Текст книги "Daring Dylan "

Автор книги: Jacie Floyd

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Fifteen

Just before noon, Dylan met Gracie in the hospital lobby. A shot of sheer pleasure at the sight of her hit him with a one-two punch square between his eyes and groin. Those legs… flashing eyes… lush mouth… all swamped him with a staggering rush of desire.

Thoughts about her had tantalized him all morning. No matter how often he’d tried to steer clear of her and keep his feelings in line, she reappeared and pushed her busy nose and luscious body into his life.

He’d been within licking distance of kissing her the last three times they’d been together. The first time had been a spur-of-the-moment temptation. The second—he convinced himself—lay squarely on rampaging adrenaline after the fight. But this morning, pure physical attraction was the culprit. Mixed with something as heady as brandy and as complicated as quantum physics.

He wasn’t ready to explore anything but the physical aspect, but he was determined to follow through with a kiss soon or die trying. Which—with the way things were going whenever he got too close to Gracie—seemed like a definite possibility.

“Did you just get here?” A warm and welcoming smile drew his attention to her mouth. “I was afraid I was late.”

Just to have an excuse to touch her, he cupped her elbow when she got within reach and turned her in the opposite direction. “Right on time. How’s your grandfather?”

She grimaced. “Clay delayed Grandad’s release until tomorrow, and he’s in a bit of a temper.”

“Do you need more time with him?” God, Dylan hoped not. His rising anticipation of completing the unfinished business between them made another postponement unacceptable.

“No, thanks. Gran’s really the only one he’ll listen to. Would you like to meet him? He knew your father pretty well through Old Maine Furniture. We can check back with them after we talk to Clay.”

“I’d be happy to meet your grandfather, but...” He dreaded meeting with his supposed half-brother, but he had to do it. “First, there’s something we need to get straight.”

Adorable little lines crinkled between her eyebrows. “You mean about working together?”

He smoothed the furrows with a fingertip. “No.”

Dylan had the neck-prickling sensation of eyes watching him and turned to notice their audience. The volunteer at the reception desk, a custodian changing a light bulb, and an octogenarian creeping through the lobby with a cane all watched with undisguised curiosity. Gracie smiled and waved to them.

He opened a door to a stairwell on the left and pulled her inside. The steps were narrow and the landing was small. Smelling of disinfectant, it didn’t lend itself to romance in any way but privacy.

“Let’s not take any chances.” With exaggerated caution, he picked up her hands and examined them. His thumbs circled her palms. “You’re not holding anything, right?”

“My purse.” She indicated the strap lodged on her shoulder.

He removed it, set it down, and then looked overhead. “Nothing’s likely to fall on us.” He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “The floor probably won’t collapse.”

“Dylan, what is it?” Her gaze darted around the confined space. “You’re making me nervous.”

“It’s this.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he eased her forward. His mouth lowered to within a breath of hers. “We need to get this out of the way before the suspense kills me.”

In perfect synchronization, with no awkward maneuvering, clinking teeth, or bodily injuries, his lips claimed hers. Their mouths met and nothing in the world mattered to him but Gracie. Sweet, delicious, wonderful Gracie. The first gentle exploration escalated into open-mouthed desire. His hot, biting passion made demands that Gracie matched with dizzying speed.

The kiss kicked him in the gut and became so much more than a mere meeting of lips and tongues. So much more than any other kiss he’d ever experienced. He hoped this kiss would never end.

His hands cupped her ass. He pulled her close, closer, but not close enough. If their clothes disappeared and their bodies fused together, they wouldn’t be close enough. Not until he was wrapped around her, inside her, part of her, feeling her every breath, sharing her every thought. Not until then, would they be close enough.

But that would have to wait for another time, another place, maybe another lifetime. For now, he concentrated on the intoxicating texture of her lips, the teasing bite of her teeth, and the sensual mating of her tongue with his.

