Almost Midnight (40 page)

She inched away slowly, slow enough to see the two uniformed cops walk up to Brandon's door and knock. Slow enough to see him open the door. Slow enough to see his devastated expression.

Was Brandon Hart in some kind of trouble?

 

Chapter Four

“I got it.” Fredericka walked into the office to drop off the car keys before she went to work on her jewelry.

“I knew you would.” Holiday smiled.

Fredericka inhaled, not wanting to think about yesterday—about Marissa, her father, or even Cary. But from the moment she'd pulled into the parking lot, the joy she'd found at the gallery had been leaking out of her. And the pain that was her past was slowly filling her soul.

For years, she'd kept that pain buried; why did it have to rear its ugly head? Especially now, when she'd finally taken a step to building her own way in this world.

“Have you ever met Brandon Hart, the guy opening the gallery?” Fredericka dropped down in the chair.

Holiday shook her head. “No. From what I heard, he just got into town about a month ago. Why?”

“It's just…” She didn't want to tell Holiday she found him fascinating, because Holiday knew she'd also found Cary fascinating. “Brandon's scent was … human, but maybe not all human.”

Holiday appeared to be surprised, and sat back in her chair. “What did his pattern tell you?”

“He wore a baseball cap.” Fredericka almost told her about the cops showing up, but was afraid Holiday would have concerns about her working with him. And Fredericka's gut said that Brandon wasn't bad. There were all sorts of reasons the cops could have shown up.

She just couldn't think of one right now.

“I agreed to help him do some things around the gallery tomorrow. Is there any way, if it's not too much trouble, I could use the car again?” Fredericka hated asking for favors. But if things went well, maybe she could afford to buy her own car soon.

“Sure.” Holiday glanced down at her desk.

Fredericka saw what she was looking at, too. A manila envelope. The one Marissa had brought with her. And just like that the pain from yesterday bubbled up inside and crowded out what was left of her recent joy.

When Holiday looked up, Fredericka shook her head. “I don't want it.”

“But…”

“There are no buts! He left me. I was ten years old. He left with the rogue pack—no explanation, no good-bye. I woke up one day and he wasn't there. For weeks, I waited for him to come back.” Tears filled her eyes, but she swallowed to keep them at bay. “When he didn't, I told myself he was dead. It was easier. So as far as I'm concerned he died a long time ago.”

“I'm sorry,” she said softly and Fredericka cringed at the pity she saw in the fae's eyes. “But I'm sure you have questions. And the answers might be in here.”

“Maybe I don't care about the answers. It's not going to change anything.”

“Or maybe you're just not ready. I'll keep this right here.” She picked up the envelope and put it in a drawer, almost as if realizing the sight of it caused Fredericka pain. “When you're ready, you come to me.”

Fredericka stood up. She doubted she would ever be ready. She'd already grieved for her dad once, she shouldn't have to do it again. And yet she was, wasn't she? At least part of her was.

Except when she was at the gallery, it had been … easy not to think about it. Brandon Hart and the mystery that surrounded him was just the diversion she needed. Ten o'clock tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.

Until then she'd have to rely on her art to offer a small reprieve. Thankfully, she didn't have any time to waste before diving headfirst into that bit of escape. She had three jewelry sets to make.

*   *   *

Fredericka, wanting to get a jumpstart on the three sets of jewelry, had started her sketch for her next design when her phone dinged with a text. She flinched thinking it would be from Cary again. What the hell was she going to say to him? Hadn't she already said it? Wasn't her parting comment about seeing him in class on Monday enough to let him know she was done thinking of him as anything but her teacher?

The text wasn't from him. Instead it was from Kylie.

Holiday told me you got the place in the gallery. Super excited for you.

Fredericka smiled. And again she considered how she'd missed out on things by not having girlfriends. Someone to share secrets with. Someone who gave a damn. Maybe someday she'd be able to do that. To let others close.

You string beads?
Cary's words about her jewelry making filled her head. She knew it was partly just about being a guy, but when she considered all the other hurtful things he'd said, it seemed more like a jerk thing than a guy thing.

I think you're worth more than that.
Brandon's words echoed behind Cary's. Brandon was for sure all guy—an image of him cutting wood filled her head—yet he'd managed to say something nice—something that boosted her confidence instead of knocking it down a notch. The fact that he was an artist might have given him an edge, but … Footsteps echoed in the distance.

She moved to the window she always left cracked open for just this purpose. Those footsteps were familiar. Damn. Lifting her face up to catch any scents, she identified the intruder.

A few seconds later a knock came at the workshop door. Since when did Cary come looking for her?

“Come in.” She turned away and put the pen on her paper, pretending to be sketching.

He moved in beside her. But she kept her focus on the sketch and even shaded in one part.

“You didn't answer my texts,” he said.

“No, I … I had my interview at the gallery.”

“What gallery?”

The one that wants to sell my strung beads.
“I'm going to be showing and selling my work in a new gallery in Fallen. The owner wants me to have three more jewelry sets before we open. So if you don't mind I really need to—”

“You don't have time to hear me apologize?” he asked, sounding somber.

She looked at him for the first time. He looked apologetic. And he looked good—more like a guy she liked and less like a teacher. He wore jeans, and a light blue T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. His green eyes held a touch of remorse.

“For a quick one,” she said, remembering that just yesterday she'd had her head filled with dreams of what they would have soon. Funny how the loss of that dream hadn't cost her that much.

“What I said about your dad came out all wrong. Forgive me?”

She inhaled and when she was about to exonerate him, she stopped herself. “It's not just what you said, Cary. It's that … I think I'm a lot more into you than you are me. And that doesn't feel right.”

“Is this about my trip to Europe? I had planned that trip before you and I ever liked each other. I know it got canceled but still—”

“It's about everything,” she said.

