shot up. “Me?”

“Have you ever been married or engaged?”

Laughter burst out of him, causing several patrons to turn and stare. “No, thank you. I enjoy teasing the ladies, but that's as far as it goes. I'm too young for all that serious stuff.”

“How old are you?”

His humor faded. “This is strange. You not knowing anything about me or yourself. Our history.”

“I can imagine.”

“I'm twenty-three. Three years younger than you. My birthday is October twentieth. Yours is January twenty-sixth.”

“Where did we grow up? What was our home like? Our father?”

He'd learned from Taylor that their mother had died shortly after giving birth to Aaron. Their father had raised them with the help of their paternal grandparents. It hurt to know they'd all passed on. Grant would've liked to meet them, speak with them, gain insight into the past.

The waitress arrived with their coffee. Aaron chatted with her while she poured the fragrant brew. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Grant was positive she was besotted.

“Are you angling for free dessert?”

He spread his hands and adopted an innocent look. “I'm simply being friendly.”

He felt himself smiling. “I have a feeling you've left a string of brokenhearted young women across this great country of ours.”

They shared a laugh. He noticed Aaron didn't deny it. As they waited for their order, he launched into an abbreviated account of their childhood. Their father had been a stern, serious man who'd worked long, odd hours trying to keep the peace in their city. Fortunately, their grandparents had been happy to help raise them. Fredrick Parker had taken them fishing, taught them how to build things in his work shed, let them help care for the horses. Kind, nurturing Marjorie Parker had read them stories, taken them with her to the mercantile, doctored their minor cuts and scrapes and always greeted them after school with a plate of cookies. They'd also made sure the boys memorized Scripture and attended church regularly.

Hearing about his grandparents made him wistful for lost memories. He didn't want to merely imagine what they'd been like. He wanted to remember for himself.

“So that's why I remember so many verses. For a while there, I kind of thought I might be a preacher.”

Aaron laughed again. “A preacher? You?”

“That was Jessica's response, too,” he said drily.

Interest roared to life. “Who's Jessica?”

He bit into his corn bread, wishing he hadn't mentioned her. His brother was going to give him a hard time about her. “Jessica O'Malley and her mother, Alice, are the ones who found me. They took me in.”

“Is she married?”

“Eat your meat loaf.” He jabbed a finger at his plate, slipping into the role of big brother without a thought.

Aaron's expression warned he wasn't done fishing for information. Dropping the matter, he scooped up a large forkful of his meal. The food wasn't anything to rave over. The corn bread was dry, the potatoes tasteless. Grant had yet to meet the new owner who'd spurned the twins' desserts. Half the tables were empty, and it was a quarter past noon. Did the man even care that his business was in trouble?

When they'd finished, Grant tossed his napkin over his plate. “How did I meet Susannah?”

“It was at one of the governor's fancy soirees. A Christmas party. She was a friend of the governor's daughters and was clearly intrigued by the marshals' presence.”

“What was she like?”

“Beautiful. Sophisticated. An accomplished flirt.” He described her sleek black hair, flawless skin and blue eyes. Grant tried to picture her and failed. “You weren't interested in pursuing a relationship and wouldn't even agree to dance. Then one of our fellow marshals introduced her to a group of us. She asked you to dance. You couldn't refuse without embarrassing her. She didn't leave your side for the rest of the night.”

“Why wasn't I interested?”

“Our lifestyle. On the trail more months out of the year than we are at home. The danger. Loneliness.”

“Something about Susannah changed my mind. I must've loved her.”

The absence of emotion besides regret troubled him. The woman was his
wife
. She'd carried his child in her womb before death tragically claimed them both.

“Susannah Baker was the type of woman who dazzled a man. Made him forget, temporarily, his priorities.”

“You didn't approve.”

“There was something calculating about the way she looked at you. When I confronted you, you dismissed my doubts. You insisted she was worth the sacrifice. You had a whirlwind courtship and were engaged within three weeks' time.”

“Wait. What sacrifice?”

“Your independence. Your career.”

Grant sagged against the wooden slats. “I was going to quit the marshals?”

“She'd convinced you to give up your life's dream. But shortly after the wedding, we got word the Nelson gang had struck again, this time wiping out a group of women and children. Taylor needed us both to help track them down. Susannah was livid. I waited outside, but I could hear the crashing plates, her shouting. She accused you of breaking your promise, of loving the job more than her.”

A dull ache blossomed behind his forehead. “Apparently I'm not a man of my word.”

Aaron's expression turned bullish. “That's rubbish. Taylor needed you. Those innocent victims' families needed you. She refused to look at the situation from your perspective. You didn't lie. You promised the mission would be your last.” Frowning deeply, he ran a finger along the handle of his butter knife. “Only problem was, it took us a lot longer to locate the gang than we thought.”

“Did I know she was pregnant when I left?”

“No.” His blue eyes took on a sad quality. “Through Taylor, she was able to get a message to you. You were ecstatic about being a father, but I could sense there was tension between you. You were torn up about not being there, anxious to return. But it was too late...”

“No need to say any more.” Grant scooted his chair back and, tossing down enough coins to cover the bill, gestured to the door. “I can fill in the rest.”

Outside, Aaron turned to him. “I know this is difficult, but things will get better once we reach Arlington.”