by Kristi Gold
Chapter Two
“I need to ask a favor, dear.”
Just when Kieran had claimed a spot on his sister’s sofa to let his mother’s Armenian cooking adequately digest, he’d been called into action by the tiny woman with a big heart. Normally he never refused Lucine O’Brien anything, but he could think of one thing in particular he wouldn’t do for anyone, not even his mother. “If you want me to call Kevin and tell him he needs to be at lunch Sunday, forget it, Mom.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and perched beside him on the cushion’s edge. “I wish you two got along better.”
Here it came, the blood-is-thicker-than-water speech. “The problem I have with Kevin has to do with his bad choices, and he’s chosen not to come around. I can’t change him, and neither can you.” After spending most of his life cleaning up his twin brother’s messes, Kieran had given up on that lost cause several years ago.
“Could you just hear me out, honey?”
Driven by family loyalty, he reached for the remote and muted the TV. “Okay, I’m listening.”
She shifted slightly to face him and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m worried about Kevin. I don’t think he’s well.”
Nothing new there. Kevin had been born the sickly twin and their mother still worried about him incessantly, even after thirty-plus years. “Why do you think that?”
“He seems tired to me,” Lucy said. “And pale.”
“He’s tired because it’s a big job, traveling all around the country to interview sports figures.” And having a woman in every port, Kieran thought. Probably every airport, too.
She laid a hand on his arm. “I’d still like you to visit him and see for yourself.”
That wasn’t something Kieran had the time, or the desire, to do. “Let Mallory check on him.”
“Did I hear someone mention my name?”
Kieran glanced back to find his sister strolling into the den, a rag sporting the remnants of strained carrots thrown over one shoulder. “Damn, you have good ears, Mallory.”
“Watch your language, young man.”
His mother’s tone alone had been known to instill fear in many a tough guy, including his four brothers and her own husband, who was snoring like a power drill in the nearby lounger. “Sorry,” Kieran muttered like a reprimanded twelve-year-old, not a thirty-four-year-old man.
“I was asking your brother to see about Kevin,” Lucy said. “He somehow believes you should have that responsibility.”
Mallory perched on the sofa’s arm. “Whit and I had dinner with Kevin a couple of months ago, as a matter of fact, so it’s your turn.”
Kieran couldn’t quell his suspicions—justifiable suspicions. “I’m guessing he did something that required reinforcements.”
“Actually, he wanted us to meet his new girlfriend,” Mallory said.
“The pro cheerleader?” The same cheerleader Kevin had used as a replacement for his former fiancée, Kieran surmised.
His father snorted loud enough to rouse the neighborhood hounds. “Nothing wrong a’tall with a cheerleader. They tend to be a limber lot.”
When Kieran and Mallory laughed, Lucy brought out the visual guns again and aimed them on their father. “Go back to sleep, Dermot O’Brien, before I make you walk home.” She turned her attention to Mallory. “Is she a nice girl, dear?”
“She’s very nice and she’s not a cheerleader.”
“Are you sure she wasn’t hiding her pom-poms?” Dermot chimed in, earning him another frown from his wife, and a grin from his kids.
“Actually, she’s a pediatric resident,” Mallory said. “Whit thinks the relationship has potential, but I believe the jury’s still out.”
His sister, always the attorney. “She’s definitely not Kevin’s typical girlfriend,” Kieran said.
“With the exception of Corri,” Mallory added.
“And look how he treated her.” Although Kieran had tried to temper his tone, the ever-present animosity filtered out. But he still hadn’t forgiven his twin’s careless disregard for a genuinely nice woman.
“That worked out for the best,” Lucy said. “Otherwise, Corri would never have married your brother Aidan.”
And Kieran had tolerated enough Kevin talk to last a lifetime. Leaning over, he picked up his empty glass from the coffee table and without another word, set out for the kitchen, Mallory trailing behind him.
“You should give Kevin another chance,” his sister said, as he set the glass in the sink. “I think you’ll find he’s changed.”
