Tempered (A Daughters of the People Novel) (Daughters of the People Series) (12 page)

“Good luck with
that.” Will’s eyes slid to the Nordic goddess, who was in the middle of a
heated argument with her redheaded friend. “Gotta break that up before they
bring the bar down. Come back anytime.”

“Sure,” Aaron
said. And he would. The food had been filling, the beer chilled and crisp.

On the other
hand, who wanted to go to a place where no one but the owner’s son would talk
to you for fear of inciting Hawthorne’s wrath?

His temper
simmered during the walk from The Omega to her home. Hell if he’d put up with
that, especially since she barely gave him the time of day. If she didn’t want
to spend time with him, then she could at least put word out that she didn’t
have a claim on him. It’s not like he wanted to date. Being able to have a
simple conversation with a woman without her becoming hysterical about his
not-girlfriend seemed like a reasonable wish, though.

By the time he tugged
on the front door, a hot fist of anger sat low in his gut. He hung his jacket
up on the free-standing coatrack in the foyer and followed Lali’s high-pitched
screech up the stairs to her bedroom, where he found Ruby wrestling her little
sister out of her clothes.

“What’s going
on?” he said.

“Airn!” Lali
wiggled out of Ruby’s grasp and launched herself at him. “You came back.”

He hefted her
into a hug and smoothed her hair back. “Is this gonna be a thing with us?”

“She’s been like
that all night. Nothing but
Airn, Airn, Airn
, and Goddess help anyone
who gainsays her.” Ruby sat back on her haunches and eyed him. “If I didn’t
know better, I’d think you walked on water.”

“Ha, funny.” He
rubbed a thumb across the tear tracks on Lali’s cheek. “What’s this, kiddo? You
been giving your big sis a hard time?”

Lali glared
mutinously at Ruby. “She was gonna give me a bath without my puppy.”

“Come on, Lali.
We’ve talked about this.” Aaron heaved out an exasperated breath and grappled
with the anger roiling through him. Lali hadn’t caused it, and she sure as hell
didn’t deserve to have it spill over onto her. “Big guys don’t help little
girls with their baths. It’s just not done.”

“But you’re my
puppy,” Lali wailed. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She threw herself
against his chest and sobbed like her heart had broken in two.

“Wow.” Ruby’s
mouth twisted into a familiar smirk. “You really have a way with women.”

“Hush it, you,”
he said. “Calm down, Lali. Come on now, be a good girl.” He shushed and rocked
and cuddled her, and gradually, her cries dwindled to sniffles. “There, now. All
that fuss and you still have to take a bath.”

“Want my puppy,”
she said, her voice a sleepy murmur against his throat.

“I’m here,
sweetheart.” He rubbed his cheek against the silky wisps of her hair, and was
surprised to find that his earlier anger had evaporated under the onslaught of
concern for Lali. “Let Ruby help with your bath and then I’ll tell you a story,
ok?”

Her arms
tightened around his neck. “Ok, but I don’t like it.”

Laughter slipped
from him before he could hold it back. “I know. Go on now.”

He untangled
himself from Lali as she slid into Ruby’s arms and watched until they
disappeared into Lali’s bathroom. His head throbbed and his gut ached from the
last of the anger, and all he really wanted after helping Lali into bed was a
good night’s sleep. He doubted he’d get it, not with the state his mind was in.
Hawthorne owed him some answers. By God, she was going to give them to him
whether she liked it or not.

Hawthorne spent
the next few days acclimating Aaron to life in Tellowee. He expressed a desire
to swim as part of his exercise routine. It was a simple matter to gain a pass
for him to the IECS’ facilities. When his bicycle and art supplies arrived on
Friday, she helped him put the former together so he would have adequate
transportation around town.

Apparently,
Aaron had not driven a motorized vehicle in years, though he held a current driver’s
permit. He refused to consider using her Land Rover, preferring instead to walk
or bicycle where he needed to go. That someone would deliberately limit his independence
baffled her. As much as she endeavored to educate him otherwise, he simply did
not understand the reality of life in a rural Southern town, particularly one
without public transportation.

The weekend
passed easily enough. Lali and Aaron spent much time together, the three of
them more so. On Saturday night after a full day of play and work, Aaron
insisted on watching a movie on the television in her living room. Hawthorne helped
Lali with her bath while he made popcorn and picked out a movie.

The three of
them settled onto the couch with Lali between the adults, her eyes wide as she
soaked in the rare treat. As Hawthorne suspected, her granddaughter fell asleep
before the movie was finished. When she made to move her, Aaron stood and said,
“I’ve got her,” and lifted the little girl into his arms with such sweet
tenderness, Hawthorne’s heart skipped in her chest.

He flipped most
of the lights off on his way down the stairs and sat close enough to her for
their shoulders to touch. A breathless rush of feeling came over her, building
until her blood heated and her skin tingled with anticipation. She waited for
him to violate their agreement and  touch her, but he never did. Why that
disappointed her, she could not say.

When the movie
ended, he said, “Want to watch another one?”

