"Prett was in Iraq, too?!" Jane exclaimed.

"Oh, no, dear," Mrs Gingery said. "Just Velentinny."

"But Prett saw him die?"

"In the hospital. Velentinny had such severe injuries. The only thing keeping him alive was the machines. Prettamin had to turn them off."

"How awful." What did Prett say this morning? "This is why I'd pull the plug every time." And Danny just laughed.

"He would rather have stopped his own heart than give up on Velentinny," Mrs. Gingery continued. "He asked me what to do. I told him the hardest thing in the world is letting someone you love go. Of course, I've only had to accept it after the fact. I've never been faced with the decision he had to make."

Jane's eyes filled with tears. "I can't imagine." You love me and you know it. The problem is, you know it.

"And Velentinny died. But only for a few seconds. Then his heart restarted, and he began breathing on his own. Lands! What a miracle! The Good Lord still has a purpose for him. But he hasn't figured out what yet."

"That's amazing."

"And he's recovered so well. Except for his speech, of course. Prettamin says he'll never get that back. And he'll probably always have headaches."

Headaches. Like yesterday. So it wasn't a hangover. "Prett said it changed his personality."

"I don't believe so. He's always been a happy boy. Still is."

Cadence snorted. "In other words, he's always been an incorrigible flirt."

Mrs. Gingery ignored that. "Prettamin, on the other hand, has always been so somber! Even as a little boy. Why, I don't think I'd ever seen him laugh before yesterday." She patted Jane's hand again. "That's why you're so good for him."

What? "You've never seen Prett laugh?"

"No," Cadence said, answering for the older woman. "In fact, I've never seen him really smile, either. He does sort of smile, but more with his eyes than his mouth."

"I've noticed that," Jane murmured.

"Sometimes he looks like he's about to smile, but he always stops himself. Like it hurts or something."

"Why would smiling hurt?"

Cadence shrugged, but Mrs. Gingery said, "Not everyone wears their scars on their faces, dear."

Jane flushed in mortification for Cadence, but the latter grinned, brushing her hand over her right cheek. "Can't help where I wear mine, that's for sure."

"Can I ask–"

"How I got them? Sure. And because I like you, I'll tell you the truth." She grinned again. "Normally I tell people I got attacked by my mom's Shih Tzu. Which isn't a lie," she quickly added when Mrs. Gingery harrumphed. "But the dog didn't do this." She touched her scars. "My mom did."

"Your mom!"

"She caught her new boyfriend fooling around with me so she came at me with a knife. Said she'd make sure I was too ugly for any man to want me." Cadence's mood darkened. "She was high at the time. I was lying on the floor screaming, bleeding on the carpet, when Toy attacked me for good measure. Never liked that ratty dog."

"I...I don't know what to say," Jane said.

"The good thing was, I never had to go back to her again. I went to my last foster home. A decent one, too. But I was too far gone to appreciate it."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen."

I remember fourteen. The things I said to my mom. And look how good I had it.

"I stayed a couple years then ran off with a boyfriend," Cadence continued. "But that didn't last long. I ended up on the streets, doing drugs."

"But that's all in the past," Mrs. Gingery said briskly. "You've come a long way since then." She squeezed Cadence's hand and gave it a shake, before glancing at their plates. "Well! Who's ready for pie?"

Jane picked the last slice of Danny's amaretto pear, commenting on his baking abilities. Mrs. Gingery attributed it to his mother, and so Jane inquired about her. "She was born deaf, poor thing," the old woman replied. "Ran in her family, though mostly in the men. Velentinny was mercifully spared. But what a godsend he learned to speak with his hands! Such a blessing they all learned."

"Danny was young when she died," Jane observed.

"Nine years old. As was Valentine. Prettamin was fourteen."

"Danny?" Cadence questioned Jane. "You call him 'Danny'?"

"He asked me to."

"Huh."

Cadence didn't seem pleased at this revelation. She didn't say anything more, so Jane turned back to Mrs. Gingery. "How did she die?"

"Cancer. Started in her breast and just spread everywhere. She fought it for years. Didn't want to leave the boys. But in the end...they had to let her go."

"How sad." Twenty-five years and they still mourn...

"And then their father died three years later. Heart attack, my foot! He worked himself to death! Prettamin would do well to stop and have some fun once in a while or he'll put himself into an early grave, too." Mrs. Gingery looked appreciatively at Jane. "You're what he needs, Jane Elizabeth. A reminder there's more to life than work, work, work."

