From Father to Son Read online

  Not something he’d volunteered for.

  “Would you like to meet him?” she asked wryly. “Or would you prefer to flee while you can?”

  “Introduce me.” His face gave no clues as to what he thought.

  She nodded and led the way to the living room. Her father was polite when she introduced them, but he didn’t look pleased. Michelle’s initially startled expression and glance at the gun at Niall’s waist was replaced by a faint flush of color in her cheeks. Her reaction made Rowan take another look at him. He was in cop mode, she realized, nothing like the relaxed guy who played T-ball with her kid. The guy who wore cargo shorts and went barefoot. This Niall MacLachlan wore dark slacks, white shirt and tie. The gun and badge added an air of intimidation. His face was completely closed even as he shook hands and smiled.

  How did he do that?

  “So you’re the renter.” Her father didn’t sound very friendly. Had he noticed the way his girlfriend looked at Niall?

  “That’s right.”

  “I trust you don’t usually wear a gun around my grandchildren,” her father said.

  “Dad!” she exclaimed.

  Niall’s eyebrows rose as he met her father’s eyes. “I’m a police officer, Mr. Cooper. Carrying a weapon is part of my job. Which is keeping the citizens of this community safe. Are you asking whether I leave my weapon lying around where one of the kids can get to it? No.”

  “I’m sure you understand my concern,” her father said stiffly.

  Niall didn’t say anything.

  The back door banged open. “I’m home!” Desmond yelled.

  Anna startled and began to cry. Rowan scooped her up. “It’s okay, honey. Shh. I’m sorry.”

  Showing some sense or maybe compassion, Michelle tugged at Rowan’s father’s arm. “Keith, maybe this isn’t the best time with poor Anna not feeling good.”

  Des burst into the living room followed by Zeke’s mother, Jillian.

  “Grandad!” Des cried, but then he spotted Niall, his face lit and he flung himself at the impassive cop instead of his grandfather. “Niall!”

  Niall gave him a quick hug. “Meet your grandfather’s friend,” he said.

  Amidst the greetings, Rowan saw the way her father bristled at Desmond’s enthusiasm for Niall. She’d have more sympathy with him if he’d actually dedicated himself to spending any time with his grandson.

  Introductions began all over again. Likely sensitive to the atmosphere, Jillian stayed only for a minute. She corralled Zeke, who Rowan hadn’t even noticed until now, and departed, while successfully, for a second time, keeping Sam from making it in. Wouldn’t that have been the last straw? A dog rampaging through the living room, leaping with customary enthusiasm on the visitors. Rowan braced herself for Niall to make his excuses, too, now that he knew they didn’t threaten her or the kids’ safety. Instead, he simply stood there, rocklike and as expressionless. His stance spoke for him. I’m not going anywhere.

  The undercurrents were many and confusing. Rowan found she didn’t care why he was refusing to leave. She didn’t want him to go. She was still staggered by the rush of pleasure she’d felt at the first sight of him since he’d kissed her.

  Finally, Dad and Michelle left. “Keith didn’t tell me your daughter had just had surgery,” the blonde woman murmured. It made Rowan realize she might be a perfectly nice woman. Probably was.

  I wasn’t fair.

  She made an effort to be friendlier now, and gave her father an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Sorry, Dad. Anna hasn’t been sleeping well, which means I’m not getting much sleep, either.”

  “It’s okay,” he said gruffly, hugging her. For a moment he was her daddy, and she felt young and vulnerable and loved despite everything. “I haven’t seen enough of you lately.”

  Des walked them out to the car, chattering, which seemed to please her dad, too.

  “Anna’s still hurting,” said Niall.

  Rowan nodded. “It hasn’t been the best couple of days.”

  “I heard her crying last night.”

  During the middle of the night, he meant. She winced.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Not your fault.” He sounded gruff, too. Dad always did when he felt emotional and was trying to be manly about it. Was that what Niall was doing, too? The idea made Rowan blink.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t I order a pizza? Des and I can go pick it up. I don’t know what Anna’s eating…”

  “Jell-O. Ice cream.” Rowan made a face. “Pudding. Weirdly enough, just what the doctor ordered.”

  He laughed. “Okay. Do you need us to stop at the store, too? Are you running low on ice cream?”

  “Would you?” she said in relief. “Yes. Please.”

  She was going to find her purse to give him money; he told her not to be ridiculous, she could pay him back if she insisted. “The pizza’s on me,” he added.

  He made her give him a list so she wouldn’t have to grocery shop tomorrow. And then he took Des away and left Rowan free to persuade Anna to eat a cup of butterscotch pudding and drink some milk.

  Rowan was almost embarrassed at how grateful she was, how excited for Niall and Des to come home. It scared her, this feeling. He was almost too good to be true, somehow always there when she needed him most. Someday he wouldn’t be. She couldn’t rely on him too much. She couldn’t.

  The most alarming part was that she knew if he did keep coming around, he would want more than a kiss. She was afraid she’d give it. And then what? She’d endured her marriage for the kids’ sake. Was she really thinking of putting herself through something like that again?

  I can’t. I can’t.

