“I’d never turn down a homemade scone,” Adam said, taking one from the plate proffered by Pat.
“I’m thinking you know how to eat it properly too,” Pat said, putting one on his wife’s plate before taking his own.
As Adam slathered cream and jam on his scone and made small talk, he examined the O’Briens. She was dressed in gray, wool slacks and a cream sweater that seemed a little bulky on her slight frame. Her red hair was twisted in a knot on top of her head, reminding him of Maggie when she was waitressing.
Pat’s wiry body was clothed in green trousers and a pressed, plaid flannel shirt. His sandy hair was shot through with silver, but his face was barely lined and sported a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Pale, amber-colored eyes were a surprise with such Irish coloring.
Engrossed in his observations, Adam bit into the scone without thinking. The burst of flavor brought him up short, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the perfect combination of sweet, sour, and yeast, as well as the exquisite blending of textures.
“You did it again, love,” Pat said. “You got him with your scones.”
Adam opened his eyes. “I’m putting these on my menu. How many can you bake every day?”
“Oh, about five dozen,” Ellen said with a wink. “Pat takes them to the firehouse where his brother works.”
They had a fireman in the family. It just kept getting worse.
“I’ll buy them all and arrange for a courier to pick them up.” Adam was only half-joking. He took another bite and nodded. The scones were brilliant, perfect for a late fall luncheon. He hated that she could bake so beautifully.
He hated even more the way the couple teased each other and took turns refilling teacups and plates like a practiced team. And although they were ten years older than he was, they looked healthy and active—perfectly capable of dealing with a teenager.
As soon as she was satisfied everyone was well fed, Ellen fixed her blue eyes on Adam. “You’ve come a long way, and we’re very eager to hear more about our young cousin. Do you have a photo by any chance?”
Adam reached into the carry-on bag he’d brought with him and pulled out a manila envelope containing copies of Maggie’s photos of her son, as well as Matt’s current school portrait. “These are for you to keep,” he said, handing it to Ellen.
Her fingers shook slightly as she fumbled with the flap, opening it to spill the pictures onto the coffee table so Pat could see them at the same time. “Oh my goodness, he’s so handsome,” she said as the portrait slid out on top. She glanced up at Adam. “He looks just like you.”
A jolt of pleasure tinged with anguish made him wince.
“I’m sorry, was that the wrong thing to say?” she asked, distressed. “I meant it as a compliment.”
“No, of course you did. Thank you.” Adam turned her attention back to the photo. “He has Maggie’s eyes.”
“And a bit of her smile,” Pat said.
“I don’t understand it. Why did she not tell the family about Matt?” Ellen asked after they’d gone through all the images once and begun again.
Adam laced his fingers together and frowned down at them, choosing his words carefully. “When she told her parents about her pregnancy, she didn’t get the support she expected.” He met Ellen’s gaze. “I think she was protecting Matt.”
“Those old so-and sos!” Ellen exclaimed. “I’d like to give them a piece of my mind.”
“She didn’t tell me about it either,” Adam said.
“But why—?” Ellen began.
“It’s not our business, love,” Pat said. “We should be thanking Adam for letting us know Matt exists.”
“It’s not something I hide,” Adam said. “I’m a recovering alcoholic, but when Maggie knew me, I was on a downhill slide. I don’t blame her.”
Pat nodded. “You seem like a responsible sort. I wondered why you hadn’t married her.”
“When can we meet Matt?” Ellen asked, unconsciously stroking the portrait with one finger. “That is, if we’ve passed muster.”
They’d passed muster and then some. It wrenched his gut but Adam smiled. “I was hoping you might come down to Sanctuary for Thanksgiving or the day after, if it wouldn’t upset your plans too much. I know it’s only two weeks away, but it would be nice for Matt to have real family to celebrate with.”
Ellen and Pat looked at each other before turning back to Adam. “Will you allow me in your kitchen to make my special sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving Day?” she asked.
“You’ll want to add them to the menu too,” Pat said. He reached out and took his wife’s hand. “Ellen doesn’t have any family left here in the States, so she’s adopted mine and that’s where we usually have our holiday, but it will mean the world to both of us to get to know Matt.”
“We married late and weren’t able to have children of our own,” Ellen said. “So, well, I hope we’ll see him often.”
Adam wanted to curse William Gaspari for finding this couple. Instead, he insisted that he be allowed to pay for their plane tickets and that they treat his house as their own.
As he stood on the front steps saying good-bye, Ellen reached out to touch his arm. “Thank you for giving Maggie’s family another chance. We would have helped her if we’d known. Please believe that.”
He looked at these two people with nothing but concern and gratitude written on their faces, standing with their arms twined around each other’s waists, and believed it wholeheartedly.
His stomach clenched into a knot.
