Lori’s Little Secret Read online

  But no. Nobody knew. Except Henry. She had told him, and only him, before they were married.

  Only Henry knew. And Henry was gone.

  So why did Tucker make it seem like it was all about Brody?

  She knew why.

  She was a single mom. And if a man wanted to get close to her, he had to make it clear he understood that Brody was a big part of her life—and would be a big part of the life of any man she took seriously.

  Lori shut her eyes and drew in a long, slow breath.

  “Lori. You still with me?”

  “Uh. Yes. Yes, I’m right here.”

  “So, what do you say?”

  She swallowed and dared to ask, “It’s all about Brody, huh?”

  He laughed then. “Well, not quite all. There’s also you…and me.” Something within her warmed and softened at those words. And she remembered…

  His lean arms around her as they danced the last dance that fateful night, his voice a velvet whisper in her ear…

  “I don’t want tonight to end….”

  She had sighed and snuggled closer, her—Lena’s—pink satin gown rustling softly against the dark fabric of his tuxedo. And then she’d lifted her head from the cradle of his shoulder, tipping her face up to show him the yearning in her eyes. “I don’t either, Tucker. I want tonight to last forever…”

  He looked down at her, his dark eyes shining with desire—for her, for Lori, though he didn’t even know it. “We could…go somewhere. Be alone. Just you and me…”

  She lowered her lashes, rested her head once more against his shoulder, felt the hungry beating of his heart beneath her ear and the answering clamor of her own.

  “Lena…” he whispered, breaking her pounding heart into a thousand tiny pieces.

  And still, she dared to lift her head again and smile up at him. “Yes. Let’s do that. Let’s go somewhere…”

  “Lori?” Tucker’s deep voice came to her—on the phone, now, today. “Will you come to the ranch, around five, you and Brody?”

  She should tell him the truth, now.

  Or tell him no.

  She knew that.

  Still, she opened her mouth and said, “Yes. We’ll come.”

  Chapter Three

  “Come on Fargo, come on, boy!”

  Brody hauled himself out of the pool and took off, wet feet slapping the tiles, until he reached the expanse of green, green lawn. The lawn rolled out to the thick circle of oaks and pecan trees rimming the backyard grounds of the sprawling Double T ranch house. Brody ran on, across the jewel-green grass, dripping pool water, laughing. Fargo, yipping in excitement, chased at his heels.

  Beyond the crown of trees, the sun had already set. Lori and Tucker sat by the pool in the gathering twilight as the boy and the dog played on the grass.

  “I think he’s had a real good time,” said Tucker.

  She slanted him a grin and took a sip from her margarita. “Understatement of the decade. He loved riding that pony. And I swear he ate a whole slab of those incredible ribs you served up.”

  “I can’t take credit for the ribs. They’re Miranda’s specialty.” Miranda Coutera was the Double T’s housekeeper. Tucker lifted his margarita glass. “Likewise the margaritas.”

  Lori tapped his glass with hers. “Here’s to Miranda.”

  “Miranda,” he echoed softly.

  The pool lights came on and cast a soft glow up toward the wide, slowly darkening Texas sky. A pesky mosquito buzzed near Lori’s ear.

  She gave her neck a good, sharp slap. Then she laughed. “A summer night in Texas. Nothing like it.”

  “Hey. At least it’s not a hundred and ten and so humid you work up a sweat just sitting still.” His eyes gleamed at her through the shadows. “Yet.”

  They shared a long glance—a little too long. She cleared her throat. “I do like that about San Antonio. It’s not quite so humid as it can get around here.”

  “You never mentioned the kind of work you do there—or do you have your hands full just being a mom?”

  “I’m a dental assistant. Or I was. It’s a two-year degree. My dad paid my tuition and I went to school, starting right after Brody was born.”

