Always Florence (12 page)

She struggled to make sense of the situation. Did she have thieves who were fighting with each other? A man and a woman?

Footsteps sounded behind her and Nate leaped onto the porch, carrying an aluminum bat. He pulled her back from the door and pushed her behind him. Shoving the door open, he took a step inside, and stopped with a whispered curse.

Bobbie punched 911 into her cell phone, aimed her thumb over the send button, then stood on tiptoe to look over his shoulder.

She gasped at the sight of what appeared to be some derelict facedown on her kitchen floor. Stella had him pinned to the tiles with a squeegee pressed to the middle of his back. Monet stood on the counter, back arched, screeching loudly.

“Hello, Bobbie.” Her father’s strangled voice came from the grubby man on the floor. Mud was splashed over his jacket and pants, and his hands, which were flattened against the tiles. His glasses were askew. Unbelievably, he smiled as he craned his neck to look at her. “Flattered as I am by this lady’s attentions, would you get her off me, please?” He turned his attention to Nate. “You must be the neighbor with the boys. Hi. I’m Bobbie’s father.”

“Good God.” Nate grabbed Stella by an elbow and yanked the mop away from her. “Stella, what are you doing?”

The older woman’s expression went from righteous anger to horror.

“I...ah, he—” As she stammered, Nate handed Bobbie the bat and reached down to help her father to his feet. He adjusted Dennis’s glasses and brushed off his muddy beige jacket, though it didn’t help much. He shook her dad’s hand.

“Hi, Mr. Molloy. Nate Raleigh.”

“I saw him climb through Bobbie’s window,” Stella said, finally pulling her thoughts together. She looked from her employer to her victim in embarrassed confusion. “The back door was open so I went in and he—” she pointed to Dennis “—was rooting through the fridge. I thought he was an intruder.” She turned to Bobbie in supplication. “I’m so sorry, but he was dirty and helping himself and...he climbed through the window! God. I’m so sorry.”

Nate shook his head at her. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I tried but it just went to voice mail. So I grabbed my cell phone to dial 911 as I ran across the yard and...” She sighed and admitted with obvious reluctance, “I dropped it. I was nervous and clumsy, and I’m sorry.” She frowned at him suddenly. “What are you doing home, anyway?”

He held up his cell phone. “Left this in my jeans. I heard screaming and shouting and ran across the yard just as Bobbie was walking in.” His stress seemed to deepen. “So, you just walk through an open door that should be locked, and confront and attack a stranger who could be armed?”

Bobbie turned to him impatiently. “Stella’s been taking care of herself for a long time.” The housekeeper sent her a quick glance of gratitude.

Nate turned on Bobbie. “And you. You’d have walked in on what’s obviously some kind of fracas in progress—people shouting, things crashing? That’s a good way to get yourself killed.”

“Or in this case,” Bobbie replied into his scowling face, “talked to death.” She reached around him and drew her father toward Stella. “Stella, this is my dad, Dennis Molloy. Daddy, Stella Bristol.”

Dennis Molloy was slightly shorter than Nate and very fit for a man in his early sixties. His gray hair was close-cropped and his eyes dark and sparkling with amusement, despite the state of his clothes.

He wrapped his arms around Bobbie, then inclined his head in Stella’s direction and said, “I apologize for my scary appearance, but I’ve spent the large part of this morning standing in the rain on the side of a muddy road trying to get my van to start. I was somewhere between Cannon Beach and Seaside. Cars raced past me, spewing mud and road debris, which accounts for my homeless look.” He held his arms out to his side to show off his pants and jacket to full effect.

“Triple A finally had me towed to a shop in Astoria, which promised I’d have the van back after the weekend. Bad alternator. So I took a cab here—after the driver put a tarp down on his backseat—and was hoping to find something to eat in the refrigerator.” He smiled in the face of Stella’s chagrin. “Bobbie sent me a key on the chance that I arrived when she wasn’t home, but it’s in my van’s glove box, hence the climb through the window.”

Stella sighed. “Did I mention how sorry I am?”

Dennis grinned broadly. “Actually, that’s the most fun I’ve had in a very long time. And your take-down technique is pretty impressive.”

“Stella’s Nate’s housekeeper, Dad. And apparently a mean hand with a squeegee.”