Kieran leaned back against the counter. “Because he’s dating a woman who can put two sentences together before applying more lipstick?”
“Because Aidan and Corri have forgiven him, and so should you.”
That was news to him. “What he did to Corri was only one episode in a long line of screwups.”
“Nobody’s perfect, Kieran. Seems to me you should stop and consider that, otherwise you’re never going to have a long-term relationship.”
Must be “grill Kieran night.” “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve had a couple of long-term relationships, including one that ended a few months ago.”
“Almost a year ago, and exactly what happened with that relationship, dear brother?”
“It just wasn’t—”
“Perfect?”
Damn, she was majorly annoying him. “We weren’t compatible. She liked opera, I liked baseball. She liked Thai food, I prefer good old American beef. End of story.”
Mallory sent him a serious scowl. “She was also extremely beautiful and built like a fashion doll. Have you ever been attracted to anyone who wasn’t the epitome of physical perfection?”
Erica Stevens briefly flashed in his mind, catching him off guard. He had to remember she was a client—a prospective client—and off-limits. Regardless, he had to admit she was attractive in a wholesome kind of way. And if she decided to accept his offer, he’d have to ignore that attraction. “I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, Mallory, but I wish you’d make it so I can go home.”
“My point is, you’re too rigid, too quick to judge. You live your life by a set of strict rules—”
“What’s wrong with that?”
She held up her hand to silence him. “Life isn’t perfect, Kieran. People aren’t perfect. You should try to relax, open your mind to all the possibilities. Being more spontaneous couldn’t hurt, either.”
At least now he had some ammunition. “As a matter of fact, I did something spontaneous today. I agreed to provide personal training to a woman, free of charge.”
Mallory gave him a cynical smile. “She must be exceptionally gorgeous.”
“She’s a widowed mom, and I really didn’t pay that much attention to her. We just met a couple of hours ago, at the request of her daughter.”
She laid a hand against her throat. “Mr. Macho didn’t notice a woman? She must be in her golden years.”
“She’s thirty,” he said, surprised by his defensive tone. “And if you’re that damn curious, she has long red hair, light blue eyes. She’s short, but then she’s also a former gymnast. She has great dimples. One’s more prominent than the other. I couldn’t tell much about her body because she was wearing baggy clothes, but from what I could see, I’d guess—” He halted his assessment when Mallory chuckled. “What’s so funny?”
She laughed again. “You. I could’ve sworn you said you didn’t notice her, and you’re describing her in more detail than my husband would probably describe me.”
Kieran hated to admit she was right, so he wouldn’t. “Where is Whit, anyway?” he asked, only then realizing his brother-in-law had been missing since the last of the O’Brien siblings and their significant others had left for home.
“He’s changing the twins’ diapers in the nursery,” she said. “And just a word of advice, Kieran. When you’re helping this woman with her fitness regime, you might want to look beyond the superficial. You might find that the old adage about skin-d
eep beauty is true. If you keep an open mind, she could be the perfect girl for you.”
Time to set his sibling straight. “First of all, I don’t get involved with clients. And secondly, she hasn’t agreed to the training sessions yet.”
Smiling, Mallory pulled the rag from her shoulder, tossed it aside and checked her watch. “Sorry to end this conversation, but the girls will be hollering for their bedtime feeding and Whit can’t help with that.”
Thank God for babies with an aversion to bottles. “Fine. I’ll see you later.”
Mallory started away but paused to face him again. “Before I go, let me add that I’m confident you’ll find a way to convince your new client…What’s her name?”
“Erica.”
“You’ll have Erica engaged in a strenuous workout in record time.”
Kieran had serious doubts about that, even though he couldn’t claim a lack of disappointment if she did turn him down, for reasons he didn’t care to explore. “Take my word for it. If Erica decides to get with the program, it won’t be because of me.”
“Are you still awake, Mom?”
