The Call of Bravery

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “A boyfriend.” It hadn’t occurred to her what this would look like. Alarm quickened her pulse. “I could lose my license.”

  He was shaking his head before she finished. “We’ll explain if we have to.”

  “It never even occurred to me.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he repeated.

  She marshaled her thoughts. “I guess the neighbors wouldn’t have any reason to think anything of me having a bunch of friends over for a barbecue.”

  “Nope.”

  She’d liked his sisters-in-law. Staying friends with them probably wasn’t an option, given the fact that their husbands were in law enforcement and she regularly broke the law, but she could enjoy them now, couldn’t she?

  “A party sounds fun. It’ll be good for the kids. If they’re free, why don’t we do it tomorrow? Otherwise it’ll have to wait until next weekend.”

  She could tell he’d be just as glad to put off further family interactions for another week, but with a sigh he slid open his phone. His eyes were warm on her face when he said, “Thanks, Lia.”

  She waited until he had spoken briefly to his brother and confirmed that yes, Niall and family at the very least thought tomorrow sounded great. Niall would call Duncan and let Conall know whether he, Jane and Fiona would join them. Lia immediately revised her afternoon plans to include a trip to the grocery store.

  “Great,” Conall growled. “One more thing to look forward to.”

  “You should be glad to have family,” she told him crisply, and went inside.

  * * *

  SO SHE THOUGHT he was an ungrateful bastard. No news there. He was.

  Conall’s irritation eventually wore off, leaving him with the memory of Lia’s expression.

  Fostering children was a vocation, she’d said. Because she wanted a family, the kind she hadn’t had. The kind she didn’t think she ever would have. No, Lia hadn’t said any of that, but Conall was good at reading between the lines.

  She couldn’t understand why he had rejected his brothers, and along with them lost the chance to have more family: their wives and children. She was maybe even a little angry at him for not appreciating something she hungered for.

  She hadn’t said that, either, but he could tell.

  The hell of it was, Conall knew she was right. He’d lost a great deal. No, not lost—thrown away.

  From his adult perspective, he was having trouble remembering why. All he knew was that, for years, anger had simmered inside him. It was one of the few emotions he felt. Most of the time, he was barely conscious of it. He’d always believed it was directed at Duncan, the oppressor.

  Tonight, sitting at the attic window watching a dark house, he knew differently. Maybe he’d felt safe to channel all that rage and hurt on the brother who had refused, no matter the cost to him, no matter what they did, to turn his back on Conall or Niall.

  Conall’s attention was momentarily caught by movement. After verifying that it was only one of the Dobermans trotting across the yard, Conall thought, I locked away everything I felt for Mom and Dad. I convinced myself I felt nothing.

  I lied.

  Asked at any time in the past fifteen years, he would have sworn he was self-aware. Live and learn.

  The necessity of keeping watch freed his thoughts. He played back a hundred reels of his childhood and teenage years. College graduation, with Duncan in the audience even though Conall hadn’t invited him.

  Maybe the damage had been done early, when Conall had wished for so much more than he ever got from his brothers, and especially Duncan, the big brother he’d worshipped. He couldn’t help wincing as he thought about how young Duncan had been. I resented a fourteen-year-old for not wanting to spend time with his shrimpy eight-year-old brother. Of course he hadn’t wanted to. He’d been kind enough, but six years was a big age spread then. Too big for them to have been the kind of friends Conall had yearned to be.

  Had he been angry because when Duncan turned into a father figure, it erased all possibility for them ever to be simply friends and brothers? Thinking about their couple of meetings these past weeks, Conall had a minor revelation.

  Not all possibility had been erased. It wasn’t too late. Duncan was still willing, God knows why considering what a jackass Conall had been.

  Because we are brothers.

  Maybe because Duncan had always understood more than Conall had realized.

  Conall had another uncomfortable realization. Despite what he’d said to Lia, he wasn’t dreading tomorrow. He was actually looking forward to spending time with his brothers and their families.