  “I think somebody told me your husband was a dentist…”

  She nodded. “I met Henry when he hired me for my first job. The last five years, I haven’t practiced. I ran my husband’s office. And it turned out I had a knack for the business end of things. I’m a good manager and I’ve got a talent for investing.” The truth was that she’d tripled their assets in the years she and Henry were married. “I sold my husband’s practice when he became too ill to work. So except for managing my investments, I guess you could say I’m between jobs.”

  “You’re free, then,” he said quietly. “To go wherever you want to go…”

  He was right, she supposed. She was free. Not that she had any plans to move. She liked San Antonio and she’d been happy there.

  And it was getting dark. Time to say goodbye. She set down her glass. “You know, it is getting kind of late and—”

  He cut her off by picking up the spray bottle on the table in front of them. “Try this. All natural. Citronella or something. You become invisible—to mosquitoes, anyway.”

  “But I really think we should—”

  “Come on. Give it a try.”

  She glanced out over the grass where Brody lay on his back, laughing in delight, as Fargo wiggled all over him, trying to lick his face. And when she looked at the man beside her again, she found herself reaching out, taking the spray bottle—and using extra, special care not to let her fingers touch his in passing. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure—spray your ankles, too. Mosquitoes just love a nice, tasty ankle.” She dutifully scooted her chair out enough to give her ankles and her bare thighs a couple of good squirts. That handled, she scooted in again and sprayed her arms, then lifted her hair to spray her neck. When she set the bottle on the table again, he asked, his voice low and a little bit husky, “Better?”

  “So far, so good.” She glanced over, saw the look of admiration in his eyes and felt underdressed in her modest tank-style swimsuit and simple button-front cover-up. She also couldn’t deny the thrill of pleasure that went shooting through her—that he was looking. That he liked what he saw.

  Oh, she really should go….

  Tucker sat back in his chair and rested his elbows on the wrought-iron arms. “Hungry mosquitoes or not, it’s damn beautiful out here.” He stared off, past Brody and Fargo, toward the shadowed rim of trees.

  Get up and get out, she thought. But she didn’t. She studied his strong profile for a moment, thinking how handsome he was, then followed his gaze to the trees and beyond, out into the wide, clear Texas sky. A glow of orange and purple still lingered, the last of a glorious swiftly fading sunset. “Beautiful. Yes…”

  “You know, I’ve seen the coral gardens off Bora Bora. I’ve climbed the Eiffel Tower, stood at the foot of the Sphinx. But I never could see the beauty of my own damn backyard—not when I was a kid, anyway.”

  She knew why; most folks in town did. She turned her gaze to him again. “Because of Ol’ Tuck, right?” Ol’ Tuck was Tucker’s grandfather, Tucker Tate IV.

  Tucker grunted. “Granddaddy and I were born not to get along.” Tucker’s grandfather had been famous for his hardheadedness, both in business and with his family. He’d ruled the Double T ranch house with an iron hand.

  “Your grandfather was a tough one,” Lori said.

  Tucker shrugged. “He was always pretty good to Tate, in his own overbearing, ornery way. But he never did much care for me.”

  She had to actively resist the urge to reach out and press a reassuring hand on his hard, tanned arm. The battles between Tucker and his grandfather were the next thing to legend in Tate’s Junction. Tucker was constantly making the mistake of standing up to Ol’ Tuck. Nobody did that and got away with it.

  Tucker said, “He always believed I was the result o
f my mother’s affair with some stranger. That got to him, that he had to raise his flighty daughter’s illegitimate son and pretend I wasn’t what he knew damn well I was. Hah. Fooled him—or I would have, if he wasn’t already gone when we learned the truth.” Tucker’s grandfather had died three or four years ago. The truth about Tucker’s father had only been discovered last summer. Tucker added, grinning, “I’m no more a bastard than my brother is—meaning, if I am, then Tate is, too.”

  Bastard, Lori thought. It was an ugly word. One that had little meaning, really, not anymore. Except to hide-bound traditionalists, like Ol’ Tuck. And Heck Billingsworth…

  Tucker continued, “As far as we can figure out, our father married more than once. Who he married first is a question yet to be answered.”

