At the moment, she’d traded Bradley for her Grampa. Mel had her on his knee while she read one of her favorite books to him, a story about a pink ballerina. They were sitting in the dining room, between the stone fireplace and the wide picture window that offered a magnificent view of the Shenandoah Mountains to the West. Whisper, the laziest guard dog in Virginia, and Lexie’s faithful shadow, snoozed on his side at their feet, while Smoke sat alert at the window.
Mel would offer an insincere ‘aha’ whenever Lexie pointed out something he needed to know about one of her beloved characters. She’d shove the book into his face when he dozed off, scolding him to ‘stay awake and listen, Grampa, until I’m through reading.’ That then, only then, could he take a nap. That reading was important; he should try it all by himself sometime.
It was plain to see she adored her Grampa, as much as Alex still adored his Gramps, Patrick Bradley Stewart. Full circle, damn it. Life had come full circle, and Alex was standing back where it all began. With his Gramps, and Lexie’s Grampa, and a whole lot of family between the two headstrong Irishmen.
As far as The TEAM went, Mark was still managing assignments and doling out his brand of leadership. The man was a natural. Didn’t hurt that Harley was now fully engaged and more single-minded than he’d been in years. Which was saying a lot for a man as beset by post-traumatic stress as he’d been when he’d come home from war. But he’d stepped up as Mark’s right hand man now, and didn’t that beat all? Alex had two strong leaders on the job, holding The TEAM fort down.
With all well at home for the moment, he planned to go back to work in a couple days. Where he’d once considered ending The TEAM he’d built from the ground up, he knew now that he’d over-reacted. He had an appointment with Jameson Tenney first thing Monday morning. He still needed to have that chat with Mother. But he’d never been more sure. He’d built a damned solid company of snipers, and ended up with the best family a man could ask for. Life was son of a bitchin’ good.
“Hey, son. Alex?” Mel interrupted from his cozy seat with Lexie.
As usual, his timing was impeccable. Alex jolted out of his first half-pleasant reverie in days, annoyed. “Yes?”
“You do know Pops was my only sibling, don’t you?”
Thank God. “So?”
“Well, err, so… Lucy was his only kid, and you’re my only kid, and—”
“And your point is?”
“They’re, umm…” Mel placed both hands over Lexie’s ears and whispered, “They’re both dead. Him and her.”
“What are you trying to tell me? Spit it out.”
Lexie shook her head, dislodging Mel’s hands with a crabby, “Stop it, Grampa. I reading.”
“Well, Pops had a will,” he told Alex. “Last time I seen it, he left everything to Lucy first. Wanna know who else he named as beneficiary in case something happened to her?”
A pregnant pause filled the lovely stone home, before he begrudgingly muttered, “Not really.”
“What’s a bena-fishery, Daddy?” Lexie asked, her brows furrowed, and her bottom lip stuck forward in a studious pout.
“It’s someone who’s related to a person who dies, sweetheart. Like a wife or child,” Alex explained. “They inherit whatever that person left behind.”
“Is I your bena-fishery?”
“Mama, you, and Bradley,” he told his darling daughter.
Her big brown eyes welled with tears. “But I don’t want you to die. Neither does baby Bradley or Mommy or... Wah!”
He waved for his strong-willed, soft-hearted daughter to come sit with him. Lexie tossed her book aside and traded Mel for her father’s arms. “I’m not going anywhere,” Alex promised as he snuggled her in where she belonged. “We’ve still got to go birthday present shopping for Mommy, remember?”
She nodded, her curly head bumping under his chin as she wiped her face and settled onto his lap. “I love you, Daddy.”
He pressed a kiss to the crown of her perfect head. “I love you too, baby girl,” he said as he looked over her to his dad. “Mel, explain.”
The golden sunset spilling through that huge picture window casting an unearthly, almost heavenly glow on the old codger’s craggy features. “You, son. You were always his second beneficiary. Not me. I can almost guarantee his Irish lawyer’s gonna be calling you one of these days, just wait and see. I got his card somewhere. When I find it, I’ll give it to you. Maybe you oughta call him. Pops never trusted Lucy. Can’t tell you how many times he wrote her out of his will, added her back in, then wrote her out again. Might even explain why she left Ireland in a snit and came to New York. She mighta found out she wasn’t getting anything. Always was a hateful little thing.”
