Lucas shook his head, vainly trying to find a footing from which to continue his fight. “Looking at him won’t change anything. Talking to him won’t change anything.”
“It would give him peace,” Bree argued.
“And why do I want him to have peace?”
“Jesus, Lucas . . .”
Stunned disbelief colored Mike’s tone and he wanted to defend his position. The one that he’d been defending for five years. But suddenly, his defenses seemed petty. Small. His chest ached and his lungs heaved for air that didn’t seem to help.
Bree stared at him for a long moment. “I know he hurt you. He’s told me. But don’t you think he’s being punished enough? Don’t you think he’s suffering enough? How much more does he have to endure until you’re satisfied?”
He reeled and had to stagger to keep his balance. Was he punishing Justin? All these years, he’d been convinced that he was protecting himself—but maybe that wasn’t really the truth. Maybe it had been more about meting out penance than about self-preservation.
“And if you don’t give him peace, do you think you’re likely to find any when he’s gone?”
“You’re right,” he said softly.
“Ah, I’m right, am I?” Bree shook her hair back from her face, unmoved by whatever Lucas was going through at the moment. “Me being right changes nothing. You saying it changes nothing. If Justin were drowning, would you throw him a life rope, or watch him sink?”
“Okay, Bree, that’s it.” Mike’s words were short, sharp, and to the point. “You’ve had your say. You’ve made your point. You don’t have to hit him over the head with it.”
Instantly, the Irish woman turned her hot, fierce eyes on Mike. “And what do you know of it?”
“I know Lucas. You don’t. So why don’t you just dial it down a notch or two before this gets ugly.”
A small stab of warmth pierced his heart as Mike defended him—even though he knew there was no defense for what he’d been doing.
“That’s fine. The two of you building a wall against a man who can’t fight back.” Bree pushed herself to her feet, brushing damp grass off the legs of her jeans. “Mind you, though, I can fight for him. And I will, if either of you brings him more pain than he’s already living with.”
“Man,” Mike muttered, jumping up herself to look the woman in the eye. “I thought Italians were drama queens. Listen up, Bree. No matter what you think, Lucas is not the ogre you’re making him out to be.”
“That’s yet to be seen, isn’t it?”
“If you can’t see it,” Mike countered, “then you’re as blind as he is.” She jerked a thumb at Lucas. “You’re seeing only Justin’s side just as Lucas is seeing only his own. How does that make you right and him wrong?”
Bree’s mouth clamped together, her lips thinned into a grim slash. But she didn’t argue again, so maybe that was something.
“Can we get back to the point of this?” Lucas demanded, and wondered how he kept losing control of every damn conversation.
When they were quiet again, he looked at Bree.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” she said, tears still staining her cheeks and fire leaping to life in her eyes. “And as it’s none of your business, you’ll not be mentioning this to Justin.”
“No.” He shook his head, then glanced into Mike’s pale blue eyes. “You were right before. Is everyone pregnant?”
Mike’s eyes flashed. “I’m not.”
Damn it.
She couldn’t have children. And he’d forgotten. Moron. Idiot.
“I’m sorry,” he said and squeezed her hand briefly. “I’m just—”
“Surprised?” she offered, with a hint of a smile.
“There’s that word again,” he said, holding on to Mike’s smile like a starving man grabbed at a steak. Somehow, she’d become the one stable point in his wildly rocking world.
Shifting a look at Bridget, he asked, “What’re you going to do?”
“Right now,” she said, “I’m going inside to make a nice pot of tea and see if I can get Justin to eat something.”
She started past them and Lucas grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She let her gaze fall to his hand and he got the message, letting her go instantly.
“Bree,” he said carefully, walking as wide a path around this woman’s temper as he did Mike’s. “Why don’t you let me do that?”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Mike echoed. “What?”
He sucked in a big gulp of air and swallowed it while he tried to think of a way to explain himself. He hadn’t exactly welcomed Justin into his home. Hadn’t found the time to talk to him. To listen to him.
If he were going to be honest, at least with himself, he could admit that he hadn’t wanted to give Justin the chance to ease his conscience. Hadn’t wanted to make it easy on him.
Easy.
God. The man was dying a little more every day. Nothing about this was easy.
Truthfully, he wasn’t real eager to do it now, either. But the plain fact was, he was losing his brother . . . his only family. If things didn’t get said now, they’d never be said.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Letting go of Mike’s hand, he shoved his own hands into his pockets and rocked uncomfortably on his heels as the women watched him. “It’s just—you look like you’ve been crying . . .”
Bree instantly lifted her hands to her cheeks, swiping away the last of her tears.
“I thought maybe you and Mike could take off—”
“Trying to get rid of us?”
“—go to town,” he said, emphasizing the last word for Mike’s benefit. “Get some coffee. Get a break from . . .” He nodded in the direction of the house.
Bree tilted her head to one side and studied him for a long minute or two. “I’m to believe that you’re suddenly willin’ to look after Justin?”
His jaw clenched. He felt Bree’s and Mike’s gazes on him and wanted to flinch. These women had a way of seeing too much. Of looking into his heart, his soul. And right now, he wasn’t sure it was much of a view.
