Second Thoughts

by O'Keefe, Bobbie

  Praise for Second Thoughts:

  “O’Keefe does a nice job of keeping up both the pace and the romantic repartee.”

  --Publishers Weekly

  “Marvelously entertaining.”

  --Romantic Times Magazine (four a half stars and “Top Pick!”)

  (Also nominated by the RT staff as one of the best reviewed in their 2009 Indy Publishers category)

  “Fun, light-hearted read.”

  --Reader Views

  “An amusing tale of exes thrown together with a trio of not so savvy crooks.”

  --Romance Reviews Today

  Second Thoughts

  Bobbie O’Keefe

  Copyright 2009 by Bobbie O’KeefeKindle Edition 2012

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Rick, my other half.

  Chapter OnePetey dropped his gun and it went off.

  Max fell off his chair and Moose jumped a foot into the air. The bullet ricocheted off the tool box in the corner, struck the edge of the storage cabinet, rebounded from that to the door frame’s hinge, creased Petey’s ear as it returned to where it had started, then finally lodged itself in the stuffed head of the deer mounted on the wall. It’d missed Moose’s head by an inch and a half.

  Too late for the deer; it’d known its first bullet fifty years ago. But Moose was still breathing—once he got his breath back—and undoubtedly he’d prefer to keep it that way. He looked at the deer and its third eyehole.

  “Almost killed me,” he breathed. “The kid almost killed me.”

  “And he almost killed himself.” With his gaze riveted on Petey, Max got to his feet, righted the wooden kitchen chair but didn’t sit on it.

  Petey touched his ear, then examined the blood on his fingers. He looked more confused than usual. His eyes moved to the side, and his head turned as he tried to look at his ear. He made a half circle before he gave up.

  “My whole gang could’ve been wiped out with that bullet. Just a single, solitary bullet. And no one’s even shooting at us.” Max stared at his hands on the back of the chair, feeling and seeing a tremble settling in as he realized how close he’d been to the initial path of the bullet. He would’ve been first, then Petey, and then Moose.

  Except if the bullet had hit Max, it would’ve lodged in Max.

  In two strides, he reached Petey and picked the gun up off the floor. He waved it in front of his brother’s nose. “You see that thing there? That’s a safety, Petey. It’s a safety, and you put it on, like this.” He paused long enough to demonstrate. “And then it won’t go off until you want it to. You got that, Petey? You got it?”

  “I’m sorry, Max. I’m real sorry.” Petey’s voice sounded shaky. His gaze darted around the room, lighting everywhere but on his brother.

  Max relented and stuck the weapon in his belt. It wasn’t the kid’s fault he’d not mentally progressed beyond primary school age. It was just one of those things that happened sometimes. Numerous doctors had come up with possible causes, but nothing that could be treated or reversed. So if the bullet had done any real damage, it would’ve been his big brother’s fault for letting the physically grown man, who was still a child in every other way, have the gun in the first place.

  Petey’s expression turned even more worried as his gaze followed the gun. “Uh, Max, it goes off real easy,” he warned.

  Max pulled the weapon back out with forced patience and pointed at the lever. “That’s the safety, Petey, remember? When it’s on, the gun won’t fire.”

  “Uh,” Petey said hesitantly. His gaze flitted over the weapon and its complicated mechanisms. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure, Petey. Positive.” Again Max started to stick the pistol inside his belt, then he got another thought.

  “Wait a minute.” He felt his brow furrow as he looked at Moose. “It won’t ring true if each one of us isn’t armed.” So, after a brief moment, he removed the clip, checked the chamber to make sure it was empty, and then held the gun out to Petey. “No one besides us will know his isn’t loaded. Right, Moose?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Moose blew his breath out in a loud whoosh, then added, “Sounds more than good to me.”

  But Petey took a quick step backwards. “Uh-uh! I don’t trust it. I don’t want it back.”

