by Leigh Riker
“So your coming back wasn’t a surprise.”
“No, but too bad I couldn’t give them a firm date. I don’t know who else to call now,” he said. “Another locksmith just told me he can’t open the door to a house that isn’t mine. No surprise there.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah, I knew better than to ask. It was a desperate move on my part.” Another one, he thought, and stood. He could have picked the old lock—one of his many warrior skills—but the new dead bolt was a more difficult obstacle. So was the alarm system, assuming his father had remembered to set it.
Molly emerged from the pantry. “I wish I could think of someone...”
“Don’t worry. As soon as Laila wakes from her nap, I’ll phone for a cab and we’ll be out of your hair.” And Thomas’s. He flipped open the phone again. “I’m sure we can get a hotel room for tonight. My folks are bound to turn up soon.”
That sounded pathetic even to Brig, and deepened his frown.
“And miss seeing them when they pull in the drive?” Molly hesitated a bit too long, then said, as if she’d surprised herself, “I’ve forgotten my manners. You have the perfect vantage point from here to see when they get home.”
The warm air in the cozy kitchen carried the aroma of seared beef, and Brig’s mouth watered. Or was it the sight of Molly’s green eyes dark with concern?
She’d always been pretty, but at thirty she had an inner beauty to match. Too bad he’d blown his chance with her long ago.
Not even hearing what she’d said, he carried on with his line of thought. “In the meantime, who knows where my parents are?” he said. “Or with whom? Most of the landline numbers for their friends have gone to new phone company customers because Mom and Dad’s gang have all moved to Florida or Arizona. The couple I remember best,” he went on, “is living in Mexico. If my folks went to visit one of their old friends, I wouldn’t know where to even start a search. As for any new people...”
He looked hopefully at Molly, who only shook her head.
“I really don’t know who might be in their circle now. Your parents are more social than Pop. Since he retired, he sticks close to home. He golfs occasionally with your dad, but that’s all.”
“Well, my folks are for sure not in town. No activity I can think of would keep them away this long.”
“You didn’t call them from...wherever on the way home?” Molly asked.
Brig shook his head. “When I finally got a military flight out, it was either jump on the plane with Laila while we had the chance or miss out and have to wait until whenever the next hop came.” He paused. “I called home from Frankfurt, from my home base on the East Coast and then from JFK, even from here in Cincy. But I had to leave messages....” He trailed off. “The folks must have already gone. And then Laila was being a handful with the time change.”
“I’m sure you did the best you could,” Molly said.
Not exactly, Brig thought. He was always hard on himself—partly because he was the son and only child of a military family with strict discipline and even stricter expectations.
He knew his best wasn’t always good enough. To prove it, he said, “Doesn’t take most people I’ve seen twenty minutes to change a diaper. That was false bravado you saw last night.”
“Practice,” Molly murmured. “That’s all you need.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And about fifty books on child care.”
She was rinsing potatoes at the sink, chopping them, then dropping the pieces into a pot of water. For whipped potatoes? Another of his favorites. He hadn’t had them in months.
She pointed a paring knife at the backyard. “There’s a library out in the center—my day care business behind the house. You’re welcome to borrow any of those books, or all of them.”
Which was another of his problems. Time to read—time to do anything. Brig’s gut tightened. His emergency leave couldn’t last forever. He needed to find his parents and get Laila into their temporary care before he had to take off again for parts unknown. Once he got that call, time would be off the table. He sure couldn’t take Laila back with him into the danger that had ended her parents’ lives.
He studied the play of light on Molly’s hair as she set the pan of potatoes on the stove, then turned on the burner. Her vulnerable nape tempted him.
Brig shifted in his seat. “I, uh, appreciate the offer. About the books,” he added. “But as I said, Laila and I had better clear out. We’ve taken up enough space here, and I don’t want to rile your father.”
“Nonsense. Stay for dinner,” she said. “Just...stay. I’ll handle Pop.”
The words had slipped from her mouth as naturally as they might have years ago before Brig had left her. How many times had Molly or her mother invited him to dinner? Made him feel like part of their family? Thomas was right again. She had been so welcoming, when he didn’t deserve it. She looked so good, he wondered how he had left in the first place.
Yet what else, really, could she say?
Molly had the biggest heart of anyone he’d ever known.
Which only made him feel worse, as if he was taking advantage.
Her father’s warning echoed in his mind. Brig had brought Laila home with only one thought: find a safe place for her with his parents. He realized he needed a long-term solution, but that would require some hard thinking about what was best for the baby and for him. What he hadn’t planned on was seeing a widowed Molly again, being attracted to her after all these years.
With a warrior’s sense of danger, Brig knew he was in trouble. Staying in Molly’s house did seem more practical than staying in a hotel, but his proximity to her would only exacerbate the memory of their broken engagement, and renew the tension between them. She was now the girl next door all grown up, and she offered the brief haven a war-weary Brig badly needed. But...
He would not hurt her again, even as he wondered how to keep his hands off her. Before he left, as he would have to again, he needed to win Molly’s forgiveness.
