Until today. The closer to Curtis she grew, the more butterflies seemed to take residence in her stomach. Each night in bed, they lay together, entwined and talking. At last, Curtis was more likely to talk about everything—instead of nothing. His childhood. His abusive mother. The nightmares. His near hero-worship of his brother Travis. His love for MaryJo and their kids. Each time he confided in her, Shannon experienced a burst of pleasure. Yet, the deeper their relationship grew, the queasier she became. "Kerry was right," she said as she tugged and stapled fabric to the underside of the cushion. "I should've told him."
Her secret hung over them like a storm cloud. Each day, the cloud grew darker and heavier with rain. If she didn't tell him soon, she was going to burst. And the flooding deluge of guilt would drown them both. Absently, she scrubbed the goosebumps on her arms. How could she confess the terrible things she'd done to him? The damage she'd caused. The hurt she'd inflicted to a man already broken by the events of his life.
Her shoulders slumping, Shannon wished she could erase the past. Wished she could go back in time and rewrite all those letters. How would her life have been different, had she written to him without fury? With genuine questions, instead of bitter accusation. Perhaps her own pain would have lessened. Maybe she would have moved on sooner. And Curt. Would his life have been changed for the better? Or was she simply being naive?
Grateful when the phone began ringing, Shannon rose to her feet and crossed to the reception desk. There was no way to explain what she'd done—at least not in any scenario where Curtis still liked her at the end of her explanation. Instead, she continued to let each day slide by . . . without telling him what he truly had the right to know. Each day they spent together, she slipped a little deeper in love with him. And each day, her stomach knotted just a little tighter.
"Hello?" Lifting an arm, she brushed the hair from her eyes as she listened again to the persistent, yet mysterious woman caller. "Ma'am? I've told you Mr. Forsythe won't be in until Monday. Can I take a message?"
Knowing the answer before the woman spoke, Shannon sighed as she hung up. Perhaps it was an old girlfriend. That thought made her frown. Though entirely possible, she hadn't sensed that vibe around Curtis. He'd seemed to be very much alone. With a distracted smile, she pushed the subject from her mind. "You have enough real problems to worry about."
"IT'S A PERFECT DAY for a barbecue."
Shannon's husky voice intruded on Curt's jumbled thoughts. Bolstered by the imminent visit with his family and the newfound freedom of being in a car again, Curt would be hard pressed to disagree. "I'm looking forward to it." There was also the secret he was keeping from her. A surprise so perfect, he knew she would absolutely love it. In another week, he'd be able to present it to her. Until then, he was content with the knowledge that he would give Shannon something she'd never forget. The perfect gift for the woman who had done so much for him.
"Are you nervous about meeting everyone?" Glancing at her, Curt captured her drumming fingers in his, enjoying the feel of them fluttering against his palm. He'd never been a hand-holding guy, but there was something about the reassuring presence of her fingers entwined with his that had him rethinking his position.
Though her gaze stayed on the road, her smile was relaxed. "Not really." She shot him a glance. "Should I be?"
"Hannah might give you a run for the money," he admitted. "The other two will just slobber on you." When she chuckled, he smiled. "Expect a lot of inquisitive, almost-five-year-old questions." Shifting in the seat, he repositioned his braced leg. "I really miss her. No matter how crazy work gets, I always try to swing by at least once a week for my uncle fix."
"Uncle Curtis. I like the sound of that."
"Favorite uncle," he emphasized.
Braking for a red light, her gaze slid to him. "Isn't Travis your only brother? Aren't you favorite by default?"
"Not exactly," he corrected. "MaryJo has two sorta sisters who are both married, which technically makes their husbands uncles, too. But, Hannah still claims I'm her favorite."
She shook her head. "Okay - now I have a follow-up question. What's a 'sorta' sister?"
Curt paused, wondering how to best explain in the least amount of words. "MaryJo's dad, Sean lives with Madeline, who's a widow with two kids, Matt and Alyssa. Since MaryJo was an only child, she decided to adopt Alyssa and Jules—that's Matt's wife, as her sisters." Watching her expressive features made him smile. "You got all that?"