Alex refused to care. It’d be a cold day in hell before he accepted a cent of ill-gotten gains from an uncle he’d never met, much less from an underworld crime boss. A lowlife who hadn’t had the balls to stand by his own father, who’d disappointed Patrick Bradley Stewart so deeply, he’d never told his only grandson about that uncle or cousin.
The notoriety of those associations hadn’t hit American media outlets yet, thank God. Alex could hardly wait for that shitstorm to reach Alexandria. But it would. Reporters would be climbing all over him, once they knew he’d been related to Pops and Lucy Delaney. Probably other mob bosses, too. They might think he should take over whatever was left of Pops’ empire. Like hell. Alex refused to be bullied or coerced by the legacy of any damned thug. He’d deal with the mess his uncle and cousin left, later.
Want to bet Tucker Chase already knew? Alex shook his head at the trouble that ending the Delaney empire might cause him and his TEAM. His family. He might just have to work closely with the FBI before this thing was over. Damn.
“You seen my big bag?” Mel asked suddenly, his blue eyes gone blank, searching the room for some unknown bag he never mentioned when he was lucid. “Says NAVY on it. I was a SEAL, you know.”
And here we go again.
“Have you looked in your bedroom?” Alex asked his father tiredly. Didn’t matter what he said. Just answering seemed enough to calm his father’s angst.
Lexie burrowed deeper inside the crook of her father’s arms. “Grampa’s not feeling good anymore, Daddy,” she murmured. She knew the signs. Also knew story time with Grampa was done for a while.
“He’ll be back,” Alex assured her quietly. “Grampa forgets things when he’s tired, doesn’t he?”
“Ah huh and sometimes he’s stinky,” she whispered behind her fingers.
Alex smiled. Yes, for sure, Mel was now certifiably old and losing his mind. But he was off the streets and safe, and that mattered. Even to Alex. Because, like it or not, want to admit it or not, Mel Stewart was his dad. Just like Patrick Bradley had been Mel’s and Pops Delaney’s father. Made a man wonder what possessed sons to change their names, deny their birthrights, and their families. Yet Lucy had done the same thing when she’d left Ireland for the lights of NYC. Like father, like daughter.
Alex also wondered if Gram and Gramps had ever known about or met Lucy. If so, had they missed her? Had they grieved for the little granddaughter they surely would’ve loved? Better question, had she known about them? Probably not. As conniving as Lucy was, she would’ve used them worse than Mel had, if she’d known where they’d lived. Then, like him, she would’ve left.
Seemed Pops and Lucy had both wanted to be something they weren’t, something different than they’d been born to be. Something greedy and wicked and powerful. Mel had been caught up in that same intrigue, enough that he’d turned his back on his family, too. Which was just plain sad. He’d lost everything. Well, except for that nine-year-old kid who, apparently, was still looking out for his old man.
In the end, life was just a string of decisions followed by consequences. Either people learned by their mistakes, or they didn’t. Alex had finally learned how to forgive the old fart sitting across from him and Lexie, the gray-haired man with his
head tipped forward, already sound asleep and drooling. Yeah, him.
Because a man took care of his family. All of them.
Even prodigal fathers.
Epilogue
Jameson lay on his back, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling he couldn’t see. Not like whether it was spackled or smoothly painted plaster mattered. He didn’t care, and seeing it wouldn’t enhance its value. Not to him. Blindness had a way of balancing the scales, of forcing a guy to acknowledge what was important in his life and what wasn’t.
His mom had called last night, after they’d gotten home from spending the afternoon with Krystyna. Wedding plans were now in full swing. Krystyna was busy ordering invitations and making sure she left no one out. Karen was busy ordering flowers, cakes, and all those things mothers ordered when their only son was getting married.