Her heart leapt.
Yes
, she thought, and then,
No
. Of course, she could linger in
his presence. “It is late.”

“It’s not even
nine thirty.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Come on. Live a little.”

“I have lived
plenty,” she reminded him.

He laughed
softly and turned the television to a monster movie marathon. “Just one.”

His gaze caught
hers, and in his dark chocolate eyes she saw remembrance and a spark of attraction,
recognized it because she felt it, too, and longed to recapture the simple joy
they had shared at DragonCon.

That he chose to
share another monster movie marathon with her told her more plainly than words
how remorseful he was over the way they had parted. More, he wanted to build
trust with her again, though he did not say so. Even if she could not smell the
musky scent of his arousal or sense the increased speed of his heart when she
was near, his actions spoke loudly of his desire.

More fool her,
she allowed one movie to become two and all but wallowed in the brief contact
between their arms as midnight came and went.

She had other
concerns to deal with as well. Aaron’s presence had distracted her temporarily
from her duties to the People and her family. Bobby Upton’s accusations
regarding Isolde would have to be investigated, an action Hawthorne had
neglected in the flurry of emotion storming through her upon Aaron’s unexpected
arrival. On Sunday, she phoned Yvette, waking the younger Daughter, and asked
her to initiate a low-key investigation into Una’s daughter. Isolde would learn
of it eventually and would make her way to Hawthorne, who would use the opportunity
to rattle her niece and gain the upper hand.

At times, it was
more advantageous to serve the People away from the spotlight. Those in power always
feared losing their authority and were thus protective of it, creating a
vulnerability.

Hawthorne had no
such weakness.

Maria returned
to work on Monday, cheerful after her vacation. The elderly woman fussed over
Aaron much as she did her own children, all grown and all, in Maria’s opinion,
in need of a mother’s watchful eye and protective touch.

An opinion with
which Hawthorne whole-heartedly agreed.

With Maria home
and available to watch Lali, work on the graphic novel went much more quickly.
Aaron refined his concept sketches over the weekend and set them aside. By
Tuesday, they began a more detailed script, refining the plot and fleshing it
out through conversations that were surprisingly agreeable.

Hawthorne
created the script on her laptop using their discussions as a guideline while
Aaron sketched rough thumbnails of each page. The script would serve as a
reminder when he expanded the thumbnails and created over-sized pages from
them, pages that would later be reduced to the size preferred by her publisher.

The process
fascinated her, as did his skill as an illustrator. Under his hand, the story
of Una Longshadow came to life, and with it, the memory of her sister. He had
recreated her faithfully from Hawthorne’s description, refining his concept
sketch until it bore a startling resemblance to Una as a young girl.

He showed it to
her, fingers tucked in his pockets, eyes hopeful and wary. Hawthorne held it
gently, willing her trembling fingers to still. It had been so long since she
had seen her sister, so long since their last embrace. The comfort of Una’s
presence was a mere memory, lost if not for the curse that kept her image sharp
in Hawthorne’s mind.

What would Una
think of the man who had used his passion to revive her from the dead, if only
on paper?

“Hey.” Aaron
covered her hands with his and chafed them gently. “You ok?”

“I am well.”

She stared at
the pencil sketch and swallowed around the fist-sized ache gathering in her
chest.
Una, my heart
.
Would that you were here
.

“Ah, if you want,
I could do one in full color for you.” He cleared his throat and stuffed his
hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I was gonna scan it in and color it
digitally anyway, but it would be fun to color a physical copy instead.”

Hawthorne lifted
her gaze to his. “You would do this for me?”

His expression
softened into a smile. “’Course I would.”

“Thank you.” She
pressed the sketch gently into his hands and rose on tiptoe, brushing a kiss
over his cheek. His skin was warm under her lips and more tempting than she
dared acknowledge. “I shall treasure this portrait.”

His eyes lit
with an inner glow, as if she had pleased him.

He had pleased
her as well. She would not forget the hand he had played in preserving her
sister’s memory.

The next day,
Hawthorne’s directions to her young assistant bore fruition. Mid-morning, Isolde
knocked imperiously on the front door. Hawthorne heard Lali’s scampering feet
pause at the front door and just as quickly retreat to the office where she and
Aaron worked.

“Nana, Nana,”
the young girl cried. “It’s the mean cushion.”

“There’s a mean
cushion at the door?” Aaron set aside his tablet and stylus and scooped Lali
up. “This I have to see.”

“No, Airn.” Lali
flung her arms around Aaron’s neck, her eyes round, her face pale. “The mean
cushion will get you and then you can’t be my puppy no more.”

His confused
gaze met Hawthorne’s over the little girl’s head.

“She means
cousin.” Hawthorne tilted her head toward the low voices at the front of the
house. “My niece, Isolde.”

“Ah.” He jiggled
Lali in his arms and patted her back with gentle taps. “I suppose you and me
can get a snack while Nana and Isolde visit.”

“It is
business,” Hawthorne said, “and may take some time.”