"I knew there was a reason I liked MaryJo so much. A girl's gotta have her sisters."
"Are you tight like that with Kerry?"
Accelerating when the light changed, she nodded. "I can tell her anything . . . and she always sets me straight. She's honest with me . . . even when I don't like what she says."
"I think that's called a 'necessary evil'. Travis does that for me—although our serious conversations usually involve throwing a punch or two." Turning, he waited for the smile he knew was coming. "I wouldn't imagine you do that with Kerry."
Her throaty chuckle filled his truck. "No, we're more likely to say mean things—like 'that dress makes you look fugly'. Or when she stole my favorite booties, I told her they gave her kankles."
He cracked up. "What the hell are kankles?"
She blushed. "You know—fat, hideous ankles." Glancing his way, she looked like she was about to confess another flaw. "I used to secretly steal her favorite pair of jeans."
"Yeah—I can see where you'd want to go to Confession over that one."
She winced. "Once, I kept them for nearly a year." Her eyes reflected guilt when she glanced at him. "I actually forgot I had them, but she was looking in my closet for something else and found them."
Curt loved watching her. Shannon's expressions were refreshingly honest. "What happened?"
"As I remember, that day involved shrieking, hair-pulling and rolling around on the bedroom floor."
The image she painted made him smile. "Who won?"
"Kerry's pretty skinny, but she's super strong." Glancing his way, her eyes shimmered with mischief. "But, I'm faster. At least I was that day."
"What about Randall? Were you close?" Ever since she'd mentioned her brother, Curt had wondered how a guy could turn his back on younger sisters. If he'd had a sister—and he was eternally grateful he hadn't- Hell, no kid should have to endure a childhood with the likes of Shirley. But, had there been a younger sibling, he would've done anything to protect her. Like Travis had done for him.
"No." She grimaced. "I wish we were. Randy was a great brother when we were young, but as my parents fought more and more, he started staying away. He was four years older, so when it finally fell apart, he was twenty. We all did our best to sort of . . . escape." She glanced at him. "No one wanted to be the one stuck at home . . . hearing my parents argue. One of them was always inclined to pull us into the middle of it."
With that revealing comment, she kept her gaze firmly planted on the road. Curt finally understood one of the pieces of her puzzle. Why Shan gave so much of herself to others. She was a peacekeeper. Without her brother there, she'd been the one to protect Kerry from her parents. A young teen left to intervene between adults who used their kids as weapons.
"We filled our days with after school activities. I ran track with my sister. Randall hung out with his friends."
When her eyes flashed with pain, something in his chest tightened.
"But . . . Randy turned mean—almost like he was taking out his anger at our parents on Kerry and me. We tried to stay out of his way."
Curt swallowed the rush of anger. Bastard. How could a guy take out his frustration on young girls? If Shannon had been sixteen, that made Kerry only fourteen.
"Thankfully, his friend Toby was super nice." Shannon gazed at the road, lost in thought. "I wonder what became of him. I think he was going to be a cop." She shook her head. "Anyway, for as awful as Randy was, Toby was incredibly kind to us. He was like the older brother we should've had. A million
times he rescued me and Kerry . . . giving us rides." She shot him a glance. "One time—he found out Marilyn had left us with no money for food."
He stiffened. "What do you mean . . . left you?"
"It was Christmas, I think. My mom took off with some guy from the country club. A cruise. And she . . . forgot to leave us any money for groceries."
"Hell, Shan-"
She hesitated, remembering. "Toby stopped by to see our tree . . . and of course—there wasn't one." She sighed. "He took us to get a little tree and helped us decorate it. And then . . . he went to the grocery store and bought us one of those dinners . . . like all we had to do was heat it up on Christmas Day."
Fury pumping through him, Curt wondered whether benign neglect was worse than abuse. "Your mother sounds . . . like mine."
"We survived," she admitted. "But, Toby certainly made it easier. He would help Kerry with homework when I was too busy. Stuff my brother could've done." She shrugged. "To answer your original question, I guess I miss him . . . but it's more a feeling of what our relationship should have been. Not what he was really like."
