7.....

Colin supposed it would have been the polite thing to do to call Isabelle Bryant first

before just showing up at her house. But considering the sensitive nature of the situation,

he thought he might get stonewalled. What if Isabelle hadn't told her current husband the

truth about her son's paternity?

No, it would be better to show up unannounced. If he had surprise on his side, she

might be more willing to talk to him.

So, that evening, Colin entered the address he'd found for Isabelle Bryant into the

app on his iPhone, got into his rental car, and headed across town to confront Drew

McCray's mother.

The Bryants lived in a single-story house on Arrowhead Trail in the Four Corners

neighborhood, on a sizable parcel of land dotted with white-dusted pine trees. Spruces

and cottonwoods stood starkly in the winter landscape.

Colin made his way up the long driveway, which had recently been plowed, and

parked near the brick-colored wood frame house, which looked like it was built in the

1980s.

The Ford Bronco that sat just outside the closed garage door indicated that someone

was home; Colin hoped it was Isabelle and not her husband. If the husband was home,

and he didn't know the truth about Drew's origins, then it seemed likely that Colin would

get a door closed in his face even more decisively than he had earlier in the day.

And that would be saying something.

On the way over, he'd tried to create a cover story he could use if the husband were

the one to answer the door, but he hadn't been able to come up with one. Deception had

never been his strong suit, which was probably the reason he'd never become a litigator.

He would just have to say it was a private matter between him and Mrs. Bryant.

If that led to an uncomfortable conversation between the Bryants later, well, that

wasn't his problem.

He got out of the car and made the walk to the front door across the icy ground.

The woman who answered the door had to be Isabelle; she looked like Julia, except

that age had softened her, adding a sprinkling of gray to her hair and etching fine lines at

the edges of her eyes. She opened the door a crack and looked at him with benign

expectation.

"Isabelle Bryant?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"Ma'am, my name is Colin Delaney, and I'm here to talk to you about my uncle,

Redmond Delaney. I believe you knew him."

Her face blanched and her eyes widened.

"Yes. I did," she said finally. "A long time ago. But I don't know what there could

possibly be to talk about now."

"Ma'am, you're going to want to hear what I have to say," he told her. "It's about

Redmond's will."

Isabelle hesitated, and she seemed to be considering her options. A range of

emotions crossed her face, starting with surprise and ending with sorrow. She said, "I

think you'd better come in."

Isabelle knew about Redmond's death, because there'd been a piece on him in the

New York Times obituaries, which she read each day as a matter of course. She'd taken it

hard, she told Colin as the two of them sat on the sofa in a living room that looked, with

its dark wood paneling and its floral-upholstered furniture, as though it hadn't been

updated in twenty years.

"He tried to write to you," Colin said. "You returned his letters." There was a cup of

coffee on the table in front of him that he didn't really want, but that he'd accepted as a

ritual of courtesy.

Isabelle pressed her lips together, deepening the lines that feathered out around them.

She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "You have to understand, I was

married. If my husband had found the letters …" She let the thought stir the air,

unfinished.

"He wanted to provide for his son," Colin said.

"And I wanted to keep my son's family together." Her hands were clasped tightly,

the knuckles white.

Colin simply nodded to acknowledge the point.

"I'm sorry about your uncle. About Redmond," she said. "But I don't understand

why you're here."

Colin cleared his throat and rubbed the palms of his hands over his pants.

"I'm trying to locate Drew. I went to the address Redmond had for you, and I spoke

to your daughter."

A hand flew to Isabelle's mouth. "You spoke to Julia? What did you tell her?"

"Only that I needed to locate him, and that it had to do with an inheritance. I didn't

tell her about … anything else."

Isabelle let out a shaky breath. She leaned forward and picked up her own coffee

cup, probably for something to do with her hands. She held the cup in her palms but

didn't drink.

"She doesn't know that Andrew wasn't Drew's father. I didn't tell her." She looked

into the cup, avoiding Colin's eyes. "Even when Drew found out on his own. Even then, I

still didn't tell her. I couldn't." She shook her head. "What would she have thought of

me?"

"She might have thought you were human," he said. "That you had things in your

past she couldn't understand, because she wasn't a part of them."

Isabelle shook her head again, her eyes far away. "I couldn't. She knows there's

something, some secret between me and Drew that drove us apart. But …" She didn't

finish the thought. She didn't have to. "I told Matt—my second husband—before we got

married. I didn't want to enter into a new marriage with secrets. But … I couldn't tell

Julia."

"So, Drew found out on his own?" Colin prompted her.

"After Andrew's accident, when he needed blood. Drew tried to donate, but his

blood type …"

"Andrew couldn't have been his father," Colin concluded, so she wouldn't have to

finish. "Is there any chance that Julia…?"

"No!" One of Isabelle's hands flew to her throat in surprise. "Oh, no. Julia is

Andrew's daughter. I hadn't even met Redmond when she was born."

"All right." Colin considered what he'd learned. "How did Drew react when he

found out the truth?"

Isabelle let out a ragged sigh. "When I told him—about Redmond—Drew was so

angry. So hurt. He felt that I'd betrayed both him and my Andrew. And I suppose he's

right. I did." She put the cup back down on the table in front of her and clasped her hands

together tightly.

"Ma'am, I'm not here to cause trouble for you. Or for anyone. I just need to find

Drew. Redmond left him a sizable inheritance, and I need to make sure he gets it." There

was more to it, of course. Colin needed to meet Drew, to look into his face, to see

Redmond there, alive and vibrant again. He needed answers about the uncle he'd thought

he knew. And he needed to set things right for Drew, this angry, fatherless son.

