The First Kiss

by Grace Burrowes

  “Donal’s approach to parenting is to look at the report card,” Vera said, “and if the grades are good, then he doesn’t look further. His job is to pay bills. The children’s jobs are to get decent grades. Darren is a good student without trying, but Katie has to work hard at school. Donal has no appreciation for this.”

  “He doesn’t see her.” James knew what it was to be invisible to his own parent. To his own brothers.

  “Donal doesn’t see anybody but Donal, though I’m convinced somewhere beneath all his bluster and crankiness remains a man capable of kindness and decency.”

  “Why do you think that?” Keeping the question neutral took effort, because Donal had put his hands on Vera in anger, and sent her to the emergency room.

  “Except for that one incident, James, Donal was civil to me. I honestly don’t think he regarded marrying me as exploiting me, but rather, consolidating complementary interests.”

  Sometimes, James was not at all proud to be a guy. “A win-win for the history books.”

  “I didn’t say his judgment was faultless. Mine certainly hasn’t been.” Vera did that thing again with her cheek, then she drew her knee up, so her leg half rested on James’s thigh.

  The woman took her cuddling seriously, and that was a fine quality to end up in bed with. A fine quality, though it challenged a guy’s focus.

  “Donal’s judgment sucked if he thought hitting you was acceptable,” James said.

  “He was furious with Katie. She’d sneaked out with one of Darren’s older friends, and was only thirteen at the time. I came home to find Donal ranting, Darren hovering, the whole argument escalating the longer it went on. Then Donal slapped his daughter—Trent has assured me that’s entirely legal if there’s no injury—but when I stepped between them, he backhanded me. For some reason, it is legally acceptable to hit your kid, but not your wife, or even the husband who is twice your weight.”

  What was legal and what was right did not always converge, the first disappointment most law students grappled with in law school.

  “You can’t use excessive force with your child,” James said, but that was the lawyer in him talking—which was why the observation was worse than lame.

  “Donal slapped Katie nearly off her feet. And that upset me, so I raised my voice, stood between them, and told him in no uncertain terms he could not treat his daughter that way or I’d report him to every authority known to man, and he just let me have it.”

  James did not want to hear this, but as Vera had said, nobody wanted to hear a woman’s experiences of abuse.

  “What did he do, Vera?”

  “One stout backhand,” she said. “Wham, backhanded into next week, as the saying goes. He struck me so hard, I went down and banged my face on something as I landed. He kept yelling at me as I lay there, blood pouring from my nose, my lip laid open. He bellowed about how he’d raise the children as he saw fit, and I was not their mother, and half the time he felt as if he’d raised me, and on and on. Donal absolutely lost it, and a lot of ugliness resulted.”

  “I’m sorry, Vera.” Sorry for her, for the children with a lush of a mother, even for Donal, for James knew what an alcoholic could do to the other members of her family.

  Though what if that hopeless bastard had kicked Vera in the face? What if Donal had damaged her hearing? Stepped on her hands? How would Vera have coped without the ability to play the piano?

  Gently tracing her features, James tactilely assured himself Vera was well and whole, recovered at least physically from an assault that could have been permanently disabling.

  “The part I can’t forget”—Vera’s voice dropped to a whisper—“the part that’s worse even than being struck, is Katie screaming, ‘Daddy, please stop!’ over and over. Darren grabbed her around the waist and dragged her back, but the child would have put herself in harm’s way again, trying to defend me from her own father. Katie was the one who dialed 911, and she was still crying when the cops arrived. It was awful.”

  Vera turned her face to James’s shoulder and stayed liked that while the first shiver went through her.

  “James, I’ve been so worried about those children. I abandoned them, and Katie won’t visit me. Twyla never asks me about her.”

  James let her cry, murmuring meaningless comforts against her hair, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He’d been with women who cried after sex, sweet, quiet, passing tears that he’d found a little silly.

  What an utter ass. Women cried because they hurt—because they’d been hurt.

  “What would help, Vera? What would make it not hurt so much?”

  “Time has helped.”

  “What else?”

  “I want to know the children are all right. I’ve thought of calling their mother, but Tina and I—she was always cordial, and I always felt guilty.”

  Guilt, the fifth apocalyptic horseman. “So you need to know the children are safe. What else?”

  “I want an apology,” she said. “Restraining orders are fine for a cooling-off period, but I’ve known Donal for most of my life, and one incident has overshadowed everything else in our lives. As long as that restraining order is in place, he can feel like a victim, and I can be a victim.”

  Vera wasn’t blaming herself, exactly, but she was tormenting herself.

  “You’re human, Vera. Donal can’t control his temper, and you’re not responsible for making him learn how to.”

  “He could control his temper—for years he’d fuss and rant and carry on at some house manager angling for a better deal, or at Alexander for neglecting details. Donal never lost control before, not with me, not with the children, not with Tina.”

  She’d spoken quietly, but James was holding her closely and heard every word.

  “It’s not your fault, Vera. You said it yourself: the man was capable of self-restraint. You are not to blame for his bad behavior.”

