by Cari Quinn
“Um—” Was it possible her face could feel any hotter?
“Ah. Of course.” Theresa slapped a hand against her thigh. “You have an um. The search continues. Now that Gage is getting married, I need to focus on my other boys. Hey now.” She shielded her eyes and moved to the other side of the tables she and her employees were setting up. “What’s all that?”
Regan had attributed the cries coming from the playground to enthusiastic and overenthusiastic kids, but now that she and the people around her looked over, there was a desperation and sense of fright flooding the park. Regan’s heart thudded against her ribcage. She ripped off her hat, threw her clipboard down as she raced toward the playground. “Something’s wrong,” she cried over her shoulder. “Fallon? Cilla!” She heard footsteps pounding behind her as she searched the throng of children, but didn’t see her sister—or Cilla—anywhere.
“Aiden?” Regan leapt into the sand and caught the familiar-looking mocha-skinned boy and bent down, trying to ignore the terror on his face. “Where’re Cilla and Fallon?”
“There was a man and a woman. They were looking for Cilla.” He pointed into the trees toward the path to the parking lot. “She said she knew them and she went to say hi, but then they took her away. Fallon went after them.”
“What’s going on?” Theresa demanded as Regan grabbed her phone and tossed it to her. “Call Brodie Crawford. He’s in my contacts. Tell him someone’s taken Cilla.”
She didn’t have to make sure Theresa was dialing, not when she heard the woman whip out orders for one of the other adults to call 9-1-1. Regan couldn’t remember running so fast in her life. Going from stationary to running a five minute mile left her entire body burning like she’d been set on fire. Her feet hammered against the pavement, arms pumping as her hair flew in her face. “Stop!” She screamed when she caught sight of Fallon’s blonde hair, but couldn’t see Cilla. “Fallon! Cilla!”
Aiden had been right. It was a man and a woman, older, and not as quick as she’d feared. They attempted to drag Cilla off the ground, but she was kicking and screaming. Fallon grabbed hold of the man’s shirt and tried to get him to stop, but he spun around, shoved her off, and sent her sprawling face first on the pavement.
“No! Grandpa, Grandma, no!” Cilla twisted herself this way and that as Regan gained ground. She skidded to a stop beside Fallon, bending down to grab her sister and haul her up, the sight of her scraped and bleeding face setting alight a rage that enflamed her entire body.
“Are you okay?” She cupped Fallon’s tear-stained cheek.
“Y-yes. I couldn’t stop them. Regan—”
She glanced behind her, saw Theresa and at least another ten adults heading their way. “You stay with Theresa, understand? You do what she says.”
“Okay.” Fallon nodded.
“Good girl.” Regan was running again, trying not to focus on the fact she heard a car door slam. She pushed harder, feet flying as she scanned the parking lot in front of her. Cilla screamed again and male cursing erupted to the right. Regan turned and nearly plowed into the gold sedan.
Cilla was caught between them, the old man having locked his hand around Cilla’s broken arm. Tears streamed down Cilla’s face. “Grandpa, let me go! Regan, make them stop!”
“It’s okay, baby.” Regan took a step toward them, memorizing every feature of the couple’s desperate faces. She didn’t give a damn who these people were—grandparents or perverts. They weren’t leaving with Cilla.
The woman cast petrified eyes to her husband, but the man had a desperation in his eyes that Regan knew all too well. His family was slipping away and he wasn’t about to let it go without a fight.
“I’m right here, Cilla, okay?” Regan called. “No one’s taking you away from your father.”
“Grandpa, you’re hurting me.” Cilla cried.
“Let. Her. Go.” Regan took another two steps forward and turned ferocious eyes on the man’s wife.
“She’s all we have,” the woman sobbed, clutching her hands to her chest. “Our baby—Cilla’s all we have left. Ray?” She turned frightened eyes to her husband. “Ray, do something!”
“She’s our grandchild,” Ray said as if he hadn’t heard his wife. “She belongs with us.”
