Raising Connor

by Loree Lough

  On the landing, he hesitated. “You planning to turn in once you get that li’l monkey tucked in?”

  “No.” Because I have some important research to do.

  It seemed he needed to hear more, so Brooke added, “Call me when you know something. Doesn’t matter what time.”

  Relief softened his features. Why did it feel so good knowing that her simple promise eased his mind? Well, she’d have all night to come up with an answer to that one, because something told her that whether or not he called, she wouldn’t get much sleep.

  “You sure? Could be late…”

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  Even more confusing, she was sure…though she had no rational reason to be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  HUNTER ROUNDED UP the boys, and over slices of pepperoni and mushroom at their favorite pizza joint, told them what the doctors had said: Mitch made it through surgery just fine, and so had the elderly man who’d fallen asleep at the wheel, crossed the center line on Route 40 and broadsided Mitch’s Harley. Mitch would need a few days of bed rest when he got out of the hospital. And after that, weeks of physical therapy to help rebuild muscle in his broken leg.

  “You know what that means,” he said, looking at each in turn.

  “Laundry,” said one.

  “Vacuuming,” offered another.

  A third piped up with “Mow the lawn?”

  “Nobody has a driver’s license,” said the first. “How we s’posed to get to the grocery store, and back and forth to work for you?”

  Inside, Hunter’s nerves were jangling, but he couldn’t let the kids see it.

  “Let me worry about that,” he told them.

  And during the drive from the hospital to Last Chance, Hunter formulated a plan: at six-thirty, either he or Sam would pick up the boys who’d work at the Sheridans’. Those who wanted to come along to watch and learn were more than welcome…provided they wore hard hats and steel-toed boots.

  Then, when he dropped them off, Hunter asked for pen and paper, wrote up a list of daily chores and taped it to the fridge. “Anyone not interested in hanging around the construction site can stay here,” he told them, “working on this stuff.”

  The emotional stress of seeing their surrogate dad laid up had hit them hard, and they were all out for the count by midnight. Hunter decided to stretch out on the sofa until Mitch’s assistant, Lyle, showed up. A perfect chance to make good on his promise to call and update Brooke. But he dozed off the minute his head hit the cushions. It took a flock of screeching crows to bring him round again at five.

  Too early to call Brooke. He’d give her the details when he asked her opinion on hardwood stains. She didn’t know Mitch, after all. Had never even heard the name until the call about the motorcycle accident interrupted their meal.

  Still, it felt good that she’d offered to be his sounding board. It put him in such an upbeat mood that he decided to fix breakfast for the boys. When the scent of sizzling bacon and biscuits roused them, they joined him in the kitchen and sat yawning around the table.

  Kenny poured himself a glass of juice. “Heard from Mitch this morning?”

  Hunter buttered a slice of toast. “Talked to him an hour or so ago. He’s in some pain but doing pretty well, all things considered.”

  “Well, that’s a miracle,” Darren said, “’cause he looked horrible in the hospital.”

  Trevor shuddered. “You’ll never catch me on a motorcycle again. No way. No sir. Not after last night.”

  The rest of the boys agreed, and as Hunter put the food on the table, Kenny asked, “So what will we be doing at the Sheridans’ house today, Mr. Stone?”

  “I’ll have to talk with Sam, find out where he needs you. And call me Hunter, okay?”

  As the stack of bacon and biscuits dwindled, Hunter remembered what Sam had called Mitch earlier. “Doggone hooligan,” he’d grumbled, “calling at the last minute to tell me that clown nearly killed himself doing all sorts of foolishness. Would’ve expected that from the kids. But Mitch? He should have known better, set a better example.”

  Hunter chuckled to himself. He’d bet his next job that Mitch had been called a lot of things over the years…except a hooligan.

  “If Sam gets busy on another job, I could run the Sheridan job for a while,” Darren said. “Been working for you more than a year now, so I know how you like things done.” He hesitated. “Did I ever tell you that I worked construction with my dad before he ended up in the slammer?”

