Dennis grinned broadly. “Actually, that’s the most fun I’ve had in a very long time. And your take-down technique is pretty impressive.”
“Stella’s Nate’s housekeeper, Dad. And apparently a mean hand with a squeegee.”
“Well.” He bowed again. “I appreciate your not hurting me. Oh, oh.” He put a gentle fingertip to her right cheekbone, where a purple bruise was forming. “That’s where I hit you when I flung out my arm.” He went to the sink, took the top towel from a folded stack on the counter and ran it under cold water. He wrung it out, folded it and placed it against her cheek. Then put her hand there to hold it. “That shouldn’t be too bad. Lucky for you, I’m not that strong.”
“I was determined that you weren’t going to steal from Nate’s neighbor.” Stella grinned, then winced. “And I’m not sure what happened, but something distracted you for a moment and I took advantage to hook your ankle and throw you down.”
He smiled wryly. “That was the moment I realized I was wrestling with a woman.”
Bobbie’s father and Nate’s housekeeper studied each other a moment longer, neither seeming to notice that they’d exhausted the conversation and that Bobbie and Nate were watching them.
Nate drew Bobbie aside. “I’m sorry Stella went all warrior woman on your father.”
Bobbie glanced their way and was pleasantly surprised to see the two were now in the middle of an animated conversation. “He seems to have forgiven her.” She folded her arms. “And isn’t it a comfort to know that while you’re away, the woman in charge of the boys can handle herself?”
He conceded that point. “It is. I just wish she’d have called for help instead. If she was nervous enough to drop the phone, how did she think she was going to handle a man?”
“Hey, she had him pinned when we walked in.”
“Yes, she did.” Nate ran a hand over his hair and leaned a hip against the counter.
She reached past him to get her teakettle and fill it under the tap. “You’re going to have to learn to handle things without yelling at everybody, Nate.”
He gave her a dark look. “Everybody does things that require shouting to stop them from getting hurt.”
She put the kettle on the burner and turned it on. “Okay,” she said, leaning beside him. “I wasn’t a paragon of calm that night at the hospital, but your yelling wasn’t helping anybody. It had Dylan in tears and made me want to run away from you.”
“Oh, you want to run away from me on general principle,” he said, folding his arms. “You’re afraid to get close enough to me to feel something that might challenge your life plan. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but there are feelings here we should deal with.”
She turned sideways, leaning one hand on the counter and the other on her hip as she struggled to stop herself from shouting. “You don’t want me to get close to you. You keep me at a distance, and then blame me for not crossing the gap. Well, I think the truth is you don’t like me. You’ve never liked me because I’m one of those ‘variable’ women you despise....” She quoted his word with emphasis. “Because they want to do what they want to do without regard for fitting into what you need. You’re jealous that you aren’t free to do that.”
Temper smoldered in his eyes. “Sure, I’m jealous. You can be carefree and I can’t. Some of us have too many responsibilities to flit around the globe, following our dreams.”
“Yeah,” she said flatly. “Waiting for the results of an every-six-months cancer checkup provides such a carefree lifestyle.”
He had the grace to look repentant. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I—”
“And I told you in the very beginning,” she interrupted hotly, “that I couldn’t—”
He cut her off. “Yes, you did. It doesn’t mean I understand it. Home and family are everything. I used to be like you, living my life my way, but the loss of my brother changed me. I chafe against the confinement, but the boys are my flesh and blood. They’re part of him and therefore everything to me. But you won’t let anything mean that much to you.”
“You have no idea what’s in my head!” Now she was yelling.
“I’m guessing bricks,” he said in a controlled tone. Then, without warning, he wrapped an arm around her waist, yanked her to him, closed his mouth over hers and kissed her senseless. She felt his lips, the tip of his tongue, the powerful hand splayed against her back.
