From Father to Son

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Rowan’s eyes fixed on Niall’s face. “Did you find anyone?”

  He shook his head. “Why don’t you tuck Anna in?”

  The little girl clutched her mother convulsively. “I don’t wanna! I wanna sleep with you.”

  “Yes. Okay.” Rowan stood with her daughter in her arms and went into the one bedroom Niall hadn’t yet breached. “I’ll tuck you into my bed, honey, but then I need to talk to Niall before I go to bed.” Her voice became a soft murmur as they disappeared.

  Niall crouched before Desmond, who now sat up with one arm around Sam, leaning against his boy.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  The boy’s head bobbed. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “Mommy hadn’t pulled my curtains yet. I was…I was putting my pajamas on when I saw him.”

  “Your light was still on.”

  “Mom turns it off after she tucks me in.”

  “But your mother didn’t see this face?”

  He shook his head. “No, just me. She hadn’t come yet. I think she was brushing her teeth. She said she was going to bed real soon, too, because of us having to get up so early.”

  A Peeping Tom. Niall felt both relief and a resurgence of rage. The six-year-old boy had been alone in his room, naked, and some creep had been peeking in the window.

  Did this particular creep like boys? Or had he hoped for a little girl? Or even the mother? Niall couldn’t see how the scum could have known which bedroom he’d be looking into.

  No. Wait. Within a week of moving in, Rowan had replaced the heavy dark curtains with ones she’d made herself. The kids had picked out their own fabrics. Someone standing outside could guess that the pink ones with unicorns signaled girl and the green ones with dinosaurs were a boy. Niall had noticed the new curtains as soon as they were hung. He’d also noticed that Rowan had replaced the ugly tan blinds in her—formerly Enid’s—bedroom window with sunny yellow blinds and sheer white curtains.

  A Peeping Tom who liked boys, then.

  Desmond described the face he’d seen as pale and “kind of regular,” which Niall interpreted to mean no mask and probably no covering of panty hose to blur the features. Definitely Caucasian. Likely no beard or mustache. Otherwise, all the boy could say was that someone was looking in, and then he’d screamed and he thought the face disappeared.

  Hell, it could even have been a woman.

  Desmond didn’t want to sleep in his own room, either. No surprise there. Niall gave Desmond a hard hug and said, “See you in the morning, buddy,” then waited while Rowan escorted the kid into her bedroom in turn.

  “I hope you have at least a queen-size bed,” he said when she returned.

  Rowan made a face. “No such luck.” She hesitated. “Can we go downstairs?”

  Sam bumped open her half-closed door and disappeared into her room. She looked after him with some resignation. “I suppose tonight…”

  They went as far as the kitchen. Neither sat down.

  “You don’t think he was imagining it?”

  “No.” Cold and hard, Niall said, “Your stepladder was set up so that somebody could climb up on the carport. And Sam heard somebody. The minute I opened the gate, he went tearing out and around the house. He might even have caught him, I don’t know. I searched your yard and the one on the corner. The Fishers’ on the other side doesn’t have much of anyplace to hide.”

  She nodded, still looking scared.

  “Sam must have run a couple of blocks at least. It took him a while to come back when I called.”

  “Was somebody trying to break in?”

  “I doubt it,” he said grimly. “I suspect it was your classic Peeping Tom.” Seeing her distress, he added, “I know it’s upsetting, but they’re usually harmless. I’ll check tomorrow to find out whether there have been reports of anything similar in the neighborhood.”

  “We shouldn’t call the police now?”

  “I am the police,” he reminded her.

  She shivered, closing her eyes. “Thank you. I’m so glad you were here.”

  He scraped a hand over his unshaven jaw. “Hearing him scream took a couple of years off my life.”

  “Mine, too.” Rowan shivered again, and Niall finally couldn’t stand it another minute.

  He crossed the couple of feet separating them and wrapped her in his arms.

  Not until that moment had he remembered that he wasn’t wearing a shirt or paid attention to the fact that she had on a sheer, sleeveless white nightgown with her shorts and sandals on beneath. She’d been in the middle of getting ready for bed, then, when Des screamed.

  Now that he’d consciously acknowledged what she was wearing, Niall could see the swell of her breasts and the darker circles of her nipples through the fine fabric even though those breasts were now pressed to his bare chest. Which meant he’d been noticing, all right, even when he was narrowly focused on the kids and the disturbing event.

  Her arms closed around him, too, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. Her hands splayed on his back, the tension in her fingertips feeling as if she was trying to grip his flesh to hold on tight. Her body trembled and she was panting, each breath stirring his chest hair.

  Niall moved his own hands in a soothing rhythm on her back even though he didn’t feel all that calm and comforting. He was angry and aroused both. A part of him wanted violence; he didn’t like having his hunt thwarted. The creep had picked the wrong house. Obviously he hadn’t known a cop lived so close.

