keep it that way for as long as possible, but it would take some juggling. Someone would recognize him eventually.
Private, easy, unhurried time—that was what he needed. He didn’t want to scare Eric away. But in Peter’s world, privacy was a highly prized commodity. Could he get it?
He’d have to carve it out carefully, but he’d do it. Take time to talk with Eric, to know the man he was sure—this side of a DNA test—was his younger brother. He wanted to do that without any outside pressures. He wanted more than five or ten minutes to become acquainted with the only remaining living person that he knew was a blood relative.
Did Eric want to know him? Be friends? Re-kindle a family relationship?
Did Eric even remember he had a brother? And what were those memories?
That was the information Peter needed most.
Peter prided himself on his ability to size up a person within the first few minutes of meeting and talking with them. Many of his business decisions had been made within a very short time. He evaluated everyone involved in a project, not just the logistics. In fact, he’d earned a reputation for lightning decisions based on how he scrutinized his opponents and associates.
That was true until three days ago.
Then he’d talked to Pastor Michael Faraday. The minister had gently pointed out that in such an important matter of family, it might not be wise to make a snap judgment. Peter’s ultimate decision was too important, surely, to rely on only a few minutes of acquaintance between Eric and himself. They should have had a lifetime of understanding between them; brothers should know each other well. But they’d been cheated of that.
According to the pastor, Eric was a very private man, not given to making friends easily. He had to give Eric time. Go slowly, Pastor Mike had advised.
Peter had been a teenager the last time he saw Eric. When Eric was only four, his mother, Faye, took him and fled from her marriage, from Peter’s father, Randall, and everything he stood for, changing their identities along the way. He hadn’t really blamed Faye. His father had created his own chaos.
After his father died, Peter expected Eric to show up to stake a claim to his healthy inheritance, but he never had. Later, it wasn’t important to wonder too closely what had happened to his brother; if Eric wanted any part in Peter’s life, he would come forward. After all, Eric and Faye knew where to find him. He wasn’t hiding. But he hadn’t known where they could be found.
Then last year…
A familiar pain crept up like a fog. Last year Peter’s only son had died of leukemia. Danny. Filled with a sorrow unlike any he’d ever known, Peter fought the tears that threatened. He felt unmanned by them, but they persisted whenever thoughts of his son surfaced. When would the pain ease?
He still grieved deeply, and guessed he always would. He’d had great hopes for Danny. Great plans.
The times he’d spent with his son were now confined to precious memories. Danny wasn’t coming back and he had to face the fact that he had no family left.
No one at all, except for Eric.
Then after months of silent suffering, he’d come out of his personal fog and finally began to look for his brother. Now he’d found him. He was elated with his hopes for a new relationship.
Yet questions haunted him. What kind of man was Eric? Did Eric grieve for his mother, Faye, who was now also dead? What had they done with their lives? Where had they lived? He wanted to know everything.
Instinctively, he trusted Mike Faraday. He’d flown to western Missouri at the suggestion of his private investigator, and set up a meeting with Pastor Mike the same day. He’d made a good choice when he decided to confide in the pastor. A good choice, indeed. Pastor Mike was a rare man of intelligence and integrity.
And Pastor Mike knew Eric. Eric Tilford— Eric Landers now. Pastor Mike had told him that Eric was a very private sort of man, but that Eric sometimes came to New Beginnings.
Sometimes he came, but not always. That was the catch.
Meeting at New Beginnings would be a neutral, nonthreatening way of sizing up Eric. Then he would know. Know what kind of man he was.
At the very least, he owed Eric his inheritance. He wanted to make it right between them, even though their separation hadn’t been of Peter’s making. But, buried deeply, he realized he wanted a brother.
Peter let out a deep sigh and steered his emotions away from the danger of falling into a deep well. Instead he thought about his evening.
He’d waited in edgy anticipation for Eric to arrive—and swallowed his extreme disappointment when he didn’t show. Set on his course of action, he stayed long enough to seem an ordinary visitor, listening in silence to Pastor Mike’s message, and waited another few moment to talk with him.
He was getting old, he decided, to have developed such patience. Fifty-two. He shook his head, wondering where the years had gone.
He didn’t usually waste his time with the kind of organization he’d attended last night. Rather old-fashioned and plebeian. Religious, too, which didn’t really interest him. It served other people better, he thought.
But after a lifetime of dealing with the inner circles of high finance and worldwide trade, and gaining acclaim for his business savvy, it didn’t hurt him, he supposed, to see how “regular” people lived their lives.
Take that Lori. She was smartly dressed, mentally sharp, and she’d mentioned being an attorney. She’d fit in anywhere. She wasn’t so different from the men and women he knew. He even had a few women like her on staff at his law firm.
While some of the men he’d been introduced to seemed to have no interest beyond the latest fishing hole or when baseball season would start, a few, such as Pastor Mike, discussed world events along with tax problems and how to chase the moles out of one’s yard. To his surprise, he hadn’t been bored.
How did one chase moles out of one’s yard? He chuckled outright because he didn’t know.
“Did you say something, Mr. Tilford?”
“No, Jackson, just thinking,” he replied. “Say, did you ever have occasion to chase moles from your yard?”
“Moles? No, sir. I live in an apartment.”
“Never mind. Just an idle thought.”
“Yes, sir.”
He fell silent again, and his thoughts returned to the company he was in the night before.
There had been that moment of comedy—right out of a slapstick movie—when Cassie spilled the coffee. Usually, he had no patience with careless waitresses—but Cassie wasn’t a waitress. She was a guest at that meeting just as he was. He’d surprised himself when he felt no ire and recognized her act of kindness for what it was when she freshened his coffee.
She certainly hadn’t known who he was. The only person he had to be careful of was that ex-model, Samantha. She might recognize him.
He suspected Cassie was a quiet woman. Her brown skirt, beige blouse and sensible shoes certainly held no spark or style. Yet unlike Lori’s sophisticated flirtation, Cassie’s green eyes had returned his gaze with an undisguised interest that was as easy to read as the newspaper. Her gaze was guileless. Something he saw there flattered him, just a little.
He’d enjoyed the surprise on her face when he did his very bad Bogart imitation, something he hadn’t done since his college days. He’d even laughed at himself for doing it.
Surprisingly, he’d actually had fun for those few moments. There had been very little to tickle his amusement in the past few years. Certainly not since Danny had passed away.
Why now? Why something so simple?
Perhaps it had been too long since he’d seen genuine interest from a woman for simply being a man. No frills,