  Lori wasn’t listening. She looked out at her son rolling around on the lawn and reminded herself that he was a great kid, that she’d done the best she could and that judging by the way Brody was turning out, the best she could do was pretty damn good.

  Tucker must have picked up the direction of her thoughts, because he said, “Sorry. No offense meant, I promise you…”

  It was one of those moments—and there had been several during the evening—when she could have led right up to telling him that Brody was his son. She opened her mouth. And lied some more, by omission. “No offense taken. Honestly.”

  He looked at her—a deep look. “Sure?” She nodded. He said, “And here I am, yammering on, just assuming that your mother or Lena filled you in on all this when we found out about Blake Bravo last year.”

  Lori had heard all about it. Her mother and her sister had taken turns on the phone with her, both of them thrilled to have such a great story to tell her. “Lena did tell me. Mama mentioned it, too. And yes, I heard that the news had everyone talking.”

  The story went that the Blake Bravo, notorious kidnapper of his own brother’s son, was also Tate’s and Tucker’s father. Blake was supposed to have died right after Tate was conceived, but he didn’t die then. He lived for over thirty more years, making his home in Oklahoma all that time. As it turned out, Blake was the man that Penelope Tate Bravo had run off with when she got pregnant with Tucker.

  “Imagine,” said Tucker, dark eyes shining now, “I’ve got family I didn’t know I had and I’ve got them all over the place. A bunch of Bravo cousins in Wyoming, and one down in the Hill Country—she’s married to a veterinarian. I’ve got half brothers in Nevada and another one, Marsh, up in Norman, Oklahoma. There are two cousins—sisters—and their families, in Northern California. And then there’s the most famous branch of the family, the Los Angeles Bravos. They’re richer than we are, which is pretty damn rich, you can take my word for it. And let’s not forget Dekker, the notorious Bravo Baby, the one my dear, doubly departed daddy kidnapped all those years ago. Dekker’s in his thirties now, a private investigator up in Oklahoma City.”

  “That’s a lot of family,” she agreed.

  “And it’s not all, believe me, not by a long shot. I have a great-uncle, James, who had seven sons. And Blake had more children. Tate and I and our half brother, Marsh, are almost certain of that.” He looked so pleased with himself.

  She found his enthusiasm contagious. “You love it,” she said, grinning along with him, the nagging truth she hadn’t told him almost—though never completely—forgotten. “You love having all that family.”

  “I do,” he told her. “Tate had some problems with it at first, with the whole idea that the dad we never knew was a two-timing con man, and worse. But not me. It meant the damn world to me, to finally know who I really am, to know I’ve got people all over the good old U.S. of A. Makes me feel…I don’t know. Connected, I guess. Tuned in to the real reason we’re all here in the first place.”

  She couldn’t help chuckling. “Which is?”

  He tipped his head to the side—and she saw her son in him, saw Brody, saw what he would look like, when he was a man. The sight stole her breath.

  And stopped her heart.

  Tucker’s brown-gold brows drew together. “Lori?”

  He said her name and the frozen moment broke wide-open. Her heart found its rhythm. Sweet night air filled her lungs.

  “Tell me,” she said. It came out low, kind of breathless. And she didn’t care—not right then. She didn’t care that she was enjoying herself far too much, didn’t care that she shouldn’t do this, that the secret she kept stood firmly between them, that until she revealed the truth to him, she had no right to do this, no right to be sitting there, taking pleasure in his company under what could only be called false pretenses.

  Right then she cared only that she was sitting there, beside Tucker, in the new darkness, with their son laughing out on the lawn and the pool lights making everything glow in a misty, star-dusted kind of way.

  She prompted, softly, “What’s the real reason we’re all here?”

  He canted toward her. And she found herself leaning toward him, too. He looked at her mouth and then up into her eyes. “I came back to town last year to find something—something I’ve been looking for my whole damn life.”

  “And that something was…?”

  “Don’t rush me,” he whispered. “I’m getting there.”

