“No, really, you’re not,” she lied. “Food just tastes better with company.”
She saw Mitch topping up her glass with more milk and Sean putting more meat loaf on her plate. Then it hit her. The reason everyone had responded so unusually to her when she came in. Why Connor had quickly offered a chair, why Mitch had poured her milk instead of soda or beer, why Sean, David and Mitch were hovering over her like a trio of mother hens. Devastatingly handsome, testosterone-laden mother hens.
She fearfully sought out Sean.
His shy grin told her he knew exactly what she had just realized. “Sorry, Mellie. But I couldn’t keep, well, you know, the secret once we got word Marc had made off with you.”
The mashed potatoes stuck to the roof of her mouth. Marc didn’t have to worry about telling his family anything about the baby. They already knew.
“You don’t look pregnant,” David said next to her.
Mitch swatted him on the arm. “Are there any vitamins or anything you should be taking? Would you like some water to wash them down with?”
“I’m fine—”
“You look tired,” Jake said in the same accusatory tone he’d used when inquiring about her green card. “Maybe you should lie down after you eat.”
“I’m fine, really, I am.” Melanie was unsure how to react to the onslaught of male attention.
David pushed her plate closer to her. “Eat before it gets cold.”
Melanie managed another forkful. “Um, Sean, I don’t remember you telling me exactly what you do for a living.”
Connor came into the room and patted his father’s arm. “Pops here is still walking the beat for the D.C. Police Department.” He reached across the table. Melanie quickly wiped her hand on her napkin and shook his hand. Was it her imagination, or had he cringed at the pressure of her shake? “Sorry I was rude. I’m Connor. That house Marc holed you up in last night is the property of the U.S. Marshal’s office.”
She nearly choked. David handed her the glass of milk. Jake moved his chair a little farther away. “You mean it was a government safe house?”
“Uh-huh.”
Speaking of Marc, where was he? Melanie glanced nervously toward the door.
“He’ll be back in a minute,” Connor said. “He wanted to…clean up a bit.”
Clean up? She wasn’t aware he’d been dirty. Her mind provided a vivid image of their shower together mere hours ago.
She had finished half the plate of food when Marc finally reappeared. He looked none too happy. And the red smudge under his right cheekbone told her why.
“Oh, God!” She jumped to her feet and hurried to him, ignoring his protests.
“He’s got and given lots worse than that, Mel,” Jake said.
She was growing angrier by the second. She swiveled toward the table full of men, including Marc in her disbelieving sights. “Is that the reason you two left the room? To get into a fistfight?”
Marc tugged on her shirtsleeve. “Uh, Mel—”
She shrugged him off and looked at Connor. “Just a bit of payback for the shove I took this morning,” he said.
“This morning? You mean you came to the safe house?”
He nodded and rubbed his knuckles. His wince made her cringe.
Marc cleared his throat. “Mel, I think we’d better—”
She ignored him and visually swept the rest of the table. “And all of you knew what was going on when they left the room?”
“Mel—”
She shushed him.
The way the McCoy males instantly avoided her gaze told her they’d known and hadn’t done a thing to stop it from happening. She supposed she should be glad they spared her from seeing the exchange.
“I can’t believe this. Is this the way you settle problems between each other? A shove here, a punch there?” She shook her head. “Haven’t any of you heard of verbal communication?”
Jake caught her attention as he scratched his chin. “What better way to let each other know you’re royally pissed then a punch in the jaw?”
She planted her hands on her hips and stared at each of them in turn. “I sincerely hope none of you act this way on the job.”
They all denied that at once. Melanie wanted to put her hands to her ears as she turned toward Marc. “Did you really hit Connor this morning?”
“I didn’t hit him, I…well, I kind of pushed him and he, um, he fell down the stairs. Can we go in the other room now, please?”
“Apologize.”
Marc blinked at her. “What?”
A quiet chuckle came from the table. Melanie turned toward the culprit. David looked away.
“I said apologize to Connor. Now.”
“Hell, Mel, he already got in his lick—”
She grabbed his hand and tugged him across the room toward his older brother. “Shake.”
Connor looked at Marc’s hand, his arms crossed stoically. Melanie raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat and reluctantly took his brother’s hand.
Marc remained silent. Melanie elbowed him in the ribs. He mumbled contritely. “Sorry, Connor.”
“For what?” she prompted.
“Aw, come on, Mel—” He sighed. “I’m sorry for shoving you and taking your gun when you came by this morning. It’s just—”
Melanie slapped her hand over the mouth she had thoroughly kissed a short time ago, feeling the heat of his flesh against her palm. “There’s no justifying when you apologize.”
The two men dropped hands, both looking enormously uncomfortable.
“Now we can leave the room,” she said.
Marc stared at her. “What about Connor? Doesn’t he owe me an apology?”
Melanie nearly laughed at his boyishly offended expression. “I don’t have any control over what Connor does or doesn’t do, Marc.”
She caught a glimpse of Sean, who sat on two chair legs, grinning. He winked at her, and she felt herself blush from head to foot.
