It always took a while for Bethany to get accustomed to the scent of her grandmother’s home. Well, scent wasn’t exactly the right word. Odor was too nice a term too. Stench might cover it, but her grandmother’s temper would never have accepted it if Bethany were to dare to utter that aloud.
In any case, being surrounded by the clutter, junk, and general filth of her grandmother’s home was a chore that she avoided if at all possible. Sadly, today, it was unavoidable.
Breathing as shallowly as she dared, Bethany nodded as Grandmother Trudy continued.
“I was going through some things, and I just can’t sort all these pictures on my own. I got some scrapbooks from the craft store, and I want to put my Marine’s pictures in them, but I can’t figure out what order to put ’em in. And since you’ve finally come to help me, I thought maybe we could get it figured out at last.”
My Marine. Bethany forced the curl out of her fingers. Grandmother Trudy never referred to her son, Bethany’s father, by his name. It was always “her Marine.” Never her son, never Bethany’s father. It was as if the only identity Hugh Jernigan had had was in uniform.
There were many reasons Bethany despised being in her grandmother’s company, but that one in particular was tough to deal with. The only reason she was there at all was the promise she’d made to her father when she was young, to look out for her grandmother.
It was a promise she’d regretted a million times over since her father had passed away.
“Okay. I’ll try to help, but I’ve got a lot to do today, so we need to get started.”
Bethany gestured toward the pile of boxes in the corner of the room. Her grandmother’s hard life had manifested in several types of issues, hoarding chief among them. Any foray into the myriad bags and boxes that littered the space was a dodgy proposition at best, downright dangerous at worst. It wasn’t the first time, and Bethany was on high alert.
Her grandmother’s mood could turn on a dime, especially if she caught someone mishandling her possessions.
“Here, I’ll get the first box down.”
Grandmother stood on a half-crushed Amazon box to reach a full plastic grocery sack. Once she’d grabbed it, she set it on the only empty corner of the table. Bethany took the bag as Grandmother went for the next one.
“These aren’t pictures,” Bethany said, frowning as she started searching through the bag. The knot on the top had been tied so tightly that she’d had to tear the plastic handle slightly to get to the contents. “It’s Dad’s stuff though. Here’s some paperwork and some boxes—”
“Give me that.” Grandmother’s voice cracked through the air like a whip as she reached out and snatched the bag away from Bethany.
But Bethany had already retrieved a slim, black case from the bag. Her throat went curiously thick as she lifted the lid. “How…how did you get this?”
Her father’s Purple Heart was nestled against the dark velvet.
It shouldn’t be there. It was Bethany’s. Given to her by her father when his brain tumor had been diagnosed, Bethany had kept it close to her always. It hurt to look at it, actually. For that reason, she’d kept it hidden in her apartment, atop the mantel and behind a picture of her father in uniform. It was always there, always reminding her that even though he was gone, his heart would remain with her.
She hadn’t looked for it lately. Hadn’t known that she needed to.
The evidence in her hands couldn’t be denied. Her grandmother had stolen Hugh Jernigan’s Purple Heart. It must have happened a few months ago when she’d invited her grandmother over for dinner. It was a mistake that she wouldn’t be making again.
“He’s my Marine,” Grandmother Trudy snarled, reaching for the case that Bethany still held in her trembling hands. “Mine. I deserve that!”
“In what universe do you deserve it?” Bethany couldn’t stop the words once they’d started. “This belonged to my father. He gave it to me. What right do you have to take it from me? You took everything of his! Everything! Every last dime he had, our home, his clothes, even our freaking dog!”
“I suffered so much. I had to take those things, because they belonged to my Marine.” Grandmother’s hands had curled into claws as she reached for the slender black box, her voice pitched shrill enough for the neighborhood’s dogs to hear.
“You suffered?” Memories assaulted Bethany, and she could no more stop them than she could stop the words falling from her lips. “What about him? He supported you. He was in so much pain, but he still had to dance to your tune. He was on his deathbed, and you kept everyone away from him!” The pain lanced through her. “You put his nurses through hell, you ran up his credit card bills, and you even tried to keep me out of the hospital room!”
“He needed his mother! I was the only one who could keep him safe, and I am the only one who can keep that medal safe now. So give it to me!”
“Safe?” Bethany’s own voice was a shriek now, and tears were streaming down her face. “You call this firetrap safe?”
The sharp crack of palm on cheek rent the air, and Bethany’s breath left her on a sharp gasp. Pain ricocheted from her face to her brain and back again, and her free hand covered the stinging place where her grandmother had struck her.
The old woman’s face was puckered and purple with rage, and she snatched the medal from Bethany’s hand.
Right then, it was as if she’d lost him all over again. Hands and heart empty and aching, she swayed on her feet, stunned.
Dad, I’m sorry.
“Get out of my house. You don’t deserve anything of his. You’re a shame to our name.”
The evil words Grandmother Trudy spat out pierced through the pain and fog that had surrounded Bethany. Steel shot up her spine, filling her with a determination unlike any she’d felt before.
