"Thinking of expanding?"
"Could be. I figure as long as I'm unemployed, I might as well give the furniture thing a shot." Sean ran a hand through his hair. This is what came of listening to a woman with a warm heart and big ideas. He looked to the big brother who had been his model all his life. "Dumb idea?"
"No," Patrick said instantly. "I've been wondering when you were going to take the plunge. Talk to Con. He can get you set on the financing."
Sean was mildly stunned. "You two talked about this?"
"You've got the talent. We figured you were just waiting for the right opportunity."
Brianna, an imperious toddler with her father's dark curls and her mother's assessing brown eyes, marched over and threw her arms around her uncle's leg.
"Up," she commanded.
Sean complied, swinging her comfortably onto his shoulders. She shrieked with delight, clutching his hair. Wincing, he carefully shifted her grip.
"She misses having you around," her father observed.
"I miss her, too. She's my best girl."
Patrick lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah? So the new landlady doesn't have anything to do with the change in plans?"
Sean swore. "Somebody's got a big mouth."
"Watch it," Patrick warned. "That's my wife you're talking about."
"And my landlady's got nothing to do with it." Patrick said nothing, just leaned against the side of the truck and waited.
"It's the daughter," Sean said at last. "Rachel."
"Kate made it sound like you could be serious this time."
"Checking up on me, big brother?"
He shrugged, not denying it.
Brianna drummed her heels against Sean's chest. He flipped her, set her on her feet and watched her run after Jack, disturbing his fantasy game in the middle of a full court press.
"It wouldn't work out," he said.
"Not your type?"
Sean had a sudden uncomfortable vision of Rachel's lush, disciplined body, the humor sparkling at the back of her dark eyes, her sharp tongue and eat-me-up mouth. The man who didn't find her to his type would have to be dead.
"She's a teacher. High school English. Can you see me with a high school English teacher?" He tried to make it sound like a joke.
But his brother wasn't laughing. "It doesn't much matter what I see. The question is, what do you want?"
"She's got kids." Sean threw out the information almost desperately.
Patrick looked out across the lawn, where Jack was attempting to lift Brianna so she could drop a ball through the goal. "Yeah. I know how much you hate kids."
Once upon a time Sean had dreamed of a little girl growing up to call him Daddy. He shook his head. "Hey, yours are great. But the family thing … it's not for me. I'm young yet."
"Thirty next month," his brother observed. "Old enough to take on a wife and kids."
Patrick had always been able to do that, level him with one well-placed punch. When he'd turned thirty, Patrick was already a marine hero running a successful charter flight company. Middle brother Con was a Harvard grad with an office overlooking Federal Street
. All Sean had to show for his first thirty years was a brand-new truck and a state-of-the-art table saw.
Never mind. As his teachers had always been quick to point out, Sean wasn't like his brothers. His truck suited him fine. His life suited him fine.
"I tried that once, remember? With Trina."
"Wrong woman," Patrick said briefly. "And as I remember it, it wasn't your kid."
Sean moved his shoulders uncomfortably. "That's the problem. I don't know if I want to go through that again, fall for somebody else's kids. Hell, I don't know if I can."
Patrick's pilot eyes saw too much. "Then before things go any further, bro, you'd better find out."
Sean expelled his breath. "Yeah. Guess I'd better."
* * *
He felt like a pervert, hanging around the school, waiting for the kids to come out. He wasn't anybody's daddy. He didn't feel like anybody's daddy, and any minute now one of the nice ladies from one of the family sedans or minivans parked around him was going to rap on the window of his truck and demand to know what he was doing in the car pool line.
Rachel's voice whispered in his head. I'm concerned about the children, Lindsey especially. I can't do anything that might hurt them.
Sean set his jaw and stayed. Maybe he wasn't sure exactly what he was doing here, but it had something to do with making things right with Rachel and her children. He'd made an okay start with Rachel. Remembering her warm eyes and her hot mouth and her cool assumption that he could support himself making furniture, he corrected himself. He'd made a great start with Rachel.