“She belongs with her father and people who love her.” And Regan did love her. And she loved Brodie. They were her family. And no one messed with her family. “Let her go. Now.” Another step. Just another step and she’d be close enough to grab Cilla. “Look at her. Look! You’re scaring her.”
Doubt crept into the old man’s face.
“I don’t want to go with you!” Cilla screamed but her throat was raw with tears. She was beginning to hyperventilate.
“Brodie’s been called.” Regan forced herself to remain calm. Cilla didn’t need to see her terror, or her anger. The little girl just needed to know someone—that Regan—was going to protect her. “He’ll be here any minute and so will the police. You aren’t getting away with her. So let her go.”
“Ray, let her go.” His wife whispered.
“No.” Ray hauled Cilla closer, but that was enough motion for Regan to take advantage of. She dived forward, crashing into Ray and breaking his hold on Cilla, who toppled to the side as Regan knocked Ray to the ground. The air whooshed out of her as the sound of Ray’s head cracking into the cement echoed in her ears. Regan rolled to her feet to grab for Cilla, but the little girl was gone.
Regan gasped, blinking, scanning the growing crowd behind the car and found Theresa Juliano standing nearby, a weeping Cilla in her arms, a bleeding Fallon by her side.
“Ray!” Ray’s wife cried and dropped to her knees beside her husband. “You could have killed him!” she screamed at Regan as Ray groaned and tried to sit up, blood spilling out the back of his head and trickling over his fingers.
“That would have been a shame.” Regan tried to roll to her feet as adrenaline coursed through her system. Four of the men, festival volunteers, ran from behind Theresa to circle the abductors, one of them grabbing the wife’s purse and setting it on the car out of reach.
Sirens blared in the distance, echoing closer and closer until two squad cars screeched into the parking lot followed by Brodie’s SUV.
“Regan!” Cilla cried and kicked free of Theresa’s grasp before racing over to latch onto Regan.
“Hush.” Regan had to dodge the cast so Cilla could grab hold of her. Her terror subsided, the feel of the little girl safe in her arms the only comfort she needed. If anything had happened to her, if she’d been a few seconds slower...“You’re okay, Cilla. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” She rocked Cilla back and forth as Brodie ran over, his face pale beneath his dark hair. “See? Here’s your daddy. Cilla, it’s okay. He’s right here. Just like he always promised.” She turned so Cilla didn’t have to let go of her.
“Swee’Pea.” Brodie whispered and Cilla launched herself at her father.
Tears blurred Regan’s eyes as she sank to the ground. Watching Brodie grab hold of Cilla and hug her as if he wasn’t ever going to let go was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Her body sagged and trembled, managing to eek out a trembling smile at Brodie’s mouthed “thank you.” She barely noticed Theresa stooping down beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as the police worked their way toward Ray and his wife.
“That’s him, is it?” Theresa asked Regan as Regan shook her head to stop her ears from ringing.
“Who?” She tried to get to her feet, but her legs wobbled. She sank back to the ground. “Don’t you move, young lady,” Theresa ordered. “Your “um”.” She pointed at Brodie. “That’s him.”
Regan turned her head as the tears flowed. “Yeah.” As complicated as it was, as unwanted as it was, Brodie Crawford was most definitely her “um”.
“All the good ones are taken,” Theresa muttered. “You hang on to him, you hear me?”
Regan smiled as exhaustion crept over her. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my best.�
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~*~
This was not how Regan planned to spend the night before the festival, being coddled, pampered, and cajoled by her entire family—father included—with Cilla locked securely under one arm, Fallon under the other. The Murphys had rallied and had set up court in the living room with a continuous pot of hot chocolate simmering on the stove.
“Brodie just texted,” Maura said as she stared at her phone. “He’s finished at the police station and on his way.”
“I’d still like to know what was going through your head,” Des said from his perch on the arm of the sofa beside her. “You could have been hurt.”
“She was hurt,” Finn countered.
“Oh, for the love of—I’m fine.” A few bruises, a couple of scrapes, but that was all. “Fallon took the brunt of it.” She knocked a finger under Fallon’s bandaged chin.