“I’ll go,” Bethany said, proud that her voice was steady even though tears still trickled down her cheeks, “but I’m taking Daddy’s medal with me. I couldn’t save him from you then, but I can now.”
For a moment, Bethany thought her grandmother would attack her as she grabbed the medal and wrestled it free of the older woman’s grip. A cry racked from Grandmother Trudy’s chest as she began to wail, throwing boxes and bags at Bethany as she gripped the medal’s case and made her way toward the door.
Closing the portal on the angry yells behind her, Bethany got into her car and drove away as fast as she could.
Away from the pain of her disintegrated family. Away from the betrayal of her closest living relative. Away from the fact that she was alone in missing her father the way she did.
Toward the one place that had given her haven when Hugh Jernigan had left her.
Toward the Yelvertons’, where she’d been assured she had a home for life.
Her tears had stopped during the drive, and when she pulled around the curve toward the house, she was glad that her face wasn’t quite so splotchy.
Of course, she fully expected Mama Yelverton to notice that she’d been crying. It was impossible to put anything past that woman.
Bethany shouldered the strap of her purse and held her father’s medal tight to her chest as she walked to the garage, using her button to open the door and passing an unfamiliar motorcycle on the way in.
That was weird. She didn’t think they knew anyone who rode a bike.
Closing the garage door between her and the motorcycle, Bethany let herself into the house with her key. Kicking off her shoes, she wiggled her toes in her socks with a sigh of relief. Leaning against the washing machine, she closed her eyes and took in the fresh scent.
Home.
Then, she heard the voices coming from the kitchen.
“You named it…” A deep, gravelly voice stopped to clear its throat. “You named it after me?”
“I did.” Mama Yelverton’s tone was the one Bethany remembered from many times across the years. It was the one she used when someone was sick, or hurt, or scared. A soothing tone, the kind of voice Bethany had always imagined had special calming powers.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Trey. I’m just glad you’re home.”
Silence fell between them, and Bethany eyed the door back to the garage nervously.
She should go. This seemed like a private conversation, and she shouldn’t interrupt. She’d have to pass through the kitchen to get anywhere else in the house, so there was no way she could get in undetected.
Her apartment wasn’t very appealing at the moment, since her grandmother had violated the space by stealing her most precious possession, but where else could she go?
While she fretted, the conversation kept going.
“—would love to hear about you,” Mama Yelverton was saying to the stranger. “What is it that you do?”
“Well, it’s nothing as noble as what you do. I mean, it’s not… It’s really…”
Bethany chewed her lip as she eyed the door. She couldn’t go home. Not now. She needed to be here. Maybe she should just scoot through the kitchen with a quick wave and an apology and dash upstairs to the room that had been hers since she’d been welcomed there years ago.
With a deep breath, Bethany reached for the handle of the kitchen door.
* * *
He was in way over his head.
Mrs. Yelverton was a freaking saint. All his life he’d been imagining her as an evil, heartless, empty stranger who had abandoned him, and now? Now?
How could he tell her what he’d turned into?
“I, well, I’m in charge of a kind of group.” He paused to clear his throat, his hand rubbing the back of his neck to ease the tensing of the muscles there. “Yeah.”
“A group? Like a business group?”
He coughed, then took a sip of coffee. “Yeah, you could call it that.”
“What kind of business are you in?”
Damn it.
Her stare was too clear, too honest, much too direct. He was struck by a feeling he hadn’t been expecting. Somehow, someway, he was afraid of disappointing her.
Well, if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth.
There wasn’t a way around it. Was there?
Nerves pinging, he glanced around while he took another long sip of coffee.
What to say? Because the truth—the shakedowns, the Robin Hood–style robberies, the bodyguarding—none of it was exactly on the up and up. There were definite legal and moral gray areas to what he did. And while he had no problem with it personally, he didn’t want to run the risk of disappointing her.
Who was he turning into?
Desperate, his gaze flew about the kitchen.
“Well, we do a little…” Hell, she’d never believe he cooked. Something else. Quick, you dumbass. Keep it vague. Stall. “A little organizing, you might say.”
She nodded, an interested look on her face inviting him to continue. Ah, dammit.
Keep looking. A container of herbs sat on the windowsill above the sink. Gardening? Screw that. He scanned the rest of the kitchen. Nothing. No ideas whatsoever.
“What kind of events do you organize?”
Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
He rested his elbow on the tabletop, knocking a magazine to the floor.
“Whoops. Sorry.” He bent down to get it.
A woman in a beautiful white gown was spread across the back of the magazine. The tagline for a bridal boutique advertisement read We help you tie the knot in style.
“Not a problem. So, you were saying?”
His mind was blank. Totally, completely blank. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Mrs. Yelverton furrowed her brow in obvious concern. “Are you okay?”
He had to say something. He looked down in desperation. The magazine was still there, facedown beside him, the laughing woman in the white gown like an angel of salvation.
“Weddings,” he blurted out as he straightened in his seat. “We organize weddings.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck. Had. Just. Come. Out. Of. His. Mouth?
“Weddings. Wow, I hadn’t expected that.”
He coughed. “Yeah, me neither.”
Mrs. Yelverton laughed. “I can imagine. How did you get into it?”
