From Father to Son

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He unlocked the SUV and put Anna in her car seat as gently and deftly as if he’d been doing it her entire life. They bumped across the field that had been turned into a parking lot and hadn’t been on smooth roads for five minutes before he flicked a glance at the rearview mirror.

  “Out like a light.”

  “Anna?” Rowan started to turn.

  “Both of them.”

  Sure enough, Desmond had slumped at an uncomfortable-looking angle and was sound asleep, as well.

  “They had fun,” she said.

  “Do you think so?”

  “I know so. I did, too.”

  “Good.” He was quiet for a minute. “I was afraid you’d think it was silly.”

  Rowan blinked. “Silly? What do you mean?”

  “Dressing up in kilts and folk costumes. Heaving heavy objects great distances for no reason. Playing musical instruments most people would consider irrelevant.”

  “What I saw was people celebrating their roots. A culture. Having fun. Playing amazing music.” She looked at him shyly. “When you play, I get goose bumps. I can all but see you standing on a battlefield, piping as men fall and die all around you.” Rowan shivered. “I can see why bagpipes are so often played at funerals.”

  He made a noncommittal noise, but his shoulders had loosened, his fingers on the steering wheel relaxed. He really had been worried that she’d see him as ridiculous. As if Niall MacLachlan could be any such thing.

  “You really don’t wear any underwear under the kilt?” Horrified, Rowan realized she’d blurted it right out.

  A satisfied smile curled his mouth. “I really don’t.”

  “Oh.”

  “Had it on your mind, have you?”

  “Maybe.” She tried to sound dignified.

  He laughed, low and smug. “Good.”

  She wasn’t going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. Or should she say, with a caber? Rowan thought with humor.

  “Do you win the competitions sometimes?”

  He glanced at her. “Yeah. Actually, I do. Winning isn’t so much the point for me, though. I’m…well, I was going to say not competitive, but that isn’t true. Of course I am. Mostly I like to perform. Listen to other pipers, talk about the craft. I’m sorry neither of my brothers kept playing.”

  “I wish I’d had brothers or sisters,” she heard herself say. “Mom…I think she had some miscarriages. She warned me when I got pregnant with Desmond. She was afraid it might be familial.”

  He nodded and said nothing for several miles. “You never talk about your husband.”

  “I don’t?”

  Niall shook his head. “What did he do for a living?”

  “He worked in the assessor’s office. It was something he fell into right out of college and never left. His father was disappointed.” She grimaced. For all that Drew had risen to sainthood now in his parents’ eyes, when he was alive they had often disapproved of his decisions. “He’d have liked Drew to come to work in the bank with him. Drew had majored in business, I think to please his father. He talked about going to law school, but…” She shrugged.

  “But?”

  “Glenn blames me. Because I got pregnant. I might feel bad, except I don’t think Drew actually wanted to go to law school.”

  Niall had lapsed into silence, and she was glad. When she looked at him, she saw that the lines on his forehead had deepened, as if he was brooding about something. Her down-to-earth side suggested he might have a headache, but he had an air of preoccupation, as if he’d forgotten she was there.

  Would he go into hibernation now for three days? Because he’d let himself open up too much today? Was it a way of running away from unwelcome emotions? Maybe he craved solitude? Ending up living in such proximity to her, two young children and an admittedly annoying dog must have been an unwelcome surprise, she thought, venting a sigh she hoped didn’t reach his ears.

  When they reached home, both kids woke up, although Anna was disoriented and grumpy. Niall let Rowan take her daughter while he transferred the two child seats to her car. Sam barked frantically on the other side of the gate until they opened it and he could jump all over them.

  “Thank you,” she told Niall. “We had a good time. Didn’t we, kids?”

  Anna nodded.

  “Yeah!” said Desmond.

  “I’m glad,” Niall said. He carried his bagpipe. “I can hardly wait to get changed.”

  “You look…” Rowan stopped.

  He smiled. A slow, sexy smile that made his eyelids heavy and created heat low in her belly.

  “Good.” She cleared her throat. “We like you in a kilt.”

  The kids clamored to agree. Of course, Desmond in particular worshipped Niall. Des would think anything Niall did was awesome.

  Sad to say, so did she.

  Except, she amended in a hurry, when he hurt all their feelings.

  THE MAN HAD BECOME increasingly cautious during his evening outings. He’d had a couple of close calls, and he didn’t like being interrupted when one of the boys saw him. He was particularly unhappy about the one occasion, when he had climbed onto the roof of the carport. In scrambling down, he’d wrenched an ankle and had to make up an excuse for his wife’s benefit. And that damn dog had caught up with him within two blocks! How had he gotten out? They never let the idiot dog out unless he was on a leash.

  He snorted at the notion that anyone had imagined the dog was of any use. Of course Super Sam—a ludicrous name for a particularly dumb animal—hadn’t known what to do when he did catch the man. His bark had been surprisingly deep and ferocious when he first raced out of the yard, which had alarmed the man initially before he realized there was no reason to worry. Not about that dog.

  What did worry him was the increase in patrol cars prowling the neighborhood evenings. It would seem parents had believed their kids and called in reports.