She had so much sass to her, he’d half expected her to taste tart and tangy. But she was undeniably delicious. Sweet, with a spicy undertone. His tongue delved deeper.

“What do you taste like?” He devoured her again before freeing her mouth to answer.

“Cinnamon?” She let him taste her, tasted him back, and smiled with satisfaction. “I was taste-testing snickerdoodles at the church earlier.”

“Cookies?” He marveled over the thought. “Perfect.” So Gracie. And now he loved cinnamon. He knew he’d never sample it again without thinking of her and this perfect kiss.

The rap of footsteps hammered the stairs from several floors above. Slowly, he released her, but she didn’t move. From the boneless drape of her body, he doubted if she could stand on her own. He’d have a tough time walking.

Gracie’s forehead dropped to his shoulder. “That was what we needed to get settled between us? Is it settled now?”

“Not nearly.” He nuzzled her neck and breathed in her scent. Fresh, sexy. “But the rest can wait until later.”

“Later?” Her voice held wistful disappointment.

“Later.” He turned the word into a promise. His hands on her waist encouraged her to step back, but she clung to him like ivy on a chimney. “We have an appointment to keep.”

A fake cough drew their attention. Clayton stood midway down the flight of stairs, wearing a thunderous expression. “Looks like you started the meeting without me.” He brushed past them and stalked on down the stairs.

“Oh, good grief.” She left Dylan holding nothing but air as she hurried after her friend. “Clay!”

A sharp but indistinct exchange floated back to Dylan. He waited several necessary minutes before following. He didn’t regret the kiss for a moment, but he wished he hadn’t set Clayton off again before they had a chance to talk.

When he joined Clayton and Gracie in the cafeteria, she tapped her fingers in an edgy staccato against a plastic tray. Clayton stood stiff and sullen in the line behind her. While waiting for the cashier to return his credit card, Dylan eyed the other two. Tension swarmed around them like gnats. They all wove their way to an empty table.

Dylan half-expected Clayton to refuse to sit with them, but a quick command from Gracie persuaded the man. He placed his tray on the table and robotically took a seat. Dylan took the space on the other side of her and realized too late the significance of putting her in the middle.

Anger rolled off of Clayton in waves. Palpable disapproval, along with the black eye from their fight the night before, added to his forbidding appearance. But his expression contained something else, too. Something secretive.

“Looks like you need stitches.” Clayton waved toward Dylan’s face with a dinner roll.

Dylan snorted. “So do you.”

Clayton shrugged and dove into his meat loaf and mashed potatoes. An uneasy silence surrounded them. The drab green walls closed in, suffocating Dylan with a sense of hopelessness. The medicinal smells combined with the odors of steamed and fried foods to ruin his appetite. While he could still draw an even breath, he turned to Gracie.

He wanted to caress her cheek or say something to make her smile, but neither gesture was in the cards with Clayton glowering at them between bites.

Dylan’s grilled chicken stuck in his throat like sawdust. He washed it down with a swallow of iced tea. “I wanted to ask you—”

“I have new infor—” Clayton said at the same time.

“What?” they both asked.

“You first,” Clayton insisted.

“I’ve learned a couple of things that weren’t in the report your attorney sent us.” Before continuing, Dylan checked on how many of the nearby diners had their ears tilted in his direction. All of them.

Clayton’s eyebrows shot upward. “What?”

Leaning forward, Dylan spoke softly. “Did you know your mother owned the house you lived in on Cordial?”

Clayton nodded and relaxed back in his chair. “When I was about fourteen and determined to go to med school, David explained my full financial picture. I guess he wanted to reassure me that I would be taken care of if something happened to him.”

“What did he tell you about the house?”

“Just that when Mom’s estate was settled, he sold it and invested the money for me.”

“Didn’t you wonder how your mother came to own a house?”

“I assumed she had a mortgage and insurance like everyone else. Didn’t she?” Clayton frowned as Dylan shook his head. “How do you know?”

