Page 71 of Breaking Emily's Rules
Winston lifted his head but took one look at Sarah, got up and lumbered into the back bedroom. Probably he was a whole lot smarter than Stone had ever given him credit for.
“What is it you want? A tour of the place?” Did these look like the digs of a man who horded gold bullion? What the hell was wrong with his money-grubbing sister?
“That might be nice.”
He ignored that and marched back to his ready-as-ever wall because he was no damned museum docent.
Sarah followed him. She stared at him, then at the wall. “You’re painting?”
“It needs it.” He picked up the roller and laid it in the paint. “The whole house does. There’s a lot to be done around here.”
“Don’t let me stop you or anything.”
“Wasn’t going to.”
She let out a deep sigh, the kind females gave when they wanted your attention but wouldn’t say why. The kind that usually meant you were about to get an earful, like it or not. “I’ve decided I want to help you get the house sellable. Are you going to let me?”
“Do I have a choice?” He slathered on the first coat. Brown. What the hell. Since when did they call brown Dakota Loam? He’d been right in the first place. This room would probably be way too dark now. Damn.
“I wish you would talk to me.”
“I am talking.”
“In tiny three-word sentences. About stupid stuff. I want to talk about the big stuff, like how Mom and Dad made a big mistake. Whoever heard of such a child arrangement? Splitting up a family the way they did was criminal.”
Stone stiffened. Had his sister just called their parents criminals? As usual, civilians threw the word criminal around so much it lost its real meaning. “Criminal.”
“Yeah. I’ve never heard of anyone else splitting up the kids in a divorce—you take one, I’ll take the other. You needed a mother, and I needed a father. We were both ripped off.”
“Got it.” He didn’t disagree or agree. It was all damn water under the bridge.
And this color was way too dark.
“Why won’t you talk to me? Don’t you feel cheated, too?”
He dropped the roller. “Cheated? Hell no. I’m the lucky one. I came back.”
Sarah covered her mouth. “Oh, crap, I’m sorry. That’s one more thing I don’t know about you.”
“And you’re not going to know it.” He was so done with this. Rehashing the past would be a waste of time. James Mcallister was his father and he’d done the best he could. Same for his mother. End of short story.
“Okay. So you didn’t miss having a mother. But I want to know more about my dad. I want to know about this town and why he moved here. What he thought about me, if he ever thought about me, and how he loved his children. Or I should say, his son.”
And now she was crying in his family room. He didn’t do crying women. When a woman cried, he was usually watching her back as she walked out the door.
He lifted a hand as if that could stop her. “Don’t.”
Sarah plopped down on the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m not after anything. You called me to the reading of the will, like all I should want was my share. Like I wouldn’t have wanted to say goodbye to him first. Mom told me to hire the lawyer, and hell, after you both treated me the way you did I decided why the hell not? But I’m sick of fighting with you. You can sell the flight school to your buyer. I only wanted to remember him since I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
Stone reached for a box of tissues he’d bought to wipe up Winston’s constant slobbering and handed it to Sarah. He didn’t know whether he could trust her. She’d so quickly changed her mind after giving him such grief.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” She pointed toward the wall with her tissue. “And by the way, that color is going to be way too dark for this room.”
Damn.
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