  At the same time, Niall wanted sex. He’d wanted her from the first glance, when he still thought Enid’s granddaughter was probably married. Having her in his arms was shaking his usually unshakable control. How could she not notice how he was reacting to her? But he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

  She smelled good. Something like the rose that grew over the railing of her back porch. He’d noticed it before. Not strong, like perfume. It was more subtle than that. Her shampoo, maybe. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent.

  He had to back off. Quick.

  “Mom? Aren’t you coming to bed?”

  The worried call from the top of the stairs came as a relief to Niall. He gently squeezed her upper arms and stepped back. “We’d both better get to bed.” His voice came out low and rough. “Uh…is there a lock on Desmond’s window?”

  Her cheeks were pink and her eyes didn’t quite meet his, which made him guess she had noticed he’d been feeling more than a desire to offer her support. But she nodded.

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Niall.”

  He wished her good-night and left, waiting on the doorstep until she turned the dead bolt before he started down the steps and across the lawn. Niall quietly let himself out the gate, walked the perimeter of the house and yard and then hung the stepladder back up.

  Tomorrow it would go in the locked garage. If the creep came back, he’d have to be carrying his own ladder.

  Sleep, Niall suspected, wasn’t going to come easily.

  “THERE HAVE BEEN A COUPLE of reports that might match up with our guy,” Niall told Rowan the next evening. He had stopped by briefly when he first arrived home from work, to find out how Anna was recovering from the morning surgery, but he hadn’t said anything then about the Peeping Tom and Rowan hadn’t asked.

  Somehow she’d known that he would come back later. He didn’t every night, although she’d made a habit of taking some quiet time out on the porch almost every evening after she’d tucked the kids in. Her excuse was that the house was hot and she liked the cool night air. She didn’t like acknowledging how much she hoped he would come over to talk to her.

  Please don’t let him have guessed.

  Tonight she had barely sat down on the glider when he appeared, moving as silentl
y as always, settling in his usual spot on the steps before he said a word.

  “They back in their own beds?”

  She gave a huff that was almost a laugh. “Are you kidding? Not a chance.”

  “Yeah, I guess that was asking for too much.”

  “Really, I don’t mind.”

  She thought his glance was searching, although she couldn’t be sure in the darkness. But she saw his nod.

  That’s when he told her about the other police reports.

  “One kid saw a face in his window, like Des did. The other call was from a man who noticed footprints in the flowerbed right under his kid’s bedroom window. He’d been weeding the day before, putting in new plantings, so the earth was soft. Not good enough prints to take an impression, even assuming anybody would have bothered when no crime was committed except trespass, but the cop who wrote up the report guessed the shoe size as a man’s eleven or twelve.”

  “Near here?”

  “One was six blocks away, the other maybe eight blocks. Which suggests he lives in the neighborhood.”

  “I’m tempted to tear down the carport.”

  “You’d be sorry come winter.”

  She felt a spurt of temper. “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Blinds on Des’s window,” Niall said promptly. “Make sure no one can see in.”

  “That’s it?” She didn’t know why she was suddenly so agitated, so mad, but she was. The idea of her children threatened in any way was unbearable. She’d been so grateful to find sanctuary here, in Gran’s house, and now it didn’t feel nearly as safe. She resented that.

  “Rowan, I meant it when I said most Peeping Toms don’t go beyond that.”

  “But some do.”

  His pause suggested he didn’t want to answer, but he did. “Sure, a few. Even then, they’re not likely to break in to a kid’s bedroom.”

  “What do they do, coach his sports team instead?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She gusted out air, hating this new feeling of vulnerability. “Great.”

  “You know I’ll do my best to catch him.”

  “How?” Rowan challenged.

  “I’ll talk to every cop who patrols this area.” Niall sounded grim. “I might do a little prowling after dark myself.”

  “You really think it’s someone who lives nearby.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Then why hasn’t this been going on all along?” She stopped. “Or…has it?”

  “It might. I didn’t look back far. It’s also possible the guy moved here recently, or something triggered a new behavior for him. There’s no way to know until we catch him.”

  “Do you think he was, um, hoping for a little girl?”

  “No.” Niall pointed out that the curtains on her kids’ bedroom windows were a pretty clear signal. “Besides, both the other reports involved boys in Desmond’s age range.”

  She shuddered.

  “He seemed okay this morning,” Niall ventured after a minute.

  Des had chattered some about last night’s excitement as they drove to the hospital, but Niall was right; the subject hadn’t come up again all day until bedtime rolled around.

  “Did I thank you for coming with us this morning?”

  “Yeah. And it was no biggie,” he replied, a smile in his voice.

  “Of course it was. You’re so great with Desmond.” And me. Yes, he’d been everything she needed, too. A solid, mostly quiet presence, an occasional touch. He was there, when it counted.

