Declan

by Chris Keniston

  "Keep talking. You have a very soothing voice."

  "I do?" His gaze shot over to Becky in time to see her cheeks flush bright red.

  "I mean to the baby."

  "Oh." Of course. It was stupid of him to think he had any effect on Becky. The kid, well maybe not kid, was lock, stock and barrel in love with Ethan.

  Becky came up beside him, baby bottle in hand. "Do you want to feed her?"

  He shook his head a bit more vehemently than he should have. "I'd better watch you first."

  Her shoulders shook with laughter. "Okay. But it's not hard. Really it isn't." Taking the baby from him, she cradled Brittany in the nook of her elbow and tickled the baby's lips with the nipple end of the bottle.

  The tiny mouth latched onto the rubbery tip and chunky baby cheeks began moving as she eagerly sucked in her late night dinner.

  "It's not like I've never seen a baby animal latch onto its mama or had to bottle feed a calf or foal, but this, this is amazing." More than once in his life he'd seen a baby bottle-fed, but he'd never really watched this carefully.

  "I know. It never gets old." As Becky looked down at the infant with such tenderness, two things crossed DJ’s mind. First, how the hell could this baby's mother leave her in a damn box on a doorstep protected by nothing but a stray dog? And second, why the hell did such an amazing young woman's heart have to belong to his brother?

  ***

  The sight before Becky had been so precious, so adorable, so sweet, that she'd taken much longer to prepare the bottle than she'd actually needed. She still couldn't make up her mind who had been more in awe, DJ with the baby or the baby with DJ. Both were mesmerized. Brittany with her tiny mouth opened in a perfect o and her crystal blue eyes following DJ’s slightest movement. And DJ’s whole body had bobbed and swayed with his arms, all the time his voice coming out soft and lilting. Too precious to see a tough guy like him handling such a young infant. She wouldn't have expected there to be so much tenderness in a man like DJ. Always the tough guy exterior. Probably bolstered by the uniform and show of strength. Whatever woman finally snagged this Farraday brother was in for some very pleasant surprises once the lights went out.

  Good grief. First she noticed sexy eyebrows and now her mind played with steamy adult nights between the sheets. Lord, she needed to get a grip. And go on a date. A real one. If only Ethan would just come home and stay home, maybe then she could finally catch his eye. She glanced down at the baby in her arms and bet whoever Brittany's mom was, she probably had an hourglass figure. After all, the mother hadn't had any trouble at all catching Ethan's eye.

  "You okay?" DJ frowned at her.

  "Yeah, fine."

  "You stopped smiling."

  "Was I smiling?"

  He bobbed his head.

  "Just thinking."

  "Yeah. My mom would call that contemplating the immortality of the crab." He leaned back against the wall, ankles crossed, oozing that Farraday charm. "I keep hoping my phone is going to ding and let me know that Ethan's answered any one of a dozen messages and can straighten this whole mess out."

  Becky nodded. She didn't communicate with Ethan often. Just enough to keep in touch, and not enough to fuel town gossip, but even she knew he was offline. Recently, Ethan had warned the family it might be a short while before he could access a good connection again. She knew that was code for he had a job, a mission, or whatever the military called it when he'd be flying into dangerous places with strong determined men, and with the grace of God, would also fly everyone home safe and sound again. But now wasn't the time to dwell on that. Not that there was ever a good time to think about the people we love being in harm's way. Tugging the bottle away from the bundle in her arms and shifting a cloth rag onto her shoulder, she set Brittany against it and, standing up, patted the baby's back. "You want to try the next round?"

  "Next round?"

  "Babies need to be burped to make sure they don't get gassy tummies, then they get fed again." She stepped closer to him.

  "Gassy tummies?" DJ smiled. "Is that official medical terminology?"

  Becky smiled back. "Absolutely." Not leaving him any room to make excuses, she slid the burp rag out from under the baby, laid it on DJ’s shoulder and, faster than she thought possible, passed the infant off to him. "You try it. Pretend she's a football."

