“Have you met your brothers’ wives?” she asked.
“Duncan’s. Her name is Jane. We said hello the other night.”
“But not Niall’s.”
“No.” Staring at the still-closed gate, he looked grim unto death.
“Aren’t we getting out?” Walker asked.
Somebody had to move. Lia guessed that would be her.
With a smile over her shoulder, she said, “You bet. You can help carry things.” She released her seat belt and got out. The others followed her example. By the time she was distributing covered dishes, the gate had opened, and first kids then adults poured out.
“Oh, let me take that,” one of the women exclaimed, relieving Lia of a casserole dish. “My goodness, you didn’t have to bring so much.” She lifted it closer to her nose and took a whiff. “Although it does smell fabulous.”
“Thank you,” Lia said, pasting a smile on her mouth. “I wanted to make up for you, well, getting saddled with a bunch of strangers.”
The woman’s smile was warm. “Don’t be silly. We’re glad to have you. I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I? I’m Jane, Duncan’s wife.”
“Rowan,” the smaller, blonde woman said. A little girl pressed close to her side. A boy, much bolder, had already approached Walker and Brendan.
“Hi. My name’s Desmond. This is my house. I’m seven. How old are you?”
“I’m eight,” Walker said. “And my brother is ten.”
“Oh. You want to come meet my dog? His name’s Super Sam.”
Super Sam broke the ice. A homely but happy creature with a tail whapping back and forth like a metronome, he licked hands and whined and tried to stick his nose under the napkin covering the dish Brendan carried. One of the men lifted it out of danger in the nick of time.
“Sam! You have to wait for leftovers.”
Lia felt herself relaxing. Everyone looked friendly. Except she hadn’t seen Duncan yet. This man must be Niall, the middle brother. He and Conall bore a close resemblance, but he had short-cropped hair that was a deep auburn.
He gripped Conall’s shoulder. “Good to see you.”
“And you.” Conall produced one of his charming smiles for the women. “Jane. And you must be Rowan.”
Introductions followed. The little girl’s name was Anna. Conall drew Sorrel out and coaxed her into saying hello. Eventually they all moved into the big backyard with a huge apple tree, a small cottage at the rear of the property, and a smoking barbecue grill being tended by the other brother, whose gaze moved swiftly but thoroughly over all of them before he nodded a greeting. He was the harshest-looking of the three men, she thought, until his eyes rested briefly on his wife and his face softened.
“I heard a few squalls from the house,” he said.
Jane sighed. “Thinking she’d nap while I ate was too good to be true.”
“We’ll take turns,” he said.
“A baby?” Lia accompanied the other two women into the house, leaving Sorrel standing beside Conall. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, but her hands kept twitching as if she didn’t know where to put them.
“I’m sorry we don’t have one her age,” Rowan murmured, setting Lia’s bean salad on the counter and nodding toward the teenager.
Lia laughed. “That’s asking a bit much. Sorrel is good with babies, if Jane wants to add her to the rotation while she eats.”
Jane reappeared with a beautiful, redheaded girl. “Meet Fiona, just shy of six months. And if Sorrel would like to hold her, many blessings on her.”
The two women were obviously friends, but they included Lia with such warmth, she had mostly relaxed by the time they went back outside.
The first hamburgers and hotdogs were ready for buns and condiments. Rowan told everyone to grab plates and go into the kitchen to dish up.
“After,” she said, grabbing her son as he started dashing by, “washing hands.” She leveled a look at Lia’s two foster sons. “You, too.”
They both looked alarmed but nodded.
“And you, pumpkin,” she said more quietly, shooing her daughter after the boys.
Conall had one foot on the picnic table bench and a beer in his hand. Niall sat across from him, and Duncan stood with a spatula and a beer only a couple of feet away. They were an extraordinary group of men, Lia couldn’t help noticing. Not exactly handsome. Their faces were too craggy, too…lived-in to qualify for GQ. But they were all broad-shouldered, well-built and very, very sexy. And all three had some quality that she guessed was cop. A watchfulness, a sense that they were aware of their surroundings in a way most people weren’t.