“What's everything?” He reached up to brush a strand of her hair off her cheek. His touch was sweet, but for some reason she recalled a stronger sweetness earlier—when she'd bumped into Brandon.

“What do you know about me?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that, Cary. What do you know about me?”

He paused and she could tell he was searching for something he could tell her. But he came up empty. “You don't talk about yourself.”

“Neither do you. Well, not about the personal stuff. But I asked questions. I know where you were born, about your parents and your sister. I know you like mustard on your hot dogs.”

“That's not fair,” he said.

“What's not fair?” She held her chin up.

“I've purposely kept my distance, trying to … If I got to know more about you I'd want…” He leaned in. “This.” He kissed her. She didn't respond at first, but then she did—wanting to experience the magic of it. To feel like somebody's girl. It had been so long since she'd been kissed.

Then she felt it. The soft purr of a male were. He wanted her. Wanted more than just a kiss. That should make her feel good, and it did, just not as much as she thought it would. She pulled back.

“Don't give up on us,” he said.

She looked at him. On the tip of her tongue were the words,
I won't.
But those weren't the words that slipped out. “I don't think there is an ‘us.'”

Right then she knew the reason, too. The mystery that awaited her in Brandon Hart. Oh, hell, was she nuts? Cary was full were and a perfect mate for her. For all she knew, Brandon could just be human.

And getting emotionally involved with a human would be crazy. Even thinking about it was crazy considering she didn't even know if he liked her. Just because she'd caught Brandon eyeing her butt didn't mean anything.

“Don't play games,” he said, his eyes growing bright with anger. Then he grabbed her arm, the one with scars, and his hand buried into her flesh.

“I don't play games. Now leave, or do I have to escort you out?” And she would have.

He walked out, but something warned her that she hadn't heard the last from him. Obviously, Cary Cannon didn't like not getting his way. Too bad.

She'd let people bully her for the first ten years of her life—she had the scars to prove it—but no one,
no one
manhandled her now.

*   *   *

At ten the next morning Fredericka pulled up in front of the soon-to-be gallery ready to work. Ready to uncover some answers about Brandon Hart. Ready to find something else besides her past to consume her and gnaw away at her sanity.

She'd spent half the night remembering her father, grieving for a man who had thought so little of her that he'd left her with people he barely knew. And then spent the other half angry that she had to do it all over again. That she still cared.

But I'm sure you have questions. And the answers might be in here.
Holiday's words played in her head like a broken record. While temptation pulled at her head and heart, she couldn't think of one reason her father might give that would make abandoning her okay. Not one.

So why subject herself to the pain of even reading it?

Taking a deep breath, and pushing her thoughts from her issues, she focused on the house—the soon-to-be gallery. Trying to come up with ideas to make it … more inviting. Some paint. Maybe a bright color. A sign. Yes, he needed a sign hanging from the eaves. The flower beds needed to be replanted.

In the morning sun, the house looked sleepy, as if it hadn't woken up yet. No lights on. The blinds were still closed. Was he waiting on her? Was he even awake?

Still holding onto the steering wheel, she imagined him in bed, shirtless. Her heart started to race, and she gave herself a mental kick in the butt. Letting the crazy attraction blossom was all kinds of wrong. On top of him probably being human, she'd be working with him. Any kind of a relationship outside of a common friendship would complicate things.

And her life was complicated enough.

She got out of the car, slipped her phone into her back pocket, and went to start her day. The cool air brushed her hair back and she remembered that in four days the moon would be full and she could find solace in her run in the woods. Whatever problems weighed on her heart at a full moon, they became lighter when she shifted and could just let her inner wolf run and romp in the night. It was almost like having a great dream, it made for a little escape that hung on for a few days.

The door stood slightly ajar as it had yesterday. She leaned close and peered inside, half expecting to see his sister again. She wasn't around. The chimes hanging from the ceiling, in what looked like it had once been the dining room, played a soft song as if welcoming her inside.

She knocked.

“Coming,” a deep voice said, and she recognized it to be Brandon's. She took in a breath, a tiny bit of excitement flowing through her, hoping he wasn't wearing his hat today. And god help her, but kind of hoping he wasn't wearing his shirt either.

Just friends!

But as he cut the corner from the hall to the office, she saw him. He wore a dark green T-shirt and a baseball hat.

But his frown caught most of her attention. That and the fact that he was already turning so she couldn't see his scars.

“Good morning,” she said, and while she was three feet from him, she could smell him and his freshly showered aroma. Teasing her senses were the scents of a guy's spicy soap, shampoo, and minty toothpaste. But he still held his natural scent of wood and outdoors—and the slightest hint of some kind of paranormal. She just couldn't put her finger on it.

As crazy as it sounded, she wanted to bury her face in his neck and that smell. She wanted to taste the mint on his breath. No doubt, the upcoming lunar change was heightening her awareness of the opposite sex. Heck, if she could just make it past the full moon, she might not even find him all that alluring.

She could hope.

Then it hit her that yesterday she hadn't been the least bit lured by Cary's scent or even his kiss.

“Is it good?” he asked and Brandon's frown tightened.

“Not a morning person?” And she did it again. Smiled. What was it about this man that made her want to be happy? It hit then. It wasn't just about being happy, it was about wanting to see him happy. Was it the scars? Did she just assume he was as haunted as her on the inside? Or was it the sadness in his eyes that reminded her of what she saw when she looked in the mirror?

Was Brandon Hart damaged?

“I'm generally fine with morning, if I've slept.”

I didn't sleep either.
“Something keeping you up?” she asked and as crazy as it sounded she wanted him to confide in her.

“Yeah.” He shrugged and looked around, his gaze landing on the chimes still playing soft music.