  Hunter did his best not to wince.

  “If you were over twenty-one, I’d say yes. But the county has a slew of rules and regulations. One toe over the line—and putting a minor in charge of a job site would be way over—could cost me my business license.”

  Frustrated groans and “we’re not stupid” complaints floated around the room until Hunter silenced them with another serving of bacon and biscuits. When he was their age, his mother eased a lot of disappointments with food…and the quiet conversations that took place as it disappeared. “Teachable moments,” she called them. If these kids had grown up under the steady influence of parents like that, they might never have ended up in a place like Last Chance. But there was every reason to hope that when they left here for good, they’d likely stay on the straight and narrow thanks to Mitch and his odd assortment of teachers and mentors.

  Thoughts of their parents and his made him wonder how Brooke had slept last night. She’d seemed agitated and preoccupied at dinner. Hunter didn’t want her to become a casualty in his Adopt Connor mission—he’d already caused her enough grief—but this wasn’t about Brooke. It was about doing what was best for that terrific kid. Period.

  Mitch’s assistant burst into the kitchen. “What stinks?” he asked, grinning.

  One by one, the boys recited breakfast sides.

  Lyle hung his backpack on the doorknob. “You guys sound like a talking menu,” he said, grabbing a plate. “Think it’ll taste better than it smells after I nuke it?”

  The lighthearted banter continued while Lyle shared what he’d just learned at the hospital. When he finished, Hunter told them he had to grab a change of clothes before heading to the Sheridans’.

  “Anyone coming with me,” he said, “better put on his work boots. The truck leaves in five. If you’re staying here, pick up cleaning rags and buckets.”

  A chorus of groans filled the air as half of the boys got busy clearing the table and the other half piled into Hunter’s pickup. A pecking order of sorts had formed as the older, more experienced boys decided what the newcomers would do. Grinning, Hunter let them have their fun, knowing that Sam would set them straight soon enough.

  He left the kids in Sam’s capable hands and headed back to Deidre’s theater. A few things he’d seen during yesterday’s inspection had raised concerns. Nothing major, but still, he felt obliged to take a closer look. On the way over, he dialed Deidre’s number to let her know he was on his way, but she didn’t answer. Hunter left a message, hoping the back window that had been ajar yesterday would still be open today. He was more than a little surprised to find her there, wearing a baseball cap and rubber gloves as she scraped old paint from the double-wide entry doors.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked, glancing at his watch. “It’s barely nine.”

  “Long enough,” Deidre said, tucking the putty knife into her apron pocket. Eyes narrowed, she folded bony arms across her chest. “Better question is, what are you doing here?”

  She sounded angry. But why? And with whom?

  “Saw a couple of things that could be problematic when I was over here yesterday. Just thought I’d give ’em a quick once-over, make sure it’s safe for you to be here.” He raised an eyebrow. “Especially if you’re going to make a habit of being here alone.”

  He headed inside, stopping long enough to run a fingertip over the newly exposed mahogany her scouring had revealed. “Nice job, by the way.”

  She answered with a o
ne-shouldered shrug and, scowling, went back to work. The only other time he’d seen her look that way was in the O.R. waiting room fifteen years ago, when she’d hugged Beth as Brooke lit into him with everything she had.

  Hunter made his way to the orchestra pit, where he’d spotted what appeared to be a bare wire.

  Deidre had been a little quieter than usual when he left yesterday. But then, not even Deidre could talk nonstop. At least, that was what he’d told himself as he drove away.

  Kneeling in front of the questionable outlet, he slid the Maglite from his tool belt and aimed its beam, trying to remember if he’d said or done something to offend her. “Nothing,” he muttered. And the outlet looked fine, too.

  It dawned on him that Deidre’s attitude yesterday, and today, as well, echoed the way Brooke had behaved last night. But how to describe it? Angry? Resentful?

