Conall's Legacy (18 page)

“Hello, Rebecca.”

“Welcome home,” she said softly in a voice kissed with Irish tones.

Her smile reached from ear to ear. Apparently, she was glad to see him. He focused on her lips, on Rachael, anywhere but on Rebecca’s eyes.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Drake. Come into the parlor and have a cold drink.”

Drake followed them all in, heard the door close and the snick of a lock as Matthew secured the door. He’d inherited the load of being the man of the house and was taking his safety duties seriously. Too young, Drake thought. Too young to have to play father to his brothers and sister.

Cool air surrounded Drake, carrying a hint of baby powder. He glanced around the homey den Rebecca insisted on calling a parlor. Heavy, overstuffed furniture, comforting and always welcoming, filled the room with places for guests to sit. Irish lace pillows made by Rebecca softened the room and added a feminine air.

“Boys, take Rachael and go to the play room. I want to talk with Uncle Drake,” she said ducking into the kitchen.

The smaller boys sent her “Ah, Moms,” but Matthew took Rachael in his arms and herded his brothers out the door as Rebecca came back and handed Drake his preferred cola in a can, no glass.

“Thanks, Becca. You never forget.”

Drake rolled the can between his hands, cooling the heat of his palms with the condensation that quickly gathered on the can.

Drake fidgeted in the deep sofa cushions. “So, how have you been since I’ve been gone? Everything okay? You mentioned you had a problem with Matt when you called.”

“I lied, Mother Mary forgive me.” Rebecca crossed herself.

“Excuse me?”

“I lied to get you home.”

Various scenarios flashed through his mind at lightning speed from someone being really sick to Rebecca wanting to get married again. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Why would you do that? I’d have come home if you’d just asked me to,” he said. Drake glanced at the can, noting it was his brand, fighting the need to look at Rebecca.

“Would you not be looking at that can and look at me!”

Drake’s chin snapped up, and his gaze flew to hers. Something was wrong. Rebecca rarely raised her voice to anyone. She could annihilate you with a softly spoken command; she had no need to shout.

“What’s wrong?” He set the can aside. “Is something wrong with the kids?”

“No.”

“Money? Do you--?”

“No! I have the insurance from Conall and my family helps us out now and then. We’re fine.”

“What then?”

“There’s something wrong with you.”

She used the tone of voice that warned a lecture was close behind.

Drake shook his head. “Becca, I’m confused. Just spit it out if you have something to say.”

“I have only one thing to say, and I will.”

Drake recognized the stubborn set to her chin and sighed. He was in for it now. He waited like a condemned man with no hope of reprieve. Rebecca had something major on her mind, and he could forget escaping until he heard her out.
Damn
.

“I’ve always known you to speak your mind, Rebecca. Go ahead.” He smiled, knowing that she never spoke to harm--only to help. He guessed he was about to hear her best impression of what was good for him. With restless hands, he picked up the soda can once more. He took a drink as she spoke.

“All right, then.” She folded her hands in her lap, lacing her fingers together. “Who died and made you God?” She delivered the question with quiet sincerity.

Drake choked on the slug of soda he’d just taken. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve barely looked me in the eye since we buried our best friend. It’s been over a year. I want to know who died and left you God. Because you have no right to feel guilty for the choices Conall made that day.” Rebecca drew in a shaky breath. “It’s time to stop the pity party and move on.”

“I ...” He finger-raked his hair, stalled and searched for something to say. Some way to deny he was doing just that. “I can’t just forget that I took away your husband and the kids’ dad. I have responsibilities here.”

“Drake, don’t you see.
You
didn’t do anything. Conall assessed the situation the same as you did. He knew there were children in that building, and he knew he could get out of there faster than you. He would never risk the life of a child, and no matter how I’ve missed him, I wouldn’t want him to.”

“He knew he was faster because I’d already made a big mistake.”

“You’re talking about having too many drinks.” He glanced at her, wondering how she knew. She read him like an open book. “We talked about your drinking and your father. Conall was concerned for you and why wouldn’t he be? You two were like brothers, after all.”

“If I hadn’t been there, neither would he. I made the mistake of drinking that day, and I made a bad call on the device. That’s why he ran. He knew he was faster because I’d had too much booze.” His tone sounded harsh, derisive.

She obviously attempted to lighten the mood. “No,” she said. “Because he was a sprinter in college and could out-run you with one leg tied up.”

Drake lifted his gaze to meet hers. She smiled now, a knowing, loving smile. He could see she didn’t hold Conall’s death against him. If she could forgive him, what right did he have to torture himself with his friend’s memory? He should be remembering the Conman fondly, not wallowing in self pity.

“Tell me something,” he said. “Why did you suddenly decide to call me and make up a story to get me here?”

“Simple. It’s time for all of us to move on. None of us will forget Conall. But he wouldn’t want this for any of us.”

“I know but it’s so hard to let go of my guilt--”

“Stop saying that! It is not yours.” She dropped her voice to a bare whisper and reached over to take his hand in hers. “Let it go, Drake. He did what he had to do. It was his time. You couldn’t have changed it.”

Drake fought the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. He struggled to find the right words. “Thanks, Becca. I know now why he loved you so much.” He squeezed her hand. He took a shuddering breath and a drink of soda, collecting himself.

“How about I get my bag off my motorcycle? I’ve got souvenirs for the kids and something for you, too.” Drake got to his feet.

“Where’s the truck?” she asked. “I didn’t see it in the drive.”

“I left it at the airport in Tucson. I didn’t want to take time to load the trailer and haul it back right now. I had to leave some things there...”

“Uh-huh.” She gave him a strange, assessing look.

“What?”

