by Linda Devlin
She leaned back slightly, tipping her head to deepen the kiss, and Sin came along with her. Bodies aligned, lips locked. They seemed to magically dissolve together, melting and then melding into each other, growing closer and closer with every passing heartbeat. She wondered if he felt the same strange compulsion to continue the kiss, as if to end it was unthinkable.
"I love you," she whispered when he took his mouth from hers to kiss her throat. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pushed the long strands back so she could see his face as he lifted his head slowly. She didn't mean to cause pain with her confession, but it looked as if that was what flickered in Sin's eyes, the pain he'd been too strong and stubborn to reveal that morning when he'd told her about his mother and father.
"No, you don't," he protested. "You can't."
"Don't tell me I can't love you," she insisted. "I know my own heart."
"Honey, trust me." He ran his hand along her side and cradled her hip. She shivered in response. "This is not your heart talking. It's not love that makes you quiver and shake and moan."
She smiled widely, even though he did not.
A new and unwanted voice intruded. "Excuse me."
They both turned their heads to see a relatively sober Nate standing over the couch. He stood taller than usual, even though his fine suit was rumpled. After a moment, he swayed just slightly.
"Jed's here." He gave them a wink. "I thought you might like to know."
Sin and Eden both jumped, moving up and apart, and Eden tried to straighten her hair. "Jedidiah's here? Already? Really?"
Nate grinned and turned to walk away. "No, not really. I just thought it was my duty to remind you two that you're headed for serious trouble, smooching in the lobby like that. Hell, Sullivan, this is a hotel. And you already have a room. Use it, if you must."
"Well," Eden said indignantly, her heartbeat slowly returning to normal. "That was rather rude."
"Maybe, but he's right," Sin said. "Damn it, Eden, why can't I keep my hands off of you?"
She stood, smiled, and offered him her hand. "There's no need to curse."
Sin took her hand and stood. "There's every reason in the world to curse, damn it."
She leaned into him. "Nate was, perhaps, right about one thing. The lobby is not the place to kiss. Why, anyone might walk in at any time."
"Yep." He took her in his arms and pulled her close. "So, how about we... clean the tub for a few minutes?" He glanced toward the wall near the foot of the stairs and the small room beyond that wall. Her heart leaped.
"Excellent idea."
* * *
Twenty-nine years old, and no one had ever told him they loved him before today. Sullivan didn't believe the words Eden said so easily, couldn't make himself believe that she felt that deeply. She simply didn't know how to express her newly discovered desire in any other way; she didn't know another way to explain away the heat they generated.
Any other possibility was too frightening to consider.
He'd stayed with her all day, moving furniture and opening windows that had been shut too long, and constantly keeping an eye out for any threat. Kissing her, holding and touching her in the tub behind closed doors. Reminding himself, when he wanted to reach for more, that this was all he could have.
The day had been a quiet one, and there had been no more mysterious notes. He had to consider the possibility that Cash had been right, that Eden had written the note herself to keep him from leaving town. He didn't think she had a devious bone in her gorgeous body, but he also knew she would do anything, anything, to keep the people she considered hers safe. The woman would do anything if she thought it would benefit one of her damned strays.
Eden was in the kitchen starting a pot of chicken stew for supper, and Sullivan stood alone in the center of the newly cleaned lobby. The front door was open to let in fresh air, and bright afternoon sunlight fell across a newly burnished floor. Eden had scrubbed and beaten and swept and polished until the room gleamed. The woman transformed everything she touched.
Teddy and Millie appeared in the doorway, holding hands as they often did these days. Eden had transformed the children as surely as she had this room, making their lives bright, giving them hope, offering them a future they hadn't dreamed of before meeting her. It would be easy to dismiss Eden Rourke as an interfering sanctimonious do-gooder but for one small detail: everything she did came from the heart.
Teddy's long hair fell across his face, and when he lifted it Sullivan's moment of peaceful reflection ended. Tear tracks were clear on the boy's face.
"What happened?" he asked gruffly.