At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Erica bolted upright and snapped on the lamp to find Stormy standing in the bedroom doorway. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she studied her child while fighting an edge of panic. Thankfully she didn’t see any indication that Stormy was in distress. No ashen cast to her round face. No blue tinge to her lips. No labored breathing. In fact, she looked precious in her pink satin pajamas with the rag-tag brown stuffed dog named Pokie clutched in her arms. But still Erica asked, “What’s wrong?”, a typical reaction resulting from all the nights something had been wrong.
Stormy frowned, as she’d been prone to do lately when she felt her mother was being too protective. “I’m okay, Mom. I just can’t sleep.”
Erica started to remind Stormy it was a school night and encourage her to try harder, but she recognized that in a scant few years, her daughter’s reliance on her would begin to fade more and more, as it should. In the meantime, she would cherish these moments when she could still chase away her daughter’s concerns. While they were still everything to each other, before boys and best friends claimed most of her baby’s time.
On that consideration, Erica scooted over and patted the space beside her. “Climb in.”
Stormy bounded across the room and jumped onto the bed, her strawberry-blond curls bouncing. A beautiful bundle of exuberance despite what she’d endured in her short lifetime—both numerous surgeries and the loss of her father.
After Stormy settled in, Erica draped an arm around her thin shoulder and pulled her close. “Did you have a bad dream, sweetie?”
Stormy shook her head. “I was just thinking about Daddy.”
Erica’s heart took a little tumble at her child’s wistful tone, and she wondered if Kieran helping Stormy with her homework had somehow prompted those memories. “I’m sure Daddy’s thinking about you, too.”
“From heaven,” Stormy said. “Do you think Daddy’s an angel, like Grandma says he is?”
Erica dearly wanted to believe in angels, but over the past few years, Jeff’s presence had begun to fade, even though she still resided in the house they’d leased when they’d moved to Houston to be closer to Stormy’s doctors. “If Grandma says it’s so, then it’s probably so.”
Stormy pulled the blanket to her chin as if she intended to stay awhile. “Tell me the story, Mom.”
Erica didn’t have to ask which story she meant; she’d recited it often enough. “You mean the night you were born?”
Stormy grinned and nodded.
Even though she wanted to go back to sleep to prepare for the busy day ahead, Erica didn’t have the heart to tell her child it was much too late for telling stories. Instead, she tapped her chin and pretended to think. “Let’s see. Best I recall, it was a typical Oklahoma spring. We were under a severe thunderstorm warning and—”
“That’s where I got my name,” Stormy added.
Erica sent her a mock scowl. “Do you want to tell it?”
“I was a baby, Mom,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t remember that night.”
Erica remembered every precious—and precarious—moment. “Anyway, I thought you might be born at home because it took your dad forever to find that baseball glove he’d bought you.”
“Because he thought I was going to be a boy.”
This time Erica decided not to scold her over the interruption. “That’s right. But the minute you were born, he took one look at you and fell in love.” She still remembered the awe in Jeff’s eyes the moment Stormy came into the world, followed by the fear.
Stormy smiled again. “And when he heard me cry, he said I was going to be a country music singer.”
That cry had come much later, one little detail Erica had chosen not to share with her daughter. She also hadn’t told her how close she and Jeff had come to losing their precious baby, whose heart had begun to fail only hours after her birth, leading to the first of four corrective surgeries. “He said you were either going to sing or umpire baseball games.”
Stormy hesitated a minute before asking, “Do you still have that baseball glove somewhere?”
Only one of the many keepsakes Erica had clung to in order to preserve the memories. “It’s in the cedar chest. Why?”
“Because I’m going to need it.”
“Show and tell?”
Stormy rolled her eyes. “We haven’t done that since first grade. I’m going to need it because Lisa wants me to play softball with her next spring. We’re supposed to sign up in January.”
Serious concerns came crashing down on Erica. “First of all, the glove’s too small. Secondly, you’ve never played softball before. Are you sure you’re up to it?”
