The attorney, one Elliott Bateson of Bateson, Young and Voight, was writing to inform her that Glenn and Donna Staley intended to sue for custody of their grandchildren, Anna and Desmond Staley, on the grounds that Rowan was unfit to raise said children.
She heard the roar of Niall’s Harley turning into the driveway, the cough as he turned off the engine. Eventually there was a knock on the back door. Rowan had no idea if she said, “Come in,” or not. What she did know was that he walked into the kitchen, saw her face and removed the letter from her shaking hand so that he could read it.
HE’D NEVER FELT ANYTHING like the fury that overtook him as he read the chilly legalese. He dropped the letter and squatted to bring himself to Rowan’s level. Her face was white with shock, her eyes huge and dilated. Her hands, when he took them in his, were icy.
He squeezed them. “Rowan. Listen to me.” He sensed the huge effort it took her to focus on his face. “They don’t have a leg to stand on. You’re a great mother. You don’t do drugs, you don’t drink booze, you don’t leave the kids alone. You own your own home, you have a job. They’re being spiteful. That’s all. You know that, don’t you?”
Her teeth chattered.
He muttered a curse. “What are you drinking?” He lifted it and took a sample taste, then dumped a couple of teaspoonfuls of sugar in from the bowl on the table and pressed the mug into her hand. “You need sugar.”
She drank so clumsily, tea dripped from her chin when he took the mug away.
“Talk to me.”
“I’m scared.”
“This is nothing but a threat,” he told her. His hands had come to be holding both of hers, warming them. “What I don’t understand is why they’re making it.”
“I don’t, either,” she whispered. “I—I knew their feelings were hurt that I took the kids and moved out. But surely they didn’t expect us to stay forever!”
“It seems they did.” Disturbed by her shock, he rose from his crouch and pulled one of the chairs close so that he could sit more comfortably and keep holding her hands. Time to fill in the background. “I take it your husband was an only child?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “Well, there was a cousin of Drew’s that lived with them for a few years. Donna’s sister’s boy, I think. His mother had some kind of problem, but she came and took him away when he was, I don’t know, seven or eight. Drew said his parents were upset.”
Niall nodded. “Okay, that might be part of what’s behind this.”
She was still remembering. “Drew said he never saw his cousin again, so it was worse than just having him go back to live with his own mother. Maybe she hadn’t wanted Donna and Glenn to have him in the first place? I don’t know.”
It might be ancient history, the details irrelevant at this point, but Niall found the story bothered him. “What about your husband’s relationship with them?” he asked.
Rowan let out a long breath that seemed to take some of her rigidity with it. Her face had more color now.
“I never understood it,” she admitted. “There was this weird push-pull. You know? It was like he hated them and loved them both. I swear through our entire marriage we never had a week that we didn’t get together with them at least twice, but Drew also never seemed happy when we were with them. I suspect he wanted approval he never got. You know them. I don’t think they’re capable of approving wholeheartedly of anyone or anything.”
“So he kept working to please them.”
She looked at him. “I suppose that was it. I’m ashamed now that I didn’t give more thought to it. They mattered to him, so I didn’t let myself resent his dependence on them. But I wish… Oh, I wish I’d never let them talk me into moving in with them.” She swallowed convulsively. “If I hadn’t been so desperate…”
“They could have helped you financially without insisting you be under their control,” Niall said harshly.
“That’s what they did, isn’t it?”
He hated the expression on her face. He could tell she was judging herself instead of her disagreeable in-laws. I should have seen, she was thinking. I should have found another way. How could I have been so stupid?
“But this…” she said finally, helplessly.
“Pretty much guarantees you’ll sever the relationship they did have with their grandchildren. Why would they do that?”
“Because it’s not a threat. They intend to carry it out and they think they’ll win.” Her breathing became ragged again. “I don’t understand.”
His eyes narrowed. “Have they criticized anything in particular recently?”
She half laughed. “That’s all they do. Specifically, they’re horrified about my plan to put Anna in preschool. And any suggestion Desmond might go to after-school care days I’m running late.”
“In other words, you’re keeping the kids away from them.” When she nodded, he asked, “Anything else?”
Her eyes widened, her pupils fluctuating in size. Color came and went in her cheeks.
“Rowan?”
“You.” Her voice was small, scratchy. “They didn’t like it when you took Desmond swimming that one evening when they wanted to take him home with them. And…and Glenn said…”
His fury rose again in a hot tide. “He implied we have something going.”
“Yes.” Rowan closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering herself. “He said you were ‘that man I have living with me’.”
“You told him I’m not.”
“Of course I did.”
He had to say this even though everything in him revolted. “Would it be better for you if I move out?”
Her gaze flew to his face. “No! No. You’re…you’re good for the kids. You pay the rent. You came running when Des screamed. You held my hand when Anna had surgery. You’ve been…” She hesitated over this. “A friend. I won’t let them isolate me. I’m entitled to friends.”
“But they’ve guessed it’s more than that, haven’t they?” he said softly.
