Cassidy's Courtship - Cassidy's Courtship Part 32
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Cassidy's Courtship Part 32

Brenna watched him tip his head way up and smile.

"Hi," Coleresponded.His gaze left Brenna and focused on Teddy. "Would you mind sitting down here and reading for a few minutes? I need to talk to Brenna."

"I think she needs to talk to you, too," Teddy said, his voice serious. "Last night she cried." He pointed to a table across the room. "I'll be over there. Okay, Auntie?"

Brenna nodded.

"Come on, Brenna," Cole said, coming a couple of steps closer. "We've got to talk."

As she had only scant weeks earlier, she wanted to tell him they had nothing to talk about. Instead, she stood and followed Cole up the stairs and through the wide front doors of the library. After the relative cool from the air conditioner inside, the air outside was hot. She watched Cole loosen his tie and unbutton the top button of his shirt as he led her to a bench underneath a couple of mature spruce trees.

He sat down next to her, leaned his elbows on his knees, and stared through his loosely clasped hands. "I don't understand," he said a few moments later. "You tell me that you can't read. And yet you're here. If reading stories during story hour isn't reading, Brenna, I don't know what is."

"I wasn't reading," she replied, still not looking at him directly. "I pick stories I know already. I pace the story according to the pictures. That's all."

Cole thought about that for a moment. Though it sounded a little far-fetched to him, her explanation seemed reasonable. More, her voice had a ring of truth he hadn't heard in it last night.

She lifted her gaze to his. "Is that the problem, Cole? That you don't believe me?" Her voice caught.

"That you think ... I'm lying?"

"I don't know what I believe." He straightened and glanced at her. "Your being here ought to prove that you read."

"I told you the truth."

"When?" he asked, pinning her with a hard glance. "The night you told me you hadn't finished school, but conveniently neglected to tell me you're illiterate? That first night at the bar? The day you told me about the year when your mother and grandmother died? All the weeks in between? Tell me, Brenna, just when did you tell me the truth?" He surged to his feet and thrust his hands into his pants pockets.

"It was all the truth," she answered, meeting his gaze. "All of it... It just wasn't the complete truth."

"Lies by omission," he muttered.

"You're right," she said, standing up. "I know I hurt you, Cole. I never meant to."

"That doesn't help a hell of a lot at the moment," he said.

"Do you think I wanted this?" she whispered. Emotion closed her throat and her eyes burned. She wrapped her arms around her waist and turned away from him. "At first, it didn't matter. I didn't ever expect to see you again, much less fall in love with you. And then..." She paused and took a deep breath. "Did you know that I told John Miller I couldn't read?"

Cole shook his head.

"I thought he'd protect me. I thought he had to know, and that was what I paid him for. Only he decided I was stupid. I trusted him." Her glance lifted to Cole's. "I didn't want to trust you."

"But?" he prompted.

"I did." Her voice fell again to a whisper, but she held his gaze. "And then it was too late. I didn't want ... things ... between us to end. And I knew it would the minute I told you. So I kept putting it off, hoping I'd figure out a way. And I kept thinking, how do I tell him? A dozen different times I've wanted to, and I just couldn't make myself say the words that would send you out of my life." She took a deep breath. "I don't expect you to understand that."

She glanced away. Never had she looked more vulnerable. He yearned to reach for her. But he didn't.

Her chin quivered, then firmed, and she looked back at him. "After you brought me home yesterday, I knew I couldn't put this off any longer. It wasn't being fair to you or to me." She took the crumpled card that had accompanied his flowers out of her pocket and held it out to him. "Don't you think I'd give my life to know what this says?"

Brenna dropped the card in his palm and walked away. Cole watched her, all his convictions shattered. He had been so sure he knew how to dispassionately discover one way or the other whether Brenna could read. Life was messier than law, though, and he had just discovered nothing could be less simple.

"Cole?"

He raised his head to look at her poised at the entry to the library. "I'm sorry I hurt you." Then she pulled open the door and disappeared into the building.

He raised his face to the heat of the bright sunshine, then dropped his head and opened up his palm. He smoothed the crumpled sheet of paper, hearing her voice echo in his mind.Don't you think I'd give my life to know what this says? Never had he heard her so anguished. And he just stood there, so sure he was right, discovering that he had wounded her in ways he was just beginning to comprehend.

