From Father to Son

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Honestly? Yeah. Assuming you’re beating your way around to saying what I think you are.”

  His sigh was closer to a groan. “I’m in love with her.”

  “And that’s bad why?”

  “You have to ask me that? God. I never intended to do this. I couldn’t imagine doing this.”

  “Plenty of people who have worthless parents fall in love and get married,” Duncan observed.

  “I don’t…connect with people.”

  “You’re my best friend,” was the quiet response.

  Niall had to laugh at that. “Sad to say, you’re my best friend, too. Do you know how little actual time we spend together?”

  “More than we used to. We’re…learning how to be family.” Duncan frowned. “I never knew if you’d forgive me.”

  “What for?” Niall asked, astounded.

  Now his big brother’s face went slack with surprise. “The car. For being such a hard-ass.”

  “I could think of some more explicit ways to put it.”

  They shared a grin.

  Niall shook his head. “There wasn’t anything to forgive. It didn’t take me long to realize you didn’t have any choice. The car thing hit Conall harder than it did me even though it wasn’t his.”

  “It wasn’t only the car.”

  Niall reflected on that. “No.” He never had totally figured out Con’s problems, but knew they went deep.

  “I love you.”

  Niall was embarrassingly aware that his mouth had dropped open. Duncan was moving his shoulders a little uneasily, but he let the bald words lie right where they were.

  There was only one answer. Niall cleared his throat. “I’ve always loved you, too. You know that, right?”

  “Maybe not always, but…for a long time.” Was that satisfaction on his brother’s face? “So you admit you know how to love someone. Why the heartburn over Rowan?”

  He blew out air like a winded horse. “She’s got a house. Kids.”

  “I’ve had the impression you love those kids, too.”

  That almost made it worse. He bowed forward and bumped his forehead on the table.

  Duncan whacked him affectionately between the shoulder blades. “Yeah, I thought so.”

  He made himself straighten and look his brother in the eye. “Every time I get close to her, I freak.”

  “She know that?”

  “Yeah. This last time, she pretty much told me to get lost.” Honesty had him adding, “Not pretty much. She said she was done.”

  “You’re accepting that?”

  “No, but…” This was what it really came down to, wasn’t it? “She’s been hurt once. What if I make a commitment to her and can’t keep it?”

  “Can’t?” Duncan repeated the word as if it were in a language he didn’t understand.

  “What if I’m like Mom or Dad?”

  His brother looked gravely back at him. “Are you?”

  He was closer to squirming than he’d been since he was about twelve years old and in trouble. “No,” he said finally, huskily. “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t think you are, either.”

  Something settled in Niall. Gave a soft sigh, circled around and found a comfy spot to stay. It was a weird and unsettling sensation. In some astonishment he thought, I am not like either of my parents. It wasn’t a surprise. Maybe he’d never bought a house or had a long-term girlfriend, but he’d gone to college, worked damned hard and graduated with excellent grades. He was dogged on the job. He considered his integrity rock solid. He would have done anything in the world for either of his brothers.

  “I don’t know if she’ll ever trust me,” he heard himself say.

  “You’ve given her plenty of reasons to trust you,” Duncan pointed out, his tone gentle. “With herself… That’s always harder.”

  She hadn’t evicted him, or even suggested he think about moving. She wasn’t trying to edge him out of the kids’ lives. Which meant, unless things changed, he had time to prove himself capable of constancy.

  He could do that, Niall decided on a swell of what felt like optimism. Another new emotion to pin up on the bulletin board of his life.

  “You’re really happy?” he asked, as if he hadn’t before. “I mean, with Jane?”

  “Yeah.” Duncan’s hard face softened. “She’s got a built-in panic button I have a way of pushing, but we’re getting better at compromise.” His grin flashed. “I’ll bet you didn’t know I could.”

  Niall laughed.

  “She has bruises inside. I think they’re healing, though. I’ve said this before, but it’s true. We make each other happy.” His laugh held more embarrassment than amusement. “Listen to me. Captain MacLachlan, writing greeting cards.” He pushed himself to his feet.

  Niall did the same. “You have changed.”

  “So have you.” Duncan reached out and gave Niall’s upper arm one quick squeeze. “Good night.”

  After a glance at Rowan’s dark house, Niall stood on his small porch, watching his brother make his way to the gate. Sam was happy to accompany him out of the reach of the porchlight. Niall heard one muffled curse; the dog did like to get underfoot.

  He was still smiling when he went back inside, trying to remember the last time anyone had said those words to him.

  I love you.

  Or when he’d said them himself.

  Maybe when he was a little boy. There must have been a time, but it was lost in the confusion of his childhood. A few times, Duncan had said, “I’m proud of you,” which was almost as good. Maybe it was even code for “I love you,” which wasn’t something men said to each other. But hearing it, admitting it, that was important.

  If he ever had kids of his own—and Niall was including Des and Anna—they would never doubt that he loved them. His wife would never doubt he loved her.

  He thought the words might get easier to say with practice.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DES BURST INTO THE KITCHEN. “Can Niall and me go play soccer?” He hopped from foot to foot with eagerness.