  But she was invaded by heat every time she thought of the kiss, and it made her wonder. Niall wasn’t anything like Drew. Being with him might be different.

  She couldn’t prevent the fear that swelled in her at the idea, though. Maybe she should listen to the fear, not be reckless.

  Assuming, of course, she ever had to make that decision. She hadn’t even been sure Niall was attracted to her until he kissed her. And maybe that had been a moment of idle curiosity for him. He had been the one to end it, firmly sending her inside to bed. All she had to do was think of the essentially solitary man she knew, the one who played haunting laments and seemed so reluctant to get drawn into their lives, to see that he wasn’t looking for a real relationship.

  Then why did he keep coming to her rescue?

  And why, like the proverbial moth to a white-hot lightbulb, did she want him to kiss her again, and maybe even ask for more?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NIALL SAT ON HIS OWN small porch in the dark and reflected on the previous evening. Voice of common sense, where the hell were you?

  What was he doing, pretending he was—what?—a dear friend of the family? A beloved uncle?

  Daddy?

  He winced.

  He and Des had gone grocery shopping, which had included innumerable debates about what kinds of ice cream to get, whether Mom usually bought two-percent milk or whole, whether Mom would approve of the several heavily advertised breakfast cereals Desmond picked out. Whether they had to buy the broccoli she’d put on the list.

  Then they’d picked up the pizza, the boy marching happily at Niall’s side and wanting to carry the box even though it was too big for him.

  Anna had decided to sit at the table with them while they ate pizza and drank soda. Afterward they all had ice cream. Then, when Anna got whiny, Niall volunteered to take Des swimming again. The words popped out of his mouth and he’d expected to feel appalled, but no, damn it, he’d had fun the last time they went. And the gratitude and warmth in Rowan’s eyes were more than adequate recompense.

/>   Or so he’d told himself at the time.

  He and Desmond had fun again. The lessons had started, and the kid was getting the hang of breathing while doing the crawl stroke. The only bad moment had come as Niall stood in chest-deep water holding out his arms to Des, who wanted to jump in but was scared to, and he saw a fellow cop. Charlie Spears was a detective, too, but a known family man. Niall saw at a glance that he was there with two kids, a boy and a girl. He was carrying the girl, whose legs were latched around her dad’s waist, while he held the boy’s hand.

  Charlie stared blankly at Niall before recognition and then astonishment crept onto his face. “MacLachlan?”

  Desmond turned to stare at the man who’d come to a stop poolside. The two boys studied each other with open curiosity.

  “Spears?”

  “I’ve never seen you here.” His gaze went to Desmond. “I didn’t know you had any kids.”

  Niall gritted his teeth—damn, there he went again—at the surprise in the other man’s tone.

  “This is Desmond,” he said. “He’s my landlady’s boy.”

  “The one who…?”

  Was everyone in the department talking about his quixotic quest?

  “Yes,” Niall said hurriedly.

  Spears introduced his two. Turned out his girl would be starting kindergarten that fall, his son second grade. Des was friendly. Charlie and his kids finally moved on, but the rest of the time Desmond and Niall were in the water he was aware of occasional incredulous glances.

  What the hell? he decided recklessly and refused to let the audience keep him from having a good time.

  He’d kept on with the uncharacteristic behavior, too, hanging around while Rowan tucked Des into bed and then sitting out on the porch with her. She asked a few questions that got him remembering his childhood, back when his family still seemed normal to him.

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling, “I was okay with having a little brother until he started to walk, and then he became a major aggravation. We got to be friends once he learned to ask before he played with my stuff.”

  Her glider had gone still as she listened to him talk. “Why is it I can’t picture you as a little boy at all?”

  “I was carrot-topped, freckled and skinny, if that helps.” He was still smiling, remembering his young self.

  “Is your younger brother redheaded, too?”

  “No, Conall looks more like Duncan. Mom was dark-haired. Dad was the redheaded one.” He didn’t much like thinking about that, the idea that he’d taken after his father in any way. Except he knew he did. Now and again he’d look at himself in the mirror and have the disquieting experience of seeing his father. He wasn’t all that much younger than Dad had been, the last time he saw him.

  Strange thought.

  “The musical ability came from him, too, didn’t it?” Rowan said softly, as if she’d read his mind.

  “I suppose so.” He frowned, uneasiness stealing over him. He half expected that sometime when he was playing the bagpipe at the Highland Games or maybe in a parade, he’d look up and see his father. Should he talk to him, or turn his back the way he knew Duncan would? Niall had never decided.

  He stilled his fingers when he realized they were playing a nervous beat on the step beside him. He didn’t know whether he’d talk to his father if the occasion arose. He did know that he didn’t like talking about him.

  “That your dad’s girlfriend?” he asked.

  Rowan pushed the glider into motion. “I suppose.” She paused. “The latest, anyway.”

  There was something in her voice. He tried to make out her expression. “Did he, uh, have other women while he was married?”

  “He’s still married,” she snapped. Then let out a huff of air. “Their divorce is almost final. According to Mom he’s been dating practically from the day she moved out.”

  “But not before?”

  She was silent for a long time. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I don’t think so. Mom calls all the time. I think she’d have said.”