Stormy stiffened, looking determined. “I can run fast and I can throw harder than a lot of boys. My P.E. teacher says I’m a natural athlete.”
If that happened to be true, Stormy had come by it genetically. Aside from Erica’s gymnastics acumen, Jeff had been a talented football player. Yet for years her daughter had been held back by her physical deficits. She had no right to hold her back now, but still…“Before you sign up for anything, we need to check with Dr. Millwood. You can ask him when you have your appointment in February.”
“They’ll pick the teams before then, Mom.” Stormy unconsciously touched the top of the vertical scar peeking out from the parting in her pajama top. “Besides, he told me the last time I saw him that I could do anything I was big enough to do, and I’m big enough, and well enough, to play softball. I can practice with Lisa. It’ll give me something to do while you’re training with Kieran.”
The time had come to let her daughter down easy, at least on one front. “I promise I’ll consider the softball issue, sweetie. But I don’t think the training is going to work for me right now.”
“You aren’t going to do it?” Stormy said, both her tone and expression reflecting her displeasure.
“Maybe later.” Or never. “But I really love that you wanted to do this for me.”
Stormy pulled her legs to her chest, rested her chin on her knees and gave her a mournful look. “Daddy would’ve wanted you to stay in shape. He would’ve wanted me to play softball.”
A masterful manipulation if Erica had ever heard one, even if Stormy happened to be right. Nothing would have pleased Jeff more than to see his daughter excel at sports and his wife maintain a healthy lifestyle, and her weight. “I realize that, but I don’t want you to get hurt if you’re not ready for sports.”
Stormy climbed out of the bed and propped her hands on her hips. “Just because you’re afraid doesn’t mean I have to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m only concerned for your well-being, Stormy.”
“You are too afraid!” Stormy stomped her foot, something she had never done before. “Lisa says you’re paranoid, and she’s right. You’re afraid I’m going to get hurt and you’re afraid to let Kiera
n train you because you’re afraid of guys. You’re afraid of everything, Mom. And I’m afraid I’m going to be stuck in this house with you until I’m too old to have any fun.”
With that, Stormy spun around and headed down the hall, her hair wagging with a vengeance against her back.
On the verge of tears, Erica leaned back against the headboard and released a broken breath that bordered on a sob.
In some ways, Stormy was right—she was afraid. Her daughter would never know how many nights she’d stayed awake and watched each breath she took, fearful it could be her last. How afraid she’d been when she’d received the call informing her that her husband would never be coming home. That fear had admittedly driven her to be too overprotective, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of something happening to her baby girl, the most important person in her life.
One thing she did know—Stormy had been wrong about her fear of Kieran. She wasn’t afraid of him at all. She was afraid of how he made her feel in the short time she’d been around him. Afraid of acknowledging that she was highly attracted to a man, as if she was somehow being unfaithful to Jeff.
Still, she couldn’t imagine Kieran would persist if she didn’t go through with the training. At least she hoped not. She’d had enough trouble explaining her reasons for refusing to her daughter. She couldn’t battle them both.
“Stormy’s here, and someone else is here to see you, girlfriend.”
Erica stopped restocking the therapy room and took a quick glance at the clock before depressing the intercom on the wall. “My next appointment’s not due for another half hour, Megan.”
“He’s not here for a massage. He says he’s the dancing pizza man. Do you want me to call the cops?”
Erica’s heart did a little skip-beat rumba over the thought of seeing Kieran O’Brien again. Apparently an impatient Kieran O’Brien since less than twenty-four hours had passed since he made the offer. Oh, well. She might as well tell him face-to-face no thanks to the training, and be done with it. “Law enforcement isn’t necessary. I’ll come downstairs to meet him.”
And down the stairs Erica went, practically sprinting. She slowed her steps when she reached the second landing because she certainly didn’t want him to believe she was excited to see him. Yet when she paused at the bottom of the staircase and caught sight of him entering the salon area, she could barely catch a normal breath. She certainly wasn’t the only one who’d noticed him.