“She was so mad,” Cilla said and burrowed deeper into Regan’s sore side, making her wince. Regan hadn’t registered the punches Ray had landed until much later. “Fallon was yelling and screaming and pulling at Grandpa.”
“It’s a genetic thing,” Regan said and pressed a kiss on the top of her sister’s head. “She made me and the family very proud.”
“I only did what you would have.” Fallon lifted her chin and turned idolizing eyes on her. “You always protect us, Regan.”
“Smartest one in the family,” Seamus said.
“I’m proud of both of you.” Cormac’s voice shocked everyone in to silence. Her father rarely spoke, especially in crowds, but from the moment she’d stepped foot in the house late this afternoon, she’d been engulfed in his arms and hugged to within an inch of her life. “I’m proud of all of you. And you, little Cilla.”
Cilla inclined her head, an expression on her face that told Regan she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. That made two of them. “Yes?” Cilla asked.
“You are a most welcome addition to this family.”
“I am?” Cilla blinked up at Regan.
“Pop,” Regan warned. So much for him keeping things simple.
“Come on, Cilla.” Maura held out her hand. “Help me hunt down some marshmallows for the hot chocolate, okay? You, too, Fallon.”
“I’m not supposed to have too much sugar,” Cilla said as she slipped free of Regan and grabbed hold of Maura. “Daddy says it makes me hyper.”
“We could do with a little hyper around here,” Liam said. “Now shoo.”
Regan looked around at her father and brothers, a feeling of dread descending. “Whatever it is you all have to say, can we put it off for a while? It’s been a rough day.”
“We have a lot we need to say to you,” Finn said, sitting forward in his chair and glancing at his father and then Des. “We want you sitting down when you do.”
Great. Of all times to stop listening to her. “I don’t anticipate getting up any time soon, so out with it. Hand me my cocoa first.” She pointed at Seamus.
“We’ve had an unofficial family meeting before you got home,” Cormac said.
A family meeting? Regan frowned. They hadn’t had one of those since Ma died. “And I wasn’t invited?”
“Considering the meeting was about you—”
The doorbell rang and a whole new kind of unease settled over her. “That’ll be Brodie.” She started to get up, but Des locked a hand on her shoulder and kept her in place.
“Really?”
“I’m not made of glass, dumbass,” Regan muttered, but waved at Finn. “But you’d best let him in. I don’t think he wants Cilla out of his sight for any longer than possible.”
“I don’t think Cilla’s the only reason he’s here.” Liam said but Regan barely heard him as she watched, stunned, as her father got to his feet and offered his hand to Brodie as Finn led him into the room.
“Cormac Murphy. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Brodie said, and looked as surprised as Regan felt. Since when did her father greet guests? Since when did her father introduce himself? “Is Cilla—”
“She’s fine,” Regan assured him and watched the tension melt from his face. “She’s hunting down marshmallows with Maura in the kitchen. What happened at the police station?”
Brodie took a deep breath, but the color drained from his face as he blew it out. He rubbed a hand across his forehead.
“Come here.” Regan reached out her hand as Finn pushed him forward. She didn’t hesitate to lean into him and hook his arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Brodie. You’re among family.”
“Am I?” He looked as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said.
“We’ll talk about that later. For now, what about Cilla’s grandparents?”
“Wretched human beings,” Cormac muttered and sat back in his chair. “Scaring the life out of that girl.”
“They were desperate,” Brodie said. “I’m not excusing them for what they did, but...” his voice broke. “Gemma’s dead. She overdosed in prison. She’s...gone.”
“Who's Gemma?” Des asked.
“Cilla’s mother,” Regan explained. “I’m so sorry, Brodie.” She rubbed a hand across his chest as if she could mend his broken heart.
“They snapped. Cilla’s all they have left of their daughter and they didn’t think I’d ever let them see her. They were probably right.”
“Doesn’t give them the right to take her by force,” Seamus said. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“No, it doesn’t give them the right,” Brodie agreed. “And they won’t be seeing her for a very long time. Not until Cilla can make that choice for herself.”