“Then we’ll go
to the library,” Aaron said easily. “Maria can drop us off while she does her
shopping. How about that?”

“Yes, puppy,”
Lali said against his collar. “Don’t like the mean cushion.”

“Lali is not
your responsibility, Aaron.”

“What does that
have to do with anything?” His arms tightened around the little girl. “Anyway,
this is clearly not the place for her to be right now.”

“She must learn
to face her fears,” Hawthorne insisted.

His face set
into hard lines. “She’s four and has plenty of time to learn how to deal with
people she doesn’t like.”

Hawthorne
inhaled sharply. Maria leading Isolde into the office, forestalling Hawthorne’s
reply.

Aaron stared at
her niece, then turned an accusing glare on Hawthorne. “You’ve got a lot of
explaining to do,” he said softly.

She returned his
glare with an icy stare. If he had not broken her trust at DragonCon, Isolde’s
uncanny resemblance to the portrait he had created of Una would not have taken
him unaware.

Nor would he
have been surprised by Hawthorne’s much younger appearance compared to her
niece’s older one. Isolde had lost her mortality nearly two decades before upon
falling in love, surprising everyone who knew her, including Hawthorne. Unlike
her mother, Isolde had no room for forgiveness in her heart. The lack stretched
to the many wrongs forced upon Daughters by men from the time of the Seven
Sisters’ unjust curse, to Una’s treatment at the hands of the Roman army, to
the Shadow Enemy’s continued assault on the People. That Isolde had submitted
her will to a man and become mortal had been seen as wisdom on the Daughter’s
part, a sign that her unforgiving nature would mend.

Hawthorne
suspected it never would, though she had more tact than to say so, in spite of
her reputation otherwise.

Isolde’s sharp
eyes observed the tableau for only a moment before she stepped lightly into the
room. She bowed slightly from the waist, then smoothed a hand over the jacket
of her tailored business suit. “Aunt. I heard you had taken a lover.”

Hawthorne
ignored the censure in Isolde’s voice. “This is Aaron Kesselman. Aaron, my
niece, Isolde.”

Aaron nodded
politely, his arms protective around Lali. “Hello.”

“Don’t speak to
the cushion, Airn,” Lali hissed against his throat. “She’ll get you.”

Isolde’s black
eyes glittered, hard and full of disdain. “She’s become spoiled and insolent.
When will you take her in hand?”

“When she needs
it.” Hawthorne leveled an even stare at Isolde. “Aaron, have Maria drive you
and Lali to the library. I shall see the two of you for lunch.”

“Of course,” he murmured.
He bussed her mouth lightly, nodded goodbye to Isolde, and left, Lali still
wrapped around his neck.

As they exited
the office, Lali said softly, “Someday, I’m gonna be a great warrior and chop
the mean cushion’s head off, just like Nana.”

Aaron’s soft
laugh mingled with Isolde’s outraged gasp. “Of course, you will, kiddo. Don’t
think I’d mind seeing that.”

His footsteps
faded gradually, leaving the office in tense silence. Hawthorne spared a glance
for Isolde as she took a seat behind her desk and prepared for a battle of
words with her sister’s only living daughter.

* * *

Lali led Aaron
into the local public library, her tiny hand tucked trustingly into his. He
pulled the door open for her and snagged her by her backpack as she rushed
through it, barely catching her before she plowed into a woman in front of them
pushing a baby stroller through the second set of doors.

“Hello, Missy
Charlotte,” Lali said.

The woman turned
around and smiled down at Lali. “Hello, Miss Lali. Becka’s already inside
waiting for you.”

Lali turned huge
gray eyes onto Aaron. “Can I go find her?”

“If you walk.”

She flashed a
smile and ran through the doors, and he heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t worry.
She’ll calm down once she finds Becka.” The woman held out a fine-boned hand,
her smile friendly. “Charlotte Everheart. I’m Director Upton’s daughter.”

“Aaron
Kesselman.” He gripped her hand politely. “Who’s Director Upton?”

“Rebecca Upton?
Director of the IECS?” She laughed and shook her head, sending her mousy brown
ponytail bouncing. “You’ve not been here long, I take it.”

“About a week,”
he admitted. He held open the door for her. “Here, let me help you. We’re
causing a logjam.”

Charlotte pushed
the stroller through the open door and into the library. “Happens every Wednesday.
Story time,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s a lot of fun.”

He peered
through the glass windows separating the main library from the children’s area.
Kids were scattered everywhere while adults, many of them men, clustered
together in small groups around the perimeter of the room. A buxom woman
wearing a plastic nametag too small for him to read took a seat in a small
chair at the edge of a brightly colored circular carpet.

“That’s our
cue,” Charlotte said. “Lynette’s about to read to the kids.”

Aaron followed
her inside the children’s section and found a spot next to a group of other
men. They nodded politely, and if their stares were a little too curious, he
ignored it. Lali had already plopped down next to a little girl of a similar
age whose hair was the exact same shade as Charlotte’s. Becka, he assumed, and
was relieved that Lali had, indeed, settled down when she’d found her friend.