Jane carried Fiona over to Conall. “Your niece,” she said simply.
He studied the little girl, who studied him right back. “With Niall’s hair,” he said, a smile in his voice. He tossed a grin at his oldest brother. “Bet that took you by surprise.”
“Dad was a redhead.”
That wiped out Conall’s smile. After a moment he said, “Yeah, I guess he was.” To Fiona, he said, “Hey, little one.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he laughed.
But Lia’s heart ached, because she didn’t believe any of those smiles or laughs. She knew she was right not to when his eyes met hers and for a moment she glimpsed desperation.
There wasn’t anything she could do for him but make conversation and give him pockets of time when he didn’t have to try so hard, so that’s what she did. When she and Sorrel went to dish up, he came with them, sticking so close his arm brushed Lia’s a few times. He sat with the two of them, too, but she was intrigued to see that he also kept an eye out for the boys, not seeming satisfied until they had settled at the second picnic table with Desmond and Anna.
Jane gently questioned Sorrel and volunteered the fact that she owned a dance shop. “I so wanted to dance when I was a girl,” she said, “but I never had the chance. My father didn’t approve. So I’ve been making up for it ever since. I take classes—although it’s been hard getting my body back into shape since I had Fiona,” she added ruefully.
Her husband’s mouth quirked. “Her store is filled with everything pink and sparkly.”
She grinned at him. “We sell black leotards, too. But I do a good business in costumes for dance recitals.”
Rowan talked about her desire to go back to school to get her teaching certificate, and Lia admitted that she had a certificate but had never used it. She’d been a social worker before inheriting her great-aunt’s house.
“I wanted to focus on a few kids at a time,” she said. “Sorrel’s been a huge help with the boys, and even more with the two little kids I have temporarily.”
“I guess you couldn’t bring them, could you?” Jane said. “You’d have needed a school bus.”
“This is nap time for them, anyway.”
“Like it should be for my darling daughter.” Jane pretended to frown at Fiona, who was currently on her dad’s lap, being fed bites of baby food in between his bites of potato salad and hamburger.
Lia became increasingly aware of Conall’s big body so close to her. Their thighs touched, their shoulders bumped. She could see the individual bristles on his chin when she was unwary enough to glance at him. He leaned his head close once and said, “Can I get you seconds of anything?” and took her plate when she asked for some of the fruit salad. It felt…odd, the two of them in the position of being a couple when she really hardly knew him.
Except that that wasn’t true, of course. You couldn’t help getting to know someone you lived with. She knew that he often forgot and left the toilet seat up, which presumably meant that he didn’t live full-time with a woman. He was neat; he’d been careful to clean his whiskers from the sink when he shaved, and he was generous about doing other laundry besides his when he ran a load and a
bout helping clean the kitchen after meals. It was funny, really, because he was more helpful than Jeff, whose wife, Lia had come to suspect, must wait on him hand and foot.
Conall was unfailingly courteous, and he was as wary as any foster child she’d ever taken in. And yet he was amazing with the kids. When Niall suggested a game of horseshoes, Conall accompanied Walker and Brendan and she saw him bending over, showing them how to throw, guiding their hands, until she got a lump in her throat. After a minute he called Sorrel over and had her playing, too. All three men supervised, Niall carrying Anna piggyback, Duncan bouncing his daughter against his shoulder.
Lia stayed where she was, watching. Across the table from her, Rowan said softly, “He’s as good with them as Niall was with Desmond and Anna.”
Without taking her eyes from him, Lia said, “I don’t think he realizes he is.”
“Niall didn’t want to care about my kids.” Rowan waited until Lia looked at her, startled. “They didn’t have a very good childhood, you know.”