  “It’s not loaded, Petey. It can’t go off, so it can’t hurt you or anyone else. It’s okay.”

  The gun remained extended toward him. Petey reached for it, then snatched his hand back. “Is the safety on?”

  Max closed his eyes for an instant. Then patiently he reset the safety. “Yeah, Petey. It’s on.”

  Petey accepted the gun, still looking dubious, but gamely stuck it inside his own belt as he’d seen his brother do.

  Max wet his lips as he stared at Petey. Then he glanced at the table where his own gun lay, then again at Moose. They exchanged a long look. Max returned to the table, wordlessly removed the clip from his weapon as well, and watched his friend also empty his.

  He drew in a deep breath. He felt more comfortable with empty guns than with loaded ones, but the feeling he was being forced into an action he didn’t want to take was stronger than ever. Any other way, he thought, anything but this. But he’d exhausted every other option.

  Damn Hayworth and his greed. But it wasn’t even greed, not really, more like jealousness and stupid, underhanded one-upmanship.

  He shook off the thought, ignoring his qualms. What was done was done.

  He turned back to Petey. “Okay, almost set. Let’s have a look at your ear, and then we’ll be out the door. That tetanus shot you got last year is gonna come in handy again.”

  The ear had stopped bleeding and required nothing more than a quick dab of antiseptic. Petey had been lucky. Max didn’t want to think about how lucky. Petey followed his brother as far as the bathroom door. Standing in the doorway, he gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, scrunched up his face and clenched his fists while Max applied antiseptic peroxide with a Q-tip.

  Finished with the first aid job, Max put the medicine kit away and went after his jean jacket. Petey pulled a sweatshirt on over his shirt. Max returned to the living room and looked at Moose in his overalls, who still stood next to the deer with its three eyeholes. “So,” he said crisply, ignoring his misgivings. “Are we ready?”

  Moose shrugged, appearing as unflappable as ever. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”

  Chapter Two“Annie Connie?”

  With her hand poised over the light switch in her nephew’s bedroom, Connie Robertson turned and gave him a questioning glance. She’d noticed the generally cheerful five-year-old boy had appeared both mutinous and hurt while he’d prepared for bed. But since he’d said nothing, she’d left it alone. Why borrow trouble?

  “How come I have to go to bed first?” he said sullenly. “I’m the oldest, so I should go the last.”

  So that was it. Because you’re the easiest one to handle, she thought, but decided not to tell him so. That might make it worse.

  “Guess I goofed, Chris.” She put apology in her smile. “You’re absolutely right, and I should’ve figured that out for myself. Tell you what, you look at a book till I get the twins down, then I’ll come back and tuck you in. Deal?”

  His expression turned confused. He apparently hadn’t expected such an easy victory and was unprepared to handle it. She crossed to his bookstand and chose The Adventures of Biscuit. He could read that one by himself.

  “Here you go. Be right back. Promise.”

  His eyes lit up as he kicked the covers back. He wriggled around until he got his back propped
against the wall, then stuck his legs across the bed and reached for the book. His bare feet didn’t quite touch the edge of the mattress. Connie couldn’t resist pinching the toe nearest her. They exchanged comradely smiles, then she went next door to the twins who’d celebrated their fourteen-month-old birthday yesterday.

  Andy looked up and gurgled when she entered the room. Abbie took no notice of her aunt; she was too busy working on her crib. Her blanket and pillow were already on the floor, and only one corner of the sheet remained. This was Connie’s third day with the kids, and she’d lost count of how many times she’d remade that bed. Well, here’s another remake. Put the baby on the floor, close the door to keep the rest of the house safe, and then she’d only have to clean up after her in here.

  She went to Andy first—because he was easier to handle—chose a sleeper from the drawer and then pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Giggles erupted. He must’ve thought that was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. One pudgy fist closed around her thumb and he tried to eat it. She wiggled her thumb.

  “I’m going backwards,” she whispered. “I had one down and two to go, and now I’ve got none down and three to go.”

