Twowomen, as Grandma Sage had always been tight-lipped about her past as well. Now that he thought about it, she probably wasn’t related either.
What a trio they must’ve made, a green-eyed redhead, a black senior citizen, and a Native American kid without a clue.
He left the room, went to the door, opened it.
A woman stood there with a massive bundle of hair piled atop her lowered head in shades that shifted from caramel to blood-amber. Snow was falling behind her as she lifted her head, but her eyes were slower and took their time sliding up his body. By the time they locked onto his, her eyebrows were high.
“I…you…I…” She closed her lips, cleared her throat, but never let go of his eyes.
Hers were the darkest blue he’d ever seen. For a second, he forgot to breathe. Then she said his name and broke the spell. “I’m uh…looking for Wolf Travail.”
“Not looking for him, lookingathim.”
“You’re…Cilla Travail’s son?”
“So I’ve been told.” He was proud of himself for not missing a beat.
“Yeah. Okay. So, I’m Camellia Rio and I?—”
“Camellia Rio? Really?”
She crooked one eyebrow and her chin rose.
He saw he’d offended her and spoke fast. “Sounds too pretty to be a real name is all.”
“Like Wolf Travail, you mean?”
He had to lower his eyes fast. She was too quick for him, and he was sure it had flashed in his eyes—the knowledge that his name was made up. Probably. Not knowing was killing him.
“So full disclosure,” she said. “I work for a lawyer.”
“If it’s about the hospital bills, I?—”
“No, not about the bills. I agreed to help your mother. She had a small life insurance policy and she left instructions for—listen, can I come in? It’s cold out here.”
He turned to look at the house behind him. His mom’s bedroom door was open, the mess he’d made going through her things fully visible. When he looked back at Camellia Rio, her blue eyes told him she’d already seen it. Snowflakes were gathering atop her mountain of hair. He sighed in surrender.
“Yeah, sure, come on in.”
Willow Brand, Sky Dancer Ranch, Quinn, Texas
At the family meeting she’d called, Willow yanked the sheet off the cradle in the middle of her mom’s living room. The one with the name “WOLF” carved into it. She’d found it in the attic while her folks had been traveling, and she’d kept it to herself for as long as she could stand. Her anger had only grown. So she whipped off the sheet and let it sail to the floor in the corner with all due dramatic flair.
There was a collective gasp and Willow said, “What is this, Mom?”
Beside her, Jeremiah tightened his arm around her shoulders and whispered, “I thought you were gonna ease into it, babe.”
She ignored him and continued. “We were looking in the attic for my old cradle for Lily and Ethan’s baby, and we found this. What does this mean? Who’s Wolf?”
Taylor, her mother, did not speak. She had gone still, staring at the cradle, her long black hair, streaked in silver, formed a smooth curtain over her face. But then she looked up and her brown eyes shifted to Willow, who was her younger mirror in every way.
“I—” Her beautiful face crumpled and she ran from the room with Willow’s father, Wes, right on her heels.
“What the hell is going on?” Willow called after her parents as they ran outdoors, leaving the rest of the whole dang clan behind them.
A heavy hand fell on her shoulder—Uncle Garrett’s hand. “I s’pose this talk is overdue.” Then he looked around the room at the gathered Brands. All of the elders, their wives too, exceptWes and Taylor. Aunt Chelsea was walking around with a pot, refilling coffee mugs. Willow’s cousin and best friend Ethan moved closer to her side while his beautiful Lily’s blue eyes beamed with concern, her hand resting atop her swollen belly. Maria-Michelle and her new husband, Harrison, drew nearer. Cousins Trevor and Orrin leaned on either end of the mantel like opposite bookends, one as dark as the other was light, and Orrin’s kid sister, Drew, blond and blue-eyed like her brother, sat on the hearthstone. Except for his black-framed eyeglasses and bigger build, Baxter could’ve been their older brother, with his shaggy golden mane.
As Willow looked from the stunned faces of the younger Brands to the expressions of their parents, resolved and expectant, it was clear most of the elders already knew whatever it was Uncle Garrett was about to say. Uncle Ben and Aunt Penny were not holding her gaze, but averting theirs whenever she looked their way.