  Arms crossed, Becky tried not to smile at the wide-eyed shock on DJ's face as he realized the baby had been passed off to him, and shifting his gaze from the infant to his shoulder, looked totally befuddled. Placing her hands against Brittany's back, Becky urged DJ to ease the baby forward until she snuggled comfortably against him. It took a few seconds for the tension keeping him stiff to release and his muscles to relax.

  "You need to pat her back so she burps," Becky suggested softly.

  DJ tapped the baby so lightly, Becky wasn't even sure he was making contact.

  "She won't break. You'll have to do better than that," she urged.

  Very slowly, DJ added pressure with each pat until the tiny baby let out a belch worthy of a beer chugging frat boy. The only thing larger than the burp was the smile that spread across DJ's face. "Maybe she is a Farraday."

  "Don't let your aunt hear you say that. According to her, Farradays have only honorable genes."

  "True." More comfortable with the baby, DJ stepped toward the living room, still patting little Brittany. "If you can get me some sheets, I'll set up my bed."

  "About that." Becky handed him the bottle, and waited for him to shift Brittany into the crook of his arm so he could feed her the remainder of the bottle contents. When he seemed settled into the concept and not likely to keel over from nerves, she continued, "There's no way you'll get anything close to sleep folded onto my sofa. You take the bedroom and I'll sleep out here."

  "Not happening," he whispered.

  "I won't sleep a wink worrying about you squeezing six foot three—"

  "Four."

  "Okay, squeezing six foot four worth of police chief onto a five foot sofa. I, on the other hand, will fit just fine."

  Staring at the baby, he shook his head. "She's not drinking any more. I think she's sleeping."

  Becky moved closer, eased the nearly empty bottle away from the baby and held it up. "She's got a good appetite." Before she could tell him it was time to burp her again, DJ had Brittany on his shoulder and was patting her back.

  "Now what?" he asked.

  "You put her down in the crib and hope we all get some sleep before the next round."

  "Where are the sheets?" he asked.

  "Take the bed."

  "I can't."

  "Of course you can. I just happened to have changed the sheets this morning."

  "That's not what I meant." DJ chuckled.

  "Please." Becky turned back the covers.

  DJ shook his head. "Trust me when I tell you I've slept soundly in more cramped places than your living room sofa."

  She'd forgotten that DJ had spent his share of time in the marines too and didn't like the mental images that single sentence brought to mind. All the more reason she needed to figure out a way for him to take her room. "I could always hang a blanket down the middle of the bed."

  "The walls of Jericho." DJ smiled again. "Great movie. But I'm not sure who would come at me with a butcher knife first, your grandmother or my aunt."

  "They can't object to sleeping."

  DJ's brows arched high on his forehead. "Are we talking about the same women?"

  "Yeah, I am. Come on. It's just a place to sleep."

  Easing Brittany out of his arms and onto the crib. DJ shook his head, and tiptoeing out of the room, mumbled something suspiciously like, "Famous last words."

  Chapter Six

  "What could be so all fired important to drag me out of bed two mornings in a row?" Sally May Henderson shrugged out of her windbreaker by the back table of the Silver Spoon Café.

  Eileen Callahan, the Farraday brothers’ aunt, was already dealing the cards.


  "For land sakes, can't a gal have a minute to even order a cup of coffee?" Sally May dropped into the only empty seat and hurriedly gathered her cards.

  "Ante up," Eileen said, neatly stacking the deck beside her.

  "I know. I know." Sally May grabbed a white chip and tossed into the center of the table. "You'd think we were playing for real money."

  Dorothy pulled two cards from her hand, set them face down on the table, and then looked over to Eileen. "I'm in. Two cards." She quickly sorted the new playing cards into her hand, fanned them closed, set them on the table and waited as the bets came around the table back to her. "I'll see your five, Ruth Ann, and raise you five more."

  "I'm out.” Ruth Ann tossed in her hand.

  "Me too." Sally May folded.

  Eileen eyed her friend carefully, fanned her cards open and closed and then dropping a couple of chips into the pot, leaned forward, facing Dorothy. "It can't be what you're thinking."