“David told me.”

“David told you. My David?” Clayton took his time crossing his fork and knife over his empty plate. His lips disappeared into a thin line. “Why would he tell you something like that?”

“I guess he thought it would strengthen your claim.”

Gracie took an impatient swat at his arm. “Would you tell him what you know and quit acting like Midas dispensing gold coins?” She took over the story. “Your mother had the deed in a safety deposit box along with a letter from a big-time Hartford attorney who worked for the Bradfords.”

Even in the taut atmosphere, Dylan had to suppress a smile. He’d known she wouldn’t remain a silent partner for long.

“And you knew about this, too?” Clayton accused Gracie.

“Not until this morning, but don’t you see what this means? It’s another link between you and the Bradfords.”

His negligent wave swept the information aside. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Clayton’s lack of enthusiasm surprised Dylan. “I talked to the realtor who negotiated the sale. He said your mother paid for the house with a cashier’s check.”

“And she didn’t borrow the money from a bank?”

“Nope. The realtor remembered because he wondered where someone so young and ‘feisty,’ as he put it, could’ve gotten that kind of money.”

“That does seem like a possible link,” Clayton admitted. “And here’s another one for you.” He face gave him away like a novice poker player with a royal flush. “David told me this morning that someone has been depositing money in a trust account for me ever since my mother’s disappearance.”

“Who?” Gracie asked.

“An anonymous benefactor.” Clay turned pointedly toward Dylan. “Any guesses?”

Now Dylan understood Clayton’s odd mood. As angry as the young doctor had been about discovering Gracie in his arms, he’d also been savoring his anticipation of dropping this little bombshell. And it did succeed in sending a few tremors through the foundation of Dylan’s already shaky world.

“There’s nothing in that to indicate my father.” He hoped. “There wouldn’t have been time for him to set up something that intricate. He died right after your mother disappeared.”

“The details of the trust could have been established any time after Clay’s birth,” Gracie pointed out.

“Maybe, but I’d need to see some proof linking that to my father before I’d believe it.”

“Do you have a copy of his will?” she asked.

“What law firm handled his personal affairs?” Clayton smirked at his word choice. “Was it the same one that transferred the house to my mother?”

“Yes.” He’d recently looked over his mother’s and father’s wills to see if his mother had neglected to reveal any surprises besides the cabin. Clayton had not been referenced, but Dylan’s father could have made separate arrangements for any number of outside interests. “I’ve already got someone working on getting more information about the house.”

Even if Uncle Arthur came up empty on that score, Dylan had set his personal assistant to work on the situation. Gilmore was a wizard when it came to hacking, and deeds and trusts were the kind of tangible transactions that left a clear trail for someone with the patience to follow it. An attribute that Dylan clearly lacked.

“This could be it.” Gracie reached over to squeeze her friend’s hand. “This is the kind of evidence you’ve needed all along.”

“This or DNA testing,” Clayton said. “That would have settled the issue when I raised it. Are you still opposed to that?”

Dylan had known since he’d seen the picture of Lana at Gracie’s that he couldn’t deny the possible any longer. He still didn’t believe his father would fail to acknowledge a child of his own, no matter what the circumstances surrounding the birth. But there were too many coincidences piling up to ignore.

“Set up the testing, and I’ll submit to it.” He just wished the agreement didn’t seem like a betrayal of both his parents.

The breath whooshed out of Gracie in a gasp of surprise. She looked at Dylan with dazed admiration, like he’d single-handedly colonized the moon and patented calorie-free chocolate all in the same day.

Clayton looked more puzzled than elated. “What are you up to now?”

Now that he’d gotten a taste for fighting, Dylan would have liked nothing better than to blacken Clayton’s other eye, the ungrateful jerk.

“I spoke with my sister this morning.” Dylan swallowed the fifty-pound boulder lodged in his throat. “We agree that it’s the best way to settle the situation. One way or another.”

