Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (57 page)

D
ev knocked on the door of the frame house that his mother had lived in for twelve years.

Muffled by the door, a voice called out, “Come on in.”

He turned the knob and stepped inside, bracing in reflex. Waiting…always expecting his mother’s four-month sobriety to have come to an end.

But the scent of coffee, not liquor, greeted him on this Sunday morning after his return from Houston.

Coffee…and the sight of his mother sitting on the living room floor surrounded by boxes, holding a tie in her hands, a wistful smile on her face.

Monique Marlowe looked up. “Do you remember this? Your father called it his lucky tie. Wore it whenever he had to deal with IRS or a difficult client.” She held it out to him.

Dev stepped over boxes and squatted down beside her, worried at the moisture glistening on her lashes. “You could leave this stuff to us, Mom. We’ll go through it.”

Her once-black hair had gone snow-white suddenly, as if her battle with the bottle had drained everything from her. “No, Devlin. These are my memories. It’s taken me almost twenty years to face them. I need to deal with them myself.” She stroked one finger down the tie, an unremarkable regimental in shades of navy and burgundy.

And suddenly, Dev did remember it, knotted around Patrick Marlowe’s neck. For one instant, he could feel his father’s hand clap his shoulder, could see the green eyes he’d inherited sparkling with pride as his father spoke.
Will you look at this boy, Monique? He’ll be as tall as me soon. Our Dev is growing up
.

Dev had probably been twelve, three years away from the worst day of his life.

At least, the worst day until he and Lacey—

“Would you like to have the tie, Devlin?”

“No.” He saw the hurt in her eyes at his curt tone. He shook his head and exhaled. “I’m sorry. I drove in from Houston, got here just before seven.” And still couldn’t get any damn sleep. “You have any coffee made, Mom? Then I’ll give you a hand here.”

His mother held out a hand for assistance, and Dev tugged her to her feet, the grace she’d never lost, even at her worst, still evident.

Monique Marlowe had been a lovely drunk. She’d never turned slovenly, had coped—in her own way. If she couldn’t handle four children or the realities of a life of poverty, still she’d held on to the one thing that had always been hers—her beauty. At sixty-two, she bore some lines of age, but she was still too beautiful to be a grandmother.

But thank God she was. Dierdre’s child had been the surprising magic that had transformed her. Had given her what her children could not: a reason to stay sober.

“Poor Devlin,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “You work too hard.” The lovely blue eyes turned uncertain, and she looked down at her hands. “All this has made me think about a lot of things. I—I’ve never apologized to you, son. It wasn’t right what I did when Patrick—” Her eyelashes batted rapidly, but a single tear spilled over.

Dev clasped her slender shoulders. “Don’t, Mom. It’s over. You’re doing well, and that’s all that matters.” What was done was done…and his own emotions were stretched too thin to have this discussion after last night.

After Lacey.

He wasn’t ready to rehash the past. Not now. Not when he still carried the feel of Lacey’s slim hand in his, when those silvery eyes wouldn’t let him sleep.

“I still don’t understand it. The Patrick I knew was no crook. He was so angry, so hurt, so—” She looked up at her son, blue eyes swimming with pain. “It literally killed him, the disgrace.”

“He had a weak heart, Mom. He was under a lot of stress.” With the Securities and Exchange Commission findings of fraud, his father’s whole career had been on the line. Even if he’d escaped conviction, he’d never have worked in a high-powered accounting firm like DeMille & Marshall again.

She gripped his sleeve. “But do you believe he did it?”

Dev was too tired for this discussion. Too many years had passed, and he’d been so young. All he’d known was that his father was dead, that with shocking suddenness, their expansive lifestyle had crashed around them. No more soccer games. No more vacations. Only the grim struggle to survive.

Only the shame.

But his mother’s gaze still pinned him, waiting for a response.

“I don’t know what to think. All I cared about back then was getting my driver’s license.” He’d forgotten that—how driving had seemed all-important at fifteen.

He patted her hand. “It doesn’t matter, Mom. None of it matters now. We go forward, isn’t that what they tell you in your meetings? You’re doing great. Don’t let the past snare you in its trap.”

Remember that, Dev. The past is the past
.

His mother’s eyes swirled with confusion, with old hurts. With the beginnings of the fog that had claimed too many years.

Dev swore silently at the sight. “Come on, Mom. You’ve worked too hard to get here.” He gestured at the boxes. “I’ll get Connor and Dee to help me, and we’ll get rid of this stuff.”

Visibly, she pulled herself back, the new woman she was becoming. Drawing in a deep breath, she shook her head. “No, Devlin. These are my memories. I haven’t been able to look at any of this since he…” Again, she shook her head. “There’s one box of your father’s business papers that I’d like you to take, though. I don’t understand any of that stuff, but I thought you might like to have them.”

The last thing he wanted was to dig into their past. His own past with Lacey was plenty to handle right now. But he nodded. “I’ll stick it in my car when I leave. I’m pretty busy on a case right now, but I’ll get to it one of these days. Or maybe I’ll take it to Connor. Let him put that MBA to use for something besides impressing women.”

