Good Daughter (9781101619261)

by Porter, Jane

  Kit broke off her train of thought and sat up, hearing a deep vibration from down the street. It was a very distinctive vibration, and the throbbing hum of a very familiar motorcycle engine.

  Jude.

  Leaving the bed, she went to the upstairs window and looked out. Jude was nosing his bike to the curb, squeezing the big burnt-orange motorcycle between cars.

  He was here.

  For a moment all she could do was watch him. And she stared down at him, fascinated, as fascinated as she’d been the very first time she saw him. She watched him pull off his helmet, saw his long black hair spill to his shoulders, followed him as he climbed off his bike and casually walked to the front door.

  Kit tore down the three flights of stairs, skipping around the corners, jumping onto the landings, feeling as breathless as the girl who’d once raced Brianna to the door every time the doorbell rang.

  She’d heard the doorbell, knew it was Jude, and wanted to be the one to get there first. But it was Tommy who reached it first. Tommy with the short hair and no-nonsense attitude. Tommy who used to punch out the guys who didn’t respect his sisters.

  “Is Kit here?” she heard Jude ask.

  “I’m not sure,” Tommy answered. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Jude.”

  “Jude who?”

  “Just Jude.”

  “To be perfectly honest, Jude, we’re in the middle of a private party—”

  “Jude!” Kit cried, jumping down the last two stairs and pushing under Tommy’s arm to wrap her arms around her man. She smiled cheerfully, brazenly, diving right into the introductions. “Tommy, this is my…boyfriend…Jude Knight. Jude, this is my brother, Tommy Brennan Jr.”

  “I go by Tom,” Tommy corrected. “Welcome,” he said flatly, before walking away.

  Kit watched him go, nose wrinkling. “I think he’s probably getting my dad.”

  Jude reached for her, pulled her into his arms. “Then let me kiss you before my ass gets thrown out.”

  “You’re not mad at me?” she whispered as he lowered his head to kiss her.

  “Furious.”

  “So why are you kissing me?”

  “Because I still love you.”

  She let him kiss her because she needed the kiss and needed him, but then she remembered Delilah.

  “Delilah,” she whispered. “She’s gone.”

  “She’s not gone.”

  “Yes, she is. Her parents left. They took her. I lost her.”

  “You didn’t lose her. I have her.” He stroked her cheek. “I came home this morning and found her sleeping at my house.”

  “But Howard and Missy…they’re gone. I called the police. They checked. They said they’d cleared out.”

  “And they did. But they left Delilah behind.”

  “What?”

  He nodded. “They packed up and left her behind.”

  “They abandoned her?”

  “She’s taking it hard, but that’s to be expected.”

  “I want to see her. Where is she now?”

  “She’s with my mom, and she’ll stay there while we try to figure out what to do next. Delilah says she wants to go home, back to Texas. Apparently there’s someone named Shey who has offered to take her. But we’ve got to check it out. Go through the proper channels.”

  “But can’t Delilah come stay with me? I have room…and she knows me. I’d love to have her with me—”

  “Don’t think that’d work, Kit. She’s pretty mad at you. Doesn’t want to have anything to do with you right now.”

  Oh, of course. Kit nodded, stung, surprised, but not surprised. From Delilah’s perspective, Kit understood. She’d betrayed Delilah’s trust and there were so few people Delilah had trusted. “I just wanted to help her. I wanted to do something without having to report her.”

  “And you did help.”

  Kit pulled away from Jude. “No. Not if her own mother has left her—”

  “I think for the first time in a long time, Missy tried to do the right thing.”

  “How can leaving Delilah be the right thing?”

  “Missy might not be able to escape from Howard, but she wanted something else for Delilah. She wanted something better. This was her way of setting her free.”

  “That sounds like a nice story.”

  “I think it’s the right story.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “She left Delilah a letter. She put it under my door.”