  She was having a hard time looking at him tonight. This morning she’d been scared enough about Anna she hadn’t thought about those few minutes in the kitchen last night, but now she couldn’t help it. The way he’d held her had felt wonderful. And then she’d become aware that he had an erection. Part of her had wanted to bolt, but another part of her… Well, she’d shocked herself, because her body had wanted to burrow against him. She had become suddenly, acutely aware of his bare skin, of the power of the muscles under her hands and the soft fleece of chest hair layered over more muscles. She could hear his heartbeat, smell the faint odor of sweat and something more indefinable: man. And she’d felt cramping and heat low in her belly and between her legs. It had been so very long since Rowan had felt sexual desire, it had taken a stunned moment for her to recognize it. She’d just been thinking, What kind of masochist am I? when Des called for her.

  What she still couldn’t understand was that, whatever common sense told her, she hadn’t wanted Niall to let her go.

  She had wanted him to kiss her.

  This was surely no more than a primitive biological response, something she was wired to feel, she told herself rather desperately. He’d helped with Anna, and been so kind to both the kids, and when Des screamed Niall had come roaring to protect them. Some cavewoman part of her brain had decided she ought to grab him and hold on with everything she had. Which meant sex.

  I don’t want sex. I don’t.

  So why did something inside her quiver now every time she saw him?

  Why did she keep wondering what it would be like if he did kiss her? Whether he could be tender in bed? Whether she could trust him?

  And how foolish was that?

  The thing was, he’d been astonishingly trustworthy even though she knew, knew, that he’d never meant to get so sucked into their lives and that every time he joined them he was bemused at himself. She could see it on his face. What in the hell am I doing? And yet he kept meeting her needs and her children’s as if not doing so wasn’t an option.

  Rowan wished she understood him better. She wished she didn’t have to fear that, one of these days, he’d simply fade from their lives the same way he disappeared these evenings after sitting and talking with her. She imagined it so vividly: him walking away and never coming back, leaving behind no explanation. He hadn’t given her the slightest indication she or the kids could count on anything permanent from him. And that was scary, because—heaven help her—she had come to depend on him. Going back to being alone would be hard.

  “I’d better wish you good-night,” he said. “I imagine Anna will be waking you up regularly.”

  “She’s pretty miserable,” Rowan agreed. “But it’ll be worth it if she quits being sick all the time.”

  “She might even be able to take up swimming.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I saw Donna and Glenn when they came by this evening,” he said after a silence.

  “They wanted to find out how Anna was.” They hadn’t said anything objectionable, but they’d scarcely looked at Rowan or spoken to her even though she’d called the minute Anna was out of surgery to let them know it had gone well. This evening she’d seen how Glenn stiffened when Des told him that Niall had gone with them to the hospital. It would have been politic of her to invite them to come with her instead, but the choice had been no choice at all. She and Desmond both had needed Niall.

  He nodded, understanding what she didn’t say as well as what she did, Rowan suspected. “I’ve never given you my phone number.”

  She hadn’t thought about it, but no, he hadn’t.

  “I keep my cell with me all the time. I want you to put my number on speed dial.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t mean to. But if I’d had music on last night, I might not have heard Desmond scream. I want to be sure you can reach me. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll go get my cell phone.”

  He waited where he was until she came back. Then he stood and came to her, taking her phone out of her hand. She watched as he entered his name and number, determined she didn’t have any other numbers on speed dial and made his own number one.

&nbs
p; He laid the phone in her hand, then carefully folded her fingers over it.

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t seem to help how tremulous that sounded. His touch and standing so close to him brought a resurgence of all those confusing feelings from last night.

  “Rowan.” His voice was scarcely over a whisper.

  Her mouth formed the word “Yes?” but it may have been soundless.

  He was staring down at her, even though he actually stood a step below Rowan. His eyes were shadowed, but she couldn’t look away from them anyway.

  He lifted one hand to cup her face. His fingertips were rough textured but astonishingly gentle. With his thumb, he caressed her lips, which parted. Her tongue touched the pad of his thumb—not intentionally, she hadn’t made any such decision, but somehow it happened anyway, and it was as if the dampness was an electrical conductor. Her body quivered; he groaned.

  He bent his head, and she got her wish. Niall kissed her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ALARM MELDED WITH THE HUNGER that had made him reach for her. What was he doing? Whoa.

  Too late, because his lips were on hers. And, oh damn, her mouth was soft. It quivered, too, only a tiny bit, but the feeling was both erotic and wrenched something uncomfortable in Niall’s chest. Was she afraid?

  Unsure, he kept the kiss gentle even though he wanted to dive in. He brushed his mouth back and forth, savoring that little tremble. Then he traced her lips with his tongue. When she stayed still as a mouse caught in the open, head tipped back and eyes closed, he took a chance and nipped at her bottom lip. A soft sound slipped out of her. An “Ohh.” Wonder? Pleasure?

  His body hardened painfully. He slid his hand around to capture the back of her head. Her hair was as silky as it looked. Sunshine. Summer. Everything pretty and hopeful that he knew.

  With his other hand, he captured one of hers and lifted it to his shoulder. Then her other one. Her fingers tightened on his taut muscles, squeezing and releasing, like a cat kneading. Did she have any idea she was doing that?