Chapter 22
HANNAH SLID OPEN the back patio door to let the dogs out for their post-supper outing. Floyd bolted out the door, Ginger trotted onto the patio, and Isabelle strolled at a stately pace. As she watched them patrol the yard, she continued her internal lecture about getting too involved with the Bosches. She’d been going in the same circles ever since she got home from the stable, where she’d run into Matt.
The poor kid had looked so forlorn when he told her his father was in Boston looking for his relatives. She wanted to tell him not to worry, but her conscience wouldn’t let her. Adam’s answers to her questions on the topic had not reassured her.
She had to stop kidding herself that her relationship with Matt’s father was purely physical, even if the lovemaking was intense. Which meant she needed to take a long, hard look at the man she was falling for.
There was the charming, sensual lover who fed her caviar and made her feel beautiful when he touched her.
There was the brave but damaged soul who successfully fought his addiction to alcoholism and helped others fight theirs.
There was the brilliantly creative chef and the shrewd, workaholic restaurateur who built The Aerie into a world-class destination for those who cared about fine dining.
There was the father who thought he didn’t deserve his son.
Did she want to fall in love with a man as complicated as that?
“Can I stop myself?” she muttered.
The dogs finished their circuits, walking through the open door just as the phone rang. The caller ID announced Adam’s name, and Hannah felt her heartbeat pick up speed. “I just answered my own question.” Forcing herself to walk slowly to the phone by the couch, she picked it up.
“Hannah, am I interrupting dinner? I can call back later.” He sounded tired and keyed-up at the same time. Shockingly, her body responded to the deep timbre of his voice spiraling into her ear. Awareness feathered over her skin and pooled between her thighs.
“Nope, the dogs have eaten.” Sinking onto the couch beside Floyd, she stroked his wiry fur. “Are you still in Boston?”
“Yes. How did you know I went today? It was a last-minute trip.”
“I saw Matt at the stable.”
“Is Satchmo all right?” His worry came through clearly, and whate
ver resolve she was trying to build against him was undermined.
“He’s doing great. As Matt proudly pointed out, he’s eating everything in sight, just like a regular pony.”
“That’s a relief!”
Ginger nosed under her elbow, demanding her attention, so she shifted to pet her. “Did you meet Matt’s cousins?” She held her breath, not sure how he would respond to her prying.
“Yes.” His voice was tight with tension. “My worst nightmares came true.”
“Oh no!” Her heart sank for Matt’s sake. “What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re kind, intelligent people who love each other and desperately want to meet Matt. They live in a modest but comfortable house and have a small, spoiled dog. Ellen’s an incredible baker. I want to put her scones on The Aerie’s menu. To add the crowning blow, Pat’s brother is a fireman.”
He wasn’t making sense. “So where do your worst nightmares come in?”
She heard him blow out a long breath before he said in a voice so low and strained she could barely hear it, “I have no good reason to stand in the way of them adopting Matt.”
He’d admitted it. She was less shocked than sad. When he hadn’t categorically denied Matt’s accusation, some part of her had known the truth. Adam didn’t trust himself with his son.
She sat bolt upright, startling the dogs so much they jumped off the couch. “Did you ask them if they wanted to adopt him?”
“Not yet. Matt needs to meet them,” he said.
She sagged back at the reprieve. He hadn’t done anything rash. She still had time to attempt to change his mind. Adam and Matt needed each other.
“But they made it clear they want to be a part of his life. They weren’t able to have children of their own,” he continued. “I’ve invited them to come for Thanksgiving, and they rearranged all their plans to be there.” He paused and his voice took on a note of entreaty. “I hope you’ll join us. Your presence would mean a lot. Matt thinks you hung the moon.”
A tangle of emotions spun in her chest. Gratification that he wanted her to be present for such an important event in his and Matt’s lives. Jangling apprehension at the implication that her opinion could influence his decision. A brief flare of self-preservation saying she shouldn’t be drawn further into Adam and Matt’s orbit because she couldn’t handle being rejected again.
“You already have plans,” he said. “I understand.”
Tim and Claire had insisted she come to Thanksgiving at their home, but she knew if she explained why she needed to back out, both of them would understand. The question was, should she give into the frighteningly intense yearning to be part of the critical meeting between Matt and his family members? If she had been worried about the depth of her involvement before, how much more deeply would she be ensnared after this?
“I, uh…” She recalled the anguish of Adam’s statement that he had no reason to keep the O’Briens from adopting Matt. “I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.” His gratitude was palpable. “I’m closing The Aerie for the day. I felt Matt should have a real family holiday, even if it was only going to be the two of us.”
And he’d included her. Her heart was beating too fast again. She took the plunge. “You wouldn’t really send him to live with strangers, would you?”
His inhale whistled harshly in her ear. “I was a stranger until four months ago.”
“You’re his father. He loves you.”
“He does not love me.” His voice was low. “And that’s why I need to make this decision now. Before he loves anyone in Sanctuary.”
She groped for something to say.
“You’re thinking I’m a terrible person,” he said, “and I won’t disagree with you, but I’m doing this for Matt’s sake.”