  Kit’s eyes burned and she stood, arms across her chest, trying not to wonder where God was in all of this. She’d always had such strong faith. Had always been so sure that all things worked together for good…

  “Why did this happen? Why did any of this happen?” she asked Jude. “I don’t understand it. Howard appears in my life, and thrusts Delilah into my life, and it’s chaotic and violent and scary—” Her voice broke. “And then they’re gone. For what? What was the purpose of this?”

  Jude leaned against the doorjamb. “My mom thinks God used you to help save Delilah.”

  “I didn’t help her if her mother left her!”

  He reached for her, his hand closing around her wrist, and tugged her toward him. “Delilah’s a strong little girl. She’s going to be all right.”

  Kit leaned against him, needing him. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because there are a lot of people who care about her. You, me, my mom, this Shey in Mineral Wells. We all care about her, and we all want what’s best for her.”

  Voices and footsteps sounded on the stairs, and more voices came from the hall. Jude lifted his head, listened. “Sounds like your brother has summoned a lynch mob.”

  Kit sniffled, then looked up and saw her father and a half-dozen other men on the stairs. “That’s just the family. My dad. My brother. All the uncles.”

  The corner of Jude’s mouth quirked. “That’s all?”

  “Feel like being introduced?”

  “Sure.” Jude shrugged, planted his feet wide, and channeled his bad-boy-biker swagger. “Why not?”

  “Ha-ha,” Kit muttered as her dad stepped forward, looking like a bulldog. “It’s about to get crazy.”

  Jude laughed softly. “You know I love crazy.”

  Twenty-four

  Shey Darcy sat at the big oak kitchen table that dominated the spacious kitchen of the Texas limestone ranch house she shared with her husband, former bull-riding champion Dane Kelly, and their four kids, and watched Delilah Hartnel fold and unfold the letter her mother had written to her just before she left her.

  Delilah had read the letter probably fifty times since arriving at Shey’s house two days ago but so far hadn’t shared its contents with her.

  “I don’t need to read it, Delilah,” Shey said gently. “It’s personal. Between you and your mama—”

  “I just don’t get it.” Delilah kept her gaze fixed to the table. “I don’t get how she could pick him over me. How can she do that?”

  Shey shook her head. “I don’t know. But it couldn’t have been easy for her.”

  “She was supposed to love me! She was supposed to want me!”

  “I’m sure she did. I’m sure she thought she was helping you…protecting you—”

  “Bullshit.”

  Normally Shey would have reproved her, but today she let it slide. Delilah had been through a lot. She had a right to be angry, and she needed to vent.

  Delilah looked up at Shey, her blue gaze stony. “Would you leave your kids, Shey? Would you leave them for a man?”

  Shey searched for the right answer. The police and child protective services had filled her in on what had happened since Delilah’s mother married Howard Dempsey, and it was horrific. The violence was horrific. She couldn’t imagine enduring months of such abuse. “No, but, Delilah, your mom was in a difficult situation. She was caught between a rock and a hard place—”

  “He was a loser from the start. I knew it. I could tell. But Mama couldn’t
. She was sure he was Prince Charming in a fancy gray car.” Abruptly Delilah shoved the letter toward Shey. “Read it.” She softened her voice. “Please.”

  Shey searched Delilah’s pale face. “You’re sure?”

  Delilah nodded and Shey carefully unfolded the letter and spread it open on the table in front of her.

  Dear Delilah,

  Remember how we talked about one day you’d move on? Baby, it’s time you moved on. Not because I don’t want you with me, but because you can’t do this life with me anymore.

  Forgive me, baby, for not being a better mama. I’m just not strong like you. But you are strong and smart and braver than I ever will be and I’m proud of you.

  Study hard and do your best, and go to college. Promise me you’ll go to college. That would make me so happy.

  I love you, Dee. You’ll always be my beautiful baby girl.