  “Can Niall and I go play soccer,” Rowan corrected automatically.

  “That’s what I said!”

  She felt Niall’s presence before she saw him, standing on the other side of the screen door, his gaze on her. He’d already changed after work, from rumpled dress shirt and slacks to faded jeans, T-shirt and athletic shoes. The wariness on his face made her ache.

  She’d put that expression there.

  “Sure,” she said cheerfully. “I was going to put dinner on in a few minutes, though. Can you be back in an hour?”

  “Yeah! I gotta get my soccer ball,” her son told Niall, and bolted for the stairs.

  “Use the bathroom,” Rowan called after him, then said to Niall, “You’re welcome to come in, you know.”

  After a momentary hesitation, he opened the screen door and stepped into the kitchen. His gaze went to Anna, sitting at the kitchen table drumming her heels on the chair legs and coloring.

  “Hey, Anna Banana.”

  “Can I come?” she asked. “I want to play soccer, too.”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “Next year is soon enough for you, kiddo.” He looked over her shoulder. “Nice job there.”

  How was it he always knew the right thing to say to both the kids? And what did he mean, next year? Was he implying that he’d still be around?

  Dear heavens, Rowan thought, I won’t survive a year of him being around all the time but not really here.

  His gaze going to her, he leaned a shoulder against the refrigerator and crossed his arms. “You talked to your parents?”

  She nodded. “Mom is mad I didn’t tell
her what was going on earlier. She wanted to come roaring up here, but I put her off. With school starting, the last thing I need is a house guest.”

  “Tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, thank goodness. They’re both hyper.”

  His smile was quick and amused. “I noticed.”

  “Thank you for distracting Des tonight.”

  “He can hardly wait for soccer practice to start. He’s worried because he’s sure all the other boys played last year and will be way better than he is.”

  Rowan rolled her eyes. “I seriously doubt that.”

  “You’ll let me know if you need help getting him to practice or picking him up.”

  This was killing her. Why was he doing this?

  “Niall, you can’t possibly want to get sucked into chauffeuring duties,” she said.

  “You’re wrong.” Voice and eyes were both quiet but steady. “I do.”

  Rowan didn’t see anything but him. Leaning there, so casual, so big and male and determined. Her ribcage felt as if it had shrunk a size or two à la Dr. Seuss.

  The thunder of feet on the stairs brought her head around. “Be careful…”

  Grin wide, Des raced into the kitchen. He threw the ball at Niall, who snagged it one-handed out of the air.

  “Desmond Staley, we don’t throw balls in the house.”

  “Oh, yeah.” His chagrin didn’t last long. “I knew Niall would catch it.”

  “We’re supposed to be kicking it and heading it anyway, not throwing it.” Niall ruffled Des’s hair. “Let’s get moving, buddy.”

  The screen door slammed and they were gone. Rowan moved to the kitchen window where she could see them briefly before they disappeared toward the gate. The sight gave her heart another wrench. Des’s face was tilted up and he was obviously chattering a mile a minute. Niall was listening with a lopsided smile, his hand resting on her son’s shoulder as if it belonged there.

  She wanted so much for it to belong there. To know that Niall wasn’t going anywhere.

  She heard him say, I want to try. His voice halting, imbued with emotion she hadn’t let herself hear. Regret and hope.

  How could she trust him not to run away again and hurt not only her feelings, but the kids’? She couldn’t risk them. She couldn’t.

  A small voice whispered, Is it really them you’re afraid for? Rowan couldn’t answer.

  She summoned indignation. What was it he wanted to “try” anyway? He’d never even invited her out, not her alone. He’d insinuated himself into her family, he’d talked to her, he’d kissed her. He’d made love to her.

  After which she’d become a distant acquaintance, if she was lucky enough for his gaze to glance off her at all.

  Yes, but she’d known that was an act. She knew fear when she saw it; she’d felt it often enough. He’d given them all so much. A young, single guy, a police detective, he was finding time almost every day to spend with Des, who was blossoming under the male attention.

  “Look, Mommy,” Anna said. “I colored the horse blue.”

  Rowan pulled her attention back to the here and now. “It’s beautiful.” She kissed her daughter’s head.

  He could decide any day to move out. Maybe she was more of a coward than Niall was, but I want to try wasn’t enough of a declaration to justify the risk she would be taking. With her own heart, and Desmond’s and Anna’s.

  HE’D SECRETLY HOPED for a dinner invitation. But Rowan barely glanced at Niall when he brought Desmond back.

  “Go wash your hands,” she ordered him.

  “I get to start school tomorrow,” Anna told Niall.

  He smiled. “I know. I’ll look forward to hearing about it.” Then he offered a general “Good night” and went home to his cottage, where he nuked a frozen burrito that didn’t smell half as good as the casserole Rowan had been setting on a trivet on the table.

  He wouldn’t have had time to linger anyway, he reminded himself. Thin clouds hazed the sky. There might be rain tomorrow. Glenn would go out tonight, and Niall intended to be right behind him.

