Free Always a McBride by Linda Turner Page A

hope Janey made banana pudding. I thought my grandmother’s was good, but Janey’s got hers beat by a mile. C’mon. You’re going to love it.”
    Food was the last thing he was interested in—every nerve in his body was on alert—but Taylor knew neither Phoebe nor the McBrides would ever guess that he was so uptight about the evening to come. He was a damn good lawyer, and he knew how to hide his emotions when he found himself in an adverse situation. Granted, he might not be in a courthouse, but he was definitely walking into a trial, and he knew next to nothing about his opponents. He wouldn’t be able to drop his guard for so much as a second.
    Escorting her to Joe McBride’s front door, he stood behind Phoebe as she knocked, his heart slamming against his ribs with an emotion he couldn’t put a nameto. Would Joe or Zeke McBride look like his father? Would they favor him?
    Stiffening at the thought, he swore silently at himself for not thinking about that sooner. He should never have met all his siblings when they were together in one group—if he favored them, one of them was bound to notice. Then what was he going to say? It was too soon to tell them who he was—Sara wasn’t here, and he wasn’t ready. But he might not have any choice. On edge, ready for anything, he tensed as the door was abruptly pulled open. It was showtime.
    All of his life, whenever he’d stood before a mirror, he’d wondered if there was anyone in the world he looked like. It was a lonely feeling. His mother had always said that he was nearly the spitting image of his father, but he’d had no pictures of Gus McBride—or his mother’s family, for that matter. He didn’t know who he looked like—which was why it was so disconcerting when he found himself face to face with Joe McBride. At first glance, they didn’t appear to look anything alike, but he saw himself in the eyes of this man who was his brother.
    Whatever Joe McBride was, he was nobody’s fool. That much, at least, was instantly obvious. Taller than Taylor by an inch or so, he had the hard, weathered look of someone who spent his days working in the sun. His square-cut face was tanned and chiseled, his shrewd brown eyes as sharp as a barbed wire fence. In a single glance, he looked him over, then turned his attention to Phoebe. Only then did he smile, and the transformation in his face was amazing. With nothing more than a smile, his entire demeanor changed.
    â€œWell, if it isn’t Miss Chandler, queen of the vendingmachines,” he teased. “Long time no see. You’re looking good.”
    â€œSo are you,” Phoebe said with a grin. “Angel must be between pictures. I heard you’re a bear when she’s gone.”
    â€œMyrtle’s been talking about me again,” he retorted, not the least apologetic. “Okay, so I get a little grumpy when my wife is off kissing some other man. I’m not jealous.”
    â€œOf course you’re not,” Phoebe agreed with twinkling eyes. “Why should you be? You’re the one she comes home to.”
    â€œYou’re damn straight.” Glancing past her to Taylor, he said, “You must be the writer who’s staying at Myrtle’s. Merry told me about you. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Joe McBride.”
    â€œTaylor Bishop,” Taylor replied, stiffly shaking the hand he held out to him. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
    â€œNot at all,” Joe assured him. “The more the merrier. Though you must be wondering what kind of family we are since my wife goes around kissing other men. She’s an actress,” he explained, and there was no denying the pride in his eyes. “Angel Wiley. You might have heard of her.”
    Taylor couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d been hit over the head with a two-by-four. “You’re married to Angel