‘‘Are you ready, mister?’’ the redheaded kid asked.
‘‘I’m ready,’’ he replied, his tone humming with glee. ‘‘Oh, yes, I’m ready,’’ he repeated, his blood pounding with excitement as the coaster reached the apex of the climb.
Ready to destroy Mark Callahan.
Ron Kurtz laughed maniacally as the roller coaster shot over the hill.
The Monroes declared their patriarch’s homecoming a holiday and the entire family showed up for supper. Ten minutes into the onslaught, Mark considered jogging out to the road to check for a sign that read BRIGADOON. That or FANTASY ISLAND.
When his family got together, they laughed. They played. They teased one another. This family Laughed, Played, and Teased. Their joy in the moment, delight in their reunion, and pure unadulterated pleasure in being together created a knot of emotion in Mark’s gut. Grief for the family he had lost with the deaths of his mother and John, homesickness for the family he had now with his brothers and their wives and kids, and knowledge that he’d thrown away the promise of family with Annabelle—it was enough to make him want to run off to Zanzibar.
Or at least, leave for the Keys a few days early.
After much debate and discussion, they had decided to spring their trap for Ron Kurtz on a private island he’d purchased during his vacation-home buying spree. Located twenty-five miles from Key West, Melody Key offered the basics he required to set up this particular ambush—an isolated location, limited access, and a sparse population. He had no intention of ever telling Annabelle that the reason he’d chosen Melody Key over his place in the Rockies was the opportunity to see her in a bikini.
Annabelle. Coming here with her had been an eye-opening experience for him. Seeing her interact with her family had revealed a vulnerable side he’d never guessed she possessed. It also helped him understand the source of her desire for picket fences and Pampers. Annabelle had left the farm to live big and she’d accomplished that. Now, though, she was ready to return to her roots. Home. Family. It wasn’t all that different from what Luke and Matt had done.
So where does that leave me?
Maybe he wouldn’t have to figure that out. Maybe Annabelle would turn up pregnant and the choice would be made for him. That way he could keep her, and he’d be forced to face his phobias.
God, Callahan, you’re a chicken-shit.
‘‘There it is,’’ Lynn Monroe said, tugging an ice pack from the back of a kitchen cabinet. ‘‘I couldn’t remember where I put it. It will take me a little time to grow accustomed to all this storage room I have.’’
She walked over to the refrigerator and filled the bag with ice, then handed it to him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Mark thanked her, then made a quick departure from the kitchen.
At times throughout the evening he had sensed Lynn Monroe’s troubled gaze upon him and it left him uneasy. Had she figured out that he had bankrolled her kitchen rather than the insurance policy he had invented out of thin air? Mark couldn’t tell.
On the other hand, he knew exactly what Adam Monroe’s angry glare meant.
Annabelle’s brother didn’t like him, didn’t want him around his family and especially not his sister. Mark couldn’t exactly blame him. Still, did he have to peg him with his hardball during the after-dinner baseball game?
‘‘How’s the arm?’’ Frank Monroe asked from the porch rocker as Mark wandered onto the porch, holding the ice bag against his right wrist. His host had a blanket over his knees and a bowl of peanuts in his lap. Broken shells littered the porch floor around him.
‘‘Sore, but not broken.’’
‘‘That’s good. Adam has a wicked fastball. Made All-State pitcher in high school.’’
‘‘I believe it.’’ Mark gazed out toward the yard where the Monroe siblings and their spouses, children, cousins, and other various family members remained embroiled in fierce competition. From the kitchen came the voices of Annabelle’s mother and two aunts, who, with KP behind them, sat at the table, laughing and lingering over their coffee and desserts.
Out on the makeshift baseball diamond, Annabelle came up to bat. Both Mark and her father remained silent as she took the first two pitches, then swung hard. Ball cracked against bat and went sailing into the outfield. As her opponents scrambled to retrieve the ball, Mark watched her long legs chew up the bases. And he yearned.
‘‘So,’’ her father said in a conversational tone. ‘‘I understand that you married Annabelle in order to sleep with her.’’
The ice bag slipped from Mark’s grasp and thunked against the porch’s painted wood floor. ‘‘Uh . . .’’