  He shrugged. Concentrating a few extra patrols in the neighborhood was political. A face in the window? No crime committed? The cops wouldn’t take any of it seriously. He rarely strolled down the sidewalk where he’d be seen by a patrol officer anyway.

  He’d given thought to taking his car and driving across town, but that carried pitfalls. He’d have to make up an excuse for where he was going to his wife, who thought nothing of his before-bedtime walks. In a strange neighborhood, he’d have to start from scratch identifying targets, too. And there was the risk that someone would notice the car, perhaps even jot down a license plate.

  No, better to stick to his usual patterns. How fortunate that so many young families lived nearby.

  He smiled as he crossed a dark lawn, studded with thick, tall rhododendrons. There was one right outside this boy’s window. Really it ought to have been pruned, he thought with disapproval. The yard wasn’t kept up well at all. The boy’s clothes tended to be shabby, too. Clearly the house was a rental. The boy stood out among others his age, however, with a freckled face, an infectious grin and a thin, strong body. He’d be an athlete when he was older, the man felt sure.

  Edging between the stiff, scratchy branches of the rhododendron and the peeling clapboard of the house until he stood to one side of the bedroom window, the man felt that irresistible tingle of anticipation. He had been looking forward to peeking in this boy’s window, to seeing him without those too-worn jeans and ragged T-shirts.

  His blood seemed to thicken in his veins as he watched the boy take pajamas from a drawer.

  NIALL STARED IN FRUSTRATION at his map, where he’d marked sightings in red. Too scattered as yet to provide much guidance. Rowan’s house was easily a mile and a half from where the latest incident had occurred, almost directly north. It would have been handy if two of the others had been equidistant east and west, allowing him
to draw a circle. Peeping Toms, men who exposed themselves, even rapists, often operated within a certain perimeter of their own homes. It was rather like a wild animal who’d staked out a territory. They had a comfort level near home, an accumulated knowledge of their prey.

  But in this case, two other complaints came from homes within a couple of blocks of each other, northwest of any theoretical center; the third house was perhaps six blocks directly south. In fact, there was something of a cluster up that way. Desmond was the anomaly, Niall reflected. Almost too far from the others to fit a usual pattern.

  He grunted. He was drawing conclusions without enough evidence. He knew damn well the guy was peeking in half a dozen windows a night. The creep would get to some after lights were out, the curtains or blinds would be fully drawn, or the kid would change to pajamas in the bathroom. Most of the time, he would be disappointed. He’d have to work for his occasional success. And ninety-nine percent of the time he wouldn’t be spotted at all.

  That enraged and frustrated Niall. He was beginning to feel foolish, spending several hours most nights patrolling the neighborhood as dusk turned to night. He knew he was wasting his time; it would take a stroke of unlikely luck for him to stumble on this guy. He also knew he’d become the butt of jokes on the job.

  His determination had yet to flag, though. Desmond hadn’t wanted to sleep in his own room for damn near two weeks after the incident. He liked his new blinds, but Rowan had told Niall that every night she had to make a big production out of checking the lock on the window, turning the wand to be sure the blinds were as tightly closed as they’d go, drawing the curtains besides and checking their hang. And then the boy who’d never been afraid of the dark begged her to leave his door open and the hall light on until he was asleep. He’d had nightmares, too, that had torn her from sleep and scared Anna.

  Desmond was something special. A great kid. Despite losing his father, despite nasty grandparents, he had this optimistic thing going. He expected to like people. Until this happened, life hadn’t taught him to be suspicious yet. Now some pervert trying to get his jollies had stolen a little of Desmond’s trust in his world.

  Anger renewed, gaze still fixed on the map, Niall thought, I’m going to get you, you bastard.

  After which, he thought grimly, the judge would slap the guy’s hand, soothe it with lotion and send him home to start preying on little boys again.

  But he’d have a record. The next time, cops would know where to start.

  His eyes narrowed. It was likely, wasn’t it, that Desmond was on the outside of this guy’s territory. Somehow Des had caught his eye. But odds were he lived closer to the other four targets. Niall’s finger slid over the map.

  Perhaps… Gut instinct kicked in and his finger settled. About there.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ROWAN SAW NIALL exactly twice that week. Sunday he had vanished entirely. Monday he came home from work and disappeared into his cottage, not to reappear until, presumably, Tuesday morning when he left for work. She didn’t actually see him go. That afternoon she and the kids were out in the yard when he got home and he stopped to wrestle for a few minutes with Des, talk to Anna, who was holding a tea party for her dolls, and exchange pleasant and entirely meaningless conversation with Rowan. His face relaxed a little when he focused on the kids, but went impassive when he was talking to her.

  Wednesday she had no contact with him; Thursday she took Desmond and Anna to Des’s friend Zeke’s house for a barbecue and they lingered nearly until bedtime.

  Friday night, she didn’t even know why she went out and sat on her glider after the kids were down. She didn’t want Niall to cross the yard. She was too angry.

  But at the same time, she wasn’t surprised when he did materialize out of the darkness and take his usual seat on the porch steps. The anger balled in her chest and she stared straight ahead and kept the glider moving smoothly.

