When she popped the trunk, he frowned at her overnight bag until she reminded him, “I’ve got to be at work bright and early Monday morning.”
“Can I talk you into playing hooky?”
She stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at him. “Are you sick?”
He chuckled. “No.”
“Is Meg or Cait sick? Not that I noticed when I saw them over at Honey B.’s, but—”
“Just missing my baby girl,” he told her.
“Aww, Pop.” Grace sniffed.
“Oh now, don’t do that, Gracie,” he said. “You know I can’t handle a woman’s tears.”
She sniffled louder. “Then don’t say stuff that’ll make me get all weepy.”
“A father should be able to tell his youngest daughter that he missed her.”
Grace agreed. “Just as long as he accepts that his daughter is female and prone to get emotional.”
This time his laugh boomed out, just as she’d hoped it would.
“Hell’s bells, I survived three daughters, two of them hitting puberty within ten months of each other. I think I deserve some slack—or at least a medal.”
She’d heard this all before and knew better than to disagree. “Yes, Pop.”
They walked up the back steps and into the kitchen, and Grace felt the house welcome her. Her grandmother’s copper-topped cookie jar still stood on the counter. “With Cait and Meg so busy with their own lives, that cookie jar is probably empty these days.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got someone who takes care of my sweet tooth.” The faraway look and subtle lift of his lips lightened her heart. Her dad had finally found someone to love after years spent grieving.
“How is Mary?”
“Fine, busy as always with the store. She dropped cookies off this morning—peanut butter ones with Hershey’s Kisses on top—your favorite.”
“I’ll have to stop by Murphy’s Market tomorrow and thank her.”
“She’d like that.”
He was quiet for a few minutes before saying, “I like your hair short. It suits you.”
She grinned up at him and patted his arm. “Maybe I can fit in one or two of Mary’s cookies. Want to have some tea with me?”
He opened the cabinet by the sink and took out two heavy ceramic mugs. “I think I’d like a dash of the Irish in my tea.”
“Does Doc know that you still put whiskey in your tea?”
He ignored her question. “I’ll get the cookies.”
She was about to fill the teakettle when he stopped her. “It’ll heat up faster if you nuke it.”
She sighed. “True, but it doesn’t taste quite the same.”
He laughed. “That’s because you don’t put a nip of whiskey in yours, me girl.” He was smiling when he pulled out the first mug of hot water, added a tea bag and a dash of milk, and pushed the jar of honey toward her. When she added a dollop, he grinned and added a splash of alcohol. “Try it.”
“How could I refuse?”
They sat down at the oak table where she’d spent so many years doing homework and sharing meals with her family, and could swear she heard her mother’s voice even after all these years. Home, she thought, had memories that haunted you, and ones that you treasured. Late night talks with her father were some of the ones she held closest to her heart.
He ate two cookies before asking, “How did the cut-a-thon go?”
She leveled her gaze at him. “You knew about it?”
“Your sisters told me about Kate’s idea. It was a good one and all because of your generosity.”
“But I didn’t have anything to do with tonight.”
“Didn’t you?” He paused to sip from his mug before cradling it in his work-roughened hands. “You’re the one who made the donation and told Kate about it, so it all started with you.”
“But I don’t deserve the credit for organizing tonight.”
“Ah,” he said, “that’s different, and you can thank Kate, Meg, and Honey B. for that.”
She sipped her tea, savoring the flavor and heat soothing her throat and leaving her feeling warm and fuzzy inside. “This tastes pretty good.”
“Not quite like having a shot at night, but as close as Doc lets me get these days.”
“I’ll clean up if you’re tired,” Grace offered as she finished her tea.
He shook his head. “I’m not ready to turn in yet. You need to get a good night’s sleep if you’re going to keep up with your nephews and niece tomorrow.”
She kissed his cheek, grabbed her bag, and wished him sweet dreams.
“It’s good to have you home, Grace.”
“It’s nice to be here, Pop.”