‘‘Then you divorced her rather than live with her and give her babies.’’
‘‘Ahhh . . .’’ Thanks for the warning, Annabelle.
‘‘And after that, you seduced her while the two of you were stranded on a mountaintop.’’
Mark opened his mouth to defend himself, then abruptly slammed it shut. This was a no-win situation.
Frank Monroe motioned to the empty rocking chair beside his. ‘‘Sit down, boyo.’’ He passed the bowl toward Mark, adding, ‘‘Have a peanut.’’
Mark didn’t want to sit and he didn’t want to shell peanuts. But the man still wore his hospital bracelet and the look in his eyes reminded Mark of his drill sergeant during basic training. He sat down. ‘‘Mr. Monroe . . . I, um . . . this is awkward.’’
‘‘I expect so.’’
‘‘If she’s pregnant, I intend—’’
‘‘She’s not. She talked to her mother this afternoon. Poured her heart out.’’
She’s not pregnant. Mark sat back in his chair hard. He waited to feel the expected wave of relief. It never came.
Frank Monroe cracked a peanut shell. ‘‘I’m in a difficult position here. I’d love to kick your ass, but my doctors won’t let me try. I’d like to lay into you with a tongue-lashing I’m certain you deserve, but my wife made me promise not to do that, either.
‘‘So about all that leaves us with is for you to sit there and explain to me just what on earth you plan to do to heal my little girl’s broken heart.’’
‘‘Annabelle’s heart isn’t broken.’’
Frank held up a nut and said, ‘‘It’s plain as this peanut that it is, and if you can’t see it, then you don’t know my Annabelle. You don’t deserve my Annabelle. She loves you.’’
Mark leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and hung his head. ‘‘She’s not thinking straight. Look at what has happened in the past couple of weeks. It’s been one emotional blow after another. She’s confused, that’s all.’’
‘‘You actually believe that nonsense coming out of your mouth? Hell, maybe that fastball bounced up and hit your skull.’’
‘‘Look, Mr. Monroe—’’
‘‘I have looked. That’s why I think you love her, too.’’
Mark opened his mouth to deny it, but the words just didn’t come. ‘‘I’m confused, too, okay? One thing I do know, though, is that I’m not good for her.’’
Frank popped a peanut in his mouth. ‘‘No man is good enough for her. Nevertheless, she chose to give her heart to you.’’
Mark shoved to his feet. ‘‘I can’t believe I’m talking to you about this. Men don’t have heart-to-hearts about their emotions. We talk about football!’’
‘‘It’s baseball season. Almost time for the College World Series. You want to talk baseball?’’
‘‘Sure. I love baseball.’’ And anything was better than this.
‘‘We can talk baseball after we finish talking about Annabelle.’’ Frank fished through his bowl of empty shells looking for a nut he’d missed. ‘‘Nothing is more important than the women in my life. Having a brush with death brought that point home with a vengeance.’’ Frank found an intact nut and cracked the shell, saying, ‘‘Don’t get me wrong. I love my Adam, too, but a father’s relationship with his son is different from that with his daughter. I try not to b
utt into my boy’s life.’’
Mark couldn’t help but snort at that. ‘‘What I wouldn’t have given to have had a father like you.’’
‘‘Your father must have done all right. You have your good points.’’
‘‘My old man never did anything right.’’
Frank gave him a considering look. ‘‘Annabelle told her mother that you and your father are estranged.’’
Jesus. ‘‘I knew she hung out sheets this morning. Didn’t realize she’d hung out all my dirty laundry, too.’’
‘‘Apparently, she did a Mount Saint Helens explosion.’’ Monroe’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile. ‘‘Told my wife all sorts of things—every secret she’s been keeping for half her life. Told her some things I’d just as soon not know, to be honest.’’
Mark closed his eyes. ‘‘Look, Mr. Monroe. I didn’t set out to hurt Annabelle. I never intended to get married. I acted impulsively.’’
‘‘You’re saying it was a mistake?’’
‘‘Yes. No. I don’t know. It was wrong. Wrong for me to do that to her. Wrong for me to expect . . .’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘I don’t know what I expected. All I know is that I don’t regret marrying your daughter.’’
