The Solitude of Passion (30 page)

“Can I come?” Colton plucks a beer out before the door has a chance to close.

“Sure.” I give a lopsided grin. “You can take Max’s place.” Like he was fucking supposed to in the first place, but I omit that part from the conversation for the sake of my mother.

Mom and Colt take a seat at the breakfast nook as I whittle away my work of culinary art.

“You know this is very hard for her.” Mom glances at Colt before looking up at me as if she wanted my brother to back up her theory. “The ball is in Lee’s court, and her decision, whatever it may be, will be life altering. You need to give her time. Give her space. You should consider moving back in with me.”

I knew we’d end up here sooner than later. All roads lead to me leaving Max Shepherd the hell alone. And for some nagging reason I get the feeling it’s not Lee she’s trying to protect.

“No,” it grunts out of me. “It’s my house. Lee’s my wife. Besides, she still loves me—told me so this morning.” I give a depleted smile in her direction. I’m not about to spout off about the racket they worked up—correction Max engineered. I’ll have to think of an equally painful means of revenge. Maybe I’ll take Lee right there on the kitchen table for dessert. If it weren’t for Stella and Eli, it might have been more than a playful theory. Although the thought of getting rejected in front of Max sends a pang of embarrassment through me. With my luck, both she and Max would slap me.

“So what about Max?” Colton pops an apple in his mouth and takes a loud, crisp bite. “You just expect him to move out?”

“Et tu Brutus? Where exactly does your loyalty lie anyway?”

“I’m just saying,” he mumbles through his food. “They’ve been married for like three years. They have kids together. She has to move carefully.”

“They have
a
kid together. In the event you forgot, Stella is mine.”

“Not according to the adoption records.” Colt tweaks his brows as if he were actually refuting the idea. “Besides, it’s Max.” He holds out his hands. “He’ll gut Lee and won’t think twice.”

Mom gives an audible groan. “Oh, he would not either.” She swats Colt hard in the chest. “Max loves her as much as you do, Mitch. It’s genuine. The problem with Lee is, she accepted your death. She put it all behind her and moved on like she was supposed to.”

There it is. I was swept under the rug and forgotten about much to my mother’s approval.

“You know, Mitch,” she continues, “there are no rules on how to do this. That girl has a great head on her shoulders, and she’s doing the exact same thing I would have done—seek professional guidance.” She raises her chin slightly like she does just prior to saying something she’ll be right about later, so I brace myself. “Max and you are going to have to accept whatever decision Lee makes. And that will have to be the end of it.”

I swallow hard at the thought. “What if she doesn’t choose me?” I throw it out there, curious as to what the consensus might be.

“She’ll probably choose me.” Colt nods into his beer.

My mother gives a slow blink. “If you were Lee, what would you do?”

I give a dry laugh. “Hamstring—eviscerate, draw and quarter… Lots of creative things come to mind.”

“No, Mitch.” She drops her voice to her lower register. “You’d need a moment to gather your wits. You would want to take the right path, make sure of your footing. She has to think with both her heart and her head. She’s going to destroy Max if she chooses you.”

A huff of laughter gets locked in my chest.

I’ve always wanted to destroy Max Shepherd. Not in a million years would I have envisioned this scenario. Quite honestly, it might be the most barbaric means of execution—Lee pulling his beating heart out of his chest and crushing it beneath the soles of her feet.

It’s almost touching.

Max

Hudson appears in Townsend field while the morning dew is still suckling off the vineyard. I must be hallucinating or seeing a very real apparition in my brother’s likeness because Hudson doesn’t crawl out of his coffin before sunset unless a stripper is there to lure him.

“Bar just let out?” I bend over and examine a dry vine, crushing a leaf in my hand until it turns to dust.

“I’m here to pitch in.” He grinds the words out like he means them. I glance up in time to catch one of his greasy smiles. His jeans are ripped and dirty. His hair looks as if it hasn’t seen the inside of a shower in weeks. “Just trying to earn my keep like everyone else.” His foot-long beard moves up and down like he’s some moronic puppet.