As for himself, his head pounded and his heart ached. Literally. With every breath he took. Sometime later he found himself in the parking lot in front of his office, shocked that he didn't remember getting into the Jeep or driving across town.

He got out of the vehicle and went inside, automatically acknowledging Myra as he went through the outer office. At his desk, he stared at the folders littered over the surface and tried to marshal his thoughts into some sort of order.

Some minutes passed before he remembered the one call he had to make-to Zach, letting him know about the prosecution's new witnesses.

Ten minutes later when he had Zach on the line, Cole asked how he was doing.

"Fine," came Zach's response over the line. "Cut to the chase, Counselor. I know you didn't call for that."

"You're right," Cole admitted, succinctly relating his conversations with the D.A. and, subsequently, the two witnesses. He finished with, "The D.A. told me to call him back after I had interviewed them. He's pretty damn sure we're going to want to plea-bargain this."

"I could get nailed at the trial. Be found guilty."

"You could," Cole agreed. "Or you could be acquitted."

A moment of silence stretched across the line, then Zach asked, "Are you positive-one hundred percent positive-we can win this?"

"Life doesn't come with that kind of guarantee," Cole said.

"I'll be looking at some hard time if we lose."

"Yes."

"And we could lose."

Cole propped an elbow on the desk, tunneling his fingers into his hair when he rested his head on his hand. This was a case he believed in, dammit. And he was on the verge of urging his client to toss in the towel. How many ways would he lose today?

"Cole?" Zach prompted him a second later.

"Yeah." Cole cleared his throat. "We could lose. And if we do, you're the one who pays the price."

"See what the man is willing to offer," Zach said. "Then bargain it down as far as you can."

The directive didn't surprise Cole though he supposed it should have. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I don't think he's going to agree to any suspended sentences."

"I'm not expecting him to," Zach returned. "Bargain it. Do the best you can."

"Are you admitting to driving while under the influence?" Cole asked.

"I'm admitting I was irresponsible," Zach said. "Like I told you before, driving while you're angry isn't any smarter than driving drunk. If I hadn't been so mad ... it might have turned out differently." He cleared his throat. "Call me back and let me know what the damage is."

After Zach hung up, Cole sat staring at the phone, wondering if he had a tenth of Zach's personal integrity or grit. A moment later, he called the D.A. Within another hour, they had struck a deal. An involuntary manslaughter charge with a two-year sentence, the first year in prison, the balance in a halfway house. And the D.A. agreed to schedule the appearance in front of the judge after Zach finished his thirty-day stint atMaizer's .

It wasn't the end to the case Cole had wanted. It didn't seem fair. How was it fair that a man like Zach MacKenzie went to jail and a man like Harvey Bates got away scot-free?

The question of fairness haunted Cole long after he went home, long after he spent the evening digging postholes for the fence he'd started months ago. His grandmother had been fond of telling him that fair was a weather report, not a promise from God or his parents. Inevitably his thoughts drifted back to Brenna. The total unfairness of her situation ate at him. He began to dissect every conversation he could remember. Through them all, she had shown inquisitiveness and intelligence.Enough to compensate for not reading? Enough to have functioned in spite of not reading?

All of her expressions haunted him, as well, from her complete seriousness to her smile as the first rhythms of ecstasy pulsed through her, from her tears the other morning, to her joy when he took her sailing.

Over the next days, Cole worked by rote. No longer in the intense cycle of preparing for Zach's trial, Cole found himself unable to concentrate. A dozen times a day, his thoughts strayed to Brenna. The more he thought about her, the more edgy and angry he became. Gradually, his anger became more sharply focused, and he realized he wasn't mad at her because she couldn't read. He was mad because she had lied to him.

Or had she?

The night they had gone to the theater, he clearly remembered her saying,Aren't you more than the sum of your job? Is what you do to earn a living the most important piece?

Like his grandmother, Brenna was wise. Her jobs weren't what he thought about when he was with her.

He tried to imagine what she must have gone through trying to decide how to tell him she was illiterate. Especially if she loved him. He had pursued her, even though she had been reluctant to see him. And look what it had cost them both.

By Friday afternoon, Cole was restless and tense, knowing he had put off calling her long enough. When he finally dialed her house, he wasn't even sure what he would say to her if she answered. Instead he reached her sister-in-law, Jane, who told him Brenna was out and not expected back until late. Did he want to leave a message? He didn't.

He loved her, and she deserved to be told that face-to-face.