‘‘Then fix it.’’
‘‘I can’t. She knows that. I’ve had two families and I’ve lost them both. I’m just not up for a third round.’’
‘‘Yes, Annabelle told my wife you lost your first wife and child years ago. That’s a hard thing, son.’’
Damn right, it is.
‘‘Still, I wouldn’t have taken you as a coward.’’
Fury surged through Mark. He grabbed the porch rail and squeezed hard enough to dent the wood. ‘‘Goddammit, I’m not a coward! I just don’t want the wife and child and picket fence. All right? Is that a crime?’’
‘‘Nope. Not at all. Not as long as you don’t string Annabelle along.’’
‘‘That’s why I gave her the divorce.’’
‘‘Then why are you keeping hold of her heart?’’
‘‘Are you a farmer or Dr. Phil?’’
Frank Monroe’s chin came up. His eyes flashed with temper. ‘‘I’m Annabelle’s father.’’
Hell.
‘‘And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some gutless fool tear apart what’s left of her heart.’’
Mark propped both hands on the porch rail and leaned his weight against it. For a long moment, he heard only the creak of Frank Monroe’s rocker and the pounding of his own blood. Then a shout from the baseball diamond caught his attention and he looked up to see Annabelle running hard to catch a fly ball hit to left field. ‘‘You are right, Mr. Monroe. I do love her. But that doesn’t mean I am right for her. I just don’t know what to do about it.’’
‘‘I’ll tell you what you do about it,’’ Lynn Monroe declared. The screen door squeaked opened, then banged behind her. She marched up to Mark, braced her hands on her hips, and said, ‘‘Ordinarily I wouldn’t stick my nose in your business, but Annabelle’s father has done a poor job of it—’’
‘‘Lynn!’’ Frank protested.
‘‘—so here I go. It’s plain as the nose on my face what the problem is. You don’t have an ounce of forgiveness in yourself, do you, Mark? Not for your father and not for yourself. Have you ever thought that maybe your father’s admittedly misguided actions were motivated by love?’’
Mark closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The Monroes could say whatever they wanted about Annabelle and he would listen—that was their right. But he’d be good and goddamned if he’d listen to anyone defend Branch Callahan.
‘‘Excuse me, Mrs. Monroe. I don’t wish to be rude, but you need to leave my father out of this. You don’t know anything about him and what he did—’’
‘‘I know enough.’’ She pointed a finger toward the empty rocker and said, ‘‘Sit down, Callahan. Annabelle told me the whole tragic story.’’
‘‘Annabelle doesn’t know the whole tragic story! She doesn’t know that he threatened to use his money and his power to steal our baby from my wife while I was stuck overseas and couldn’t do a damn thing to protect her. She doesn’t know that my wife and baby were running away from my father when a drunk driver killed them.’’
‘‘Oh, dear.’’
‘‘Yeah. Oh freaking dear.’’
‘‘That explains a lot of your anger, doesn’t it? Nevertheless, I am going to talk and you are going to listen. Do you know why? Because I like you.’’
‘‘Because I gave you a kitchen,’’ he muttered beneath his breath as he took his seat.
‘‘No, because you are a man with principles. You’re a man with honor and integrity and loyalty. You are a man of great passion.’’
‘‘I don’t want to hear about passion,’’ Frank Monroe grumbled.
‘‘If I hadn’t been so distraught about Frank, your misdirection with Tag would not have fooled me. It’s obvious that you care deeply about our daughter and that she cares deeply about you. That said, unless you change a few things, you are going to throw away any chance of happiness the two of you have. Now, let me speak plainly.’’
He kicked at a peanut shell on the porch’s floor. ‘‘You weren’t already?’’
She folded her arms and clicked her tongue. ‘‘Mark, Mark, Mark.’’
In that moment, he heard his own mother’s voice. She’d have kicked his butt for that smart-ass remark.
‘‘Let’s talk about your wife and child,’’ Lynn Monroe continued. ‘‘What were their names?’’
‘‘Mrs. Monroe, I don’t want to talk about—’’
‘‘Their names, son?’’
He blew out a sigh. ‘‘Carrie. My wife was Carrie, my daughter, Margaret Mary.’’