  His family.

  And one reason he felt that way was because he felt secure here, as though they were coming onto his territory.

  Apprehension stabbed between his ribs, stiletto sharp. This wasn’t his home. Lia wasn’t his woman, Walker and Brendan weren’t his kids. It scared the crap out of him to realize that he felt like they were.

  He stared at the dark house, willing a light to come on, the garage door to open, the sound of an engine to cut through the night, and thought, Goddamn you, make a move. Make a mistake.

  He needed this operation to be done. To get back to his life before he started wondering whether that was what he wanted at all.

  * * *

  NIALL PITCHED THE BALL over the plate. Brendan swung hard, and connected. Crack. The ball soared and the batter tore for first base.

  “Home run! Home run!” Walker chanted. Conall indulged in a few catcalls as the ball passed over Jane’s glove and rolled beneath the fence into the pasture, ending up with a splat in a cow patty.

  As Brendan triumphantly rounded the makeshift bases, Jane stopped at the fence and said, “Ew. Someone else come and get it.”

  Even Duncan laughed at her. “Can’t be any worse than Fiona’s diaper.”

  Conall and Brendan exchanged high fives as the boy smacked both feet on home plate for emphasis. The pitcher called, “Replacement ball.”

  Jane returned carrying the now greenish-brown-tinged baseball between two fingers. “What kind of baseball field is this?” she asked.

  Duncan kissed her on the cheek and declined to take the ball. It was Lia, still giggling, who led her to the outdoor faucet where they rinsed and re-rinsed the ball, then dropped it and went into the house to scrub hands.

  “Seventh-inning stretch,” Niall declared. “We’ve lost our outfielder. I could use a beer anyway.”

  “You just want to quit because you’re losing,” Conall said amiably. His team—Walker, Brendan, Lia and himself—was trouncing Niall’s, which consisted of Desmond, Niall, Jane and Anna alternating with Duncan. Rowan had been declared ineligible to play ball because no one wanted to be responsible for sending a line drive into her pregnant belly. Niall was operating with a disability; he’d had to tackle a suspect that week and his left side was a mass of bruises and knotted muscles. His pitching wasn’t too bad, but his batting sucked. Des was decent for his age, Jane had turned out to be athletic, and Anna had managed to make it to first base on a bunt, but Conall and the boys had been doing some serious practicing.

  “You’ve got a weenie for a wife,” Conall told Duncan as he delved into the cooler for a beer.

  He’d never seen his big brother more relaxed. Duncan was currently lounging on one of the Adirondack chairs Lia had brought out onto the lawn. “Weak stomach,” he said easily. “You should have seen her the first few months she was pregnant. She could hardly keep anything down. We ate the blandest diet you’ve ever seen for a while there.”

  “Killed his sex life, too,” their brother said, joining them. Trailed by Rowan, the kids had all run over to pet the pony through the fence. The men were left momentarily alone.

  Duncan shot him a look. “Didn’t sound like yours was any too hot for a few mon
ths there, either.”

  Amused, Conall wondered what their wives would think of this discussion. He could imagine what Lia would say if he…

  Goddamn it. There he went again, thinking of her as his.

  Duncan continued, “But when that crazy son of a bitch tried to slit Jane’s throat, she had a spine of steel.”

  “That’s true,” Niall admitted. “Jane’s a gutsy woman.”

  “Looks like you both got lucky,” Conall said after a minute.

  “Oh, yeah,” Niall said softly.

  Duncan grunted agreement. Gaze resting on Conall, he said, “You’ve never been tempted?”

  Words rose automatically to his tongue. Not happening. That’s what he’d always said, wasn’t it? But those familiar words remained unspoken. It was scary as hell, but for the first time in his life, he could feel the pull. He understood why a man might want only one woman. Kids.

