Marry Me (59 page)

She whipped away and went to her table in the center of the room, where she'd previously arranged some art supplies. She started furiously jamming items into drawers, slamming them closed.

Why the display of temper?
Brittney wondered. Was Jacquelyn angry at being accused? Or angry at being found out?

"Is Ken my father?" Brittney bluntly inquired.

"What did you say?" Jacquelyn hissed.

"Is Ken Scott my father?"

"How dare you insult me with such a question!"

Jacquelyn grabbed a large tote, threw some things into it, then marched around the table as if to storm out. Brittney's own temper sizzled to a boil, and she stepped in her mother's path.

"Is he my father?" she demanded.

"Your father was David Merriweather, my husband of forty years. You will not ever offend me in such a way again. Do you understand?"

"Why is my hair blond? Why are my eyes green?"

"How would I know?"

"Why have you always hated me? Is it because I remind you of Ken?"

Jacquelyn leered with what could only be malice. "This conversation is over."

"I'm having a DNA test," Brittney announced.

"You're what?"

A wave of panic flashed in Jacquelyn's eyes. It was there and gone in an instant, but Brittney had seen it. Her heart sank. While she would have the scientific analysis in order to be certain, Jacquelyn had confirmed what she was trying so hard to deny.

"I'm scheduling a paternity test," Brittney said, "to learn for sure."

"Are you insane?"

"No, for once I'm very, very clear on where I'm headed."

"You would disgrace me? You would disgrace the family? And for what? Because some burned-out, retired cop told you a pack of lies?"

"But he wasn't lying, was he, Mother? Save me a lot of trouble, and tell me the truth."

"You absolutely will not embarrass me like this," her mother shouted. "You will not spread this venom! You will not get any humiliating tests! I forbid it!"

"You
forbid
it? I'm twenty-six years old. It's a little late for any forbidding."

Jacquelyn seized Brittney by the neck, her sharp nails digging into Brittney's nape, pressing deeply enough to leave marks.

"Your father," Jacquelyn spat, "was a deceitful, cheating dog, and I lived with it every day of my marriage. You will not paint me with that same brush."

Jacquelyn squeezed tighter, shaking Brittney as if she was a ragdoll, and as Brittney clutched Jacquelyn's wrist, hoping to free herself, Dustin rushed into the room and beat her to it.

"What on earth…?" he mumbled.

He yanked Jacquelyn away and pushed Brittney out of her reach.

Jacquelyn's animosity toward Brittney—never completely hidden—was plainly visible. If her mother had been holding a gun, Brittney would be dead on the floor.

"What is wrong with you two?" Dustin wedged himself between them so Jacquelyn couldn't attack Brittney again.

"Tell him," Brittney taunted. "Admit it! Admit it to him! Admit it to me!"

Jacquelyn was trembling, breathing hard—as if she was a boxer in the ring. "I'll make you sorry for this," she informed Brittney. "The rest of your life, I'll make you sorry. I'll get even with Ken Scott too."

"There's nothing you can do to me, and from now on, I'll always protect Ken. Go threaten someone who's afraid of you, because it isn't me."

"Who is Ken Scott?" Dustin asked. "Is that the old guy over at Matt Monroe's? I just came from there. He's harmless."

"I guess it depends on your definition of the word," Jacquelyn said. "He's a drunk and a liar."

"Why are you fighting over him?"

Brittney steeled herself, feeling as if she was leaping over that cliff a second time.

"Ken Scott is my biological father."

Dustin scowled. "Your…
what
?"

"My father." She nodded at Jacquelyn. "She had an affair with him."

"No, no"—Dustin frowned—"that can't be right."

"It is."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Ken told me."

"You believed him? He's so full of shit, Brittney."

"No, he's not."

"He was trying to upset you. They looked broke as hell. He's probably thinking he could persuade you to cough up some cash."

"It doesn't always come down to money, Dustin. Some situations are exactly what they appear to be." Suddenly, her knees were too weak to support her. She stumbled over to a chair and eased herself down. "I had a sister I never met. She was killed in a car wreck. And I have a nephew. I have a whole new family that cares about me."

At the pronouncement, the world seemed to stop spinning. Silence filled the room. The three of them gawked at one another, struggling to find a remark that could adequately address what she'd said, but there was no appropriate comment.

After a lengthy, awkward interval, Jacquelyn squared her shoulders and faced Dustin.

"Your sister is crazy," she stated, "and I have no wish to continue dealing with her when she's in this condition. I'm flying back to Santa Fe."

"Good," Brittney muttered.

"Call me a car," she ordered Dustin. "I'd like to leave immediately, and I am never—I repeat: 
never!—
returning to this accursed house again. Nothing worthwhile ever happens while I'm in it. Brittney, don't send me an invitation to your wedding. For it will be a waste of a stamp."

"There won't be a wedding," Brittney said.

"Lucky for Andrew," Jacquelyn sneered, "that he escaped in the nick of time."

She marched out, her regal attitude on full display. Brittney and Dustin were frozen in place, listening as she tromped down the stairs. Eventually, her strides faded.

"What do you need?" Dustin inquired into the quiet that followed. "What should I do?"

"I have to head over to Ken's. I need to apologize for the trouble we caused, but I'm a little shaken up. Could you drive me?"

He tsked with dismay. "Don't go over there."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You've had a terrible shock. Just…take a few days. Figure out what you want."

"I know what I want."