"I'd like to tell you where to find him." Isabelle spread her hands in helplessness. "I

would love to see him get whatever Redmond's left him. Lord knows he needs the

money. But I don't know where he is. After his marriage ended, about a year and a half

ago, he left the area, moved away to God knows where. By then, he hadn't spoken to me

in more than a year." Her eyes had grown red and were beginning to pool with tears.

Colin spoke to her in a gentle tone.

"But Julia knows where he is."

Isabelle nodded silently. "She says she doesn't, but I know she does. I know he talks

to her sometimes."

She plucked a few tissues from a box on the table beside the sofa. She dabbed at her

eyes, and then at her nose, which was beginning to turn red.

"Ma'am … Mrs. Bryant," Colin began. "I'm going to need to talk to her again. And

I'm going to have to tell her the truth. I don't think she'll help me otherwise."

Isabelle looked at him with something like fear, and then her expression changed,

and she nodded.

"Just give me a day, would you? Give me twenty-four hours. I'd like to tell her

myself."

"Of course," he said. "Of course I will."

He didn't want to wait twenty-four hours, or even four hours. Now that he'd set out

on this mission, he felt compelled to follow through as quickly as possible. For one thing,

he had business to attend to at home; he'd been working on a land purchase near Palm

Springs, and the timing of all of this was unfortunate. But there was nothing to be done

about it. This was going to take as long as it took. He went back to the B&B, looking

forward to getting out of the cold.

Julia stared at her mother in disbelief.

When Isabelle had called the next day and asked Julia to come to her house for

something important, she'd though it would be her mother's usual brand of important.

Have you talked to Drew? How is he doing? Tell him I love him. Tell him it isn't fair that

he's doing this to me.

Well, it had turned out to be about Drew. But not the way Julia had expected.

"What do you mean Dad wasn't Drew's father?"

When she'd heard what Isabelle had to say, Julia had the odd sensation that she'd

been transported to some alternate universe, somewhere that made her feel sick and

dizzy, somewhere where nothing made sense and everything was out of kilter. She felt

certain that she'd misunderstood somehow, and that if she could just clear her head, she'd

realize that her mother had said something else, something normal. Something about her

vacation plans or her thoughts about a new hairstyle.

Not a revelation that Julia's entire life had been a lie.

"Julia, honey, you have to understand. Your father and I were going through a rough

time, and I was lonely. So lonely. And Redmond—"

"Did Dad know?" Julia broke in. Suddenly, that question seemed like the most

important thing in the world.

"No! No. I couldn't tell him. I don't know what he would have done. He might have

left, and I couldn't do that to you children." Isabelle's eyes were puffy and red, as though

she'd been crying before Julia had arrived at the house.

"So you lied to him all those years? And to me? And to Drew? Oh, God, Drew."

Suddenly it was clear why he'd refused to talk to their mother for so long, why he refused

any contact from her, why he wouldn't even allow her to know where he lived. "He

already knows." It wasn't a question.

Isabelle nodded. "He found out when your father was hurt. When he tried to give

blood."

"Oh, my God."

Julia could imagine Drew trying to deal with their father's accident, and then his

death, while at the same time learning that his father wasn't his father. How much worse

must the pain of loss have been? How much more confusing?

"He's been dealing with this alone, all this time," Julia said. "He wouldn't tell me

what was going on. He didn't cut me off completely, but he sure as hell cut me off from

knowing the truth."

"I think he didn't want you to … to hate me." Isabelle's voice broke.

So many thoughts were rushing through Julia's mind. And then a terrible idea struck

her.

"Mom … what about me? Am I …" She couldn't finish the thought.

Isabelle reached out to put a hand on Julia's arm. "You're Andrew's daughter, you

have to believe that."

Did she believe it? Her mind cast around to look for signs of a lie. But deep inside,

she knew it was true. She had her father's fair skin, his hair color. She had his stubborn

streak, and his extra-wide feet. And when she'd donated blood after the accident, no such

red flag had been raised.

So, it was just Drew, then. Just her brother, who turned out to be her half brother.

And whose real father was—oh, God—part owner in a billion-dollar real estate fortune.

"The man who came to see me yesterday. He said …"

"Redmond's nephew. He said there's an inheritance. I don't know how much. All I

know is that he needs to find Drew to let him know."

Julia stood up from the sofa and began to pace the small living room. "That's why

you're telling me all of this. Not because you thought I had a right to know, but because

you need me to tell you where Drew is. If I didn't have something you want, then you'd

have left me in the dark forever."

"Julia—"

"Does Matt know?" Matt Bryant, Isabelle's second husband, would be at work right

now. Was he being deceived, too?

"He knows, honey. He's always known."

At least she'd been honest to someone.

"I have to go." Julia gathered up her coat and her purse and headed toward the door

without even bothering to put the coat over her shoulders.

"Oh, honey. If we could just talk about this—"

"You had years to talk to me about this, Mom." Tears were beginning to blur her

vision, and she wiped her eyes with her fingertips. "I just … I can't right now. I have to

go."

She stepped out onto the porch with the coat in her arms, and the cold slapped her

with a shock that was almost welcome, because it brought her out of her head and back

into her body—something she could manage.

She struggled into her coat and slung her purse strap over her shoulder as her mother

stood at the door, trying to coax her back inside.

"Julia, please. If you'd just—"

Julia ignored her and stalked down the porch steps and to her car. She got inside and

slammed the door shut, closing out her mother's protests. She pulled away from the curb

and drove off, wondering if she'd ever really known her mother at all....