Maybe staying for another night could help accomplish that goal.
* * *
“WE HAVE A guest room,” Molly reminded her father after dinner that night. “Brig might as well use it.”
Molly had second thoughts of her own, but she’d already blurted out the invitation. She could hardly turn Brig and that sweet baby out into the night. The temperature had started to drop at noon. By the time her kids had gone home, the sky was black with clouds. It was already sleeting outside, and soon the roads would turn icy. The thought of Brig in a taxi, sliding along slick streets, then trying to cope with Laila in some cramped hotel room kept playing through her mind.
Yet how could she convince Pop it was all right for Brig and Laila to stay when she wasn’t that sure herself?
As if to prove her point, Thomas cast a sour glance at the ceiling. Upstairs, Brig was struggling to get the baby to sleep, and Molly suppressed a fresh wave of frustration. She was still worried about Ann, but Pop wasn’t helping her mood.
“What kind of son doesn’t have a key to his family home? I can answer that,” he said, not waiting for Molly to reply. “A man who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“That’s not true,” Molly shot back, quick to defend him. Too quick, perhaps, but she could see he did care about Laila. “It’s not Brig’s fault his parents have apparently left town.”
“Humph.”
His mouth a grim line, Pop followed her into the living room. Molly sat opposite his faded blue wing chair and attempted to coax a smile from her dad. She knew he wasn’t happy that Brig had breached his nightly routine with Molly: dinner, an extra helping of dessert that she wasn’t supposed to notice on Pop’s plate, his help with the dishes afterward, then their usual talk before he went up to bed. Sometimes they watched TV or a movie together
, or he watched a sporting event while Molly pretended to enjoy it, too. She didn’t mind keeping him company. But now...
She couldn’t blame Pop for resenting Brig. It wasn’t easy for her, either, to have him in the house. She’d really offered for Laila’s sake, and as long as Molly kept her distance she’d be okay.
“Another day or two,” she said, “won’t hurt us. The baby doesn’t belong in some stark hotel room, Pop, not when we have a good crib right here. And if she requires anything, the nursery in Little Darlings likely has it. Brig needs access to a kitchen for her, too.”
“Huh,” Thomas said. “So he stays and that little mite wraps her finger around our hearts. Then what?”
Molly felt his concern, his hurt, because they echoed her own. He had once wanted grandchildren just as badly as she’d wanted children. They would have been good for him. Ever since her mother had died, he’d been like someone lost in a wilderness, and Molly often felt helpless at easing his sorrow when she was still struggling with her own.
“About Brig’s key...” She felt the need to explain, just as Brig had. “His parents changed the locks after his last visit.” No, that didn’t sound right. “I mean, remember they had that break-in a while ago and upped their security? New door included. They wanted to give him a key, he said, but he was overseas, and they never know quite where he is really.” They had known about Afghanistan, though. And all that red tape. “I imagine they expected to be here when he arrived with Laila.”
Thomas’s features tensed. “I never heard a word about that baby. Maybe Joe and Bess aren’t as good-hearted as you are, Molly. Maybe they decided to take off—go on a cruise—or maybe they just don’t want to raise someone else’s child.”
Shocked, Molly leaned forward. “That’s a dreadful thing to say. You sound like Ann when she talks about Jeff Barlow. What’s with the two of you?”
Thomas seized the opportunity to shift the conversation.
“Ann?” He snorted. “You ever notice how she looks at him?”
“Yes, but...I notice more how she avoids him.”
“Well, look again.” The piercing glance he sent Molly made her squirm.
Did her dad also see how she looked at Brig when she thought no one would notice? She should just ignore his dark hair, his blue eyes, his broad shoulders and strong body. A body honed for war, she reminded herself, not love. Not her.
Eye candy, she tried to tell herself. Why not look if she did only that?
“We were talking about Brig’s family.” She hesitated. “There was a time when the Colliers wanted grandchildren as much as you did.”
Thomas drew a breath. “What business does a man like that have with a baby? He’s never home. He certainly doesn’t have a wife....”
Ah. So that was it. Still.
“Pop. Don’t.” She paused again. “By the way, Brig told me you issued him some warning about me.”
“Of course I did. You’re my girl.”
“I understand how you feel, but you don’t need to worry.”
He gave her another skeptical look, and Molly held his gaze until he had to avert his eyes. Lately, his protectiveness, his dependence upon her, had started to wear thin.
“I will worry,” he said.
“I’m not interested in Brig. That’s over.”
Even Brig’s mother had once told Molly that being married to a military man meant one long separation broken by short reunions. It meant moving again, often without much notice, just when you’d put down roots somewhere. And it meant always taking second place to duty. Maybe it was a good thing Brig had left and Andrew had stayed.
Her husband’s steady devotion had suited her.
“Andrew and I had our differences, especially toward the end, but I’m not about to tarnish his memory.” She took a breath. “Especially with a man who ultimately couldn’t commit to me. I had Andrew,” she said softly. And for a few months at least, they’d almost had the baby they’d wanted, that first grandchild for Pop. “I don’t need anyone else,” she added.
