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Authors: Fay Robinson
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little boy and he loves you. He hangs on every word you say.”
“I can’t adopt him. Drop the subject.” They had reached the horses and he snatched down the reins, which had been looped over a branch. He put his foot in the stirrup and started to mount, but she touched his arm.
“But if you love—”
He whirled and grabbed her by the shoulders. “I said I can’t,” he yelled, making both her and the horse jump. “Why won’t you listen to me, Morgan? I can’t adopt him. I can never adopt him. I’m no better than his mother.”
“Why do you say that?”
His face contorted with the pain he felt in his heart. “Because,” he said in anguish, “I killed my own brother.”
CHAPTER SIX
H E’D NEVER MEANT to tell her. For six years he’d lived with the guilt of having sent his brother to a fiery death, and not once had he shared his pain with anyone outside the family. But she’d pushed until the pain had boiled over. She’d dug until the wound that had festered for years broke open.
Adopt Henry? Dear God, he prayed every day for it. He’d take him in a minute. And Tom. And Melissa. And LaKeisha. And as many others as he could make room for. If it was only possible.
But it wasn’t. And it never would be. He’d resigned himself to that a long time ago.
He leaned one hand against the tree with his back to the woman and his head down, trying to bring his raw emotions under control. He knew he’d frightened her. He’d seen her fear. Then shock had replaced it. And finally repulsion.
She’d been so repulsed after he’d blurted his admission that she’d stepped back, not wanting to be touched by him.
“Hayes…” Her soft whisper jarred him. Her hand began to rub his back with the same comforting motion a mother might use to console a crying child. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” he said, clearing his throat. His voice was shaky. “Give me a minute.”
“Do you want me to leave you alone?”
He shook his head. He found her presence and her touch oddly soothing.
She stood quietly while her hand continued its slow journey across the center of his back. It slid upward to stroke his shoulders and the nape of his neck, to brush lightly through his hair. So many years had passed since anyone had touched him this way that even after he’d calmed himself, he didn’t move. He closed his eyes. He relaxed his body. He concentrated only on her hand and the pleasure it gave.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered several minutes later, and his eyes blinked open. “I should never have kept after you about Henry. What you do about him is your business, and I had no right to say anything.”
With regret he straightened and her hand fell away. But he didn’t turn. He couldn’t look at her. Not yet. Not when he’d made such a fool of himself.
He swiped his free hand across one eye and then the other. “The kids?” he asked, afraid he’d really screwed up. “Did they hear me?”
“No. I don’t think so. They’re playing some kind of game. They don’t appear to be paying us any attention.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. If they’d heard, if they’d understood what kind of man he was, he couldn’t survive it. He’d lost so much. To lose the love of the children would leave him nothing.
“Hayes…Bret, please look at me,” she begged softly. “I can’t talk to you like this.” When he didn’t move, she took him gently by the arm and forced himto turn around. He saw her tearstained face and realized, she, too, had wept, but silently so as not to intrude on his grief. “How can you imagine yourself responsible for James’s death?”
He lowered his gaze to the ground. She expected an explanation, and damned if he knew how he was going to give it.
A part of him longed to tell her everything, to confess the terrible wrong he’d committed against his brother and to finally face the consequences for what he’d done after his death. But his family…he had to think of them. Did
“I can’t adopt him. Drop the subject.” They had reached the horses and he snatched down the reins, which had been looped over a branch. He put his foot in the stirrup and started to mount, but she touched his arm.
“But if you love—”
He whirled and grabbed her by the shoulders. “I said I can’t,” he yelled, making both her and the horse jump. “Why won’t you listen to me, Morgan? I can’t adopt him. I can never adopt him. I’m no better than his mother.”
“Why do you say that?”
His face contorted with the pain he felt in his heart. “Because,” he said in anguish, “I killed my own brother.”
CHAPTER SIX
H E’D NEVER MEANT to tell her. For six years he’d lived with the guilt of having sent his brother to a fiery death, and not once had he shared his pain with anyone outside the family. But she’d pushed until the pain had boiled over. She’d dug until the wound that had festered for years broke open.
Adopt Henry? Dear God, he prayed every day for it. He’d take him in a minute. And Tom. And Melissa. And LaKeisha. And as many others as he could make room for. If it was only possible.
But it wasn’t. And it never would be. He’d resigned himself to that a long time ago.
He leaned one hand against the tree with his back to the woman and his head down, trying to bring his raw emotions under control. He knew he’d frightened her. He’d seen her fear. Then shock had replaced it. And finally repulsion.
She’d been so repulsed after he’d blurted his admission that she’d stepped back, not wanting to be touched by him.
“Hayes…” Her soft whisper jarred him. Her hand began to rub his back with the same comforting motion a mother might use to console a crying child. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” he said, clearing his throat. His voice was shaky. “Give me a minute.”
“Do you want me to leave you alone?”
He shook his head. He found her presence and her touch oddly soothing.
She stood quietly while her hand continued its slow journey across the center of his back. It slid upward to stroke his shoulders and the nape of his neck, to brush lightly through his hair. So many years had passed since anyone had touched him this way that even after he’d calmed himself, he didn’t move. He closed his eyes. He relaxed his body. He concentrated only on her hand and the pleasure it gave.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered several minutes later, and his eyes blinked open. “I should never have kept after you about Henry. What you do about him is your business, and I had no right to say anything.”
With regret he straightened and her hand fell away. But he didn’t turn. He couldn’t look at her. Not yet. Not when he’d made such a fool of himself.
He swiped his free hand across one eye and then the other. “The kids?” he asked, afraid he’d really screwed up. “Did they hear me?”
“No. I don’t think so. They’re playing some kind of game. They don’t appear to be paying us any attention.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. If they’d heard, if they’d understood what kind of man he was, he couldn’t survive it. He’d lost so much. To lose the love of the children would leave him nothing.
“Hayes…Bret, please look at me,” she begged softly. “I can’t talk to you like this.” When he didn’t move, she took him gently by the arm and forced himto turn around. He saw her tearstained face and realized, she, too, had wept, but silently so as not to intrude on his grief. “How can you imagine yourself responsible for James’s death?”
He lowered his gaze to the ground. She expected an explanation, and damned if he knew how he was going to give it.
A part of him longed to tell her everything, to confess the terrible wrong he’d committed against his brother and to finally face the consequences for what he’d done after his death. But his family…he had to think of them. Did
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