Some Like It Hot (7 page)

Okay, maybe that was debatable. Because, given the long history of bad blood between Charlie Bradshaw’s first and second families, a smart man would probably lie his ass off. But not him, boy. Oh, no. He said, “Yes.” Then braced himself.

His mother was nothing if not predictable, and it didn’t take her any time at all to go off. “What the
hell
is he doing at your house?” she demanded. “And bro—he calls you
bro?
Aren’t
you
all cozy with the enemy.”

“He’s not my enemy, Ma, he’s my half brother. We’re trying to get past our old relationship to build a new one. It’s what grown-ups do.”

A slight, ironic smile tugged at Jake’s mouth, and he turned to go back into the kitchen. A second later Max heard the back door open and close and wasn’t sure if Jake had just gone outside to give him some privacy or, reminded of the toxic treatment Max had subjected him to in the old days, had lit out for home instead.

“How can you
say
such a thing?” The fury in his mother’s voice redirected his attention back to her. “He stole every damn thing that rightfully should have been yours.”

He’d had a lifetime of practice letting her anger roll off his back. But wondering if his exchange with her had driven Jake to leave dredged up an ice-edged anger of his own. “No, Ma,” he said with a cold finality. “He didn’t. Dear old Dad did that all by himself. And your constant anger over it sure as hell didn’t help. But Jake didn’t ask for the situation any more than I did. Jesus, we were boys—just a couple of little kids caught in the crossfire of an adult war. But I’m not that teen who was angry because my mother thought I should be anymore. I’m through with that crap, and I’m getting to know my brother. Deal with it.”

“Well, I never!”

“Yeah—and that was part of the problem. You never let me forget how badly we were wronged. Never let me just be a kid.”

Jesus, Bradshaw.
He had no intention of giving in on this, but he dealt with worked-up people on a regular basis and knew better than most how casting blame and putting them on the defensive benefited no one. So, with more effort than he liked to admit, he expunged the attitude from his tone. “Listen, Ma, I’m sorry—I’m not blaming you. But this
is
the new reality. I have a half brother that I’m getting to know, and I don’t think that’s an unreasonable thing. So give it some thought and call me back when you decide you can live with it.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she snapped.

“That’s up to you. But you might want to keep in mind that I don’t plan to change mine. So if you want us to have a relationship, you’re the one who has to make adjustments this time.”

They disconnected after an exchange of stiff goodbyes, and he took off for the kitchen. Once there he paused only long enough to grab a beer out of the fridge before barreling through the back door.

He spotted Jake leaning against the trunk of an evergreen, calmly sipping his brew and taking in the yard and the woods around him. Max blew out a breath as he felt the tension leave his shoulders.

Looking up, Jake pushed away from the tree. “Your mother still hates my guts, huh?”

“Yeah. But I don’t.” And hearing himself say as much out loud, he realized he truly had let go of the old baggage concerning his brother once and for all.

Jake grinned. “I loved the ‘It’s what grown-ups do’ comment.”

“’Course you did. You were the one who acted like an adult first.”

Jake laughed. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Am I a fucking genius or what?”

“A fucking something,” he agreed.

“God, you’re a hard case.” Jake shook his head. “Probably due to your lousy diet. Christ, Max, there’s nothing but junk food in your cupboards.”

“What are you talking about? I had cereal for breakfast.”

“With
Coke.
Don’t try to tell me otherwise, the can was next to your bowl in the sink. Besides,
oatmeal
is cereal. Honey Smacks and Froot Loops are boxes of enriched candy.”

“
Enriched
being the operative word.”

“No, idiot—
candy
being the operative word. I wouldn’t let my kid eat that shit.”

He shrugged. It was what he’d grown up on. “Hey, the stomach likes what the stomach likes.”

“If you need sweet cereal, I can recommend some healthier options. They still have sugar, but at least you get a decent amount of fiber to go with it.”

Max stared at him. “Boy, you
must
be bored, if you’re sitting around reading cereal box nutrition labels.”

A trace of color climbed Jake’s cheeks, but he merely said, “Jenny educated me when I came back into Austin’s life. Dude, my fourteen-year-old has better eating habits than you. And that’s not saying much.”

