“So you say,” Evelyn snapped. “But every time I call, you’re off somewhere and the boys are with that Maureen woman.”
Mattie’s temper was threatening to go straight past simmer to boil. “‘That Maureen woman’ happens to be my aunt, and she adores the boys and would never do anything to hurt them.” Frustration and anger had her voice and tone sharper than she intended. Mattie took another deep breath before continuing. “I have to work and earn a living to support us, Evelyn, and I’m sorry if you don’t approve of the method or the manner in which I do it, but that can’t be helped. That certainly does not mean that my children are neglected or not given enough attention. Lots of single parents work, Evelyn, and still raise happy, well-adjusted children.”
“Nevertheless, Mattie, there’s no reason for the children not to come and live with Bob and I. What I said when they were here was the truth. They’d be better off living with us. I don’t understand why you insist on being so stubborn about this, Mattie. If you sent the boys to live with us, you’d be able to have more free time for yourself.”
Mattie shook her head, grasping the receiver so hard her knuckles turned white. “Evelyn, I don’t want or need free time for myself. All of my time is devoted to Cody and Connor and I like it that way. We’re a family, and I think it’s time for you to recognize that.”
“What kind of family do you think you are?” she demanded with a derisive snort. “The boys are always with a sitter, you’re always working, and they don’t have a father. Boys need a father, Mattie, and Bob is more than willing to take over that responsibility. Besides,” the woman added, “we can give them so much more than you can.”
“Things,” Mattie snapped. “You’re talking about giving my sons things?” Mattie wondered if her head could implode from fury. It wasn’t things the boys needed, but love. Unequivocal, unconditional love. Something she was certain the Maguires had never understood. “Material stuff isn’t what my children need, Evelyn. And the boys had a father, remember? A father who didn’t want them,” she snapped, barely able to contain her tears or her anger.
“Be that as it may, Mattie, we can’t change the past, but we can correct the situation in the future. Bob and I think you’re being terribly selfish.”
Mattie’s eyes slid closed and she pressed her hand against her forehead, hoping to stave off the pain. “Evelyn, I’m sorry you think I’m being…selfish.” She could barely get the word out. “You’re entitled to your opinion. I just don’t happen to agree that wanting to raise my own children is being selfish. I consider it responsible, Evelyn, something I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Yes, but—”
“Listen to me very carefully, Evelyn.” The pounding in her head grew stronger, radiating behind her eyes and into her temples. “The boys are my sons, and we’re a family. We always have been, we always will be. And I think it’s about time you and Bob acknowledge and accept that.” Mattie inhaled deeply. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop saying things that both scare the boys and undermine their security and stability. Am I clear, Evelyn?” Pulling the silent receiver from her ear, Mattie glared at it, before pressing it to her ear again. “Evelyn?” With tears blurring her vision, Mattie realized the woman had hung up on her.
Frustrated, she slammed the receiver down and swore softly, sinking back down in her chair as the tears came faster.
It was like talking to a brick wall. She’d been doing this tap dance for the past five years and right now she was so very tired of it. Tired and angry. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? Why did they have to undermine the boys’ security and constantly judge her unfairly?
Reaching for a tissue, Mattie swiped at her eyes, then her nose, sniffling deeply. Then she gave in to the frustration, buried her aching head in her hands and let the tears come. Something she rarely allowed herself to do, but today, it just had been too much. Far too much.
“Aye, Mattie girl, you’re still here, good. I was wondering—” Clancy came to an abrupt halt, his eyes rounding when he caught sight of her. “Are you crying, lass?” The mere thought almost had him dancing away.
Lifting her head, Mattie sniffled, then wiped her nose, raising tear-stained eyes to his. “No, no, no, I’m not crying, Clancy,” she lied, mortified that he’d caught her. She managed a watery smile. “Really, I’m not.”
“Aye, lass, I can see you’re…not crying,” he said with a lift of his eyebrow. Clancy peered at her the way a man might peer at a lit stick of dynamite someone had just dropped down his pants.