“But you still don’t believe you have a bastard half-brother, do you?” If a look could be used as a steamroller, Clay was attempting to flatten Dylan with a glare.

“My disbelief has more to do with my opinion of my father than of you.”

Clayton seethed, probably preparing a verbal attack, if not a physical one, until Gracie jumped in. “How long will it take DNA results to come back from the lab, Clayton?”

He shrugged. “A couple of days, depending on how busy the lab is.”

“Is there any way to speed that up? We can keep searching for something definitive in the meantime, Dylan.”

“We?” Clayton’s eyes filled with hurt and anger. “All of a sudden you and Dylan are ‘we.’”

“In this one instance only.”

“Gracie, come on.” Her friend circled her wrist with his fingers. “You know you can’t trust him. We’ve already talked about his reputation, but there’s more that you should know.”

“If there’s more to know about your mother and Dylan’s father, then you should tell us.” She removed her arm from his grasp. “I’ll always value your opinion and take it into consideration before I make up my own mind.”

Dylan waited for Clayton to reveal any other secrets he harbored behind those steely blue eyes. Bradford blue, damn it.

Clay opened and closed his mouth like an asthmatic fish, but said nothing. Before Dylan could decide what it would take to get him to spill whatever he knew, Tanya sashayed up and made herself at home.

“Jeezo Pete.” She set her tray down and gingerly poked the swelling around Clayton’s eye then glanced at Dylan. “You two look like you were run over by the same truck.”

“Or motorcycle gang,” Dylan suggested.

“I know Clay’s too stubborn to accept help, Gracie, but I thought Dylan would be smart enough to let you take care of him.” Tanya dropped into the empty seat.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Dylan objected. “I’m in perfect physical condition.” He flexed his arm to show off muscles that bulged like a bodybuilder’s.

Tanya tested for firmness. “God, you’re right. It’s like concrete. You’re lucky to still be walking, Clay.”

Clayton relaxed his clenched fist with visible effort and pushed away from the table. “Talk to you later, Gracie. I’ll check into requesting DNA tests when I go back to the office.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, avoiding eye contact with Tonya and Dylan before he left.

“Was it something I said?” Tanya looked the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

“Isn’t it always?”

“No, it could’ve been something Dylan said. Besides, even though you were the only one Clay actually spoke to, I had the impression you weren’t exactly on his good side either.”

“Does he have one?” Dylan asked.

“Oh, yes,” the two women said in unison.

“Where does he keep it?”

“Behind that grumpy exterior,” Gracie said.

“And he wears that lab coat like a magic cape to hide his vulnerabilities and fears,” Tanya added. “He’s never had it easy, you know.”

Who has? Most people would think Dylan had. Almost everyone but Wyatt and Ryan thought so because no one bothered to look beneath the surface. Of course, he never invited anyone to. And on the surface, he looked like one lucky son of a bitch.

“He’s really a good man at heart.” Gracie pressed her hand to Dylan’s arm.

He covered her fingers with his. She looked down at their entwined hands for a moment before peeking up at him with a look that went straight to his heart.

“Oh, ho!” Tanya’s attention bounced between them like a ping-pong ball. “It’s like that, is it?”

“Like what?” Gracie should never try to play poker. Bluffing was obviously not her strong suit.

“You know.” Tanya’s voice held a world of implication. “No wonder Clay was upset.” Then her face fell. “Poor Clay.”

Dylan had heard enough about ‘poor Clay.’

Chapter Sixteen

Dylan looked at his watch and spared Gracie from making a response. “Do you think your grandfather’s ready for company? I have an appointment at three.”

“Something you need my help with?” Gracie perked up.

He’d like to have her assistance if that meant spending the afternoon blocking out everything else, but he refrained from suggesting it. She had plenty of things to do besides keep him company.

“Nothing interesting.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I’m meeting a plumber and an electrician at the cabin.”

