In His Brother's Place. Elizabeth Lane

Except for the awkwardness that hung between them, it could’ve been Justin sitting across from her, smiling and making small talk.

      “My calendar’s clear for tomorrow,” he said. “I was thinking Lucas would like to see more of the ranch—with you along, of course.”

      Hadn’t he resolved to keep his distance? Angie squelched the urge to argue. Lucas, she knew, would love an outing. “What a coincidence. My calendar’s clear, too,” she said.

      “I know you’ve ridden a little. We can take horses up to the springs for a picnic. You’ll want to hold Lucas on your lap, but I’ve got a gentle old mare that’ll be fine with that.”

      “Sounds good.” It was like Jordan, she thought, to plan the day and assume she’d just go along. Justin would’ve come up with the idea, then left her to carry out the details.

      The silence had grown awkward. Angie scrambled for a new subject. “I’m surprised you aren’t married by now, Jordan,” she said.

      “I was. Three years ago. Needless to say, it didn’t work out.”

      “May I ask what happened?”

      “About what you’d expect. She wanted a social life. I was always working. I wanted a family. She wanted fun. Somebody else came along.” He took a sip of Cabernet. “Can’t say I blame her for what happened. After eight months we were both ready to pull the plug.”

      “You wanted a family?” Somehow that surprised her.

      “After Justin’s loss, I felt I owed it to my parents to continue the Cooper line. But it was a bad idea. I don’t have the patience to be a decent husband, let alone a decent father.”

      Angie had gone cold beneath her sweater. Was this why Jordan had brought Lucas here—to serve as the ready-made family heir?

      It was a monstrous burden to place on a small boy. But then, she should’ve guessed what Jordan had in mind. He wasn’t thinking of Lucas. He was looking for a convenient way to discharge his family duty.

      What would that mean for her? Was Jordan planning to ease her out of the picture? What if she chose to leave? What if she met someone and wanted to get married? Would Jordan fight her to keep his brother’s son?

      Her first impulse was to confront him. But a blowup on her first night here wouldn’t be wise. She would bide her time, Angie resolved. She would watch and be wary. Any decision she made would be in the best interest of her son.

      Even if it meant taking him away from this place.

      She stared down at her half-finished plate, her appetite gone. “I should get back to Lucas,” she said, standing. “He might wake up and be frightened.”

      “I’ll walk with you.” Jordan had risen, too.

      “No, it’s all right. Finish your dinner.” She spun away from the table and plunged into the shadowed living room. With her eyes unaccustomed to the darkness, she could just make out the stairs. She headed straight for them.

      “Angie! Wait—!”

      Something crashed to the tiles as she stumbled against a side table. Her first frantic thought was that whatever she’d broken had to be expensive. As far as she knew, Meredith Cooper had never paid less than eight hundred dollars for a piece of pottery.

      Her second thought was that she’d hurt herself. A sharp throbbing came from just above her knee, where she’d struck the edge of the table. Clutching the spot, she crumpled onto a nearby footstool.

      “Are you all right?” Jordan’s face emerged from the darkness. He crouched beside her.

      “I’ll pay for what I broke,” she muttered between clenched teeth. “No matter how much it cost or how long it takes… .”

      “The damned thing’s insured. Don’t worry about it. Let’s have a look at you.”

      Switching on a table lamp, he lifted her hand away from the injury. As his fingertips explored the rising lump, their touch sent shimmers of heat up her thighs. She was acutely aware of his nearness, the scent of his hair, the sound of his breathing. A moist ache stirred in the depths of her body.

      “You’ve got a nasty bruise,” he said. “We keep an ice bag in the kitchen. Hang on. I’ll fill it for you.”

      “Please don’t bother. I’ll be fine.” Her heart was pounding. She needed to get away.

      “No bother. It’ll only take a minute.” Rising, he strode back through the dining room and through the swinging door into the kitchen.

      Angie waited until the door had closed behind him. Then she pushed to her feet, limped out to the patio and fled up the outside stairs.

      Lucas was asleep in his father’s childhood bed, his hair a dark spill on the pillow. Aching with tenderness, Angie gazed down at him. Her son was so precious, so innocent and trusting, and she was all the protection he had.

      All she wanted was what was best for him. But how could she know what that was? Was he safer in this place with no gangs, no sirens, no gunshots in the night … or would he be better off far away from the cool, calculating man downstairs whose agenda hadn’t yet come to light?

      The boxes from Lucas’s old room were piled next to the bed. Angie had unpacked his clothes but left his toys, books and other small possessions for tomorrow. Now she found herself rummaging through the cardboard cartons, her fingers seeking then finding the familiar shape, the oval frame surrounding a childproof Plexiglas surface.

      The moon gleamed through the window, casting its soft light on Justin’s photograph. Angie’s finger brushed the corner of the smiling mouth. This man was Lucas’s father, not the gruff, scheming imposter who masqueraded behind the same face. She would remember that truth in the days ahead, and she would make sure Lucas remembered it, too.

      Setting the photo on the nightstand, she turned it toward the bed, where the boy would see it when he awakened. Then, with a last glance at her sleeping son, she tiptoed out of the room.

      Three

      Jordan was at the kitchen table, drinking his early morning coffee, when a rumpled elf appeared in the doorway. Lucas’s cowlick was standing straight up. His blue-striped T-shirt was inside out and his sneakers trailed untied laces.

      He stared at Jordan for a thoughtful moment. “Are you really not my daddy?” he asked.

      “I’m really not your daddy.” Jordan tried to ignore the unaccustomed tug at his emotions. “I’m your uncle Jordan, and that’s what you can call me.” He looked the boy up and down. “I take it you dressed yourself. Where’s your mother?”

      “Mommy’s asleep.” His wide dark eyes, so like Angie’s, roamed the kitchen. “I’m hungry. What’s to eat?”

      Jordan rose. Most days, coffee was all the breakfast he wanted. Marta wouldn’t be here till after eight, and it was barely seven. He could hardly let a child go hungry that long. “What do you like?” he asked.

      “Pancakes.”

      “All right, I’ll see what I can do.” There was a box of pancake mix in the cupboard. Gathering dishes and utensils, Jordan set to work. The first three pancakes stuck to the griddle and ended up in the trash. On the next try he had better luck. He was able to drop three respectable-looking pancakes onto Lucas’s plate.

      The boy stared at the pancakes and shook his head.

      “Now what’s the matter?” Jordan demanded.

      “Mommy makes pancakes like a teddy bear. I want a teddy bear.”

      Blast it, where was the boy’s mother? Jordan sighed. “So how do I make a teddy bear?”

      “Like this.” Lucas arranged the pancakes to form a head and ears. “But the head is bigger and they’re all stuck