Joseph studied his hands. “I learned of my other grandchildren two days ago, during the reading of my son’s will.”
Cooper could barely contain his snort. That’s your story and you’re sticking to it.
The rest of what Joseph had said sank in and the muscles in Cooper’s chest clenched. “So how many half brothers and sisters do I have?”
“Three brothers confirmed. So far.”
Cooper scrubbed a hand over his face. “So far.” He blew out a breath. “Three, including Alexander, right?”
“Correct. You and he are the only ones in town, however. One has a ranch in Colorado and the other is in the process of being discharged from the service.”
Cooper struggled to process the information. He’d instantly gone from a man who’d grown up on the fringe of any sort of family to a man with three brothers. Half brothers, but brothers all the same. And one already lived in this very house. A strange tightness took hold of his heart.
He refused to let the existence of brothers matter, though. The memory of his mother’s unrelenting despair over being so coldly spurned by the man she’d given her heart to was still too visceral for him. His own shame was too rooted.
He looked around him at the expensively decorated study, which somehow managed to convey that this family deserved every one of their billions of dollars in a way the mansion built to resemble Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello on steroids couldn’t. His attention caught on an oil portrait of the McCoy family before Marcus had developed a raging case of hound-dog hormones.
Well, now Cooper knew where his black hair came from. All three people in the portrait had a variation of it. Marcus looked to be about ten in the painting, with a mop of wavy dark hair he’d later wear slicked back, and bright blue eyes that didn’t so much as hint at the lack of feeling they’d eventually radiate.
Cooper shifted his gaze back to Joseph, who at first glance had barely changed from the time the portrait had been painted except for his hair, which had turned steel-gray. But the death of Elise McCoy over a decade ago from cancer—according to the news, a more lingering sort than Cooper’s mother’s—and the recent death of his son had left their mark in the lines on Joseph McCoy’s face.
The knowledge did little to soothe Cooper’s bitterness. “Marcus went to such great lengths to keep us secret. Why did he put us in his will?” It sure as hell wasn’t guilt.
Joseph pulled in a deep breath that expanded his barrel chest. “I honestly don’t know, Cooper. But will or no will, I want you boys with me.”
Easier to manage, control and contain, Cooper thought sourly.
“Since I’ve decided to throw myself a big seventy-fifth birthday party next month to celebrate this unexpected gift on the heels of such a tragedy, I want you all here by then. Hopefully, the other two are being brought home as we speak, by people I trust.”
“Like Sara?”
“Yes, like Sara, though in truth I doubt there is anyone outside the family I trust more.”
There was at least one inside the family Grandpa shouldn’t trust. And the fact Sara knew Cooper couldn’t be trusted, meant he would have to keep her off balance if he wanted to exact any sort of revenge on the McCoys for their idea of the right thing.
And he did.
His mother had pined for Marcus McCoy right up to the moment of her death, fat lot of good it had done her. And the pain of a boy in desperate need of nothing more than love had resurfaced to haunt Cooper with a vengeance. The injustice of it all turned Cooper’s stomach and hardened his resolve.
As far as Sara was concerned, he’d simply have to distract her into thinking of something else besides convincing the McCoys of his true intentions. The memory of her little gasp of anticipation when he’d leaned close made distractions of a sexual nature a nobrainer. His own response to the closeness assured him the duty wouldn’t be an unpleasant one.
And she certainly posed no other risk to him, despite the shimmer of empathy he’d seen in her big green eyes. Because there was one thing his mother’s experience had taught him that he’d never forget.
Love stinks.
Chapter Three
Sara was out of breath by the time she reached the bottom of the sweet-william-lined brick path behind The Big House. And it had very little to do with the speed in which she’d descended the rise. The hurt she felt from Joseph’s easy dismissal of her warnings crowded the space normally occupied by her lungs.
But she had no choice other than to put her feelings aside for now. She had to tell Alexander McCoy what was happening.
She’d known Alex long enough to realize that when he hadn’t been in the study with his father, awaiting the arrival of the first of his half brothers to be brought home, then there was only one place he could be on such a monumental—not to mention potentially emotionally difficult—day.
The stables.
If he didn’t have such a love of and an innate knack for corporate business, she’d bet Alex would have focused entirely on breeding and racing Thoroughbreds. As it was, he could spend no more time on it than one would a hobby, but she’d seen plenty of proof that being around the horses relaxed him, maybe even soothed him, the way nothing else could.
He’d spent the past two days—since the reading of Marcus’s will—out here, not going to the office at all.
Very, very telling as far as Sara was concerned, and her already besieged heart ached for him.
She continued down the walkway, passing through the honeysuckle arch that provided a visual and aromatic buffer between the house and the stables, but the sharp, sweet scent of the buff-yellow flowers and the subtle buzzing of bees did nothing to calm her nerves. She didn’t want to think about what she’d do if Alex was too upset to listen to her about Cooper.
She entered the stable through the wide doorway on the closest end of the long, low structure, built to match The Big House, with redbrick, white shutters and a miniature version of the white dome. Pulling in a lungful of the earthy, straw-and-horse-scented air that was such a contrast to the flowers outside, she looked immediately to the stall where Alex’s favorite saddle horse, a former racer retired to an easier life, was kept.
The big bay was there, but his attention lay firmly on the tack room across from him on Sara’s right, just inside the stable door. Sure enough, through the interior window she could see Alex, dressed for riding and replacing the cheek strap on a bridle at the workbench.
She stepped into the small room, the stable smells usurped by the heady scent of well-oiled leather. “Alex, I need to talk to you.”
He turned enough to glance at her, but then went back to what he was doing. She’d known him all her life, like a cousin if not a brother, but she’d never seen him look the way he did—weary, disillusioned. It was little wonder. Good heavens, to find out you were actually your brother’s son?
“What can I do for you, Sara?”
She couldn’t speak for a moment, stunned even more by Alex and Cooper’s similarities, despite the four-year difference in their ages. Alex’s black hair was shorter than Cooper’s, so she’d never really noticed it was equally thick and glossy, though not enough to make her fingers itch to burrow into it as Cooper’s did. Alex also had the same strong, square jaw and well-proportioned nose Cooper possessed, as well as a similar build.
How could these two men grow up in the same town and no one notice their resemblance?
Because the improbable rarely occurred to people. They were of different worlds. Plus, Joseph had worked hard to establish himself as the symbol of high moral standards in town, so any connection would