She’d cried when he’d told her she was going to be a mother-in-law, but not once had she questioned his judgement, the timing, or his choice of the woman who would soon be her daughter-in-law. Which was so like his mom. Jameson couldn’t wait for Karen and Jules Tenney to meet Maddie this afternoon. His parent’s total trust in him had always been his springboard into whatever he’d set his mind to. They, more than anyone else in his life, were the reason he was the man he was today. He knew, without a doubt, they would love Maddie, too.
Last night, when he and Maddie had finally tumbled into his bed and ravaged each other’s bodies, hadn’t been about sight as much as his others senses. The palms of his hands, one currently cupping her lush backside, the other splayed over her hand on his chest, completed a circle of him and her. Of two people who’d become something more in the joining. His future was clear. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do when he’d joined the Navy. He’d made a difference then, and with Maddie by his side, he would make a better, bigger difference, forever more.
Not since the first time he’d made love with her had he felt the sublime level of peace and contentment he felt now. Jameson knew he owed that sensation to the soft, warm body snuggled into his side. The sense of having found his way home again, as if he’d been lost until she’d come along, was real and tangible this morning. It gave him a feeling of wholeness that encompassed them like a blanket.
She lay sound asleep, her breath a warm huff feathering over his skin. Strands of her long hair tickled, entwined like it was in the coarse hairs that extended the length of his arm. There was no zing of feminine stress in the air today, as there had been the first time they’d met, only the sweet, sultry fragrance of lavender and their night of sex.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head, so damned blessed that his eyes watered. He had everything he wanted.
His TEAM cell phone barked softly from its charger on his nightstand. Carefully, so as not to wake Maddie, he released her hand on his chest and reached for the first call of the day. Most phones displayed caller IDs. His chirped different sounds, like ringtones, depending on the caller. Spam callers didn’t stand a chance. He’d assigned stone cold silence to them. Maddie’s unique ring was a heartbeat. His mom and dad merited the calming flutter of a harp, while Alex was a bugle playing taps. Anyone else from The TEAM was a snare drum. All except Harley. Which was why the phone barked.
“Hey, Harley,” Jameson whispered into his cell. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Err, no, man. Did I call too early?”
“Nah,” Jameson teased. “I really want to know. What time is it?”
“Oh, ah…” Hi voice faded. He must’ve leaned away from his cell to check his clock. “Five thirty. Guess it is early. Never mind. Go back to sleep. I’ll call later when—”
“It’s okay. I was already awake. Whatcha need?”
Harley cleared his throat. “Well, I was wondering. Mind if me and the monsters stop by? Little A has something to give you and Maddie, but mostly, you. He’s all excited, which is why I forgot what time it is. But if it’s too early—”
“Are you and your boys in your Jeep?” The soft hum of a vehicle over the connection told Jameson company was already in transit.
“Umm, yeah?”
Jameson grinned at that answer/question. He could almost hear Harley ruffling a hand over his head. He did that a lot. “Come on over. I’ll put coffee on.”
“You’re sure? I mean, we can come back later.”
Maddie’s fingertips fluttered over Jameson’s nipple to get his attention. “Tell him I’ve got chocolate milk and donuts for the boys.”
“The last thing these kids need is a sugar high,” a female voice murmured over the line.
Jameson moved his hand from Maddie’s backside and clapped it over her fingers on his chest. “Good morning, Judy!” he called to the woman he’d only heard about so far.
“Hey, Jameson. Are you sure we’re not intruding?”
“Positive. We’re both awake.” And one of us is up.
“Yeah…” Harley drew that word out. “It’s me, the boys, and my wife. Geez, I should’ve called later.”
“No, Harley,” Maddie spoke up. “Hurry. I can’t wait to see Georgie’s surprise.”
“When do you think you’ll be here?” Jameson asked as nonchalantly as he could.
“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen at the most. Boys. Not now. Shhhhh. I’m talking.”
“We’ll be waiting,” Jameson replied over the mayhem from Harley’s end of the connection.
“Great. See ya soon.”
And the scramble to get dressed and semi-presentable in less than ten minutes was on. Maddie jumped in the shower first. Jameson barged in behind her to save water. Yeah, right. The sudsy slide of his fingers down her belly earned him a half-hearted smack, but not before he urged a moan out of her.