  James eased his fingertips over her face again, replaying a melody in his heart: big, expressive eyes; full lips that parted in a lovely smile; graceful, swooping eyebrows; a strong jaw and determined chin.

  “I’d asked Donal for a divorce earlier that day, James. I had no idea he’d blow up. No idea what a financial house of cards he was living in. He came into the marriage broke from paying for Tina’s rehab and from the damage she’d done to their credit. I had no clue what a Pandora’s box I was opening. He’d kept his hands off my money, but other than that, he—and Tina—had made poor choices.”

  James knew the litany well, for alcoholism was mother to many poor choices.

  “Why did you want a divorce, Vera?” Why wouldn’t she? Surely the entire marriage was an artifact of grief?

  “My reasons weren’t profound,” she said, and in the casualness of her tone, James heard how precious this confidence was. “I was lonely, James. I’d had my mother, then Alexander as my constant companion. In a few short years, Twyla would be growing up, and I saw the rest of my life, decades, filled with nothing but practicing, folding laundry, accepting every date Donal booked, smiling on command for my publicist, and sitting at home by myself night after night when nobody else had a use for me.”

  She seemed to be waiting for James to react, though what she’d said made perfect sense.

  “I understand.” Sitting at home by myself night after night when nobody else had a use for me… “I really do understand, Vera. Loneliness can make fools of us all.”

  Vera let out a breath, a long, slow exhalation as she relaxed along his side. Had she expected James to criticize her for the bad decisions loneliness could inspire?

  She yawned and drew her leg higher on his thigh. “You’re not the most comfortable pillow in the world, James Knightley, but you do give off a wonderful amount of heat.”

  “Roll over.” If she moved her leg two inches higher, he’d not be accountable for the heat he gave off.r />
  Vera rearranged herself obligingly, and James shifted to his side, so they were once more loosely spooned. He settled a hand on the middle of her back and caressed the bones and muscles along her spine.

  “You’ll have me asleep in no time, James.”

  An accomplishment James would take pride in come morning. “That’s the idea. Close your eyes, Vera, and dream.”

  * * *

  They made such a sweet picture, the tall man and the young child. Twyla would dart around exploring, then come back and seize James’s hand and no doubt pepper him with questions. Even from a distance and watching through the kitchen window, Vera could see Twyla’s cheeks were rosy. Twy gestured animatedly toward a pair of black-and-white cows meandering, nose down, across the bottom of James’s yard.

  Across his yard?

  Two more cows followed, then a few more, until the entire herd of about two dozen was lined up, waiting for a chance to pass through an opening in the fence between the two properties.

  Blessed St. Isadore, those enormous beasts were getting loose, and Vera’s only child would be trampled. Vera was on her feet, ready to do she knew not what just as James and Twyla began trotting toward the cows from different directions. The cows looked up, then went back to ingesting James’s lawn.

  Twyla raised her arm and shooed the cows toward James, who deflected them back toward the gap in the fence. A ponderous variety of pandemonium ensued, with the cows trying to avoid being sent back into their pasture, other cows trying to get out of that same enclosure, and the two humans herding, coaxing, and hazing the bovines into accepting defeat and strolling placidly back into the pasture while snatching a few last bites of James’s grass.

  When the final cow hopped over the boards to join her sisters, Twyla punched a fist into the air. James grabbed her and swung her in a fast circle by her wrists, then bent to pounding on the fence with a hefty rock while Twyla stood by.

  Vera dropped back into her chair.

  Twyla hadn’t been trampled. She’d had fun, and she’d helped James keep the cows where the cows were supposed to be.

  Vera tried to take a sip of her tea, but her hands were shaking.

  She would not rant. She would not berate. She would not screech. She would be reasonable, and ask James very calmly what in the infernal key of C-flat minor he thought he was doing, putting Twyla in the middle of a herd of enormous, stampeding, little-girl-eating cows.

  Vera said a quick prayer to Saint Francis, then took her tea upstairs and finished dressing. When she came back downstairs, the wanderers had returned.

  She hugged her daughter hard then rose. Mustn’t cling. Mustn’t screech; mustn’t rant in any key.

  “Good morning,” Vera said.

  “Do I get one of those hugs?” James was smiling at her, abruptly reminding her of their conversation the night before.

  She wrapped James in a ferocious embrace. “You two scared me. I saw the whole roundup from the kitchen, and I about ran through the window.”

  “They were just Mr. Inskip’s yearling heifers,” Twyla said. “They’re like kids who want to wander off the playground at recess, and they prefer James’s grass because nobody poops in it.”

  Vera raised her head from James’s chest to peer at her daughter.

  “We had a nice old morning constitutional,” James said, as if he’d been chasing cows since childhood, which, maybe, he had. “Twy said something about drawing the cows to show Grace and Merle.”

  “I did. Do we have my crayons, Mom?”

  Why was Twy smiling like that?

  “I have crayons,” James said, easing from Vera’s clutches. “I keep them around for Merle, and I suppose Grace will use them now too.” He gave Twyla directions to the proper drawer in his study.

  “Twyla’s never chased cows before,” Vera said, cradling her tea, because the mug was still warm and her hands were cold.

