The Boss, the Bride & the Baby. Judy Duarte

hadn’t wanted to spend any more time in this room than he had to. If he wasn’t careful, it would be too easy to become nostalgic and reflective here, mostly because he could almost feel Granny, could still hear her speaking to him, especially with so many of her favorite sayings nearby.

      He glanced over his shoulder at Juliana. She was looking closely at a decoupage plaque. He couldn’t actually read the words, but he knew what that one said. It was a Bible verse.

      He hadn’t meant to memorize it, but for some reason, it had stuck with him for years and he’d never forgotten it. He probably never would.

      Granny had pointed it out to him the day before he’d left for prep school in California. She’d said she had claimed that particular proverb as God’s promise to her. For that reason, she said that she knew Jason, unlike his father, would grow up to be his own man. And that he’d always choose to do what was right and true.

      For a moment, Jason thought Juliana might read it out loud. She didn’t, though. Yet she didn’t have to. He could almost hear Granny saying it to him again. Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6.

      Still, Juliana continued to study it, as if pondering the wisdom of it.

      “Did you know my great-grandmother?” he asked.

      Juliana turned to him and smiled. “Just about everyone in Brighton Valley did. She was a warm and caring woman. I think she was a lifetime member of the PTA, even though she hadn’t had a child in school for ages. She was also very involved in the Brighton Valley Community Church. When my mom was recovering from surgery, she and a couple other ladies brought meals to the house on a regular basis.”

      “What about when Granny was sick? Before she died. Did anyone from the church bring meals to her?”

      “I’m not sure. As far as I know, she kept her illness to herself.”

      Jason certainly hadn’t heard a peep from her about any ailments. But then again, she’d never been one to complain. Her doctor must have known something, though. “You don’t think she told anyone how sick she was?”

      “No, I don’t think so.”

      Still, her family should have been aware of it. And they should have done something—visited more. At the very least, one of them should have been with her at the end so she didn’t have to die alone.

      A stab of guilt shot through him. Had she thought that her family hadn’t come through for her like they should have?

      More importantly, had she thought Jason hadn’t?

      Sure, he’d called regularly and sent money. He also had made a point to come to visit on Christmas and her birthday. Not always on the actual day, but close enough to count.

      At least, he’d always thought so. But now, standing in her kitchen, surrounded by her furnishings, by her memory, he wasn’t so sure.

      Juliana moved on to the far corner of the kitchen, where Jason and Carly had set the boxes and the painting that belonged to Braden.

      “What’s this?” she asked. “Did you get sidetracked and leave this stuff here?”

      “Actually, that can stay where it is. It belongs to my brother. He’s supposed to come for it when he gets back from Mexico.”

      She reached for the painting, a Southwestern style of an old church at night, with a crescent moon and bright stars overhead.

      “This is very good,” she said.

      “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I’ve never been a huge fan of that particular style. I do like the bright colors, though. It would look good in a ranch-style home.”

      That’s probably why Braden had bought it. Jason returned his focus to the bacon, removing the last strip from the pan and turning off the flame.

      “Wow,” Juliana said. “That’s weird.”

      Jason turned and leaned his hip against the kitchen counter, the tongs still in his hand. “What is?”

      “It was painted by Camilla Cruz.”

      At that, he set the utensil down, turned away from the stove and made his way across the kitchen to the oak table, where Juliana had placed the painting to get a better look.

      “The same artist who did Granny’s portrait?” Jason asked.

      “Yes. The signature is the same. See?”

      He leaned in closer to take a better look at the script. “That’s really strange.”

      “I wonder who she is.”

      So did Jason. Obviously, Granny and Braden both knew her. Or at least one of them did. “Maybe you were wrong about her not being a local artist.”

      “I suppose she could be,” Juliana said.

      She seemed to think that she was an art expert, but Jason wasn’t convinced. After all, she’d only worked at a gallery in a relatively small town—and for just a couple of years at most. She was lovely, though.

      As she leaned closer, her head angled next to his, her exotic scent snaking around him, he was willing to concede any credentials she wanted to claim.

      She glanced closer at the delicate script of the signature. “It’s a Hispanic surname. Do you think it has anything to do with why Braden went to Mexico?”

      “No, I doubt it. This is Texas. A lot of people have Hispanic surnames. I’m sure Braden is in Mexico because he’s following my dad’s trail.”

      Juliana straightened, taking her scent with her.

      “Are you sure my brother never mentioned anything to you about where he was going or why?” Jason asked.

      “Sorry. I haven’t talked to him lately.”

      Jason glanced at the box of pottery, as well as the other box that had been sealed shut with packing tape. If his brother had been missing in Mexico, with foul play suspected, he would have had every right to tear into the cardboard lid and try to solve the mystery of Braden’s whereabouts. But as far as he knew, his brother was alive and on some international escapade, the details of which he’d either neglected or flat-out refused to share with Jason.