A Crazy Kind of Love (21 page)

He sighed and admitted, “I don’t know. I dropped Mike off there a couple of hours ago and—”

“Yes,” she said, nodding, “I knew you were off at some big splashy party yesterday.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Word travels fast.”

“In Chandler?” She laughed aloud. “Please. There’s no such thing as a secret in this town. Believe me, it’s been tried.”

Which meant, he thought, that by this evening, news of Justin and Bree’s arrival would be the hot topic in Chandler.

Perfect.

“How was Mike doing when you saw her last?”

The espresso machine hissed and spat and the hot milk frothed with millions of bubbles. He stared at it as if the foam-covered surface held the answers to every question ever asked.

How was Mike doing when he last saw her? Pissed off at him and worried as hell about her father. And he’d driven away. Left her there to find out—Whatever it was she was finding out.

Jesus, no wonder the women in his life hated him.

He really was a dick.

“She was scared,” he said quietly, remembering the shadows in Mike’s amazing eyes. Then he glanced around to make sure no one was listening. No one was looking directly at him, but he wasn’t fooled. Everyone here was interested in the Marconis because they belonged to Chandler. They were part of the whole.

And when a single thread was disturbed in this little tapestry, all of the other threads felt the loss.

“Not surprising,” Stevie answered thoughtfully. “Bet she could use a shoulder right about now . . .”

Yeah, Lucas told himself, she probably could. And the very least he could do for Mike was to bring her
some coffee. Hospital coffee was enough to poison the very people it was supposed to fortify.

He sighed and reached for his wallet. “I guess you know what the Marconis usually order?”

“Is my husband the most gorgeous man on the planet?”

“Huh?”

“That was a yes. And,” she added with a grin, “I’ve already started making them. Plus one extra. Grace is there, too.”

“Grace?” He thought about it. “Oh, the woman they were doing all that work for this summer.”

“That’s the one.” Stevie leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “
And
, Grace is also Papa’s girlfriend, so I know she’s there.”

“If you say so.”

“Oh, ask anybody, I’m always right.” She thought about that for a minute. “Well, don’t ask Carla, because she thinks
she’s
always right, so—”

“I get it,” Lucas said, laughing slightly in spite of everything. “And you’d already started making the drinks even before I ordered them, hadn’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Pretty sure of yourself.”

“Sort of. But mostly, I was pretty sure of you,” she countered with a smile.

Good that somebody was, he guessed.

Bree emptied the dishwasher, enjoying the mindless, soothing task. She carefully put everything away until the room looked as tidy, as
unused
, as it had the moment she’d arrived. A shame, she thought, this big, beautiful house, home only to a solitary man with a heart of stone.

She frowned. Although he had his reasons. Reason enough to want to turn his back on his twin—the other half of himself. But it tore at her to know that Justin might be facing death without the comfort of the one person in the world whom he most needed.

Hard to believe she hadn’t even known him eight months ago. Hard to believe there’d been a time in her life when she wasn’t in love with Justin Gallagher.

Crumpling a blue and white checked dishtowel in her hands, she squeezed the fabric and leaned back against the gleaming black granite counter. She stared out the window opposite and focused blindly on the trees in the distance, watching the play of the turning leaves as the wind danced through them. And as the silence of the house dropped around her, Bree remembered . . .

So handsome he was, with a smile made for devilment. Bridget took one look at him, sitting in the
corner booth of her family’s pub and knew that here was the one she’d waited for most of her life. For four nights, she watched him, alone and friendless, oblivious to the noise and laughter surrounding him
.

Most tourists came to Ireland looking to become a part of life there, if even for a while. But this one man left the glory of Ashford Castle every evening to come here, to a neighborhood bar, to sit alone. He intrigued her. Drew her to him as no one ever had before
.

Of course, that wasn’t to say he was perfect. Just perfect for her
.

Smiling, she asked, “Are you going to sit and drink your life away, then?” as she served him another pint of Guinness
.

He looked up at her. “Seems as good a way to go as any.”

