The Call of Bravery

CHAPTER EIGHT



SO FAR JEFF had continued to sleep in the attic, while Conall had taken over the small room with the childish twin bed. He came downstairs sometime between 3:00 and 5:00 a.m., whenever Henderson relieved him. The house would be completely silent, the boys’ and Sorrel’s bedroom doors closed, Lia’s open a few inches, presumably so she could hear a child in distress if need be. Some nights Conall found himself hesitating a few feet from her door, imagining that she was awake and watching for him.

Did she feel any of the frustration that wracked him? The hunger for a kiss, a taste? He wouldn’t say he avoided her daytimes; how could he? But unless it had to do with the kids, he wasn’t seeking her out, either, because he wanted her and he knew damn well he shouldn’t have her.

He wondered what she slept in. She presumably wore a gown or pajamas of some kind, because of the kids. Sexy? Probably not, he had thought wryly, and made himself keep going, first to the bathroom, then the twin bed where his feet would hang off the end.

But at least he had the privacy of his own room. He hoped Lia didn’t accept another foster child until he was gone.

Tonight there had been a modest stirring of activity next door. A car had come and gone, the driver alone. He’d gone into the house and stayed for a good hour. This guy wasn’t one of the two who’d brought the crates or any of the three who seemed to be living in the house. But his face, too, was familiar.

Conall was still thinking about it as he came downstairs and quietly closed the attic door. This familiar was different. He’d met the man from the pickup truck, had seen him move, speak. He knew it, even though he hadn’t been able to nail down when or where. The wondering stuck with him like an itch.

He was confident he’d recognized this new visitor only from a photo. Depending on the operation, he looked at a hell of a lot of images. Face recognition software would find a match, he was willing to bet. His preoccupation took him safely past Lia’s bedroom door.

Nights weren’t hot yet, except in the attic where the air remained stuffy. He’d have liked a shower, but the noise of it running might wake someone. Instead, after brushing his teeth he stripped off his shirt and stuck his head under the faucet, scrubbed his underarms and ran the wet washcloth over his chest and as much of his back as he could reach, then toweled himself dry.

This time his feet came to a stop in the hall, refusing to carry him on to his bedroom. He stared at that dark opening.

Did Lia sleep with her hair braided or loose? Because of the way he and Henderson had broken down their shifts, Conall had yet to see her first thing in the morning. He had the stupid thought that right now he’d be satisfied if he could only get a look at her. Find out whether she slept with abandon or curled into a defensive ball. Wore a long-sleeved, floor-length flannel gown or a T-shirt that ended at mid-thigh. But he knew damn well he was lying to himself. His fantasies would grow more vivid once he could picture her accurately in bed.

He rasped a hand over his jaw, sighed and prodded himself into motion…at the exact moment her door opened silently and she stepped into the hall. He stopped but not quite in time. Lia walked right into him.

She gave a startled gasp. Conall gripped her shoulders—almost bare, oh damn, they felt delicate—and said quietly, “Shh, it’s me, Lia. Conall.”

Her “Oh” came out in a shocked exhalation. “What are you doing…?”

He bent his head so his mouth wasn’t far from her ear. “On my way to bed.”

“Oh,” she whispered again.

His hands, all on their own, slid up and down her arms. Bare arms. He was gently kneading, arousal having slammed into him. He’d been halfway already, thinking about her. Now her hair was tickling his face. It was braided, but strands had slipped loose. The scent was tart, lemon or lime. He’d seen her shampoo in the shower, imagined her naked with the water pouring over her body and her arms raised as she washed her hair.

His hands cupped the balls of her shoulders. A shiver ran over her. Her collarbones were fragile, the skin unbelievably soft. Only a camisole with tiny straps kept him from sliding his hands down to cover her breasts. God, he wanted to strip it off her. She stood very still, as if paralyzed. He could hear her breathing, quick, hard pants. He nuzzled her cheek and murmured, “Lia.”