  He giggled again, released her thumb, and spit up all over the crib sheet.

  Connie leaned her forehead against the top bar of the crib. She was going to have to remake both beds. This was going to be a long night.

  An hour later, with the house blissfully silent, her gaze wavered between the stall shower and the bathtub. In and out, or take her time? Stupid question. She rinsed out the tub, activated the stopper, and eyed the assortment of bath aids while the tub filled. Then with a shrug, she poured in a healthy amount of the bright-green Shrek bubble bath, stripped and then put herself in. The ogre had done a pretty good job on three kids, so it’d work for her, too.

  “Ahh.” She sank lower in the tub. Water lapped at her chin. Every muscle she had surrendered.

  The doorbell rang.

  She snapped her eyes open. “Go away,” she murmured, barely moving her lips. “Please.”

  The bell rang again. “Wake up the kids and I’ll kill you.” She sat up, fastened her gaze on the oatmeal-colored tile. “So help me, I will.”

  Silence lasted long enough that she started to settle back, then she heard what sounded like a key turning in a lock. She tensed, tighter this time. Kristy and Kevin were in Hawaii. Who else had a key?

  The answer occurred to her the same instant she heard the front door opening. “Oh, no, no...”

  “Kevin? Kristy? Anyone home?”

  One other person would have a key. That was his voice, and now she heard his footsteps in the hall, fast approaching the bathroom door. She lunged to her feet, water sloshing. She’d left the door open to be sure she could hear the kids, and now—

  “Derek, don’t come in here!”

  “Oh, you’re in the bathroom. I’ll wait in the—” When his voice broke off, Connie could almost see his frown. “Kristy?”

  “No, it’s not Kristy. It’s—”

  Her foot slipped as she reached for the towel. She grabbed the rack for support, dislodged the towel and it fell into the water.

  “Connie? Is that you?” Then he was in the doorway. His face creased into a smile as he looked her up and down. “Yep, that’s you, all right.”

  She sat down so fast water splashed out of the tub. “Derek, will you get out of here!”

  “Sure.” But he remained still, and his grin kept growing.

  “Derek,” she growled.

  “Okay, I’m gone.” He started to step away, then turned back. “Where are Kevin and Kristy?”

  “I’ll talk to you later. Will you—”

  “Aren’t the kids here?”

  “Derek—”

  “Are you babysitting?”

  “Derek!”

  “Okay, okay.” He held his hands up as if to ward off an attack. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Had to drive straight through dinner.”

  He moved away. Belatedly she realized she should’ve told him to pull the door closed, but she wasn’t about to call him back to do it. Not trusting him, she kept her gaze riveted on the empty doorway for a long moment. Then, letting her guard down a fraction, she stared at the soggy towel sharing the bath water with her. She didn’t need this. For crying out loud, what was he even doing here?

  He popped back into the doorway. “Sure you don’t want me to scrub your back?”

  She threw the soap at his grinning face, but he moved too fast and her aim was off. She heard his laugh trailing down the hallway as she watched the soap scum ooze down the buttercup-yellow doorjamb.

  He was sitting on one of the tall counter stools when she entered the kitchen. Instead of wearing her shorty kimono over her even shorter nightie, she’d borrowed Kristy’s cotton robe in strawberry pink and belted it around her waist. It was too big, but just right for entertaining unexpected—and unwelcome—ex-husbands.

  He swiveled toward her. “That was fast.”

  She caught a whiff of boloney and mustard as he shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth, and then he watched her musingly as he chewed. “Too bad you were wearing all those bubbles. First time in two years I got to see you like that, and you had to be covered with a coat of soapsuds. Not fair.”

  She resented the fact he looked so relaxed. He had black wavy hair, collar length, and an errant front curl that wouldn’t stay put. It was again adorning the center of his forehead. He gave her another lingering up and down look, and his gaze settled on the hem of the robe spread around her feet. “Kristy’s got two or three inches on you.”