  The silence stretched. She refused to look at him and had no idea whether he was looking at her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said eventually.

  “For what?” she said, managing to sound mystified and indifferent.

  “For not being around much this week.”

  Much? Try ever.

  “You’re my tenant, Niall,” she said flatly “Your only obligation to me, besides paying the rent on time, is to be reasonably quiet and not trash the place. It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine.

  “Tell Des I’ve been busy.”

  She’d gotten good at reading nuances in his voice, as many times as they’d sat talking in the dark. Now, he felt awkward. Maybe he was even ashamed of himself.

  He should be.

  “I think he’s figured that out.”

  He was quiet for a while. “God,” he said at last, explosively.

  For the first time, it occurred to her that something might be going on in his life. Maybe a really dreadful case. But she did read the local newspaper, and surely she’d have seen something about any recent murders.

  “Busy at work?” she asked politely.

  He stood, in that quick, eerily lithe way he had. “No.”

  In response to the movement, Sam scrabbled out from beneath the porch, where he’d dug one of his burrows.

  Rowan’s chest ached. Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t… “Then what are you swearing about?”

  “I don’t have any excuse,” he said. “I get… I don’t know.”

  “Hermitlike?”

  His laugh held not an iota of humor. “Something like that.”

  “It’s okay, Niall. You don’t owe us anything.”

  “Except the rent money.”

  Her fingers were knotted together, hurting. “Right.”

  “Maybe we can all do something together tomorrow.”

  “We have plans.” Oh, Lord, now she’d have to think of an outing.

  He was quiet, still standing at the foot of the stairs. “Okay,” he said at last. “Good night, Rowan.”

  Still, he waited. She wouldn’t even look toward him. Nothing in the world would have made her go into his arms, if that’s what he thought.

  Jerk.

  “Rowan,” he said softly.

  Abruptly, she planted a foot to stop the glider and stood. “Good night.” She turned and went into the house, letting the screen door snap closed with unnecessary force.

  To hell with you, she thought, mad at herself because she felt like crying.

  ROWAN WOKE UP MISERABLE and feeling the beginning of one of her headaches the next day, but she announced to the kids that they were going to the beach, and go they did.

  She actually took them to Padilla Bay, an estuary where fresh water flowing into the bay had created an especially rich habitat for wildlife. The bay was so shallow that when the tide was out, miles of mudflats were exposed. They visited the interpretive center, where even Anna had fun with hands-on stuff like buttons she could push to hear the calls of local birds. Des was wide-eyed learning about “who eats whom in the estuary.” They ate their picnic lunch, deposited the remnants in the car, then walked part of the Shore Trail and, with the tide well out, Rowan let the kids play in the mud left behind. One of Anna’s shoes got sucked right off her foot and she cried when Rowan couldn’t find it despite digging in slimy, thick mud.

  “Maybe one of the clams wanted to make a home in it,” she suggested.

  Anna whimpered. Des stared in fascination at the spot where his sister’s shoe had disappeared, slurp.

  “Cool,” he declared.

  “You wouldn’t actually want your shoe back,” Rowan pointed out. “We’d never get it clean again. Look at the one that’s left.”

  They all looked at it, then at Des’s and Rowan’s feet, not to mention her hand and arm, black up past her e
lbow. Yuck.

  “You need new shoes before school starts anyway. Maybe we can go tomorrow.”

  “I don’t wanna shop,” her son objected, but Anna brightened. She’d become a little princess lately and liked clothes. She put together bizarre combinations, but Rowan didn’t mind.

  “Okay,” she said, sniffed once and decided she wanted down. She took off her other shoe and was prepared to fling it, too, into the mud when Rowan grabbed it.

  She didn’t think her lecture on ecological preservation impressed Anna much, although Des at least looked thoughtful at the idea of one of the birds or fish eating something that might kill them. They’d been lucky already to see a great blue heron flapping its awkward way into the air.

  Anna walked barefoot most of the way back to the car, letting her mom carry her only once they reached the parking lot. Both the kids had developed tough feet this summer, running wild around the backyard. Rowan loved that they could do that. They’d been so much more constrained at their grandparents’ house. There, they weren’t supposed to rip holes in the knees of their jeans or get grass stains on new clothes or scrape themselves climbing a tree. They were expected to behave.

  She had an attack of guilt, contributing to the headache that had made a comeback. She still hadn’t invited her in-laws over for dinner. Maybe she’d call tonight and suggest they come tomorrow, for Sunday dinner.

  After parking in the carport at home, she let Desmond run out to the street to collect the mail and carry it in. Rowan pretended that she didn’t care Niall’s motorcycle was gone. Once in the house, Rowan made the kids take baths and then let them put in a movie. Quiet time would be good for all of them.

  She took some more painkiller and made herself a cup of tea before she flipped through the scant pile of mail.

  One envelope looked official. It was from a law firm, she realized, hesitating before she opened it. Not the firm that had handled Drew’s will. This one wasn’t in Stimson at all; they were in Mount Vernon, the next county over. What on earth? She slit it open then read in astonishment that cramped into terror.