  “Is that the kind of thing you’d tell your daughter?” Man, he hoped not.

  “She’s been telling me lots of things I wish she wouldn’t. It puts me in the middle. You know?”

  “Yeah.” He wasn’t sure that was actually true, being as he didn’t have parents who called him. Shouldn’t she be grateful that her mom and dad both loved her and wanted to talk to her about anything at all?

  Maybe not. He had a vague and completely unsubstantiated belief that kids should lean on parents and not the other way around, at least until old age changed the dynamic. His mouth curled into a smile unpleasant enough he wouldn’t have wanted Rowan to see it. Once in a while he surprised himself with some stupidly naive belief, and this was one of those times.

  “I’d better go to bed,” he said, suddenly needing to get away from her.

  But to his dismay, when he rose to his feet she did, too, and temptation had him stifling any internal warnings. “Rowan,” he said. Only that. Voice husky. Hand outstretched.

  She stared at him from shadowed eyes. When she finally moved forward it was slowly, her steps halting, as if she battled some fears or cautions of her own.

  He quit breathing as he waited to find out whether she’d come to him or not. Finally, hesitantly, she laid her hand in his and let him tug her forward until their bodies bumped. The sensation was indescribable. He tried not to let himself examine how he felt. Why would he be almost lightheaded with something that might have been relief?

  Maybe only because he needed to breathe. He could breathe now that he was threading his fingers through the silken strands of her hair.

  He had to start almost from scratch with this kiss, so shy was she again. She pursed lips that were firmly pressed together, as if she were going to kiss Anna or Desmond. Niall had to coax again, and the whole thing should have been about as erotic as the first, terror-making kiss of two twelve-year-olds who’d agreed to “go together” without ever having had a real conversation.

  Not so. It was unbelievably sexy. More so than the openmouthed, panting, grinding hips together kind of kiss.

  As his lips played with hers, Niall was too engrossed to analyze what he felt. He was aroused, but fine with not taking this very far. With enjoying it for what it was. Sexy, yeah, but also sweet and…magical.

  It wasn’t until she’d gone inside and he was walking through the darkness back to his cottage that he thought in shock, Magical? What had he done, stumbled through some portal into another dimension? Lost his frigging mind?

  Now it was the next evening, and he was still wondering.

  Rowan Staley and her children were the kind of complication he’d spent a lifetime avoiding.

  With perfect clarity, Niall thought, I need to get laid. By someone who bore no resemblance to Rowan.

  It took him a minute to dredge up a memory of the last time he’d had sex. There had been a long dry spell even before Enid died and Rowan moved into the house. The last time was…that dark-haired attorney. He struggled to remember her face, her name. A weird name, he did recall that much. Something to do with jewelry… Cameo. That was it. Yeah, yeah. Cameo Burke. He could call up a picture of her body better than he could of her face, which embarrassed him a little. She was tall and supple, leggy and bold. She should have been everything he wanted in bed, but he had to play the game first: flirtation, romantic dinners, conversation. After a couple of times, it wasn’t worth it. He didn’t call her back, deleted the couple of messages she’d left on his phone. Knew he’d been a bastard and didn’t care.

  Somewhere in there—maybe exactly then—he’d caught his first sight of Rowan visiting her grandmother. She must have been around before; at the time he’d figured he had been lucky to miss her earlier. He h
ad stepped out his front door and seen her through the open gate getting out of her car. Stretching. His gaze was caught by her very generous breasts. Small waist. Luscious ass as she leaned into the car to get something out.

  “Something” turned out to be a little girl who clung to her like a limpet. Des must have been in school, Niall realized now. But Anna had been enough to chill him. Wow. He’d felt extreme lust for a woman with a child?

  After that, he’d tried really hard not to look when he saw her around. Went out of his way not to meet her. But now, his heart beating heavily in panic, he wondered if she’d been responsible for the fact that he hadn’t called Cameo again or worked up the interest to start anything with another woman. The fact that he’d been celibate for…damn. Eight months? Nine? The longest stretch since he’d turned sixteen or so.

  So how could he possibly be so content with kisses that were tame by anyone’s standards?

  I really need to get laid.

  What scared the crap out of him was discovering he couldn’t think of another woman who stirred a single cell of his body. He made himself picture a couple of movie actresses who were usually good for a fantasy or two.

  He felt…nothing.

  Until he had a flash of Rowan’s face when he’d lifted his head from last night’s kiss. Her lips, soft, damp, parted. The long line of her throat, the slow, reluctant way she’d opened her eyes, and the slumberous look in them before shock supplanted it.

  His memory of the throaty little sounds she’d made a couple of times.

  Fully aroused, Niall groaned.

  He was in such trouble.

  ROWAN DREADED DINNER at the Staleys, but had to go. She should have them at her house; she’d promised, holding off because Anna’s surgery was a good excuse to postpone. But she hadn’t been able to turn down an invitation. When she explained that Anna’s throat was still sore, Donna promised to have the little girl’s favorite cream of tomato soup and ice cream for her. Desmond, as usual, got quiet during the drive over. Rowan couldn’t blame him; she felt reluctant and sulky, too.