Leader of the Pack (The Dogfather Book 3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Weddings and engagements and little children at the table,” she said in a singsong voice, her bottle-green eyes sparkling and white-haired head bobbing side to side.

  “Uh, yeah.” He threw a look at Dad, who seemed impatient to get back to his office at the opposite side of the house.

  Liam followed, and on the way, they passed Dad’s setter, Rusty, who was curled under the dining room table as if he was staking out his place before they all sat down to eat. But Dad turned at the wide staircase and headed up to the second floor, and instantly, Rusty got up and followed as if he sniffed something more important going on.

  Which it very well might be.

  “So, what’s up, Dad?” Liam couldn’t remember the last time he’d been upstairs in this house. He’d long ago given up his childhood bedroom as a guest room, and with his own house situated between here and town, he had no other reason to visit the sprawling second-story where all the Kilcannons had slept as kids.

  “Come into my room.” Dad walked down the hall to the double doors at the end, heading into a master suite his parents had added above the family room a short time after Liam had joined the Marines. He honestly couldn’t remember being in this room more than five times in his life.

  He knew that it had been his parents’ sanctuary and off-limits without an invitation. After Mom died, he doubted anyone went in here except Crystal to clean.

  “Come on in,” Dad said, gesturing Liam farther into a room that was surprisingly cozy and comforting. Liam braced himself for something that might hit a memory nerve, like the soft powdery smell he associated with his mother, or a picture capturing a moment of happiness.

  He doubted the room had changed much in the way of décor since she died, but it somehow now had a distinctly masculine feel to it. Across from a king-size four-poster was a wood-burning fireplace and a small seating area around a coffee table. The newspaper was folded on that table, and Dad’s slippers were under a chair. It was a lived-in room, relaxed, and still someone’s sanctuary.

  Rusty jumped up on the sofa and got into a spot Liam suspected he’d long ago claimed as his, and Dad gestured for Liam to take the chair.

  But he didn’t, shaking his head. “What is going on?” he asked, anxious to get back to Christian and not at all interested in some discussion about a new trainer because he needed backup. He didn’t need—

  “I want to give you something. In private.”

  Curious, Liam stayed silent, spinning through possibilities as his father walked to a mahogany-toned dresser and opened the top drawer. He reached in and took something out that was so small, Liam couldn’t tell what it was.

  “Sit down, Son,” his father said with that slight edge of authority Liam knew so well. “You’re going to want to for this.”

  This time, he followed the order, barely perching on the edge of a chair and glancing at Rusty as if maybe he knew the mystery to be solved. Dad turned around slowly, his gaze on whatever was in his hand. When he looked up at Liam, his eyes were misted over.

  “Dad.” He started to stand, but his father held out a hand to stop him.

  “I gave this a lot of thought,” he said slowly. “I think, of all the kids, she’d want you to have this. I thought maybe Molly, but no, this is right. Especially since you’re getting married in this house, just like we did, when we were expecting you.”

  And then he knew exactly what Dad was holding.

  Taking a few steps closer, Dad finally sat down next to Rusty and held out his hand, palm up, showing Liam the simple diamond ring.

  But Liam didn’t need to look at it. He’d seen it a thousand times on his mother’s long, lean fingers—a square diamond set in gold, a humble engagement ring that rested next to a wedding band that he knew she’d worn to the grave. Dad had kept this ring, though, one that was perfect for a woman who put everyone else before herself.

  Liam swallowed, knowing full well where this train was headed and wanting like hell to jump the tracks. But nearly forty years as Daniel Kilcannon’s firstborn son taught Liam to not say a word until his father said his piece. Then he’d tell him how wrong this idea was.

  “When I gave this to your mother, we were half the age you are now, Son. And you were already growing in her belly.” He looked down at the ring, taking it between his thumb and index finger. “And, good Lord, were we terrified, kind of like you are now.”

  He wasn’t terrified at all. Except about the end. Still, Liam didn’t argue.