Max gave him a look and Jake shot him a cheerfully unconcerned smile. “Okay, okay, I’m changing the subject now. Just...maybe think about it a little, okay?”

“Sure thing, Dad.” His gaze dropped to the bag of Doritos in his brother’s hand. “I’ll do as you say, not as you do.”

“Shit.” He shook his head—then dug out a handful of chips. “Shut up and drink your beer.”

Max laughed. “Now, there’s fatherly advice I can get behind. What do you say we finish these up, then head down to the access to watch the idiots launch their boats?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Jake gave him a sidelong look. “Let’s go in your cruiser so I can work the siren.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
HE
FOLLOWING
T
UESDAY
Harper parked her newly rented car in the Cedar Village parking lot. This was the first opportunity she’d had to check the place out since arriving in town, and the prospect of making her initial assessment of the nonprofit boys’ home had a little frisson of excitement slithering up her spine. She locked the car and strode across the pavement to the archway in the black-stained wood fence that formed the grounds’ front perimeter. Gazing out across the property, she noted that its other borders were made up of woods comprised of cedar and alder trees.

On the other side of the archway three paths veered off in separate directions. A post at their confluence bristled with wooden hand-shaped signs pointing toward the various buildings to be found down each one. As she started along the path indicated by a thrusting finger that read
Administration
, she looked around.

The homey, sprawling collection of one-storied buttercream-colored, black-trimmed buildings took her by surprise, even though she hadn’t consciously envisioned the setting ahead of time. Somewhere in her psyche, however, she must have had a more formal configuration in mind. These structures, while immaculately maintained, looked as though they’d been shaken in a giant dice cup and tossed willy-nilly across the emerald landscape. It lent the place a friendly vibe—and made the “village” in Cedar Village seem particularly apt.

An outdoor basketball court slanted between her destination building and another that was set at an angle just this side of it. It rang with the shouts and grunts of a game of Shirts and Skins. Sneakers squeaked, a leather ball thumped, and, giving the constantly moving game a closer, but hopefully inconspicuous, examination, she saw it was made up largely of teenage boys with a few men she assumed were counselors or teachers thrown in.

Even as she watched, the boy currently in command of the ball, a tall, good-looking black kid with yard-long dreads pulled back in a thick ponytail, stopped dead and tucked the ball beneath his arm. When another teen tried to knock it from his hold, he twisted away, ramming his free elbow in the boy’s side.

The kid on the receiving end swore roundly.

The black youth didn’t take his gaze from her. “Dawg,” he said by way of explanation to the other boy, jutting his chin in her direction, “we got us a woman come visiting.” He subjected her to a slow, appreciative up and down appraisal. “A
hawt
woman.”

Good God.
Males were the same no matter what their age, apparently. Finding herself the sudden cynosure of an entire basketball court full of males, she simply gave them a cool glance and continued toward the admin building.

Until a voice she knew said quietly, “That’s enough, Malcolm,” even as another adult said, “Remember what we discussed about appropriate conversation?”

She whipped around and zeroed in on Max, who—Lord have mercy, didn’t it just figure?—was on the Skins team. How on earth had she missed him the first time around? The guy was half a head taller than anyone else there.

He was just an immense, strapping male, period. Hell, when he was
clothed
she found that chest, those shoulders and long, muscular arms infinitely sexy.

Seeing the whole package dressed in nothing but a glaze of perspiration, tattoos and dark body hair that feathered his forearms, fanned across his pecs and ran in a narrow path down his abs to disappear in his low waistband drove every drop of moisture from her mouth. And, dear God. Was that a
nipple
ring she saw glinting through his chest hair?

It felt like a millennium that she stood there staring, but in actuality it was likely only a second or two before the kid named Malcolm mercifully broke her single-minded focus.

“Hey,” he said with a shrug, “is it really inappropriate if it’s true? I mean, you can’t honestly tell me she
ain’t
hawt, right?” His teeth flashed white. “And she’s a sister, too—at least partly. That’s something you gotta admit is in seriously short supply in this white bread burg. Hey, baby, wanna date?” he called, then turned back to the men. “Now
that’s
inappropriate. But only to demonstrate the difference, ya dig?”