“I’m not…” Oh, boy, was this awkward. “I think you’ve misunderstood our relationship. Conall and I aren’t… Well, anything, really. He’s staying at my house because of his job.” She couldn’t tell if Rowan understood what she was saying. “I suspect he asked us to come today so he could lose himself in the crowd, so to speak.’
Jane had joined them, and now both women laughed. “We guessed,” Jane said. “But he doesn’t treat you like a casual acquaintance, either. Or—” her head turned toward the horseshoe pit “—the kids.”
“I think,” Lia said softly, “he sees himself in the boys.”
They wanted to know Walker and Brendan’s history, which she shared. She was grateful when they continued to ask questions about fostering children instead of quizzing her about Conall.
The men wandered over eventually, and conversation became general. Lia found herself laughing often, her cheeks flushed with pleasure at the company…and with her awareness of the man who once again sat close enough to touch when either of them shifted on the bench. Despite her enjoyment, Lia became aware of a deep ache of what she finally, disconcerted, decided was envy.
She had always wanted a family like this. She loved her parents, of course, but she would have given almost anything for siblings. Being an only child was lonely, especially given the lack of extended family nearby.
Mama had sisters and brothers in Mexico, of course, and they had children, Lia’s cousins. She remembered them distantly from the year she and Mama had lived down there, when Lia was five. As an adult she had visited their village in Chiapas, but she was a visitor, with her paler skin and odd-colored eyes and American ways more of a curiosity than really family. She’d had the awful feeling that their friendliness had more to do with their hope that she’d help some of the young adults come to the United States than to any closer feelings.
This was the kind of family she wanted. Laughter, affection, people who would love your children if anything ever happened to you. She could tell that much of the relaxed atmosphere came from the two women, and she wished she knew more about them. Had they grown up taking this for granted?
But she couldn’t exactly ask them.
The ache stayed, and some of it was for Conall who, on the surface, was comfortable sipping a beer, laughing at his brothers’ stories, telling a few of his own, but who was really faking it, Lia suspected. She intercepted a couple of keen glances that made her wonder if Niall and Duncan suspected, too. Jane kept an eye on her husband as if worried about him, and that made Lia wonder if he was faking it, too.
The more she became aware of the undercurrents, the more she realized her envy might be misplaced. Maybe nothing was as it appeared.
Except she didn’t believe that. The way Niall touched his wife occasionally, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was there and his; the way Duncan’s hard mouth softened for Jane, his gentle hands on small, redheaded Fiona. Undercurrents there might be, but there was love here, too.
The ache intensified at the fear she might never find this. Maybe she’d never be anything but a temporary mother.
You made your choices, she reminded herself. She should be glad to know there were families like this, given the awful backgrounds so many of her kids came from. If she could give them even a glimpse of what it could be like, hope to hold on to while their own families worked out their problems or they waited for adoptive parents, then she was doing something worthwhile. She didn’t usually waste time and heartache being greedy and wishing for everything. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t come today.
But no. She was no good at resisting when someone needed her, and today Conall had, if only temporarily.
Story of her life.
* * *
WELL, THAT WAS DONE, Conall thought. The need to relieve Henderson had been a good excuse for an early departure. He couldn’t help noticing how hastily Lia had agreed to head home. Maybe she was worried about Julia and Arturo, or maybe she was bored out of her skull, he didn’t know. Sorrel had slipped quietly out of the yard with them and into her seat in the Suburban, but the boys couldn’t make such an easy getaway. Desmond wouldn’t let them. He followed, chattering and wishing Walker could play soccer, too, cuz there was a spring league, you know, and he was starting swimming lessons pretty soon, too, when school let out. Swim lessons were fun. Maybe Lia would bring Walker and Brendan, too. Did they know how to swim?
Conall swore his mouth was still moving even as the Suburban backed out of the driveway. He had to admit to being mildly amused at Niall stuck living with a motor-mouth. Niall never was much of a talker himself.
