The Once and Future Father

by Marie Ferrarella

  She anticipated him. The sad look vanished, replaced by a determined one.

  “I’m going. I’m not some fragile piece of china, Dylan. And he was my brother. My only family except for Elena.” She wasn’t going to let herself cry. If she cried, she was going to fall to pieces and that was a luxury she didn’t have. Not even alone in her room.

  He wanted to ask about the baby’s father again, but he banked down the urge, not wanting to upset her any more than she already was.

  “All right.” He moved the vase to one side, wanting to see her face and gauge her reaction. “Mind if I go with you?”

  She hadn’t known if he was going to attend or not. With Dylan, there were no assumptions. He was kind when she thought he would be cruel and cruel when she thought he would be kind. Lucy nodded, smiling. “Ritchie would have liked that.”

  It wasn’t Ritchie he was thinking of right now. “Yeah.”

  Lucy paused in the living room, the blanket draped over her arm. Dylan was making a place for himself on the sofa. “You can have Ritchie’s old room, you know. The baby’s staying in my room for the time being.”

  He tucked a sheet carelessly into the cushions. “Being out here is more sensible.”

  Shaking her head, she tucked the sheet in further, smoothing out what he had done. “You always were that. Sensible.”

  Her arm brushed against his as he moved back. Dylan looked at her for a long moment. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  She knew she should have left it alone. Just left the blanket where it was, turned around and gone to bed, shutting the door on him. But she hadn’t been able to successfully do that in nine months. What made her think she could do it now?

  “Was being with me so insensible?”

  It had been the most wonderful part of his life, but it hadn’t been sensible. They both knew that. There was no point in restating it. “It’s been a long day for you, Lucy. Go to bed.”

  She felt as if she were being dismissed. Like a child. But she didn’t hurt like a child, she hurt like a full-grown woman.

  Lucy clenched her hands at her sides, wanting to say something to him, wanting to shake him the way he’d shaken her. But what good would it do? They’d said their goodbyes nine months ago. And flowers or not, nothing had happened to change that.

  “Good night, then.”

  He watched her leave, wishing the sight of her walking away didn’t cut through him the way it did.

  Chapter 7

  The digital clock on the mantel announced in red, luminous numbers that it was 3:07 as Lucy crept quietly into the living room. She wasn’t accustomed to moving so slowly, but she didn’t want to make any noise and wake Dylan up. If he actually was asleep. If he wasn’t, she didn’t want to call his attention to her. She intended to ease out of the room before he noticed her.

  Elena was back in her crib after a lengthy feeding. Nighttime was the hardest. The infant would fall asleep, nursing, only to wake up once her source of milk was taken away. But she had finally had her fill and fallen asleep in earnest.

  Which was more than Lucy could do. Awake and restless, acutely conscious of the man who was only a few rooms away, Lucy found herself wondering if he was really asleep. It had been a long time since she had seen him sleeping.

  Softly, Lucy crossed the threshold into the room, her eyes focused on the inert figure lying on the sofa. His eyes were shut.

  The blanket she’d given him was bunched up at his feet and the pillow was only partially under his head. He’d always been a restless sleeper, she remembered, a fond smile tugging at her lips.

  What do I make of you, Dylan McMorrow? Why are you back in my life now, when I’m trying so hard to get it all in order? So hard to get over you? Will I never be free of you?

  She knew the answer to that.

  Seeing him again, seeing him here, only told her what she had always known deep in her heart. That, even though she’d accepted they’d never be together again, she would always love him.

  Who said you got wiser with age? she mused. She certainly hadn’t.

  But maybe it took more than nine months to get over someone like Dylan McMorrow. A brooding man of mystery who could be so kind when he wanted to be. And so cruel when he didn’t realize it.

  And maybe holding his daughter in her arms, seeing Dylan’s intense dark blue eyes looking up at her from Elena’s face, didn’t help things along, either.