The third step from the bottom still creaked if you stepped in the middle, but tonight she wasn’t worried about waking anyone up. It was just the two of them in the big old house. Somehow it seemed sad. The house needed voices, laughter, and kids—the Mulcahy house seemed alive when they were kids.
She opened the door to the room she used to share with Cait and smiled. Same yellow gingham bedspread and curtains—and Great-Great-Aunt Adelaide’s four-poster bed.
The evening breeze blew past her, enticing her senses with the tantalizing scent of sweet peas and roses from Grandma’s garden. The heady scent soothed her as she unpacked and got ready for bed.
Snuggled beneath the covers, she let the author sweep her away to the wilds of the Scottish Highlands. I wish I could meet a man like that, she thought before exhaustion claimed her.
The pages fluttered as her grip went slack. She’d barely read two pages of the romance novel she’d brought before sleep claimed her.
She didn’t hear her father enter her room or feel the slight tug on her hand when he slipped the book from her fingers to lay it on the bedside table. But she sighed in her sleep when he kissed her forehead, as he’d done countless nights before.
“Night, baby girl.”
“Night, Pop.”
Chapter 4
Grace heard the staccato of footsteps pounding up the stairs—her warning that the invasion was imminent.
“Auntie Grace! Auntie Grace!”
She braced for impact as twin juggernauts launched themselves on top of her and started to chant, “Wake up! We’re here.”
They bounced on her abs and patted her cheeks. They’d gotten heavier.
“Come on,” little Danny pleaded.
“Please?” his twin Joey asked.
How could she resist her hooligan nephews? Pretending she’d only just woken up, she yawned loudly and opened one eye. “Oh my goodness! What are you two doing here?”
The twins giggled. She knew they would. “We’re here to play with you.”
They slipped off of her stomach and settled one on each side, in the curve of her arms. “Mommy said ’cause—”
“Because?” Grace placed a kiss on the top of Danny’s head and the tip of Joey’s nose.
“’Cause you missed us to pieces.” Danny’s little face was precious and his expression the mirror image of one she’d seen on her brother-in-law’s face countless times.
“Have I?”
“Sure’s shit.”
Grace drew in a breath. She knew she should not laugh. But the sound Joey made right before he covered his mouth with both hands was too adorable. The scamp must have learned that expression from Meg.
She gave in and chuckled. “I don’t think your mommy wants you to use words like that, Joey.”
The mutinous expression on his face warned her that his temperament was quite real—these two little ones had lived up to every single adage—terrible twos, tantrum threes, and in six months they would be in the fearsome fours. She’d have to ask her sister what came next.
When his lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears, she hugged him closer and kissed his forehead. “We won’t tell.” She hugged Joey tight and asked, “Will we?”
Joey stared up at her and finally shrugged.
“Shrugging’s not an answer
.”
“It is in our house.”
Grace looked up. Meg stood in the doorway with eight-month-old Deidre on her hip, who was pointing and babbling.
“Hey there, sweet pea.” Grace scooted up in bed, dragging the boys with her, and lifted her arms. Her sister softly smiled and laid Deidre in Grace’s arms. She snuggled the baby close and pressed kisses on her cheek, blowing air bubbles against the baby’s neck.
Her belly laughs went straight to Grace’s heart. Want curled with need, twisting a knot in her belly, but she knew better than to wish for what she didn’t have. Instead she said, “You’re up early, Sis.”
Meg laughed. “Every day. These two woke up the baby when they started chanting your name.”
“Why would they do that?” Grace asked, feigning innocence. She knew perfectly well why; she’d taught the little hooligans a few singing chants when they were younger and every time she visited, they made up new ones—silly sayings and bits of old nursery rhymes. It was their favorite game—well, next to chasing their father, and a soccer ball, around the yard.
The boys got restless and slid off the bed, but Danny grabbed her elbow and tugged to get her attention. “Gran’pop’s making pancakes.”