  “Hasn’t happened yet,” he finally said, then almost cursed at the way his head turned when he heard the screen door opening. Lia had never looked more beautiful to him than she did today, wearing cut-offs, tank top and athletic shoes, a sheen of sweat making her glow. She emerged, followed by Jane, and he quickly turned back, but too late. Heat ran across his cheeks when he met his brothers’ interested gazes.

  “She’s a beautiful woman,” Duncan observed, voice pitched to be sure it didn’t reach the women.

  Conall muttered without meaning to be heard.

  “What’s that?” Niall asked, leaning forward.

  “Stuff it.”

  “She involved with anyone?” Duncan asked quietly.

  Conall hadn’t asked her. Hadn’t dared. But he thought she would have said. She wasn’t the kind of woman who’d have explored his bare chest with such curiosity and hunger if she had a lover.

  “No.” He frowned slightly, hardly aware he’d turned his head enough to watch her and Jane descend the steps and start across the grass toward the children. “I get the feeling she thinks no guy would want her as long as she’s determined to keep fostering.” He glanced at Niall. “She admired the way you’ve taken on Rowan’s two kids. She seemed…surprised.” Interesting; he hadn’t realized at the time that she was, but he knew now that’s what he’d seen on her face.

  Seems the two of them had something in common: a lack of faith in their fellow man. Or woman.

  Same cause, of course. Some wounds never healed.

  Conall frowned. Desmond had lost his father, but he would grow up secure, knowing he was loved. So would Anna and Fiona. Rowan and Niall’s baby, when it came along. Conall identified one of those strange emotions that had been pressing against his breastbone as if making a place for itself, even though he still didn’t know what to call it. Faith? Belief? Not in God, but in a truly loving family. The one thing he’d been most cynical about. Probably it shouldn’t have surprised him that Duncan the perfect had been able to form a family like that. After all, he was the man who would never fail anyone who depended on him. But Niall had managed the trick as well.

  And then there was Lia, giving her all to frightened kids who had no one else.

  He moved restlessly, not wanting to think about this.

  Neither of his brothers had said anything, but both were watching him.

  “We going to finish this game or not?” he asked, his edgy mood coming out in his voice.

  Niall rose from his chair, whacked Conall on the back and called, “Hey, team! Let’s get back on that field and prove what the MacLachlans are made of.”

  A sharp cramp of envy disconcerted Conall. He was the only MacLachlan on his team. And, damn it, for a split second he wanted to change that.

  He laughed and raised his voice. “Come on, gang, let’s keep kicking their butts. Seems to me I’m up to bat.”

  Duncan snorted and said, “Guess I’d better step in as catcher so Niall could put some heat on those pitches.”

  Conall snorted. “Does he have any?”

  The boys had gotten close enough to hear the exchange. They hooted, and Desmond stuck his chin out. “My dad’s a good pitcher.”

  Niall pulled him close for a one-armed hug.

  More of that funny feeling Conall didn’t want to think about. He grabbed a bat and called, “Better get ready to visit the cow pasture again, Jane.”

  Everyone got into position. Conall took a few practice swings then stepped up to the plate, cocky, ready for his brother’s first pitch.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CONALL HAD NEVER been obsessed with a woman before. He thought about Lia as he was waiting for sleep, and first thing in the morning. He could hardly wait to see her. The sound of her voice coming from another room was as tactile as a touch. Every other day, when it was Jeff’s turn to eat dinner downstairs, Conall felt resentful and sulky, banished to the attic.

  It was ridiculous and embarrassing. So, okay, he wanted her. There had been women he’d wanted and not had. Maybe not one he had to share quarters with for weeks on end, but he could have avoided her more than he did. He was the idiot who’d taken to playing house with a beautiful woman and a couple of boys who reminded him uncomfortably of himself at their ages, not to mention a pretty, sometimes shy teenage girl who also, if he wasn’t mistaken, was suppressing a whole lot of anger and anxiety.

  What he should do was start spending more time in the attic and less downstairs. He could do it gradually, so as not to hurt the boys’ feelings.

