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It was poker night, something Brant typically enjoyed, but he was so tired he’d decided not to go. He was also fairly certain Charlie would be there, and Brant preferred not to deal with him right now. “I’m probably going to turn in early.”
His brother scowled. “That’s bullshit, bro. You can sleep when you’re dead. Why not go to Hank’s with me? We could grab a drink, play some pool.”
Although Brant wasn’t too interested in spending another evening playing pool, he let his little brother talk him into going. He didn’t have to worry about running into Charlie since he would be at poker night.
Brant usually liked pool. But once they arrived, and he’d won three games in a row, he grew bored.
“One more,” his brother insisted when he said he was ready to leave.
“Why? You’ll never beat me,” Brant teased.
“I win sometimes. Not often,” he admitted sheepishly. “But if you’re not afraid of losing, why not give me another chance?”
Brant played again and didn’t try as hard so his brother could win. He thought that would satisfy him, but Kurt still wanted more. “Come on,” he said when Brant started to return his cue stick. “That went way too fast.”
“I’m done,” Brant insisted, and was relieved when some of Kurt’s friends showed up so his brother could stay and he could go. “Call me if you need a ride,” Brant told him, but Mason, a friend of Kurt’s since grade school, spoke up to say he’d make sure Kurt got home safely.
It was still fairly early, only ten, as Brant started for home. He was at the edge of town when he decided to turn the other way and swing by Talulah’s house. He told himself he was just checking to make sure there’d been no more trouble at her place. But the truth was...he wanted to see her. He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind all day, and that was becoming an alarming pattern.
Once he got there, he guessed she hadn’t returned from Billings, after all. Other than the porch light, the place was completely dark.
Just to double-check, he went to the door. He certainly wouldn’t mind if she invited him in and wanted him to stay over. He’d been craving contact with her all day. But he would’ve been happy with a conversation. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about the funeral, the birth of her new niece or how her arm was healing.
But no one answered his knock. And when he tried the door, hoping to stick his head in and call out her name, he found it locked.
Assuming she was staying over at her sister’s again, he started to leave, but the screen door was hanging so crookedly on its hinges he decided to fix it while he was there. He’d been meaning to do it; it wouldn’t take long, and he had a hammer and screw gun in his truck.
A cool breeze ruffled his hair as he returned to the drive, hauled his tools out of the back of his truck and carried them to the porch. He was enjoying the work—and thinking about her coming home to find it able to latch—when two cars turned into the drive.
Talulah stomped on the brake the second she saw Brant, but then had to ease up and keep going so Paul wouldn’t rear-end her. He was right behind her in the Lexus sedan his mother had left him when she passed away two years ago. There was no chance he’d miss seeing Brant, which meant she couldn’t avoid a meeting between the two of them. And it would happen on her great aunt’s front porch, not even on neutral ground somewhere in town.
“Shit.” She didn’t bother to pull into the detached garage. She was afraid Paul would get out and confront Brant before she had a chance to reach them and do whatever she could to mitigate any problems.
Still, she had to park farther away from the house than Paul did so Brant would be able to leave without any need to move their cars, so she was a few steps behind Paul when he charged toward the porch.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “And what are you doing here?”
“Paul!” Talulah cried, trying to warn him with her voice to go easy, but he wasn’t paying any attention.
Brant took his time setting the screen door he’d taken off the hinges against the house. She could tell by the tightening of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes that he wasn’t any happier to meet Paul than Paul was to meet him.
“Just doing a friend a favor,” he said simply.
His words were carefully calibrated—pleasant, but barely so—and the way his gaze raked over Paul suggested he was sizing him up. Talulah could easily guess why. He was wondering what would happen if he had to fight, what his chances were of winning, and that made Talulah even more anxious. Shedefinitelydidn’t want this to go in that direction. There’d already been more than enough trouble with Charlie.
“Paul, this is Brant. Brant, this is Paul.” An introduction was unavoidable, so Talulah got on with it, hoping they’d both be civil, and they could all get through this without any serious drama.
“I know who he is,” Paul grumbled. “I knew it the second I saw him.”
Attempting to ignore Paul’s response, which was less polite than she’d wished, Talulah forced a smile for Brant’s sake and held it in place only with enormous effort. “Thanks for fixing the door. That screen was driving me crazy.”
Brant didn’t take his eyes off Paul, but Paul cast her an exasperated, even irritated look, letting her know he wasn’t happy she was being so friendly to the man she’d slept with. “It’s almost ten thirty,” Paul said, turning his attention back to Brant. “Do you help out all your friends when it’s this late or just the female ones you’re hoping to crawl back into bed with?”
A muscle moved in Brant’s cheek. “Out of respect for Talulah, I’m not going to answer that question.”
“You don’t think I should be upset?”
Talulah put a hand on Paul’s arm. “Please, stop. Really. This isn’t necessary, especially when Brant’s just being nice.”