“I’ll look after him. I give you my word.”
“Rocket Man keeps his promises,” Mike said softly and went up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.
Lucas felt as if he’d been handed a medal. He smiled at her, then shifted another look at Bree. “I won’t tell him about the baby.”
She nodded.
“But you should.”
“No,” she said instantly. “I won’t be doing that to him. It would only make his going harder on him than it has to be.”
Was she right?
Who the hell knew?
“Up to you,” he acknowledged and pulled Mike in close, just because suddenly he needed her there, tucked up against him. He felt more alone than he had at any time since the gulf between him and Justin had first been forged.
And damn it, he was tired of being alone.
He dropped a kiss on top of her head, then said, “You guys go ahead. We’ll be fine. Justin will be fine.”
“If he’s not,” Bree threatened, leaning in to make sure he read the danger in her eyes. “You’ll have me to deal with, Lucas Gallagher. And bet your life, that’s not something you want to have happen.” Then she turned and started for the front of the house.
Mike looked after the woman for a moment before grinning up at Lucas. “She’s really mean. I like that in a woman.”
“Apparently,” he said on a sigh of acceptance, “so do I.”
Still smiling, Mike said thoughtfully, “You know, I think she’s almost as scary as me.”
He laughed. God, it felt good too, however briefly it lasted. “Nobody else is that scary.”
She grinned up at him. “Aw. You’re just saying that ’cause you know I like it.”
Damned if he didn’t like it, too. Which said plenty about how his life was going lately.
Jo knew this was the best place
for her. She had plenty to keep her busy and no chance at all of running into her father. Not that she wasn’t glad as hell that he was going to be fine. She was.
She just didn’t want to talk to him.
Not now.
Maybe not for a while.
She attacked the rotten shingles on the roof of the Leaf and Bean and yanked them up before sliding them down off the edge of the roof to land in the alley behind the shop.
Good work. Steady work. Mind-numbing work. Didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to wonder about the fast-moving whirlpool that was her life. Didn’t have to think about anything except not falling off the roof.
“Hey!”
She wobbled unsteadily and caught her balance again before shooting a look into the alley. “Damn it,” she yelled, when she spotted Cash Hunter looking up at her. “Do you want me dead? Is that it?”
“That’s not how I want you . . .” He smiled and even from a distance that smile was pretty potent stuff.
Sighing, she shifted until she was sitting on the roof, legs drawn up, arms resting across the tops of her knees. Her hammer hung lightly from her right hand and she swung it carelessly, just for something to concentrate on. “What do you want, Hunter?”
He stood there, looking like the poster boy for Dangerous Guys. His black hair was wind ruffled, his worn jeans hugged his long, muscular legs, and his black T-shirt strained across his broad chest. All in all . . . amazing. Which only pissed her off. She was in no mood for anything remotely like a turn-on.
“Heard about your father.”
She cringed inwardly.
“How’s he doing?”
“Better,” she said tightly and hoped he couldn’t hear the tinny note in her voice. “Fine, I mean. He’s going to be fine.”
“Good news.”
“Yeah.” It really was. She knew that. Her heart knew it. It was only her twisting guts and her racing mind that wanted to shriek and howl.
“What about the other thing?”
“Huh?” She blinked at him.
He glanced around to make sure the narrow alley was empty. “You know, your class?”
“Shut up about that!” Jo tightened her grip on the hammer and thought about throwing it. But then she’d only have to climb down the ladder to get it again, so she settled for putting a choke hold on the scarred, wooden handle. “I told you to never talk about that.”
He folded his arms across his chest and looked up at her, apparently going nowhere until she’d answered his question. She took a quick look up and down the alley before saying quietly, “It’s fine.”
“Fine.”
“Better.”
“Better.”
“What’re you? An echo?”
He grinned. Damn, the man had one hell of a smile. “Did the book help?”
The book. Astronomy for Dummies. She should have thanked him for it days ago. Should have had the guts to call him and say she appreciated it. But she hadn’t been able to make herself do it. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know. And now, after the thing with Papa, it all seemed so much smaller than she’d been making it.
“Yeah. It did.” She paused a beat or two. “Thanks.”
“Wow. Sounded like that actually hurt.”
“What?”
“Thanking me.”
She scowled at him. “Did you drop by just to irritate me?”
He laughed. “Damn, Josefina, I don’t have to be anywhere near you to irritate you.”
“True.”
“Look,” he said, pushing his hair back out of his eyes with one big hand. “I stopped to see you because I wanted to tell you I’m leaving town for a while.”
A ping of something she didn’t want to identify bounced around inside her. “And you’re telling me this why?”
He shook his head, still grinning. “For one thing, because I hired your family to redo the guest cottage?”
“Oh. Yeah.” She’d forgotten about that. God, her brain was like a colander. Too many holes where thoughts were draining out like hot water rinsing off hot pasta. “Okay. Whatever.”
“That’s it?”
“What?” she asked. “You want a party? A real send-off with balloons and everything?” She waved a hand at him. “Go. Fly free.”