Teddy shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the question, but Millie was quick to answer. "Frank and Jack Sutton made fun of Teddy's hair after school. They said he looked like a girl, and one mean boy, Billy Newton, said he was a freak because he can't talk." She lifted her chin haughtily. "I threw a rock at Billy, but I missed."
He'd never had the desire to go after a child before, but Billy Newton, the bully, deserved a good scare of his own. And those Sutton kids had never been anything but trouble. Words hurt as much as fists, as the tear tracks on Teddy's face proved.
Sullivan kept his voice calm. "I'm sure Eden will tell you it's not nice to throw rocks, but... I'm just sorry you missed."
Millie smiled widely, but Teddy remained visibly distressed. Hadn't the kid had enough problems in his short life without having to deal with the fact that he was different?
"Millie, Eden's in the kitchen. You go tell her you're home and that Teddy and I have an errand to run this afternoon."
"Okay," she said, skipping off to the dining room, winding past the tables toward the kitchen.
Sullivan joined Teddy in the doorway. "Come on," he said, placing a hand on the boy's thin shoulder and leading him onto the boardwalk.
He'd pretended to be this boy's father, when it had been necessary, but there was no real bond between them. No relation, no obligation. Still, he and Teddy had a lot in common, and he felt he owed the kid... something. A few words of advice, maybe. Words of wisdom from Sinclair Sullivan? What a joke.
"One thing you have to learn early on is that there are people out there who are just mean," he said, a hand on Teddy's shoulder and his eyes on the boardwalk ahead. Hell, he had to try. He had to do something. "Some are just born that way. They come into the world mean and stay that way until the day they die. There's not much we can do but put up with them, most of the time."
Teddy nodded, but kept his dejected head down.
"It would be easier if everyone were like Eden, don't you think?" Sullivan said.
Teddy looked up as he nodded in eager agreement.
"She's been good to you."
Teddy nodded again.
"She's a good woman," Sullivan said, meaning it.
He came to a halt and looked down at the kid. Teddy was small for his age, if Eden was right about him being nine. The kid had an almost delicate look, with his thin shoulders and arms and legs, and those big brown eyes in a narrow face. He looked like he would break, so easily. Black hair fell past his shoulders, as Sullivan's did, and he peeked warily past a strand that fell across his face.
"It's up to you," Sullivan said, nodding to the business behind them. "What do you say?"
Teddy looked through a dirty window, and then he nodded his head slowly. He reached up to nervously take Sullivan's hand as they entered the barber shop.
* * *
Eden stirred the cornbread fixings as she talked with Millie. The child was anxious to tell all about school, the good and the bad, and had already shared the day's excitement. Oh, she wanted so badly to give Teddy a hug! Where on earth had Sin taken him?
Millie was, with the exception of the rock incident, fitting in well at school already. She'd made friends, with Carrie Brown quickly claimed as her most bestest friend. While Mr. Reese might not look like your everyday average schoolmaster, he must've had some gift for his chosen profession. Millie adored him,
and she was always excited to share with Eden what she'd learned that day.
Rock Creek was a good place to live, Eden had decided, a good place to raise a family.
"Millie, do you like it here?"
"Oh yes, Ma... Aunt Eden," she said. "I like it very much. It isn't as green as home, but the people are nice to me and I have new friends. Carrie and I played together at recess again today, and she's helping me with my letters." She leaned in close as if to share a secret. "She says my Ms are much improved."
Eden's smile faded at the way Millie stumbled over Ma... Aunt Eden. Things had happened so quickly; momentous changes had taken place in a matter of weeks. More changes were sure to come.
"Millie, I know you loved your mother very much," Eden said gently, putting aside the cornbread to join Millie, to sit on the lone chair in the kitchen and pull the child onto her lap.
Millie nodded and placed her head on Eden's shoulder.
"And I know your mother loved you, too, and would want you to be happy and have a good home."
Another nod was her answer.
"Would you like for me to be your mama for real?" she asked. "Not a game this time, not pretend. I could be your... your new mother."