‘‘You need to stop living in the shadow of what happened to Carrie and little Margaret Mary. It’s a horrible, horrible thing, but you’ve punished yourself long enough. You need to forgive yourself for not being there. And you need to forgive your father for his part in the accident. You need to make peace with your past in order to go on with your future, Mark. It’s as simple as that.’’
‘‘Simple?’’ he scoffed. ‘‘I don’t think so.’’
She folded her arms, tilted her head, and studied him. ‘‘I’m not the first person to tell you this, am I?’’
Mark’s thoughts went to his brothers and especially their wives. ‘‘No, ma’am.’’
‘‘That’s good. It’s not a new idea, then. That only makes your current confusion more telling. You know I’m right. You know what you must do.’’ She walked over to Mark and slipped her arm through his. ‘‘Look out there. At Annabelle. She’s your future, if you’re smart enough, brave enough, to reach for her.’’
At first, Mark didn’t say anything as the conversation replayed through his mind. Make peace with his father? ‘‘I’ll never forget. I don’t want to forget. They were my family.’’
Frank Monroe spoke up. ‘‘You don’t have to forget, son. You just have to forgive. With forgiveness comes peace.’’
Mark didn’t know what to say after that, so when his phone rang a few minutes later, he reached for it like a lifeline. ‘‘Hello?’’
His sister-in-law Torie said, ‘‘Mark? Where are you?’’
Trepidation gripped him. ‘‘I’m in Kansas. What’s wrong?’’
‘‘Kansas. Good. That’s not too far. Do you have your plane?’’
‘‘Yes. Torie! What’s wrong?’’
She laughed. ‘‘Nothing’s wrong, Callahan. Everything’s right. Or it will be right by sometime tomorrow. Get your butt home. I’m having your brother’s baby and you need to be here. Matt needs you here. I need you here. Come home, Mark. Hurry.’’
Annabelle watched Amy set up in the batter’s box, then glanced toward the porch at the sound of her name. Mark waved her in, calling for Tag, too. The ball cracked against the bat, but she allowed Amy’s hit to sail right past her as sh
e took off for the farmhouse. Something was up.
Five minutes later, the three Fixers congregated in her father’s office, discussing the change in plan. Mark looked troubled as he sank down into the chair and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘‘I don’t have to go to Texas.’’
‘‘Yes, you do.’’ A shout of laughter out on the field drew Annabelle’s attention and she moved to the window.‘‘Your family wants you there. You owe it to them to go.’’
Tag propped a hip on one corner of the desk, picked up the rabbit made from painted rocks she’d made for her father in the fifth grade, and added his two cents. ‘‘She’s right. You should go.’’
‘‘Will you come with me, Annabelle?’’ he asked.
Her brows arched in surprise. ‘‘Wouldn’t it be better for me to go straight to the island and work on the setup there?’’
‘‘If you are comfortable leaving here, I’d rather you come with me.’’
Annabelle took a moment to think about it. Could she in good conscience leave Kansas now? Her father was home, the farm was guarded like a fortress, and the security guys from Texas kept excellent watch over her sisters and their families. They had intended to leave in another day or two, anyway.
Yet, the idea of packing up and going tonight left her feeling a bit sick to her stomach.
She blamed the reaction on Ron Kurtz, of course. It had nothing to do with the fact that Mark had asked her to accompany him to the Callahan hometown to mingle with the Callahan family while a Callahan bride gave birth to a Callahan offspring.
‘‘Just shoot me now,’’ she muttered as she gently banged her head against the window glass.
Mark frowned. ‘‘Annabelle, if you’re worried about your family . . .’’
‘‘No. I’m not.’’ Suck it up, Annabelle. ‘‘I’m really not. I have complete faith in the Texans, and I also think the odds of Kurtz coming back to Kansas are slim—especially once we launch our media blitz.’’
Tag returned the rabbit to its place, picked up a pencil, and began to bounce the eraser against the telephone receiver. ‘‘I hope I get the chance to meet these sisters-in-law of yours someday, Callahan. I have to say I’m impressed with how fast they put that whole media thing together.’’
Always Look Twice Page 21