“And if I were to offer an alternative?”

One corner of her mouth tilted. “Such as?”

She glanced behind her at the bar and signaled to her older brother that she’d be taking a break. Then setting down her tray on his table, she said, “Take a walk with me.”

“What? Now?”

“You’ve something better to do?”

“Actually,” he said, “that’s the best offer I’ve had in a month.”

There was something sad and lonely about him that called out to her. Then he really focused on her for the first time and a slow smile spread across his handsome face
.

“Too real for an angel,” he said, “too tall for a leprechaun. So you must be a fairy princess.”

Bree laughed, shook her head, and didn’t miss the way his gaze locked on the long fall of her hair. “Oh yes. That I am.” She swept her arms out, encompassing the pub, and added, “This is my fairy raft and you’ve just been captured. So here you’ll stay for the next hundred years—” She grinned. “Or until I tire of you.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” he said, standing up to look down into her eyes
.

She tipped her head to one side and met his gaze with a wink. “Ah, but we’ve yet to see if the deal is as much in my favor as in yours.”

“Oh, I can tell you now, Your Majesty,” he said sadly, “it could never be that.”

Sorrow welled up in his eyes until she almost couldn’t bear it. Then he seemed to find himself again and banished the pain for a glimmer of a smile. “But I’d like to take a walk with a fairy princess anyway.”

And just like that, she’d been caught. Caught in a fairy raft of her own making
.

All these months later, she could see no way out but one. She wouldn’t be escaping Justin.
He
would soon be leaving
her
.

And her heart wanted to break with the knowledge.

She straightened up from the counter, folded the damp dishtowel and draped it over the oven door handle so that it fell squarely, neatly. Then she smoothed her fingertips along the edge until even
she
was forced to admit that she was stalling.

She wasn’t ready to climb those stairs and check in on Justin. Wasn’t ready to admit that every day he was a little paler, a little weaker, a little closer to leaving her behind.

Still, she left the kitchen, because avoiding trouble never made it go away. The heels of her sensible brown loafers clicked softly against the cold, hard tile floor.

“He made a good choice with that,” she muttered. “Wood floors have warmth. These tiles are as cold as he is.”

Laying one hand on the banister, she skipped up the stairs softly, trying for as little sound as possible. If Justin was sleeping, she didn’t want to wake him. He slept so fitfully these days. As if even in his dreams he could find no peace.

And oh God, she wished she could give him what he sought.

She walked stealthily along the hall to the guest room and quietly opened the door to peek in. The bed was empty, the quilt atop the mattress barely mussed. His weight was so slight now, he was already ceasing to make impressions on this world. As if his soul had already started its journey and all it needed was for his body to catch up.

Stepping into the room, she whipped her head from side to side, scanning the large, comfortable room for signs of him, terrified she might find him unconscious on the floor. But there was nothing. Panic stirred within, but she fought it down. Instead, she poked her head into the sleek adjoining bath, but he wasn’t there, either.

“I’m over here.”

His voice. Softer than it once had been, but still so smooth, so familiar.

She followed that voice as she had for so many months now and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the lake at the back of the house.

Justin sat on a white chair, his feet propped up on a
low wicker table in front of him. “Pretty out here, isn’t it?”

“So it is,” she said, and took a long, deep breath of air sweetened by both ocean and lake. It reminded her of home. The green meadow that encircled the lake and the cool, still water that rippled with every breath of the autumn wind. “But you shouldn’t have come out here, Justin. At least not without a jacket or something.”

“I’m fine.” He reached up and took her hand, pulling gently at her until she sat on the floor beside him. His grip was so slight, his fingers so frail, she felt as though she were holding a wounded bird every time she touched him.

How could it have happened so fast? How did a strong, hearty, laughing man become this wraithlike creature in less than a year? And how would she ever live without him?

“I told you we shouldn’t have come,” he said, lifting his hand now to stroke her hair in long, tender caresses.

“He’s a hard man, your brother,” she muttered, leaning into him, just to have the comfort of his touch for as long as she could. “Are you sure you’re twins?” She shot him a wry look. “He might be a changeling.”

