If I Loved You

She couldn’t blame Pop for resenting Brig. It wasn’t easy for her, either, to have him in the house. She’d really offered for Laila’s sake, and as long as Molly kept her distance she’d be okay.

“Another day or two,” she said, “won’t hurt us. The baby doesn’t belong in some stark hotel room, Pop, not when we have a good crib right here. And if she requires anything, the nursery in Little Darlings likely has it. Brig needs access to a kitchen for her, too.”

“Huh,” Thomas said. “So he stays and that little mite wraps her finger around our hearts. Then what?”

Molly felt his concern, his hurt, because they echoed her own. He had once wanted grandchildren just as badly as she’d wanted children. They would have been good for him. Ever since her mother had died, he’d been like someone lost in a wilderness, and Molly often felt helpless at easing his sorrow when she was still struggling with her own.

“About Brig’s key...” She felt the need to explain, just as Brig had. “His parents changed the locks after his last visit.” No, that didn’t sound right. “I mean, remember they had that break-in a while ago and upped their security? New door included. They wanted to give him a key, he said, but he was overseas, and they never know quite where he is really.” They had known about Afghanistan, though. And all that red tape. “I imagine they expected to be here when he arrived with Laila.”

Thomas’s features tensed. “I never heard a word about that baby. Maybe Joe and Bess aren’t as good-hearted as you are, Molly. Maybe they decided to take off—go on a cruise—or maybe they just don’t want to raise someone else’s child.”

Shocked, Molly leaned forward. “That’s a dreadful thing to say. You sound like Ann when she talks about Jeff Barlow. What’s with the two of you?”

Thomas seized the opportunity to shift the conversation.

“Ann?” He snorted. “You ever notice how she looks at him?”

“Yes, but...I notice more how she avoids him.”

“Well, look again.” The piercing glance he sent Molly made her squirm.

Did her dad also see how she looked at Brig when she thought no one would notice? She should just ignore his dark hair, his blue eyes, his broad shoulders and strong body. A body honed for war, she reminded herself, not love. Not her.

Eye candy, she tried to tell herself. Why not look if she did only that?

“We were talking about Brig’s family.” She hesitated. “There was a time when the Colliers wanted grandchildren as much as you did.”

Thomas drew a breath. “What business does a man like that have with a baby? He’s never home. He certainly doesn’t have a wife....”

Ah. So that was it. Still.

“Pop. Don’t.” She paused again. “By the way, Brig told me you issued him some warning about me.”

“Of course I did. You’re my girl.”

“I understand how you feel, but you don’t need to worry.”

He gave her another skeptical look, and Molly held his gaze until he had to avert his eyes. Lately, his protectiveness, his dependence upon her, had started to wear thin.

“I will worry,” he said.

“I’m not interested in Brig. That’s over.”

Even Brig’s mother had once told Molly that being married to a military man meant one long separation broken by short reunions. It meant moving again, often without much notice, just when you’d put down roots somewhere. And it meant always taking second place to duty. Maybe it was a good thing Brig had left and Andrew had stayed.

Her husband’s steady devotion had suited her.

“Andrew and I had our differences, especially toward the end, but I’m not about to tarnish his memory.” She took a breath. “Especially with a man who ultimately couldn’t commit to me. I had Andrew,” she said softly. And for a few months at least, they’d almost had the baby they’d wanted, that first grandchild for Pop. “I don’t need anyone else,” she added.

“You have me.”

Molly tried to let his remark pass. But Pop looked afraid of losing her—or did she imagine this? And that troubled Molly even more. All at once she regretted her offer to let Brig and Laila stay. Not that she had any other humane choice, but her father’s words only made her feel more unsettled.

You have me.

What kind of daughter was she? She loved Pop. Yet, sometimes, more often of late, she felt unsatisfied. As if he and Little Darlings and all her friends and family were not enough after all.

Frankly, she felt a little bit...trapped. Molly sure hoped Brig Collier’s sudden reappearance in her life had nothing to do with that.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_5043543e-9af5-5e9b-9067-7c984c3b1243)

ANN WALKER STARTLED at the first ring of the phone, though she should be used to it by now, since the phone had been ringing off and on all night. She had no intention of answering. In her darkened living room, she curled into her favorite chair, the TV set glowing but the sound muted. After the fourth ring she prepared to listen instead to her machine.

Jeff Barlow was finally leaving a message:

“Ann, if you don’t want to see a movie—then we can do something else. Take a walk along the river. Go bowling. Drive up to Columbus...”

Drive? He couldn’t have said anything worse. Frustrated, Ann snatched up the phone and launched right in.

“No,” she said. “To bowling or a walk or anything else. Maybe—just a thought here—you should give up.”

“Nope.” She actually heard a smile in his voice. He went on in that same unhurried manner, as if he meant to stay on the line until she surrendered. “You know, we have a new K-9 recruit in the department, and he reminds me of you.”

She tightened her grip on the phone.

“How flattering to be compared to a dog.”

The smile-by-wire broadened. “No, see, he’s this great-looking dog with honey-brown fur and big eyes that are kind of beige but gray, too, and a nice doggie smile, and he loves M&M’s, his favorite treat.”

Clearly Jeff was talking about her. “I don’t eat candy,” she reminded him pointedly.

“But sad to say,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “he may wash out of the program, which would be a shame—” here Jeff moved in for the kill “—because he has PTSD.”

Ann said nothing.

“You know what that means?”

“Yes. He suffered some sort of mishap—and now he has nightmares.”

“He’s a dog,” Jeff said. “Who would know?”

Her pulse was racing now. “He probably twitches in his sleep. His legs move as if he’s running away from something.”

“What are you running from, Miss Walker?”

“You,” she said without even thinking.

“I understand that.” She could almost see him lying on his sofa, the phone to his ear, that lazy “gotcha” smile on his face. Somewhere in his house or apartment or wherever he lived, his little boy would be fast asleep, the place quiet. Like Jeff. “What I want to know is, why?”