She had to swallow a smile at his smart-ass insouciance. Knowing better than to engage him, however, she turned away and headed with new purpose—one that
didn’t
involve gawking at Deputy Bradshaw’s very fine body—toward the administration building. She heard the game start up again as she reached it.

A sign on the door invited her to come in, and, opening it, she poked her head in.

There was a small reception area with a desk facing the door, but no one manned it, and of the two doors she could see at first glance, one was closed and the other all but. Feeling a little like an interloper, she stepped inside.

The deserted room was clean and cheerful, with walls painted a few shades brighter than the exterior hue and hung with colorful framed posters of classic hot rods. She liked the way that, even in the management section, it was geared toward boys’ interests. “Ms. Schultz?” she called softly.

“Yeah, hang on a sec,” replied a female voice from behind the door that was just barely cracked open, and Harper heard the sound of a chair being pushed back. A moment later a middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway.

Unlike her cheery surroundings, she was quite grim-looking, with her thin lips that tugged severely downward at the corners, drab clothing and heavy peppering of gray that dulled her dark hair. “Call me Mary-Margaret,” she commanded brusquely and strode out into the reception area. Stopping in front of her, the director thrust out a hand. “You must be Harper.”

“I am.” She shook the proffered hand and smiled appreciatively at Mary-Margaret’s firm, no nonsense grip. “Thank you for carving some time out of your schedule to see me. I’m sure you must be busy.”

“Thank you for asking about volunteering at the Village,” the other woman said, smooth and somehow easy despite that grim mouth. She stepped back, waving Harper into an office cluttered with paperwork and an accumulation of boys’ personal effects. She swept a baseball mitt, a school-type backpack and one large running shoe off the chair facing her desk, tossed them into an oversize box next to it and waved her hand at the cleared chair. “Have a seat.”

Harper sat, crossed her legs and regarded the director across the desk. “I wasn’t sure if you accepted the help of unlicensed volunteers. I imagine the boys you help here come with a wide range of problems, some or many of which I’m sure I have no experience with. But I like kids and I know Deputy Bradshaw gives a lot of time to the organization. So I thought you might find something for me to do.”

Mary-Margaret’s lipstick-free lips turned up in a fond smile that turned her naturally dour appearance unexpectedly sweet. “Max is great with the boys. He had a rough childhood himself, so he gets them.” Her smile turned dry. “Believe me, they know and respond to that.”

Max’d had a rough childhood? Harper would have loved to follow up that tidbit, to dig for more information and get the details. Instead, she stored away the stingy teaser to mull over later, for the director was still talking.

“What most of these boys need more than anything,” Mary-Margaret said, “is simple old-fashioned, one-on-one positive attention. Max offers that in spades.”

Harper nodded. “Yes, that was very apparent at the pancake breakfast. He’s got the touch.”

Mary-Margaret studied Harper with a cool, calm thoroughness. “You, for the moment, are an unknown quantity. I’d have to see you with the boys in a supervised environment before I could turn you loose with them. But I like that you volunteered at the breakfast, and Max did say you demonstrated an amazingly effective deflection of one of our boy’s inappropriate remarks without even opening your mouth.”

The older woman grinned suddenly, once again softening her stern features, and Harper began to believe that
this
was the real Mary-Margaret, and the older woman’s naturally downturned lips likely just a product of the musculature surrounding them.

“He also told me about your ideas for improving our fund-raising,” the director continued, “and I’d love to talk to you about that in more depth. Working on that here with me might be just the place for you.”

Harper knew she shouldn’t feel disappointed. Working with Mary-Margaret was a logical use of her abilities and would suit her purposes just fine, since it would keep her close to ground zero at the heart of this charity. And if she had kind of hoped to work with the boys one on one?

Well, perhaps it wasn’t a great idea, anyhow. She’d already received two separate come-ons, because these were hormonal teen boys. That wasn’t exactly the usual demographic she worked with.

“On the other hand,” Mary-Margaret said, “Max mentioned you might be able to offer some of The Brothers Inn resources for the boys?”

“Yes, I talked to Jenny Salazar, and we brainstormed a few things that might work for the boys without disrupting the inn’s paying guests.”

“It would sure be nice if they could get some time around the water,” Mary-Margaret said wistfully. “Other than taking them down to the public beach at the state park occasionally, that’s one experience we can’t offer them—even though our liability insurance covers off-campus excursions.”