  Sally May eyed the two longtime friends. This was something new. For years, the Saturday morning card games and occasional weekday games had been lighthearted rivalry with a little good-natured ribbing and a healthy dose of community gossip. Even the time that Adam had driven into town at the crack of dawn with a beautiful stranger, no one's nose got bent out of joint. This little tête-à-tête looked a tad too serious.

  Leaning forward, Ruth Ann shifted her attention from Dorothy to Eileen and back. "Are either of you two going to clue the rest of us in on what the heck is going on?"

  Laying all her cards open faced on the table—a straight, ace high—Dorothy crossed her arms. "Maybe we should start by asking whose car was parked in front of the vet clinic at the crack of dawn."

  "He's a police officer." Eileen stared at her friend. "DJ could have been parked there for a million different reasons."

  Ruth Ann's eyes opened wide and Sally May was pretty sure hers were bulging with surprise too. "DJ spent the night with Becky?"

  In a synchronized movement, Dorothy and Eileen's heads snapped around to face Ruth Ann, only one voice declared "no," while the other insisted, "yes."

  Sally May shook her head. "Do you mean to tell me you dragged me out of a peaceful slumber and had me drive all the way down here because two of our town's citizens are making a little whoopie?"

  This time Dorothy and Eileen's heads spun around to face Sally May, and she had a dang good understanding of where the expression "If looks could kill" came from.

  "Okay." Ruth Ann held up her hands. "Ignoring that we have two red-blooded American adults perfectly within their rights to get… friendly, if they so choose," Ruth sucked in a breath, "let's assume for a minute it's not what we're all thinking."

  "Thank you," Eileen said, setting her cards face up. Queens over aces. "I believe that trumps your straight."

  "This isn't bridge." Dorothy scooped up her cards.

  "No," Eileen agreed, "and there has to be a good reason for DJ spending the night at Becky's."

  "How do we know he spent the night?" Sally May dared to ask. "All you said is he was there early in the morning. Could there have been an animal emergency that he needed to bring in? Someone's pet hit by a car, something like that?"

  Eileen shook her head. "I phoned an order into the hardware store this morning for Finn. Burt didn't waste any time telling me how nice it is that one of my boys had noticed what a great catch Becky is. I told him we've all been saying that for years—"

  "Damn straight," Dorothy interjected.

  "Then he added he just hadn't thought it would be DJ. Next he told me how he'd seen DJ heading up the apartment stairs last night after dark and noticed the patrol car still there this morning."

  "Okay. But that doesn't mean—" Sally May started.

  "No, it doesn't," Eileen directed at Dorothy. "Besides, everyone knows Becky only has eyes for Ethan. There just has to be another reason."

  "There is." Dorothy leaned forward, her mouth open ready to spit fire when she sat back unexpectedly, her shoulders sagging, and blew out a deep breath. "You're right. My Becky's not stupid and DJ’s as honorable as they come. I guess I'm just afraid of what could be wrong in my grandbaby's life that she needs police protection all night."

  Sally May gathered the rest of the cards into a pile and began shuffling. "Well, at least we know she hasn't been left at the altar or threatened by an almost ex-husband."

  "No." Ruth Ann cut the deck. "There is that."

  "Have you just asked DJ what's going on?" Sally May dealt a new round of cards.

  "No." Eileen scooped up the first card. "I don't like to butt into my boys' personal lives."

  Blinking long and hard so as not to roll her eyes or laugh out right in her friend's face, Sally May quickly turned to Dorothy. "Have you asked Becky?"

  The devoted grandmother shrugged a shoulder and shook her head. "Which is why we invited Meg and Toni to join us."

  Sally May looked to Ruth Ann who both rolled her eyes and shrugged. Why go straight to the horse's mouth when you can drag in all the relatives instead. She'd give her friends credit for one thing: when you want to get to the root of the matter, no one liked to gossip more than in-laws. "Are they coming?"

  Dorothy shrugged again. "Not till lunchtime. Toni's baking and Meg has guests."

  "Which is why," Eileen folded her hand and leaned into the table, lowering her voice, "we're here so early." The woman looked left then right and smiling continued, "Esther has been on dispatch for the last two days."

