by Leigh Riker
Thomas took another, longer look at the baby. For an instant Brig was sure he saw yearning cross the older man’s face.
“Molly went to the corner store for you last night. She fed the baby around eight, at midnight and four, and again this morning. She left another bottle ready on the stove.”
Wow. Surprised by the information, Brig didn’t know whether to feel guilty because Laila must have kept Molly up most of the night, grateful that she’d let him sleep or relieved that she’d done both. Actually, he felt all three.
“Thanks,” Brig said, which seemed inadequate.
“Don’t thank me.” Thomas had turned away and was taking his newspaper into the living room. End of discussion, or so Brig thought. But Thomas wasn’t finished. “Oh. Molly said to tell you her sheriff friend brought your bags and the baby seat from next door before he left the party.”
Then, as if his feelings had built like a volcano set to erupt, he spun around again.
“I’m not going to ask why you’re here, Brigham. I guess this baby is answer enough. For now.” Thomas pointed the rolled-up paper at him. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten what happened between you and Molly. She and Ann are the best daughters I could ever have, and Molly’s had enough grief in her life. I swear, if you hurt her—”
“I don’t intend to hurt her.”
“—like you did before, you’ll answer to me.”
Brig had no reply. He’d been a “father” himself for a short time and he was still all thumbs at the job, but, like Thomas with Molly, he knew he would protect her to the death from any threat.
To Thomas, Brig must represent six feet plus of threat.
Brig headed for the kitchen, duly warned.
He would need more caffeine than usual to get through the day in this close-knit family, which he understood even less than he did taking care of Laila. Far less than he might the workings of the Taliban.
But before Brig exited the room, he got in the last word.
“I’ll work on finding a key to Mom and Dad’s house. Move Laila next door as soon as I can. That would be best for you—and for Molly.”
* * *
MONDAY WAS NOT Molly’s favorite day of the week at Little Darlings, or anywhere else, and sometime between last Friday and this morning she had lost her equilibrium.
Oh, who are you kidding, Molly? She knew exactly when.
Around her, toy trucks clashed, the laughter of children shrilled and someone pounded on a drum. She couldn’t term the noise unusual, yet her jangled nerves wanted her to shout surrender. Today her day care center’s proximity to Pop’s house seemed way too close. That was, way too close to Brig.
She hadn’t been herself since she’d spied him yesterday standing in the doorway with Laila, like a broken dream come back to haunt her.
No, make that a nightmare.
At least the rain had finally stopped last night. The clouds had disappeared as if someone had rolled up a rug, and by midnight the sky had been full of stars. Holding Laila, feeding her while Brig slept, Molly had watched the weather improve even as a storm still roiled inside her.
Fortunately, for the rest of the day, she wouldn’t have another chance to dwell on the situation. Which was a good thing, because without half trying, she could summon the image of Brig’s lean, fit body and handsome, serious face.
Too bad for her, but he looked better than ever. Any remnants of boyishness in his face were now gone. In their place was an uncompromising set of male features with interesting planes and angles.
It wasn’t every day that an old love walked back into her life, and when she added Laila to the picture, Molly felt shaken anew. Better to keep her mind on business.
At the end of the afternoon, many of “her” children had left by the time Jeff Barlow, little Ernie’s dad, arrived dressed in his tan sheriff’s deputy uniform. At the same time, her sister, Ann, who helped with the babies in the nursery, reached the front door from outside after walking baby Ashley Jones and her mother out to their car. Under a darkening sky, she stopped cold.
Her expression told Molly that her sister’s timing couldn’t have been worse for her. The distinct chill in the air didn’t just come from the freezing wind.
Molly bit back a sigh. Jeff was one of her favorite people, and she wished her sister would stop giving him the cold shoulder.
As if he hadn’t noticed Ann’s frostiness, Jeff held the door open for her, but Ann took care not to brush against him as she came inside. She hurried down the hall with just a murmured “Thank you.”
Jeff raised an eyebrow at Molly. “Hello to her, too,” he said.
“I don’t know what gets into her,” Molly said, hoping to soothe his feelings.
But of course she did.
He looked glum. “I called twice last week to ask her out. Once, for dinner, and then to see a romantic comedy playing in town—don’t most women enjoy a good chick flick?—but she said no. Both times.” He paused. “Not that I’ve been dating enough to be up on what a woman might like.”
Molly had heard about Jeff’s bitter divorce. Clearly he was wounded. But when he and Ann had started dating a few months ago, Molly had hoped that their relationship would take root and grow, and that Ann could be happy again, as well. Then, all at once, to Molly’s dismay, Ann had pulled back like a turtle withdrawing into its shell.
“I know she wanted to see that movie,” Molly said without thinking.
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Just not with me.”
She eyed him sympathetically. Jeff was just the latest example of romance gone awry in her sister’s life. Ann didn’t date often or, when she did, for very long. Molly had no idea what—if anything—she should do about that.
“Ann’s a good-looking woman,” Jeff added, “and she can be very funny when she lets her hair down. We like the same kind of books, Mexican food, sunsets... I don’t understand what happened. I thought we had clicked,” he went on. “I mean, she seemed to enjoy the one dinner we had together. We found a lot to talk about. And we went hiking one weekend with my son—”
“Daddy! Guess what I made?”