"Your turn is there on the left." Curt digested the information about her family, wondering why it upset him to hear it. She was so giving. All he could picture was a younger version of the beautiful woman beside him. Lost, alone and worse- Afraid. As silly as the fleeting notion was, he wished he'd known her then. Even as he acknowledged the desire, his brain rejected it, scoffing at him. In those days, he would've been more like Randy than the good friend, Toby. He wouldn't have been helpful to a girl like Shannon. More likely, he would've been a bad influence. Curt frowned. Maybe a girl like her would've made him try harder. Maybe . . . he would've been stronger. For her. If someone had needed him . . . would he have stepped up? A little relieved to pull into his brother's driveway, he shelved the wayward thoughts.
"ARE YOU UNCLE CURT's girlfriend?"
Shannon paused, her fingers stilling in Hannah's wispy, blond curls. After seeing her French braid, Hannah had insisted she wanted one, too. But not before she'd completely unraveled Shannon's hair to see how it looked. Between her sticky fingers and the gentle breeze assaulting it, she suspected her hair now resembled a bird's nest. Plopped on the grass in the sprawling backyard of Curt's older brother, she was fighting a losing battle with the squirmy almost five year old and her soft, flyaway hair. "I'm his friend," she emphasized. "And I'm a nurse. I've been helping him with his leg, so it will get better."
The blond head swiveled. "Will he hafta cut it off?"
Her shoulders shaking, she tried to keep the amusement from her voice. "No, honey. His leg is still in there under all those bandages and the big brace. But, he has to be careful not to bump it or put any weight on it. That's why he's using crutches."
Rosy lips turned down in a pout. "He won't even let me play with them. I wanna walk on crutches, too. "
"I think they're a little tall for you." Each time Hannah turned to look at her with inquisitive brown eyes, more of her wispy hair slipped free of the braid. "How about this? I'll make you a deal."
Hannah's eyes lit up, intrigued. "What?"
"When Uncle Curt is all better, I'll show him how to make the crutches smaller, so he can lift you up to try them out. But . . . they're not for fun. Even when they help your leg get better, they hurt your hands."
"How do they hurt?"
"When we go back up on the deck, look at Uncle Curt's hands. They're red and sore where he has to hold the handles."
Nearly invisible blond brows rose in surprise. "Uncle Curt has a booboo on his hands, too?" Velvety eyes softened with concern. "But, his eyes look so happy now." Forgetting her hair, Hannah swiveled to face her. "Shannie, I don't want him to hurt anymore."
The little girl's lip quivered as though she were moments from bursting into tears. Oh, hell. Panic flared at the thought that she'd be responsible for making Curt's favorite niece start sobbing. The beautiful barbeque on the perfect day in the most gorgeous setting she could ever imagine would dissolve with a little girl's tears. Nice work, McCarty. Hard to believe she could screw things up with a four year old, too.
"Honey—don't cry. I know something that would make Uncle Curt feel so much better."
"You do?" Hannah sniffed.
"I do." If only she could resolve her own problems as easily as she could make Hannah's disappear. Things were going so well with Curt. He was happier. In less pain. And enjoying her company. Or—the woman he thought she was. She, on the other hand, was falling hard for the man she'd been responsible for hurting. Time spent with him was close to idyllic. Except for the giant lie hovering over her like a rumbling storm. Each day she'd awaken, swearing that day would be the one she finally confessed. And each night, she would curse herself for chickening out once again.
Shelving her troubled thoughts, she smiled at the little girl. "I have a plan. And you're the perfect girl to do it."
Tears forgotten, she was rewarded with a sunny smile. "What?" Hannah started bouncing in the grass. "What can I do?"
"He loves you so much. Why don't you ask him . . . to show you the booboos on his hands?" Utterly captivated by Hannah's expression, she understood why Curt was addicted to his adorable niece. "I bet if you kiss them . . . soft and gentle like a butterfly . . . he'll feel a million times better."
Hannah's eyes widened. "A million?"
When she nodded, the little girl bolted to her feet. "What about your hair? I thought you wanted a braid."