Millie lifted her head to look at Eden. "Not pretend this time?"
"Not pretend."
"Can Mr. Sullivan be my papa?"
Eden smiled. "Maybe. We'll have to see about that."
Millie draped her arms around Eden's neck. "I think it's a very good idea. Can Teddy be family, too?" she asked. "I always wanted a brother, and he needs a new mama just like me."
"Absolutely," Eden said.
Eden took a moment to enjoy the warmth she felt, the indisputable realization that all was right with the world. How strange to feel this lightness now. The hotel she'd been given was a run-down disaster, someone was trying to scare her out of town, and there was still no sign of Jedidiah. Sin wanted her body. He liked to touch and kiss her, but he was being stubborn where love was concerned. He was so determined to protect his heart, even as his body reached for hers.
But she loved Sinclair Sullivan with all her heart, and she loved these children. She was even beginning to like this old hotel. Nothing would stop her from making herself a family in the midst of turmoil. Nothing and no one.
* * *
After Teddy was finished he held his head higher, his spine straighter. There were no more tears in his eyes, no more fear on his face.
And it was just a haircut. Sullivan ruffled the short, silky strands as they walked back to the hotel. "Looks good, kid," he said. No one would give Teddy any grief about his hair, though it was likely that as long as he remained small for his age and silent, he would have trouble with narrow-minded people, bullies like Billy Newton and the Sutton twins. Maybe what Teddy really needed was a lesson in fighting dirty.
Teddy stepped into the hotel, and with the sun angling in just so Sullivan spotted the hairs on the kid's back, hairs the barber had missed with his brush. Normally he'd take the shirt off here and now and shake it out, but since Eden had spent all day cleaning this lobby, he didn't think that was a good idea.
"Let's head out back," he said, giving Teddy a gentle shove in the direction of the rear door. "You've got hair on the back of your shirt, and you want to look good for Eden, right?"
Teddy nodded and headed for the door. They stepped into the neglected enclosed garden, and Sullivan closed the door behind them. The kid turned his back and waited, perhaps for Sullivan to brush off the hairs, but there were so many of the long, dark hairs a good shaking out was in order. Sullivan reached down and took the shirt in his hands, and pulled it swiftly over Teddy's head.
And then he stopped, the shirt hanging in his hand, forgotten. "Who did this to you?" he whispered.
Teddy's narrow back was badly marked with long, thin scars that spoke of unquestionable abuse with a weapon like a whip or a quirt. The scars were months old, some maybe years old, and while they would fade with time they would never completely disappear. They were too deep.
Teddy turned and reached for his shirt, obviously anxious to cover up his scarred back. Sullivan shook out the shirt, as he'd originally intended, and helped the kid slip it back on. All the time his blood roared. He'd never been so angry.
"Let's sit over here a minute," he said, heading for the bench against the hotel wall. Teddy followed, sitting obediently beside him. He didn't know what to say, and yet it seemed like he should say something.
Teddy reached up and tugged at Sullivan's long hair, a question in his eyes.
"You think I should cut my hair, too?" he asked, and Teddy nodded once. "Not today," he said. Maybe not ever. Teddy needed to fit in, to blend, to be like the other children at school. Sullivan knew he'd never blend in anywhere. He had no desire to try.
More advice. Hellfire, he was not good at this!
"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," he said. "I know Eden would love it if you did, and it would make your life easier. But if you don't feel like talking"—he shrugged his shoulders—"then don't. I reckon if you've ever got something important to say, you'll speak up."
Teddy relaxed and leaned his head against Sullivan's arm, trusting and warm in spite of what he'd been through.
Sullivan got angry all over again. "A man who would hurt a child the way you were hurt is no kind of man at all," he said, unmistakable rage in his voice. "My grandfather and my uncle used to backhand me at the drop of a hat, and any excuse for a whipping would do. But even they never... Damn it, Teddy, I wish you would tell me who did that to you. I swear, I'd hunt the man down and kill him with my bare hands."