Who’d have thought she had that in her? Certainly not her. More of her mother must have rubbed off on her than she realized. Or maybe her impending motherhood had set off some sort of gene she hadn’t been aware she had. Either way, she felt oddly at peace with herself…and at ease.
I KNEW there was a reason I never brought her here, Marc thought. It had been more than the fear of what she’d think of the place. More than being afraid she’d take the move the wrong way. He’d somehow known she wouldn’t understand him and his brothers.
He followed Mel as she led the way into the living room. His gaze was glued to her nicely rounded backside. It had been a long time since he’d seen her in a pair of jeans. And these ones did her bottom proud.
He turned on a light as she turned toward him, no doubt to give him what for. But while he still wasn’t entirely clear on what had happened in there, he hadn’t yet lost the ability to knock her off track.
“Now, before you go getting your panties in a twist, you should know Connor and I did more than go at each other in here.” He held her gaze. “I had Connor scour the beach for one of the bullets this morning.”
He watched the wind slowly disappear from her sails as she blinked.
“He handed it over to David, who had D.C. ballistics compare it with the one you, um, took three months ago.” He cleared his throat. “Perfect match.”
She stood still for a long moment, then sat on the edge of the sofa. “So trading shoves and punches isn’t the only thing you and your brothers are capable of.”
He grinned. “Honestly, that doesn’t happen often.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I think the last time Connor and I came to blows was over a decade ago.”
“Over what?”
He shrugged, then turned and sat in his father’s recliner. “I wrapped his Goat around a tree that used to be in the front yard.”
“You hurt an animal?”
“No, no. The Goat is a car. A GTO.”
Her answering smile warmed him all over. “Yes, I’d say t
hat would deserve a punch or two.”
He crossed his arms, affecting nonchalance, when inside his every muscle tensed. “He broke my jaw in two places.”
He watched her horrified expression. Her gaze dropped to his jawline. He figured sharing that was enough. She didn’t have to know the rest. How his father and Connor had dragged him into the emergency room. How he’d fought the intern and ended up strapped to a gurney. His throat tightened unbearably. How a school bus had been involved in an accident at the same time and in all the excitement, he’d been forgotten, left by himself for four and half hours, untreated, next to a young boy they hadn’t been able to revive.
Her soulful eyes lifted to his. “You sent Sean to the hospital, didn’t you?”
He hadn’t expected the question and didn’t quite know how to respond. “Yes,” he said quietly.
“Why didn’t you come yourself?”
He hated the lump in his throat. “I…I couldn’t, Mel. I just couldn’t.”
His gut twisted into knots. He hated his weakness when it came to hospitals. But this late in the game, he supposed there wasn’t much either he or anybody else could do about it. If he couldn’t bring himself to go in when Mel was shot…
“Does it have anything to do with your mother?”
He coughed. “Pops told you about that, huh?”
She nodded slowly, not helping him. He figured he deserved it. She was completely right in her argument that he didn’t share enough of himself, his past, his thoughts, with her. It wasn’t because he didn’t want her to know. It was just that he didn’t think the words worth saying. Who cared if he nearly hyperventilated—him, two hundred pounds of prime secret service agent—every time he spotted a hospital? What did it matter that his mother had died when he was young? Lots of children lost one or sometimes both of their parents and still managed okay. Mel had grown up without a father.
He realized she was still waiting for an answer. He gave her the only one he had. “I associate hospitals with death, Mel.” His thick swallow sounded loud in the room. “I couldn’t have stood it if I lost you in one, too.”
He looked away, hating that his eyes burned, hating that she looked at him in that pitying way. “Sorry, that came out a little rougher than I meant it to. I’m not used to talking about, well, you know, feelings.” He clamped his hands together. “I guess being raised in an all-female household has its advantages,” he said carefully.
Mel’s gaze was soft. “Trust me, Joanie and I had our fights, but they usually involved destruction of clothing.”
He welcomed his unexpected laugh, but the smile had vanished from her face. Before he knew it, she had crossed to him, threading her fingers through his hair and forcing him to look up. Giving in to the need to feel her, he laid his head against her belly, finding it amazing that in there somewhere beat the heart of their child. A child they had created together.
Mel would make a wonderful mother, he realized. She would be strong and witty as well as loving and nurturing. He could already see her singing the baby to sleep in the middle of the night. Imagine her coaxing the toddler to eat food he disliked. Hugging the child when he came home after having been teased at school. He saw all of this.
And he wanted to be a part of it so bad it hurt.
She slowly drew away. “So,” she said quietly. “Now that we know Hooker is the one who shot at me this morning, where do we go from here?”
He cleared his throat. “We don’t go anywhere, Mel.”
She looked at him for a long time. “Don’t you even—”
He held up his hand to stop her. “David’s already passed on the information to those who need to know it.”
She stood a little straighter. Marc’s gaze was drawn to her stomach. He didn’t know if it was fact or if he was imagining it because he knew she was pregnant, but he swore he could make out the new fullness of her belly.
“Was he able to get any other information on Hooker?” she asked. “Have the authorities checked out his house? His sister’s place? Staked out all his usual hangouts in case he surfaces?”