There was nothing that could drop a man to his knees and make him feel like a drunken Druid faster than a woman’s tears. Aye, he’d rather face a firing squad.
With a sigh, Clancy knew he couldn’t just walk away now. Nay, not and be comfortable. It was clear the lass was hurting. Deeply. And it pained his heart to know that something or someone had hurt her.
“Ah, lass,” he said with a large sigh and a shake of his bald head. He peered into her face, almost nose to nose, then his gaze softened and he drew her close to him in a gentle hug, still shaking his head in confusion. “Now, tell me, lass, tell old Clancy who ’tis who’s hurt you and made you not cry.”
Drawing back, he raised a fist and made a face, making a valiant attempt to look fierce. All he did was succeed in looking comical. He thrust his fist into the air, as if hitting an imaginary opponent and Mattie found herself laughing.
“Aye, it’ll be a good poke for them, right smack in the kisser if I learn their name.”
Clancy was an artist whose hands were one of his most valuable gifts. He would no more punch anyone and risk damaging his hands than he’d jump out the window.
Touched, Mattie kissed his cheek. “Thank you, dear Clancy. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She kissed him again.
“Hummph, then it seems to me you haven’t had nearly enough nice things said to you.” He drew back to look at her, then dug a rumpled handkerchief from his pocket that had a bit of paint dabbed on it and pressed it into her hands. “Mop up your face now. Aye, that’s a girl,” he said with a grin as she did as she was told. “Can’t have the little lads seeing their mum not crying, now, can we?” He watched as she did what she was told, then took her hand in his, giving it a comforting pat.
“Mattie girl, I’m sorry that you’re hurting.” He kept patting her hand as if it would make everything all right. “Is there anything I can do, lass?”
Sniffling, Mattie shook her head. It hit her then how much she’d come to care for Clancy since she’d moved to Healing Harbor. In some ways, he was like the father she no longer had.
“No, Clancy, but thank you for asking. And for caring,” she added, drying the last of her tears and flashing him a smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She managed another smile. “And I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear you before. Did you need something?”
“Aye, I was going to ask—” His voice broke off abruptly as he reached around her to pick up her sketch pad. “What’s this, Mattie girl?” He studied the sketch with an artist’s eye, appraising, assessing, judging, and Mattie felt her face flame. “Are you bringing in more competition for me?”
“It’s…nothing, Clancy. Just…just a rough sketch,” she stammered.
“Rough sketch,” he repeated with a laugh. “Nay, there’s nothing rough about this, Mattie girl. It’s a very good likeness. Sheriff Joe, if my eyes aren’t deceiving me.” Narrowing his gaze, he studied the pad.
“Y-yes, it is,” she confirmed nervously.
“Hmm, a very good likeness, indeed.” He continued to study the sketch thoroughly, thoughtfully, and Mattie was torn between pride over his compliment and embarrassment that he’d found out her secret.
“Who did this, Mattie?” Clancy’s gaze narrowed suspiciously on the sketch pad. “’Tis that new pipsqueak artist from Milwaukee your aunt has been sniffing about for weeks?” He gave a noisy, inelegant snort. “Aye, so she’s taken this new fellow
on, has she? He’s to be her new pet then?” He all but sneered, shaking the sketch pad at her.
Confused, Mattie shook her head. “Clancy, this isn’t a new artist. It’s not an artist at all—”
His eyes rounded again. “You would be lying to me now, lass, to cover for your aunt?” He looked aghast, and Mattie flushed.
“Good Lord, Clancy, I would never lie to you.” She touched his hand. “Not for anyone.” Self-consciously, she glanced at her sketch pad, sorry she’d ever taken it out today. “I’m telling you it was no artist who did that.” Mattie swallowed hard, mortified if she had to admit she’d been the one who drew the sketch.
He cocked his head and looked at her. “I’ve been an artist for most of my life, lassie, and I know another artist’s work when I see it.” He leaned close, eyes twinkling with charm now. “So if this is a secret, I’d like to know why.” He grinned into her face. “What is the old girl up to this time?” He straightened and sobered suddenly as a shadow crossed his features. “Aye, lassie, tell me, is…he someone special to your aunt, is that it?” He looked so wounded, Mattie wanted to put her arms around him and give him comfort.