His eyes burned. He had walked away from her rather than listen. He had judged her rather than understand. He had run away rather than cherish her. He hadn't faced the plain, unadorned truth when she gave it to him. No evasions. No omissions.

No deceptions.

Chapter 23.

Saturday morning Brenna awoke early. Sitting up in bed, she pulled aside the curtain to gaze outside. The world beyond her window was washed in the shades of gray that came an hour or so before the sunrise. Letting the curtain fall back into place, she rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling.

Another day of survival.

This one would be busier than most, since she was moving into her own place again. A scant three days ago, she had recruited Nancy to go apartment-hunting with her, and they found a place that fit Brenna's budget. Since it was immediately available, Brenna saw no reason to put off moving.

Reestablishing her independence ought to have been a red-letter day. Instead, she felt like she was running, something she had vowed never to do again. The Colonel's visit had intensified the feeling. Somehow when he was around she always felt like the bungling six-year-old who had never once lived up to his expectations. So far, she had managed to avoid being alone with him and she had been able to steer their few conversations toward Teddy's or Michael's and Jane's activities.

The Colonel was staying at the Marriott downtown, but Brenna knew he would be by shortly after seven to meet Michael for breakfast and a game of golf. Weekend mornings had always begun at seven, and she would bet he hadn't changed that routine, though he had been retired from the service for several years now.

Unable to sleep, Brenna finally got out of bed. Only the cat, Penelope, was awake, and she wound her way through Brenna's legs. She picked up the cat and petted it a moment before making coffee. While the coffee brewed, she went to take a shower. When she came back to the kitchen a few minutes later, her father was striding up the walk, carrying a paper under his arm. Brenna went to the door and let him in.

"Hello, Dad," she said, managing a civil smile.

"Brenna," he acknowledged, stepping over the threshold without touching her.

Unbidden came the images of Cole's mother and father and grandmother each hugging him when he came into the room, even after they had been there for a couple of days. Brenna doubted her father had hugged anyone, even Teddy.

He didn't smile, and she had the urge to look away. Her mother had once said his gray eyes were like her own. Brenna had always hated looking at his eyes. Surely hers weren't hard like his, cold like his.

Preceding him into the kitchen, she poured them both a cup of coffee. He sat down at one of the kitchen chairs and snapped out the newspaper. She always had the feeling he used the newspaper as a shield, but she was equally sure he was aware of her watching him.

"You're right on time," she said, glancing at the clock. Seven-fifteen.

"Old habits die hard."

She sat down across from him, noting he wore his casual slacks and golf shirt like a uniform, all crisply pressed as though he might be asked to stand for inspection. Brenna resisted the urge to check her fingernails for dirt. Instead, she wrapped her cold hands around the warm ceramic surface of the mug.

The silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and taut and reminding Brenna why she had done her level best to avoid being alone with him. A moment later, he folded the paper and set it on the table, then took a sip of his coffee.

He inclined his head slightly, studying her. "Have you found a job yet?"

Brenna took another sip of her own coffee and shook her head. How like him to get straight to whatever point he wanted to make. No small talk, no setting the other person at ease. "I'm in no hurry to find one," she said. "I have enough housecleaning customers to keep the wolf from the door." "You can't expect to clean houses for the rest of your life." "I don't." She glanced at him. "I've decided to go back to school." Her decision had been one of the small steps to grow into the person she wanted to become. She had already contacted Adult Ed to find out the requirements to earn her GED. The Colonel folded his arms across his chest. "It's a little late for that, isn't it?" "Better late than never." "What makes you think you'll do any better in school now than you ever did?" he asked. Brenna met his gaze over the top of her cup. "Now I want to." "Just what do you plan to study?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead."

"That sounds to me like the same problem you've always had," he said. "I suppose you haven't really enrolled yet, either."

"Not yet, I've just-"

"You're looking for yet another way to avoid your responsibilities. Getting a job-a well-paid job is the important thing here. It's high time you started pulling your own weight."

Brenna set her cup on the table and folded her hands to keep them from trembling. "I am pulling my own

weight," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "And I have been since I was fifteen years old. I'm not asking for any help."

"Not now. But you always get around to it sooner or later."

Brenna gave her father a level stare, remembering too well where their conversations inevitably led. "Just how many times in the last ten years have I asked you for help?" When he didn't immediately answer, she repeated. "How many times?"

He stared at her, his eyes clear and hard.