  She made no response.

  “And those inches are dragging on the floor.”

  “What do you want, Derek?”

  He sipped from his beer, then held the can up questioningly. “Want one?”

  She gave him one shake of her head. “Why are you here?”

  He leaned back, resting his elbows on the counter. “Come on, Connie, what are you so uptight about? I’ve seen you in the tub before. Even shared one with you on more than one occasion.” His gaze didn’t leave hers, but his eyes took on a far away quality, as if his mind had gone back in time. To a memory he liked.

  “What do you want, Derek?” She’d keep asking the same question, in the same no-nonsense, schoolteacher voice until she got an answer.

  His eyes once more focused on her, and somehow he managed to turn his silence into pure suggestion. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “Derek, so help me—”

  “Okay, okay.” He lifted his hands in that defensive gesture again, as if she were the one being difficult. “They must not have warned you to expect me, and I’m early anyway. We’re introducing Chris to the art of fishing this weekend. Kevin and me.”

  That struck a chord, and she frowned. No one had said anything, but she’d noted Derek’s name somewhere. “But they’re not here. Just the kids and me.”

  “So I guessed. Like I said, I’m early. They’re not expecting me till tomorrow.”

  “But they won’t be home until Thursday.”

  “That’s funny.” It was his turn to frown. “I knew about the Hawaii trip,” he said absently. “Ten years. How about that.” He smiled proudly, as if it were his accomplishment.

  Then he glanced at Connie, and his blue-green eyes turned rueful. “We didn’t even make five,” he said quietly, but didn’t sound accusing. She didn’t respond. After a short moment, he resumed his first thought. “Anyway, I told him I’d be here on the fourth, and he said they’d be home way before then.”

  Connie walked to the calendar tacked onto the bulletin board, almost tripping on the hem of the robe. She gathered a handful of fabric and lifted it up for the last couple steps. She scanned the calendar, then tapped the fourteenth with her forefinger, where Derek’s name was printed below a penciled drawing of a fish and a pole. The artwork looked like Kristy’s. Derek apparently had forgotten whom he’d talked to.

  He’d remo
ved himself from the stool to come stand behind her. “Oops. Looks like somebody misunderstood somebody.”

  He was too close for comfort. Connie took a step away, trying not to be obvious about it. “Well, that settles that. Doesn’t matter who made the error. Call next week to reschedule. And as far as tonight is concerned, you can find a motel. Now, if you don’t mind, I had a long day with the kids and—”

  “A motel? What’s wrong with right here?”

  “No room. I’m using the master bedroom, and there’s no other bed.”

  “Don’t worry. You can keep your bed to yourself. There’s an old wooden cot I can set up in Christopher’s room. I always bunk with him.”

  “But—”

  “It’s somewhere in the garage.” He started to walk around her.

  “No.”

  He stopped, turned back to face her. “No?”

  “You can’t stay here. I don’t want you here.” Her tone was flat, no apology in it.

  His gaze held hers for a long moment. He said evenly, “Well, that’s certainly plain enough. Never did have a problem speaking your mind, did you?”

  She said nothing.

  “Well, you’re not winning this one.” He continued his move toward the door leading into the garage. “It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m going to find the cot and set it up in Christopher’s room. You do what you want to do. Goodnight, Connie.”

  She was left alone in the kitchen, staring coldly at the door he’d left ajar. As she listened to him mumbling while he searched for the cot, she considered locking him in there. It’d serve him right to have to spend the night in the garage. But he had a key in his pocket.

  As usual, he’d left her no options. If a disagreement couldn’t be settled his way, then he did what he wanted anyway, often leaving her steaming. She liked that fact no better now than when she’d been married to him.

  Gathering robe fabric in both hands to lift it off the floor, she stomped to the master bedroom. She couldn’t even slam the door like she wanted to because it’d wake up the kids.