The drive was mostly quiet, the kids having all lapsed into silence. Once Conall glanced at Lia and said, “You okay?” and she nodded.
At home, with a hand on her arm he stopped her from getting out with the others. “Thank you for coming.”
Her smile was unbelievably sweet. “You’re very welcome. We all had a good time, you know. You have a nice family.”
“Yeah.” The concept was new enough to him to take him aback. “I guess I do.”
She touched him this time, a quick squeeze on his bare forearm. “You’re lucky,” she said, her voice momentarily husky. And then she slipped out, slamming the door and hurrying toward the house.
He was left sitting behind the wheel, staring after her, feeling…hell. Dazed. Normally it took a pretty good punch to make his head swim. Frowning, he tried to figure out what she’d done or said and couldn’t put his finger on it.
He heard her talking to the babysitter as he went upstairs, but didn’t see her. Later, Brendan brought up a light supper for him and he told himself he was glad he wasn’t downstairs with everyone else, including his partner. He’d used up his social quotient for the day. He was irritated that he felt restless rather than relaxing into the pleasure of solitude.
Except for a couple of visits to the john, he didn’t leave the attic again until morning. He’d missed breakfast, it seemed, and ate a bowl of cold cereal at the kitchen counter. Muted explosions sounded from the living room, where the TV was already on. Sorrel’s bedroom door had been shut when Conall came down; he had no idea whether she was up.
The phone rang, and someone answered elsewhere in the house or outside. A moment later the front door opened and footsteps hurried in. Leaving his bowl in the sink, he stretched and then wandered out of the kitchen to see what was going on.
Lia, carrying Julia, was dashing for the stairs.
“Where’s Arturo?” Conall asked.
She spun to face him. “Oh. I left him with the boys. They can watch him for a few minutes. That was Julia and Arturo’s caseworker. He’s on his way to pick them up, so I need to hurry and pack their things.”
He loved the way her cheeks flushed. Lia wasn’t a very good liar. Her voice had hitched on the word casew
orker, not so as most people would have noticed, but reading people’s motives and intentions and honesty was a life or death skill for him.
“Need help?” he asked.
“No.” She took a couple more steps, then stopped. “Unless…”
Even before she turned, he knew what she had in mind. Damn, he’d had to open his mouth.
The next thing he knew, he was left with an armful of baby girl while Lia dashed upstairs. What was he supposed to do with her?
She looked at him with equal alarm. When her face started to redden, he jiggled her. “Uh…what say we go back outside? You like it outside, don’t you?”
She was withholding judgment. The day was nice, he discovered the minute they stepped out. A hint of spring crispness in the air, a promise of warmth by midday. Conall thought of sitting down on the rocker, but the little girl’s suspicious stare convinced him she required greater distraction. Cows, he decided. Or maybe horses. Yeah, the pony was right beside the fence.
He carried Julia down the steps and jogged across the lawn. “Horsie,” he said. “No, el caballo. Actually, caballito. Sí?”
She didn’t care what the pony was called. Babbling happily but unintelligibly, she twisted in his arms and tried to lunge for the fat little beast, managing to grab a fistful of white mane when the pony stuck his head between fence rails.
“Bueno. Pet the pony. See?” He demonstrated, patting the neck.
Julia laughed and pulled hard. One of her hands separated from the mane, taking a few long strands of stiff hair with it. Conall winced and gently pried her other fist from the poor animal. He spread her fingers and ran her hand over the nose, and was surprised by an expression of rapt delight on her round face.
“Yeah,” he murmured, “that’s more like it. Nice pony. Caballito. That’s how we pet the pony.”
His head came up when he heard a car engine on the road. The vehicle wasn’t either the pickup or SUV with tinted windows he and Henderson had seen coming and going from the neighbor house. This one, he could tell even before it turned into Lia’s driveway, was aging and needed a tune up.
The Call of Bravery Page 9