But her kids were something else.
Obviously, they were a package deal. He respected that. Admired it. Even envied it, a little, because he'd never had that bond. Oh, his parents loved him. And his brothers had stood with him and by him since he was old enough to stand. But Sean had never had the tie that came from taking care of another person, from being necessary to the well-being and happiness of someone smaller and dependent.
Only once, for three short mouths. And what a disaster that turned out to be.
Before he got in any deeper with Rachel's kids, he needed to know how he felt about them. He needed to find out how they felt about him, and he needed to do it away from the distracting presence of their mother and the well-meant interference of their grandmother.
The sound of the dismissal bell floated over the parking lot. Doors bumped open. A stream of children poured from the school, building from a trickle to a steady flow. Sean squinted through the windshield, trying to pick out Lindsey's dark ponytail, Chris's narrow shoulders, in the crowd.
The kid in blue? Nah, he was too short. The brunette in purple Keds was too young, and the boy sprinting along the sidewalk wore glasses. Sean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Maybe this was another dumb idea. He'd never been all that great at planning.
He glanced idly toward the buses waiting in a yellow line at the side of the school. And there on the sidewalk, a tall girl with dark hair and a thin boy carrying a green backpack were talking to a blocky guy in a gray silk shirt. The carnival guy. Frank.
Sean was out of the truck so fast the driver's side door hung open.
He took five quick strides up the concrete, wading through kids, dodging a boy on a bike. Chris clutched his book bag as he stared at the man looming over them. Lindsey had her chin up and her arms crossed and her brother safe behind her. Sean wanted to hug them. He wanted to snatch them out of harm's way.
He came up to them in time to hear the man say, "…don't have to come to the house to find you."
Sean held his hands away from his sides and said, easy so as not to scare the kids, "Hi, guys. Who's this?"
The man twisted his head toward Sean in a way guaranteed to make him want to knock it off his shoulders. "Friend of the family."
"We don't know him," Lindsey said, looking so much like her mother that Sean wanted to cheer.
"Yeah, well, I knew your pop real well."
The information didn't appear to reassure the two children. It decreased whatever respect Sean still held for Rachel's late husband considerably.
"What do you want?" he asked.
The man spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture as false as a three-dollar bill. "I just wanted to meet the guy's kids."
"You've met them," Sean said. "Now beat it."
"I want to talk to them first."
Sean hitched his thumbs in his front pockets and looked at the children standing on the sidewalk, at Chris's pale face and Lindsey's scowl. Not his kids, he reminded himself. Not his choice. "Do you want to talk to this guy?"
Chris looked at Lindsey. She shook her head.
Sean nodded, satisfied. "Fine. Get in the truck."
Chris's brows pulled together. "Mom said we weren't supposed to accept rides from strangers."
His sister grabbed hi
s hand. "Come on, Chris."
She pulled him away, off the curb and toward the truck.
Frank hunched his shoulders and called after them, "See ya, kids. Don't forget to give that message to your mom, now."
Children still ran and chattered along the sidewalk, a bright-colored stream that parted around them.
Sean took a step closer, speaking low. "You stay away from them. You stay away from their mother."
The man's eyes glittered. "Who's gonna make me? You?"
"If I have to. What's your problem? We're on a playground, so you feel this need to sound like a bully?"
Frank swore.
Sean shook his head. "I bet the nuns washed your mouth out for that one." He took a step back, keeping an eye on the man's hands. "Stay away from the Fullers."
When he got back into the truck, the guy was still watching him. Lindsey had this look on her face, like she was reserving judgment, and Chris was practically bouncing on the bench seat in excitement. It made it hard to shift gears.
Sean pulled out of the parking lot carefully because of the other cars and the walking kids and the crossing guard directing traffic.