“No, Clancy. No.” She shook her head, trying to figure out what was going on. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Clancy was jealous of another man because of her aunt. If she didn’t tell him the truth, it could cause serious problems for Maureen. On the other hand, if she did tell him, she risked looking the fool. Taking a deep breath, Mattie knew she had no choice.
“Clancy, it wasn’t an artist who drew this. It was…me.” Too embarrassed to look at him, she lowered her gaze and wanted to wince when he merely stared at her as if she’d just announced she was about to give birth to a banjo.
“Yours you say?” he repeated in disbelief, glancing up at her.
“Yes,” she admitted numbly with a nod of her head. “It’s mine.”
“Aye, so that’s the way the wind blows, lass.” He was quiet for a moment, tapping his finger against his lip in concentration. “Do you have any more?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Any more…what?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Work, lass. Do you have any more of your work?”
“I…I…” Before she could answer, he began flipping the pages in her sketchbook.
“Aye, so here’s one of the little lads.” He grinned broadly. “It’s a good likeness, lass. Very good.” He winked. “You’ve captured the mischief in their eyes very well. Adorable imps they are. True mischief-makers. Aye, they should make you proud.”
She laughed. “They do.” She hesitated, then added. “Most of the time.”
He continued flipping pages, pausing when he came to the sketch she’d done of her aunt one afternoon when Maureen had been sitting out in the garden. “’Tis beautiful,” he said quietly. His eyes grew dreamy and a smile curved his mouth. “Aye, she’s always been such a beauty, Mattie, hasn’t she? You’ve captured the grand old dame’s essence perfectly as well.”
“Clancy—”
“Why haven’t you shown these to anyone?” he demanded, making her even more nervous than she already was.
“Show them?” Shocked, Mattie shook her head. “Good Lord, Clancy, this is just something I dabble in. They certainly aren’t good enough to show anyone.”
“Aye, so now you’re an art critic as well, lass?” He rocked back on his heels, relieved and delighted. “I remember what it was like when I first started out. Aye, lassie, it was embarrassing and humiliating to know I wanted something so desperately, something I wasn’t sure I could ever attain, mind you.” He draped his free arm around her shoulder and cocked his head toward hers as if confiding a great secret. “’Twas like a great big secret buried very deep in my heart, so deep I feared sharing it with anyone.” He glanced at her, then smiled in understanding. “Aye, Mattie, you see, lass, I was scared to death to show my work to anyone as well. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone telling me I wasn’t good enough or talented enough. And that’s what we fear most in our heart of hearts, isn’t it, lass?” His smile and his gaze were gentle. “Or worse, we fear they’ll laugh, or worse yet, not feel anything when they look at your work. That’s it, isn’t it?”
She merely stared at him, wondering how he could know what was in her heart. How could he know what she’d never expressed to another living soul? Knowing Clancy understood exactly what she’d harbored deep inside for so long almost made her want to weep again.
“Y-yes,” Mattie stammered.
“Let me tell you a story, Mattie girl. A very, very long time ago, when I was still very young—and quite handsome if I do say so myself,” he added with a wink, making her laugh, “I was in Paris, attending art school.”
“That’s when you met Calhoun, right?”
“Aye, a dismal memory, that one,” Clancy said with a smile before continuing. “Anyway, one day after art class, I was in a small café across the street from school, sketching my heart out, when this incredibly beautiful woman approached me. I couldn’t speak at first, I could only stare because she was so beautiful.” He sighed in remembrance. “It was love at first sight,” he admitted softly, then brightened. “At the time, I thought for certain she was an angel sent by the fairies to tempt me into misbehaving, and for her, aye, I would have done it, too.” He laughed suddenly, shaking his head. “Aye, we were all so young then, Mattie girl, foolish as well. This beautiful angel told me she owned an art gallery right around the corner and wanted to see my work. Apparently she’d been watching me in the little café for days, and wanted to see what I’d been working on.” Nostalgia made his eyes warm and his lips curve. “When I stammered and stuttered over showing anyone my work, let alone this beautiful creature, she scoffed at me and told me that an artist’s work was meant to be seen and appreciated. Not hidden and hovered over.” Laughing, he shook his head. “’Twas the first time in my life anyone had ever called me an artist.”