  “I was headed to vet school, she was in college, and you were…” He chuckled softly. “Well, that was before we discovered that all I had to do was walk past Annie’s underwear drawer and she’d get pregnant.” He thought for a moment as the smile faded, then looked up. “What I’m trying to say is our marriage wasn’t planned, either.”

  This isn’t a marriage. But he stared at Dad, silent.

  “And it took place right at the bottom of those big stairs, like yours will. Surrounded by people who might doubt it will last, but hope for the best.”

  That did it. “C’mon, Dad,” Liam interjected gruffly. “This isn’t ever going to be the marriage yours and Mom’s was, okay? I’m not taking that ring. I’m not giving it to Andi, and we’re not going to sit here and pretend what we’re doing is anything other than a way to protect Christian and help Andi.” He pushed up. “End of—”

  “Sit down.”

  Of course, he did. Slowly, and only because his father deserved utter and total respect, not because he was going to participate in this sham.

  “I know you don’t think this marriage has a snowball’s chance of being real.”

  “That’s where you’d be wrong,” Liam said.

  His father started to respond as if Liam hadn’t spoken, then stopped. “I would?” The hope in his voice was just this side of heartbreaking.

  “If it were up to me, it would be,” Liam said simply. “I would have married her three years ago, or at least tried to get us to that point.”

  It was Dad’s turn to stare, then nod slowly. “I suspected that.”

  “Considering this is me we’re talking about, it’s surprising to know I did a pretty crappy job of hiding my feelings. Usually my strong suit.”

  “You don’t hide your feelings, Liam. I could read them from the day you were born. You don’t vomit them out and expect the world to care. Big difference.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, well, maybe I should have told her when I had the chance, but it’s too late now. She’s dead set against this, wants Christian to be the only focus of her life, and would like us to be as superficial as possible.”

  “Exactly like your mother.”

  Liam snorted. “Dad, nothing about this relationship, if I can even call it that, is like you and Mom. How can I make you understand that? Believe me, I wish it was. All I’ve ever wanted when it comes to women was to replicate that. You set the bar so damn high, no one can reach it, despite your meddling and pushing.”

  He hinted at a smile. “The whole family’s meddling and pushing on this one.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Son, listen to me.” He leaned forward, planted his elbows on his knees, and pinned his blue gaze on Liam. “Your mother did not want to marry me.”

  Liam almost laughed, the statement was so ridiculous.

  “She, too, was dead set against it and only agreed to walk down those stairs because we conceived you and it was 1977 and marriage was the only viable option in our world. Like Andi with Christian, you were the focus of your mother’s life, even before you were born. Like Andi, she knew marrying me was a way to protect her child. And if by ‘superficial,’ you mean she’d like to keep it physical and not emotional?” He angled his head. “Another similarity. In fact, I’m pretty sure Mom was in it for the sex at first.”

  Liam’s jaw unhinged.

  “Every time the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever played, well…” He laughed. “You might have been conceived to the Bee Gees.”

 
; Liam dropped his head in his hands, not sure whether to laugh or cry at a revelation he could have lived his whole life without knowing.

  “Liam. Look at me.”

  When he did, his father stood up, walked to him, then crouched to get eye to eye, much like Liam did with Christian when he really wanted to make a point. He held out the ring, offering it to Liam.

  “I gave this to her a few days before we were married, one night on the back porch of this house. She got teary and told me that this wasn’t the way she’d always dreamed of getting married. Pregnant, poor, having to move in with Gramma and Grandpa, and her parents wouldn’t even come because they were so mad at her.”

  Liam searched his dad’s face, familiar with the story, but seeing it in a completely different light. “What changed her mind?” he asked.

  “Time. Love. Patience. Some inside jokes and plenty of time in bed together. By the time you came along, we were us. Daniel and Annie. Mom and Dad. The thing…”

  “The thing I’ve always wanted.” Liam’s admission came out rough. “But I never told anyone, especially not Andi, because wanting that seems…”

  “Weak?” Dad suggested.