"It can't be this guy and his family. That can't be your choice."

"Why can't it be? Am I better off here? Maybe you'd prefer that I fly to Santa Fe with Jacquelyn. I could stay in her guest bedroom. She's always been so
kind
to me. I'm sure I'd be welcome."

"Let's talk to Lucas. Let's ask his advice before you run off half-cocked. Or how about Amy? She's the most sensible person I've ever met."

Brittney stared at him, wondering how they could be siblings, but really have no link, no bond.

"You have blue eyes," she murmured.

"Yes…I do," he slowly agreed.

"My eyes are green. My hair is blond. Weren't you ever curious why I was so different from the rest of you?"

"No, because you're
not
different. You're one of us, and I don't care what preposterous story some lonely old man is telling."

"Now that we've learned the truth about my parentage, will you and Lucas demand that I give up my inheritance?"

"What? No! Jacquelyn is right:  You have absolutely fallen off the deep end. Get a grip."

"I've never belonged in this family, and now, I'm even more confused. Where do I belong?"

"Well, you certainly won't gain any clarity by racing off to hang with Matt Monroe and Ken Scott. You have to suspect their motives. If you won't question their intentions, I'll question them for you."

  "
Suspect
their motives? Isn't that what you said about Faith—when Lucas started to like her so much? Isn't that what Jacquelyn said about Amy when you announced you were marrying her?" Her shoulders sagged with weariness. She felt beat up, as if she'd been pummeled with baseball bats. "Ken doesn't have a motive—except to spend some time with me before he dies."

"What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not."

"What about Andrew? Where does he fit into all of this?"

"He doesn't fit anywhere."

She pushed herself to her feet and walked out.

Her brother didn't want to drive her to Ken's? Fine.

It wasn't the first time Dustin had failed her, and it wouldn't be the last. She was on her own—as she'd always been. With Ken's revelations still rocking her, she finally understood why life with the Merriweathers had been an uphill battle. No matter how hard she'd tried, or how fervently she'd yearned to be one of them, it was a futile quest.

In a world where being a Merriweather was the only thing that counted, she was only half a Merriweather. She was only half of what they insisted she be.

She'd find her own damn ride to Ken's.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"What happened to your eye?"

Matt shrugged. "Somebody hit me."

Brittney gasped. "Who? A cop?"

She reached up as if she might touch the black-and-blue swelling, but he leaned away so she couldn't. He was so glad to see her, and he would kill to have her gently stroke his brow.

But he wasn't about to walk down that road.

"It was no big deal," he claimed. "I was being an asshole; I deserved it. Don't worry about it."

"I
will
worry about it, thank you very much. Don't tell me how to act, Monroe."

She studied the jail, looking very much as if she might storm inside and raise a fuss, which he'd never let her do.

After the ruckus with the police arriving, where he and Ken were shoved around like a couple of terrorists, he just wanted to go home, lock himself in, and stay there forever.

The entire debacle only underscored the reasons he shouldn't have brought her to meet Ken in the first place.

Ken had convinced himself that a marvelous outcome could be achieved by telling the truth, but some secrets simply shouldn't be spoken of aloud. Some secrets were best left buried beneath years of lies and deception.

Ken had had his moment in the sun with her, and where had it landed them?

A yard full of cops—guns drawn. Jeremy terrified. Ken wheezing with respiratory distress. Bullhorns and sirens and barking dogs and shouted orders and the neighbors gaping with condemnation.

The worst part was when Brittney's brothers had shown up to throw their weight around. It was so aggravating how an important last name could rivet everyone's attention.

Matt and Ken had been treated like criminals, like the poor people they were. Their word had held no sway against the likes of rich, prominent Lucas and Dustin Merriweather.

Matt was mad at the whole world. Mad at Ken for having an affair with Jacquelyn Merriweather. Mad at Brittney for being born. Mad at her brothers for wanting to protect her.

Most of all, he was mad at himself for letting her spend a few days with them. She'd fit in so easily, as if she belonged with them. Jeremy liked her. Ken loved her. And he, Matt…Matt…

He shook his head to clear it.

The first officers on the porch had been rough and angry, and Matt had been incensed by their swagger. When they'd yanked on his arm, he'd behaved like a jerk, so he'd been pounded into the ground, arrested, and hauled off to jail. He was furious and ashamed.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I'm the wonderful person who bailed you out, but from that sour expression on your face, maybe I should have left you to rot."

She'd brought a limo, complete with uniformed chauffeur. The man was holding the rear door open for Matt.

There was nothing she could have done that would have more thoroughly emphasized the differences between them, that would have more thoroughly antagonized him.

"Let's go," she said.

"Where?"

"To Ken's. Where do you think?"

"Is he okay?"

"He claims he is, but he didn't feel good enough to ride down here with me." She gestured to the car. "Come on. I don't like hanging around here. I'm afraid they might change their mind and drag you back into a cell."

She moved as if she'd climb in, but it immediately became apparent that he didn't intend to follow her.

They stared and stared, then she stepped in so they were toe to toe. She was dressed as the heiress she was, in designer jeans, boots, and denim jacket, with lots of gold bangles and earrings. Her sunglasses cost more than he and Ken earned in a month.

She looked beautiful and sexy and aggrieved.

"What's wrong?" She yanked away the sunglasses so he could see her pretty green eyes flashing daggers.

He had so many choices of what was
wrong
that he didn't know where to start.