  A sigh escaped her lips as she drew closer. The blanket that only moments before had been bunched up at his feet was now lying in a heap on the floor beside the sofa. Shaking her head, her eyes on his sleeping face, she bent down and picked it up. For a split second, she debated covering him with it. There was a slight early-morning chill lingering in the room, but it probably wasn’t enough to affect him. The man radiated heat; he didn’t need a blanket over him.

  She took a step back, holding the blanket to her. Telling herself she was only imagining the scent of that musky cologne he always wore clinging to it. Shadows caused by the street lamp outside the window played across his face the way she longed to. Asleep, his face at rest, Dylan didn’t look nearly as brooding as he did when awake.

  He looked, she thought, like the man she’d fallen in love with. That gentle soul hidden deep within a sharp, pointy shell that he’d erected so that the world would think twice before getting in his way. So it would think twice before hurting him.

  At least that was what she’d told herself she saw there.

  Probably all just hallucination on her part. Pressing her lips together, calling herself a hopeless fool, Lucy turned away and crossed the room to the doorway.

  “Can’t you wait until I’m up before you start making up my bed?”

  Almost out of the room, Lucy froze in place. She should have realized he wasn’t asleep. He’d been too still. Asleep, he always tossed and turned. And besides, now that she thought about it, Dylan always slept with what amounted to having one eye open. Wary. Always wary. She figured it was the cop in him.

  Turning around again, Lucy glanced down self-consciously at the blanket in her hands. “I was just checking on you.”

  He sat up, still looking at her. Was that the real reason she’d come out looking for him? Or had she lain in her bed, wanting him as much as he wanted her?

  More than likely, the break-in was just making her nervous. Nighttime had a way of magnifying even the smallest of fears. He could bear witness to that. His voice rumbled to her across the room. “I’m still here.”

  “I knew you would be. I just…” How could she put into words what she didn’t really understand herself? He’d made it clear that he didn’t want her before he left. What was she doing, standing here like some misguided rock singer’s groupie, staring at him in the semidark?

  With a half shrug, she looked over her shoulder toward the doorway. “I’d better get back to bed.”

  “Good idea.”

  The hurt came, fresh and new, even though she told herself she was being an idiot and he wasn’t supposed to be able to hurt her anymore. With an inclination of her head in his direction, she turned away.

  About to lie down again, Dylan watched her retreat. As she came to the threshold, the light from the hall mingled with the fibers of her white nightgown, turning it into translucent gauze.

  Turning his mouth into cotton and driving a hard fist into the pit of his stomach.

  When she turned around to look at him one last time, the light illuminating her body, reminding him of everything he’d given away, his breath caught in his throat, threatening to strangle him.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t.” He managed to bite the words off, struggling with feelings he had thought he’d buried. “Go to bed, Lucy. Go to bed before…”

  The room was dark except for the light coming in through the window, but she could have sworn she saw desire in his eyes. Just for a second. She felt it flash through her own body.

  “Before what?”


  “Before you run out of time.” He nodded toward the clock on the mantel. “The funeral’s at eight.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said quietly, then turned away and left the room.

  He didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

  At five, he made his way into the kitchen to make coffee. He heard water running and realized she had to be taking a shower. The mental image that flashed across his mind almost drove him crazy. They had taken a shower together once, and he had made her stand perfectly still while he soaped her body. Halfway through he had broken down and made love to her with the water running in both their faces.

  He swore and wished for a cigarette. Or a strong shot of whiskey, then laughed at himself when he saw the time. Strong coffee was going to have to do.

  To distract himself, he called Watley to remind him that he was attending the funeral and was going to be late taking his turn at the stakeout.

  The voice that answered the phone on the other end was groggy, and far from friendly. “Damn it, McMorrow, did your ugly mug stop all the clocks where you are? Why the hell did you have to wake me up at 5:00 a.m. to tell me something you already told me?”

  “Just making sure you remember.” The sound of running water finally stopped. Dylan exhaled a long breath.