I struggle back to my feet and take a break from scrutinizing the thirsty row of concords. This will be the third crop I’ll lose this season if I don’t do something drastic about the irrigation problem haunting this place.

“No sooner does Mitch come back, than all of Townsend splinters to shit.” I toss the leaves from my hand. I used to think the Townsend curse was something my mother drew up from her deep well of bitterness, but now that Mitch is here again, all of the dots are starting to connect. “What do you want?” I bear into Hud. “I’m too tired to play along with this I’m-here-to-help-you crap. Cut to the chase. You’re here to help yourself to my bank account.”

“Now, now.” He shakes his head. “Let’s start off on the right foot. How are you doing this glorious morning?”

“Shut up, Hudson.” I pluck a dehydrated vine right out of the ground as if I were doing it a favor. “There’s no brotherly love lingering around at this early hour. We’re in the no bullshit time zone, so go ahead and shoot straight.”

“No bullshit time zone?” He lets out a raucous cackle. “Let’s start this day out with a touch of gratitude. I bet you’ve got a list a mile long of things you’re grateful for.”

“I woke up on the right side of the dirt, so there’s something.” I head over to an adjacent row and start examining leaves for signs of moisture fatigue. “Damn plumber wants a hundred and seventy-five grand to replumb. He’ll tear through the roots and cost me the vineyard. I’m sure Mitch would be happy to fashion a noose for me to help ease my sorrow.”

“There’s a good attitude.” Hudson’s special brand of illegal cologne wafts over me. “So you’re lovin’ life.” He pours on the sarcasm thick as shit. “How’s Lee doing? Heard you have a houseguest.”

“He’s no guest. According to Mitch, I’m the guest.” I stop to gauge Hudson’s reaction. “Can you believe it? I’ve been with her for the last five years. We been married three times longer than they ever were—we have a family. I’m the guest?”

His features harden. Something sinister is brewing behind those stoned lenses, and for a moment I think we’re actually sharing a brotherly moment. I like the idea of Hudson good and pissed just for me.

“All right.” I slap the dirt off my thighs. “What is it? I don’t have time to try and read your half-baked mind. I’ve got a business proposal due in two hours, trying to convince a national retailer to carry Townsend at a big box store. But right about now the only thing I’d like to bottle up and sell to a big box store is Mitch.” Hudson, too, but I leave that part out.

“I know people who can make it happen.” He cuts a glance across the field. “Just say the word, and Mitch disappears for good.”

“No thanks.” Fuck. Is that what I want?

I walk toward a row of healthier looking vines. It’s never a good sign to see a cluster of life with death entombing it like a wreath. I shear off a couple leaves from a fresh vine and mash them around my fingers. Moist. Smells ripe, healthy. Plumbing either works or is leaking like a sieve beneath this stretch of land. The only gusher I know of is fifty yards south, and I’m only aware of it because the ground has turned to soup.

“No killing Mitch, you got that?” Sometimes you have to spell things out for morons like, Hud. “You can get wasted and beat the shit out of him on holidays for me if you want, but every one lives to see another day.”

“About seventy-five grand can cause a mighty fine accident.” He shrugs. “It can move a lot of things—people. Sometimes life’s just easier with some folks not around.”

I turn into him, shielding the rising sun out of his eyes with my frame. “Seventy-five grand? Is that what it’s going to take to get you out of my way today? Lady luck didn’t feel like licking your balls this week, huh?”

“Quarter horses.”

“Great. I’m going to lose everything I own because of a giant jackass, and I’m not talking about the horse.” I push him hard in the chest and knock him back a few steps. “Why do I get the feeling these fucking pipes are the last thing I need to worry about?” I roar. “You and your nitwit friends are going to take down everything I worked for.”

“Hold up.” He steps a safe distance away from my fist. “I’m talking about doing you a favor, remember?”

“
I’m
dealing with Mitch. Are you here for a withdrawal or not? Does my fucking ass look like an ATM machine to you?” My voice riots over the field like thunder.