"We can do it next time," she dismissed. "I need to go kiss Uncle Curt."
She rose to her feet, brushing off her jeans. Spotting MaryJo chasing little Curt in the garden, she wandered over. "Remember—soft and gentle."
"Like I'm a butterfly." Arms outstretched, Hannah flitted and floated toward the patio. She stopped once, turning back to smile at Shannon. "I'm tellin' Mommy you hafta come every time with Uncle Curt."
Chapter 10
Travis joined Curt at the grill. "When are you going back to work?"
A smile on his lips, his gaze had been riveted on Shannon since they'd arrived. She'd flopped in the grass with his niece, allowing Hannah to unravel the complicated braid he'd watched her weave that morning. Grinning over the mess Hannah was making of her hair, she finally shook it free. His breath caught at the gleaming, russet fall that felt like silk between his fingers. His niece's little blonde head moved closer to hers . . . confiding secrets. And the spot in his chest began aching again.
"Yo—Curt."
His thoughts scattering, he dragged his attention back to the suddenly spitting grill. "Huh?"
"Bro, she's not going anywhere. She came here with you, remember?" Travis smirked. "Good thing Hannah likes her burger well done. And Curtie doesn't know any better yet."
"Shut up."
"Do you expect them to flip themselves while you make eyes at your girlfriend?"
"I've got a steak here with your name on it. If you want it burned, just keep talkin'." He flipped the burgers. Okay, so a few of them would probably be a little overdone. He'd just slide them to the bottom of the pile.
"How's it goin' with her?" His brother nodded to the yard.
"Fine."
"You know . . . the less you say about her—the more information you reveal."
Curt grinned when baby Sean chose that moment to swat Travis in the face. "Nice shot, little man." He pretended to high-five his infant nephew.
"Speaking of work . . . are you going back this week?"
"Monday. I have PT first thing at seven. Then Shannon's driving me in."
"So—she's still living with you?" Travis raised an eyebrow.
"She's still staying with me, yes," he reluctantly confirmed. Why the hell was it any of Travis' business? Okay, so technically he'd omitted that part to Shan—where Doctor Sullivan said he could probably go it alone. But, he wasn't as sure. He still tired easily. "I've reduced the meds, but I still need them at least once a night."
"I thought she was getting rea
dy to move into her own place. Doesn't she need time to pack?"
"That's still a week away." Guilt swiftly took residence at Travis' insinuation. Damn, he should tell her. She probably had plenty of stuff to do. Despite studiously avoiding the reasons why he hadn't told her, Curt knew. He liked having her around. He liked the way his house felt when she was in it. And smelled. And looked—as though happy people lived there.
When he hobbled around during the day, he saw glimpses of her. Most guys probably hated the clutter that moved in with an actual, live female. But—he liked it. He liked her stuff in the bathroom. Her perfume on the counter. Her presence. The paperback she lugged around, but never seemed to read. The board game sitting in the living room, a scribbled score sheet half completed. Waiting for them to finish. Shan had made his house . . . a home. "I think she’s fine with it. She hasn't mentioned-"
"Didn't the doctor say-"
"Let me worry about what the doctor said-"
Thankfully, he was cut off when MaryJo bounded up the steps, joining them on the deck. "What did the doctor say?"
Curt shot his brother a warning look. "I'm starting PT Monday."
MaryJo's eyes lit up. "That's wonderful. I'm so happy for you." She frowned at the grill. "Heck, you were supposed to give me ten minutes warning." She bolted for the French doors. "Trav—get in here. I need you to help me get all the salads on the table."
Glancing to the backyard, Travis confirmed the whereabouts of his kids—a habit made necessary by his beloved niece's proclivity for disappearing. "Keep an eye on her for me."
Nodding, he watched Hannah's exuberant travels around the yard. After sliding the burgers to relative safety, he called out to her. "What are you? A bird?" She flapped her arms and grinned.
"Nope."
"An airplane?" His gaze caught Shannon, strolling through the garden, his namesake slung on her hip. Even from this distance, he could see her leaning in, smiling at little Curt as she pointed out a flower.
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