Falling for the Wrong Brother Page 7

  Grady nodded. “You’re still a good girl, Maggie, even if you messed up real bad.”

  As Griffin watched her walk out of the restaurant, he tamped down the urge to pound his fist into something. Trevor would be fitting. He hated that Maggie was the town good girl, a label she wore like a hair shirt. He hated seeing her apologize for something that wasn’t her fault.

  Most of all he hated how much he cared. That was a fast track to disaster for everyone.

  * * *

  Maggie plucked the game controller out of her brother’s hand a few nights later.

  “Give it back,” Ben shouted, jumping up from the chair. “I’m going to...” He groaned as a bleating stream of beeps and buzzes came from the television screen. “I died.”

  “Great,” Maggie said with an eye roll. “Now you have time to take out the trash.”

  Her brother groaned again. “Who died and made you boss?” he asked. He tapped an angry foot on the carpet as an awkward silence filled the air between them. She wasn’t the boss, but their mother’s death eleven years ago had thrust her into the role of caregiver, for both of her younger siblings. Their father was never much for rules or routines, so Maggie had become the one to keep order in the household.

  “You can’t spend the entire summer break playing video games.”

  “Dad doesn’t care,” Ben shot back.

  “He does,” Maggie argued. “But he’s got the commissioned piece to finish in the next few weeks. He’s distracted.”

  “He’s always distracted.” Ben grabbed the remote control from the coffee table and turned off the TV. “You just don’t see it because you’re too busy living your own life.”

  “I’m here now.” Maggie had moved back into her father’s house two days ago when she couldn’t convince the couple who’d rented her house to find another place. Her stuff had already been in boxes, ready to be moved into Trevor’s house on the edge of downtown.

  She’d insisted they not move in together until after the wedding, and although Trevor had argued, now she was glad she’d followed her instinct. Her new tenants had rented her house furnished, so she’d only needed to move her personal belongings. It was strange and vaguely depressing to be an adult living in her girlhood room again. Of course, her father hadn’t done anything to update the decor, so she had a canopy bed with pink ruffles on the edge of the comforter, random posters of boy band heartthrobs on the walls and her collection of snow globes standing sentry on her old dresser. She needed to change things but couldn’t quite find the motivation.

  “Nothing will change,” Ben grumbled. “You’ll get sick of us, and Dad will ignore everything outside his studio. Morgan will be a senior next year so then she’ll go to college and I’ll be alone.”

  “You’re not alone.” Maggie reached forward and brushed Ben’s overlong bangs out of his eyes. “I’ll take you for a haircut tomorrow.”

  “What does it matter?” Ben took the controller from her hand and tossed it on the recliner. “My hair, whether I brush my teeth, how many hours of video games I play. It doesn’t really matter.”

  “You brush your teeth, right?” Maggie couldn’t help but ask, earning another put-upon groan.

  “I’ll deal with the trash.”

  “Take Sadie for a walk, too.” Hearing her name, the springer spaniel lifted her head from her dog bed, yawned, then scratched an ear with her hind leg.

  “Fine.” He said the word with as much enthusiasm as if she’d asked him to scoop the dog’s poop with his bare hands. He whistled, and Sadie hopped up and followed him toward the door.

  “Hey, Ben.”

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “You matter,” she said, gratified when he flashed a smile instead of rolling his eyes.

  Maggie started toward the kitchen, then gave a yelp of surprise as Morgan stepped out of the laundry at the back of the house.

  “He brushes his teeth,” her sister reported, picking chipped polish off a fingernail. “But only because he has a crush on some girl in his Spanish class.”

  “Have you been standing there the whole time?”

  “Long enough.” Morgan shrugged. “I was separating whites and darks, but hearing you chew out Ben was more interesting.”

  “I wasn’t chewing him out,” Maggie sighed. Had she been chewing him out?

  “We’re doing fine. Ben and I aren’t babies anymore. You check in plenty, and when it’s important Dad pulls his head out of his—”

  “Morgan.”

  “Dad pulls it together when we need him,” her sister amended with a hint of a smile.

  Tears pricked at the backs of Maggie’s eyes. Was that enough? She’d been so preoccupied with town business and planning the wedding that she’d let her presence in her father’s home slip over the past few months. Or years. Had it been years?

  She glanced around the kitchen and suppressed another sigh. From the scuffed hardwood floors to the butcher-block counters to the stove with one burner that didn’t light, nothing had changed since she went away to college almost a decade earlier. It was the same throughout the rest of the house, decor suspended in time. Her father didn’t notice or care, but Maggie thought it was past time he should.

  It was obvious he’d been spending more and more time in the studio he’d built behind the house six months before her mother’s death. It had taken some lean years, but Jim Spencer was now recognized as one of the foremost bronze sculptors in this part of the country. The piece he was working on now for a private client in San Francisco would pay the mortgage on this place for over a year. His work was his passion, and although he loved his children, he’d never been a particularly attentive father.

  “Can’t get his head out of the clouds” was how her grammy described it, and Maggie wondered if the absentmindedness was an unconscious defense mechanism. Jim had never paid much attention to the family legacy, a fact that continually niggled at Vivian.