Harper uncrossed her legs and sat a bit straighter in her seat. “If we can coordinate their schedule with the inn’s least busy hours, we can offer some tubing behind a boat, kayaking and a tide pool exploration. I can make the latter two both fun and educational. The tubing, I’m afraid, is just...tubing.”

The director laughed.

“We’re considering letting the boys swim from the dock as well, but that would depend on your assessment of their behavior, since the swimming area is a lot more difficult to segregate from the guests. And I do understand your concern over my ability to handle them. Ordinarily, I’d tell you I can, since as a general rule I’m quite good with people. But I appreciate that these aren’t run-of-the-mill kids. I tend not to jump into situations I can’t control—and without some idea of the depth of these boys’ problems I have no way of judging if my abilities are up to the challenge.”

The other woman leaned forward. “I like you. You’re not one of those starry-eyed do-gooders—you’ve clearly given this a great deal of thought. So let’s do this. Let’s introduce you to the boys in a couple of controlled situations where I or one of the counselors can assess your abilities. If those go well, we’ll turn you loose with a hand-picked group of boys. The truth is, for the sort of treats you and the inn are offering, we tend to reward the kids who’ve made appreciable inroads on their issues anyhow. Regardless, we never just send them off with nonprofessionals. If they go off site, we’ll send along someone from here to lend expertise, muscle and additional support.”

Harper nodded, pleased with the proposal. “That sounds perfect. I wish I could promise you consistent hours, but mine change almost daily depending on the inn’s occupancy and who’s signed up for what activities. But I could likely give you twenty-four hours’ notice.”

“Would you be willing to take a child-safety class?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then your schedule will work just fine. It’s pretty much the same thing Max does. Well, he generally knows his schedule a week in advance, but things still regularly come up to throw spanners in the works.” Mary-Margaret rose to her feet. “Can you spare an hour right now?”

“Sure.” Harper rose, as well.

“Excellent. Let’s check out the game room. We’ll see how you do with the boys.”

* * *

A
FEW
DAYS
later, Max walked into Mary-Margaret’s office. “Hey,” he said when the older woman looked up from the work she was poring over on her computer screen. He bent to pick up the Lost and Found box from the floor next to her desk and started tossing the odds and ends littering the seat of the visitor chair into it. He usually eased into his volunteer time here by tracking down who belonged to what misplaced item.

“Hey, yourself.” Mary-Margaret, who always looked pleased to see him, stared at him with even more delight than usual. “I don’t remember seeing your name on the schedule for today. But, Lordy, am I ever glad to see you!”

“Yeah, I was supposed to work today.” He rubbed his aching head. “You hear about the accident up on the highway last night?”

“Oh, hell.” Her expression turned serious. “I did. One teen killed and three more in the hospital? From Chico, right? You caught that?”

“Yeah. I was first responder and was on it until three this morning.” And watching those kids being scraped up had pushed far too many of his buttons, had edged him too damn close to that old snake pit of emotions he’d worked so hard to leave behind on the war-torn roads and urban landscapes of the Middle East. “Damn kids must have downed two and a half cases of beer between ’em. The driver tried to take that curve by the Olmstead place at close to eighty miles an hour, and his car took down two trees when it went off the bank.” He shook the raw meat visions of the dead boy out of his head. “Sheriff Neward sent me home, but—” He clenched his jaw, unwilling to admit,
I’m not ready to be alone.

“I’m sorry that you had to deal with that—I can only imagine how awful it must have been. But your availability turns out to be a godsend for us. Jim either ate something that didn’t agree with him or caught himself a case of the flu. Either way, he was supposed to take a group over to the inn to go tubing with Harper. The boys are all pumped about it, and I’ve been dreading having to tell them we have to cancel. Still.” She looked at him with concern. “Are you up for it?”

His headache receded a bit.
Well, let me see.
Which would he prefer, having the images of mangled teenagers running through his head or the opportunity to see Harper in a bathing suit again? But he merely said, “Sure,” and returned the Lost and Found box to the floor. “I’ll have to make a quick stop at my place to grab my board shorts. I’ve never tubed, myself, so I have no idea if I’ll be needed in the water.”