  Your mama,

  Missy Hartnel Dempsey

  Shey’s eyes burned as she finished the letter. “Your mother loves you,” she said huskily, carefully refolding the letter and passing it back to Delilah. “You have to know she loves you.”

  “She should have gone with me, not him,” Delilah whispered, cupping the letter in her hands.

  Shey reached out and slowly, gently, pushed back a lock of Delilah’s pale hair. “I don’t think she stays with him out of love, honey. I think she stays with him out of fear. And she probably doesn’t even know the difference between the two anymore.”

  Delilah’s eyes filled with tears. “I hate him.”

  “I know you do. And you have every right to. But don’t give up on your mama. She needs your love. She needs your love more now than ever before.”

  The tears were falling so fast Delilah couldn’t catch them. “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m a mother, too, and I don’t think I could survive if I didn’t have my children to love me.”

  At Kit’s house in Oakland, Jude was stretched out on the couch next to Kit, watching the foreign film Biutiful starring Javier Bardem and trying not to look bored. One day he’d have to tell Kit he did not enjoy foreign films. They weren’t his thing. Not even if they’d been nominated for, or won, an Academy Award. But he’d save that conversation for later. Kit had been emotional all evening, ever since speaking to Shey Darcy, the woman Delilah had gone to live with in Texas.

  Delilah still wouldn’t speak to Kit, continuing to blame her for her mother’s desertion, and Jude had done his best to comfort Kit, reminding her that it hadn’t even been a week since the big blowup with Howard.

  “It’s still so new for her,” he had told her after she hung up the phone. “She’s still so raw. One day she’ll forgive you, she will. It’s going to take time.”

  Kit nodded but it was obvious she was hurt, and grieving. This whole thing with Delilah couldn’t have come at a worse time. Marilyn didn’t have much time left. A day or two at the most. No wonder Kit was so emotional. Jude couldn’t even imagine how he’d cope with losing his mom.

  “You never told me how the interview with the adoption agency went,” he said, dipping his head to kiss the top of hers. “How was it? Were they cool? Do you think they liked you?”

  “It went good,” she said in a small voice.

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded and turned her head to look up at him. “They liked that I was open to adopting an older child, or even siblings. Those kids are always harder to place.”

  “You don’t mind not having a baby?”

  She thought about it a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t have to have a baby to be a mom. And that’s the point of all of this. Becoming a family. Having a family.”

  Jude stared down into her eyes a long moment. “You’re beautiful, Kit Brennan. Beautiful inside and out.”

  She opened her mouth to protest. He could see it in her eyes. And then she shut her mouth and managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

  “I love you, Kit. You know that, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  He stroked her cheek, savoring the warmth of her skin. “Would you ever want to adopt or have a baby together?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “I just…I don’t know…but I kind of think I want to have a family with you.”

  She pushed against his chest and sat upright, facing him. “But you don’t do commitments. You won’t marry. You aren’t boyfriend material—”

  “When my case wraps up, I want to be transferred to a desk job. I’m ready for regular hours and a safe, sane job.”

  “Why?”

  He cupped her chin, kissed her mouth. “Because I want you. And I want to come home to you. And I want to be a father to all the kids we adopt, or choose to make together.”

  Kit stared up into his eyes in disbelief. “That sounds an awful lot like a commitment, Officer Knight.”

  “Maybe it’s because I consider myself committed, Kit Kat. Hope you’re okay with that.”

  “What happened to my tough bad-boy biker dude who just wanted hot, hard, sweaty—”

  “Don’t worry, he’s still here. The tough bad-boy biker dude will always be around to protect you.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me. I just need you to love me.”

  “Sorry, angel, I’m here to do both.”

  And after a moment’s reflection, Katherine Elizabeth Brennan nodded. Cool. She was good with that.

  If you enjoyed The Good Daughter,

  keep reading for a special preview from

  the next novel in the Brennan Sisters trilogy

  The Good Wife

  Coming in September 2013 from Berkley Books!