  A collective “ah” sounded. Bobbing her head with approval, Dorothy smiled at her friend. "And she's on today too."

  Eileen nodded and leaned back. "Yep." Spreading her cards in her hand again, she looked over the top at Dorothy. "Should be here any—" The old-fashioned overdoor bell jingled, making Eileen's smile broaden. "—minute."

  Apparently, Dorothy and Eileen's back up plans had back ups. Per Esther's usual routine when she came into the café for her morning coffee break, she ordered a tall coffee black and a slice of Frank's pie of the day. Occasionally she'd go for a few of Toni's cakeballs, but mostly she stuck with pie. Sometimes a la mode. And if there was a card game going on, she always pulled up a chair to visit with the social club. Hence the impromptu second game of the week.

  This morning was no different. Esther raised her mirrored sunglasses onto her head, and resting one hand on her utility belt, scanned the café. Her gaze landing on the table of card playing women, her face softened with a smile as she made her way to the table, nodding and exchanging a few words with patrons as she passed. "Weren't you ladies just playing cards yesterday?"

  Ruth Ann cast a furtive glance in Eileen's direction, but the woman was a pro at subterfuge. No doubt she had a brilliant excuse at the ready. She probably would have made a fantastic military spy.

  "Mornin', Esther." Eileen waved. "Seemed like a nice morning to spend with friends."

  Sally May blinked. That was all Eileen could come up with?

  "Any day is a good day for friends." Somewhere around middle age, give or take a decade, a slender woman with hair pulled back into a tight bun, Esther straddled the line between a prima ballerina and lady's prison warden. She leaned over Ruth Ann's shoulder, and when Ruth touched a card, Esther shook her head.

  "You should join us on your days off," Dorothy suggested, setting down a card. "No money, no gambling, no laws broken."

  "I know." The police officer nodded at Ruth Ann's second choice and leaned back so Abbie could set her order on the table. "Just doesn't look right to have an off-duty police officer at a poker table."

  Without moving their heads, the social club ladies glanced back and forth at each other. None of them understood how sitting at a poker table in full uniform—even just to observe—was less problematic than playing cards on a Saturday morning in civilian clothes.

  Dorothy dealt the new cards. Sally May suspected everyone stayed in the game more for something to do than because they had a potentially winning hand.

>   "I hear you've been pretty busy at the station house." Eileen picked up her card without looking at Esther, knowing full well those were the only words she'd need for a river of information to pour out.

  "Yep." Esther took a sip and showed no sign of saying anything more.

  Hand frozen over her cards, Eileen looked up. If Esther was keeping quiet, something more important than mailbox bashing was going on.

  "Heard from Burt Larson that one of the Brady boys has a broken arm?"

  "That's what I hear." Esther seemed more relaxed.

  Eileen moved her cards around in her hand. "Sounds like DJ's got his Louisville Slugger."

  "Could be. Never know." Esther was being suspiciously close mouthed.

  "I'm out." Ruth Ann tossed her cards down. "Poor DJ has to be awfully busy with the mailboxes and…all."

  "Mm."

  "Oh for heaven's sake." Eileen laid her cards down on the table. "What happened yesterday out of the ordinary?"

  "Not much." Esther picked up her fork, stabbed at her pie. Her hand midway to her mouth, she stopped and looked at Eileen. "Unless you're talking about the baby."

  Chapter Seven

  Swallowing the last drop of coffee he'd picked up at the café, DJ turned into the Brady driveway. The original Brady ranch had been divvied up amongst the children when their grandfather passed on twenty or more years ago. As each grandchild married, they received a good size parcel. Jim and his wife had turned to raising sheep and now had added alpacas to the mix. Apparently, the wool business did well for them. Jim's wife stayed home and none of the kids ever seemed to lack love or the basics. They drove nice enough vehicles and the house was pretty and well maintained. With eight children, much like his parents, they were a throwback to the American family at the turn of the century—the last century. He hated to be the one to put a crack in the perfect picture frame.

  "DJ." Mary Brady had spotted him coming up the drive and like a good country hostess, stood ready to greet him at the door. "Isn't this a nice surprise. You needing another donation for the town fundraiser?"