"Well, I..." Don't. Let her have her fantasy. "Okay," Jane said. She ate a couple bites of pie. "So what happened to them after their dad died?"

"They lived with their grandparents."

"How are they related exactly? Prett said Val and Danny are his half brothers, but cousins to each other."

Mrs. Gingery waved her hand. "We could spend all afternoon untangling that family tree. We'd better get you back to the hotel or Prettamin will say I'm interfering."

Mrs. Gingery insisted she didn't need to accompany them, harrumphing at the notion she couldn't be left alone for twenty minutes. She also insisted Jane come for supper if the men hadn't returned by then. "Thank you so much for having me over, Mrs. Gingery," Jane said as she put on her coat.

"Oh, heavens! Call me Genevieve. We're practically family already!"

Jane contained herself until Cadence pulled the car out onto the road."Why does she think there's something going on between Prett and me?" Cadence laughed, and Jane added with distress, "I barely know him. He just hired me to paint."

"Don't worry about it. Everyone thought the same thing when Prett first hired me."

"You too? Why?"

"I guess because he doesn't ever date. So when he brings a girl home, they think there must be something going on."

"There have been others?"

"Before me, I don't know. After me," she looked at Jane, "there's just you."

"When did he bring you home?"

"Seven years ago."

"Did you date him?"

"No. For a while I thought maybe....but no."

"Why doesn't he date?"

"None of them do. Don't know why. But there are lots of nasty rumors."

Danny has such pretty blue eyes. How could he not date? "And he's so flirty!" Oh God, I said that out loud.

Cadence smirked. "All bark and no bite, that one. Like cotton candy. All sugar and air."

She sure doesn't like Danny.

A moment of silence passed. "Truth is, I'm trying to figure out why Prett brought you home." Cadence glanced at Jane. "See, normally when he helps someone, he puts them up in a hotel. Or buys them a ticket home or hands them a couple thousand. Whatever it takes to set them on their feet. He didn't do that with you. So I figured, he's giving you a second chance, like me. But..." She looked at Jane again. "You aren't like me. I see that now. I was...wild. I needed to be taught how to live like normal people. That's not you. You're already–how do you say that word–domes-domesticated. Someone's pet who got lost. Or ran away. Oh, I'm probably not saying it right. Prett's better with the–what do you call them–metaphors."

A domesticated pet? I suppose in comparison to an abused street-wise addict, I am. "It's fine."

"So, since Prett didn't send you back to your family, I take it you can't go home for some reason?"

"Yeah. But he wouldn't know that."

"He didn't make you tell him your life story?"

"All I told him was, I was broke and trying to get to Texas to find a job."

"Oh? Hmm." Cadence paused. "Well, there's also..." She went silent again.

"What?"

"Well...Genevieve's right. You do have an effect on him. I've never seen him so rattled."

"Rattled? You mean he isn't usually so moody?"

Cadence laughed. "Moody?! Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Normally he's so calm you wonder if he has a pulse. Something about you definitely has him rattled."

"I look like his old girlfriend."

Cadence glanced at her again. "Yeah...that must be it. Still...it doesn't explain why he brought you home. And not just to Genevieve, but to his own place, even. Blair was right about one thing; they never let anyone in."

"Why are they so secretive?"

"Not secretive. Private." Cadence pulled up to the hotel. "Tell me. What's it really like?" She gave a nod towards the mercantile building. "Behind those windows?"

Jane smiled sheepishly. "They don't have girlie posters or beer signs. I made that up."

"I figured you had. It isn't their style."

"They do have a movie theater downstairs. And a game room. Decorated like...like an art gallery. And upstairs is their apartment. Muted colors. More art gallery. Beautiful tiling and woodwork. Three bedrooms. Prett has a fabulous bathroom." Jane blushed at Cadence's slightly raised eyebrows at that last admission. "I snooped," Jane admitted, making Cadence grin. "They keep the place tidy. Except for Danny, who's a slob. Prett's always harping on him to clean up his messes."

"I'm not surprised."

"They tease each other a lot. They're also affectionate. Danny has a tendency to kiss Prett." I said too much. "They sound gay when I describe them, don't they? But...I really don't get that vibe. They just seem...I don't know."

"Traumatized."

"What?"

"That's what Genevieve says. Because their parents died young. But they never talk about it." She looked out the window. "All I know is what I know. They keep to themselves, but they're good guys. Always ready to jump in and help." She smiled and looked at Jane. "Like with you and me."