  She hadn’t stopped encouraging her son to do something “real” with his life until it became clear that Maggie could fill the void and uphold their standing in Stonecreek.

  “Grab a box of pasta while I heat the water,” Maggie told her sister. “I like your hair.”

  Morgan touched her hand to the blue strands like she was surprised to find them on her head. “Grammy wanted me go back to my boring natural color for the wedding.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Maggie said apologetically. “I think she means well.”

  “Because you’re her favorite,” Morgan said as she emerged from the pantry. “The rest of us are constant disappointments. Especially me.”

  Jim Spencer walked into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “You’re not a disappointment to anyone. I’ll talk to your grandmother.” He dropped a kiss on the top of Morgan’s blue-hued head. “You’re perfect, Mo-mo.”

  Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. Her father might be scatterbrained and bordering on negligent, but he had his moments.

  “I’m sick of people calling me that stupid nickname.”

  “I can call you whatever I like. How about Princess Morgana of the Butterfly Fairy Convention?”

  Maggie smiled. Of the three Spencer kids, Morgan was the most like their father in terms of imagination. She’d spent hours as a child playing dress up and insisting on being referred to by her chosen identity of the week.

  “Even worse,” Morgan said with a groan. She handed Maggie the box of pasta.

  “Are you making dinner tonight?” Jim asked Maggie. “You don’t have to do that. I had a plan.”

  “Quesadillas?” Maggie asked, and Morgan hid her smile.

  “What’s wrong with cheese and tortillas?” Jim put his hands on his hips.

  “Just changing things up a bit,” Maggie answered. “I appreciate you letting me stay here, Dad.”

  “It’s your h
ome.”

  Emotion welled in Maggie’s chest. “Grammy came to visit me at the office earlier.”

  “She mentioned that when she stopped by here,” Jim said, looking sheepish when Maggie gasped.

  “She talked to you about me?”

  “Your grandmother loves you,” he said by way of explanation.

  Morgan snorted.

  “She loves all of you,” Jim amended, pulling a bottle of wine off the wrought iron baker’s rack in the corner.

  “She has to love me,” Ben said, entering the room with Sadie trotting along at his ankles. “I’m the only one who can carry on the Spencer name.”

  “Don’t be a Neanderthal.” Morgan popped the top on a can of soda and took a long drink.

  “Shouldn’t you be having milk?” Maggie asked automatically.

  Morgan held up the can in mock salute. “I liked you better when you were worried about Ben’s teeth.”

  Their father paused in the act of pouring a glass of wine. “What’s wrong with Ben’s teeth?”

  “Why am I a Neanderthal?” Ben swiped the soda can from Morgan, gulped it down, then burped loudly.

  “He needs to brush regularly,” Maggie told her father.

  “I could have a baby on my own,” Morgan said, swatting Ben on the back of the head. “My kid would have the Spencer name that way.”

  Jim jabbed a finger at Morgan. “No babies,” he said, then sipped his wine. “Brush your teeth,” he told his son.

  “I told you he shows up when we need him,” Morgan said to Maggie.

  Jim narrowed his eyes. “Did you doubt it?”

  Maggie’s gaze hitched on the wine label. “Is that my wedding wine?”

  “Don’t want it to go to waste,” her father said. “May I pour you a glass?”

  “I had lunch at The Kitchen,” Maggie said instead of answering. The thought of even a sip of the wine that had been bottled to celebrate her wedding made her stomach ache. But her father meant well so she didn’t want to refuse outright.

  “You definitely need a drink,” he said and pulled out a second glass.

  “Ben stole my soda and it was the last one,” Morgan complained. “I should probably have wine, too.”

  “Only in church on Sundays,” Jim countered.

  Morgan scrunched up her nose. “We don’t go to church.”

  “Then no wine. Listen to your sister and have some milk.”

  Maggie felt her shoulders begin to tremble and tears prick her eyes. She pressed three fingers to her mouth to prevent a full-blown sob from escaping, then dragged in a shaky breath and swiped at her cheeks.

  Silence filled the room as the three members of her immediate family turned to stare at her.

  “I love you guys,” she whispered, squeezing shut her eyes. She needed to hold it together, but the stress of the past few days was too much. She might not be heartbroken, but she was humiliated, and the normalcy of her family’s silly banter reminded her she wasn’t going through this alone.

  “It’s going to be okay,” her father said, wrapping his big body around her. He smelled like the clay he used to make the original sculptures that would then be cast into bronze. The earthy, musty scent would always remind her of home.

  Morgan and Ben hugged her, too. “We love you, too,” her sister said, adding the scent of patchouli to the mix.

  “I could shank Trevor,” Ben offered, “for whatever he did to make you into a runaway bride.” Maggie smiled through her tears as she felt her brother wipe his nose on the sleeve of her shirt. Teenage boys were truly disgusting.

  “No babies, wine or shanking,” Jim said. “I might not run the tightest ship, but even I have lines you can’t cross.”

  “The water’s boiling over,” Maggie said as she heard a sizzle from the stove. She pulled away from the family hug. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

  “I’ll make a salad,” Morgan offered.