"Chris doesn't have a seat belt," Lindsey said in a small voice as they pulled onto the road.
Right. His fully loaded truck wasn't equipped for children.
"Can you double-buckle?" he asked.
"I guess." She sounded doubtful.
Sean fought to keep his attention on the road as they slipped and scooted and arranged the waist and shoulder straps.
"Okay?" he asked when things settled down again.
She nodded tightly.
"Sure?"
From the corner of his eye, he saw her look away, out the window. She didn't reply. Hell. He reached over, across Chris pressed against his thigh, and patted her knee.
"I'm here, dollface. If you need—" What did he know about what little girls needed? "Anything."
She nodded again.
"This is a cool truck," Chris said. "Can I turn on the radio?"
Sean was amused by the auto worship in his voice. "Yeah, sure."
Rock blasted from the custom speakers. Bass vibrated the cab. Sean adjusted the volume down, so he wouldn't be distracted while he was driving Rachel's children.
It wasn't until they were pulling up the hill to the house that Lindsey spilled what was on her mind. "I wish I knew what was going on."
Sean looked at her, sitting rigid against the cushioned seat. "Yeah. Me, too."
She gave him a brave half smile that would have melted the Grinch. A guy like him—a guy who'd always been susceptible to women—didn't stand a chance.
They pulled into Myra Jordan's driveway. Rachel was waiting on the porch, like she waited every day she didn't pick the children up from school, and when she saw them her face got bright and soft in a way that hit Sean worse than her daughter's smile.
He walked around the front of the truck and then stood back while they ran to her.
"Mom, did you see?" Chris shouted. "Sean brought us home in his truck!"
Lindsey didn't say anything. She slipped her arms around her mother's waist and held on tight. Sean watched the gratitude on Rachel's face slide into question and then fear.
"Is everything all right?" she asked brightly.
Like she could make everything better by pretending. He ambled up the walk, meeting her gaze squarely over the children's heads.
"We have to talk," he said.
Well, damn, thought Rachel.
His jaw was set, his mouth a determined line. The hardness of his expression made him look years older. Intimidating, even. Her stomach sank. It was comforting to think that all that determination was inspired by concern for her children, but she didn't kid herself.
She was pretty sure they were going to talk. She was positive she wasn't going to like it. She would have to lie, and if Sean ever found out, he would hate it. Hate her.
You gonna get other people involved, somebody's gonna get hurt.
She felt Lindsey pressing against her, thin arms and smooth hair, and straightened her spine. Not her children. Her children were not going to get hurt. Even if she'd had to move them in with her mama, even if she had to scrape up another thousand dollars a month, even if she had to look this new, hard Sean straight in the eye and lie her head off.
She brushed back her daughter's hair and smiled reassurance at her son. "You two go in the house and see what Grandma has for your snack. I'm going to talk with Mr. MacNeill a minute."
She waited until the inner door closed behind them before she turned to Sean. He hadn't budged from the bottom of the porch. His usual grin was missing. Her heart bumped. What had provoked this change in him? And what was she going to do about it?
"What happened?" she asked quietly.
He hitched his thumbs in his belt loops. "This is going to take a while. Why don't we go to the shop?"
Trying to test his mood, to find the man she thought she knew, she teased, "Maybe because every time I pay you a visit, I wind up plastered all over you?"
"Don't worry. This time I'm keeping my hands to myself until we talk."
"Is that a threat or a bribe?"
His eyes narrowed in appreciation, but he didn't smile. "A promise."
She paused on the last step, clinging to the momentary advantage of height. "You're frightening me," she said lightly.
"Good. Because your kids scared the hell out of me today. Your friend Frankie showed up at their school."
She covered her mouth. "Oh, God."
He cupped her elbow, his warm hand calloused and reassuring.
"It's okay. You raised them right. Lindsey wasn't going anywhere with that guy, and Chris told me he wasn't supposed to accept rides from strangers. They would have been all right."