“What…what are you doing?”

“Touching you,” he whispered. On impulse he dropped his hands to hers and lifted them to his own chest. “Touch me,” he said, near soundlessly. She jerked, and he realized she hadn’t known in the dark that his torso was bare. He pressed her hands flat against his chest and almost groaned from the pleasure.

He removed his hands from hers. For an instant she didn’t move at all and he was afraid she would back away. Then she stroked him, almost shyly, a timid exploration that made a groan rumble in his throat.

He wrapped one of his hands around her nape, beneath that heavy braid. The other he slipped under her camisole to feel more of her soft skin. Her fingertips found his nipples and paused with interest, then skated upward as if she were discovering how his muscles lay. Once her fingers curled into his chest hair. He thought about the kneading of a small cat. His own hands had mostly stilled; he was frozen in wonder at the sensations she was awakening. Conall had never had a more sensual experience. He couldn’t make out her face, any more than she would be able to see his. The darkness was near complete with no windows opening into the hall. It was all touch, and the tiniest of sounds. The hitch of a breath, a whimper, another groan he couldn’t stop.

He wanted desperately to haul her against him, to shove his hips against hers. He wanted to rip that camisole off and feel her breasts against his bare chest. He wanted to find her mouth in the dark, swallow her small, helpless sounds, dig his fingers into the richness of her hair as he angled her head.

Instead, he stood completely still and experienced more pleasure than he’d had from a woman in…forever. It was torture, and it was exquisite.

She stroked his belly. The muscles tightened and quivered beneath her palm. She traced the line of hair to the open snap of his jeans, hesitated and then stopped.

Recoiling, she remained in place only by his hold. “No!” she whispered furiously. “I can’t.”

“Lia.” Now he bent his head and tried to find her mouth, but she evaded him, stiff, her entire body trying to pull away.

“Stop. Please stop.”

His brain was hazed by desire, but from force of will he let her go. She jumped back two feet and collided with the door frame. Her “Ow” was muffled.

He’d blown it. Upset her.

But she’d touched him, and damn it, she’d enjoyed it.

Conall realized with shock that he was shaking. There wasn’t anything he could do but say in a low voice, “I’m sorry. Good night, Lia,” and retreat.

She had hurried to the bathroom and closed the door behind her with a decisive click before he reached his bedroom.

Conall stripped and got into bed, then lay staring at the ceiling, his body ready to bury itself in hers, a hundred emotions he didn’t understand brushing against each other and rattling like a not very melodic wind chime.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY was Saturday. Lia took all three kids swimming. She didn’t wait until Conall appeared, having no desire to invite him. Not, she realized belatedly, that he likely would have come anyway, since he was trying not to be noticed.

They had fun, but she knew they would have had more fun if he’d been with them. Especially the boys, who’d latched onto him with a fervor that had taken her by surprise.

Conall MacLachlan was temporary, she brooded. She hated the fact that she had to keep reminding herself of that. Maybe she’d made a mistake encouraging him to spend time with Walker and Brendan. Yes, he’d been good for them—but what would happen when he and his partner packed up their equipment and went away, never to be seen again? The brothers’ mother had died, and now they’d let themselves care about someone else who wasn’t in it for the long haul. Did they understand that?

Lia didn’t even know why she was upset. No, mad. The boys were attached to her, too. Lots of the kids she took in got attached to her. She offered herself up to them, even though she knew she would be hurt later, when they left to go home. But this felt different, as though Conall shouldn’t be promising something he had never intended to give.

He said he’d spend time with them. That’s all he ever promised.

With words. That’s all he’d promised with words. But with smiles and affectionate touches and his amazing patience, he’d given them so much more than time. Didn’t he know what he was doing? she raged. He was being the father they’d never had. The father no other man would ever match.

Lia was astonished at the pain clutching her heart into a fist. Pain that wasn’t even hers.

Conscious of shock, she sat poolside and watched the two boys halfheartedly splashing each other.

