Cut and Run (Lucy Kincaid #16) - Allison Brennan Page 0,146

child of the wild Martha Revere and no one knew who her father was. But Max didn’t care (she had, as a child; today she enjoyed tormenting her uncle). Her grandparents accepted her fully, and Max wasn’t surprised that Eleanor fully accepted Eve.

It wasn’t Eleanor who had demanded the DNA test; it was Brooks.

Of course Eve passed; Max didn’t need the proof that she was her sister, but it was nice to have it in her back pocket.

The reason why Max was nervous was because she was bringing Ryan into the family circle. She never brought any of her boyfriends home to meet her family—not since she was a teenager and living at home. But deep down she wanted Eleanor to meet Ryan. Deep down, in a place she didn’t like to explore, she wanted Eleanor’s blessing.

Because Ryan was important to her. In a million different ways.

Maybe part of it was because she wanted Ryan to understand her. He said he did, but she had her doubts. She’d been raised wholly different than he had been. She was judgmental and independent and headstrong. She had no intention of changing, and Ryan said he didn’t want to change her, which seemed odd. Every man she’d ever dated had found her flawed and tried to mold her into what they wanted.

Ryan was the first man who was happy with Max exactly how she was.

She still marveled at it. Expected it to end. Anticipated him finding a flaw he couldn’t live with.

Eve came into the kitchen where Max was sitting at the table slicing apples for a pie. They were eating at Brooks’s house for Thanksgiving; Max was not happy about it, but she wasn’t going to force the point when Eleanor was in no shape to entertain.

“Where’s Ryan?”

“Making Grandma laugh.”

Eve called Eleanor Grandma. It was cute, endearing, and foreign to Max, who had always called her Grandmother or Eleanor.

Eve ate an apple slice as she sat next to Max. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.”

Eve snorted. “What happened to your pledge never to lie to me?”

“You’ve become a brat.”

“Did you actually think Grandma wouldn’t like Ryan? Everyone loves Ryan.”

“That’s true.” She slid the apples into a clear bowl and tossed in sugar, nutmeg, and cinnamon. “I suppose I thought all this would be overwhelming for Ryan.”

“Hardly. He’s happy eating hamburgers in a diner or a five-course meal at a fancy hotel. He fits in everywhere.”

“You’re a brat and smart.”

“Grandma said I’m just like you were without attitude or sarcasm.”

“We can thank Gabriel for your upbringing then.” She shouldn’t have said that. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s okay. I miss him a lot. But I’m okay.” She put her hand on Max’s arm. “Really, I’m okay.”

Ryan walked in, all smiles. “Eleanor is a hoot.”

“A hoot,” Max said, then burst out laughing. Never in a million years would a normal person call her regal grandmother a hoot.

“I see why you admire her so much. She’s smart, savvy, with exquisite taste in art.”

“That is true.”

“And a wicked sense of humor.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You do.” Ryan kissed her.

Max poured the apple mixture into the two piecrusts she’d prepared earlier, then instructed Eve to put the pies in the preheated oven. “Forty minutes, then it’s off to the morgue.”

“Excuse me?”

“My uncle Brooks. And trust me, he’s nothing like my grandmother.”

Ryan handed Max her crutches and helped her up. “Eve, I’m taking your sister outside for a minute.”

“I’ll see if Grandma needs any help getting ready.”

“It’s cold.”

“It’s beautiful.”

They stepped out into the rose garden, where the rosebushes had been trimmed and gone dormant for the winter. Still, the calendulas and pansies were thriving in the mild, moist Northern California weather. Eleanor loved her rose garden, but she wanted flowers year round and paid well for a gardener to tend to them. Max sat on the bench that her grandmother had imported from France. It fit here, among the roses.

“You’ve been apprehensive about this trip,” Ryan said, taking her crutches and sitting next to her. “Why? You’re not embarrassed to show me off to your family? Tell them we’re living together?”

“Of course not.”

“Then?”

“Maybe I’m embarrassed by my family. I have a sister-in-law in a mental institution when she should be in prison for murder; I have an uncle who cheated on his wife and then married his lover and cheated on her. Though I haven’t told anyone yet. And then his son who can’t keep it in his pants and oh, there’s also—”

“Shhh.”

She looked at him.

“There’s also me. I was raised like this. I’m judgmental,