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Authors: Linda Lael Miller
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and stretched his long legs out on the attending hassock. “No. Mama thinks he’ll be here sometime tomorrow.”
Adam lifted his glass to his mouth, lowered it again without drinking. Damn it, what did he see out there?
“He’ll like Banner,” Jeff said, to fill the silence.
His brother’s imposing shoulders stiffened beneath his shirt. “Why should he be different?”
Jeff sighed. “Good Lord, are we back to that again? I’m sorry I mentioned her, Adam.”
“So am I.”
Jeff emitted a soft, furious breath and scrambled out of his chair to make a drink of his own. These brooding silences of Adam’s always nettled him, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the distance they spawned between the two of them. Or the annoying idea that Adam might know something he didn’t.
Crystal clinked against crystal as Jeff filled a glass with imported brandy. “What are you thinking about?”
Adam chuckled rawly but did not turn around. “Papa,” he said.
Jeff regretted prodding him now. Five years had passed since the accident, but Adam had been there, seen their father die. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, going back to his chair. “Why torture yourself?”
Adam offered no answer to that, but his face looked ravaged when he finally turned away from the window and strode to the sidetable to add bourbon to his glass.
Jeff felt the pain that he saw in his brother, shared it, and the fact infuriated him. “Christ, Adam, it’s been years! Grief is grief, but—”
“Shut up,” snarled Adam. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You don’t know what I’m thinking or what I’m feeling, so—”
Jeff’s face reddened as he bolted out of the chair again. “Poor Adam!” he boomed. “Let’s all weep for what he’s suffered! And heaven forbid that any of us should enjoy anything!”
Something terrible moved in Adam’s strained features. He dropped his glass to the floor and lunged at Jeff with a soul-numbing bellow.
“Mama!” shrieked Melissa from somewhere in the pounding blur.
The noise was horrific, and Melissa’s screams did lend a certain drama.
Katherine Corbin took her fabled buggywhip fromits rack behind her desk and advanced on the parlor, prepared to use it. Lord, trying to persuade the territorial legislature to grant women the vote was nothing compared to keeping peace between her own sons.
Entering the war zone, she found Adam and Jeff rolling on the rug like two ruffians, and it was hard to tell where one brute left off and the other began.
No matter. Katherine unfurled the buggywhip and gave it one warning crack.
Instantly, the battle abated and her sons got to their feet, looking shame-faced and wan and still angry, all of a piece. Adam’s lower lip was bleeding, and Jeff had the beginnings of a black eye.
“If you must fight,” their mother said succinctly, “kindly go outside.”
One after the other, their hard breathing metering the motions of their Daniel-like shoulders, they bowed. Then, after exchanging vicious looks, they made their way toward the front doors.
Katherine shook her head as the fight resumed in the dooryard, gave an anxious Melissa a reassuring look, and went back to the study to work on the speech she meant to make when the Senate was back in session.
* * *
Keith Corbin was tired and cold, and the last welcome he’d expected was a bare-knuckle fisticuff in the petunia patch.
He paused on the walk, watching in silence as Jeff went hurtling past him, backward, to make hard contact with the trunk of a holly tree.
Probably revived from the inevitable daze by the shower of snow that was dislodged from the festive plummage of the tree, Jeff bellowed, lowered his head, and charged into Adam’s midsection like a bull.
Adam’s breath was expelled from his lungs in a whooshing grunt, and he landed roughly where next year’s tulips and irises would grow.
Keith spread his hands in reverendly grace and shouted, “I’m
Adam lifted his glass to his mouth, lowered it again without drinking. Damn it, what did he see out there?
“He’ll like Banner,” Jeff said, to fill the silence.
His brother’s imposing shoulders stiffened beneath his shirt. “Why should he be different?”
Jeff sighed. “Good Lord, are we back to that again? I’m sorry I mentioned her, Adam.”
“So am I.”
Jeff emitted a soft, furious breath and scrambled out of his chair to make a drink of his own. These brooding silences of Adam’s always nettled him, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the distance they spawned between the two of them. Or the annoying idea that Adam might know something he didn’t.
Crystal clinked against crystal as Jeff filled a glass with imported brandy. “What are you thinking about?”
Adam chuckled rawly but did not turn around. “Papa,” he said.
Jeff regretted prodding him now. Five years had passed since the accident, but Adam had been there, seen their father die. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, going back to his chair. “Why torture yourself?”
Adam offered no answer to that, but his face looked ravaged when he finally turned away from the window and strode to the sidetable to add bourbon to his glass.
Jeff felt the pain that he saw in his brother, shared it, and the fact infuriated him. “Christ, Adam, it’s been years! Grief is grief, but—”
“Shut up,” snarled Adam. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You don’t know what I’m thinking or what I’m feeling, so—”
Jeff’s face reddened as he bolted out of the chair again. “Poor Adam!” he boomed. “Let’s all weep for what he’s suffered! And heaven forbid that any of us should enjoy anything!”
Something terrible moved in Adam’s strained features. He dropped his glass to the floor and lunged at Jeff with a soul-numbing bellow.
“Mama!” shrieked Melissa from somewhere in the pounding blur.
The noise was horrific, and Melissa’s screams did lend a certain drama.
Katherine Corbin took her fabled buggywhip fromits rack behind her desk and advanced on the parlor, prepared to use it. Lord, trying to persuade the territorial legislature to grant women the vote was nothing compared to keeping peace between her own sons.
Entering the war zone, she found Adam and Jeff rolling on the rug like two ruffians, and it was hard to tell where one brute left off and the other began.
No matter. Katherine unfurled the buggywhip and gave it one warning crack.
Instantly, the battle abated and her sons got to their feet, looking shame-faced and wan and still angry, all of a piece. Adam’s lower lip was bleeding, and Jeff had the beginnings of a black eye.
“If you must fight,” their mother said succinctly, “kindly go outside.”
One after the other, their hard breathing metering the motions of their Daniel-like shoulders, they bowed. Then, after exchanging vicious looks, they made their way toward the front doors.
Katherine shook her head as the fight resumed in the dooryard, gave an anxious Melissa a reassuring look, and went back to the study to work on the speech she meant to make when the Senate was back in session.
* * *
Keith Corbin was tired and cold, and the last welcome he’d expected was a bare-knuckle fisticuff in the petunia patch.
He paused on the walk, watching in silence as Jeff went hurtling past him, backward, to make hard contact with the trunk of a holly tree.
Probably revived from the inevitable daze by the shower of snow that was dislodged from the festive plummage of the tree, Jeff bellowed, lowered his head, and charged into Adam’s midsection like a bull.
Adam’s breath was expelled from his lungs in a whooshing grunt, and he landed roughly where next year’s tulips and irises would grow.
Keith spread his hands in reverendly grace and shouted, “I’m
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