Grace’s day brightened. “Is he?”
“Uh-huh,” Joey added. “That’s why we waked you.”
She looked from the twin rapscallions to their mother and nodded. “Well, I guess you two better go help. It’s man’s work…cooking pancakes.”
“Yay!”
“Race you!”
“Do not run in the house,” Meg called after her boys, but she knew they wouldn’t hear her. “Is it too much to hope that Deidre learns to walk late?”
Grace cuddled her niece close to kiss her before handing her back to her sister. “Well, can you see yourself carrying her around while she’s crying because she can’t chase after those two?”
“I guess not.” Meg kissed her daughter’s cheek and lifted her gaze to meet Grace’s. “Can I tell you again how glad I am that you finally broke up with Ted?”
“Jeez. I don’t want to talk about him.”
“I think we should,” Meg insisted. “You haven’t dated since you caught him cheating on you.”
Grace’s hands clenched. “I haven’t met anyone I’ve wanted to date. I’m here to spend time with the family, not to rehash what happened with my ex or hear about what eligible bachelors have moved into town since I moved out.”
Meg surprised her by agreeing. “See you downstairs.”
“Let me grab a shower.”
“Make it a quick one,” Meg said, cocking her head to one side and listening. “The natives are restless.”
***
Grace walked into a scene right out of her childhood: her father with his back to the room while he poured pancake batter into neat rounds in the cast iron pan, two little ones sitting on pillows so they could reach the table, each with a stack of hotcakes covered in syrup in front of them while their mother reminded them to take human-sized bites.
The ache of missing her mother would always be there.
Danny broke the spell of the past when he reached for his glass of milk and knocked it over. “Careful there, kiddo.” Grace got the roll of paper towels and mopped it up.
“Can we go outside?” Danny asked around a mouthful of breakfast.
“Wait till you finish eating before talking,” Meg reminded her oldest.
He looked over at Grace and rolled his eyes. Grace laughed. She used to do the same thing when Meg told her what to do.
“Reminds me of someone.” Joe Mulcahy set a plate of hotcakes in front of Grace.
“Thanks, Pop, but I’m not really hungry.” She pushed the plate to the side and got up.
“Since when?” His formidable glare would have set stone on fire, but Grace was used to it. His bark was worse than his bite.
She got a cup and reached for the coffee pot. “I usually just have coffee in the morning.”
“Breakfast is the most—”
“Important meal of the day,” Grace finished for her father. “Yeah. I know.”
He crossed his arms across his massive chest and ground out, “Then slide that plate back in front of you and chow down before it gets cold.”
Grace looked over at Meg, seeking support, but the way her sister was frowning at her told Grace she wouldn’t be getting any help from that quarter.
With a sigh, she opened the fridge and got the milk out. Doctoring her coffee kept her hands busy while her mind raced. Would her father or sister comment on her weight gain? It had been steady, a few pounds a month, and it had been a few months since she’d seen them last. She’d never been quite as skinny as Cait, but she’d been thin most of her life.
“Grace!”
“Hmmm?” She looked up at her sister. “What?”
Meg was in the process of wiping sticky faces with a damp cloth when Grace stopped obsessing about her weight.
“I said I just heard a car pull up.”
“Daddy!” The two imps struggled against their mother’s hold until she’d cleaned most of the syrup off. They were laughing as they opened the screen door and raced down the steps. Grace heard the deep rumble of her brother-in-law’s voice and her nephews’ answering cries of “Yay! Soccer!”
“That’ll keep them busy while I clean up.” Meg gave her daughter a wooden spoon. The little one banged it against the tray of the same high chair Grace and her sisters had used.
“She’s got rhythm.” Grace smiled, watching Deidre smack the spoon and giggle. “I’m surprised she’s not crying to chase after her brothers.”
Meg nodded toward their father. “Pop’s here to distract her.”
Joe sat down next to his granddaughter with a steaming cup of coffee. “Ahh,” he said after sipping. “I’ve earned this cup this morning.”
