LITMIR.BIZ

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      She wondered why anyone would ever say that. Fair enough? As if there was anything about any of this that was fair.

      Oh, why had she come here, she asked herself again. She was a thousand different kinds of fool for even talking to Brand.

      Was he Mia’s father? Had he seduced Sissy last year?

      She was no closer to knowing the answer to those questions than she would have been if she’d gone about her business, taken things a little slower, held off on confronting him until she’d had time to think it over and understood the situation better.

      She should have been more…reasonable about all this. Not come flying over here at seven in the morning waving poor little Mia in his face, dragging him from bed and hurling accusations at him.

      He just…he did that to her. Made her crazy. Made her want to pitch a big, ugly fit.

      Ten whole years since he’d ripped out her heart and stomped it flat. And she still hated him, still looked for any opportunity to blame him—for anything.

      It wasn’t healthy. She had to get past her never-ending anger at him. Somehow.

      Soon.

      She picked up the note from the table, folded it back to a small square with one hand and stuck it in her pocket again. Then she turned for the door.

      Chapter Three

      Brand watched her walk out and said nothing. Not see you later. Not even goodbye.

      He and Charlene were long past the point where they made polite noises at each other. He and Charlene were…enemies. Or something damn close.

      It really bugged him, how much she despised him. He prided himself on being a likable guy.

      Yeah. It was kind of a big thing for him, to get along with the people who lived in his town. He’d worked hard to build himself a good reputation. It hadn’t been easy. He was a Bravo, after all, one of the apparently numberless bastard sons of the infamous Blake Bravo, who’d been a real bad actor, a man who had kidnapped his own nephew for a fortune in diamonds, done murder at least once and lived on for more than thirty years after the world believed him dead.

      Brand had a whole bunch of half brothers, sons of women like his mother, Chastity, who had fallen for Blake Bravo’s dangerous bad-guy charm. Chastity had four sons by Blake, two of whom grew up well-known for their wild antics and troublemaking ways. Brand and Brett, Chastity Bravo’s two middle sons, did their best to be different, to live normal, noncontroversial lives.

      Now Brett was the town doctor, happily married with a new baby son. And Brand had gone into law, moving back to town a couple of years ago to join his retiring uncle Clovis’s legal practice.

      Brand considered himself successful, a productive member of his community. He knew he shouldn’t be the least bothered by some long-ago girlfriend’s low opinion of him.

      And the fact that he knew he shouldn’t be bothered, well, that only bugged him all the more.

      But it wasn’t his problem. None of it. Not that poor abandoned baby, not Charlene. Not wild, messed-up, provocative Sissy.

      And, yeah. That was one thing Charlene had been right about. He never should have hired Sissy to do filing and help out at Cook and Bravo, Attorneys at Law. It had been a blazingly stupid move.

      Too bad. He’d hired Charlene’s wild little sister, and now he’d be paying the price.

      Eventually, the whole mess was bound to sort itself out. He’d take the paternity test when and if Sissy ever showed her face in town again. But for now his part was to stay the hell out of it.

      And get on with his own damn life.

      

      Charlene was just pulling out of Brand’s driveway when she spotted two local residents, Redonda Beals and Emmy Ralens, out for a morning stroll. They waved as she passed them, and Charlene waved back, being careful to smile as broadly as possible and to look as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

      Redonda and Emmy were both in their midfifties and best pals, nice ladies who came into the diner often and always tipped generously. They weren’t real big on gossip or anything. But everyone in town knew that Charlene Cooper would never be caught dead visiting Brand Bravo—at that fine new house of his or anywhere else for that matter. So the two nice ladies couldn’t be blamed for looking slightly puzzled at the sight of Charlene emerging from Brand’s driveway.

      On the short drive back to town she came to a decision. Instead of turning for home, she headed for the diner. Might as well get it over with, let folks have a look at her niece.

      After all, this was the Flat. Everybody knew everything about everyone else. Seeing Redonda and Emmy back there by Brand’s house had brought it home to her that there was absolutely no sense in trying to keep the baby hidden away.

      Uh-uh. Smarter to play the proud auntie. Let them all know she had absolutely nothing to hide. The building loomed up on her left, the big black-and-white sign with red lettering over the door proclaiming it Dixie’s Diner.

      At seven-thirty, when Charlene entered with Mia in her arms, the counter was full and so were the booths. Lots of folks liked to come in early for breakfast, and Saturdays were no exception.

      Teddy was flipping pancakes on the grill and Rita—the waitress who’d agreed to come in at the last minute—was taking an order from the Winkle family at the back booth. Nan and George Winkle had three boys: twelve, eight and six. They were a rambunctious crew and prone to talking over each other. The boys would order more than they could possibly eat, while Nan and George vetoed and bargained and eventually allowed them to get whatever they wanted.

      George, Jr., who had something of a crush on Charlene, waved wildly at the sight of her. “Hey. Charlene. Hi!”

      Stevie, the youngest, started bouncing up and down, announcing in a loud sing-song, “Charlene has got a baby, an itty-bitty baby…”

      “Shh, now,” said Nan. “Just you settle down.”

      Matt, the middle son, demanded, “I want OJ and hot chocolate. I’ll drink ’em both, promise. Swear it. Please, I want both. Please…”

      “Son,” said George. “Settle down now…”

      Rita turned. “Hey, Charlene.” By then everyone in the place seemed to be staring.

      “What’s that you got there?” demanded Old Tony Dellazola from his usual seat at the counter, three stools up from the door.

      Charlene put on her widest, friendliest, happiest smile. “This is my niece, Sissy’s little girl. Her name is Mia Scarlett and she’s going to be staying with me for a while.”

      

      Did it work? Charlene asked herself that night, as she was putting the baby to bed in a nest of pillows. Had her bold move of waltzing into the diner and introducing Mia right up front like that thrown a wet blanket on the gossip mill?

      She wished.

      Uh-uh. It had, however, let them all know that Mia’s “visit” was Charlene’s story and she planned on sticking to it; that was all she was saying on the subject and they might as well get used to it.

      But just because it was all that Charlene was saying, didn’t mean everyone else would keep their big mouths shut. In the Flat, people talked. About each other. A lot. If you lived there, you had to learn to accept gossip as a given.

      And some people were simply more interesting as grist for the gossip mill than others. Troublemakers and victims of terrible tragedies topped the list of the gossipworthy.

      Sissy and Charlene’s parents had died in a car accident when Sissy was only nine. She’d been sent away to live with an aunt and uncle in San Diego, though Charlene had sold the family home to finance her failed suit to get custody of her sister. That was the tragedy

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