Gracie jumped to her feet. “I thought you couldn’t get anyone lined up until next week.”

“Mayor Thompson put me in touch with some guys this morning. I started cleaning the place yesterday. Once the plumbing and electricity are working, I can make more headway.”

“That’s great,” she said, already on the move. “See ya later, Tanya.”

When they reached her grandfather’s room, Gracie checked her step in the doorway, forcing Dylan to stop behind her.

Amid a jungle of potted greenery and bouquets of flowers, with the sun shining brightly on her silvery hair, Mrs. Lattimer read aloud from The Old Man and the Sea. Her husband had his head tilted toward her, but his gaze focused on the block of wood and knife in his hands. A newspaper with the wood shavings curled over its surface covered his lap.

Dylan waited behind Gracie for the weathered face to look up. Deep brown, intelligent eyes, just like Gracie’s, crinkled with pleasure.

“Come on in if you’re comin’.” He waved them into the room. “If I’m gonna be stuck here another day, I might as well have company.”

“And not just me, Granddad.” Gracie crossed the room to kiss the top of his bald head. “I’ve brought Dylan Bradford to meet you.”

“Excellent idea, Gracie.” Mrs. Lattimer laid her book aside. “Hello, Dylan.”

“Hello, Mrs. Lattimer. How do you do, sir?” With his hand out, Dylan advanced through some steely scrutiny.

Luckily for Dylan, the old man put down the knife before clasping hands. “Clay says I could be better, but I won’t be until I’m home.”

“I understand your eagerness to get back to Liberty House,” Dylan said.

Gracie’s grandfather ran practiced fingers over the sailboat he’d carved. Even while studying Dylan, he managed to scrape the sharp-edged blade along the miniature hull with flawless expertise. “Bradford, huh? You’ve got the look about you, all right.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan noticed Gracie sneaking a peek at the medical chart on the door.

He moved forward to stand at the foot of the old man’s bed. “I understand you know some of my family, sir.”

“Ay-uh.” Mr. Lattimer used the down-eastern affirmative. “Worked at Old Maine for your grandfather, your father, and your uncles. Fine men.”

“Thank you, sir. They thought a lot of the people of East Langden, too.”

Mr. Lattimer shook his head while pushing the knife’s edge along the sail. “Carpentry was more than work to me, but the factory was just a business to them. Leastways, they closed it when it suited them and never looked back.”

“I always believed your father would have acted differently if he had lived.” Mrs. Lattimer settled her glasses more firmly on her nose. “But Arthur lost heart for furniture-making after Matthew died.”

“He told me the factory was losing money and closing it down was merely a business decision.” Dylan watched their reaction to his uncle’s version of the story.

The couple exchanged skeptical glances, and the old man scowled. “Did he now?”

“Do you know differently?” Dylan asked. “How much did you know about the financial end of the business?”

“Not much, but I know we were turning a profit up until the day they closed the doors on us, leaving a lot of good people out in the cold.”

“Fact or speculation?”

The knife blade passed slowly along the slope of the wood several times before Mr. Lattimer answered. “Nora’s cousin, Edwin Moss, was the plant manager.”

Dylan’s gaze searched out Gracie. She tucked the chart under her arm and drew near the bed.

“Where is Edwin Moss now?” he asked. “Would he be willing to see us?”

“He took a job down in Portland after the factory closed. When he retired, he moved back here. I doubt he’d be much use to you.”

“He’s been in Rosewood Nursing Home with Alzheimer’s for the last few years,” Mrs. Lattimer explained. “We go to visit him once a month, but he seldom recognizes us.”

“Who was the local bookkeeper or accountant?” Gracie asked.

“Shannon Morrisey.” Mr. Lattimer looked to his wife. “She was a friend of Marlene’s who went to work for Old Maine right out of business school. Only worked there for a few years before they closed. Do you know what became of her, Nora?”

