Hattie’s heart did an unexpected and unwanted kick at the sight of Cade finally slowing the Harley and cutting the engine.
“What the hell’s he doing here?” Bart demanded, a muscle working furiously in his jaw.
“He is your brother.”
“Who’s supposed to be in goddamned California!”
Cade yanked off his helmet, left it on the bike, and strolled leisurely toward the crowd, all of whom were staring at the disruption. His hair was longer than Hattie remembered, bleached from the sun, his face tanned, a new scar showing on one cheek. Tall and athletic, like the rest of the Graysons, he swung up the path as if he owned the place, which, she knew, he did, at least partially.
“I’ll take care of this,” Dan said, and Cara’s weak protest of “Dan, just leave it alone,” went unheeded as he started toward his younger brother.
Too late.
Cade, in battered denim and a worn leather jacket, was already through the side gate and striding up the path that ringed the house. At the final row of chairs, where a waiter stood with a tray of champagne glasses, he said, “Ah, don’t tell me I missed the nuptials.” His grin lopsided, his gaze was dark with emotion as it landed squarely on Hattie.
“What’re you doing here?” Dan asked.
“Same as you.” Cade was forced to stop as Dan was blocking his path. “Just here to give the happy couple my best.”
“Bull,” Bart said under his breath. He was still holding Hattie’s hand, his fingers nearly crushing her bones as they tightened.
“Maybe you should leave,” Dan suggested. “Come back later.”
“You’re here, brother,” Cade said with meaning.
Dan held up a hand, hoping to cut off any further remarks from his headstrong brother. “Not now, Cade. It’s not the time.”
“For what?” Cade feigned innocence, but fooled no one, least of all any of his brothers.
Even Zed, never a fan of Hattie’s, stepped up, shoulder to shoulder with Dan. “You don’t want to
do this,” he whispered loud enough for Hattie to hear.
“Do what?” Cade was having none of it.
“It’s over, okay?” Zed said a little more loudly. “They’re married now. Give it up.”
“Nothin’ to give.” Quickly, he stepped around his brothers, but Zed grabbed his arm.
“Cade,” Hattie whispered desperately, all too aware of the curious eyes turned in her direction.
“What?”
Shaking her head, feeling her veil start to fall, she said, “Thank you for coming.”
His jaw slid to the side and for a tense moment there was silence, just the sough of the wind and chatter of birds breaking the quietude. With his gaze still locked to hers, he grabbed a full glass from the tray held by a stunned waiter and lifted it into the air. “Here’s to the bride and groom,” he said. “May they have a long and happy union.” Still eyeing Hattie, he drank the glass down in one long swallow, then tossed his glass to the ground. “Good luck, Hattie,” he added.
At that second, Bart released Hattie’s hand, burst past Zed and Dan, who were blocking his path, and swung wildly, his fist connecting with Cade’s jaw with a crack. Cade’s head snapped back and he reeled away. “You bastard!” Bart spat. “Why can’t you just leave us the fuck alone!”
Cade landed on his butt, his fists curling, but instead of throwing himself to his feet to tear into Bart, he sat for a second on the drying grass, and again he looked at his new sister-in-law. “See what I mean about luck,” he said, standing and dusting his hands as Zed and Dan restrained a furious Bart. “You, darlin’, are going to need it. A lot of it.”
Now, as she lay on her bed, Hattie scowled up at the ceiling. Cade had been right, unfortunately. Bart’s mood swings had been wide, his anger ignited by a trigger switch, his deep soul-searching depression sometimes taking him near despair, his happiness, when he found it, euphoric. There was just no leveling him out, and therein lay the problem, one she hadn’t seen before she was married. Had she suspected? Of course. But she’d turned a blind eye to her suspicions and had satisfied herself with being married.
“Fool,” she whispered to the dark room.
She thought again of her husband’s death; how with his depression, suicide was definitely possible, but still she refused to believe Bart would take his own life. In anger, he’d flash to fury, but he’d rarely been violent, except to his brothers, never to her. And when he was feeling down, he became morose, but not, she believed, to the point of actually carrying out a suicide plan, not taking his life, and without saying good-bye or leaving an explanation for his girls. No way could she believe that!
Even though Bart had died nearly six years earlier, wasn’t it possible that someone, the same someone who tried to kill Dan, had murdered her husband? Somehow forced him up the ladder before kicking it from his legs? She knew others were sure she was grasping at straws, but she wouldn’t give up, especially now that Dan had been attacked. He’d been decent to her after the divorce, and while Zed and Cade seemed to think that she’d spent the last six years trying to squeeze the last blood from a corpse by insisting Bart’s death wasn’t suicide, Dan had looked into his brother’s death. Not only had he comforted Hattie and made some inquiries, he’d also pulled the medical examiner aside for a private chat. In the end, however, he couldn’t come up with any proof that Bart hadn’t hung himself, and there just hadn’t been enough evidence in the ensuing years to reopen the case. Bart had been buried in the family plot, labeled forever as a victim of his own hand.