She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could only feel and try to think. His words about chafing against confinement occurred to her because that was what she should be doing. But she didn’t want to. She’d have happily sunk into the lovely prison of his embrace and let it go on and on.
He loosened his grip suddenly, and she was looking up into his face. Remnants of anger lingered in his eyes, yet he seemed somehow pleased with himself.
“You don’t know everything about me, Roberta Molloy.” The hand splayed against her back ran up and down her spine, and she trembled in response. He smiled wickedly. “I don’t think you know a lot about yourself, either.”
Nate pointed to the doorway, where his nephews stood. “Dennis,” he said, “I’d like you to meet Dylan and Sheamus, my nephews. Boys, this is Mr. Molloy, Bobbie’s father. He’s visiting from California.”
Dennis went across the room to shake hands with the boys. “Bobbie’s told me about you. I’m happy to meet you.”
Nate shook hands with Dennis, then turned the boys toward the door and headed out. “Welcome to Astoria,” he called over his shoulder.
When Bobbie could breathe again, she noticed her father and Stella staring at her, both looking surprised, yet pleased.
“Stella is staying for coffee,” her father said with a smile. “I’ll make one for you. You look like you could use it.”
* * *
NATE PACED ACROSS the living room, every nerve ending vibrating with the sensory memory of Bobbie’s mouth under his. Unfortunately, he couldn’t focus on it, because clever Dylan had overheard something Nate would have never said aloud. And now he had to deal with it.
The boys sat side by side on the sofa, Sheamus’s shorter legs sticking straight out, Dylan’s bent but not touching the carpet. He looked indignant.
“Tell me what the word means,” Dylan said. Sheamus frowned at his older brother, clearly not sure what the problem was. “You said ‘chafe against the confinement’ when you were talking about us. I know confinement means being in jail.”
Nate closed his eyes and prayed for Ben to help him. His brother had always been so relaxed with the boys. Unlike Nate, who felt ill equipped to deal with them most of the time.
“It doesn’t necessarily mean jail,” he said, trying not to sound guilty so that they wouldn’t think he’d said anything they shouldn’t have heard. “It means anything that sort of locks you in to a place or a responsibility.”
“And that’s us. We lock you up.” Dylan wanted to make him suffer. Nate had to appreciate the tactic.
He kicked a footstool to face the sofa, and sat astride it. “Being responsible for the two of you means I have to be here to look out for you,” he admitted evenly. “Just like you have to go to school and do your homework. We all have things that lock us in place.”
“But what’s chafing?” Dylan was determined not to let Nate skate by with an easy explanation.
“When something rubs and makes your skin red. It usually stings.”
Dylan thought about that. He looked so much like Ben in that moment, avid intelligence sorting through data. “So, if you’re chafing against confinement, and we’re confinement, that means...” He looked Nate in the eye. “It’s hurting you that you’re stuck with us. It stings that you have to be here.”
The kid was good. “I was just explaining to Bobbie,” he said, wishing he could erase the last ten minutes, except for the kiss, “why she
can fly off to Italy and I can’t. That’s all that meant. She doesn’t have kids, so she can do whatever she wants. The three of us are a family and that’s the way I want it.”
“But you said you were chafing.” Dylan was beginning to bear a close resemblance to an IRS auditor—the one on the Binghams’ case.
“I also said,” Nate reminded him, “that the two of you are everything to me. Did you hear that part?”
“You probably thought you had to say that.”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t know you were standing there. Had I known, I wouldn’t have said anything about chafing because I wouldn’t have wanted you to misunderstand and think what you’re thinking now.”
Dylan seemed to sink a little. His eyes grew large and dark. “Mom and Dad never said anything about chafing.”
Nate leaned forward to put his hand on Dylan’s knee. “That’s because your dad and mom loved you two so much that they never wanted to go anywhere that didn’t include you. And they were so smart. They always understood how you were feeling and what to do for you.” He looked from one to the other. “Do you know what a B team is?”