“What?” Rowan formed the word almost soundlessly.
He shouldn’t have let the prick of irritation he felt at being labeled a friend make him say something he hadn’t meant to. But it was still there, and it stung.
“Am I really nothing but a friend?”
She stared at him, her eyes stunned and wary both. But pretty, too, that warm, melting brown.
“Am I?”
“Mommy?” Des called from the living room.
Niall jerked. He’d heard the television and known the kids were there, but in his worry for Rowan had blocked their presence from his mind.
She muffled her moan, but Niall heard it. “You’re in no shape to be Mommy.”
Her chin came up. “I’m always Mommy.”
Yeah, but she looked like hell. A frown gathered on his forehead. It wasn’t only the shock of this letter, he suddenly realized. “Do you have one of your headaches?”
She sagged. “Yes.”
“Mo-om?” came a louder yell.
“Just a minute,” she called back.
“Is there anyplace they can go for the evening?” Niall asked. “Or, better yet, to spend the night?”
He expected her to argue. The fact that she didn’t told him how distraught she was. Worse come to worst, he’d stay himself, give her some time out. But he thought she needed more than that; she wouldn’t completely relax if her kids were in demanding distance. And he and she needed to talk.
“I— Zeke’s invited Des before. He has a little sister, too. We were just over there, but I’ll bet if I asked…”
“Do it,” he said. “I’ll distract them.”
He went to the living room and learned that their movie had ended and they wanted to know if they could put anoth
er one in. He talked to them for a few minutes, and then Rowan appeared.
“Hey. Jillian called to ask both of you to spend the night. Zeke and Elena are really excited.”
It took some persuading. Anna thought she might get scared. Rowan promised she’d come get her if she did. She explained that she had one of her headaches and needed to lie down.
In the end, she pulled herself together enough to help them pack but let Niall walk them over to the neighbor’s house.
He went back to Rowan’s to find she was right where he’d found her last time. She’d sunk down at the kitchen table again as if her legs couldn’t hold her. Her face was wan, her eyes glassy.
“Do you have prescription stuff for your headaches?” he asked. “Have you taken it?”
“Of course I have.” There was only the smallest spark of indignation.
“All right,” he said. “Here’s the plan. You’re coming home with me. I’ll cook dinner while you relax.”
“The kids…”
“I gave Jillian my number.”
Rowan looked at him, and he had the uncomfortable feeling she was seeing deeper than he wanted. “Are you sure?” she said, and he knew that wasn’t all she was asking.
Am I sure?
Hell, no! His chest felt crowded, as if his heart or his lungs had become too big for his rib cage. But he’d gotten himself into this. What could he say?
“I’m sure.”
After a moment she gave a tiny nod.
He escorted her across the yard. Ridiculous, when he was renting the cottage from her, for it to feel so momentous that she stepped inside. Had she ever been in here?
“Yes, once between tenants,” she told him when he asked. “The only furniture was the table and chairs.”
“I don’t have a lot, but I don’t need much for this place.” He steered her to the leather sofa. “Sit. Lie down, if you’d feel better.”
She demurred at that. He had one of those socks stuffed with rice or beans or something that could be heated in the microwave and used to soothe sore muscles. He warmed it and draped it around her neck. She sat back with a sigh, her eyes drifting closed.
Niall stood above her, looking in a way he rarely had the opportunity. For one, she was almost always in motion. Talking to one of her kids, holding one, laughing, cooking, gesturing. At night, when they did their best talking, it was always in near-darkness. Mostly he liked that; both of them, probably, felt freer when they didn’t have to read expressions and could concentrate on the subtleties of tone. There had been times, though, when he’d deeply regretted not being able to see her.
At the moment, no one would have called her pretty. Not with her face so pinched. Maybe she hadn’t slept well last night, maybe it was the migraine, maybe distress only, but something had given her shadows as dark as bruises beneath her eyes. Her lashes, fanned on the bruise-purple skin, were long but not dark; he hadn’t seen her yet bother with makeup. She looked so damned vulnerable right now, with her eyes closed and the tracery of blue veins on her lids, her face utterly still.
Then she sighed, and her breasts rose and fell, and even though he noticed, he wasn’t stirred to lust. He was stirred to alarm. He had her to himself. He should be imagining that she’d share his bed tonight.
And maybe he was, but what he seemed to care about right now was making her feel better. Taking away the hurt and the fear.
He almost groaned. Instead, he backed away, took a last look at her face and went to the kitchen.
She was asleep by the time he had the curry chicken in the oven. She lay on her side, her head on a throw pillow, her knees drawn up, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other curled neatly to her chest. She didn’t abandon herself in sleep, lose inhibitions to sprawl. Instead, she looked sweet and young, not like a woman he should want as a lover.
There was no excuse whatsoever for the slam of desire that froze him in place. Why now? No answer, but he couldn’t have moved if someone was kicking down the front door. He stared, and he ached.