Teddy came up on his knees and faced Sullivan. There was pain in his eyes, a fragility that made the kid look as if he would shatter at the slightest touch. His eyes looked suddenly ancient, old and deep and full of secrets. Those eyes were at odds with a face gone pale, a narrow nose, a quivering lip.
The boy leaned close, placing his mouth near Sullivan's ear. He made a small sound, a catch from deep in his throat, emitted a soundless breath of air, and then he whispered hoarsely, "It was my Uncle John."
Sullivan slipped an arm around the kid and pulled him close, and Teddy continued in an even lower voice. "I already killed him."
Chapter 11
Sullivan gathered Teddy onto his lap and made the boy look him in the eye. "What do you mean, you already killed him?"
Teddy remained silent, but he began to shake slightly, as if he'd caught a sudden chill.
"Please tell me."
It was a struggle, he could see that, but Teddy finally spoke again, his voice as soft as before. "Uncle John called me bad names, and he called my mother bad names. She was dead, and still he called her bad names, all the time." There was anger in his small voice, anger and confusion. "He hit me with his lash and put me to bed with no supper, just because I yelled at him and told him not to call my mother a whore." His large dark eyes filled with tears. "When I went to bed I wished for Uncle John to die. I wished as hard as I could. I laid awake most of the night, just wishing for him to die. I wished out loud, whispering into the pillow while my back stung and my stomach growled. The next morning, my uncle's mule kicked him in the head and he died, just like I wished. So you see," he said, his voice growing raspy, "I killed him."
"Teddy," Sullivan said as he took the kid's face in his hands, horrified and relieved. "You can't wish someone dead."
"But I did." The tentative voice was almost gone again. "Don't tell anyone." The last word was nothing more than a whisper of air.
"I won't," Sullivan promised. "But you have to believe me. You didn't kill your uncle. What happened to him was just an accident."
Teddy, silent once again, looked as if he wanted to believe that was true. He didn't, though, not quite.
Hellfire, Eden's interfering ways were rubbing off on him. Sullivan wanted to fix this kid's life. He wanted to make everything right for Teddy.
"I've never lied to you, have I?"
Teddy shook his head.
"I'm not lying to you now. You are not responsible, in any way, for your uncle's death."
Teddy bit his lip.
"I'm not sorry the son of a bitch is dead, and I imagine you're not sorry, either."
A soft shake of the head and lowered eyes was his answer.
"But not feeling sorry isn't the same as being guilty."
Teddy moved closer. "Did you ever wish your grandfather and uncle dead when they hit you?" he asked, his voice a raspy murmur no louder than an easy gust of autumn wind. "Did you wish really hard?"
"Yes," Sullivan admitted. "Many times."
"Did they die?"
Sullivan shook his head. "No."
Teddy looked relieved as he climbed down off of Sullivan's lap.
"Let's go show Eden your haircut," Sullivan said as he stood and ruffled the newly shortened strands.
Teddy nodded and whispered, "I'm thirsty, and my throat hurts a little. Do you think Aunt Eden has lemonade?"
Sullivan let the kid take his hand as they walked into the lobby. "I think if you ask her for lemonade she'll be more than happy to make it for you."
* * *
Rock Creek was turning out to be a lovely, lovely town. The next five days passed in a magical way, perfection from sunup to sunset. Teddy spoke. Not loudly or often, but he did make his presence and his wishes known, on occasion. Something had happened on the afternoon he'd had his hair cut, something between Teddy and Sin. They were closer than ever, two almost silent males who had somehow become the best of friends.
On Sunday she and the children had gone to church, in spite of the fact that it would mean listening to Reverend Clancy. Mary Reese was there, with her baby and her husband, and Eden was able to speak to the woman for a few minutes after a depressing service that somehow ended up being about Jezebel and harlots in general. Their conversation didn't last nearly long enough, as Mary's baby and her husband were both hungry. Eden felt confident that one day she and Mary would be friends. The thought warmed her heart and made Rock Creek an even more inviting place.