He muttered something she didn’t quite catch and when he looked up at her, eyes narrowed and jaw tight—she figured that was probably just as well.
“I don’t know why in the hell I try to be nice to you.”
“Me, neither,” she snapped.
“You’ve got a nasty disposition.”
She lifted the hammer. “And a mean throwing arm.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d miss, then you’d have to come down here—by me—to get it back.”
“I could wait till you’re gone to get it.”
“I won’t go.”
Her temper snapped. She’d had enough. Too many people pulling too many of her strings and she just was so damn tired of being Chandler’s favorite marionette.
A sharp, cold wind sliced in off the ocean, picked up a few stray pieces of paper in the alley and hurled them along like soccer balls. Black clouds, heavy with rain, raced inland, and as they blanketed the sun, she shivered.
“I’ve got to get this plastic on Stevie’s roof before that storm starts.”
“Right. I’ll let you get to it.” He turned and took a couple of steps, then stopped and looked up at her over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a month or so.”
“Wait,” she said dryly and patted her shirt as if looking for a pocket that wasn’t there. “Let me get a pen so I can circle the date on my calendar.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah. Nasty disposition. Why does that fascinate me?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Masochism?”
“Miss me, Josefina.”
“Bite me, Cash.”
Lucas stepped out onto the back deck and, unobserved, watched his brother for a long minute. Justin sat on one of the wooden Adirondack chairs, his blanket-covered legs resting on a stool drawn up in front of him. The man’s face looked more gaunt than it had just a couple of days ago and his pale hand rested idly on the blanket’s edge. He was staring out at the lake, watching a couple of ducks doing doughnuts on the still surface of the water.
The reeds on the shoreline dipped and swayed in a dance with the wind and the soft hush of the turning autumn leaves sounded like a symphony of sighs.
“Just gonna stand there and look at me?”
Caught, Lucas walked out onto the deck, sat down in a chair close to his brother, and held out one of the two beers he’d brought with him.
One of Justin’s eyebrows lifted. “Harp. You still like Irish beer?”
“Is there any other kind?” Lucas asked and set Justin’s bottle on a small table beside him.
“Thanks,” his brother said. “I’ll have some in a bit.”
“No hurry.”
“See,” Justin said, lifting that pale, weak hand and pointing his index finger. “That’s where you’re wrong. There is a hurry, Luke. I’m running out of time.”
Something inside him fisted, squeezed like a vise, then relaxed again to allow him to draw breath. “I know.”
“It’s beautiful here,” his brother said softly. “Quiet. You should sit out here more often.”
“I do,” he said, though he knew damn well he hadn’t really taken enough time to come out here and admire the view. He was working on the book or researching or rushing around to do something else. He almost never stepped out onto the deck to just sit.
“Yeah,” he said, shifting his gaze to the ducks on the lake. “I should.”
Justin smiled and let his head fall to the chair back. “Don’t look now, but I think we’re having a Kodak moment.”
Lucas snorted and took a swallow of beer. “Everything’s still a joke to you.”
“Jesus, Luke. If I didn’t laugh, I’d have to
cry, and who the hell wants to see that?”
The wind was cold and the clouds looked like they meant business. But now that they were finally talking, Lucas didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to suggest they go inside, where walls might spring up again.
Justin apparently felt the same way. “The night Mom and Dad died—”
“We don’t have to—”
“Yeah, we do.”
Lucas closed his eyes and held tight to the bottle of Irish beer. His father’s favorite brand, Harp, had become Lucas’s and Justin’s favorite, as well. Their father had been a giant of a man to them. He’d had all the answers. Hell, he even knew all the questions.
They’d both looked up to him.
They’d both loved him.
And late one night five years ago, Justin had killed him.
17
“Why’d you really come here to me, Justin?”
His brother turned his head on the chair back to look at him. Brown eyes, already a little hazy, as if they were staring beyond this world and into the mysteries of the next, met Lucas’s. “Because I couldn’t die with you hating me.”
“I never hated you.”
“Sure you did. Hell. I hated me for a while.”
Lucas shrugged, cupped the icy beer bottle between his palms, and admitted, “Okay, maybe I did. Once.”
And never more than on that dark, cold night five years ago.
Justin had crashed another one of the fast cars he seemed determined to kill himself in, but this time, there’d been an open bottle of beer on the back seat. He hadn’t been drunk. Just careless. But still, he was arrested and, naturally, he called his twin to come bail him out.
But that last time, Lucas said no.
He was busy, he’d said; working, he’d said. But the simple truth was, he was sick of being Justin’s backup plan.
So their parents went instead.
Then, with Justin driving them home, they’d died on a rain-streaked road when he lost control and slammed into a tree.
Images filled Lucas’s mind and it was as if he were back there. Standing in the rain beside the twisted hulk of his father’s Mercedes.
Plastic tarps covered his parents’ bodies. Steam lifted from under the crumpled hood, and the headlights, knocked out of line on impact, streamed brightly into the darkness. One speared toward heaven and the other toward hell. The flash of revolving red and blue emergency lights pulsed in the air and Lucas fought back tears as heavy as the rain.
A Crazy Kind of Love Page 21