  She made a face. “Oh, well. Excuse me.”

  He leaned closer still. “You’re forgiven.”

  Warmth curled through her. “Thank you. Go on.”

  And he did. “It’s only been in the last couple of years that I began to see that wandering the world wasn’t getting me anywhere, that what I was looking for had to be right here, where I started out.”

  She couldn’t keep herself from prompting a second time, “But what was it?”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “You really want to know, huh?”

  Did she? She wasn’t sure. Still, she nodded.

  And he said, “I didn’t have the slightest idea.”

  “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You came back home to look for something—but you didn’t know what it was.”

  “You got it. I only knew that if I came home, I would find it at last.”

  “And you knew this, how?”

  “Lori. It’s that I knew, not how.”

  “Ah. One of life’s deep mysteries, then?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You just knew.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And did you find it? Whatever it is?”

  “That’s an excellent question.”

  “Well, duh.”

  He laughed, then grew more serious. “It’s meant so much to me, settling in at my granddaddy’s big old house, finding out who I really am, learning of all the family I’ve got…” The words trailed off. He slowly shook his head and he looked at her in that soft, admiring way, his gaze moving from her eyes to her nose to her mouth to her chin, then back up to meet her eyes again.

  Another sweet thrill shivered through her. She laughed low, partly from nerves. And partly from pure feminine excitement. “You still haven’t answered the main question. Did you ever find it?”

  “Do you realize, all those years ago, when we were kids, I never really saw you? Right now, I find that just about impossible to believe. How could I have been such a damn blind fool?”

  Through the magic of the moment, Lori finally heard warning bells.

  Too far, she thought. I’ve let this go way too far.

  She made herself sit back from him and reminded him carefully, “Well, um, don’t forget, all those years ago there was Lena…”

  He shook his head. “Crazy. I’m not kidding. Crazy and impossible.”

  She didn’t dare ask what, not that time. He just might tell her. And then what would she do?

  He went on, “But then, after all these years, there you were. Getting out of that silver Lexus at the Gas ’n Go. And when I saw you, I thought—”

  “No.” She got the word out just in time.

  He blinked. But he did fall silent. His dark eyes were
suddenly filled with questions—questions she knew she wasn’t going to answer. Not that night, anyway.

  Oh, it was too much—much too much—and she knew it. She’d let things get totally out of control. She never should have leaned so close, never should have teased him, never should have begged to know about that mysterious something he’d been looking for.

  She had absolutely no right to hear what he’d almost said.

  Not tonight. Maybe never.

  Tell him the truth. Tell him Brody’s his son. Do it now, a stern voice inside her head commanded.

  But she refused to hear that voice. Instead, she put out a hand and warned him softly, “Don’t say any more. Please.”

  He captured her wrist, the movement so swift, she had no chance to jerk away. For a frozen moment, they only looked at each other, a look so deep, she felt as if she was falling.

  Falling…

  She tensed, drawing her hand into a fist.

  And then, with slow care, he brought that fist to his mouth and brushed his warm, soft lips across the top of her clenched knuckles.

  Heat went rolling through her, spinning up her arm, outward and downward, melting her midsection, bringing out the goose bumps on every inch of her skin.

  And then, before she could collect her scattered wits and pull away, he let her go. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m moving a little too fast, here.”

  She started to protest, to say, It isn’t that, but stopped herself. He’d only ask, What is it, then? And there they’d be, back with the one thing she couldn’t quite tell him. “We really do have to go. Brody!”

  Out on the lawn, her son sat up. “Yeah?”

  “Come on. We have to go.”

  “Aw, Mom…”

  “I mean it. Now.”

  Brody rose and came toward them, dragging his feet the whole way, Fargo trotting after him. When he got to her, he let his thin shoulders slump and stuck out his cute cleft chin. “Mom.” The dog plunked himself down beside the boy and looked up, ears perking hopefully. Brody glanced down at the dog and then back up at Lori. “We’re kind of busy, you know?”