Was she angry at Conall because she, too, wanted to believe he’d never go away? Was she that foolish?

She squeezed her eyes shut. Dear God, yes. Yes, I am.

Closing her eyes had been a mistake, because it cast her into an instant flashback. Dark hallway, realizing it was his body with which she’d collided. Those big, callused hands moving with such delicious care over her. It had been ages since anyone had really touched her, and no one ever had quite like that. Savoring instead of demanding. He wasn’t here now, but she could still smell him, soap and something muskier. Man. Aroused man. She’d known almost instantly that he was without ever feeling his erection.

But she’d wanted to. Oh, she’d wanted to.

Lia told herself surprise explained why she hadn’t stepped back immediately, excused herself and gone on to the bathroom. Why she’d stood there letting him grope her.

Surprise didn’t explain why she’d been unable to resist temptation when he’d pressed her hands to his hard, muscled chest. But how could she resist, after seeing him several times shirtless when he roughhoused with the boys, after watching him walk with that long, smooth, purely masculine stride? She hadn’t been able to stop herself from watching him, sometimes surreptitiously, drinking in every detail of his lean, strong body, the flash of gray eyes, the occasional lightning surprise of a laugh.

Lust. Only lust, she told herself desperately, and knew she was lying. Maybe if she’d never seen him with the boys, she wouldn’t have fallen in love, but she had.

And he would disappear from her life as completely as he would from Walker’s and Brendan’s, with as little warning.

It was all she could do to smile when one of the boys called out to her.

They arrived home to find Conall on the porch, talking on his cell phone. When she reached him, he said, “Let me call you back,” and slid the telephone closed. His gaze flicked over all of them. “You went swimming?”

“Yeah! Lia said we shouldn’t wake you up. And you probably wouldn’t go anyway,” Walker said. “But I wished you had.”

“She’s probably right, I couldn’t have gone. I shouldn’t be away from the house for long.”

“In case something happens.” Brendan nodded solemnly.

“Right.” He ruffled the boys’ hair and smiled at Sorrel. “Have fun?”

“It was okay.” She scuttled past, head down, and vanished into the house.

Conall looked after her with surprise Lia shared. Had Sorrel felt shy because she hadn’t put a top on over her bathing suit? She sometimes seemed so normal—interested in boys, insecure about her appeal, giggly. But Lia couldn’t forget that she was also a child who had been sexually abused by a man she should have been able to trust. She had a long road ahead of her before she could feel secure in a romantic relationship. If she ever would be able to. Conall was blatantly male. The real surprise was that Sorrel could ever relax with him.

“Lunchtime,” Lia told the boys. “Why don’t you go get changed?” When they’d gone in, she said, “Sorry if we interrupted your call.”

“You didn’t.” He hesitated. “Lia…”

“If this is about last night, don’t worry. Nothing happened.”

His dark eyebrows rose. “Nothing?”

“Nothing important,” she said firmly.

He absorbed that, his eyes flickering. “You know I’m attracted to you.”

“And I know it’s not a good idea to go anywhere with it. I have children in this house. It’s important that I set a good example for Sorrel especially.” She was pleased at how brisk she sounded. “Besides, I don’t do one-night stands, or two-week stands. My emotions have to be involved.”

Idiot that she was, Lia desperately wanted him to say, Don’t you feel anything for me? Because I do for you. Can’t we find out where it takes us?

Instead, muscles flexed in his jaw as he stared at her. After an appalling length of time, he nodded. “I hadn’t actually suggested anything like that.”

“But you would have, wouldn’t you?”

His face was particularly devoid of emotion. “Maybe.”

“Well, then.” She reached for the screen door handle.

“Wait.” Was that a thread of desperation in his voice?

Slowly she turned back.

“That was Niall on the phone. My brother?”

As if she wouldn’t remember. Lia nodded.

“He wants us all to get together again. He said Desmond really enjoyed the boys.”

