by Nancy Warren
Uncle Cecil’s cheeks deepened to an alarming hue. He was redder than the berries on the fabric. He put down his drink with a thunk and rose to glare out at his backyard. “He tried to destroy me, and that didn’t work. Now he’s trying to make a public fool out of me. But he’s not going to get away with it.”
“Uncle Cecil,” she said, in as calm and reasonable a manner as she could manage, “if the people of Courage Bay want to increase funding to the services, would it be so wrong for you to let them do it?”
He turned to her, dumbfounded.
She tried a smile. “I know you understand about money and wise investments, and you wouldn’t let anyone be foolish with taxpayers’ dollars. I’ve checked the original documents that were filed when the fund was created. You could stipulate that your yes vote is dependent upon only a certain amount being accessed, and you could demand that council appoint outside trustees to ensure the money is spent wisely.”
“I cannot believe my own niece is…is consorting with the enemy.”
Briana felt her own cheeks redden at the implied insult. “I’m not against you, Uncle Cecil. I’m on your side, but I’m also seeing how a lot of citizens feel. I think if you continue to stonewall the mayor on this, you’ll end up losing.”
“Losing again, you mean.”
“I appreciate how angry you are at the way your reputation was smeared, but the two things aren’t necessarily related,” she said. She rose and placed a hand on her uncle’s arm.
“This man all but ruined my life and, even worse, the peace and comfort of my wife, your aunt.” He emphasized the last two words, and Briana shifted uncomfortably. “He’s not a man anyone can trust. Now, you can’t tell me that a beautiful woman like you has been working with him day after day, just the two of you alone in that office, and nothing’s happened?”
Knowing that her expression would only too clearly reveal her feelings for Patrick, Briana turned away from her uncle and walked to the other side of the porch.
“He’s done nothing improper,” she said, reminding herself that she was the one who’d begged Patrick to take her in the elevator, the one who’d talked him into firing her. Now, instead of trying to get her into bed, he’d given her a month to make up her mind about finding another job before he’d continue their private relationship. In her books, that was pretty honorable behavior.
“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough,” her uncle said from behind her.
She did turn now, knowing her eyes flashed with anger. “I promised you that I would help put things right, and I’m trying to do that and still keep my integrity.”
Her uncle shifted uncomfortably, then stooped to one of the white planters to snap a dead geranium bloom off its bright green stem. “Of course not,” he muttered. “You misunderstood me. I’m only trying to right a wrong. If we can turn the city against Mayor O’Shea, then his little publicity stunt to get the money for his old buddies at the firehouse isn’t going to work.”
“But, Uncle Cecil, this is not a personal whim on the mayor’s part. The people of Courage Bay want improved emergency response times. Lives are at stake. People are overwhelmingly in favor of accessing the municipal bond.”
“Don’t be naive, Briana. You’ve been involved in politics long enough to know people can change their minds awfully damn fast. If O’Shea were out and I was mayor, I’d run this city more efficiently, and his old buddies Egan and Zirinsky wouldn’t get their overpadded budgets past me. I’m an old hand at this and I’ve been a banker all my life. I think I know a little more about public finance than a man who’s spent most of his career sliding down a fire pole!”
“But what if he’s right, Uncle Cecil? What if more people die in this town because we don’t have the resources to prevent it. How would you feel?”
He looked at her, his blue eyes sharp with suspicion. “I’m beginning to think it’s not my feelings that are the problem, but yours.”
This time Briana was powerless to stop the heat that flooded her cheeks.
“O’Shea’s a handsome young fellow, I’ll give you that. Quite a lady’s man. All the O’Shea men are. But don’t let that Irish charm fool you. He’s a coldhearted son of a bitch, out for what he can get, and he’ll destroy anyone who gets in his way. I asked for your help because I thought I could trust you. Now I’m beginning to feel the same about you.”
“That’s funny,” she said. “I’m beginning to feel the same way about you.”
AFTER SATURDAY’S awkward lunch, where she and her uncle tried to be pleasant to each other for her aunt’s sake, Briana was looking forward to a long Sunday drive on her own.
She’d promised she’d help her uncle restore his good reputation. He wanted to do that by bringing down his rival. She much preferred finding out who’d maligned her uncle in that vicious newspaper report. Today, she hoped to get a step closer.
As she drove up the highway, she tossed around ideas on how to approach the retired officer. In the end, she decided to tell as much of the truth as she could. She’d be up front about the fact that she worked for the mayor and would explain that she was researching the old charges in hopes of exonerating the long serving councilor. With time running out before a showdown between Patrick and Cecil Thomson, Briana was determined to get to the truth.
When she reached the tidy community of small bungalows, she found the Carlton home with no trouble. As she pulled to the curb, she noted that all the drapes were drawn and the newspaper sitting on the front step.
Maybe they were out for the afternoon?
She got out of her car and headed up the path, but as she rang the front doorbell and listened to it echo, a voice said behind her, “They’re not home.”
Briana turned to find an older woman in a sun visor, plaid shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt regarding her with mild suspicion.
“Oh. I drove up from Courage Bay to see Mr. Carlton on business. Will he be home this afternoon, do you think?”