  Sarah sat on the kitchen island barstool, watching her brother-in-law, Jack Roberts, at the old farmhouse-style sink, carefully wipe down the glazed white surface with a pale pink sponge. He’d just spent more than an hour washing and drying dishes, putting away the platters and silver that belonged to the Brennan family, and stacking the dozens of dishes—Pyrex, ceramic and wooden salad bowls—that had been brought by neighbors and friends for the reception following her mom’s funeral service at St. Cecilia’s in San Francisco this morning.

  Jack’s commitment to the kitchen and dishes put a lump in Sarah’s throat, and she squeezed the glazed mug between her hands, needing the mug’s warmth. Jack had refused her help, but he’d made her a cup of tea, and told her to sit, and then he went back to work, washing and drying those mountains of dishes.

  Sarah didn’t know why she was so touched by Jack’s dedication to the dishes. Boone, her husband, did dishes. If Boone hadn’t needed to jump on a plane and rush back to Florida for the end of spring training, he would be the one at the sink, soaking and scrubbing and toweling dry.

  But he wasn’t here. He was gone. Just as he was almost always gone.

  Maybe that’s why she was so appreciative of the time Jack spent in the kitchen tonight, transferring leftovers to Tupperware, putting things in order, making things better. Time was special. And it was the one thing she couldn’t get enough of from Boone, who always seemed to be packing or unpacking his suitcase, which was always out, always on the bench at the foot of their bed.

  But it wouldn’t be long before he retired. He’d turned thirty-nine in November. He was ancient in baseball. Grandpa, the rookies called him. The rookies weren’t far off. There weren’t many players Boone’s age in the majors who could still hit the ball like Boone. But then, Boone was special. He always had been.

  She glanced down at the phone on the counter, checking to see if Boone had texted her yet. He should be landing anytime now.

  “They had a late departure. He’ll be landing soon,” Jack said, squeezing the sponge dry.

  She jumped guiltily, unaware that Jack had been watching her. “I can’t relax when he’s in the air.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Sarah turned the phone over, pushed it away. “I still get nervous.”

  “You have to be
positive.”

  “I try.”

  “It was good to see him,” Jack added, opening a cupboard above the refrigerator where Mom stored her oversized platters and serving bowls and carefully sliding two platters into the stack. “Heard he’s hitting well.”

  “He had a great spring training.”

  “JJ said he had three home runs last week.”

  She nodded, trying not to be nervous, trying not to worry. “He hasn’t hit like this in awhile,” she said, aware that she always worried during baseball season. There was so much to worry about. Team politics, trades, injuries, Boone’s performance at plate, the fickle fans, the groupies.

  Sarah shuddered, not wanting to think about the girls and groupies tonight. They were part of baseball, and a fact of life, but she wouldn’t let them get to her, not when there were so many other more important things to think about.

  Really important things like today’s funeral Mass at St. Cecilia’s, and the graveside service after. The church itself was packed, and almost everyone followed to the cemetery. Dad was such a rock during both services. His eyes had teared up, but he didn’t break down, at least, not until the casket was lowered at the end of the graveside service. That’s when he went down on one knee and bent his head, and cried.

  Those who’d remained left for the house then, everybody moving on to the reception, except for Boone and Tommy Jr., who stayed behind with Dad. Eventually, they accompanied him back to the house for the reception, and then Sarah had just enough time to give Boone a quick hug and kiss before he jumped in a cab and took off for the airport.

  Now, at nine o’clock, everyone was gone. The guests. The strangers. The friends and neighbors. Only the immediate family remained—Jack and Meg, Kit and Jude, Brianna, Tommy and Cass, and the kids. Meg and Jack’s three, and her two, Brennan and Ella.

  Jack reached for a damp dishtowel, dried his hands one final time before crossing the floor to toss the wet towel into a white plastic basket in the laundry room next door. “I think that’s it,” he said.