“Well.” He bowed again. “I appreciate your not hurting me. Oh, oh.” He put a gentle fingertip to her right cheekbone, where a purple bruise was forming. “That’s where I hit you when I flung out my arm.” He went to the sink, took the top towel from a folded stack on the counter and ran it under cold water. He wrung it out, folded it and placed it against her cheek. Then put her hand there to hold it. “That shouldn’t be too bad. Lucky for you, I’m not that strong.”

“I was determined that you weren’t going to steal from Nate’s neighbor.” Stella grinned, then winced. “And I’m not sure what happened, but something distracted you for a moment and I took advantage to hook your ankle and throw you down.”

He smiled wryly. “That was the moment I realized I was wrestling with a woman.”

Bobbie’s father and Nate’s housekeeper studied each other a moment longer, neither seeming to notice that they’d exhausted the conversation and that Bobbie and Nate were watching them.

Nate drew Bobbie aside. “I’m sorry Stella went all warrior woman on your father.”

Bobbie glanced their way and was pleasantly surprised to see the two were now in the middle of an animated conversation. “He seems to have forgiven her.” She folded her arms. “And isn’t it a comfort to know that while you’re away, the woman in charge of the boys can handle herself?”

He conceded that point. “It is. I just wish she’d have called for help instead. If she was nervous enough to drop the phone, how did she think she was going to handle a man?”

“Hey, she had him pinned when we walked in.”

“Yes, she did.” Nate ran a hand over his hair and leaned a hip against the counter.

She reached past him to get her teakettle and fill it under the tap. “You’re going to have to learn to handle things without yelling at everybody, Nate.”

He gave her a dark look. “Everybody does things that require shouting to stop them from getting hurt.”

She put the kettle on the burner and turned it on. “Okay,” she said, leaning beside him. “I wasn’t a paragon of calm that night at the hospital, but your yelling wasn’t helping anybody. It had Dylan in tears and made me want to run away from you.”

“Oh, you want to run away from me on general principle,” he said, folding his arms. “You’re afraid to get close enough to me to feel something that might challenge your life plan. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but there are feelings here we should deal with.”

She turned sideways, leaning one hand on the counter and the other on her hip as she struggled to stop
herself
from shouting. “You don’t want me to get close to you. You keep me at a distance, and then blame me for not crossing the gap. Well, I think the truth is you don’t like me. You’ve never liked me because I’m one of those ‘variable’ women you despise....” She quoted his word with emphasis. “Because they want to do what they want to do without regard for fitting into what you need. You’re jealous that you aren’t free to do that.”

Temper smoldered in his eyes. “Sure, I’m jealous. You can be carefree and I can’t. Some of us have too many responsibilities to flit around the globe, following our dreams.”

“Yeah,” she said flatly. “Waiting for the results of an every-six-months cancer checkup provides such a carefree lifestyle.”

He had the grace to look repentant. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I—”

“And I told you in the very beginning,” she interrupted hotly, “that I couldn’t—”

He cut her off. “Yes, you did. It doesn’t mean I understand it. Home and family are everything. I used to be like you, living my life my way, but the loss of my brother changed me. I chafe against the confinement, but the boys are my flesh and blood. They’re part of
him
and therefore everything to
me.
But you won’t let anything mean that much to you.”

“You have no idea what’s in my head!” Now she was yelling.

“I’m guessing bricks,” he said in a controlled tone. Then, without warning, he wrapped an arm around her waist, yanked her to him, closed his mouth over hers and kissed her senseless. She felt his lips, the tip of his tongue, the powerful hand splayed against her back.

She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could only feel and try to think. His words about chafing against confinement occurred to her because that was what she should be doing. But she didn’t want to. She’d have happily sunk into the lovely prison of his embrace and let it go on and on.

He loosened his grip suddenly, and she was looking up into his face. Remnants of anger lingered in his eyes, yet he seemed somehow pleased with himself.

“You don’t know everything about me, Roberta Molloy.” The hand splayed against her back ran up and down her spine, and she trembled in response. He smiled wickedly. “I don’t think you know a lot about yourself, either.”

Nate pointed to the doorway, where his nephews stood. “Dennis,” he said, “I’d like you to meet Dylan and Sheamus, my nephews. Boys, this is Mr. Molloy, Bobbie’s father. He’s visiting from California.”

