The Call of Bravery

He’d needed that connection, too. Maybe needed it more than did Niall, who had held on to a relationship with Duncan. Conall hadn’t admitted it to himself, but he’d been grateful every time he heard his brother’s voice.

He had somebody. One person who cared.

And he hadn’t realized how much he cared.

This unexpected homecoming, he thought, was going to be a bitch.

CHAPTER THREE

LAST NIGHT LIA had come upstairs, knocked briskly and then set two covered plates on the floor along with a couple of cold beers. “Dinner,” she’d said then left. If she’d been a waitress, she wouldn’t get much in the way of tips with that attitude.

This morning Jeff had gone downstairs and come back reporting that she made damn good waffles. By the time Conall got down to the kitchen, it was apparently closed. He found cereal in the cupboard and called it good, eating a solitary meal in the dining room.

They’d fended for themselves for lunch.

Tonight, he didn’t want to show up at Duncan’s anywhere around dinnertime; he hadn’t been invited and wasn’t sure he’d have accepted if he had been. So when Henderson said, “I had a decent breakfast and you didn’t. Why don’t you go down and eat with them?” he nodded.

“I’ll bring something up if Lia doesn’t.”

He left Henderson scanning the neighboring property with a scope that had both night-vision and digital filming capability. So far, nothing had happened over there. Literally nothing. No one had so much as stepped outside, although someone had to be letting the dogs—turned out there were a pair of Dobermans—in and out, or was at least feeding them. Tomorrow Conall planned to do some prowling. He wanted to see the back of the property, too.

This view was ideal, but unfortunately the neighbors were keeping their blinds drawn. Shadows occasionally passed in front of the windows. Any vehicles were hidden in the triple car attached garage, which had a single window covered inside with what looked like a heavy tarp.

The dogs definitely complicated things. He or Henderson could have slipped a few listening devices beside windows or on the porch if they could have gotten close enough. Somehow he suspected the Dobies wouldn’t prove to be tail-wagging friendly.

You wanted a challenge, he reminded himself. Consider yourself lucky.

Conall went downstairs to find Sorrel setting the table. A baby had already been placed in the high chair. The little girl had spiky black hair and eyes almost as dark. Her cheeks were fat and she grinned at him with no inhibitions at all, banging a spoon hard on the tray in emphasis. He retreated hastily, going to the kitchen where Lia stood over the stove, from which really good smells emitted. She glanced at him, expression shuttered.

“Are you eating with us?”

“If that’s okay.”

“Is Jeff coming down, too?”

Jeff. Good friends now, were they?

“No. With rare exceptions, one of us will be at that window all the time.”

She took a tray of big rolls out of the oven. Hunger pangs hit Conall and he had to swallow.

“Sorrel,” she called, “set a place for Conall, please.”

So he was on a first-name basis with her, too. Ridiculously, he was pleased.

The answer floated back. “Okay.”

“Here.” Lia had dumped the rolls in a huge basket and thrust it at him. “Will you put these on the table?”

Without checking to see whether he obeyed, she disappeared toward the living room. A couple of minutes later, she steered the two boys ahead of her into the dining room and set the toddler she’d carried on her hip onto a plastic booster seat at one place.

“What’s for dinner?” one of the boys asked. Brendan, Conall thought.

“Sloppy joes.” Her eyes cut to Conall. “Nothing fancy.”

“It smells amazing,” he said honestly.

Her expression didn’t soften. She finished bringing the food to the table, including a bowl of peas. “Picked an hour ago,” she informed everyone.

Conall waited and sat at the same time she did, feeling some alien need to display good manners. She—or maybe it was Sorrel—had placed him at the opposite end of the table from Lia. Mother and father, children ranged between them.

He couldn’t remember sitting down to a family dinner like this since he was… Good Lord, maybe seven or eight. Before one of Dad’s prison terms. After that, nothing was ever the same. One thing he did know, though, was that conversation should be flying and the kids more animated than these.

Baby Julia was the only cheerful one, banging and chattering unintelligibly. Little Arturo, chubby, too, focused entirely on his food and didn’t say a word. Neither did either of the older boys at first. Sorrel watched Conall surreptitiously, blushing when his gaze caught hers a couple of times.

They passed around the food—those homemade rolls straight out of the oven, sloppy joe sauce to go over them, and peas. He’d forgotten how good peas fresh from the garden could be.

Lia presided over the meal with grace and warmth, refusing to let the kids stay entirely closed off. Brendan, it turned out, was the older one. She got him talking about the Transformers movie and why the theme appealed to him. Conall was pretty sure he’d never considered that movies had themes when he was that age.

“Do you like it?” the boy asked him shyly.

“Yeah, actually I enjoyed all three of the movies,” Conall admitted. “Not that they’re—”

Lia shook her head, her gaze fierce.

“Uh, they’re fun,” he said. “You like ’em, too, Walker? Or do you watch what Brendan says you have to watch?”

The younger boy looked confused. After a minute he said softly, “I don’t care what we watch.”

Oh, geez. “I had—have—two older brothers. I pretended I liked whatever they liked because I wanted to hang around with them.”

It was the first time Walker had actually seemed to see him. “I like to hang around with Bren.”

“He seems like he’s pretty good to you.” Conall found himself speaking gently.

The boy nodded.

“We’re brothers,” Brendan said.

“I can tell. You look alike.” He hesitated. “Lia told me about your mom. I’m sorry.”

They both ducked their heads. Walker blinked furiously. Oh, hell. He’d probably blown it. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut?

And then he opened it again. “When I was twelve, I lost my parents.” A fireball of alarm exploded in his chest. What in God’s name was he doing? But something on those two boys’ faces when they looked up drove him on. He cleared his throat. “They didn’t die. My dad went to prison and my mother decided she didn’t want the responsibility of kids anymore. She packed up and left.”

There was an appalled silence. Conall didn’t let himself see the expression on Lia’s face.

“She left?” Brendan whispered. “On purpose?”