“Harley’s twins don’t need sex education,” she muttered. “We can’t play now. Cease. Desist. Oh, heck..” Tipping up on her toes, she wound her arms around his neck. “At least don’t get my hair wet.”
Jameson filled his hands with the cheeks of her butt. “I definitely want a rain check,” he mumbled into her lips.
“Me, too,” she breathed, her voice so damned sultry, it was all Jameson could do to tear his hands off of her.
“Hurry,” she ordered as she pushed off and shut the shower door in his face.
“Awww…” he groused. “Not fair.”
Which made her laugh. And there it was, the tinkle of light-heartedness in his life that elicited the same feeling of contentment here, in his tiled, run-of-the-mill shower, of all places.
“Have I told you yet today how much I love you?” he called out as he shampooed his hair, then rinsed. Just that fast, his shower was done. Man-style.
“No, but you will,” she teased from the bathroom sink. “I’m going to get dressed and start a big pot of coffee. Step on it, honey.”
“I can’t step on it. It’s not that long,” he teased back as he opened the shower door, ready to show her precisely how long it was. Hello, morning.
She giggled on her way into their bedroom. “Clothes. We need clothes and—”
The doorbell rang.
“Yikes!” was the last thing Maddie squealed.
He closed the bathroom door behind her, just in case the bedroom door was still open.
More giggling, then the bedroom door shut. The entry door opened. Then Maddie’s bright, “Hello! Hi, Judy! Hi, boys! My goodness, you’ve both grown. Little A, your hair gets redder all the time, look at you! Jameson will be right out. Oh, my! Is that the surpr—?”
Several extra-loud “Shhhhhs” hissed from beyond Jameson’s bedroom, and didn’t that pique his curiosity? Hurriedly, he climbed into a clean pair of jeans and yesterday’s t-shirt, then slipped into his comfy leather loafers. His ensemble complete, he stalked out of his bedroom into his too-quiet living room. He cocked his head, gauging the distance between him and his woman.
“Can I?” one of Harley and Judy’s boys begged. “Please. It’s no fun if he can’t see him. I m
ean us. I mean—”
Jameson’s nostrils flared. Dog. He smelled dog, sweaty little boys, and a different feminine fragrance in the room. That had to be Judy. But a dog. That was a hard scent to miss.
A gentle tug on his wrist brought him to one knee. “Uncle Jameson.” That had to be Little A, so named because Little Alex had inadvertently created the misnomer, Big Alex. Which just did not work for anyone concerned.
But Jameson would never tire of knowing that, the moment he’d become part of The TEAM, he’d also become an uncle to all the agents’ children. Even to Alex and Kelsey’s, Lexie Rose and Bradley Patrick.
“Yes, Little A. What are you up to?” As if Jameson didn’t know.
The four-legged companion standing with Harley’s twin boy whined.
“Well, you see,” Little A replied evenly. Of the two boys, he was the calmer, more thoughtful twin. Georgie tended to be high-strung, to bounce off walls when he didn’t have anything to keep him occupied. He was more like Harley, full of nervous energy. “Daddy let me breed my dog, and I been really careful to take care of all the pups, and she had eight, but they’re getting big now, and one was too little. He’s the runt, and I hafta clean up all their poop every day, and make sure they don’t chew Mom’s shoes, cuz they really like her flipflops, and she gets really mad, and—” The kid finally inhaled a deep breath.
“Just tell him, son,” Harley interrupted quietly.
Little A must’ve turned to his dad because the direction of his voice shifted. “Well, okay, but anyway, here.” He took hold of Jameson’s right hand and pressed a leather leash into his palm. “You hafta hold on real tight because…” Big breath. “Daddy say’s I can’t keep ’em all, so I’m giving you my very best pup. He’s the runt, but he’s growing now, and he’s strong, and he’s my best friend, and I really love him, and I hope you really love him, too.”
But by then, Little A could barely speak. He was all out crying from that pure declaration of a child’s love for his best friend. A friend he was giving away.
Jameson leaned into the furry, wiggling pup at the other end of the leash. “A puppy?” he asked, blinking like a damn sissy. “For me? Are you sure?”
Jameson (In the Company of Snipers Book 22) Page 27
