Second To None

Tate was wearing the expression that meant he was going to get paternal on him. The only thing that drove Mike insane about this man—for whom he’d die in minute—was that even now, when they were in their thirties, Tate could turn into the Big Brother.

“Well, I’d like to be able to promise you you’ll never have to be responsible for another child’s safety again, but you’ve got to know that isn’t realistic.”

Mike shot him a severe look. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking—”

Tate, however, had taught him the look and gave as good as he got. “Yes, you are,” he interrupted. “You’ve learned to live around it, but it still affects every decision you make about your future. Because you’re a conscientious and sensitive individual, you’re holding yourself responsible for that woman and those kids, and that’s self-destructive. Not to mention completely unnecessary.”

Mike opened his mouth to dispute the analysis, but Tate raised a hand to stop him. “I know,” he said. “You explained to me it’s not really that you’re assuming the blame, but that when something so awful happens, the survivors feel responsible anyway. The department shrink told you the situation was already hopeless when they called you in.”

“Nothing’s ever hopeless,” Mike insisted moodily. “Otherwise, what’s the point of trying to negotiate a hostage situation in the first place?”

Tate nodded. “But when somebody’s drugged out, the whole equation’s distorted. You’re trying to bring reason to a situation when you’re operating on a different plane of reality. As hopeful as you want to be, I’m sure sometimes you know it’s just not going to happen.”

God. Mike had always thought memories lived in your head, but this one had taken root right in the middle of his chest. Every breath he drew had to go around it. Every emotion he experienced had to elbow the memory aside.

“Look,” Mike said reasonably. “I got into this winery thing with you and Shea because I was ready to take my life in a new.direction. But having a day care in the middle of our—”

“Won’t be at all like a hostage situation,” Tate finished for him. “Come on, Mike. You’ve got to confront this. You can start fresh, but not by hiding from what you left behind.”

Mike ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, well, for the moment at least, I’d like to try it. That barn’s going to take six men a month to make habitable.”

“The crew is going to power-wash it and give it a quick white spray. According to Colette, Veronica thinks the barn’s the perfect size because she can bring playground equipment inside in the winter. The guys’ll put up a few walls inside and install a furnace, but she’s doing all the painting and decorating. In return, she has two months rent-free. Every building on this place has to pay its way. I’m just trying to protect your investment.”

Mike sat up in his chair. “Well, then you’d better double-check and triple-check all her references, because she seems a little flaky to me. She was sliding down the banister when I walked into the B-and-B.”

Tate laughed as he handed him a sheet of paper. “You’re kidding!”

“I’m not.” Mike perused the résumé. Besides Veronica Callahan’s name, address and phone number, there was a long list of schools where she’d been educated, and then five separate schools at which she’d taught kindergarten through the second grade. All of them were private schools. She’d also counseled at a teen center.

He looked at Tate in concern. “Don’t you think she moves around a lot? She’s been all over the place. She’s taught at five schools and she’s only—what?—” he checked her birth date and calculated “—thirty? Either she moved every other year, or she was asked to leave—or was being chased.”

Tate shook his head, grinning in a way that made Mike suspicious. “She wasn’t asked to leave, she was transferred.”

“Schools don’t transfer teachers around.”

“They do if they’re nuns.”

Mike stared at him, the shock of his brother’s announcement clashing in his mind with the memory of Veronica Callahan lying on top of him, all soft and fragrant. He remembered for a moment, then refocused.

“A nun,” he said flatly. “A nun came flying at me off the banister.”

“An ex-nun,” Tate corrected. “Now she’s just a woman.”

Kids and a nun—a woman. Great. His life was right on track—backward.

“I’m sure you’ll like her once you get over this bad start. From what Colette says, she seems very genuine and not at all sanctimonious.”

Mike stood to leave. “I guess we’ll see.”

Tate got to his feet and put an arm around Mike’s shoulders. “You have a suit for my wedding?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve even worn one since Mom’s and Dad’s funeral, and you lent me that one.”

“I can lend you one again.”

Mike headed for the stairs. Tate followed. “No, I should buy one. There are a couple of events coming up that call for something other than my jeans and boots—You got the ring?”

“Yeah. We’re all set.”

They stopped at the top of the stairs. It occurred to Mike that when they’d started this venture, he and his brothers had been without women in their lives. Tate’s ex had remarried a diplomat and taken his daughters to Paris to live, and Shea had clearly left his heart in San Francisco with a woman he’d refused to discuss.

Tate’s first marriage had changed their relationship, of course, but they hadn’t actually been as close then as they were now. They’d had big plans in their youth, and a belief in their invincibility. But they’d since lost their parents in an accident, and individual calamities had befallen each of them.

Then their uncle Jack had been legally declared dead in January after an absence of seven years, leaving the winery and all its properties to be shared equally among Tate, Mike and Shea. Jack’s disappearance remained a mystery, though Mike and his brothers were making an effort to find answers. In the meantime, bringing the winery back to life was teaching them each other’s strenghts and weaknesses and deepening their relationships.

No bond, Mike thought, was quite as strong as the one forged by shared grief and adversity. It made the gift of a brother or a friend invaluable.

He clapped Tate on the shoulder. “I wish you happiness. It’s too bad your girls can’t come.”

Tate nodded. “We talked it over, and they decided they’d rather be here for Christmas. Susan and Sarah are taking special language classes this summer, and that’s important if they’re going to be living in France.”

“But you’re still going to have two kids with you on your honeymoon. You’re sure about that?”

“Yeah.” Megan and Katie, Colette’s two daughters, were seven and eight. “They’re pretty excited about getting a father. I’d hate for my first official act as their dad to be to leave them behind to take off with their mother. You guys still okay with Armand taking over my old room when we come back from Banff?”

“Of course. Shea and I both like Armand.”

“Good. I didn’t want him to move, but he insisted.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine with us. Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Tate grew serious. “You willing to live with the day care thing?”

No, he wasn’t. It was going to prey on his mind until the children showed up, and then would probably cause him sleepless nights. But Tate had given up so much to get the winery going—and not just as an investment in his own future, but in Mike’s and Shea’s as well. Right now Mike didn’t want Tate to worry about anything.

“Sure. I’ll adjust. And I should probably start by apologizing to Sister Mary Trouble.”

“I really think this is a good idea.”

“Sure.” Mike said the word with convincing sincerity as he started down the stairs. But in his heart, he knew there wasn’t a chance of that happening. Veronica Callahan represented the two things he’d sworn he’d never be involved with again: women and children.

CHAPTER TWO

VERONICA BIT INTO a buttery cream cheese pastry and moaned her approval.

Colette put down her coffee cup and indicated the few crumbs on her paper plate. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful? I’ve probably gained ten pounds since Shea started testing recipes for the tasting room and the restaurant.”

Veronica chewed and swallowed, thinking that no one could look better at 7:00 a.m. than Colette did—and there was no evidence of an extra ten pounds on her. She had bright, curly red hair that framed a finefeatured face and lively gray eyes. Her warmth had appealed to Veronica the moment they’d first met, and had gone a long way toward diminishing her loneliness. During their several lunches in Portland, a friendship had been born.