  He nodded slowly. “Exactly. Aren’t we men supposed to be, I don’t know, above that kind of longing?”

  “Well, that’s where you’d be wrong, Son. Wanting that, building that, making a love that lasts a lifetime takes the strongest man you can possibly be. There’s nothing weak about that kind of man or that kind of marriage. Nothing at all.”

  Liam’s chest ached with a pressure he didn’t understand, like someone was squeezing his heart and trying to get out every drop of whatever was in it. He looked down at the ring, a tiny little thing without any of the glitz or glamour of the ones his brothers had given their fiancées.

  But this ring had resided for thirty-six years on the finger of a woman who understood the power of love and family. A woman who might not have wanted it at first, but wore it like it was the Hope Diamond.

  And, in a way, it was.

  “I guess she should have a ring if people are going to believe this.”

  Dad’s mouth curled up in a wry smile. “That’s one reason to take it.”

  Liam looked at him. “And maybe it will fit so well, she’ll keep it.”

  “That’s another.”

  Liam closed his eyes, took the ring, and stood, slipping it into his pocket.

  “I thought you might give it to her at dinner, in front of everyone,” Dad said as he pushed himself up.

  “Oh, really? You thought wrong. I’ll do it my way.” He put a hand on his father’s shoulder, always amazed at how sturdy and strong he was. Inside and out. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Hey, thank you for not accusing me of being the Dogfather by pulling strings and trying to make you do things because I think they’re best for you.”

  Liam smiled. “Oh, you are. It’s just that sometimes you’re right.”

  At least, he hoped so.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Andi looked from one beautiful face to the next, that feeling of being pulled into the vortex of a rogue wave of Kilcannons threatening again. But it was different this evening, up here on the third floor that was probably designed as an attic but had been revamped into a small suite for Gramma Finnie.

  The ceilings were low, not that it mattered for the tiny woman. The décor was vintage chic with a distinctively genuine feel to it. The windows were covered with lace, the hardwood floors with braided rugs and a few dog beds. The only thing that wasn’t classic grandmother’s cottage was the corner desk that held an open laptop, a hand-painted sign that said, Life is short, blog unconditionally, and a framed newspaper article with the headline Local Grandmother Writes One of North Carolina’s Top Ten Blogs.

  But there was no chance to ask Gramma Finnie about her writing, because the entourage had taken Andi into a sitting room, planted her in the middle of a settee as old as the woman who owned it, put champagne in her hand, and circled her.

  So no, this wasn’t the tsunami she’d first felt in this house. This was more like a lifeboat of ladies determined to keep her afloat.

  The youngest one, Molly’s daughter, Prudence, sat right down on the floor at Andi’s feet and opened a large notebook. “I’m in charge of the customs and requirements, and my research tells me that old, new, borrowed, and blue is the most important of all, followed by the throwing of the bouquet.”

  Andi stared at her, not even sure how to respond to that, except that the social niceties of a wedding were the last thing on her mind.

  “Don’t worry about Pru knowing the truth,” Molly said quickly, obviously misreading Andi’s expression. “She’s a hundred percent trustworthy, and we need her to keep us on the straight and narrow.”

  Pru’s grin revealed impressive orthodontic hardware with neon green bands to hold it all together. “That’s kind of my role in this family, so I gave each of your team a job. Aunt Darcy is in charge of the décor and setup, including music, so you can work with her to decide where and when you want to walk in and what song should play.”

  “Song?”

  “Whatever song is yours and Liam’s.”

  Andi angled her head. “We don’t have a song.”

  “We’ll get you one.” Darcy’s eyes, that deep Kilcannon blue that so many of them got from their father, glinting playfully. “I have a whole list of possibilities, like I’ve Had the Time of My Life.”

  “Gross,” Pru murmured.

  “Okay, maybe something more modern, like John Legend’s All of Me.”