“Are you asking for my permission to take them somewhere?” How should she feel about that?

“No.” He took a deep breath. “I’m actually wondering how you’d feel about having them all out here. I know that’s asking a lot of you, but I imagine Rowan and Jane would bring some of the food and you’ve got a good place for it.” He was talking faster than usual. “I thought it might be easier than packing up our crew again.”

Our crew? Her heart pinched. She wished he wouldn’t say things like that. It hurt.

“Wouldn’t that be kind of conspicuous? I thought you were trying to keep your presence quiet.”

A rueful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I’m spending half my time outside with the boys. If our neighbors have had any reason to come looking, they’ll have seen me already.”

She suddenly had the creeps. It was all she could do not to turn her head and stare at the woods separating her house from the neighbor’s. “What do you mean, come looking?”

“They haven’t,” he said quickly. “We’d have seen them. But they may have heard me talking to the boys. We get kind of noisy out here sometimes.” Seeing her expression, he added, “It’s okay, Lia. They have no reason to think I’m anything but a friend. Maybe a boyfriend. Why would that worry them?”

“A boyfriend.” It hadn’t occurred to her what this would look like. Alarm quickened her pulse. “I could lose my license.”

He was shaking his head before she finished. “We’ll explain if we have to.”

“It never even occurred to me.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he repeated.

She marshaled her thoughts. “I guess the neighbors wouldn’t have any reason to think anything of me having a bunch of friends over for a barbecue.”

“Nope.”

She’d liked his sisters-in-law. Staying friends with them probably wasn’t an option, given the fact that their husbands were in law enforcement and she regularly broke the law, but she could enjoy them now, couldn’t she?

“A party sounds fun. It’ll be good for the kids. If they’re free, why don’t we do it tomorrow? Otherwise it’ll have to wait until next weekend.”

She could tell he’d be just as glad to put off further family interactions for another week, but with a sigh he slid open his phone. His eyes were warm on her face when he said, “Thanks, Lia.”

She waited until he had spoken briefly to his brother and confirmed that yes, Niall and family at the very least thought tomorrow sounded great. Niall would call Duncan and let Conall know whether he, Jane and Fiona would join them. Lia immediately revised her afternoon plans to include a trip to the grocery store.

“Great,” Conall growled. “One more thing to look forward to.”

“You should be glad to have family,” she told him crisply, and went inside.

* * *

SO SHE THOUGHT he was an ungrateful bastard. No news there. He was.

Conall’s irritation eventually wore off, leaving him with the memory of Lia’s expression.

Fostering children was a vocation, she’d said. Because she wanted a family, the kind she hadn’t had. The kind she didn’t think she ever would have. No, Lia hadn’t said any of that, but Conall was good at reading between the lines.

She couldn’t understand why he had rejected his brothers, and along with them lost the chance to have more family: their wives and children. She was maybe even a little angry at him for not appreciating something she hungered for.

She hadn’t said that, either, but he could tell.

The hell of it was, Conall knew she was right. He’d lost a great deal. No, not lost—thrown away.

From his adult perspective, he was having trouble remembering why. All he knew was that, for years, anger had simmered inside him. It was one of the few emotions he felt. Most of the time, he was barely conscious of it. He’d always believed it was directed at Duncan, the oppressor.

Tonight, sitting at the attic window watching a dark house, he knew differently. Maybe he’d felt safe to channel all that rage and hurt on the brother who had refused, no matter the cost to him, no matter what they did, to turn his back on Conall or Niall.

Conall’s attention was momentarily caught by movement. After verifying that it was only one of the Dobermans trotting across the yard, Conall thought, I locked away everything I felt for Mom and Dad. I convinced myself I felt nothing.

I lied.

Asked at any time in the past fifteen years, he would have sworn he was self-aware. Live and learn.

The necessity of keeping watch freed his thoughts. He played back a hundred reels of his childhood and teenage years. College graduation, with Duncan in the audience even though Conall hadn’t invited him.

