The Forbidden Brother. Barbara McMahon

could mourn him with all the passion she held for him.

      “She called the home office and left word for me to call. Nothing more. Nothing to indicate that it was a family emergency, not that there had been a death in the family. The message about the call came in my regular mail, which I get about every three to four months, unless it’s critical, in which case it’s faxed or e-mailed.”

      From the tight control he exercised, she suspected he was furious with the situation. She’d always heard twins had a close connection. How sad to lose his brother and then not find out for three months. Maria wouldn’t have done it deliberately, she knew. The woman lived in her own world. Surfacing occasionally to interact with others, then going back to the paintings she did so brilliantly.

      “So when I returned her call last week, she told me,” he ended bleakly.

      “I’m so sorry,” she said, her heart going out to him. Despite everything, she’d loved Jordan and could relate to how his brother must be feeling.

      He ignored her offer of sympathy. “Where are the paintings?”

      She went to the rack where she had them stacked. To an outsider, it might look haphazardly arranged, but she knew exactly where everything was. The large room was climate controlled, necessary in the salty air of Cape Cod and the humidity of summer. The floor was immaculate. The paintings were arranged by subject matter. She gestured to the facing one.

      Jed studied it a moment, then looked at her.

      “What’s its value?”

      Was that all he cared about? Money? “I haven’t appraised the lot. Your mother said she only wanted them on display, not appraised.”

      “Well, my mother lives in her own world. What price would you list it for in the show?”

      “Actually the show is a retrospective. Your parents did not plan to sell any paintings. I thought your mother wished to keep his work.”

      He reached into an inner coat pocket and pulled out a bulging envelope. He held it out for her. “You’ll see Jordan left me in charge of his estate. According to his attorney, I have complete authority. And I don’t have time to wait around for several weeks while you show his paintings and then decide what the next step is. I have a bridge halfway built. I want to liquidate the assets and divide them among the family members, as he indicated. Then I need to get back to work.”

      Laura looked at the envelope and then at him. “So leave the paintings in my hands and I’ll tell you how the showing goes,” she said flippantly. “Your mother really wants this for Jordan.” Laura hoped giving the exhibit would ease some of her own grief at the way things turned out.

      Jed studied the painting for a minute. “Is it any good?”

      Laura looked at it. “It will appeal to a certain portion of the population,” she said carefully.

      “Like some farmer in Iowa?” he said derisively.

      She looked at him in surprise. Did he know she was from Iowa? Was that a criticism on her judgment?

      “I may not be artistic, but I can recognize excellent work. My mother’s paintings have a depth that’s amazing and a use of color that’s phenomenal. This looks like a paint-by-numbers view of a ubiquitous Cape Cod seascape,” he continued.

      Laura bit her lip in indecision. Normally she agreed with customers—it went a long way to selling art. Agreement with the artists kept them happy and kept them bringing in more work. She didn’t like confrontation. But this was different.

      “Am I wrong?” he challenged. His dark eyes so like yet unlike Jordan’s, held hers.

      “No,” she admitted reluctantly. “But there’s a definite market from tourists who want souvenirs to remind them of their holidays.”

      “So why the show? If they aren’t any good, let’s get rid of them. I think they’d be more suited to the harbor tourist traps than a reputable gallery like this one.”

      “I didn’t say they weren’t any good, just not up to your mother’s caliber. And she wants to have a showing of some of his work. There are so many other galleries they could choose to represent their work, but she chose this one.” And maybe holding the showing would assuage some of her own guilt. Would things have turned out differently if she’d given Jordan a one-man show like he’d asked?

      “So you’re doing this for my mother?”

      “Primarily.”

      “What happened at his showing last winter?” Jed asked.

      “What showing last winter?” she asked. A sinking feeling swamped her, remembering his obsession for a show. Had Jordan turned elsewhere? Maybe another gallery owner had found something in his work she’d missed. She looked at the picture, searching for an elusive aspect that would change its value.

      “He said he was going to have a one-man show, said he’d invite me to the gala event. It pays to have connections in the art world, as I recalled the letter went. When no invitation came, I assumed he’d just forgotten. Not that I could have come. I was in Brazil at the time.”

      “He didn’t have a show that I know of,” Laura said, remembering how passionately he’d pushed her for the chance. But he’d not wanted an alcove at the gallery when she had halfheartedly suggested that compromise. Jordan had wanted to commandeer the entire showroom in a solo production. Jordan’s assessment of his work differed from Laura’s.

      “You’d know—it was this gallery he was talking about,” Jed said.

      She turned back to the large table in the center of the room. Jed followed her with his eyes.

      Laura was in the middle of a family situation she didn’t want to be involved with. She didn’t know all the ins and outs, but this man was not the beloved son Jordan had been. Was there going to be a fight about Jordan’s estate? Nothing was as it seemed. She wished not for the first time that she’d never met Jordan Brodie. Never fallen in love with the man. Never discovered him in bed with that beautiful woman.

      “Jordan wanted to have an exclusive one-man show with no other paintings or sculptures to compete. I couldn’t do that. It never went any farther than discussion. I’m sorry if he thought otherwise.” She’d known he’d never been happy with her decision. He’d constantly pushed to have her display his work; and she’d constantly refused.

      “When were you two going to get married?” Jed asked abruptly.

      “We never set a date,” she said shortly. “Why?”

      “For a grieving almost-wife, you seem fairly resigned to his death,” he commented.

      “For me it happened three months ago, you’re the one who just learned about it,” she said. “I don’t wish to get in the middle of a family argument. Your mother and father asked me to do this. If, as executor of the estate, you say no, I will go along with your decision. But you need to inform your mother.”

      Laura tried to think of all the different things she’d have to deal with to stop a show at this stage. The caterer would be all right. She’d have to write off the prepublicity. Maybe she could get the printer to cut her a break. She used him exclusively, so maybe he’d be generous.

      Jed turned back to the paintings, pulling the first one forward so he could see the next one, and the next. Soon he’d looked at every one she’d selected.

      “This all?”

      “All I’m planning to show. I’ve allocated the alcove to the left for Jordan’s work. Your mother isn’t pleased with it, but it’s the best I can offer.”

      “He has more?”

      “Of course. As far as I know he never sold a thing. He has stacks of canvasses at the cottage. I chose the ones that I thought best represented his work.” And had the most chance for a sale in case Maria changed her mind.

      “My