He nodded. “They’ve done and are doing all that, Mel.”
She turned and started pacing. He grimaced. The whole point of bringing her here was to make her feel safe. It wasn’t going to help if she insisted on being a part of things.
She abruptly faced him. “You already have a plan, don’t you?”
He didn’t respond.
“And you’re not going to let me in on it, are you?”
He wasn’t sure if he liked where this was heading.
“God, this really stinks, you know, McCoy?”
He grinned. “Better watch out. You’re in a house with six McCoys now.”
She looked toward the kitchen, her palm going to her forehead as she considered what he said. When she looked at him, he could see she was still angry, but she was also undeniably concerned. “I’m putting my life…the life of our baby in your hands, Marc. Please take care of us.”
For the first time in his life Marc knew what absolute fear felt like. “I will.”
MELANIE LEANED against the kitchen counter, trying to sort out the details of her life. Despite the newfound closeness between her and Marc, she couldn’t envision a future for them together. The whole marriage thing… She swallowed hard. Well, she would just have to straighten that out once the threat that loomed over her head was gone.
An odd warmth spread through her chest. She had to give the guy credit, though. Marc McCoy was a boyish adventurer ninety-nine percent of the time, but when it came down to the important things, he did the right thing. Both by her and the baby.
If only he could give her what she yearned for most—his love.
She idly watched as David rinsed then loaded plates in what had to be the biggest dishwasher they made. She glanced around the room. In fact, it was probably the only appliance that had been bought within the past ten years. An old commercial-size refrigerator hummed in the corner, and she was afraid that if she looked more closely at the six-burner stove, she’d find it had a compartment for wood.
She reached for a towel and absently folded it, hating that she didn’t know what was going on in the other room, where the remainder of the McCoy males were discussing her future. But she knew giving in to Marc was a wise choice. For three months she’d based her decisions on what was best for her baby. Now that her existence was threatened, this was probably the most important thing she could ever do for her child. Especially since she couldn’t marry his father.
At least she’d been given phone privileges. Marc had loomed over her, but he hadn’t interfered while she let her family know she was all right.
Her gaze wandered to the door.
“Do they do this often?” she asked David.
“What? Call family meetings?” He gave her a half grin, reminding her again of how very much he looked like Brad Pitt. “No.”
Melanie looked at him closely. He couldn’t be more than a shade over thirty—her age—if that, but his blue eyes reflected the wisdom of a sixty-year-old. Good, a McCoy who doesn’t feel he has to wisecrack his way through everything.
She turned to the counter and folded her hands on top of it, pretending an interest in the sunset she could see through the window overlooking the back yard. Back yard? It seemed as if half of Virginia stretched behind the McCoy house, crisscrossed with sagging fences.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” David said.
She glanced at him. “Shoot.” She grimaced, thinking she’d seen enough shooting to last her a lifetime, thank you very much.
“I…I’m having a few women problems.”
Women problems? Melanie battled against a smile and lost. “Sorry.” She motioned with her hands and returned her attention to the sunset. Only she would find herself on the brink of a conversation regarding someone else’s love life. “I don’t think I’m exactly an expert on male-female relationships.” That was an understatement. “But I’ll do the best
I can.”
He didn’t say anything, and she turned to him. He was scratching at something on the edge of a plate. His hands were long and lean, and he looked so deep in thought, Melanie felt the inexplicable urge to know what was on his mind.
She quietly cleared her throat. “This woman. Have you known her long?”
“Only a few weeks.” He put the plate in the dishwasher and closed it. “She’s my partner. That’s why I thought talking to you about my predicament might help.”
Melanie worried her bottom lip, wondering exactly how much he knew about her and Marc.
David piled the pans in the sink.
“Here,” she said, pushing away from the counter. “Let me get those.”
He grinned. “I could hold my ground with the dishes, but you could get yourself in trouble offering to do these.” He glanced toward the door. “Only don’t tell anyone I let you do anything more than sit at the table. They’d have my hide.”
She laughed and pushed him gently out of the way. It might help if she had something to do while she waited for Marc. She didn’t mind helping David with his problem. If he ever got around to sharing it.
Then it occurred to her that she had some bargaining power. David wanted advice on his love life. She wanted, needed to know more about Marc.
David reached into a cupboard, took out a mug, then poured a cup of coffee.
“Before you go on,” she said, filling a couple of the messier pans with hot water and soap and putting them aside, “I’d like to make a deal with you.”
“Deal?” He pushed a lock of golden hair from his forehead.
“Yeah. I answer your questions, then you can answer some of mine.”
He eyed her over the rim of his cup. “Ah, Marc’s a bit of a mystery man.”
She smiled. “A bit.”
“I don’t know if I can help because we haven’t been able to figure him out yet either, but…” He gave her a crooked grin. “It’s a deal.”
“Good.” She rinsed a pan and put it in the drainer. “You first.”
He pondered for a minute while she poured half a can of cleanser into a stainless steel skillet.
“Tell me, Mel, what is it that women really want?”
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