Meg leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re the best, Pop.”
Joe agreed. “It’s my burden to bear.”
Grace heard another car pull up. “Who else is coming today?”
Meg’s face had an odd expression on it, but it was gone before Grace could decide if her sister looked guilty or happy.
“I invited Honey B. and the kids over.” Meg turned to look out the window over the sink. “Grace, would you mind bringing Deidre out with you?”
Before Grace could answer, her sister was gone.
“Well, what’s up with her?”
Her father’s eyes twinkled for a moment, but then he cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Now, baby girl, about breakfast.”
“Pop, I’m not a baby anymore,” Grace grumbled, pointing to her niece. “She’s the baby.”
Her father chuckled and took a drink from his mug. “That she is, but you’ll always be my youngest and therefore my baby girl.” He whistled and Deidre stopped banging the spoon to look up at him.
“And you,” he said, pressing his lips to Deidre’s forehead, “are my pretty little Princess Tickle Feather.”
Grace’s heart just burst with love watching the way her father played with his youngest grandchild. He’d always had a heart of gold; he’d been strict with her and her sisters when they needed it and been tough on the boys that came calling once they started dating, but deep down in her father’s broad chest beat a heart one hundred percent pure gold. A long buried yearning filled Grace…once upon a time she had wanted to marry a man just like her father. Reality was harsh, but so was the realization that there weren’t any left out there. All the good ones were gone.
“I love you, Pop.”
He looked up, and while Grace watched, his eyes filled with tears and his mouth curved up into a broad smile. “I know, baby girl, and I love you right back.”
“Grace, are you coming?”
She started to answer her sister, but her father shook his head. “Best to go see what she wants. She might have had to hog-tie my grandsons.”
She was laughing when she undid the strap holding
her niece in the high chair. “Come on, Princess Tickle Feather.” Deidre’s chubby little arms were reaching for Grace, ready to be picked up. “Let’s see what your big brothers are up to.”
Grace didn’t turn back around, so she didn’t see her father’s smile deepen or the way he rubbed his hands together in anticipation of what was waiting outside for his unsuspecting youngest daughter.
***
Patrick Garahan was trying not to step on the twin forces of destruction currently whooping like wild men while they chased after the soccer ball he was dribbling across the grass. It was hard because they were quick and coordinated. He didn’t remember his sisters’ kids being this good at soccer at the same age. But it had been awhile since he’d been home, and maybe he was thinking of his nieces and nephews when they were younger than the two pistols hooting and hollering as they grabbed his left leg and took him down.
Before he hit the ground, he spun and plucked the two of them off his leg and curled himself around the boys to protect them. “Can we do it again, Unca Pat?”
He was a sucker for a cute kid. His two honorary nephews were hard to ignore—and pretty damned special too. He saw more of them than he did any of his sisters’ kids back in New York. For a moment, little Michael’s face filled his mind then morphed into the face of the little boy he hadn’t been able to save—the one who was his nephew Michael’s age—as the image from his nightmare bubbled dangerously close to the surface.
Danny dug his knees into Patrick’s stomach as he crawled toward his chest. Joey wasn’t one to be left out, so he scrambled to his feet next to his brother. Shoving those thoughts deep, Pat made a grab for the boys—they were heavier than they looked. But they were fast and each gave a rebel yell that would have made his cousin Tyler proud as they leaped off his chest, tucking and rolling as they hit the ground.
“Ompfh,” he groaned as their tiny sneakers pushed off. “Uncle!” he hollered, making his friend Dan Eagan laugh.
“You can’t say I didn’t warn you, Garahan,” Dan told him. “Besides, you know they’ve been asking for you for a couple of weeks now.”
Pat leaned on one elbow and watched as the two chased each other across the Mulcahys’ backyard, tumbling into one another like puppies. “Did you ever imagine that you’d be a dad?”
Welcome Back to Apple Grove Page 4
