by Rula Sinara
“No, I don’t think he did. But Ciara’s brain injury is his fault. Got hammered one night and drove the family car off the highway and into the trees. She was barely out of the hospital when both parents hit the bricks, leaving Finn to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. In my book, that’s abuse of a different sort.”
“Wow. Just...wow. And exactly where are these Parents of the Year?”
“I have no clue where their mother is. Their father—and I use the term loosely—just rolled into town after months without a word, hoping to sponge off Finn until he finds, and I quote, ‘a new gig.’”
“Wow,” she said again. “That’s some rough stuff.”
He heard a but in her tone and expected her to recite a different version of Aggie’s warning. Nothing could have surprised him more than when Sophie said, “Have you told her how you feel?”
“No, because I don’t know how I feel.”
“Give me a break. The way you were talking about her just now?” Sophie harrumphed.
“She’s a great gal.”
“So you said.”
“Gorgeous, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
“With a heart bigger than the Double M.”
“So...”
“So...what?”
“Is she a good kisser?”
Sam licked his lips.
“You came close a time or two?”
The memory of Finn all wrapped up in his arms the night of the storm hit him hard. “A time or two, I guess.”
“Answer me this, brother dear—how many women have made you feel this way?”
“What way?”
Sophie growled into the phone. “Sam Marshall, are you being obtuse on purpose?”
“Obtuse?”
“You can be so exasperating!”
Sam chuckled, imagining her face puckered and fists clenched, maybe even stomping one big foot as she spoke.
“Wait just a minute here,” she said. “Didn’t you tell me that she mistrusts musicians? Is that what’s bugging you? You think she’ll reject you because you yodel and pluck the guitar strings now and then?”
“Holy smokes, Soph, give a guy a little credit, will ya?” Sam laughed. “I do a bit more than that.”
“Okay. All right. So you’ve written a few tunes—pretty good ones, I’ll admit—and you were blessed with stage presence and a decent voice. Now that you own part of a nightclub, you’ll get to prove it any time you please. And I’ll bet my beautiful new Reinsman saddle Finn doesn’t know any of that, does she?”
Sam could only shake his head. “See, this is the trouble with having a sister who’s one of your best friends. She can read you like a book.”
“One of your best friends?”
“Well, there’s Mark, but he’s a guy.”
“Wait until Mr. Flirty hears that!”
“You won’t tell him.”
“Oh, I won’t, huh?”
“Because then he’ll know you were talking about him. Guys love knowing cute girls are talking about them. You think he was flirty last time you visited...just wait...”
She giggled. “Speaking of, what does Mark say about Finn?”
“Not much.” Because he didn’t know much, Sam was forced to admit.
“Oh, good grief. You just met this Finn person, didn’t you?”
“Leary. Her name is Finn Leary. And of course I didn’t just meet her.” It had been weeks since he tripped her in her own place of business.
“Oh, good grief,” she repeated. “Would you believe Ben just pulled up out front?”
“Golden Rule,” he reminded her.
“Seems to me you ought to take your own good advice.”
“Huh?”
“How would you like it if Finn kept a bunch of secrets from you?”
“Secrets? What secr—”
“You’d hate it, that’s what. So take her to dinner. Someplace nice. Spell it all out. If she takes it well—including the part about your partnership with Mark—you’re good to go. If she doesn’t, you’ll spare yourself a world of hurt.” Sophie paused. “Why doesn’t she know about the partnership anyway?”
“She does, sort of, I think.”
“Oh, good grief. You’re giving me a headache. I need to go, big bro. But we’ll talk again real soon. I promise.”
He knew what that meant: Sophie aimed to check on him, maybe even nag him if necessary, until he came clean with Finn.
“But before I hang up... You gave me some good advice, earlier, so let me repay you in kind—you and Finn both deserve to hear the truth. Even if it hurts. The longer you put things off, the more painful it’ll be if she rejects you.”
If Finn rejected him, it would be more than painful—whether he waited or not.
He heard the doorbell, and she finished with, “Love you, Sam. Be happy, okay?”
“Love you, too. And ditto.”
What Sophie had said made a lot of sense. Especially that part about the folly of prolonging the inevitable, good or bad.
Sam glanced at the clock. Only a little past nine. Finn didn’t seem the type to hit the hay early. The only question remaining, really, was whether he should call first, or just show up.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“BOY, CIARA SURE was tuckered out. You and Sam must have walked her poor legs off today.”
“Don’t worry. We took breaks. Rode the train. Had a nice, leisurely meal.” When Finn had checked on her sister earlier, she’d been fast asleep and smiling. If anyone deserved sweet dreams, it was Ciara.
“Sam seems like a nice guy.”
Finn put away the spaghetti pot. “He’s nice enough. But let’s not forget, Connor, he’s a musician.”
He cringed. “First of all, it isn’t fair to judge ’em all by your mom and me. And second, do you have to call me Connor?”
“What do you suggest I call you?”
“Oh, I dunno...” He made a silly face. “How ’bout Dad?”
