From Father to Son

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Yeah.” His voice had dropped a notch, sounded husky. “I will.”

  “Thank you,” Rowan whispered.

  His hand lifted and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles seemed to linger against her cheek, but that might have been her imagination. He backed a step away. “I’ll lock up,” he said, low and gentle, then turned and went downstairs.

  Rowan stood where she was until the lights downstairs went out and she heard the click of the back door. She was so tired she was swaying on her feet. It was hard to make herself turn out the hall light, too, and go into her bedroom. She stripped off her clothes and bothered with the T-shirt she wore as a nightgown only because she would probably have to get up again with Anna.

  Sleep pulled her down. Just before she fell into it, she thought how lucky her grandmother had been to find Niall. How lucky she was.

  Yes, but he didn’t want to be with us tonight.

  What a strange thought. He’d been wonderful. And yet…something told her that the whole while, a part of him had strained to escape.

  He was really a stranger, so it shouldn’t hurt to know that he’d helped because he felt he had to, not because of any tender feelings for her or the kids. Shouldn’t hurt? Didn’t. Of course it didn’t hurt, she told herself, and fell into the thick velvet darkness of sleep.

  ROWAN STOOD AT THE KITCHEN sink, her hands in soapy water, and watched her son through the window. She hadn’t noticed in time to stop him from knocking on Niall’s door. She’d first spotted him standing there staring at it as if it would surely open any minute. Sam was at his side, Desmond’s hand gripping the dog’s ruff. For once, Sam’s tail wasn’t wagging. She saw the minute Des gave up; his shoulders slumped, his head bowed and he turned away, disconsolate.

  Rage rose in her, almost choking her. How could Niall do this to a little boy? He’d systematically avoided them since that night. Three days now, and he had managed to come and go when none of them were outside. He didn’t answer knocks on his door, even though Rowan knew he was home. He was letting them know, bluntly and cruelly, that he had no intention of getting sucked into their lives.

  If it was only her, she wouldn’t have minded. Anna, she thought, had been getting attached, but she was less aware of his rejection. Desmond, though, had latched on to him with all of a little boy’s need, and now Niall was knowingly hurting him.

  What she wished she could do was find an excuse to evict the jerk. Maybe she could find a genuinely nice man to live in her small rental. No, not a man; a woman. She wouldn’t set Des up for this again. She ached, watching him walk so slowly back across the lawn, scuffing his feet, never once raising his head. She hoped Niall was watching, too. She hoped he felt guilty.

  Rowan snorted. Who was she kidding? If he was capable of guilt, he’d be letting Desmond down gently instead of cutting him off, whack, sorry, don’t want to see you, kid.

  Drying her hands, she went to the back door and opened it. “Hey,” she said, “I was thinking about baking cookies. You want to help?”

  “Not really.” He sat on the bottom step. “Sam and me want to stay out here. That’s okay, isn’t it, Mom?”

  No, she wanted to say. No, it isn’t, not if you’re going to stare at Niall’s house and wait for something that isn’t going to happen. But how could she?

  “Maybe Zeke would like to come over,” she suggested.

  He shook his head. “He has swimming lessons today.”

  Now she felt a pang of guilt. She’d meant to sign Desmond up, too, but what with moving and starting work on the house, it had slipped her mind. “I’ll bet I could get you in for the last session,” she said. “I’ll find out when it starts.”

  “Can Anna take lessons, too?”

  “The doctors don’t recommend she get water in her ears. You know how I put plugs in her ears even in the bathtub.”

  “Zeke says he’s doing real good. He swam all the way across the pool.” Desmond sounded impressed.

  “You already know how to put your face in and float and kick. You’ll be swimming across the pool, too, before you know it.”

  “But I’ll be in Beginners, won’t I? Zeke says he’s gonna be in Advanced Beginners next time.”

  Lousy mother alert. Her shoulders sagged, too. Maybe Donna and Glenn were right. Maybe she wasn’t a good mother.

  “I can swim,” she said. “What if we go to public swim sessions and I teach you? Maybe you could catch up before the next session of lessons starts.”

  His face brightened even as she was thinking, Wait! What do I do with Anna? She should have thought before she opened her mouth. But Anna’s grandparents would be thrilled to have her. It could be a sort of…consolation for them. A chance to spend time with one of their grandkids, while Rowan had a good excuse for not leaving Desmond with them. Yes. That might work.

  “Really?”

  She smiled at her son. “Really.”

  “That would be cool,” he decided. “I bet I can learn real fast.”

  “I bet you can, too.”

  “Do you think Niall knows how to swim?”

  She aimed one brief laser-sharp glare at the cottage, wishing it could pass through walls and impale her tenant. “Who knows?” she said lightly. “He’s just a guy who was renting from Gran, Des. I know he was nice to you, but he must be really busy. We were lucky he could help us out the other night, but let’s not count on him, okay?”

  The animation left her son’s face. After a moment he bowed his head again. “I thought he liked me.”

  She hesitated. “I’m sure he does, but…”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “I’ve got Super Sam. And I like living here better than Grandma and Grandpa’s.”