Wanting nothing more than to jump up and leave the county at a dead run, Trey shrugged, trying to play it off. “I got a chance to do some, enjoyed it, made my own business.”
“That’s really impressive! What’s the business called?”
His hand was lying atop the magazine beside him, his knuckles lining up with the ad copy perfectly. He read the words out together.
“The Iron Knot.”
Mrs. Yelverton laughed, clapping her hands delightedly. “That’s absolutely perfect. Trey, I’m so proud of you.”
Those words should have made him feel amazing. Instead, he felt like a scum-sucking bastard for lying to her.
Just then, the door behind her opened, and Trey’s chest went vise-tight, his heart flinging itself against his ribs in triple time.
She was long, lean, with bone-straight blond hair and elfin features complementing porcelain skin. Her blue eyes were a bit red, as if she’d been crying recently. But despite the obviously brimming emotion beneath the surface, she wore a bright smile. It was the kind of expression he’d adopted many times over the years. Pretending things were all right when everything had turned to ashes around him was the only option he’d had at times, and seeing the same kind of defense mechanism in her touched him in a way he wasn’t expecting. Physically, she was just his type, and the way she moved into the room, both cautious and confident—strong as hell despite whatever was trying to bring her down—sparked immediate interest and admiration in his gut.
This was…unexpected.
“Oh, Bethy, I didn’t expect you until late this afternoon.” Mrs. Yelverton rose and pulled the girl into her arms.
A wave of nausea overtook Trey. Was this girl…Was she…
Well, so much for that short-lived spark of attraction.
“Trey, I’d like you to meet Bethany.”
“Hi,” the blond said, and Trey stood. She looked a little intimidated as he stood to his full height.
He’d been about to step toward her for the introduction, but he stopped. No need to make her more uncomfortable. But the idea that she found him scary was oddly disappointing.
“I’m Bethany Jernigan,” she said, sticking her hand out for him to shake.
“Trey Harding,” he said, gripping her much smaller hand in his, trying to ignore the softness of her skin, the faint tremble of her touch.
“Bethany, I hope you won’t mind keeping this quiet from Sarah for now. I haven’t had a chance to tell her about it. But this…” Mrs. Yelverton drew Trey’s arm through hers. “This is Samuel.”
Bethany gasped, her hand over her mouth, and Trey looked away. “Samuel? That Samuel?”
Mrs. Yelverton nodded delightedly. “My son. He’s finally home.”
“Oh…oh my God.”
Trey hated this. He felt awkward, like a sideshow freak. His spine prickled, his feet nearly bouncing with the urge to get the hell out of there.
“Trey, Bethany has been part of our family for years now. She’s your sister Sarah’s best friend and lived with us until she went to college. Of course, she’s still got a room here. She’ll always be welcome to come back home.” Mrs. Yelverton’s smile was gentle as she looked at Bethany.
“Wait. So we’re not related?” Trey gestured between himself and Bethany.
Mrs. Yelverton laughed. “No, not by blood. But I hope you’ll be close.”
Something uncurled in his belly then, a knot of anxiety releasing as he looked at Bethany Jernigan—no relation—with new eyes.
“I hope so too,” he said. She blushed a little and glanced away.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Bethany said, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. Something he hadn’t noticed before slipped in her hand with the movement, nearly crashing to the floor before she snagged it and stuffed it in her bag.
Weird. The way she clutched the purse closer after putting that little rectangular box inside declared it to be something really important to her. For a moment he wondered if that might have been the reason for her obviously tangled nerves.
“I just thought I’d do a little preliminary work on the wedding before we met this afternoon.”
Wedding? Ah, hell.
“Oh, Trey was just telling me he runs a wedding planning service! We have to hire him for Sarah’s wedding, don’t you think?”
Trey’s mouth fell open. Air wouldn’t leave his lungs. He was never lost for words, but just then, he couldn’t have uttered a syllable if he tried.
Bethany looked from him to Mrs. Yelverton and back again. “Well, Sarah’s paying me to plan the wedding. It seems like a waste to hire two people for the same job.”
He could have kissed her right then. An out. Perfect.
“I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes,” Trey said hastily. “You were hired first, so it’s only right you have the job.”
“I was thinking the two of you could collaborate. And besides, it will be a great way to get to know each other. Working together as a family.” She smiled at them, and the expression sapped the fight right out of Trey. “Don’t you think?”
Bethany’s shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, but she nodded. “Of course, well, whatever you think is best.”
Mrs. Yelverton looked at him, gripping his nerveless fingers in hers, drawing him in with that clear, honest, kind gaze of hers.
“Trey, I would be honored if the Iron Knot could help Bethany plan Sarah and Mark’s wedding. I’ll pay all your normal fees. It would be so nice to see what you’ve built, to meet your associates. What do you say?”
Suddenly he was a little boy again, the kid who’d wanted so badly to have a real mom to please. He’d hated every Mother’s Day, every time he’d been reminded there was nobody who cared if he made them happy or not.
And for that moment, that one single moment, he wanted to please her, and damn the consequences.
“I’d be happy to.”