The curve of her cheek, the way her lips were softly parted. Her throat. Her position plumped her breasts, emphasized a tiny waist and delicious curve of hip. If he’d been sleeping with her, he’d have been spooned behind her. His groin pressing against her lovely, firm, perfectly rounded bottom. He could wake her by nuzzling aside her hair and nibbling at her nape. Fill his hand with her breast. Enter her from behind.
He jerked, so powerful was the image.
She needed to sleep. Her face was the most relaxed it had been since he’d walked into her kitchen and seen terror so stark he’d gone on battle alert.
This is why you brought her here. Not for sex.
However desperately he wanted sex.
The muscles in his body gradually unclenched. He scrubbed a rough hand over his face, feeling dazed. At last he sank down onto the one easy chair in the room. Where he could watch her sleep, the hunger in him alive and well however hard he tried to repress it.
ROWAN WOKE DISORIENTED, then embarrassed. Niall had gently shaken her into consciousness.
“Head better?” he asked, smiling
“Yes. Thank goodness,” she said, surprised to realize it was.
“Go splash some water on your face. I’m dishing up dinner.”
She escaped to his bathroom, which was as clean and neat as the rest of the cottage. She was horrified by her own face staring back at her from the mirror, pallid, with awful bluish circles under her eyes. Her hair was stringy, her lips colorless.
“Ugh,” she muttered. After following his advice and drying her face on one of the thick, dark brown towels that hung on the rack, she slid open the top drawer of the vanity and was relieved to find a comb. Fortunately her hair wasn’t tangled; it was too fine to really tangle. She combed it and put it back into a tidy ponytail. The end result wasn’t anything to brag about, but at least she looked less pathetic.
Dinner smelled amazing and she was starved. Her headache had already been coming on that morning, and it was invariably accompanied by queasiness. She’d had tea and one piece of toast for breakfast, and only picked at lunch. Niall dished up hefty portions for her and watched in seeming satisfaction as she ate.
“Mmm. It’s so good to have something the kids would hate,” she declared, then blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
He laughed. “I made something I figured wouldn’t appeal to them. You must get tired of spaghetti, macaroni and cheese, hamburgers…”
“Hot dogs, pizza, ham and mashed potatoes.” That pretty much summed up her weekly rotation of meals. She did make a couple of casseroles the kids liked only because they’d been eating them their entire lives. “This was nice of you, Niall. Thank you.”
He studied her. “You’ve got some color in your face.”
She set down her fork. “I’ve only been that shocked a few times in my life.”
“Did some officers bring you the news about your husband?”
Rowan nodded. “Yes. That was one of the times. And I know this sounds dumb, but I was really blown away when my mother called to tell me she and Dad were separating. That he’d asked for a divorce. I mean, I’m an adult. It’s not like when you’re a little kid and the idea of your parents separating is unthinkable. When it erodes your sense of security.” She remembered belatedly that having his mother walk out on her family the way she had must have done exactly that to him. “I’m sorry. Compared to what you went through…”
Niall took his head. “Maybe we’re always little kids where our parents are concerned. I have this recurring fear—or maybe it’s a fantasy, I don’t know—that one of these days I’ll be playing the bagpipe at something like the Highland Games and my dad will be there. Right there in front of me. When I imagine it, I feel like a kid. Confused, not knowi
ng if I hate him or love him.” He shrugged.
His understanding freed her. “It was only a few weeks before Drew was killed. I needed Mom and Dad but they weren’t there anymore. Or maybe they would have been if I asked, but I was angry at them, too, so I didn’t.” Rowan grimaced. “Donna and Glenn seemed so…solid. There for me and the kids. I was so grateful.”
He was watching her again, his eyes perceptive. “Do you have an attorney?”
Rowan shook her head. “We had one who did our wills, but I wasn’t that crazy about him.” She looked at him with sudden hope. “Can you recommend someone?”
“Yeah, actually. A woman named Elizabeth Foster. I’ve seen her a couple of times in family court, heard good things.”
“Thank you.”
His face was abruptly impassive. “If she thinks I should, I’ll move out.”
“No,” she said again. She was certain about this. She didn’t like the way he kept pulling back, but when she or one of the kids had most needed him, he’d been there, more than anyone in her life ever had. And it was wrong to suggest that she wasn’t a good mother because she’d become friends with the tenant of property she owned.
“We’ll see.”
Rowan glared at him. “Don’t you dare.”
He smiled. “Stubborn woman.”
She didn’t think of herself that way, but she supposed she could be. Certainly in defense of her children. Of the people she loved.
Heavens. She might as well have touched a bare, sizzling electrical wire. The shock ran through her.
I’ve fallen in love with him.
What a fool! Rowan didn’t kid herself that he felt the same. That he’d let himself feel the same. The habit of guarding himself was too entrenched.
It was one too many shocks in a day. Rowan gathered herself. “Thank you for all of this, Niall. I think I’ll go home now.”
His eyes riveted her. “Don’t. Stay, Rowan.”
“Stay?” she whispered. Did he mean…?
“For now.” His voice was thick. “Don’t go yet.”
From Father to Son Page 17