He laughed, then coughed, then gagged until his eyes watered and hers did, too, in sympathy. Then shaking his head, Justin said, “You’re not seeing Luke at his best. And that’s my fault. He has reasons. I told you.”

“Aye, you did. And I grant you, they’re powerful reasons.” Bridget stretched out her hand and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “But Justin, you’re his
family
.”

He shook his head slowly. “We stopped being that to each other a long time ago.”

“Your Lucas is a hard man, but you’re hard
headed
. so maybe that makes you equals, after all,” Bridget snapped, irritation surging inside her. “Talk to him, Justin. Explain.”

“He won’t listen.”

“Not if you don’t even
try
.”

For one instant, a flash of something hot and wild sparked in his dark eyes and then it was gone again. “I have tried. Lucas doesn’t want to hear it and I can’t blame him.”

“Well, I can.” She went up on her knees and focused her gaze on his. “You’re a fool if you’re willing to sit here and do nothing. You’ve come thousands of miles, Justin, to make this right. Will you stop now that you’re home?”

“Hey,” he complained, a spark of humor in his eyes, “don’t be mean to the dead guy.”

Dead
.

She swallowed hard, forcing a knot of anger, pain, and fear down her throat to tangle in the pit of her stomach. “I hate it when you do that.”

“I was just—”

“Kidding, I know, yes.” She nodded and sank back to sit on her heels. “But the thing of it is, it isn’t
funny
. None of this is funny. Not to me.”

“I know,” he said softly, letting his head fall back to rest against the chair. “But damn, Bree. It is to me. The joke of the century.” Then he sighed and turned his head to look at her.

Love shone in his eyes and Bree wanted to cling to it. To etch this moment on her brain so that in the years to come, she’d have it to pull out and remember over and over again. And it wouldn’t be enough. She knew it
would never be enough. She’d found love. She had his heart.

And she was losing him.

“Fine, then. If you won’t talk about Lucas, we’ll talk about the other.”

“God, you’re like a dog with a bone.”

“A beautiful dog, no doubt,” she said, frowning slightly.

“Oh yeah. At least a collie.”

“An Irish setter, I think,” she said, swinging her hair around to lie across her shoulders. “And you’re changing the subject.”

Now he frowned. “I’m ignoring the subject.”

The wind freshened, brushing past them both with a sigh.

“It won’t go away,” she said. “I won’t let it.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Wish I’d met you when I was alive. I think we’d have had some good times, Bree.”

“Stop talking like a dead man,” she snapped, hiding the fear that lurked inside with the brisk tone she always took with him when he started feeling down. “You’re not dead yet, you know.”

“I’m not going to let you marry a walking corpse.”

Her heart pinged slightly as that little dart hit home. “If you’re saying no because you’re worried about your blessed money, you can stop. I don’t want a thing from you but your name,” Bree said quietly. “Give me that along with your heart, Justin, and it will be everything.”

“Damn it, Bree, I know you don’t give a damn about the money and we’ve talked about this enough.”

“Not nearly enough, since I’ve yet to convince you.”

“Are all Irish as stubborn as you?”

“There’s the big black pot screaming at the kettle.”

He smiled but still said, “No.”

“Justin, you’re
alive
. And you’ll stay that way if I’ve anything to say about it.”

“Bree . . . not even you can win this one.”

She leaned in and kissed him, hard on the mouth, letting their lips linger together on a sigh of memory and regret. Then she pulled back and winked at him, leaving the familiar argument for the moment. She wouldn’t give up. Not on him. Not on them.

Not on what they had of the future.

But there would be other times. Other chances to convince him.

“Don’t you put money on that bet, Justin Gallagher.”

He studied her for a long, thoughtful minute, then his eyes flashed with something warm and lovely. “Okay. If you’re that set on it, I just won’t die.”

It was an old game now. One they played every week or two. When he felt bad and she felt closer to losing him. They’d say their parts, act out the roles, and each pretend to have consoled the other.