  Suspicious. Yes. The word fit very well.

  Brooke had never fully trusted him. But Deidre? Deidre considered him a friend. And on a couple dozen occasions introduced him to her friends and associates as “the grandson I wish had.” What had happened to change her feelings toward him?

  He walked deeper into the building. It was huge and dark and smelled like his grandmother’s attic. No surprise there. In a few short years, the place would qualify for historic status.

  Deidre whipped open a curtain, freeing a cascade of dust motes that danced on a sunbeam…and scared him half to death.

  “So did you find the problem?”

  In the bright light, she looked more annoyed than before. And impatient to boot.

  “Not yet. I want to have a look at the roof,” he said, “and the basement. And check the support beams for rot, just to—”

  “To make sure I’m safe. Uh-huh. Right.”

  He reholstered the flashlight and, leaning on a doorframe, said, “Okay, let me have it.”

  “Careful what you ask for…”

  The upper half of her face was shaded now by the baseball cap’s brim. “If I did something to offend you,” he said, bending in an attempt to make eye contact, “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not the one who deserves an apology,” she said, then turned on her heel.

  That left Brooke, he thought, following her back to the entry door.

  “Brooke was fine when I left the apartment last night.”

  “If you say so.”

  Admittedly, Brooke had been out of sorts, staring off into space while he blathered on about Orioles scores and weather forecasts, disappearing into the bathroom halfway through the meal, barely touching her food. He’d chalked it up to everything coming to a head—the accident, the new job, the house falling apart… Had he been wrong?

  At the rate Deidre was scraping, she’d need a half cup of putty to fill the gouge. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.

  “Look. Deidre. I’ve never been any good at word games. Maybe if you tell me why you’re so fired up, I can—”

  “I’m busy, Hunter.”

  He stood staring for a moment. “So I’m dismissed.” He lifted his arms, let them fall to his sides with a quiet slap. “Just like that.”

  “You weren’t summoned,” she said dully, “so you needn’t be dismissed.” Deidre paused but didn’t turn around. “I understand you have Beth’s house completely torn up.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I suggest you get over there and put it back together as fast as you can.”

  He could almost see the tension rippling from her hat to her sneakers. Hunter held his breath, wondering what had happened between yesterday and today. Wondering what she’d say next, and how he’d keep a civil tongue in his head.

  She spared him by stomping to her car to dig through a box in her trunk.

  “You O’Toole women will drive me crazy one day,” he muttered, passing her on the way to his truck.

  “If we don’t kill you first.”

  His footsteps slowed, but only slightly. Hunter refused to stop. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how much her anger hurt, particularly when he had no idea what had caused it.

  But she’d made one valid point. He needed to finish Beth’s house, and the theater, too. Partly because he’d given his word to do the work, but mostly because his soon-to-be son would spend a lot of time in both places, and he couldn’t in good conscience allow that unless he knew for certain Connor would be safe.

  Brooke and Deidre didn’t know it—and they’d probably fight him if they did—but he had their backs. Always had. Always would…

  …for Connor’s sake.

  Period.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE MINUTE SHE walked in the door, Brooke noticed the blinking red light of her answering machine. She put Connor in his playpen and hit the play button.

  “I need to talk with you, honey,” Deidre said. “It’s important, so come on up to the house when you get this message. Don’t worry about supper. I made meat loaf, so bring an appetite!”

  Deidre had mastered half a dozen recipes in her lifetime, but meat loaf wasn’t one of them. She didn’t know it, though, because between her age and her outspokenness, no one had ever mustered the courage to tell her.

  “Well, sweetie,” Brooke said, hefting Connor from the playpen, “you’re a little young to learn the ‘suffer in silence’ code, but I’ll make it up to you later.” She kissed his cheek. “Promise.”

  His big eyes twinkled as he studied her face.

  “You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, do you?”

  He pointed. “Ball?”