As if on cue, Jeff’s four-year-old son, his spitting image, raced up to them, his mop of sandy hair flopping into his blue eyes. He thrust a green construction-paper triangle studded with spiral pasta dyed a fluorescent pink into Jeff’s face.
“Whoa, buddy.” Jeff dodged the pointed artwork that threatened to put out an eye and gathered Ernie up with a grin. A blob of glue dripped onto Jeff’s clean uniform. “This is one great-looking...” He scrambled for a word.
“You know. It’s a tree!”
“Ah.” Jeff shot Molly an amused glance. “Ernie, I’ve never seen a better one.”
Ernie beamed. “I did it all by myself.”
Jeff’s plain-to-see love for his son caused Molly’s throat to tighten. Her Andrew would also have made a good dad, and Ernie was like the child they’d never had.
“Molly, do you like it, too?” the little boy asked.
She ruffled his hair. “I love it. Your father is an excellent judge of art.”
Smiling, Molly walked them to the outer doors. A couple of homeward-bound little stragglers ran past them, scuffling and laughing. Benjamin Crandall, a pint-size troublemaker of late, made sure to knock against Ernie on his way. But Molly focused on her more pressing problem. As she said goodbye to each child and parent, she could sense the tension still radiating from Jeff’s broad-shouldered body.
Her smile faded. He was a nice man. A decent man. A solid man.
And it wasn’t as if men like Jeff Barlow grew on trees, including pink ones like Ernie’s collage.
“I’ll talk to Ann,” she said, following Jeff’s glance toward the nursery.
“I don’t know that you should, Molly. But is it—�
� he nodded toward his small son “—you know. Because if that’s her problem—” His voice had hardened in Ernie’s defense.
“I’ll talk to her,” Molly repeated.
As if she was an expert on romantic relationships.
Jeff didn’t wave goodbye when they left, but Ernie gave Molly an exuberant flip of one chubby hand. He was the most lovable four-year-old at the center.
Once Jeff had buckled Ernie into his car seat in the back of the cruiser and pulled out of the lot, Molly took off for the playroom adjacent to the nursery.
She organized paint cups in the art cupboard for the next day. Within a moment, Ann appeared.
“Don’t say a word,” she warned. “I don’t need the big-sister act.”
Molly faced her, intent on speaking her mind anyway. “I can’t believe how you treated Jeff. I’m disappointed in you.”
Ann tossed honey-brown bangs out of her eyes. They were a rich hazel, their mother’s color. “Maybe I just like being an old maid.”
“Don’t be smart. There are no old maids these days.” Molly tried to lighten the mood. “Not since Aunt Tilly went to her heavenly reward still ‘intact,’ as she always said, at the age of ninety.” They shared a weak smile before Molly went on. “You’re only twenty-seven, Ann. You can’t seriously want to be alone for the rest of your life.”
“Why not? You are.”
Ouch. The words echoed in the silence.
“I’m sorry,” Ann murmured. “That was an awful thing to say. But I should never have gone out with him, and the sooner Jeff Barlow realizes I’m not interested, the better. With Ernie here at the center, I can hardly avoid him.”
Molly’s eyes still stung from Ann’s earlier words. “You sure try.”
“Yes, and my new best friend is caller ID.”
The throwaway tone didn’t sit well with Molly. She bustled around the room, gathering stray blocks, stacking them and trying to wrestle the remnants of her own fresh pain into some sort of order.
She didn’t have a choice about being alone, but in Molly’s view, Ann was throwing away her potential for happiness with both hands—if not with the sheriff, then with someone else.
Molly shut the cupboard doors for the night and turned to find Ann with tears in her eyes. And Molly’s shoulders sagged. “Is it because of Ernie?” she asked, echoing Jeff’s earlier concern. “He’s a great little kid.”
Ann sniffed. “I know.”
“And I know you like children. You’re wonderful with the babies here. You like them so much you just had to carry Melissa Jones’s diaper bag to the car so you could spend one more minute today with her little Ashley.”
As if caught committing some terrible crime, Ann flushed.
“Well, you are good,” Molly said. “Would I have hired you if not?”
Ann rolled her eyes. “You hired me because you were shorthanded, and I had my degree in education and no other job.”
Which was only part of the reason. Yes, Molly had needed to fill that staff position, but was she simply enabling her sister to avoid dealing with the long-ago tragedy that had changed her life?
For years Ann had not only kept to herself, but she refused to go more than a mile or two from home. Her apartment was just blocks away from Little Darlings, and every day she walked to work. Ann owned a car, which she maintained, and for which she renewed her registration and driver’s license. But she never got behind the wheel. She hadn’t driven once since the accident.
Just as Molly rarely drove past the house she and Andrew had shared in Cincinnati’s Hyde Park neighborhood—and always told herself it was out of her way now. She’d been living with Pop since shortly after Andrew died.