“It was Aunt Maureen?” Mattie asked in surprise, wondering why she’d never put it together before. Clancy was in love with her aunt!
“Aye, lass, ’twas the beautiful Maureen.” His eyes twinkled with unabashed love. “We made our first deal there and then. She viewed my work and had a very critical eye, even then, mind you. No pushover was she. Anyway, we made an agreement with only a handshake, and have stuck to it to this day. I’d do the paintings, she’d handle the showing and selling of them.” He glanced around the gallery. “That was more than twenty-five years ago, lassie, and I never regretted my decision. Not ever.”
“You make a good pair,” Mattie said with a smile. “But Clancy,” she prodded softly, “if you were in love with Aunt Maureen, why didn’t you ever tell her?”
For a moment he looked aghast again, then shook his head. “Aye, lass, at first, I had nothing to offer her, nothing but myself,” he added with a small smile. “And then…well…” He shrugged helplessly. “I guess I never told her for the same reason you don’t want anyone to see your work.” His smile was sheepish. “Fear, pure and simple. She was always so achingly beautiful, like one of Botticelli’s angels, I couldn’t even fathom that she’d care a fig for someone like me.” His shoulders lifted and fell. “I was a poor artist, not without some romance in him, but it just never seemed the right time.” He sighed with regret. “However, I’m not about to let you make the same mistake. You’ve got talent, Mattie. As much as anyone in this gallery. I want you to promise me you’re going to show your work to your aunt.”
Her heart was pounding in triple time. “Clancy, I don’t think I can do that.”
“Balderdash, lassie,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You owe it to yourself and to your aunt.” He laid a gentle hand to her cheek. “If you don’t, Mattie girl, imagine how it would hurt her, to know that she’s got one so talented in her midst, in her very own family yet, and you didn’t trust her enough to let her see your work.”
Mattie sighed, then pushed her hair off her face, frowning. “I ne
ver thought about it that way.”
“Aye, I know, lass, but you know as well as I that’s the way she’d take it if she knew.” His gaze softened on hers. “You don’t want to hurt the old girl, now, do you?”
Mattie shook her head, feeling a sinking feeling in her stomach. “No, of course not, Clancy. I’d never do anything to hurt Aunt Maureen.” The mere thought was too distressing to even contemplate.
“Then tell her, dear, or rather, show her.” Eyes twinkling mischievously, Clancy leaned close. “Of course, if you’d like, I’d be happy to show her.” His grin bloomed. “Seeing’s how it might help me score some points with the old girl.”
Mattie laughed at his logic. “And how will you manage that, Clancy?” she asked, finding the idea intriguing.
“Well…” Thoughtfully, he stroked his chin. “I could tell her I’ve found a marvelous new artist. Then show her your sketches. Imagine her delight when she learns they’re yours.”
“Delight, huh?” Mattie repeated dubiously. “She might hate them, Clancy, then what?”
“Then what?” He chuckled. “Mattie dear, if she hates your sketches will you still continue to sketch?”
“Of course,” she answered automatically, not even bothering to think about it. “I sketch for my own pleasure, Clancy—”
“Aye, then, lassie, I rest my case.” He patted her cheek. “And therein lies the proof that you indeed are an artist. We may fear what others say, lass, aye, it’s only natural, but no matter what, we still trudge on, doing what we must because we can do nothing else.” With a brisk nod, he grinned. “As it should be.”
“Clancy?”
“Yes, dear?”
“I adore you,” Mattie said with a laugh, throwing her arms around him.
“Aye, and I you, lass.” He held her close for a moment. If he’d ever been blessed with a fine lass of a daughter, he’d want her to be just exactly like Mattie.
Daddy Patrol Page 13