“Nope. Not till the middle of the week. They’re on a cruise for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. You want to leave a note?”
Briana smiled and shook her head. “I was hoping to talk to him in person. But it can wait. Thank you for your trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. We look out for each other in this neighborhood.”
MONDAY MORNING, Patrick handed Briana a small envelope.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s from Dylan.”
She wasn’t surprised. Dylan now contacted her every day, either by phone or by sending her a new piece of art for her bulletin board. She was falling for him almost as badly as she had fallen for his dad.
Inside the envelope was a single card with space aliens on it and several lines printed in Dylan’s own hand. It took her a moment to realize what it was. “Oh, a birthday party invitation.”
“That’s right. Dylan wanted to invite you to his party.”
She glanced up at Patrick. They’d been so careful this past week to keep their distance, and though she couldn’t bring herself to discourage Dylan’s calls, she hadn’t made another trip to the O’Shea house. She hadn’t intended to until she knew the truth about the false charges against her uncle. She’d been fairly certain Patrick would give her the month he’d promised, but she hadn’t counted on his son being the one to invite her back to their home.
“Did you know about this?”
“Sure.” Patrick was noncommittal. He could love the idea or hate it-it was impossible to tell. So she asked him.
“How do you feel about this?”
“It’s Dylan’s birthday party. He can invite anyone he wants.”
Okay, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with his feelings.
She hesitated, tapping the card against her palm. “I’m flattered that Dylan invited me, but I’m not sure it would send the right message if I-”
“Don’t tell me. I didn’t invite you. Tell Dylan.” Patrick pointed to the last line. “It says RSVP right there.” H
e turned and disappeared into his office.
Briana had the feeling he was disappointed she was going to turn down his son’s invitation. But she had to, didn’t she?
Later that day, when she called Dylan, he whooped with joy at the sound of her voice, and Briana knew right then that she was going to his party.
“I knew you’d come,” Dylan said enthusiastically when she accepted his invitation. I told Dad you would.”
“Really.” She paused in surprise. “Did he think I wouldn’t?”
“He said you had your own life and I shouldn’t be disappointed if you couldn’t make it. But I would have been.”
So, she’d spend Saturday afternoon at the birthday party desperately pretending she didn’t have the hots for Dylan’s father.
At least she had a good idea what to get Patrick’s son for his birthday and spent a happy hour in an arts and crafts store downtown selecting a drawing kit that was age-appropriate and yet offered him some tools and an instruction book if he wanted to learn more. She also picked up a three-volume set of The Lord of the Rings, figuring that no matter how good a movie was, it could never capture all the nuances of the original book.
While she was in the bookstore, she picked up a book for Fiona, as well, knowing that she was young enough to feel left out when Dylan got all the presents.
Since she wasn’t in the habit of buying kids birthday gifts, Briana didn’t have the right kind of wrapping paper. She found a card shop and bought paper with realistic-looking dinosaurs and a “now you are 10” card.
That was the easy part.
The tough part came Saturday afternoon when she had to decide what a thirty-two-year-old woman should wear to a ten-year-old’s birthday party.
“This is ridiculous!” she yelled to herself after she’d changed her outfit more times than a runway model for a Paris show. She finally decided on a denim skirt, leather sandals, a pale blue shirt and a white cotton sweater.
As she drove to the party, she had no idea what to expect. Her big fear was that, for all the supposed casualness of the invitation, she’d be the only adult other than Patrick, which might in some way cast her as the mother figure for the day.
Of course, she’d tried to pump Patrick for details of the party, but, being a man, he didn’t seem to catch on to the subtext of her questions the way a woman would.
When she’d asked him, “Has Dylan invited many boys?” what she really meant was, “Will I be the only woman there?”
Patrick had answered absently, signing a stack of correspondence. “I gave him a limit of ten boys.”
“Oh. Was I included in that limit?”
He glanced up, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “You’re not a boy.”
She gave up. She absolutely gave up.
Now, as she drove up to Patrick’s house, she was surprised to see a string of cars lining the driveway and parked out front.
When she climbed out of her car, she heard unmistakable sounds of adult merriment. Clearly, then, there were more than just ten boys here at the party. Oh, well, her worst fear was banished. She wasn’t being chosen as stand-in mother for the day. Dylan had simply invited her because he wanted her to be there.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she walked to the front door and rang the bell. She was about to ring again when a harassed-looking Patrick opened the door. Briana had anticipated feeling a little awkwardness at being in his home again, but he was so clearly frazzled that any nervousness immediately fled in the need to help him in some way.
“Do you know anything about potato salad?” he asked.
It was impossible not to smile. He was adorable when he was flustered. “The basics. Why?”
“I forgot to buy it from the deli. Dylan loves potato salad. He can’t turn ten without it and I’ve got a potful of boiling potatoes on the stove, ten demons from hell destroying my house, guests in the backyard I’m ignoring and no clue what to do first.”
So the man could run a city in crisis, but a simple kids’ party was beyond him. Briana had no idea why she found that so appealing, but she did.
“I can handle the potato salad,” she said, entering the house. She handed him the presents and started pulling off her sweater. “But the ten demons from hell are your department.”