  “I’ll set the table,” Ben added, playfully bumping Morgan out of the way as he moved toward the cabinets that held the plates and bowls.

  Another wave of love swelling through her, Maggie dumped the pasta into the water and adjusted the burner’s heat. Her father handed her a glass of wine when she turned to him.

  “Don’t say he didn’t deserve me.” She shook her head as she touched the glass to her lips. The pinot noir was fruity and light, with just the right amount of depth at the end. “I’ve heard that line too many times already.”

  “You deserve someone who can make you truly happy,” Jim said instead, clinking his glass to hers. “To your happiness, Maggie May, no matter how long it takes you to find it.”

  Maggie smiled and tried not to burst into tears again. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brenna crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you trying to get in my pants?”

  Marcus Sanchez paused in the act of pulling wrapped sandwiches from the brown paper bag he’d set on the tasting room counter.

  “It’s a turkey sandwich,” he said, studying the bundle in his hands. “I’ll admit the aioli is a nice touch, but it’s not exactly seduction-worthy.”

  She kept her gaze focused on the sandwich and not Marcus’s dark eyes and kind face. “You’re being nice to me.”

  When he didn’t respond, she eventually glanced up. One side of his mouth curved. “I like you.”

  Three words but they packed the wallop of a punch to her emotions, washing through her and wearing down most of her razor-sharp defenses. For the past four days Marcus had singled her out with some small act of kindness. First, it had been a vase of flowers on her desk, then yesterday he’d arrived at the office with a cup of her standing drink order from Espresso’s Coffee Shop in town and now he’d brought lunch from her favorite deli.

  Brenna was starving. Fridays in the summer were always busy at the vineyard, and she had almost a dozen reservations for the tasting room. She tried her best to make the space welcoming with twinkling lights and fresh flowers but it was difficult to ignore that her desk was just on the other side of the temporary partition that separated the room. She’d be scrambling until the planned renovations were complete.

  Marcus handed her a sandwich, and she blushed as her stomach growled. “This doesn’t have to be complicated,” he told her. “I know you don’t stop for lunch when things are swamped around here.” He gestured to the empty seats at the counter in front of her. “You have a break so let’s eat.”

  But it was complicated because Brenna had learned over and over that nothing good in life came without a price. From her mother’s stingy, selfish love to the way Ellie’s father had walked out as soon as Brenna told him she was pregnant. She’d thought Trevor was telling her the truth about his devotion to Maggie, and that had turned out disastrously.

  Her interactions with him this week had been coolly awkward. He’d actually called her into his office on Monday afternoon to tell her he didn’t blame her for telling Maggie the whole truth and assured her the scene at the church wouldn’t affect her position at Harvest.

  But she still blamed herself for being a fool and a terrible friend to Maggie. She wanted nothing to do with Trevor Stone, but Marcus was another story entirely. It was strange after a year of having him ignore her that suddenly he wanted to be her friend.

  “I don’t trust this,” she murmured.

  “The sandwich or the chips that go with it?”

  She shook her head. “You have no reason to be nice to me.”

  He laughed softly. “I didn’t realize I needed one.”

  “You know what I mean.” She turned and busied herself with rearranging wineglasses on the shelf behind her.

  “Brenna.”

  “I don’t deserve anyone being nice to me right now.”

  He stepped around the counter, placed a gentle ha
nd over hers to still her movements. “I can tell that last weekend is tearing you up inside.”

  She gave a jerky nod. “I should have told her.”

  “You made a mistake.”

  “A bad one.”

  “We all make mistakes.”

  She turned to him, bile rising in her throat at the thought of all the stupid choices she’d made over the years. “You’re a good person, Marcus. Everyone knows it.”

  His hand was warm and comforting on hers, and she closed her eyes when he squeezed her fingers. “I was married once,” he said quietly.

  He still gripped her hand but when she glanced toward him he was staring at the shelf of wineglasses like he couldn’t stand to meet her gaze.

  “For how long?”

  “Five years. I was working at a vineyard in Sonoma at the time. She worked in town as a waitress. She’d come from a big family and wanted lots of kids.”

  “You didn’t?”

  He shrugged. “The vines were my babies, so I didn’t think much about it. But I wanted her to be happy.”

  “Of course you did.” Brenna tugged at her hand, but Marcus held tight.

  “It took eighteen months of trying for her to get pregnant, and she miscarried at nine weeks.”

  “I’m sorry,” Brenna whispered.

  He turned to her then, and his eyes were filled with a mix of regret and sorrow. “It broke her, and I couldn’t deal with it. I left the hospital, drove to a bar, got drunk on the cheapest liquor I could find, then went home with a woman I met that night.” His features were granite as if he couldn’t afford to let any vulnerability show. But his eyes gave away everything, and Brenna’s heart broke for him.

  “A big mistake.”

  He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “She left me, and once I pulled myself together I moved to Oregon. Took a job at Harvest a few months later. She remarried and the last I heard they have three little ones.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “And I still have the vines.”

  “Oh, Marcus.” Brenna turned her hand over in his and linked their fingers.