  Gramma Finnie choked. “This is Liam, Darcy.”

  “Seriously,” Molly chimed in.

  “Okay, we’ll go with Who Let the Dogs Out,” Darcy exclaimed, cracking them all up.

  Pru swiped her hand through the air, gesturing for quiet. “You two can work it out after we get through the assignments. Moving on. Jessie is in charge of getting the right officiate. She’s already talking to Pastor Blake from Southside Presbyterian for her wedding to Garrett, so if you go nonsecular, she’ll help you.”

  “Nonsecular?” Andi whispered, having given exactly zero thought to the actual ceremony, religious or not.

  “Oh, I know, lass,” Gramma Finnie said on a sigh, patting her hand. “It’s shocking to think about anything but a Catholic wedding in this family, but sadly, our church has such rules. A priest can’t marry you outside a church, and our faith requires marriage classes.” She leaned in. “And there is the issue of the eventual annulment, which we Catholics do try to avoid handing out like communion wafers.”

  Andi gave a weak smile to Chloe. “Couldn’t your aunt do it?” Mayor Blanche Wilkins would be so much less…holy.

  “I can ask her,” Chloe said.

  “Of course, it’s up to you, lass,” Finnie said, her soft Irish lilt more like music than words. “And since Father John will be here, maybe he’ll whisper a wee prayer over you.”

  “A wee one,” she said softly as Pru cleared her throat and powered on.

  “Next up is the wedding party. If all of us got involved, it would be overwhelming, so we think one attendant, and Chloe volunteered to be maid of honor.”

  Andi blinked at her friend. “That makes sense since I’m going to be yours.”

  “Yes!” Chloe leaned over to take her other hand. “Actually, by the time Shane and I get married in the spring, you’ll be matron of honor, which has a horribly archaic ring to it.”

  Next spring? This marriage would be annulled, and she might very well be living in Charlottesville with Christian…unless she lost him to a legal guardian. The thought was sobering, so she lifted her glass in a toast. “You are the perfect choice, Chloe.” And took a deep slug of champagne.

  “Then come the vows,” Pru said.

  “And I’ll be writing those.” Gramma gave her hand a solid squeeze.

  “Expect Irish proverbs,” Molly joked. “A lot of them.”

  Gramma lifted a narrow shoulder draped in a br
ight pink cardigan. “Some, yes. But I can make it more modern for you, if you like. I’ve already asked my Twitter followers to send me their favorite wedding vows and have so many of ideas.”

  “Twitter? That’ll keep them short,” Andi said on a dry laugh, trying to wrap her head around the fact that her wedding vows would be written by an octogenarian social media maven who got her script from the Internet.

  “And last—”

  “But most important,” Molly interjected.

  “The wedding dress.”

  “Oh no.” Andi shook her head, rooting around for a grip on reality since these lovely ladies had lost it. “I’m not wearing a wedding dress. I’m not wearing white. I’m not…” She took a breath and exhaled slowly. “Getting married.”

  “You’re not?”

  “You changed your mind?”

  “What about Christian?”

  “Does Liam know?”

  “What happened?”

  Okay, now it was a tidal wave. She set her champagne flute down and held up both hands, closing her eyes to gather her wits. “I am still going through with a marriage for the sake of establishing that my life is stable and Christian is secure. I do believe it’s the best way to fend off Nora Scott before we even have to have any courtroom drama. But, guys…” She looked from one to the next. “Thank you so much for all this planning and worry and…and sisterly love. But it isn’t a wedding. Not like you want.”

  “Not like you want,” Gramma Finnie said softly. “But it isn’t for you, it’s for Christian. And if you don’t at least put on a show that has some semblance of a real wedding, no one will buy it. People will talk. Talk will get to Nora. You’ll lose your child.”

  Andi opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again, looking directly into the old woman’s eyes.

  “All we’re trying to do is help in that regard, lass,” she added. “We do things the Kilcannon way, which might be a bit much for some, but—”