Molly softened her tone. “I also hired you because I love you,” she said. “And to keep you close,” she added with a teasing grin, “so you can take over when Pop gets to be too much for me. In the meantime...I honestly thought you and Jeff were going somewhere. Why not give him—”
“A chance?”
“If it doesn’t work out, you can move on.”
“Like you?” Ann asked.
Another barb for Molly.
“That’s enough,” Molly said, barely holding her temper in check.
“Or maybe I’m wrong.” Ann hesitated, frowning. “Maybe I’m not the only one here with man trouble. I’ve talked to Dad. What is Brigham Collier doing in the house?”
“Waiting for his parents,” Molly said.
The image crossed her mind again before she could stop it. Brig, his dark hair tousled, his blue eyes unable to hide his exhaustion. Brig all but asleep on his feet, holding Laila in his arms.
“Really? Waiting? That’s all?” Ann said. “You’re sure?”
Molly looked away. She could feel her cheeks coloring. “I’m sure.”
Ann was no fan of Brig’s, she knew. From the moment he’d canceled his wedding to Molly and Ann had returned her bridesmaid’s dress to the store, she’d kept him at the top of her personal blacklist. Molly reminded herself that she and Ann were sisters. How could she blame Ann for caring about her?
“You don’t have to worry,” she said, hating that she was justifying herself. “You won’t have to pick up the pieces again. And may I point out that Jeff Barlow is a very different guy?”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Ann said, turning toward the door.
“Just something for you to think about,” Molly murmured, but Ann was gone, leaving her alone with her unhappy awareness of her sister’s increasingly isolated existence. Like Pop. Then she thought of herself.
Hadn’t she learned her lesson years ago? Brig wouldn’t stay long in Liberty Courthouse now, either. Well, she had no intention of letting him into her life again. Even if he did have the most adorable baby on earth.
CHAPTER THREE
Hey, Collier. Trip go okay? How’s the little lady? The guys already miss her. Bet your mom and dad like her, too, huh? Off to find some bad guys. H.
BRIG READ THE email again from his teammate, but his smile didn’t last. His thoughts were elsewhere. He had meant what he told Thomas. He had no intention of hurting Molly.
At her kitchen table he punched another number into his cell phone. And frowned. After his earlier run-in with Thomas, he’d double-checked next door again, but Thomas had been right. Still no one was home. His parents’ mobile number kept telling him they were unavailable and sending his calls to voice mail. Their landline didn’t help, either. Right next door, behind a lock he couldn’t access, their answering machine announced their voice mail was full.
Many of those messages were probably from him. He hung up one last time. Molly was home and in the kitchen before he could get out of her way.
“It’s freezing out again.” She bustled around the kitchen, taking off her coat, shaking out her wind-whipped hair. “Where’s Laila?”
“Still napping. I hope. I’ll see in a minute.” He closed his phone, determined to clear the air. “Molly, I didn’t mean to crash on you like that yesterday. Thanks,” he said, “for giving us a room last night. And feeding Laila for me. You’ve been more than generous, considering...” Then he couldn’t find the words he really needed to say.
“What?”
“Well, you know. For one thing...” He looked past her toward the dining room, the front door. “My running off like that years ago—as if I couldn’t get away fast enough.”
“You did appear to be in a hurry.” She attempted a smile, but it didn’t come. “Of course, watching a hometown girl walk down the aisle in a long white dress can’t be as exciting as trying to save the world.”
Brig felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach. Her tone was blithe—deliberately so?—but she made him sound petty. He deserved that, too.
Molly pushed up her sleeves and started to fix din
ner. His gaze tracked her movements as she took hamburger from the fridge, a package of buns from the bread box. She flipped on a burner, formed patties from the meat, slapped them into a skillet. Who knew a woman’s efficiency in the kitchen could be a turn-on?
“Well,” she said, just as he had, “now we’ve gotten that off our chests...”
“Have we? Molly. I didn’t want to leave you then. I just wanted—”
“To leave,” she finished for him. “No, let’s not go there. That’s all water under the bridge,” she said, “and we’re not kids, Brig. Eight years is way too long for me to hold a grudge. But last night, I admit, I was a little—a lot—shocked to see you.”
“And Laila, certainly.”
“And Laila,” she agreed. “I doubt Pop’s very keen on having you here, but—”
“No, he’s not. He already warned me not to make another mistake.”
She quirked an eyebrow, then opened the pantry door. Brig studied her slim figure and the way she fit her jeans, but with Thomas’s words in mind, he knew he had no business ogling Molly.
“Your dad’s a hard case,” he said to distract himself. “Kind of like my dad. So I’m used to that. When I was a kid and my father was still on active duty, he could be a real force to contend with.” He paused. “But then, so was I.”
“No wonder Pop and Joe are friends as well as neighbors.”
“Yeah, and a good thing Dad’s mellowed over the years.”
Have you? But Molly didn’t pose the question.
Brig looked down at the cell phone in his hand. “Sorry to still be sticking around. I’ve tried all day to reach my parents.” He could have kicked himself. “This is my own fault. The last time I spoke to them, I told them not to phone me again. Communications are never the best over there, and I was busy making arrangements to bring Laila to the States. I said my next call would be to let them know when we’d arrive.”
