didn’t have any brothers or sisters.” Eden was still holding her mug too tightly. “For my parents, after twenty-two years of trying to have children without success, I was a total surprise. A nice one, they always assured me, but after all that time when it’d only been the two of them, I definitely disrupted their lives. Anyway, I guess I always thought of my pets as real people, the brothers and sisters I’d never had.”
Brady thought of his own brothers, how close they’d always been—especially after their mother had left them. Not that they ever talked about what happened. Their father had forbidden it. There’d been twenty-three years of silence until a few months ago when his father had relented and given Cooper Night Hawk permission to look into his wife’s whereabouts. It was Coop who had found out Violet had died in childbirth seven months after she ran off with another man.
Brady looked into Eden’s eyes and cleared his throat. “I guess I should order the flowers I want to send.”
She straightened the platter of cookies, pushing it closer to him. “There’s plenty of time. Have another cookie.”
He picked up a fifth cookie.
“Let me get you a fresh cup of tea.” She reached across the table for his mug. “Maybe cinnamon apple this time?”
He saw the concern in her extraordinary eyes. “That’d be great.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, his behavior once more surprising him. It wasn’t an unpleasant surprise though. He didn’t even want to analyze it. He only wanted to watch Eden as she moved around the kitchen. Her face was still tinged with pink, and soon she was humming again. Not an unpleasant surprise at all.
She turned on the burner under the kettle and came back to the table. She looked at him, her hands grasping the edge of her chair. “We’ll sit and drink some tea, eat some cookies, and you can tell me all about your day.”
WHICH WAS PRECISELY what he did, Brady thought as he walked to the hospital the next morning. It had been almost midnight by the time he’d left Eden’s and returned to his condo. He’d slept like a drunken man. Too much sugar, he’d decided.
He sidestepped a puddle. The temperatures had stayed defiantly warm, reducing winter to no more than black patches of soggy soil or an occasional wet stain on the sidewalk. The birds had come home. Women once again wore skirts and short-sleeved shirts baring long stretches of skin. The men walked slower, steadier. Even Brady’s steps this morning weren’t the usual military march but almost approached a stroll. He’d decided to take the long way around the town square. When he spied Cooper coming out of Marge’s Diner, a scowl on his face, it didn’t seem possible anyone could be unhappy on this sun-warmed morning.
“Coop.”
The town deputy turned, his natural Native American looks made even more dramatic by his brooding expression. He was considered a fourth son to the Spencer family not because of his physical looks but because of the strong emotional bonds between him and the Spencer men. Seeing Brady, he smiled. Still his dark-brown eyes were somber.
Brady smiled at his family’s best friend. “Kinda early to look so mean. What happened? Did Marge run out of blueberry pancakes before you got there?”
“Now you know that has never happened in the history of Tyler. And probably never will, God willing.” Coop’s guarded gaze assessed the doctor. “You seem awful happy for a man whose boss is watching him right now, probably wondering why you’re wasting time harassing Tyler’s finest when you should be at work.”
Through the diner’s front windows, Brady saw Jeff Baron seated in one of the red vinyl booths lining the walls. Beside him was Cece. They were both smiling as they waved. Brady waved back, his own grin widening. He was about to turn back to Coop when he noticed the new waitress, Caroline Benning, staring at him from behind the counter. They’d formally met at the Christmas Eve party up at the Timberlake Lodge. He raised his hand to wave hello, but she looked away and began refilling the coffee cups of the diners that occupied every seat at the L-shaped counter.
“That new girl—”
“Caroline Benning.” Coop stopped smiling.
“She seems like a nice kid.” The two men started walking toward the center of town.
“She’s hiding something.”
Brady stopped, looked curiously at Coop.
“I can’t prove anything yet. It’s a feeling I’ve got. That woman has secrets.”
“We all have secrets, Coop.” Brady tried to restore his friend’s earlier smile.
“Maybe, but that lady has a big secret. I can feel it in my gut.”
Brady’s surprise increased. Everyone knew Coop was a man who believed in facts, not intuition or other intangible feelings.
“Don’t tell me you’re listening to all that gossip still going round?”
“I’m not the one who was found tangled up in the shrubs outside your dad’s house,” Coop pointed out as the two men passed the law firm where Brady’s brother, Quinn, was a partner.
“She said she was trying to catch a stray cat,” Brady noted.
“Then where was the cat?”
“Obviously, she didn’t catch it.”
“Obviously, there was no cat.”
“C’mon, Coop.” The two men turned onto Maple, nodded hello to Annabelle Scanlon opening up the post office. “What deep, dark secret could Caroline Benning possibly be hiding?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
Brady didn’t doubt it. Coop was good at finding things out. It’d taken him less than two months to find out about Violet’s death. Less than two months to answer the question Brady had secretly wondered for twenty-three years: When is my mother coming home? Now he knew. Never.
“Don’t you trust anybody?” Brady asked.
Coop looked at him, one dark brow arching. They both knew it was the pot calling the kettle black. “Occupational hazard, Doc.”
They walked a few more steps. Coop shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
Brady saw the strong set of Coop’s profile and knew the other man didn’t believe he was mistaken about Caroline Benning.
“No wonder you haven’t found your Woman of the River yet,” Brady said, referring to the local story of Coop’s ancestor and namesake, Night Hawk, whose dream of a hawk eventually led him to his own true love. “You think every woman you meet is Mata Hari.”
Coop shifted his impenetrable gaze to Brady. Everyone knew the story of Coop’s ancestor. Everyone also knew Coop believed the legend was just that—a legend. Nothing more.
“It’s bad enough every time I see your brothers, I have to listen to them go on about the wonders of married life and watch them get all sentimental and sloppy,” he said, “but at least I thought I could count on you to stay sane and steer clear of all this mush.”
He glanced down at the flowered canister Brady was carrying. Some of his smile returned. “But what can I expect from a man who spends his free time making cookies for the hospital bake sale?”
“Bake sale? These cookies are mine, and I’m not sharing them with anyone, so stop angling for a handout.”
Coop studied the tin. “Must be pretty special cookies. When did you take home ec?”
“I didn’t make these cookies. They were given to me by a friend.”
“I see…” Coop mused, contemplating the tin.
Brady saw his friend’s speculative gaze. “What now, Columbo?”
Coop looked at him. “When did you start going for the Betty Crocker type? All the women I’ve seen