Monique smiled faintly at the thought of Dev’s much-younger brother. “You’re a good son, Devlin. A good man. I’ve let you down, but I won’t do that anymore.” She lifted her shoulders, straightening her whole delicate frame. “Once I move, I’m going to look for a job. You’ve supported me long enough. Too long.”

“You have an important job, Mom. Grandmother. Little Katie is going to keep you plenty busy.” Seeing her protest, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it right now, okay? I’m doing fine.” Then, unable to stand any more assaults from the past, he took the tie from her hand and laid it on the sofa, then steered her toward the kitchen. “But if you wanted to fix me breakfast while I drink about a gallon of coffee, I sure wouldn’t complain.”

“I’d be happy to do that.”

“Good. And while you’re at it, you can tell me what the world’s smartest baby has been up to this week.”

At the mention of Deirdre’s Katie, his mother’s eyes lit. “Oh, that sweet child. You won’t believe what she did just yesterday…”

He could tell this would take a while, but that was fine. Dev would forgive Deirdre all the attempts at matchmaking that drove him nuts. She’d produced the miracle that had given his mother a reason to live.

And listening to stories of sweet Katie was far better than thinking about whether or not Lacey would cancel their picnic.

And whether or not he hoped she would.

Lacey held Christina’s hand as they entered the plastic surgeon’s office, an associate of Philip’s who’d agreed to give an assessment on reconstructing the child’s face.

Christina clasped her hand tightly, her head downcast. The child had learned too much about the world’s cruelty. The stares bothered her, whether from pity or disgust. The pretty pink dress Lacey had bought her to wear today, knowing how much Christina minded being seen in public, wasn’t helping, no matter Christina’s delight when she’d donned it.

“Let’s sit over here, all right?” Lacey’s hand hovered over the fine strawberry-blonde hair, resisting the urge to warn the room’s other occupants to be careful of this child.

But instead, she found her own heart tugged. A boy of perhaps twelve sat with his mother, his hands and face bearing the scars of terrible burns. The boy glanced up, then away quickly, as she’d seen Christina do so often. Lacey wished she could tell the boy he had nothing to fear from her, but the best she could do was to meet the mother’s gaze evenly, with a nod and a smile. The woman glanced at Christina and smiled back.

“Lacey,” Christina tugged her down and whispered in Lacey’s ear. “That boy—he’s got scars, too.” Her brown eyes were filled with sympathy. “Did someone hit him?”

Dear God, it was so unfair that an eight-year-old girl should have lived the way Christina had. Lacey leaned down. “If we whisper about him, he’ll feel the way you do when people stare. Could we talk about this later?”

Understanding dawned. Christina nodded. Looking across the room, she gave the boy a shy smile. It wasn’t returned, but the boy didn’t turn away quite so far this time.

“Let’s read a magazine,” Lacey suggested, rising to head for the magazine rack.

Just then, the door to the examining rooms opened, and Missy Delavant stepped out. She looked startled to see Lacey, but somehow Lacey couldn’t be too surprised that this woman who hadn’t yet hit thirty would already be looking into cosmetic surgery.

“Lacey, what are you doing here?” Missy’s mouth took on a sly smirk.

“I’m here with a client.”

“Client?” Missy glanced behind Lacey. It was easy to tell when she spotted Christina from the look of distaste that crossed her face. “Oh—one of your little urchins, right? Philip told me about your volunteer work. I have to hand it to you, Lacey—I don’t know how you do it. Philip’s idea of serving on the hospital board sounds much less…tawdry.”

Years under Margaret DeMille’s tutelage kept the sharp retort from Lacey’s lips, but her hands curled at her sides. “I enjoy my work. It’s very satisfying.”

But Missy wasn’t through sharpening her claws. “As satisfying as selling your picnic for five thousand dollars? I thought your mother would choke.” Her eyebrows lifted. “But the man candy who bought it…” She licked her lips.

The last thing Lacey wanted to discuss was Dev. “I’d better get back to Christina.”

Missy still had one more parting shot. “You should be careful, Lacey. Philip is more than a little miffed about this little
pas de deux
picnic. He says you’ve been making yourself scarce the last few days. Is there something going on with the dreamboat? Doesn’t look too good for Philip’s fiancée to be dating another man.”

“It’s not a date. And Philip and I are not engaged.”

Missy’s eyes widened. “But it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it? Or is there more you’re not telling?”

Only that I can’t sleep and I’ve picked up the phone a hundred times to cancel
—

“It’s a simple fundraiser, Missy. End of story. Now if you’ll excuse me, Christina’s nervous about being here and I need to be with her.” Lacey turned away.

“Nice to see you, Lacey. Let me know if you need a substitute for the picnic.”

If only it were that simple
.

Lacey sat down by Christina. “Here, this one looks interesting. Why don’t you read this story to me?”

When she heard the door close, Lacey let out the breath she’d been holding.

Dev sipped his coffee as he looked out at the Houston morning, then glanced at his watch again. The princess might not be a morning person, but she hadn’t picked up when he’d gotten into Houston late last night and tried to call. He’d have to call her soon.