“Oh my, Shannon Morrisey. I’d forgotten about her.” Mrs. Lattimer worried her bottom lip before continuing. “I believe she married an insurance salesman and moved out west. Denver, maybe. Is it important?”

“Probably not.” No point letting them see his disappointment over yet another dead end. “I guess it doesn’t matter so much why Old Maine closed.” Unless his uncle had lied or misled him about it for some reason. But Dylan wasn’t sure how that information fit in with all the rest. “But closing the plant seems to have worked out well for you.”

“Ay-uh, it did. I was master carpenter there, but I prefer being my own boss.”

“Lots of people do.” Gracie moved to take her grandfather’s pulse.

The old man pulled his wrist out of her grasp and took her hand in his. “Let me be, missy,” he grumbled. “Clay’s my doctor, not you.”

“Master carpenter,” Dylan repeated. “Sounds important. Did you know my father well?”

“Well enough.”

“How often did he come here?”

“About once a month. Sometimes more. Less after his election to the Senate, of course.”

“Who came in his place after that?” Gracie pushed her grandfather’s shoulder forward to fluff his pillow.

He frowned at her continued fussing and settled back, but Dylan caught the look of fondness the old man cast toward her. “One of his brothers, usually. Tommy or Arthur.”

“How often did any of them come here unrelated to work?”

“They came down to sail or fish some. But if they didn’t stop in at the factory, I usually didn’t see ‘em.”

“They often stopped at the bakery,” Mrs. Lattimer offered. “Tommy especially had a fondness for my snickerdoodles.”

“Snickerdoodles, huh?” He flicked a hot glance toward Gracie and smiled. “I’d like to try those.”

“Did you ever see any of them around at a time or place you wouldn’t have expected to?” Gracie asked her grandparents, but her cheeks colored at the look from Dylan.

Mrs. Lattimer frowned. “Are you asking about their relationship to Lana?”

“Or anything unusual you might remember.”

The old couple sealed their lips in exact replicas of one another.

“We’re not asking you to gossip, Gran. We’re asking you to help Clay.”

Mrs. Lattimer features relaxed slightly. “I really don’t recall anything useful. Do you, Chester?”

“No.”

Just Dylan’s luck. Two of the few lucid people still living with a good opportunity to have witnessed his family’s activities would have to be as closed-mouthed as clams. “I saw the picture Mrs. Lattimer took of Gracie with my father the day he died. Is that the last time either one of you saw him?”

“Chester wasn’t there that day, were you, dear? If he had been, he would have gotten Cuddles out of the tree for Gracie.”

“The last time I saw him was the Saturday before that,” Mr. Lattimer said. “I always regretted not getting a chance to talk to him.”

“Why didn’t you, Granddad?”

“I went to the factory that night to get a tool I needed. I was making a cradle for Tricia Schultz. Remember that, Nora?” He waited for his wife’s head nod. “Tricia saw a picture of a fancy British nursery in a magazine and nothing would do for her but that I duplicate the cradle. She’s one of our godchildren, so I told her I’d try even though she hadn’t left me much time. The baby was due within a couple of weeks.”

“So, you went to the factory on a Saturday night?” Dylan asked. “And my father was there?”

“When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw him closing his car trunk. I thought he’d see me driving up and wait. But by the time I parked the truck, his taillights were disappearing down the road.”

“If you only saw him at a distance, late at night,” Gracie said, “how do you know it was Dylan’s father?”

Mr. Lattimer harrumphed. “I guess I’d recognize that cream-colored Mercedes of his, shinin’ like a pearl in the moonlight.”

Dylan remembered that land yacht. A beauty and hard to mistake. His mother had kept it at the Connecticut house, even after they moved to New York. “Are you sure it was the week before he died?”

Mr. Lattimer looked to his wife for confirmation.

“That fits with Gretchen’s Halloween birthday,” Mrs. Lattimer said.

Dylan’s glance sought Gracie’s across the room. She seemed to be trying to fit the pieces together, too. “The same weekend Lana disappeared.”