  “At 5:00 a.m. I’m lucky if I remember my own name. Do me a favor. No more pop quizzes until at least eight, okay?”

  Dylan laughed shortly. “You sleep too much.”

  “Sorry, Count Dracula, we can’t all keep your hours. Can I go now?” Watley mumbled sleepily.

  “Yeah.” Dylan heard fumbling in the background as Watley undoubtedly searched for the receiver’s cradle. The connection was broken.

  Dylan drained his cup, forcing himself to remain where he was until Lucy came out to join him. When she did, he struggled to look disinterested. There was no point in letting her know his thoughts kept centering around her.

  She had on a simple T-shirt and jeans that clung as tightly to her body as he wished he were free to. Beads of water clung to a few strands of hair just around her face and she looked agitated.

  Despite his pledge to keep distant, he felt his sympathy aroused. “Nervous?”

  “No.” She took a deep breath, then looked at him, relenting. “Yes.”

  “If you don’t feel up to going—”

  “That’s not up for debate,” she said firmly. Needing something to do, she crossed to the refrigerator. “Can I make you breakfast?”

  “I don’t eat breakfast.”

  She shut the door again. “That’s right, I remember.”

  He watched her move away from the refrigerator. “Doesn’t mean you can’t.”

  But she shook her head. Her stomach was already in a tight knot. The thought of food only made it worse. “Not unless you want me throwing up on you.”

  She shouldn’t have to be going through this. “Lucy—”

  But she waved him back before he could get started. “I’m fine,” she snapped, then felt ashamed. Her voice softened. “There’s just this huge knot in my stomach right now.” She picked up the coffeepot and began to pour herself a cup. Coffee she could always use. Her hand shook.

  He saw and took the pot from her, finishing the job. Dylan passed the cup to her. “What about the baby?”

  She took it in both hands, easing herself onto a kitchen stool. “I have someone coming to watch her.”

  His eyebrows drew together. He trusted no one, especially not now. “Who?”

  “One of the girls I have working in my shop.” She noticed his expression and smiled. “Don’t worry, she’s reliable.”

  He supposed it would be all right. He didn’t like leaving the baby alone in the house with only a teenager for protection, but he’d arranged for Reed to return this morning to watch the house. That should take care of any problems.

  “Looks like you’ve got things covered,” he murmured. He poured himself a second cup, avoiding her eyes and what looking at them did to him.

  Her fingers dug into his flesh. Dylan didn’t even remember taking her hand. Instinct must have prompted him. The same instinct that told him Lucy needed all the support he could give her. The strong face she turned toward the world was still there, still intact, but the rest of the world didn’t know her the way he did. Inside, she was all in pieces. All her life, she had been very close to her brother. In the beginning, he had been her mentor, her idol. Gradually, that had changed and maybe even reversed a little. Ritchie might have been the older one, but it was Lucy who had been the stable one. The only thing that never changed was the way she felt about him. She had always doted on Ritchie.

  Dylan remembered envying what they had as a family. And envying the absolute strength of the love that Lucy bore for her brother. Love had never really been a part of his own life. Oh, his mother had tried in her own way, and he had felt protective of her, but it hadn’t been love in any real sense of the word. A woman who loved her child didn’t allow herself and her child to be abused time and again.

  Word of Ritchie’s death had spread. A large number of his friends turned out to attend the service and to follow the hearse to the cemetery, where they paid their last respects as the casket was lowered into the ground.

  Standing at the grave site, Dylan looked around. He didn’t recognize most of the people there. Without asking, he knew that these were people on the fringes of a world Dylan had sworn to keep apart from the normal, law-abiding one.

  But he did recognize the man who approached Lucy right after the priest had concluded his service and said a few last words to her.

  The man, who carried himself as if he were taller than just average height, had silver-gray hair and a thin face. The suit he had on probably cost more than the combined tab for the clothes of every other person there.