“You have me.”
Molly tried to let his remark pass. But Pop looked afraid of losing her—or did she imagine this? And that troubled Molly even more. All at once she regretted her offer to let Brig and Laila stay. Not that she had any other humane choice, but her father’s words only made her feel more unsettled.
You have me.
What kind of daughter was she? She loved Pop. Yet, sometimes, more often of late, she felt unsatisfied. As if he and Little Darlings and all her friends and family were not enough after all.
Frankly, she felt a little bit...trapped. Molly sure hoped Brig Collier’s sudden reappearance in her life had nothing to do with that.
CHAPTER FOUR
ANN WALKER STARTLED at the first ring of the phone, though she should be used to it by now, since the phone had been ringing off and on all night. She had no intention of answering. In her darkened living room, she curled into her favorite chair, the TV set glowing but the sound muted. After the fourth ring she prepared to listen instead to her machine.
Jeff Barlow was finally leaving a message:
“Ann, if you don’t want to see a movie—then we can do something else. Take a walk along the river. Go bowling. Drive up to Columbus...”
Drive? He couldn’t have said anything worse. Frustrated, Ann snatched up the phone and launched right in.
“No,” she said. “To bowling or a walk or anything else. Maybe—just a thought here—you should give up.”
“Nope.” She actually heard a smile in his voice. He went on in that same unhurried manner, as if he meant to stay on the line until she surrendered. “You know, we have a new K-9 recruit in the department, and he reminds me of you.”
She tightened her grip on the phone.
“How flattering to be compared to a dog.”
The smile-by-wire broadened. “No, see, he’s this great-looking dog with honey-brown fur and big eyes that are kind of beige but gray, too, and a nice doggie smile, and he loves M&M’s, his favorite treat.”
Clearly Jeff was talking about her. “I don’t eat candy,” she reminded him pointedly.
“But sad to say,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “he may wash out of the program, which would be a shame—” here Jeff moved in for the kill “—because he has PTSD.”
Ann said nothing.
“You know what that means?”
“Yes. He suffered some sort of mishap—and now he has nightmares.”
“He’s a dog,” Jeff said. “Who would know?”
Her pulse was racing now. “He probably twitches in his sleep. His legs move as if he’s running away from something.”
“What are you running from, Miss Walker?”
“You,” she said without even thinking.
“I understand that.” She could almost see him lying on his sofa, the phone to his ear, that lazy “gotcha” smile on his face. Somewhere in his house or apartment or wherever he lived, his little boy would be fast asleep, the place quiet. Like Jeff. “What I want to know is, why?”
“How about because I don’t like cops.” Not true, except that they served as a reminder. She had her finger on the off button.
“Strange, because nothing showed up in your file. No arrest for resisting, or threatening an officer of the law—”
Her pulse lurched. “You looked at my file?”
“No,” he said. “I was flushing you out. So there is a file?”
“That’s none of your business! And if you call again—”
“Annie, don’t hang up. I was kidding. I wouldn’t hunt up someone’s file just to get a date—even with you,” he added.
She almost smiled. He was charming. And Ann couldn’t resist.
“Then you don’t know about th
e police brutality.”
Obviously surprised, Jeff Barlow laughed. He had a nice laugh, rich and full and hiding nothing about him, which was more than Ann could say for herself. She envisioned his sandy hair and blue eyes and, yes, that uniform. And that was only his outer appeal. If the situation were different, she would want to go out with him again, test the waters at least. But Ann didn’t dream anymore about love and marriage, or having a family of her own—the dreams she and Molly had once shared.
That night nine years ago, the worst night of her life, had changed everything for her. Jeff wouldn’t learn about that, though, because they would never get that far. So it would do no good to let herself like Jeff Barlow too much. Which was why she’d decided to end this relationship now.
“Thanks for calling,” she said drily, finger poised again on the off button, pulse still thumping as if she were a felon about to get nabbed, “but you’re wasting your time. Goodb—”
“Is it because I’m a cop? Really?”
She froze. “Not you, personally, no. It’s a general thing.”
“Ah. I see. And it’s not because of Ernie?”
“Ernie?” She had an instant image of the little boy, small and chubby and full of life. He scared her more than Jeff did: Ernie was even easier to like.
“My kid,” he explained, as if she didn’t know. “You have something against kids? That a ‘general thing,’ too? Or is it mine in particular?”
She heard the edge in his tone, his instinctive protection of Ernie. Jeff never came into the center without swinging Ernie into his arms and smacking a kiss on his cheek. It was clear the boy worshipped him, too.
“I work with children every day,” she said. “Why would I have something against them?”
“I don’t know,” he drawled. “Why would you?”
“Look. If I needed a counselor, I’d get one,” she said. Over the years she had seen a number of shrinks. None of them had helped.
“I like psychology,” Jeff said. “I like to learn what makes people tick. You intrigue me.” That smile in his voice was back again. “And I don’t see how we can come to some agreement here unless we get everything out in the open. So what is it, Annie?”