“Ay-uh, it was.” The old man’s head bobbed up and down like a buoy at sea. “The next day David came by with young Clay in tow. He left the boy with us while he filed the missing person report on Lana. You and Clay helped me plane the cradle rockers, remember that?”

Dylan’s stomach lurched over the coincidence that placed his father in the vicinity on the night of Lana Harris’s disappearance. His throat constricted, cutting off any comment he might have made.

“Of course.” Gracie chose to steer the conversation down a more innocuous road. “I always loved helping you in the workshop. After you come home, you’ll have to show it to Dylan. I’ll bet he’s never seen anything like it.”

“It’s not much compared to the setup we had at Old Maine.” Mr. Lattimer shrugged. “But it suits my needs.”

“I peeked inside the other day.” Dylan understood from Gracie’s veiled look that she wanted him to give the questions a rest. “But I didn’t know what half the stuff was. And I could sure use some carpentry advice before I tackle my cabin.”

“Have you been down to the dock? The last time I was out that way it looked in need of repair. Getting the cabin in livable condition must be your top priority, but the dock could be dangerous if someone tried to put a boat in down there.”

“I’ll check it out this afternoon. I have a lot of good memories of sailing and boating with my dad.”

Gracie scanned the medical chart again, then checked her watch and pushed a button.

A nurse Gracie knew from high school entered and took the chart from Gracie. “Gracie, I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Did you know Mindy’s back in the hospital?” The woman picked up Chester’s arm and wrapped it in a blood pressure cuff. “I was hoping you can stop by and see her. You know, not as a doctor, since you’re not licensed in this state, just as a friend.”

“Is it her asthma again, Gina?”

“Yep. Every time we think she’s doing fine, it flares up again, and she doesn’t bounce back as quick as she should.”

“I haven’t seen her in ages. Does she still have that American Girl collection? I’ll stop in later with something new for her.”

“Thanks, Gracie. You’re so easy to talk to, she always relaxes around you.” Gina rolled her eyes and checked Chester’s temperature. “Not like some of the other doctors that scare her.”

“You take good care of Granddad and I’ll look in on Mindy.”

“Sure thing,” Gina agreed. “He and I get along great, don’t we, Chester?”

Dylan and Gracie made their goodbyes and left Gina with her patient. They boarded the elevator and stood across from one another. Dylan was content to watch her. Gracie fidgeted beneath his regard.

“Are you going to check on Clay’s trust?” She tripped out of the elevator and into the lobby. He steadied her with a hand on her elbow.

“I’ll do what I can by phone.” They turned in opposite directions at the hospital entrance. “Will I see you later?”

“Sure, I’ll be around.” She backed a couple of steps away, hesitated, then returned. “Why’d you decide to have the DNA testing?”

Now it was his turn to fidget. “I still don’t believe Clayton’s my brother. But if he is, he deserves better treatment than he’s gotten from us.” He shrugged at her raised eyebrows. “Grandfather always said ‘Bradfords take care of their own.’”

She drew his head down and gave him a long, hot, steamy kiss that sizzled his lips, fried his brain, and made his cock as stiff as a poker.

“Thank you,” she said as she slipped away.

Hell, he’d agree Clayton was his clone for another kiss like that.

“You’re both assigned to the strawberry team,” Gracie informed a pair of ice cream volunteers at the church. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the noise in the social hall where members of the congregation manufactured the last batches of frozen heaven for the start of the festival the next day.

“Don’t worry about us, Gracie.” Jeannie lifted a bib apron over her head and tied it behind her ample frame. “Our strawberry will be so good that people will come back for seconds.”

Gracie leaned in to speak confidentially. “Gran always says your ice cream is the best.”

“She says that about anyone who volunteers.” Jeannie’s cackle shook her row of chins. “Dishing out compliments is how your grandmother gets everyone to help every year.”