The Secrets of Her Past. Emilie Rose

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      The arrogance of Adam taking the lead seemed out of character for the respectful man she’d once known. Andrew had been the irreverent one. But Adam’s attitude was the least of her worries. She fell into step behind him, taking in the way his shoulders and biceps stretched the seams of his polo shirt, and then her eyes drifted down the inverted triangle of his back, across his firm butt and to his thighs. When she realized where she was looking she jerked her gaze upward.

      Her involuntary scrutiny was merely a casual comparison of the differences between him and his lanky twin—Adam had more muscles—that was all.

      The bright, sunny kitchen at the back of the house resembled a spread from a cooking magazine. Golden oak cabinets with glossy gray granite countertops and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances lined one wall. More cabinetry made up a crescent-shaped center island with barstools separating the kitchen from a large den with a river rock fireplace at the far end. French doors in each room emptied onto a screened-in porch overlooking the water.

      Knowing how much Helen had loved cooking for her family, Madison could see how she’d be happy here, but her mother-in-law didn’t look happy today. She stood by the glass-top stove, spatula in hand. She didn’t relinquish the utensil or make any move in Madison’s direction. Her flat brown eyes and tight, unsmiling mouth held no welcome.

      While Danny barely showed signs of the passage of time, Helen had not aged well. She looked at least fifteen years older.

      Madison forced a smile and felt her parched lips crack. This was the cold reception she’d expected. She wasn’t surprised or disappointed. “Good morning, Helen.”

      The hateful words her mother-in-law had said six years ago hung between them. A dozen tense, silent seconds ticked past.

      “Madison.” Helen hunched her shoulders, turned to the stove and flipped the pancakes.

      Adam shoved a mug of coffee in Madison’s direction. “Have a seat. Cream and sugar are on the table.”

      His barely civil tone brought a chill to the room. Danny pulled out a chair for her. Madison sat and wrapped her icy hands around the hot mug. She sipped and waited for someone to initiate conversation, but the uncomfortable lull stretched. Her pulse banged in her ears. Stalling wasn’t going to get the job done or get her on the road.

      “So, Danny...your wince outside? You said it was a long story...?”

      He shrugged gingerly. “We’re renovating the house. You know how I always need a project. I finally got around to tearing out that old paneling in the den and study like Helen always talked about. I fell off the ladder and cracked a rib. X-rays for that caught the spot on my lung.”

      Anxiety twined through her. “So you’ve not sold your home? Whose place is this?”

      “It’s Adam’s.”

      She scanned the space again, seeing it from a different perspective. The furnishings had cleaner lines than the fussy, cluttered style Helen had preferred, but none of it resembled the oversize leather man-cave furniture Andrew had chosen for the house he’d bought and furnished during Madison’s last year of vet school.

      You cold, selfish bitch. What kind of woman wouldn’t want to stay in a nice home like this and raise her child? What’s wrong with you?

      Was there something wrong with her?

      She blinked away the suffocating memory. “What’s your prognosis, Danny?”

      The words popped out before she could stop them, and then she cursed herself. She didn’t want to know Danny’s chances.

      “The tumor’s localized and appears to have clean edges. No sign of metastasizing into surrounding tissue.”

      “That’s good.” But cancer was still scary. Another awkward pall blanketed the room. A decade ago they would’ve been teasing, laughing and talking shop throughout the meal. Andrew would have found something humorous in the tense situation. But he wasn’t here. And that was her fault.

      Helen plopped a platter of pancakes, link sausages and hash browns onto the table with enough force that it was a wonder the cobalt stoneware didn’t crack. No one made a move. In the past they would have dug in, good-naturedly fork fencing over the feast.

      “When can you take over for me, Maddie?” Danny asked as he seated himself.

      Madison gulped coffee and scalded the back of her throat, then she looked at Adam, who stood by the window, his arms folded, expression rigid. He’d obviously not relayed her answer to Danny.

      Then she looked into the eyes of the man she’d respected more than any other, a man who’d shown her the practical side of veterinary medicine. He’d been a demanding but excellent teacher, better than any of her professors. She dredged her brain for the speech she’d practiced all the way down I-85.

      “I can’t, Danny. It’s a seven-hour drive each way. You need to hire someone from the service that offers substitute veterinarians. It’s a good group. They use only board-certified doctors. They’ll find someone for you.” She dug the sheet of paper from her pocket and smoothed it on the table in front of him. “I wrote down the contact information.”

      Danny’s face turned mutinous—an expression she’d seen on Andrew’s several times. He ignored the page. “I want you, Maddie. You know how I do things. I taught you my methods.”

      A boa constrictor of guilt wound around her. “I have a practice to run. People depend on me. I’m the only vet in a thirty-mile radius of Quincey.”

      “What happened to our plan to run the office together and for you to take over when I retired?”

      He couldn’t possibly be hanging on to that, could he? But then she recalled what he’d said outside about her coming back when she was ready. He hadn’t meant for a visit.

      “Andrew and I were going to take over Drake Veterinary.” And her husband had made it clear on the night of the wreck that he had other plans for her. “That idea died with him. He was your flesh and blood. I’m not.”

      The Drakes had proved that point by staying at Andrew’s bedside until he died two days after the accident—not once stopping by to check on Madison who’d been only two floors away. She’d grieved for her child and then her husband alone. Their absence had demonstrated where she stood with the Drakes.

      “You’re still a Drake,” Danny insisted.

      “No, Dad, she’s not. Madison reverted to her maiden name.”

      Danny scowled at Adam, then refocused on Madison. “You’re never coming back?”

      “No, Danny. I’ve made a good place for myself in North Carolina.”

      He held her gaze and she had the sensation he was trying to compel her to change her mind—the way Andrew had whenever they’d disagreed. Back then she’d capitulated to her husband’s wishes more often than not to keep the peace.

      When she didn’t fold, resignation settled across Danny’s features. “Can’t blame a man for asking. Pass the pancakes.”

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