The last time he’d behaved like a father, Finn was ten and Ciara four. He’d found a rusty old swing set at a yard sale and spent the better part of a weekend assembling it in the backyard. After supper every night of the following week, he’d pushed them until she believed her toes might pierce the clouds, then twisted the chains until the world became a dizzying blur. The week had ended on a sour note as he and Misty announced they were moving to Abilene.
A grueling ten-hour drive had brought them to a dark, dingy dive, where a wheezing old man had grumbled that for every five hours they worked, he’d give them twenty dollars, all the booze they could drink and cigarettes they could smoke, and the keys to a room behind the bar. The door had creaked, and so had the floor, both lumpy double beds and every drawer in the cockeyed dresser. The place had smelled like dirty ashtrays and sweaty socks, and the black-and-white TV had pulled in just one snowy channel. If not for the wild-haired, tattooed waitress who sneaked them burgers and sodas and chased off the boozers who mistook their new home for the bathroom... Finn shuddered, considering what might have become of her and Ciara.
“You’re awfully quiet.”
His voice brought her back to the here and now—a decidedly better place, despite the route it had taken to get here.
“Ciara would love it if you called me Dad.”
How like him to use poor, sweet Kee to get what he wanted.
“She told me it makes her sad when you call me Connor.”
Finn believed it, but only because Ciara had told her the same thing.
“Okay, then, let’s strike a deal—you stay sober for a month, and I’ll call you Dad.” It would be an easy promise for him to keep, because if things ran true to course, he’d leave before the week was up.
&n
bsp; He pulled her into a hug. “Deal.”
The too-familiar scent of whiskey wafted into her nostrils. Finn stepped back and glared at him. “Where did you get the booze, Dad?”
He hung his head. “Brought it with me.”
She jogged into the living room and rooted through his duffel until she found the bottle, then marched into the kitchen and unscrewed its cap.
“Hey, hold up there, honey. I barely cracked the seal on that.”
He looked as if he might cry as the whiskey went glug-glug-glug on its way to the sewer...where it belonged.
“Finn, honey, be reasonable.”
She dropped the empty bottle into the trash.
“Our agreement begins right now—you’re welcome to stay...as long as you keep your promise.”
Connor groaned, driving all ten fingers through his hair. “Yeah, all right, okay.”
He seemed sad. Broken. Pathetic. And none too pleased with her tendency to treat him like a son, rather than a father. Well, guess what, Dad, I don’t much like it, either. But what choice had he left her? The rules were as much for his well-being as for hers and Ciara’s. If he couldn’t see that...
Finn didn’t like feeling resentful one minute, guilty the next. Despite Connor’s faults and failings, she loved him!
Finn had been about nine when her parents had cut their one and only record together, a remake of a 1950s hit. She’d memorized every word, and for some strange reason the maudlin lyrics comforted little-girl Ciara when storms rattled the windows or a scary movie made her believe in monsters under the bed. A week or so ago, Finn had caught herself humming the melody, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember the lyrics. Except for the last line, which went something like “all I’m guilty of is loving you.”
“I’m going to do it this time. I know you’ve heard that before, but things are different now. I’m different now.”
He looked every bit like a penitent little boy, and she felt guilty about that, too.
“I love you, Dad.” She hugged him. Tight. “I’ve missed you like crazy, and I’d like nothing more than to have you stay with us permanently...” Tears threatened, and a sob formed in her throat. “I don’t want to lose you to that stuff,” she said, holding him at arm’s length. “So I hope you mean it this time. If not for your sake, for Ciara’s. And mine.”
There were tears in his eyes, too. “You’ve got my word, baby girl. This time, I’m really gonna try.”
She understood that it was Connor’s way of telling her he’d stay clean...until he couldn’t. She’d drive herself insane trying to fight this battle for him.
She put her hand on his shoulder. “Traveling all day took its toll on you. Let me put some fresh sheets on the bed so you can get some shut-eye.”
“I told you, I’ll be fine on the couch.”
And have you sneak out to buy another bottle while I’m sleeping? No way!
“I haven’t taken care of you in ages.” Because you haven’t been around. Finn backpedaled toward the hallway. “So let me do this for you.”
Connor’s smile, sad and slow, touched a long-forgotten chord inside her. She didn’t have much reason to believe that he’d get clean and stay that way, but without hope, what did she have?
He followed her into the bedroom, and together, they stripped the bed.
“I have to interview contractors tomorrow, one after the other, starting at nine. You can come with me if you like, let me know what you think of them.”
“That might be fun.”
Fun was hardly the word she’d use.
“After they’ve delivered their quotes, we’ll grab a bite to eat. We can bring my laptop so you can start looking for work.”
He snorted. “And end up communicating with some creep online?”
“Well, if that doesn’t appeal to you, you’ll just have to pound the pavement, check out pubs in person to see if anyone’s hiring singers or guitarists. Or,” she emphasized, “you could do something different.”
“Like what? I’m only good at one thing.”