  Conall couldn’t make himself do what he should do. Damn it, he was having fun with Walker and Brendan. What’s more, he was good for them. They were blossoming by the day. Truth was, he’d miss them when he left.

  And Lia. Damn it, he’d miss Lia. He’d never missed a woman before, either. Not even his mother.

  He relived the scene in the dark hall a hundred times, but in his imagination his mouth caught hers. He found out what she tasted like, what sounds she’d make, whether her mouth would soften, how she’d feel pressed up to him. Unfortunately, his fantasies weren’t healthy for a man trying to fall asleep. They weren’t great when he was spending so much time around a bunch of kids, either. He was willing to talk about almost anything with them, but would prefer not to include sex as one of those topics.

  Today, he was pouring his usual late-morning bowl of cereal when he heard footsteps coming into the kitchen. Conall stiffened slightly, bracing himself for his reaction to Lia when he turned around. It was the boys, though, not her, and he relaxed. “Hey.”

  “We’re bored,” Walker announced.

  Some mornings Conall found them watching The Transformers, or occasionally something that was on TV, but increasingly they were lying in wait for him. He found it really hard to say, No, I can’t do anything with you, I need to go back upstairs.

  He waved a spoon. “I’m game for something after I eat.”

  The younger boy’s face brightened. “Cool.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat, crunching away on his too-sweet cereal. They sat, too. Walker drummed his heels on the chair legs and watched Conall eat. Brendan looked withdrawn, more as he had when Conall first came. He stared at the tabletop.

  Conall got up to pour his coffee. “Have trouble sleeping last night, Bren?”

  He looked up, his eyes haunted. “Kind of.” He went quiet then said in a sudden burst, “I keep thinking about Mom. Does she…does she still look like Mom?”

  Oh, damn, Conall thought. Maybe he would rather talk about sex.

  “Um…that depends.”

  They both fixed their eyes on him with unnerving intensity. “On what?” Brendan asked.

  “Well…” Did parents normally have these kinds of conversations with their kids? “She wasn’t cremated, was she?”

  “What’s cremated?” Walker asked.

  “Ah…burning the body. So
you’re left with only ashes.”

  The horror on their faces made his first swallow of coffee go down wrong. He coughed and finally had to wipe his face with the back of his hand.

  Walker looked at his brother. “They didn’t do that to Mommy, did they?”

  “I don’t think so,” Brendan said uncertainly. “There was a coffin. If they do that, is there still a coffin?”

  Conall was glad to be able to shake his head. “No. She wasn’t cremated then. Um, did you see her after she died?”

  “Right after. She looked like she was asleep.” Brendan hesitated. “Kind of.”

  Conall knew what he meant. People sometimes said that—Oh, he looked like he was sleeping—but really, he hadn’t. Conall wasn’t a spiritual man, which was probably just as well given his profession and the fact that he’d killed a few people along the way. But there was no question something left the body at the moment of death. A dead person didn’t look peaceful, he looked dead.

  Keeping his voice matter-of-fact, he said, “Your mom was probably embalmed, which means chemicals were used that will keep her from decomposing.” He could see from their expressions that they didn’t know the word. Well, crap. “Rotting,” he admitted. “Normally, living things rot after they die. If a raccoon dies in the woods, its body eventually enriches the soil that helps plants grow that will feed that raccoon’s kits—that’s their babies—and their kits and so on.”

  Lia walked into the kitchen right then. Conall was fiercely glad to see her, and not only for the usual reason. She gave them a general smile that didn’t linger on him any more than on the boys. “What are you talking about? What kind of kits?”

  “We’re talking about what happens to dead people,” Brendan said.

  Her gaze flew to Conall’s. He grimaced.

  “And…what does this have to do with kits?”

  Brendan explained about how raccoons died like people did, and how their bodies helped make berries and stuff like that grow better to feed baby coons. “And they’re called kits. Right, Conall?”