The Bff Bride

“I didn’t get the job at CNJ Pharmaceuticals nine years ago because of Gillian. I won’t lose it because of her, either.” He was trusting that his relationship with Charles Jennings, her father and the owner of the company, was on firmer ground than that, at least. He swiped his damp hands down his jeans and retrieved a cold bottle of beer from the refrigerator. “And we stopped seeing each other almost half a year ago.”

“Thank God,” Erik muttered. “Woman was a nosebleed.”

Justin grimaced. “I don’t sneer at your choice of women.”

Erik grinned. “How could you? Izzy is the perfect girl.”

Justin couldn’t deny the truth of that, though he liked arguing with his brother merely for the sake of it. And he didn’t really want to think about Gillian, anyway. Because she was a nosebleed, even though his brother shouldn’t rub it in. And even though it had taken Justin several long years to face it.

He toyed with the beer cap but didn’t actually twist it open. “The complication isn’t because of Charles’s daughter. He’s put me on a special project we’ve had some problems with. If I can bring it in on time, the VP position should be mine.” Making him the youngest vice president in the company’s century-long history.

“Give me cows over pharmaceuticals,” Erik said, hanging his arm over Justin’s shoulder. “But I suppose if anyone can do it, it’s my genius little brother, Dr. Justin Clay.”

Justin shrugged off the arm. He had a PhD in microbiology and immunology, and dual master’s degrees in computer science and chemistry. But he rarely used the title that went with the PhD. The fact was, he’d often felt a little out of step among his extended ranching family, even though his computer-geek father had bucked that trend, too.

“I want to work on the project from Weaver,” he announced, and saw the look his brother and dad exchanged. “I’ll be able to concentrate on it better here. I figure Aunt Bec might clear the way for me to work at the hospital, since she runs the place.”

“Rebecca probably can, though that’s—”

“Rebecca probably can what?” Justin’s eldest uncle, Sawyer, entered the kitchen carrying several empty beer bottles.

“Approve space in the new lab they’re building for a project I’m working on for CNJ. The company will cover all the costs, of course.”

“Sell that to my wife,” Sawyer advised wryly. “Every day for the past two years I’ve been hearing about problems with that lab she’s trying to get built. Construction delays. Cost overruns. Losing the lab director didn’t help, and now it’s that fund-raiser event they’re having in a few weeks.” He dumped the bottles in the recycling basket and pulled open the refrigerator to retrieve several more beers. “You gonna be done in here soon? The old man’s getting impatient for dessert. He’s been debating pumpkin pie versus pecan versus chocolate cream for the past half hour.”

“We’d be done sooner if we had some help,” Tristan told his brother in a pointed tone.

Sawyer just laughed, snatched the unopened bottle out of Justin’s hands to add to his collection and left the kitchen again.

When Justin went to the refrigerator, he found the shelf empty of beer.

“Snooze you lose, son,” Tristan said. “Just because you choose to live in Boston doesn’t mean you’re excluded from that basic fact.” He pointed a thumb at the stack of rinsed dishes still waiting to be loaded.

Sawyer’s intrusion was followed almost immediately by the rest of his brothers—first Jefferson, ostensibly to make sure there was still hot coffee on the stove, then Matthew and Daniel together, who made no bones that they were wanting their dessert, too.

“Nothing changes,” Justin repeated when the kitchen eventually cleared.

“Ever consider that there are times that’s a comfort?” Tristan finally turned off the faucet and dried his hands on a towel.

“Never thought so before, particularly.”

His father’s gaze wasn’t unsympathetic. But then, back in his day, Tristan had left Weaver for a good long while, too. Until he’d married Hope Leoni and they’d settled in Weaver permanently. He’d established a little company called Cee-Vid that became a huge player in consumer electronics, and Hope had taught at the elementary school and then ended up the head of the school board.

“Someday—” Tristan’s voice was unusually reflective “—you might sit up and realize one of the most disturbing things in life is finding out that something you’d counted on never changing has already done so, without you ever having noticed.” Then he tossed the towel on the counter and left the kitchen, too.

Frowning, Justin turned toward Erik. “What’s with him?”

“Nothing that’s new. You’re just not usually around to see it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just a fact,” Erik said mildly. “You’re in Boston. You don’t see the day-to-day effects of the crap he deals with. And I’m not talking about Cee-Vid.”

No. Erik was talking about the real work their father did. The secretive, frequently dangerous world of Hollins-Winword’s black operations, where their father was second in command. Cee-Vid was the legitimate front that hid the covert work, which Justin and Erik knew about but rarely discussed.

“It’s been a hard year,” Erik said.

“Isn’t it always hard?”

“Harder than most,” his brother amended. “I think he’s getting tired of it.”

“Then he should quit.”

“Who should quit what?” Izzy entered the kitchen, her brownish-black gaze bouncing from her husband’s face to Justin’s and back again.

Erik just looped his hands around her waist and tugged her close. “Are you hungry again?”

She smiled impishly. “For pecan pie. I came to help with the dishes in order to get at dessert more quickly.”

“Too late.” Justin stuffed the last glass in the dishwasher and closed the door. He’d arrived barely an hour before they’d sat down for dinner, so he hadn’t had an opportunity to catch up very much with anyone, including his sister-in-law. “You’re looking better than ever, Iz.”

She turned in the circle of his brother’s arms and beamed at him.

It took a few seconds for Justin to notice the way their linked hands were clasped over her belly. But when he did, it took less than a second for him to realize why. “Holy—” He broke off. “You’re pregnant?”

Izzy glanced up into Erik’s eyes. “Looks like we’re announcing it today whether we planned to or not.”

Erik smiled slowly and Justin felt an unfamiliar—and unwanted—jolt of envy. His brother looked so damn happy. So content. And Justin felt so...not.

Still, his brother was happy. And Justin was genuinely glad for that. And Isabella...well, she’d always been a looker with her white-blond hair and dark eyes. And now she had an extra shine around her.

He blew out a breath because his throat actually felt tight. “Damn. Congratulations.” He wrapped them both in a big hug, which made Izzy laugh and complain, because she was a good foot shorter and couldn’t breathe while stuck between two big men. When Justin finally stepped back, envious or not, he knew he had a big, stupid grin on his face. Probably one that matched Erik’s. “So when’s he—”

“She,” Erik corrected.

“Due?”

“The baby,” Isabella said with a soft laugh, “is due the end of April. We’re not going to find out early what we’re having.”

“Murphy knows there’s a baby, though?”

Isabella nodded. “We told him yesterday.”

“He figures it’s his right to make the announcement today,” Erik said wryly. “Being the big brother and all.”

“Sounds like he’s got the Clay tendencies down, born into them or not.” He leaned over and kissed Isabella’s cheek. “You’re going to be a great mom, all over again.” The circumstances leading to her becoming Murphy’s mom had been tragic. But they’d ultimately prompted their move to Weaver, where they’d found Erik and become a family.

She blinked, looking teary through her smile. “Thanks.” She sniffed quickly. “We’ll all learn together, anyway.”