Falling For The Brother. Tara Quinn Taylor
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Vindictive. Mean.
I told you so was all over the look Harper sent him.
“Gram.” Mason wasn’t going to ignore the rudeness, regardless of the situation. “I can’t believe you just said that. You know damn well that Harper doesn’t want you hurt. And she doesn’t want the father of her child in trouble, either.” If he hadn’t been sure of that before his meeting with her that morning, he certainly was afterward.
While he didn’t understand it, couldn’t dissect it and study it, he’d always been aware of Bruce’s special charm. People gravitated to him. Liked him. Stuck up for him. Their parents and Mason included. And, apparently, that charm even worked with ex-wives.
Gram’s bent head made him feel a second of shame, and he regretted the harshness of his words, if not the sentiment. He recognized that he’d overreacted in his somewhat primitive male desire to protect a woman he’d once gone to bed with—
Nope. Not going there.
“You’re right,” Gram said before he could rectify what he’d said. She looked at Harper. “I apologize for my rudeness. But I don’t think you’re happy to have me here.”
What?
“I’m not happy you’re in this situation,” Harper said, then sat forward, her hands on the table in front of her. Open. Not clasped. She had nothing to hide, he translated. “But how I feel doesn’t enter into this,” she continued, sounding like a doctor breaking bad news, or a reporter on television. Compassionate and yet...professionally distant.
He glanced away, but not soon enough. The serious look in her eyes, the softness of her expression, even the damned uniform—it was all a turn-on.
Which made him a creep.
Or a man who’d been without a woman for far too long and unexpectedly saw one with whom he’d had a night of incredible sex.
Being turned on was preferable to giving in to the myriad of emotions vying for his attention. Fear for his family was at the top of that list.
If it took a sexual memory to get him through this...
“My job here, first off,” Harper was saying, “is to verify that you signed the VNL freely and of your own accord. The voluntary no release form.”
Chin tight, Miriam nodded. “I did.”
“Then it’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t leave. And that no one gets in who could do you harm. I’ll be assigning around-the-clock duty to you, which, at times, will include me. My officers and I will keep our distance, and do everything we can not to impinge on your privacy, but we will be present, at all times, as set out in the VNL. Are you in agreement with these terms?”
Gram’s glance in Mason’s direction seemed to waver for a second—almost to the point of vulnerability. He met her eyes. He felt a driving need to promise her that everything was going to be fine.
It was a promise he couldn’t make, and the words caught in his throat.
“I am in agreement.” Gram turned back to Harper.
Mason had to hand it to Harper. Her gaze remained straightforward, her face unsmiling. There was no sign of victory, or even of satisfaction in having Miriam agreeing to do as she said. Of having Miriam in a position of needing her.
“I’ll make this as painless as I possibly can,” Harper said. “Including keeping myself off your detail as much as I can.”
“I appreciate that. You being around as little as possible.”
Wow. Gram wasn’t letting up on her obvious dislike of Bruce’s ex. In all his years, Mason had never seen his grandmother behave this way. He wondered, for a second, if she was starting to lose her faculties. Bruce had assured him she wasn’t. Mason’s earlier concern about Gram’s aging hadn’t had anything to do with her mind; it had been due more to her lack of energy. Emotional and physical.
“That’s all I need, then.” Harper stood. “If you have any problems, if something alarms you or bothers you, even a little, don’t hesitate to speak to my team. Any time of the day or night. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Thank you.” Gram stood, too, and Mason saw the move for the power play it was. Miriam was going to stand up to Harper every step of the way.
With a nod toward Mason, Harper turned to leave. “Wait.” Gram’s voice, calling her back, filled Mason with a sense of relief. His grandmother was going to make this right.
And he wanted Harper back, too. They hadn’t spoken about Bruce yet. He’d hoped the two women would talk. That Harper would convince Gram to tell them what had happened. Convince her, too, that it would be best for Bruce in the long run if they could get him help.
When Harper had turned back, Gram said, “What about Brianna? When do I get to see her?”
Wow, again. This was so not the way to get what you wanted, by speaking with antagonism toward the person who could provide it. Or not...
“I told her she could see you during her afternoon playtime. Would that work for you?”
Gram blinked and Mason almost smiled. Except that it would be a result of seeing his grandmother put in her place. He didn’t want that to happen. He just wanted her rudeness to stop. Mostly because it was so out of character. And maybe, a little, because it was directed at Harper. Unfairly.
“That would be fine,” Gram said.
“One of my officers will deliver her to your bungalow and stay there while she’s with you, in addition to the officer who’ll be on duty assigned to you.” Harper named a time. “If that’s okay, Brianna can stay with you until I’m ready to head home. At that point, her officer will deliver her back to me.”
“That’s okay with me, as long as you aren’t the officer.” Gram wasn’t giving an inch.
Harper had just given miles.
And Mason had no idea where to go with any of it.
* * *
HARPER WAS UNUSUALLY off her mark for the rest of the day. Other than the hysterical crying bout she’d suffered five years before, after discovering that her fiancé had been unfaithful to her shortly before their wedding, she’d never had drama moments in her life. She just wasn’t the sort.
And yet, all day Tuesday, she was...jittery. She’d seen Mason. The sky hadn’t fallen in. She hadn’t died, or melted into a puddle on the floor. She hadn’t even been filled with rage at the callous way he’d disappeared from her life without so much as a phone call in five years’ time.
Not that she could blame him, she supposed. She hadn’t called him, either.
But now, her not calling seemed...worse, because the only reason he hadn’t contacted her was that he thought it was at her bidding. He’d been honoring a request he’d believed had come from her. Whereas she hadn’t contacted him because she’d simply chosen not to. Most of the day she managed to avoid thinking about that revelation. Lives depended on her ability to focus, and she gave her job every ounce of herself when she was on duty. Tuesday was no different. Cameras provided around-the-clock surveillance at all times. And every single unidentifiable individual who lingered too long on the block that fronted the Stand, or frequented any of the Stand-run shops there on numerous occasions, was quietly and efficiently investigated. Rounds were done on a regular basis. Gates, locks and bungalows were checked at least once an hour, although residents were never disturbed unless necessary. She ran regular background checks on anyone who was employed by, volunteered at or visited the Stand. She also had daily meetings with the Stand executive staff, so she always knew what events were coming up and could ensure they’d be properly guarded. Those meetings also allowed her to know—and to let her officers know—which of their residents might be having a particularly hard day, which ones had recently had contact with family members, and those whose abusers were known to be agitated or