Two things, she thought. Drinking and breaking your promises. Unfortunately, nobody would pay him for that.
“Something will turn up,” Connor said. “It always does.” He shooed her from the room. “If you insist on giving up your bed, the least I can do is make it. Now git. Put up your feet. Find an old Western on the TV, and soon as I’m through here, we’ll watch it together.”
The way they had when she was small...
“Let me do this for you, please?”
He shrugged and nodded, then said over his shoulder as he left the room, “Might be too little, too late, but I’m going to make things up to you and Ciara.”
When Finn returned to the living room, she found him stretched out in the recliner, dozing while some show about Alaska flickered on the screen. She relieved him of the remote and gave his shoulder a gentle nudge.
“You’re all set.”
He dropped the footrest and got up, yawned and stretched, then chucked her cheek. “Thanks, honey. You’re an angel. Dunno what I ever did in my miserable life to deserve a kid like you, but if I figure it out, I’m gonna do it over and over and over again.”
Finn pretended she hadn’t heard it all a hundred times before. “G’night, Dad. Sweet dreams.”
As her bedroom door clicked shut, Finn flapped a sheet over the couch. She hoped it wasn’t a mistake, allowing him back into their lives. How many more disappointments could Ciara handle?
“Who are you kidding?” she muttered, shaking a pillow into its case. “You can’t handle another disappointment, either.”
She’d barely dropped the pillow on to her makeshift bed when a soft knock sounded at the door. The clock said nine twenty. “Oh, please, don’t let it be Misty,” she whispered. “Please, don’t let it be Misty.”
Parting the gauzy curtains covering the window beside the door, Finn peered outside...and directly into the big blue eyes of Sam Marshall.
She opened the door a few inches. “Did you forget something?”
“No.”
So then why was he here?
Sam pocketed one hand. “If you have a few minutes, there’s something I’d like to run past you.”
Finn opened the door a little wider. “Oh?”
Moths, drawn to the porch light, circled his head. Squinting, Sam batted at them. “If you’re not gonna let me in, would you mind turning off that beacon?”
Finn opened the door all the way. “We’ll have to keep our voices down. Ciara and Connor are asleep. Well, Ciara is asleep. I have no idea what Connor might be up to in there.” She gestured toward her room.
“Kitchen?” he asked, easing the door shut.
Finn led the way. “What can I get you? Pie? Tea? Soda?”
“Water will do.” He patted his flat stomach. “I’m still stuffed from supper.”
“Ah, a quick learner, I see.”
One eyebrow rose slightly.
“Ciara’s definition of dinner?”
He smiled. Not a forced Connor-type grin, but a genuine, full-faced smile that warmed her all the way through. Ciara was right: his eyes did sparkle.
She considered apologizing again for Ciara’s off-the-wall comments about love and marriage, but thought better of it. If she still kept a diary, as she had as a girl, that moment would go down as one of the most embarrassing of her life.
“Your contractor friends seem conscientious,” she told him.
“Yeah?”
“They’ll all be at The Right Note tomorrow morning. Nine, nine thirty and ten o’clock.” She handed him a bottle of water. “Do they know one another?”
“Al and Jerry were in the same class at the academy. Don’t know about Paul.”
“
So if the appointments overlap, a fistfight won’t break out?”
“Nah. They’re good people. At least, they were good in class. What kind of businessmen they are when they’re not fighting fires...” He shrugged.
She sat across from him. “I kind of got the impression they’d worked for you.”
“For Mark. At The Meetinghouse. Which is one of the things I wanted to talk with you about.”
“The Meetinghouse?” Finn pictured the club’s two-story brick exterior, the exposed-beamed ceiling. “I’ve only been there once. And only in the daytime. One of his guys—the drummer, I think—was getting married. I made and delivered a couple of platters for the bachelor party.”
“Sometimes Mark is a goofball. Why would he hire a caterer when he has a fully staffed kitchen and a well-trained staff right there?” He winced. “Not that I begrudge you the work. I’m sure the food was great.”
Finn smiled. “I have to admit, I wondered the same thing. But I’ve never been one to pass up a job. Especially one that could bring me future business.”
“And did it?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. Musicians are...” Finn had already hit him with that particular hammer. What good could possibly come from whacking him again?
She was grateful that Sam changed the subject. “Your dad said he was in Florida. Miami? Tampa?”
“Orlando. Misty was down there with him for a while, but she got a better offer from somebody in Atlanta. Not that I heard any of that firsthand, mind you.”
“Misty...your mother?”
“Yeah, I guess you could call her that.”
His expression changed from mildly curious to surprised. That’s what happens when you share private family business with a stranger.
“You grew up in Denver?”
“The family’s ranch is twenty-some miles southwest of the city.”
“We spent a whole week on a ranch when I was about twelve. Somewhere in Montana. Or maybe Idaho.”
“Sounds like you moved around a lot.”
“No more than your average army brat. It wasn’t all bad, though. I met some great people, saw some beautiful sights.” She sipped her water. “How about you? Did your family move much?”