  “Good.” Rowan hugged him. “You sure you don’t want to help with those cookies?”

  For a moment she thought he was going to refuse again, but finally he shrugged and climbed to his feet. “I guess I might as well.”

  He trudged into the house after her, and right at that moment she hated Niall MacLachlan with all the passion in her heart.

  HE’D MISSED HIS LITTLE hobby.

  The man moved soundlessly across the lawn, loving the cloak of darkness. It had been over a year since he’d done this. He had to worry about being caught, even though he never had been. Still, he would indulge himself for a while, for a few weeks or months, then quit again before the police got involved. He could find what he needed on his computer. There was plenty available online to satisfy his craving.

  Lately, though, he’d found himself noticing who lived where. His excitement had sharpened, even before he’d made a conscious decision to start again.

  Really he should wait until fall, when darkness came earlier. He’d noticed, though, that parents were letting their children stay up much later these days, perhaps because it was summer. Nine or ten o’clock, and there were still games of tag going on in the street. What were those parents thinking? Anything could happen to their children, out in the dark.

  Of course, he wouldn’t hurt them. He only allowed himself to look. Looking was enough.

  This rambler didn’t even have a fence, which meant no dog, either. Dogs were a nuisance, although fortunately their families often took them in at night. He moved quietly along the side of the house, staying out of the light cast through the kitchen window. The next window was dark; dining room, he thought. The one after that was dark, too; master bedroom, he hoped.

  The two smaller windows were bathrooms. He heard water running, muffled voices. It was the next window that interested him. A light was on in the room; somebody had already pulled the curtains, which were blue cotton with spaceships rocketing between bright golden stars. The hand that had pulled them was careless, though. There was a crack on one side, enough for him to see
into a little boy’s bedroom.

  To get close, he had to step into the flower bed, which he didn’t like. He’d have to remember to scuff the dirt before he left, so no obvious footprints remained. The thorny cane of a rosebush snagged his pants, and he stifled a curse. But the boy was alone in the room, taking his pajamas from beneath his pillow. He was old enough to get undressed and dressed himself.

  This close to the window, the man heard the mother call, “Chad? Did you brush your teeth?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute to tuck you in.”

  The boy took off his shirt and dropped it in an open hamper. His back to the man, he kicked off his sneakers, pulled off his socks and then his jeans and briefs. Filled with intense pleasure and the sharp arrow of anticipation—turn around, turn around—the man unzipped his pants. So quietly. He loved knowing he was invisible out here.

  He reached down to touch himself.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NIALL HAD HEARD THE VEHICLE pull into the driveway—he was always aware of things like that, even when it likely had nothing to do with him. SUV or pickup, he had decided, from the deep sound of the engine. He was mildly surprised when, a minute later, someone knocked on his door.

  He was less surprised to find his brother on his doorstep. They occasionally dropped by each other’s homes. That had been the sum total of their relationship outside of work, until a little over a year ago when Duncan met Jane, who insisted on inviting Niall to dinner and suchlike. He’d been Duncan’s best man at the wedding, too, an odd experience.

  Am I his best friend? he had wondered. If I were getting married, who would I ask to stand beside me?

  The answer had disturbed him. Duncan, of course. But sometime in the past year he’d settled into the realization that he loved his big brother, who probably loved him, too. The fact that they weren’t very good at showing how they felt didn’t mean the emotion wasn’t there.

  “Hey,” he said now. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” Duncan followed him in then looked around with the exact same, faintly appalled expression he had every time he came there. It said, How the hell can you live in a shoebox?

  The main room of the cottage had a kitchenette, table with two chairs, sofa, one bookcase and a stand with a TV and DVD player. Not much floor space left over. It was as if the place had been designed for child-size furniture, although that wasn’t the case. Enid had told Niall that her husband had decided they needed a rental, and had built the cottage with that in mind. He hadn’t wanted to give up too much yard, though; apparently he’d had a big vegetable garden. Niall didn’t mind the close quarters, but obviously Duncan did. His visit would be short. It wouldn’t take long before he’d start looking uneasy, possibly claustrophobic, and would depart as abruptly as he’d arrived.

  Niall poured coffee and carried the mugs to the table.

  “Thank God,” his brother said, seizing one.

  Niall stared at him.

  “It’s Jane. Now that she’s pregnant, she can’t stand the smell of coffee. She’s sick to her stomach,” he said gloomily.

  “Morning sickness.”

  “And midday, afternoon and evening sickness.” He grimaced. “Apparently that isn’t uncommon, and it’ll pass in maybe another month.”

  Niall grinned. “Curtailed your sex life, has it?”

  Duncan mumbled something that might have been, “Killed it.”

  He decided not to torment his big brother. They talked about work; Niall had been cleared to go back at the beginning of the week and had taken up the reins again with relief. Duncan wanted to know if he was bothered any by the shooting, and he shrugged. Duncan raised his brows.

  “No more than you’d expect,” Niall said finally.

  “I’ve never shot anyone.”

  “I expected a few nightmares,” he admitted. “Like last time.”

  His brother nodded; they’d talked some, after Niall had killed the crazy who had been stalking Jane and had had a knife to her throat.

