His Baby. Muriel Jensen

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СКАЧАТЬ with any deference. But the whole family loved her anyway.

      Killian frowned at her. “And how do you know what Billie drinks?”

      “I play bridge with her mother’s housekeeper. The girl’s out of control, and with Campbell’s confusion about who he is and where he belongs, he doesn’t need that.” Then she seemed to realize that was crossing the line, even for her. She cleared her throat. “Not that that’s any of my business. I’ll just go back to my cake.”

      “Hey, Daniel!” Campbell slapped Daniel on the shoulder as he loped past him and up the steps.

      “Mr. Campbell.” Daniel shrugged an apology at Killian for his wife’s candor and went back to the garage.

      Campbell grinned at Killian and Winfield. “Gentlemen.” He transferred his grip on his overnight bag to shake hands. “Winfield. Killer. Nice of you to meet my helicopter. Did you miss me, or is this an attempt to prevent my return?”

      Winfield clapped his shoulder. “Nice to see you back safe and sound, Mr. Campbell.” Then he took off toward the basement stairs and the gym.

      Campbell was dark-featured like Chloe, a few inches shorter than Killian and more slender, though his work on the estate had given him well-developed shoulders and upper arms. Chloe was always telling him that his job was to oversee the temporary help harvesting the apples, but he’d never been one to stand by and watch.

      Killian remembered trying to teach him to bat a baseball as children. The lesson had resulted in Campbell’s taking the bat from him and swinging until he was exhausted. His father had told Killian that determination was sometimes more important than skill in achieving success.

      “Depends,” Killian teased in response to Campbell’s question, even as he gave him a fraternal shove into the front hall. “Did you take the job?”

      “It hasn’t been offered to me yet,” Campbell replied. “They have six other applicants.”

      “Do you want it?”

      “It’s Florida.”

      Killian shrugged. “Sunshine every day. Funny-tasting tropical fruit. Big deal.”

      “Women in string bikinis,” Campbell countered with a longing look, “all day, every day, all year long. Going to the beach on your coffee break in February, baseball spring-training camps.”

      “You’re only yards from the beach here.” That was a flimsy argument and Killian knew it. But there were issues unresolved between the brothers, and he didn’t want him hundreds of miles away until they’d fixed them.

      Campbell put his bag down near the hall table. “If you went to the beach here in February, you’d be the ice sculpture at Mom’s next party.” Suddenly he seemed to notice her absence. “She gone already? She left a message on my voice mail saying she was off to Paris with the Mitchells.”

      “Right. Winfield had fits, but she went anyway. Need a coffee nudge? I’ve got a pot going in the library.”

      Campbell studied him suspiciously. “You’re not planning some big heavy conversation about the family, are you?”

      The kid had a good brain. “No,” Killian lied. “My offer was just an effort to help you relax after your flight.”

      “Aha!” Campbell pointed a finger at him. “You want to know about Billie!”

      Killian shook his head. “I know about Billie. She drinks straight shots and she’s out of control. I was just interested in your weekend.”

      Campbell followed him as he led the way to the library. The room was paneled in warm oak and had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves protected by doors with wire mesh. A ladder on runners provided access to top shelves. Killian and his brothers had terrorized many a nanny on it when they were children. Deep blue upholstered sofas and chairs with an even darker blue stripe were arranged near the fireplace, which now held a pot of flowers.

      A granite counter ran along one side of the room as a sort of study area, and Killian, who’d adopted this room as a home office, had installed a bar at one end of it. The aroma of a simple French roast filled that side of the room.

      At the far end, Palladian French doors opened out onto the side porch and garden.

      Killian poured Kahlúa and brandy in a glass pedestal mug, added coffee, then picked up the drink he’d left there when he’d heard the helicopter. He took them to the sofa where Campbell had settled, handed him his drink, then sat in the chair opposite.

      “So, you had time to sightsee?” he asked as Campbell angled one knee over the other and leaned back.

      “No,” Campbell replied, “but the sights I described are everywhere you look. Definitely one of the perks.”

      Silence fell. Campbell was waiting for him to ask more questions, and sure his brother would hate that, Killian waited for him to volunteer information.

      Campbell sipped his drink, rested the glass on his knee and finally said in a defensive tone, “You know, I wouldn’t be abandoning the family if I left here.”

      Killian nodded calmly. There were only six years between them, but since their father died when Campbell was only seventeen, Killian had taken charge to keep him in school when he’d been offered a job with a software company, to chase him down when he’d run off, to bail him out of jail when he was picked up in a bar brawl in Southhampton. So they had what amounted to father-son issues, though they were brothers and not that far apart in age.

      “I know that,” Killian said. “And no one’s suggesting it.”

      “Mom is.”

      “Well, you’re her favorite. She’d—”

      “No!” Campbell interrupted, grabbing his cup and lowering his foot to the floor in a gesture of impatience. “See! There it is again! That’s not true. I’m not her favorite.”

      Killian raised an eyebrow. “There’s what?”

      Campbell gestured toward him in clear exasperation. “That…that suggestion that Mom cares more about me because I’m her natural son. You act like I’m the one who’s always seeing differences between your half of the family and mine, but you’re the one—”

      Killian concentrated on keeping his voice down as he interrupted. “There are not two halves of this family.”

      “There are! You don’t want to acknowledge it because you consider yourself the benevolent ruler of all of us, but we’re not the same. You’re from the first line of Abbotts—the founders’ circle. Wealth, position, bloodline. I’m from the second wife, with none of the above. And when Mom tries to offer guidance to me, all she talks about is you!”

      The volume in Killian’s voice grew harder to control. “Wealth, position and bloodline did a lot for Sawyer and me, didn’t they?” he demanded. “You got the mother who stayed!”

      Campbell looked taken aback for a moment, then he said more quietly, “Well, cry me a river. You got her, too. She didn’t give birth to you, but you’re her favorite.”

      Killian СКАЧАТЬ