  Alfred Palmero. The owner of Den of Thieves. Even the name seemed to thumb its nose at the police. Yet here he was, acting the part of the saddened employer, coming toward Lucy with hands outstretched, every nail perfectly manicured and buffed.

  In the melodic voice that led the church choir and could have belonged to a tenor in an opera, Palmero greeted Lucy and enveloped Lucy in a deep embrace before she saw the latter coming. Gray-blue eyes that could only be described as flinty passed fleetingly over Dylan, appraising him instantly and finding him lacking, before returning to Lucy. A respectful two steps behind him was a man who acted as his chauffeur and doubled as his bodyguard.

  “Such a sad, sad day.” Ending the embrace, he took possession of both of her hands in his. “Oh, my dear Lucy, I just want you to know how deeply sorry I am about your brother. Ritchie was far too young and vital a man to be taken from us so abruptly, so cruelly. We all liked him at the restaurant and we are all going to miss him a great deal.” Sympathy seemed to spill from every pore. He lowered his voice, as if to exclude even her companion. “I know this is a particularly rough time for you, especially with the baby and all. If there is anything I can do for you, all you have to do is let me know.” His eyes washed over her, approval evident in the scrutiny. “Anything,” he repeated softly. “A job, a loan—”

  Lucy raised her chin, removing her hands from his like a regal queen suffering the touch of a commoner solely out of the goodness of her heart. Charity of the pocket was something she never expected and never accepted. All she ever required was charity of the soul and she didn’t see it in Palmero’s eyes.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine.” Things were a little tight, but it went that way at times. She had years of experience to fall back on when it came to that. As a teenager, she’d worked at the card and gift store she now owned. Tight times passed and better times came as long as you hung on. It was that way with everything.

  It had been her fondest hope that Ritchie would someday work at the shop as well so that she could keep an eye on him. Now that wasn’t going to happen.

  She couldn’t think about that now.

  Lucy felt Dylan move a little closer to her. He wa
s being protective of her. It reinforced her resolve. Her eyes met Palmero’s. “I’m sure I won’t be bothering you.”

  “Absolutely no bother at all,” Palmero assured her. “Trust me.”

  It occurred to Lucy that the serpent in the Garden of Eden could have hissed the same words in the exactly the same manner to Eve just before he pushed the apple on her. Though dapper and almost fastidiously stylish, her brother’s former employer made her think of a snake toying with its prey.

  “I hope I never need to,” she told him before turning to Dylan. “I’d like to go home, please.” He gave her his arm and she slipped her hand through it. “Goodbye, Mr. Palmero. Thank you for your good wishes. I’m sure they would have meant a lot to Ritchie.”

  The silver head inclined, acknowledging her words. “Goodbye, my dear. I’ll be in touch.”

  She wasn’t sure whether or not Dylan was right in his estimation of Palmero’s connection to Ritchie’s death, but that wasn’t the kind of thing Dylan would have made up. Dylan wasn’t given to lies. And if he was right…

  “Is it just me,” she whispered to Dylan as they began walking away, “or do you suddenly feel the need for a shower, too?”

  She was sharp, Dylan thought, not without a small touch of pride though he knew he had no right to the feeling. A great many people had been deceived by Palmero and his polished manners. “I see you weren’t taken in.”

  She looked at him in surprise. Didn’t he know her at all? Just because she was upset didn’t mean she’d suddenly become stupid. “I’ve become a great deal more cynical since you walked away.” She saw that her words had made a direct hit, but the victory felt hollow. She changed the subject. “Why would Palmero come to Ritchie’s funeral? Ritchie only worked for him a short while.”

  Opening the passenger door, he helped Lucy into the car. “Maybe he just wants to oil his way into your confidence.” He closed her door and rounded the hood of the car.

  She shifted toward Dylan as he got in. “Then I’m afraid he’s going to need more oil than a full-size tanker can carry. I just don’t like the man.”