20
M-O-M-E-N-T-O-F-T-R-U-T-H
The music was light and soothing in the candlelit ballroom, and Grady had to admit, his mother did know how to throw a party. Gala. Whatever she wanted to call it, the setting was brilliant.
Lincoln and Pippa strolled into the ballroom, with Patricia escorting them. Her hand was gripped tight over Lincoln’s wrist, seemingly clinging onto a source of stability, despite her attempts to mask it with a contented smile. Lincoln caught Grady’s eye and raised an eyebrow like the question mark he’d fired across many a lecture hall in law school, but, in classic Lincoln style, he played it calm and soothed Patricia with a confident nod and a smile.
Claire followed his gaze. “What are you thinking?”
His lips turned up in a hesitant smile. “I have an idea. Trust me?”
“Maybe.” She winked, moving with him to the music, close enough that the silk of her dress brushed against his pants, but she felt a mile away with all the air between them.
He grazed his fingertips along her back and along the edge of the silk. “I can’t figure you out. Jeans with thick wool socks when you’re tending to the horses, that sexy dress that night we...” He cleared his throat, remembering the moment too vividly. “... At the billiard table, the sweet skirt and sweater at dinner that first night, and now you’re a vision in an elegant silk gown. I don’t think I could begin to guess what you’ll be wearing tomorrow.”
“Snow pants.”
“See what I mean?”
She giggled and spun in his arms. “I’ve never built a snowman. Or made snow angels.”
“What time does our flight leave?”
“Five in the evening.”
“Plenty of time.”
Lincoln slipped from Patricia’s grasp and joined Asher and Zane by the window overlooking the gleaming white blanket that coated the hillside, the mountains glowing in the moonlight. Freya had dragged Ryder to the dance floor and joined them at the end of the song, arriving as Grady and Claire did. Freya was laughing, amused as she always seemed to be, and said, “You’ll regret that invitation soon. I have always wanted to paint the desert, and I may settle in for weeks until I capture all the colors of the Arizona sunset.”
Ryder seemed more relaxed than Grady had seen in years, smiling and accepting a beer from Zane. Asher still hadn’t dropped the glare, but the others seemed to realize Ryder wasn’t the creep Grady had believed him to be all these years. Because of one misunderstanding. “Absolutely, anytime. It’s not like anyone ever uses the spare bedroom.”
Grady motioned to Lincoln and asked, “Have a minute?”
Lincoln nodded to the empty corner next to the bar. As soon as they were out of hearing distance, Lincoln said, “It appears you finally apologized to Claire. Looking awfully cozy with your brother’s fiancée.”
Lips pulled tight in a grimace, Grady sighed. “She’s... so much cooler than I’d thought.”
“So, not a cheating whore?”
Grimace morphing into a full-on mirthless laugh, Grady accepted a beer from the bartender and chugged it down by half as they wandered toward the fireplace. His thumb traced over the foamy drip on the smooth glass. “No. Not even close.”
Gaze steady, Lincoln watched the bustling party and said over his glass. “That’s not what you wanted to talk about though, is it?”
Grady shook his head and stared into the amber brew in his hands. “I’m not... I hate being a lawyer.”
“I wondered.” Lincoln sighed and stuffed his free hand into his jacket pocket. Not looking anywhere in particular, he said, “I kept figuring that you’d settle. After Sophie, and then the chaos of starting Black Op, then the fire, getting stuck here, and Claire... I assumed you were just burned out.”