  “Seeing that little girl and thinking she’d been killed…” He cleared his throat.

  “Not your fault.”

  “Sure it was,” Niall said sharply. “It was my job to control the situation.”

  “And you did. There’s not a person who looked at what happened who didn’t think you did everything possible.”

  He only shrugged again.

  After a minute Duncan got up and poured himself a second cup of coffee. “How’s it working with the new landlady?” he asked, letting the subject of the shooting go.

  Would he understand why Niall had spent the past week hiding inside the house, sneaking in and out when he had to go somewhere?

  Maybe not. Niall wasn’t even sure if he understood.

  “I’m thinking of looking for another place,” he said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the classifieds.”

  “Why?”

  Why? Because I’m attracted to a woman who has two kids and would be insulted by the idea of recreational sex. Because it’s killing me, seeing the expression on the boy’s face every time he looks this way. Because I feel a whole mess of things I don’t understand.

  Yeah, that about summed it up.

  “They’re noisy,” he said. “One of the kids keeps knocking on my door. Because I haven’t played the bagpipe in weeks.”

  Usually his brother would have been getting restless by now. This evening, he wasn’t. He sat there, relaxed, his eyes steady and penetrating. Déjà vu. When Niall was a kid and Duncan sensed he had a problem, he would look at him that way, too. He didn’t ask a lot of questions, only waited. A tactic that usually worked.

  Not this time, Niall thought grimly. He wasn’t ready to admit to anyone, even his brother, that he’d been behaving like a shit because he was scared. Of something.

  After a long time, Duncan nodded. “She said hi when I crossed the yard.” He paused. “Pretty little thing.”

  “Cute kids, too. The little girl…” He stopped himself.

  “The little girl?”

  “She’s having trouble with ear infections.” That wasn’t what he’d been about to say, but it would do. “Engine Company 12 could tie her to the hood when they go out on a call.”

  Duncan flashed one of his rare and therefore startling grins. “See what I have to look forward to?”

  Jolted, Niall said, “You of all people.”

  Duncan’s smile died. “Of all people?”

  Oh, hell. He hadn’t meant it that way. His most distant memories of Duncan were good ones. Niall had trailed his big brother as only a determined and devoted four- and five- and six-year-old could, and Duncan had been patient and kind. Increasingly, Niall had trouble remembering either of his parents with any clarity, but Duncan, who had always been there, stayed crystal clear.

  “Never pictured you as the kissing-babies type,” he said. “That’s all.”

  His brother shrugged. His face was never very expressive, but for a moment Niall would have sworn he saw sadness there, and that stung because he was responsible for it.

  “You heard from Conall?”

  He always asked. Niall shook his head. “Not for…” He had to think. “Three or four months.”

  “They’d let us know if he went down.”

  In the line of duty, Duncan meant. The youngest MacLachlan brother worked for the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. It sounded as if he was undercover as often as not. He seemed to get off on risk and had a gift for losing himself in another identity. Not for the first time, Niall reflected on the fact that, while all three of them had become cops of one kind or another, the MacLachlan boys had had three entirely different motives. Power, for Duncan—control. For Conall, a need to live on the ed
ge. And for Niall…that one was a little harder to define. Neither of the above, was all he could say for sure. Lately it had occurred to him that he didn’t know himself nearly as well as he’d believed.

  “Yeah, we’d be informed. You know Conall isn’t good at staying in touch.”

  Duncan gave a short, humorless laugh, which Niall understood. Con had resented their big brother with a passion Niall hadn’t altogether understood. He hadn’t spoken to Duncan since he’d graduated from college. Once upon a time, Niall had figured Duncan didn’t much care. Now he knew better.

  After a moment, Duncan rapped his knuckles on the table, stood and took his mug to the sink where he rinsed it out. “I’m off,” he said.

  Niall surprised himself by saying, “You and Jane okay? I mean…together?”

  “Sure we are.” Duncan’s hard face relaxed into a smile. “She had a difficult childhood, you know.”

  Niall nodded. She hadn’t said a lot, but some.

  “We should be an accident waiting to happen, but it’s not like that. She makes me happy. I make her happy. Sometimes we fight, but it’s okay.” He hesitated, his gray eyes holding Niall’s, as if he wanted to be sure he was listening. “Don’t shut yourself off,” he said finally.

  Niall snorted. “Have you been possessed by Dr. Phil? Oprah?”

  His brother smiled again, clapped him on the shoulder, then left.

  Niall hesitated at the open door before stepping out on the porch. It was evening, dusk; the kids would long since have gone to bed. A burst of activity suggested that Sam was accompanying Duncan to the gate. Duncan talked to the dog as he let himself out. Something made Niall stay where he was. He could pet Sam, couldn’t he?

  But his gaze was drawn to the house, and he saw that Rowan sat on her back steps. Soaking in the quiet and peace, maybe. She was often out there in the evening, usually on the glider. He couldn’t tell if she was looking his way, although she had to know he was out there.

  He hesitated, then started across the yard. Super Sam galloped to him, circled him joyously a couple of times then raced ahead to his mistress.