She didn't believe him. "But you saw them. You gave them a ride home."
"Yeah."
She spoke stiffly, because the alternative was to cry, tears of fear and relief and gratitude. "I appreciate it."
"No problem."
"No, really." She couldn't let her guilt rob him of his due. "Thank you."
Her earnestness must have embarrassed him, because he colored under his tan. "They were okay. There were still plenty of people around. They didn't need me."
She walked beside him to the garage, waiting while he fished in his back pocket for the keys.
"They needed someone. I should have been there," she muttered.
He opened the door and gestured her forward. "How could you know?"
Because she'd been warned. She stopped in the empty space bounded by his workbench and his table saw. "I should have known, that's all."
He frowned and flipped on the lights. "Is this Frank following you? Who is he? An ex-boyfriend, a stalker, what?"
"He's a business associate of my husband's."
Sean raised his eyebrows. "Funny business?"
He was too close. "No. Doug … owed him money, that's all."
"And now he's hassling the widow for payment?"
"It's not like that." It was exactly like that. "I'm Doug's executor. We set up a payment schedule."
"So, what's the problem?"
He wouldn't believe her if she said there was no problem—legitimate businessmen did not go around frightening children—so she tried to fob him off with a piece of the truth. "Well, the, uh, business is having a little cash flow problem, and he—"
"He, who? Frank?"
"Yes. Well, no. His uncle," she said, rattled by his persistence. "He works for his uncle. And the uncle wants. to increase the payments."
"By how much?"
She didn't see how it could hurt to tell him. The money wasn't the real issue. "An extra thousand a month."
He whistled. "Tough."
Rachel sighed. "Tell me about it. At this rate, I'll be living with my mother until the kids are grown and in college. That's if I can afford college."
"Declare bankruptcy."
"I can't."
&nb
sp; "Why not?"
"Because I'm good for the money."
Because if you're not good for the money, Frank's malicious voice reminded her, you still got to be good for something. I hate to use the word "example," but—
Sean scowled at her, frustration rolling from him in waves. "The heck you say. Have you called the police?"
She jumped. "No. No police."
"Why not?"
"I really don't see that it's any of your business."
He paced the length of the workshop. "Look, you don't want to sleep with me, fine. That's your decision. You don't want to tell me your problems, fine. That's your business." He stopped in front of her, and his gaze was clear and direct, and his voice was firm and a little angry. "But if somebody's coming after your kids, then I'm making it my business, because they're good kids and I can't help them if you keep me in the dark."
She blinked at him, dazzled by this view of him. Stunned that he saw her children as individuals worthy of rescue and not just as the baggage of a woman he was trying to ease into the sack. It made her want to trust him. It made her want to cry. She could see clearly now that Sean's pirate stubble and earring disguised a caring and honorable man. And Rachel had sold her own honor twelve months ago to protect her children.
"You can't help," she said quietly. "The police can't help. I'm not calling Walter Miller's little brother to tell him I'm being strong-armed by the mob."
"Mother in Heaven." She'd startled him, she saw without any satisfaction. "I thought your husband sold cars. What was he, a drug dealer?"
She'd lost the right to take offense. "No. Wrong addiction. He was a gambler."
"He lost money."
"Lost it. borrowed it. lost some more. And some of the people he lost to weren't very … nice."
"Look, if you're dealing with the mob, you could get the Feds involved. I know somebody—"
Alarm shivered through her. "No. Please, Sean. You have to let me handle this. They warned me. No police involvement of any kind. The one month I was late with a payment, they broke into my home. That time you hung up on Carmine, he sent his nephew to warn me personally. I don't want to think what they'd do if I notified the police."
"Rachel…" He ran a hand through his hair. "You can't fight this on your own. They never picked me for safety patrol, but even I know there are times you've got to tell the teacher. These guys are bullies. And you can't give in to bullies. They just ask for more."
THE TEMPTATION OF SEAN MCNEILL Page 10