“Whoa.” His eyes widen as he takes me in. “Never seen you so worked up before, buddy.”

“Welcome to the new me. You want the cash or not?”

He cocks his head before giving a slight nod.

If Lee is looking for that one glaring reason to leave me, this just might be it. “And if I don’t give it to you?”

“You probably won’t see me for a while—eternal ramifications and whatnot.” He glances off at the horizon. “You never did care for Townsend field did you?”

There it is, the not-so thinly veiled threat.

“You’re a lousy gambler, and a lousier brother, you know that? Your stupid stunt on the tracks could cost me my marriage. And, for your information, nothing can happen to the fields. This is Lee’s baby.” I turn toward the sun, and let the heat beat into me, nurturing the headache that’s promising to blow my brains out through my nose. I let the fire sear through my scalp and brand me, but it can never match the pain I feel on the inside.

“How about I toss in a bonus for you?” He glints into me with the threat of erasing Mitch off the planet.

“Like?”

“Like I give you an extra hug for your birthday.” He winks as the sweat builds on his brow.

Seventy-five grand goes a long way. He had to have known I wouldn’t lend it to him. I’d be an idiot to do it. I bet he’d be damn grateful if I did. I bet he’d throw in a few personal favors if I wanted.

I vacillate over the idea for another minute, long enough for the sun to fry my last living brain cells.

“Yeah, okay.” I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm. “I’ll wire it into your account this afternoon. Don’t say shit to anyone. If this gets back to Lee, we’re finished.” But it will. I always tell her.

Honesty isn’t always the best policy.

After the bank, I get home ready to shower a film of dirt and Hudson off my flesh before I crash. Three o’clock will be here before I know it, and I want to pick up the kids with Lee.

Voices emanate from the downstairs guest bedroom, and I make my way over. I spot Lee dashing into the bathroom and Mitch propped up on the well-made bed like a prince waiting for his grapes to be peeled. Lee pops back and brushes by me with a quick hello.

“What’s going on?” I follow her down to the linen closet.

“Just getting some fresh towels for the bathroom.” She pulls a shoulder to her ear and presses her lips together until they turn white. “I’m making up the downstairs bedroom for him.” She doesn’t say his name, just grabs a stack of towels and makes her way back to the room.

“Lee?” A flash of anger rips through me. I’m already pumped up from having to refill Hudson’s tank. I’m pretty damn tired of the way he treats my personal bank account like some magical piggy bank. The last thing I need is Mitch and his never-ending suitcase.

“How’s it going?” Mitch smooths out the covers before giving an energetic bounce on the mattress as if testing out the springs.

“Get the hell up, you’re not staying,” I bark. “
Lee
?”

She jets out of the guest bathroom with her eyebrows pitched into her forehead, clearly annoyed.

“You can’t be okay with this,” I choke on the words.

“He’s ruining the couch”—she bears into me with those glacier clear eyes—“and his back.” She looks over at him as he burrows himself deeper into our lives. “Tomorrow at four we have our fist meeting with Dr. Van Guard.” She says it like it suggests something—a means to an end. I hate to break it to her, but I have a feeling it’s going to be a lot more like running on a treadmill—wear us all out without taking us anywhere.

“I can have him forcibly removed,” I say. “A restraining order doesn’t sound like a bad idea either.” I look right at him when I say it.

Mitch nestles his head into the pillow and mocks me in the process.

“Nobody is getting a restraining order.” Lee shoots daggers at me as she plucks a blanket from off the dresser. “What if the shoe were on the other foot? How would you expect me to treat you?” Lee is desperate. She wants to evoke the sympathy card with her role reversal game.

“What if it were
you
.” I put it back on her. I don’t give a shit that we’re arguing in front of Mitch. I glance back at him propped up on one elbow, and his gaze drops to the floor. “What if another woman walked out of the woodwork, and I pined for her under our roof—
slept
with her. Would you be so accommodating with a stack of fresh towels? Would you lend her your bathing suit?”