His brow crinkling, Dylan asked, “Like in football?”
“Yes. The kids who don’t know as much yet or aren’t quite as fast start out in the B team. When they improve, they get to be varsity.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m the mom and dad B team. Don’t know as much as I’d like and I don’t always say or do the right thing.” He patted the region of his heart. “But I’m determined to be better, to learn more, to stop doing things wrong.”
Tears slipped from Dylan’s eyes. That made Sheamus’s mouth quiver.
Feeling as though his heart was being sawed with a dull blade, Nate took each boy’s hand. “Please believe me when I tell you that there isn’t anywhere I’d rather be than right here with you. And pretty soon I’ll be better at being like a dad and things won’t be so hard for you.”
“Don’t you want to go with Bobbie?” Dylan asked, sniffling. “You kissed her.”
Nate reached for the wad of tissues in his pocket. He peeled off two and handed one to each of the boys. “No, I don’t,” he said. It came out firmly because it was honest. Then he shrugged. “I’d like it if she stayed here, but she doesn’t want to. She has things she has to do.”
Dylan dried his eyes and, chin up, said, “Okay. But if you don’t want to be here, I can get a job and take care of me and Sheamus.”
“Stella could take care of us,” Sheamus said brightly.
Dylan gave him a pitying look. “She works for him.” He pointed to Nate. “She wouldn’t take care of us.”
“Listen to me,” Nate said a little loudly. Then, remembering Bobbie’s advice, he lowered his voice. “You are living with me until one of you becomes president and the other one takes over the Disney Corporation. Is that clear?”
Sheamus raised his hand. “Dibs on Disney!”
Dylan shook his head and smiled feebly at his uncle. “Okay. Can we go out and play?”
“Sure. Jackets. It’s getting cold.”
Nate poured himself a cup of coffee and opened the kitchen door as the boys raced past him with an assortment of plastic cars and trucks under their arms.
“That’s what you get,” he told himself as he headed to his computer and his office duties still undone, “for concentrating on Bobbie when your every thought should be on the boys.”
He sat down and powered up. Then he rubbed a sore spot on his chest. For someone who shouldn’t matter in his life, Bobbie was taking up a lot of space in it.
CHAPTER NINE
BOBBIE AWOKE TO the sound of voices and the aroma of something wonderful in the kitchen. She recognized her father’s soft baritone and had to smile. First full day here and he was cooking for her already. As she drew closer, wrapping her robe around her, she realized Sandy was here.
She sat at the table while Dennis stood at the stove, turning blueberry pancakes. The table was set for two and there were two bowls of berries and yogurt. Bobbie went to hug her friend.
“Where are the girls?” Bobbie asked. On days she wasn’t working, Sandy was seldom without them.
“My mom has them,” Sandy replied, sipping at a cup of coffee. “She’s watching them for us so we can do her shopping.”
Bobbie was confused. “Who is ‘us’?”
“Hunter and me.”
“Hunter Bristol? I didn’t know you knew him.”
Sandy hunched her shoulders in an artless gesture of nonchalance. “I didn’t, until the food bank fund-raiser. I saw him at the Monster Bash and invited him to join us for Thanksgiving.”
Bobbie’s eyes widened and she reached for Sandy’s hands. “You’re dating Hunter Bristol?!” The question ended in a screech as she threw her arms around Sandy again.
“I am.”
“I’m so happy for you!”
There were giggles and squeals, and Dennis turned, spatula in hand. “Ah, this takes me back. Your freshman year in college when you brought Sandy home for Easter. I never heard so much cackling.”
“Did you and Nate get supplies for the painting?”
Bobbie blushed violently, and hated herself for it. She liked to think she was cool, usually in control, had faced down death and hadn’t flinched—well, not much—but memories of Nate’s kiss were crippling her brain and, apparently, elevating her blood pressure.
She opened her mouth to explain that they fought better than they understood each other, but she didn’t want to rain on Sandy’s parade.