  “Well, it’s about damned time she did,” James replied. “The girl’s a natural. If she were a quarter horse, we’d say she has cow.”

  The last of the tea was tepid, but sweet. “What does that mean?”

  “Twy has an instinctive sense of what the bovine will do before the animal does it, and knows how to move in response. You hungry?”

  So James had cuddle. “I am hungry.”

  “Let’s take care of that while there’s peace and quiet to be had. You never know when the grass pirates will plunder my yard again.” James moved off toward the kitchen, leaving Vera to follow. His eyes held a smile even when he wasn’t grinning, and his cheeks bore a rosy flush from his exertions.

  “You enjoyed that,” Vera said. He would have enjoyed it even if Twyla hadn’t helped.

  “I can match wits with just about any attorney in town and come out on top,” James said, taking a pitcher of orange juice out of the fridge. “But two-dozen hungry young heifers, now there’s a real challenge. Twyla and I had omelets. You want one, I can make you one, or we can do fruit and cereal, get out the waffle iron…what?”

  “You made her breakfast. You took her for a walk so I could sleep. You both left me a note.” Vera turned to look out the window, noting the cows were staying on their side of the fence. For now. “I’m not used to this.”

  “You pissed off?” James went about refilling the teapot and setting himself up a mug with a teabag and agave nectar.

  Vera was not angry, not even a little. “Disconcerted. It doesn’t make sense, but I feel sad, maybe. Also happy.”

  “Bereft.” James stopped making his kitchen racket and came to stand beside her. “Trent mentioned something similar. He’s had Merle all to himself for years, and now he has to share her with Hannah and with Grace—odd man out, sometimes. He was off stride until Hannah got him sorted out.”

  “How’d she do that?”

  “Hannah’s an interesting lady,” James said, going back to the stove. “She was raised in foster care, and that meant one transition after another. For the first twenty years of her life, she was never in any one place for more than a couple of years, so she knows all about transitions. She pointed out to her new husband that every change—every change you can imagine, even if it’s hitting the lottery—involves loss, and is a cause for some minor grieving. I have my own theories about what’s going on with my brother, though. You want some more tea?”

  “Please, the jasmine green tea is lovely.”

  “Hannah’s favorite,” James said, plucking the empty mug from Vera’s grasp. “I suspect Trent was coping and bearing up and soldiering on, but being a single parent is hard. When Hannah and Grace came along, he had to admit how hard it had been, and how much of a relief it was to have some backup.” James slapped a second tea bag into his mug and two into Vera’s. “That’s a heartache, looking back and wishing things could have been different.”

  Verily. “Your brother gave me a similar explanation for Donal’s loss of temper.”

  James filled both mugs with hot water, and the soothing fragrance of jasmine wafted through the emotions filling the kitchen.

  “I hope to God my brother did not make excuses for your husband, or Trent and I will have a very pointed discussion.”

  James was doing it again, championing Vera’s causes unbidden, before she’d even perceived her interests might be jeopardized.

  “Vera, did you ever describe to Trent exactly what happened?” James watched her now, rather than the steam curling up from the tea.

  “No, I did not.”

  “He’s your lawyer. Why wouldn’t you have told him?”

  “He said he read the police report and didn’t need to make me rehash it. I was relieved not to have to explain to him why I let Donal get the better of me. You’re scowling at me.”

  If Vera had been a heifer, that scowl would have sent her right back where she belonged.

  “You’re blaming
yourself, Vera.” James crossed the kitchen, and she wasn’t sure of his intent until he settled both arms around her shoulders. “It was not your fault. Say it for me.” He spoke very close to her ear, quietly but clearly.

  “It was not my fault.” The words were hard to get out, and that was…that was something to think about.

  “Now believe it for me.” James stepped back and fixed their tea, stirring the milk in before he handed Vera hers. “What do you want for breakfast?”

  “Cereal with fruit. Winter makes me hungry for fresh fruit and vegetables.” The change of topic was appreciated as well.

  “I’ll join you. Rounding up strays is hard work, though keeping up with Twyla will be harder.”

  He was looking forward to that hard work, clearly. “Do you two have plans?” Vera asked.

  “Now, don’t get your dander up. I thought I’d ask Twyla’s mother if I might take the child with me to the office. I want to pick up some files before I go in on Tuesday, and we can maybe sneak an ice cream cone or a trip to the park. I’m the Damson County champ at underdoggies, though besting Mac wasn’t much of a challenge.”

  Was anything a challenge for this guy? “Why are you doing this?”

  “Making breakfast? Because you’re hungry. Entertaining Twyla? Because you want to practice, and you didn’t get a chance to yesterday, and you’ll feel better once you get your butt on that piano bench for a couple of hours.”

  Vera didn’t merely want to practice, she needed to, and would feel immensely more in control if she did. James poured two enormous bowls of granola cereal before she could stop him.

  “Half that much for me, James.”

  “You’ll waste away to nothing,” he said, pouring half of her bowl back into the box. “We have strawberries, blueberries, and bananas. I put chocolate chips on mine, but you mustn’t tell Twy where my stash is.”

  How did he know not to leave temptation where Twy would find it? “Maybe just a few.”