Maybe the damage had been done early, when Conall had wished for so much more than he ever got from his brothers, and especially Duncan, the big brother he’d worshipped. He couldn’t help wincing as he thought about how young Duncan had been. I resented a fourteen-year-old for not wanting to spend time with his shrimpy eight-year-old brother. Of course he hadn’t wanted to. He’d been kind enough, but six years was a big age spread then. Too big for them to have been the kind of friends Conall had yearned to be.

Had he been angry because when Duncan turned into a father figure, it erased all possibility for them ever to be simply friends and brothers? Thinking about their couple of meetings these past weeks, Conall had a minor revelation.

Not all possibility had been erased. It wasn’t too late. Duncan was still willing, God knows why considering what a jackass Conall had been.

Because we are brothers.

Maybe because Duncan had always understood more than Conall had realized.

Conall had another uncomfortable realization. Despite what he’d said to Lia, he wasn’t dreading tomorrow. He was actually looking forward to spending time with his brothers and their families.

His family.

And one reason he felt that way was because he felt secure here, as though they were coming onto his territory.

Apprehension stabbed between his ribs, stiletto sharp. This wasn’t his home. Lia wasn’t his woman, Walker and Brendan weren’t his kids. It scared the crap out of him to realize that he felt like they were.

He stared at the dark house, willing a light to come on, the garage door to open, the sound of an engine to cut through the night, and thought, Goddamn you, make a move. Make a mistake.

He needed this operation to be done. To get back to his life before he started wondering whether that was what he wanted at all.

* * *

NIALL PITCHED THE BALL over the plate. Brendan swung hard, and connected. Crack. The ball soared and the batter tore for first base.

“Home run! Home run!” Walker chanted. Conall indulged in a few catcalls as the ball passed over Jane’s glove and rolled beneath the fence into the pasture, ending up with a splat in a cow patty.

As Brendan triumphantly rounded the makeshift bases, Jane stopped at the fence and said, “Ew. Someone else come and get it.”

Even Duncan laughed at her. “Can’t be any worse than Fiona’s diaper.”

Conall and Brendan exchanged high fives as the boy smacked both feet on home plate for emphasis. The pitcher called, “Replacement ball.”

Jane returned carrying the now greenish-brown-tinged baseball between two fingers. “What kind of baseball field is this?” she asked.

Duncan kissed her on the cheek and declined to take the ball. It was Lia, still giggling, who led her to the outdoor faucet where they rinsed and re-rinsed the ball, then dropped it and went into the house to scrub hands.

“Seventh-inning stretch,” Niall declared. “We’ve lost our outfielder. I could use a beer anyway.”

“You just want to quit because you’re losing,” Conall said amiably. His team—Walker, Brendan, Lia and himself—was trouncing Niall’s, which consisted of Desmond, Niall, Jane and Anna alternating with Duncan. Rowan had been declared ineligible to play ball because no one wanted to be responsible for sending a line drive into her pregnant belly. Niall was operating with a disability; he’d had to tackle a suspect that week and his left side was a mass of bruises and knotted muscles. His pitching wasn’t too bad, but his batting sucked. Des was decent for his age, Jane had turned out to be athletic, and Anna had managed to make it to first base on a bunt, but Conall and the boys had been doing some serious practicing.

“You’ve got a weenie for a wife,” Conall told Duncan as he delved into the cooler for a beer.

He’d never seen his big brother more relaxed. Duncan was currently lounging on one of the Adirondack chairs Lia had brought out onto the lawn. “Weak stomach,” he said easily. “You should have seen her the first few months she was pregnant. She could hardly keep anything down. We ate the blandest diet you’ve ever seen for a while there.”

“Killed his sex life, too,” their brother said, joining them. Trailed by Rowan, the kids had all run over to pet the pony through the fence. The men were left momentarily alone.