  My quest. He had a moment of rueful amusement. He wasn’t so sure bringing her a trophy on his bloody lance would get him what he wanted, but he intended to do it anyway. For Des, if not for her.

  He drove to within a couple of blocks of the Staleys’ and walked the rest of the way. After a two-minute wait behind a large rhododendron in the next-door neighbor’s yard, Glenn appeared on cue.

  This was the kind of neighborhood where kids could play out in their yards and the street until dusk or even night fell. With the first day of school being tomorrow, though, the younger children had been called in earlier than usual and even the older ones were being summoned to take baths and lay out their clothes for morning. Niall heard complaints. Kids called goodbye to friends; garage doors rolled down.

  Niall of all people knew the town wasn’t as innocent as it appeared, or as safe. Domestic abuse happened behind some of these doors. There were parents who were drunks. A few of these good folks had committed petty theft or had embezzled from an employer. Marriages were breaking up, affairs were happening. But mostly these were decent people.

  Drifting behind Glenn, Niall felt intense anger at the threat to this peaceful community. This anger was personal, different than it usually was when he worked the street or pursued a case. Somewhere along the way, he’d started to feel more like a father than a cop when he thought about a pedophile targeting kids in his own neighborhood.

  In the deeper shadow of some shrubbery, Glenn veered off the sidewalk. Niall walked faster. Staley had stopped at this same house last night and been thwarted.

  He was tonight, too.

  Ditto the second house. Sticking close to him now, Niall slid silently from one bit of cover to another. The moon was behind clouds tonight, but Glenn passed briefly under the yellow light of a streetlamp. He strolled like anyone taking a walk; even lifted a hand to a man who was wheeling his kid’s bike into the garage.

  Niall didn’t let anyone at all see him.

  Another patch of darkness, and once again Glenn cut across a lawn. It helped that this time Niall knew where he was going. The son of a bitch had a route. Maybe several, but with no luck last night on this one, he’d decided on a rerun.

  Not quite like the ones Donna was watching at home.

  Tonight, the boy’s window was a golden square. Nobody had pulled blinds or curtains yet. Crouched by the foundation, Niall felt shrubbery quiver as Glenn pushed behind it.

  A woman’s voice within rose. “Eddie, are you ready for bed yet?”

  “Almost.”

  There was a faint scratching sound. Recognizing it and repelled—the creep had pulled down his zipper—Niall lifted the digital camera he’d been wearing around his neck. He thumbed the On button. Yeah, he was going to enjoy scaring this bastard.

  He stepped closer until he was on the edge of the square of light. Practically on top of Glenn. Glad he couldn’t see him. The next sounds were bad enough, soft, but he recognized them, too.

  Still Niall waited. He was going for complete humiliation. Pants down, wet semen.

  It didn’t take Glenn long. A rush of air, a grunt, and Niall moved. He flipped on his flashlight, snapped a photo, shoved aside the stiff, spiny branches of some foundation planting, and pressed his elbow and forearm between Glenn’s shoulder blades.

  “Police,” Niall said loudly. “You’re under arrest.”

  He convulsed and started to spin, but Niall shoved him against the house. “Hands on the wall,” he ordered, applying more pressure against the bastard’s spine. Slowly, Glenn complied.

  Inside the boy squeaked, “Mommy! There’s someone out there!”

  A woman appeared in the window.

 
“Police,” Niall repeated. “Ma’am, open the window.”

  She wrestled the old-fashioned wooden sash window up. “Who are you?”

  “Ma’am, please call 9-1-1. Tell the dispatcher Detective MacLachlan requests immediate uniformed backup at this address.”

  She was staring at Glenn, highlighted in the flashlight. “He was looking in the window?” she whispered. “Oh, my Lord.” She abruptly disappeared.

  “You?” Glenn blustered. “Listen to me. She puts on a good act, that daughter-in-law of mine, but she’s a slut. Think with your head. I heard a noise over here and thought there might be a hurt animal. I’m an important man in this town—”

  “You shouldn’t insult a nice lady. The mother of your grandkids.” Cuffing him was a pleasure, although Niall was careful to confine his touch to Glenn’s forearms and wrists. He didn’t like knowing where those hands had been.

  Pulled away from the house, Staley couldn’t keep his pants from dropping. He hobbled a few steps; they went down around his ankles. Niall was glad the boxer shorts stayed up. The additional photo he took now was plenty effective anyway.

  To kill the time, Niall recited him his rights, but he’d have the arriving officers Mirandize him again. This slimy bastard wasn’t getting any wriggle room.

  A man came thundering out of the house carrying a flashlight of his own in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. Glenn turned his face away from the harsh light, groaned and fell to his knees, head bowed and hands cuffed behind his back.

  “What in the hell is going on?” the man asked roughly.

  Niall had holstered his weapon. Now he held out his shield. “Detective MacLachlan. Had you heard that we had a Peeping Tom in the area?”

  “Yes, but—” The man looked toward his son’s window and swore. “He was looking at my boy?”

  As the man’s voice rose to a roar, Niall stepped in front of Staley to prevent any trouble. “I’m afraid I can’t let you lay hands on him, sir.” Tempting though it was to let him.