Regan sat back to look at him. “You’re not pressing charges, are you?”
“They’ve lost their only child. I can’t add to their pain, not when they haven’t even begun to process it yet. I can’t process it yet. How do I tell—?”
“We’ll tell Cilla together,” Regan said. “When the time is right. But not tonight.”
“I offered them a deal,” Brodie said. “I don’t think the D.A. is very happy with me. I want monitored probation for both of them. Back in San Francisco. They aren’t to contact me or Cilla in any way. If either of them do, charges will be filed and there will be a trial.”
“Which you don’t want for your daughter,” Des said.
“She’s seen more in five years than most people have in thirty. I won’t put her through a trial where she’d have to testify against her own grandparents. I can’t do that to her.”
“Of course you can’t,” Regan said. “You only want to protect her.” She’d known that from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. It was what she loved most about him.
“If you hadn’t been there today.” Brodie hugged her so hard she couldn’t breathe. “When I think of what could have happened—”
“They would have had the full force of the Murphys to contend with,” Cormac said. “You and Cilla, you’re family now.”
“Pop, please don’t,” Regan whispered, determined not to get her hopes up. Again.
“Not to be contrary, sir,” Brodie said with a heavy sigh. “But I’m afraid that’s your daughter’s call. And last I heard—” He tucked his chin into his chest and looked down at her. “Last I heard that wasn’t something that interested you.”
“Yeah, well. I needed to talk to them before talking to you, but I guess that opportunity has passed. We need to make some changes around here.” She sat up and folded her hands in her lap. “I can’t keep doing it all on my own. Pop, I know it’ll be hard, but you have to participate in this family. I want a life. A life of my own, of my own choosing and I want it with him.” She jerked a thumb in Brodie’s direction. “I’ll need to cut my hours at the pub which means money might get tight and guys, I’m sorry, but I need you to contribute—”
“To the family income more?” Des cut in. “We’re way ahead of you. And about that family meeting. Dad?”
Cormac opened the drawer in the table beside his chair and drew out an envelope. He passed it to
Finn, who passed to Liam, to Brodie and then to Regan. “I heard you and Desmond the other night, Regan. After all you’ve done for this family, for me and for your Ma, it’s the least we—that I—owe you.”
“What is it?” She stared down at the stark envelopes as if they were snakes about to strike.
“Well open it, you dolt.” Des knocked his hand against her arm.
She did and stared down at the deed and business license in her hand. “You put the pub in my name? Pop?” Tears burned afresh and she shook them away. She’d never cried more since she’d met Brodie. “Pop, what does this—but this was your dream.”
“And you made it come true,” Cormac said. “It’s yours to do with what you will.” He sat forward, clasped his hands between his knees and looked down at the floor. “I’m getting help. This morning I went to my first AA meeting. It’s going to take me some time and I’m going to need help, but...” he scanned the room filled with his children. “It’s time I stopped mourning your mother and made her proud. Maybe one day she’ll be as proud as I am of you.”
“Oh, Pop.” She dropped the deed into her lap. “Getting help is great, but you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, he does,” Des said. “We all do. We’ll all be stepping up our game around here. You won’t have to ask us for anything, because we’re all going to do our best to surprise you every day. And if, at some point, you and this guy decide to make an official go of things.”
“Des—” Regan warned.
“Then you can walk out that door knowing you set us up for success,” he finished. “Now. I think it’s time to give you guys some alone time. Let’s go.”
“I want a promotion.” Finn leaned over Brodie and whispered. “Assistant manager. We’ll talk.”
“You bet we will,” Regan said and watched her brothers and father file out of the living room. “Well. That’s a full day. I think I’m done, how about you?”
Brodie grinned and kissed her, longer this time, but with as much gentleness and affection as she’d come to expect. “I think I’m done, too.” He picked up her hand and trialed his thumb across the inside of her wrist. “I think I’ve loved you from the first day you stormed into my studio.”
