over the sink and saw again the pale face with the hollow—too hollow—cheeks and the huge, dilated brown eyes. The scar on my brow was a purple snake writhing beneath my bangs. I put shaking fingertips to it and traced out its path, feeling the ridged line and puckered flesh.
Brandon was waiting for me as I rejoined the people in the dining room. He put a drink in my hand—bourbon and water—and steered me toward the nearest table. A gentle pressure on my shoulder told me to sit down on the bench.
“Relax,” he said gently as I lifted the glass to my mouth. “What else can you expect when you see me for the first time?” His smile was comforting, as was the kindness in his eyes.
I sipped at the drink and then nodded, releasing a breath. “I feel stupid.”
“No. I’m damn near his twin, when you aren’t expecting it. Like I said, I would have warned you had I known you’d be here.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t know it myself. Vanessa bundled me onto the plane with strict instructions to enjoy myself… or at least realign my priorities.” I smiled a little. “I don’t suppose the two of you planned this?”
He laughed. He had a low, warm laugh. I’d forgotten how attentive he could be. “Hardly. I’m here primarily on business, but I plan to turn it into a mini-vacation as well. Still, I can’t say I’m disappointed to find you here. ” Briefly he put out a hand and touched my newly-arranged bangs. “Don’t worry about it, Kelly. There’s not much you can do about it now.”
I overlooked that, focused on something else. “What business, Brandon? Here? ”
He gestured. “With John Oliver.”
“You know the Olivers?”
The incredible grin, so like Tucker’s, flashed out to encompass me. “John works for me.”
I stared at him. “For you? ”
He laughed. “In a manner of speaking. To be honest, it’s my dad he calls boss. He runs the Nevada plant for the munitions portion of the family business.” For a moment his eyes were serious again. “Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m okay. But thanks.”
“Stay here. I need to tell John something, and then I’ll be right back.”
I nodded. As he moved across the room to join the Olivers I felt other eyes on me and sought them out. It was Rafferty who watched me so intently. At last, uncomfortable, I looked away and swallowed more of my drink.
Brandon Walkerton. At Smoketree. I was surprised and shaken by his arrival, but not at all sorry. Brandon had known Tucker very well indeed, and he understood. Harper Young had tried to pry my problems out of me, but Brandon wouldn’t have to. He already knew.
Brandon James Walkerton, the fourth of that name, had known Tucker even longer than I. They had attended UCLA together, Tucker involved in drama and Brandon majoring in popularity. Tucker’s family wealth had never rivaled Brandon’s, but their backgrounds were similar enough to make them good friends. And when Tucker had gained his fame, he and Brandon—both bachelors—had made the rounds of the California party circles. They were involved in other ways, as well. Brandon’s father owned a company with corporate fingers in countless national and international pies. One happened to be a major motion picture studio-one that employed Tucker regularly.
There had been much kidding about their physical resemblance. Brandon was a little heavier, a little taller, a little more overpowering on first meeting than Tucker. They had shared similar temperaments and interests. They had shared a large portion of their lives together, until Tucker met me. And then things had changed. As Tucker and I grew closer and closer, Brandon drifted away, jetting around the world in search of entertainment. That he had come to Smoketree on business really surprised me. He had never been work-oriented before.
I smiled. Brandon Walkerton was a playboy who knew his part very well. He was very, very good at spending his father’s money; I wasn’t
Brandon was waiting for me as I rejoined the people in the dining room. He put a drink in my hand—bourbon and water—and steered me toward the nearest table. A gentle pressure on my shoulder told me to sit down on the bench.
“Relax,” he said gently as I lifted the glass to my mouth. “What else can you expect when you see me for the first time?” His smile was comforting, as was the kindness in his eyes.
I sipped at the drink and then nodded, releasing a breath. “I feel stupid.”
“No. I’m damn near his twin, when you aren’t expecting it. Like I said, I would have warned you had I known you’d be here.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t know it myself. Vanessa bundled me onto the plane with strict instructions to enjoy myself… or at least realign my priorities.” I smiled a little. “I don’t suppose the two of you planned this?”
He laughed. He had a low, warm laugh. I’d forgotten how attentive he could be. “Hardly. I’m here primarily on business, but I plan to turn it into a mini-vacation as well. Still, I can’t say I’m disappointed to find you here. ” Briefly he put out a hand and touched my newly-arranged bangs. “Don’t worry about it, Kelly. There’s not much you can do about it now.”
I overlooked that, focused on something else. “What business, Brandon? Here? ”
He gestured. “With John Oliver.”
“You know the Olivers?”
The incredible grin, so like Tucker’s, flashed out to encompass me. “John works for me.”
I stared at him. “For you? ”
He laughed. “In a manner of speaking. To be honest, it’s my dad he calls boss. He runs the Nevada plant for the munitions portion of the family business.” For a moment his eyes were serious again. “Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m okay. But thanks.”
“Stay here. I need to tell John something, and then I’ll be right back.”
I nodded. As he moved across the room to join the Olivers I felt other eyes on me and sought them out. It was Rafferty who watched me so intently. At last, uncomfortable, I looked away and swallowed more of my drink.
Brandon Walkerton. At Smoketree. I was surprised and shaken by his arrival, but not at all sorry. Brandon had known Tucker very well indeed, and he understood. Harper Young had tried to pry my problems out of me, but Brandon wouldn’t have to. He already knew.
Brandon James Walkerton, the fourth of that name, had known Tucker even longer than I. They had attended UCLA together, Tucker involved in drama and Brandon majoring in popularity. Tucker’s family wealth had never rivaled Brandon’s, but their backgrounds were similar enough to make them good friends. And when Tucker had gained his fame, he and Brandon—both bachelors—had made the rounds of the California party circles. They were involved in other ways, as well. Brandon’s father owned a company with corporate fingers in countless national and international pies. One happened to be a major motion picture studio-one that employed Tucker regularly.
There had been much kidding about their physical resemblance. Brandon was a little heavier, a little taller, a little more overpowering on first meeting than Tucker. They had shared similar temperaments and interests. They had shared a large portion of their lives together, until Tucker met me. And then things had changed. As Tucker and I grew closer and closer, Brandon drifted away, jetting around the world in search of entertainment. That he had come to Smoketree on business really surprised me. He had never been work-oriented before.
I smiled. Brandon Walkerton was a playboy who knew his part very well. He was very, very good at spending his father’s money; I wasn’t
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