He shot her a grateful grin.
“Thanks. I owe you.”
Since she knew her way around his kitchen, she went straight in, trying to ignore the howls and yells of the boys currently stampeding through the house. Demons from hell wasn’t so far off, she decided.
The potatoes were boiling merrily in the pot. Patrick hadn’t peeled them before putting them on to cook, but she could deal with that. She opened the cutlery drawer, found a fork and pushed it into a random potato. Still hard. Good.
“How do you know where Patrick keeps his cutlery?” a sharp voice from the sliding doors leading into the backyard made her jump and almost drop the fork.
Swinging round, she saw Shannon, Patrick’s younger sister-you could never call her little-staring at her with an expression that was far from benign.
Why shouldn’t she know where Patrick kept his cutlery? There was an innocent enough explanation, but she hadn’t seen Shannon since the night she’d helped rescue Patrick and Briana from the elevator, and the same suspicious gaze was riveted on her now.
Briana noticed then that the adults she’d heard out in the yard weren’t just parents of the other boys. There were a lot of O’Sheas out on the lawn, laughing and talking. In fact, Briana realized with a stab of panic that the birthday party was as much a family gathering as a kids’ affair.
Shannon slid the door closed and came closer.
“Lucky guess,” Briana told her. “Patrick’s having potato salad angst. Since you’re obviously more familiar with his kitchen, why don’t you make the salad?” She stepped back and made a graceful gesture toward the pot.
Shannon shrugged and sent her a wry smile. “Potato salad’s not my specialty.”
“Wash your hands and grab a knife. You can be my sous-chef.”
While Shannon did just that, she said, “I’m surprised Patrick invited you.”
“Patrick didn’t invite me,” Briana assured Patrick’s nosy sister. “Dylan did.”
“Oh. He’s a nice kid. More sensitive than he looks.”
“I wasn’t sure what to wear,” Briana said, only half-teasing. “The last time I was at a ten-year-old’s birthday party, I think I wore pigtails and a Cabbage Patch doll T-shirt.”
This sally didn’t receive so much as a smidgen of a grin in return. “Why are you here?”
“I told you, Dylan invited me.”
“Yeah. But you didn’t have to say yes. You look like a woman who gets a lot of weekend invitations.”
Briana understood that Shannon was protective of her brother and her niece and nephew. She respected that, so instead of getting snippy, she was honest. Letting out a breath, she turned to lean against the kitchen counter. “I planned to say no, but it’s harder than you’d think to say no to Dylan.”
Shannon emitted a surprisingly musical laugh. “Don’t I know it. All the O’Shea men inherited the Irish charm.”
Briana nodded and turned back to recheck the potatoes. Patrick sure had charm, and it had worked on her all right. She turned off the stove burner.
“You probably think I’m being pushy and sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong,” Shannon remarked.
Briana didn’t answer.
Behind her, Shannon snorted. “Okay, I am being pushy and sticking my nose in, but I love Patrick and Dylan and Fiona and I don’t want to see them hurt.”
“Patrick and I aren’t-”
“Save it. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. I’m not stupid.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “You didn’t know Patrick when Janie was alive.”
This got Briana’s attention. She turned and gazed at Shannon. “No. I didn’t.”
Shannon ’s gaze clouded. “It brok
e us all up when it happened. Janie wasn’t even sick. One day, everything’s fine. Patrick’s got this perfect life. He’s married to the girl he started dating in high school. He’s got these two great kids. He’s the fire chief. Life can’t get any better. And then poof. It’s over.”
“Tell me about it,” Briana suggested gently. It was obvious this was tough on Shannon, but she was the one who’d opened the subject, and Briana really wanted to know more.
The usually tough firefighter rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Janie woke up that morning and said she wasn’t feeling well. She had a headache. So Patrick told her to stay in bed. He got the kids up and gave them their breakfast. Dylan was in first grade. Fiona was only two. Patrick dropped Dylan off at school, and to give Janie a break, he took Fiona to our mom’s for a few hours.”
Shannon shook her head. “Thank God he did. Janie died that morning. Patrick had run home to check on her and he found her on the floor. She had the phone in her hand. She must have been trying to call for help.” Her gaze sharpened on Briana. “You think he’s ever forgiven himself for leaving her that morning?”
“But she only said she had a headache.” Briana shrugged. “Most people would take a pill and not think anything of it. Why would he worry? I mean, it’s a terrible, terrible tragedy, but I don’t see how Patrick can blame himself.”
Shannon looked at her steadily for a moment. “I’m going to tell you something not very many people know. No one outside the family knows. Janie couldn’t take a pain reliever. She was pregnant.” She swallowed noisily, and Briana thought that as formidable a foe as Shannon could obviously be, she was also the kind who loved, and deeply. It was clearly painful for her to talk about her sister-in-law’s death.
“Oh, no.”
“She was only three months along, but Patrick blames himself for that, too. He was the one who wanted more kids. I don’t think Janie minded either way, but he’d come from this big loud family, and that’s what he wanted. And he ended up losing his wife, as well as the baby she carried.”