Dennis went across the room to shake hands with the boys. “Bobbie’s told me about you. I’m happy to meet you.”

Nate shook hands with Dennis, then turned the boys toward the door and headed out. “Welcome to Astoria,” he called over his shoulder.

When Bobbie could breathe again, she noticed her father and Stella staring at her, both looking surprised, yet pleased.

“Stella is staying for coffee,” her father said with a smile. “I’ll make one for you. You look like you could use it.”

* * *

N
ATE
PACED
ACROSS
the living room, every nerve ending vibrating with the sensory memory of Bobbie’s mouth under his. Unfortunately, he couldn’t focus on it, because clever Dylan had overheard something Nate would have never said aloud. And now he had to deal with it.

The boys sat side by side on the sofa, Sheamus’s shorter legs sticking straight out, Dylan’s bent but not touching the carpet. He looked indignant.

“Tell me what the word means,” Dylan said. Sheamus frowned at his older brother, clearly not sure what the problem was. “You said ‘chafe against the confinement’ when you were talking about us. I know confinement means being in jail.”

Nate closed his eyes and prayed for Ben to help him. His brother had always been so relaxed with the boys. Unlike Nate, who felt ill equipped to deal with them most of the time.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean jail,” he said, trying not to sound guilty so that they wouldn’t think he’d said anything they shouldn’t have heard. “It means anything that sort of locks you in to a place or a responsibility.”

“And that’s us. We lock you up.” Dylan wanted to make him suffer. Nate had to appreciate the tactic.

He kicked a footstool to face the sofa, and sat astride it. “Being responsible for the two of you means I have to be here to look out for you,” he admitted evenly. “Just like you have to go to school and do your homework. We all have things that lock us in place.”

“But what’s chafing?” Dylan was determined not to let Nate skate by with an easy explanation.

“When something rubs and makes your skin red. It usually stings.”

Dylan thought about that. He looked so much like Ben in that moment, avid intelligence sorting through data. “So, if you’re chafing against confinement, and we’re confinement, that means...” He looked Nate in the eye. “It’s hurting you that you’re stuck with us. It stings that you have to be here.”

The kid was good. “I was just explaining to Bobbie,” he said, wishing he could erase the last ten minutes, except for the kiss, “why she can fly off to Italy and I can’t. That’s all that meant. She doesn’t have kids, so she can do whatever she wants. The three of us are a family and that’s the way I want it.”

“But you said you were chafing.” Dylan was beginning to bear a close resemblance to an IRS auditor—the one on the Binghams’ case.

“I also said,” Nate reminded him, “that the two of you are everything to me. Did you hear that part?”

“You probably thought you had to say that.”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t know you were standing there. Had I known, I wouldn’t have said anything about chafing because I wouldn’t have wanted you to misunderstand and think what you’re thinking now.”

Dylan seemed to sink a little. His eyes grew large and dark. “Mom and Dad never said anything about chafing.”

Nate leaned forward to put his hand on Dylan’s knee. “That’s because your dad and mom loved you two so much that they never wanted to go anywhere that didn’t include you. And they were so smart. They always understood how you were feeling and what to do for you.” He looked from one to the other. “Do you know what a B team is?”

His brow crinkling, Dylan asked, “Like in football?”

“Yes. The kids who don’t know as much yet or aren’t quite as fast start out in the B team. When they improve, they get to be varsity.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m the mom and dad B team. Don’t know as much as I’d like and I don’t always say or do the right thing.” He patted the region of his heart. “But I’m determined to be better, to learn more, to stop doing things wrong.”

Tears slipped from Dylan’s eyes. That made Sheamus’s mouth quiver.

Feeling as though his heart was being sawed with a dull blade, Nate took each boy’s hand. “Please believe me when I tell you that there isn’t anywhere I’d rather be than right here with you. And pretty soon I’ll be better at being like a dad and things won’t be so hard for you.”

“Don’t you want to go with Bobbie?” Dylan asked, sniffling. “You kissed her.”

Nate reached for the wad of tissues in his pocket. He peeled off two and handed one to each of the boys. “No, I don’t,” he said. It came out firmly because it was honest. Then he shrugged. “I’d like it if she stayed here, but she doesn’t want to. She has things she has to do.”