Duncan shot him a look. “Didn’t sound like yours was any too hot for a few months there, either.”

Amused, Conall wondered what their wives would think of this discussion. He could imagine what Lia would say if he…

Goddamn it. There he went again, thinking of her as his.

Duncan continued, “But when that crazy son of a bitch tried to slit Jane’s throat, she had a spine of steel.”

“That’s true,” Niall admitted. “Jane’s a gutsy woman.”

“Looks like you both got lucky,” Conall said after a minute.

“Oh, yeah,” Niall said softly.

Duncan grunted agreement. Gaze resting on Conall, he said, “You’ve never been tempted?”

Words rose automatically to his tongue. Not happening. That’s what he’d always said, wasn’t it? But those familiar words remained unspoken. It was scary as hell, but for the first time in his life, he could feel the pull. He understood why a man might want only one woman. Kids.

“Hasn’t happened yet,” he finally said, then almost cursed at the way his head turned when he heard the screen door opening. Lia had never looked more beautiful to him than she did today, wearing cut-offs, tank top and athletic shoes, a sheen of sweat making her glow. She emerged, followed by Jane, and he quickly turned back, but too late. Heat ran across his cheeks when he met his brothers’ interested gazes.

“She’s a beautiful woman,” Duncan observed, voice pitched to be sure it didn’t reach the women.

Conall muttered without meaning to be heard.

“What’s that?” Niall asked, leaning forward.

“Stuff it.”

“She involved with anyone?” Duncan asked quietly.

Conall hadn’t asked her. Hadn’t dared. But he thought she would have said. She wasn’t the kind of woman who’d have explored his bare chest with such curiosity and hunger if she had a lover.

“No.” He frowned slightly, hardly aware he’d turned his head enough to watch her and Jane descend the steps and start across the grass toward the children. “I get the feeling she thinks no guy would want her as long as she’s determined to keep fostering.” He glanced at Niall. “She admired the way you’ve taken on Rowan’s two kids. She seemed…surprised.” Interesting; he hadn’t realized at the time that she was, but he knew now that’s what he’d seen on her face.

Seems the two of them had something in common: a lack of faith in their fellow man. Or woman.

Same cause, of course. Some wounds never healed.

Conall frowned. Desmond had lost his father, but he would grow up secure, knowing he was loved. So would Anna and Fiona. Rowan and Niall’s baby, when it came along. Conall identified one of those strange emotions that had been pressing against his breastbone as if making a place for itself, even though he still didn’t know what to call it. Faith? Belief? Not in God, but in a truly loving family. The one thing he’d been most cynical about. Probably it shouldn’t have surprised him that Duncan the perfect had been able to form a family like that. After all, he was the man who would never fail anyone who depended on him. But Niall had managed the trick as well.

And then there was Lia, giving her all to frightened kids who had no one else.

He moved restlessly, not wanting to think about this.

Neither of his brothers had said anything, but both were watching him.

“We going to finish this game or not?” he asked, his edgy mood coming out in his voice.

Niall rose from his chair, whacked Conall on the back and called, “Hey, team! Let’s get back on that field and prove what the MacLachlans are made of.”

A sharp cramp of envy disconcerted Conall. He was the only MacLachlan on his team. And, damn it, for a split second he wanted to change that.

He laughed and raised his voice. “Come on, gang, let’s keep kicking their butts. Seems to me I’m up to bat.”

Duncan snorted and said, “Guess I’d better step in as catcher so Niall could put some heat on those pitches.”

Conall snorted. “Does he have any?”

The boys had gotten close enough to hear the exchange. They hooted, and Desmond stuck his chin out. “My dad’s a good pitcher.”

Niall pulled him close for a one-armed hug.

More of that funny feeling Conall didn’t want to think about. He grabbed a bat and called, “Better get ready to visit the cow pasture again, Jane.”

Everyone got into position. Conall took a few practice swings then stepped up to the plate, cocky, ready for his brother’s first pitch.