Her friend studied her a moment. “Your father told me you and Nate shared quite a kiss yesterday.”
“Dad,” Bobbie complained.
He was unrepentant. “What? It’s clear to anyone who looks at the two of you. Sandy’d already figured it out, anyway.”
She nodded. “It’s true. I knew at our food bank meeting that he thought you were special.” She inclined her head. “And you look different today. Ever since...the diagnosis, there’s been a part of you holding back, not wanting to step out there for fear...for fear there was nothing under your feet. But you seem more confident today, Bobbie.” Sandy assumed a comical Atlas astride the world look, hands on her hips. “You’re invincible again. Well.” She grabbed the jacket off the chair she’d occupied, put her purse over her shoulder, kissed Dennis on the cheek and gave Bobbie another hug. “Have a wonderful day. And Happy Thanksgiving.”
Bobbie walked her to the door, and was about to close it behind her when Sandy turned suddenly with a questioning look. “I almost forgot why I came. So, you’ve started the painting?”
“Yes. Nate’s posing for me as the ship captain.”
Sandy frowned at her. “And you’re getting things done?”
“Of course.”
“Can I see?”
“No. Trust me. I’ll call you to come have a look as soon as I’ve finished.”
“The event is December 15. So...dry enough to handle by then?”
“Yes. But if you didn’t have such sweet children, I’d hurt you.”
Sandy grinned broadly. “And now I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, shut up.” Bobbie closed the door on her and walked over to her father, loving the sight of him in jeans and sweatshirt and slippers, cooking at her stove. She wrapped her arms around his middle.
“I like your guy,” he said, patting her hand at his waist.
She snagged a blueberry sticking out of one of the pancakes on the griddle. “He’s not my guy. He’s just a neighbor.”
“That wasn’t a neighborly kiss,” Dennis observed, turning the last pancake and adding it to one of two plates warming in the oven. “And he looks at you like you’re his. You want to pour the coffee?”
She took down two cups and sa
id loftily, “No one belongs to anyone, Dad.” She put a dash of milk into his cup, then filled it with coffee. “And you’re imagining things. He wouldn’t want to get involved with me even if I was willing. His mom died of cancer.”
“But your prognosis is good. You could be around to be a pain in his side for a long time.” She made a face at hime as he went on. “You know what I mean about belonging. Not as in ownership, but as in property of the heart.” Using a tea towel as a pot holder, he carried first one plate then the other to the table. “We don’t have syrup,” he said, “but I thought butter and powdered sugar would be good.”
“Sounds perfect.”
They focused on breakfast, and Monet came to sit on the extra chair, purring.
“Want to take a walk today?” Dennis asked. “I’d like to find something to take to Nate’s tomorrow. A table centerpiece, maybe.”
“What if I carved out a pumpkin and we put a small pot of mums in it?”
He grinned at her. “That’s my little genius. I don’t suppose you want to talk about Nate and the boys?”
“No. It’s complicated and will never be what you’d like it to be. Even though I’ve already explained to you on the phone that what you’d like isn’t possible. I’m going to Florence.”
“Then,” he asked gently, “why are you kissing him as though he has a place in your future?”
“Daddy...he kissed me.”
“Yeah. You fought him off so hard. You think you have an iffy future. But don’t you think having a family to live for might lengthen it?”
She dropped her fork with a clatter. “Dad, it’s not as though I’m convinced I’m going to expire tomorrow. I’m not! I believe in myself and my ability to stay well as long as possible. But I don’t have forever. And I don’t know how many ways I can explain this to you....” She drew a breath, a mental picture of Nate suddenly cutting off her air. “I’ve wanted to do fine art all my life. I have so much to learn. I have to see what happens when I immerse myself in all that inspiration. I have only this chance, Dad.”
He looked stricken. He always did when she talked about feeling the limitations of time. She reached across the table to pat his hand.
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