“Nothing. While you go and get your bag, I’ll call the children. They always love surprises from you. And then, Drake, you can tell me about the woman.”

“Woman?”

“The one you’re, shall we say, intrigued by.”

“How the hell ... heck ... do you know that?”

“First of all, you police officers aren’t the only ones with reasoning powers or connections. I called Rick to get your phone number when you didn’t answer your cell, and he mentioned a woman owns the place.”

“Sorry. I threw the cell in a drawer and forgot about it while I worked things out.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “add the close proximity and the fact that you are reluctant to leave a place you were determined to despise, and I’d say you’d have to have a powerful motive for going back.”

“Well, I’ll be darned, if you aren’t the detective.” Drake smiled and then lifted one eyebrow. “Might be true. Might not.”

“You have the look about you, my friend. And it’s about time, I might add.”

“And what about you?” He glanced at her hands, pointedly taking in the wedding rings still on her finger. “Isn’t it time you thought about moving on, too? You’re young and the kids could use a good man around.”

Rebecca’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Not yet. One day, but not yet.”

“Are you still grieving? You seem happy.”

“I’m content. I know he’s near me and he watches the kids.” She leaned back into the soft cushions and sighed. “Eventually I suppose I’ll meet someone new, but for now I’m happy with Conall’s memory.”

“As long as you’re happy. I can’t stand to think of you any other way.”

“I’d better get the children.” Rebecca rose gracefully to her feet, placed one hand on his shoulder, and pulled him close, heart to heart. She stepped back and then leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“We both loved him, Drake, just as he did us. Wrap yourself in the memory of his love and know it wasn’t your choice. It was his.”

Drake’s throat tightened. What a woman. To forgive the man who’d been present at her husband’s death. Drake noticed his word choice. Not long ago he’d have said “caused” not “was present at.” He felt a load lift from his shoulders. It wasn’t totally gone, but he could tell the difference. The weight was lighter.

When he walked back into the house with his bag, he was surrounded by overeager kids. In the den, they gathered around his feet as he brought out first one gift then another. Matthew held Rachael and to open his gifts, he handed her to Drake. The wiggling twelve-month-old threw her arms around his neck and squeezed.

“Da-da,” she gurgled, smiling and patting Drake’s cheeks with damp, pudgy hands.

Shocked he quickly looked at Rebecca and the boys. Everyone had fallen silent.

Rebecca spoke up quickly to ease the moment. “It’s all right, Drake. She calls most males ‘da-da’, including Matthew. It’s one of the first sounds they can make.”

The boys went back to opening packages and pulling out trucks and cars, western ropes, and boots. Drake hugged Rachael close, thinking of the father she’d lost. His gaze slid over the boys, the joy in their eyes, the laughter, and he remembered when each one was born and christened. Relationship with Rebecca aside, could he stand to leave them? To live so far away he’d only see them once or twice a year. He had watched them grow and as they did, they’d wrapped chains of love around his heart.

#

Luisa felt a one ton weight drop on her shoulders. Marie had announced her impending departure at the dinner table. She had insisted Cindy come for the meal, and now Luisa knew why. Marie wanted her to have support when she revealed her plans.

“Mother, please, stay. I can take care of you. I’m sure Cindy knows doctors in Tucson to refer you to.”

“That’s right, Marie. I can check some out for you if you like,” Cindy agreed.

“The time here has been so special ... I just can’t tell you how much.” Marie sipped her water, and then reached across the table to clasp Luisa’s hand. “But I must go now. I have work to do and meetings to attend.”

Luisa clung to her hand as though by doing so she could stop her mother’s departure. “I understand, but can’t you stay just a few more days.”

Marie shook her head. “I am leaving tomorrow morning. I need you to drive me back to the airport, though. I’m not up to it.”

“But--”

Marie cut her off and continued as though she had not spoken. “Cindy arranged to spend the night and she can come with us to bring you back after we drop my rental car.”

She gazed into Luisa’s eyes. Luisa knew her own fear was shining in her eyes for her mother to see.

“Cindy and I will help you. I need you to do this for me, Luisa, please.”

The fear that raced in sent Luisa’s heart rate into a frenzy. Her breaths came short and fast. Sweat popped out on her forehead as she imagined leaving the property to drive into the city.

“I don’t know, Mother. I--”

“I do know,” Marie said as she rose. She stood straight, her shoulders square. “You are a strong young woman. You have a determination to survive and succeed like I have never seen in anyone else, except perhaps your father. Luisa, you can do this. You
will
do it, for me.”

Luisa stared into her mother’s eyes and knew she had lost the battle. She intercepted a knowing look between Cindy and her mother and knew without a doubt they were in this together. They had out-maneuvered her. She glanced at Cindy who gave her a soft, apologetic smile and thumbs up.

Luisa hung her head as she dropped her chin onto her chest.
Son of a bitch
.
We’re going to town
.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Luisa paced at the foot of her bed, rubbing her palms together in a useless attempt to get the blood flowing to them. Rooster crouched in a corner of the room, apparently aware all was not well in his mistress’s world.

Luisa felt as though fear had drained every last drop from her body. She’d been walking the floor since daybreak, and now delayed going into the kitchen where she could hear her mother making coffee.

“Get your shit together!” She berated herself and fought her rebellious stomach. “You can do this. You’ve done it before, damn it.”

Luisa wiped her damp palms down the front of her jeans, and then tucked her shirt into the waistband. She moved to the dresser to yank a belt out of the top drawer and came face to face with a photo of her father. A huge smile filled his face, a world champion buckle in his hands. He’d fought and won a contest against a two-thousand-pound bull, not once but many times--as many times as it took to become a champion.