Jane thanked Cadence for the ride and let herself into the hotel using Genevieve's "emergency" hotel key. She stopped first at the fireplace in the lobby, running her fingers over the frieze, with its intricate foliated reliefs emanating from an angry-looking wind face. The reliefs continued in a tree-like pattern down the curvaceous legs which ended in claw feet resting on plinths. Wow. Prett did this.

The built-in desk across the room held a repeat of the design, and Jane studied it a moment before going into the library. The fireplace here was an elaborate Victorian creation with a large inset mirror above the mantel flanked by columns above and below. Pretty ribbon reliefs decorated the friezes, and a broken arch pediment topped the design, punctuated with three equidistant finials. I'm amazed at his ability to create such beauty in wood.

The dining room fireplace was yet a third design, with turned columns, dentil molding, and grapevine reliefs. I wonder what he'll do for the honeymoon suite fireplace.

Jane returned to the kitchen and unwrapped the roller and brush, feeling more determined to prove herself worthy of this job. Painting a wall is a far cry from carving wood reliefs. I'd better not screw this up. Prett deserved an honest day's work, as did Genevieve. Though I still don't know which one is in charge here.

She turned on the radio, dipped paint into the tray, and started up the ladder to tackle the remaining walls. The afternoon flew by, and soon she had to turn on lights to see. She had finished covering the ceiling with the butter-cream color when her phone pinged. As if in reply, the town whistle blew its six o'clock warning. Will I ever stop jumping at that darn siren? She pulled out her phone to see a text from Cadence.

          Prett not home till after 9. Come for supper.

Jane didn't need persuading. She drove her own car this time, reassuring Genevieve she'd had no trouble finding her way on the dark roads. Her hopes of learning more about the Marvel brothers were thwarted, however, for Genevieve kept the topics free-flowing on everything but the men, other than the occasional fretting they'd meet their untimely deaths "flying down the interstate at such unsafe speeds." Genevieve tried to convince Jane to stay the night, but she assured the elderly woman she'd be fine at the hotel.

Since she was so close to finishing the kitchen, she resumed working. At eleven o'clock she put away the supplies and stretched her aching back. She startled when the back door slammed shut. "Prett?!" A warbling bird's whistle came in reply. A moment later he came into view. Jane breathed a sigh of relief. "I finished the kitchen," she said before he entered the room. He said nothing as he walked past her, surveying the walls. He seemed to be in yet another mood, this one quiet and uncommunicative. Jane stood in apprehension, glancing around to make sure she hadn't missed spots or left brush marks. Or God forbid, what if there's a boxelder bug stuck in the paint?

Prett spoke. "Jane."

She didn't move. Somehow he had packed so much emotion into that one little word, her name, that it rooted her to the spot. She heard surprise, approval, reproach. But underlying it all, anguish. Of course. The dead child. How could he not be despondent?

He stood facing away from her, staring at the far window, black with the night beyond. He's in too much grief to speak. He probably doesn't even remember I'm here. I should leave. Right? Or should I comfort him? Say something? No. I should leave. Prett turned his head slightly as if to say something. But he didn't. Instead, he picked up the discarded pink panel at his feet and stepped to the nearer window. He inserted the panel back into place, then slowly walked over to do the same for the second window, closing off the outside world.

A slight rustling caused Jane to turn. Val leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest, watching his older brother replace the second panel. His expression seemed one of aching resignation. Val tilted his head, turning his gaze upon Jane, his eyes filled with sadness and pain. Prett now walked towards them, keeping his eyes on his brother until he stood beside Jane. He turned slightly, but still didn't look at her. "Good job," he said, his voice just above a whisper. He took a step past, then stopped. "Tomorrow you can start on the library." With that, he walked through the dining room and out the back door. After a moment, Val and Jane followed.

When they reached the door, Val indicated upstairs, signing, "You OK?" Jane nodded. He left, and Jane made her way upstairs. She walked to the window in her bedroom and stood staring at the pink panel. I want to rip it to shreds.

But she didn't dare.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please help me improve my writing by pointing out problems. And if you like what you read, please click the Vote button below. And comment! I love comments! 😊  

Fun Fact: When my husband and I refurbished our bedroom, we stuck pink insulation panels in the windows as a temporary method to keep out the cold. We still have one there, years later, because I'm too cheap to buy real window shades. 😁

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