  Normally, she didn’t let him haul toys to Deidre’s, but tonight she’d make an exception. “It’s the least I can do,” she said, shoving trucks, teddy bears and stacking rings aside to grab his favorite ball, “considering what’s about to happen to your poor innocent taste buds.”

  She handed it to him and hung the straps of his diaper bag over one shoulder. “Ready to pay Gram a little visit?”

  “Gram,” he said, clutching the ball. “Gram house?”

  Half an hour later, with the bland meal behind them and Connor dozing in his crib upstairs, Brooke offered to clear the table, more to hide the food still on her plate and Connor’s than because Deidre needed the help.

  “So now that our boy’s asleep, what did you get me over here to talk about?” she asked, scraping meat loaf and drippy mashed potatoes into the trash.

  “Hunter stopped by the theater today.”

  Brooke tensed, wondering what Deidre had overheard this time.

  “Again? Why? To give the place two thumbs up?”

  “Not yet. He said he saw a few things that raised red flags yesterday, and he wanted to check them out.”

  She remembered what his little investigation had revealed at Beth’s house.

  “And you’re upset because of what he found?”

  “No. As a contractor, there’s no one better. It’s… Other things are bugging me.” Deidre had been uncharacteristically quiet during supper, but Brooke hadn’t made too much of it. The poor thing had been under a lot of stress lately, balancing her directorial duties at the Corner Theater while working on her theater. And asking her to mind Connor for a few hours a week had added to her burdens.

  She sat at the table and took her grandmother’s hands in her own.

  “Hey. Lady. What’s up?”

  Imitating comedian Jerry Lewis had been a joke they’d shared since Brooke was a girl. When Deidre barely cracked a smile at her sad impersonation, Brooke’s concern heightened.

  “Gram, you’re beginning to worry me. What’s wrong?”

  “I think I messed up today.”

  “This isn’t about that adoption nonsense again, I hope.”

  Deidre shrugged. “I’m not sure. Could be. I was just so…so mad that Hunter wants to take Connor from you that I might have inadvertently tipped your hand.”

  She pressed her forehead to Deidre’s. “Until I hire a lawyer to find out if Hunter has already star
ted proceedings, I don’t have a hand,” Brooke admitted. She sat back and met her grandmother’s eyes. “So you couldn’t have tipped it. Relax, okay? There’s nothing to worry about.” Brooke hoped it was true.

  “He was pretty riled up when he left.”

  “If he said anything to hurt you, I’ll—”

  “No-no-no, he’d never do anything to hurt me. Not deliberately, anyway. It’s just, well, he’s been like family for so long that I can tell when he’s upset.”

  “You can? How?” The information might be useful down the road.

  “Oh, little things like the way he stands. Hand gestures. Facial expressions.”

  Well, that’s not much help, Brooke thought.

  “Hunter probably has no idea you overheard that phone call. So don’t give it another thought.”

  “Easy for you to say. You keep things so close to the vest there isn’t room for another thought. But I’m not like you.”

  She could react to the sideways insult and invite a lecture—or pretend she hadn’t heard it.

  “So what did he say about the theater? Will the renovations be time-consuming and expensive?”

  “If I only knew!” Deidre threw her hands into the air. “He can’t write up an estimate until the inspection is complete, and he can’t finish the inspection until later in the week.” She sighed. “But the way we left things today, he might never come back.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Hunter we both know and love.”

  Deidre’s eyebrows rose, and Brooke held her breath. She couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing, either.

  “What I mean,” Brooke continued, “is…aren’t you always telling me that he’s a man of his word? Good and decent, with a heart of gold?”

  “Yes,” she said dully.

  “I trust your instincts. If he told you he’d do the job, he will. Right?”

  Deidre sighed again. “I guess.”

  Brooke realized it also meant if he said he’d fight for Connor, he would. And knowing how self-absorbed her grandmother could be when she wanted something as badly as she wanted the theater project to succeed, Brooke had to ask herself if anything Deidre had overheard was accurate.