She heard the raw pain in his voice. “Why do you insist you’re not fit to be Matt’s father?”
“You know my problem.” There was impatience in his tone.
“Yes, and you’ve got it under control. You even help other people with their problem.”
His laugh was brittle. “It’s never under control. Remember the night we met at Moonshine? You left a half-full glass of wine on the table, and it took every ounce of my willpower to carry it to the bar and pour it down the drain.”
“But you did it.”
“What if I hadn’t?” he asked. “What if I drank that glass, and the next one? What if Matt walked in and gave me attitude and I backhanded him across the face because I was too drunk to restrain my anger?”
Horror gripped her at the idea. “I don’t believe you would ever do that,” she whispered.
“It runs in the family.”
“Alcoholism?”
“Violence,” he said, his voice dropping. “My father…” He stopped.
“Hit you?” Her throat went tight and she had to swallow hard.
“Me. My mother.” He sounded exhausted. “Only when he was drunk.”
“You’re not your father.” She was sure of that. Adam would never hit a child or a woman.
“Oh, but I am,” he said, his voice taking on a mean edge. “I started drinking at the same age. He told me so. I got a woman pregnant, just like he did. Only he married my mother and made her life hell. At least I didn’t have the opportunity to do that to Maggie.”
“Have you ever been violent when you were drunk?”
“Yes.”
Shock rocked her back against the cushions. “When? In what situation?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. She heard the anger drain out of him.
“Yes, it does. Was it a bar fight? That doesn’t count.”
“It was in the kitchen. I punched another sous-chef.”
“Why?”
“He was bothering a waitress.”
“You were defending her.”
“I could have just told him to lay off,” he said. “He would have. Instead I smashed his nose.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Right around the time I got Maggie pregnant.” Bitterness laced his words. “You’re not going to turn me into a white knight, no matter how hard you try.”
“I’m trying to make you realize what you already are: a great father to a boy who needs you.”
“Aside from my personal issues, there are professional ones,” he said, all emotion banished. “My busiest hours begin exactly when Matt comes home from school. I work virtually every night.” A pause. “Chefs have one of the highest divorce rates of any profession.”
“You can work all those things out.”
“You’re a creature of light, Hannah. You can’t understand.”
“I’m trying.” She could feel him shutting down the discussion.
“Don’t. I don’t want my shadows falling on you.” His tone softened. “I wanted to hear your voice, but I should go now.”
After they said good-bye she realized it wasn’t his shadow that had fallen on her. It was his spell.
Adam dropped his cell phone on the hotel bed, where it sank into the puffy tan comforter. He huffed out a breath and paced over to the window. Twitching aside the sheer curtain, he looked out at the lights of Boston, trying to forget the conversation he’d just had with Hannah.
When he’d dialed her number, he’d intended to talk about anything other than the dilemma staring him in the face. But when she’d asked about Matt’s cousins, the urge to spill his guts had overwhelmed his good sense. It had been a relief to admit to someone how he really felt about the visit with the O’Briens.
If he’d stopped there, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But he’d told her about his father, about the violence in his own makeup. Her refusal to believe it had been a balm to his scarred soul, but he couldn’t allow himself to enjoy it. The idea would worm its way into her mind, and she would begin to wonder.
He pivoted and went to the minibar for a bottle of water. Unlocking the door, his gaze fell on the array of miniature liquor bottles gleaming in the interior light. Craving climbed up his throat, making his mouth feel as parched as burnt toast. He grabbed a bottle of water and slammed the door shut, twisting the key hard in the lock before yanking it out. He practically ripped the cap off the water before tipping it up and gulping down huge swallows.
Finishing, he swiped his sleeve across his mouth and chin and hurled the plastic container into the trashcan across the room.
Matt. He had to call Matt. His son knew something was up when Adam had announced he was leaving for Boston. It was time to tell the boy about his relatives.
He scooped up his phone and hit the speed dial for his house, knowing the housekeeper would answer if his son didn’t.
The phone rang three times before someone picked up. “Hey.” It was Matt, his tone neither hostile nor welcoming.
“Hey,” Adam said in return. “How’s it going at home?”
“Fine.”
“I hear Satchmo’s doing great.” He wanted to take it back as soon as he said it, because it would indicate that he’d talked to Hannah before he’d called Matt.
Matt didn’t appear to connect the dots, and his voice took on a note of eagerness. “Yeah, Doctor Linden couldn’t find any serious symptoms and he’s eating grass now. I think he’s going to be okay.”
“That’s good news.” Adam turned toward the window again. “Matt, I met one of your cousins today, a really nice woman named Ellen O’Brien. She was a McNally before she married her husband Pat.”
Matt was silent.
Adam kept going. “They’re a little older than I am, and they live outside Boston. Ellen works for an organization that helps at-risk children. She bakes a mean scone too. Pat’s a librarian.”
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