Page 13 of Twin Jeopardy

“I enjoyed talking with them.” Though, in some ways, it had been uncomfortably like talking with her own mother—the familiar sad and wistful expressions, along with the way they second-guessed every action that day. If they had done this instead of that, maybe they could have prevented what had happened.

“My dad said you were empathetic. I guess that’s an important quality for a writer.”

She looked away, then forced her gaze back to him. No reason not to tell him. “I had a brother, Adam. He died when he was ten. I was nine. We were playing in the front yard of our house—me and Adam and our brother, Mitch—and our soccer ball rolled into the street. Adam ran after it and was hit by a car.”

“Then you know what it’s like,” he said. “Everything is fine, and the next second, nothing will ever be the same again.”

“Yeah.” The lump in her throat startled and embarrassed her. After all this time, she didn’t cry about Adam. What good would that do? But her eyes stung and her chest tightened. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. “What happened to Adam was terrible,” she said. “But at least we know what happened to him.” There was a grave her mother visited, though Tammy never did. The Shepherds didn’t even have that.

“That was your brother with you at lunch the other day, right?” Vince asked.

“Yes. Mitch.”

“It’s nice that he’s here in town. I always wondered if it would have been a little easier if I had had a sibling. Someone else for my parents to focus on. Someone else who had the same story I did.”

“It was comforting having Mitch, especially right after Adam died, when my parents were struggling. He and I made sure to look after each other.”

“I would have liked that, but I got used to being on my own. And my folks pulled themselves together after a while.”

“They seem like great people.”

“What about your parents?” he asked. “Do they live near here?”

“My dad died five years ago. But my mom is here. She and I share a house, actually.”

“I don’t think I could live with my parents again.”

“My mom is a pretty good roommate.”

Silence. He was looking down at the newspaper again, and she started to feel awkward. She stood. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to drop that off.”

He set aside the paper and rose also. “Thanks.”

He followed her to the door. When he had first invited her inside, hope had flickered that maybe they could connect on another level. As friends. Maybe even potential dates. Not that she was eager to rush into anything, but Vince was single, good-looking and close to her age. She couldn’t deny a certain attraction, and while lost siblings maybe wasn’t the most solid foundation on which to build a relationship, it did give them something in common.

Now all she wanted to do was get out of his condo. Everything felt too awkward and forced. She shouldn’t have told him about Adam. It was too personal. Too close to home. She hoped he hadn’t thought she was using her tragedy to get close to him. The idea made her queasy. “Good night,” she said, and reached for the doorknob.

He put his hand over hers. He had big hands, and calluses on his fingers, the roughness registering against her skin, making her hyperaware of his physical presence. He wasn’t an overly large man, but he was muscular and fit—somale. She would never write that in an article. The only reason she was even thinking it now was because he had her stirred up and confused. He looked into her eyes, and though she didn’t move, she felt knocked off-balance. Such an intense look. Staggering. “Thanks for telling me about Adam,” he said.

“I don’t talk about him much,” she said. “But I thought you’d understand.”

“Yeah, I do.” His gaze flickered to her lips, and she wondered if he was thinking about kissing her. Entirely inappropriate, and yet she fought to keep from leaning toward him, inviting his touch.Okaaay.She needed to get a grip.

“Good night,” she said again. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

She did turn the doorknob then, and he moved his hand away and stepped back. “Good night.”

She managed to walk all the way to her car without breaking into a run or melting into a puddle. In her car, she sat and took deep breaths. What the heck had just happened in there? She had gone to Vince’s condo to give him a copy of the newspaper, not to bare her soul or fall madly in lust. If he had felt even half of what she had, he was probably thinking she was the most unprofessional reporter he had ever met. Or worse, did he think she was chasing after him? She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. Please, no, not that. She was not desperate, and she wanted nothing to do with a man who thought she was.

As for telling him about Adam, that hadn’t been a bid for sympathy. She had wanted him to know she sympathized with that special brand of grief they shared. She was just being friendly, but too many times that kind of thing got misinterpreted. It had happened to her before. Once, when an intern at the paper arrived in town after a long day of travel, clearly exhausted and famished, she had invited him to dinner at her place. He had misinterpreted this as an attempt at seduction, which had embarrassed them both and made for an awkward six months as they worked side by side. Vince’s father was right—she was an empathetic person. Too empathetic.

She straightened and started the car. Maybe she had embarrassed herself again tonight, but she would get over it. She had survived worse—what was one more injury to her dignity?

Chapter Five

All day Thursday, people stopped Vince to comment on the article in that day’s paper. People expressed sympathy over the loss of his sister. Many wanted to hear Vince’s take on what had happened that day, or hoped to glean details that hadn’t been revealed in the article. “I never knew you had a sister,” Sandor said as he and Vince made repairs to a guardrail that afternoon.

“It’s not something I talk about.” Vince shoved on the guardrail support to bring it into line. “Tighten that bolt there.”

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