Free Unfinished Business by Nora Roberts Page A

she’d been here last. Houses and yards crisscrossed over what had once been sprawling corn or barley fields. She felt a pang of loss on seeing them. The same kind of pang she felt when she thought of her family.
    She wondered if she would have been able to understand the lack of fidelity if it had been some other woman. Would she have been able to give a sophisticated little shrug and agree that the odd affair was just a part of life? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been raised to see a sanctified state. And it wasn’t some other woman. It was her mother.
    It was late when she found herself turning into Brady’s lane. She didn’t know why she’d come here, come to him, of all people. But she needed someone to listen. Someone who cared.
    The lights were on. She could hear the dog barking from inside the house at the sound of her car. Slowly she retracedthe steps she had taken that evening. When she had run from him, and from her own feelings. Before she could knock, Brady was at the door. He took a long look at her through the glass before pulling it open.
    â€œHi.”
    â€œI was out driving.” She felt so completely stupid that she took a step back. “I’m sorry. It’s late.”
    â€œCome on in, Van.” He took her hand. The dog sniffed at her slacks, wagging his tail. “Want a drink?”
    â€œNo.” She had no idea what she wanted. She looked around, aware that she’d interrupted him. There was a stepladder against a wall, and a portable stereo set too loud. Rock echoed to the ceiling. She noted there was a fine coat of white dust on his hands and forearms, even in his hair. She fought a ridiculous urge to brush it out for him. “You’re busy.”
    â€œJust sanding drywall.” He walked over to turn off the music. The sudden silence made her edgy. “It’s amazingly therapeutic.” He picked up a sheet of sandpaper. “Want to try it?”
    She managed to smile. “Maybe later.”
    He stopped by the refrigerator to pull out a beer. He gestured with it. “Sure?”
    â€œYes. I’m driving, and I can’t stay long.”
    He popped the top and took a long drink. The cold beer eased through the dust in his throat—and through the knot that had lodged there when he saw her walking to his door. “I guess you decided not to be mad at me anymore.”
    â€œI don’t know.” Hugging her arms, Vanessa walked to the far window. She wished she could see the moon, but it was hiding behind a bank of clouds. “I don’t know what I feel about anything.”
    He knew that look, that set of her shoulders, that tone of voice. It had been the same years before, when she would escape from one of the miserable arguments between her parents. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
    Of course he would say that, she thought. Hadn’t she known he would? And he would listen. He always had. “I shouldn’t have come here,” she said with a sigh. “It’s like falling back into an old rut.”
    â€œOr slipping into a comfortable pair of shoes.” He winced a little at his own words. “I don’t think I like that much better. Look, do you want to sit down? I can dust off a sawhorse, or turn over a can of drywall compound.”
    â€œNo. No, I couldn’t sit.” She continued to stare out the window. All she could see was her own pale reflection ghosted on the glass. “My mother told me she’d had an affair before my father took me to Europe.” When he didn’t respond, she turned to study his face. “You knew.”
    â€œNot at the time.” The hurt and bewilderment on her face had him crossing to her to brush at her hair. “Not long after you were gone, it came out.” He shrugged. “Small towns.”
    â€œMy father knew,” Vanessa said carefully. “My mother said as much. That must have been why he took me away