Duncan, he discovered, had a pretty fancy place. Nothing cookie-cutter about it—angles and planes and shingled siding, very Northwest. Spectacular garden, too. The wife’s influence, maybe?
Conall didn’t suffer from nerves, but he felt a few twinges after he rang the doorbell. He rotated his shoulders to reduce the tension there was no reason to feel.
Even so, when the door opened he was balanced on the balls of his feet as if anticipating an attack. Ready for the worst, but making sure his body language looked relaxed. Acting.
When he saw the man in the opening, Conall thought, Damn. He would have known Duncan anywhere, but he’d changed, too. Aged. Well, of course he’d aged, but Conall was shocked to see that he had threads of silver in his dark hair. Not many, but a gathering at each temple. Of course, he was heading toward forty now.
In fact, he was close to the age of their father when they’d last seen him. And…the same age Mom had been? Was it possible?
The craggy face that looked more like Conall’s own than he was comfortable acknowledging was almost as expressionless as he remembered. But…not quite. He’d loosened up in some indefinable way.
“Conall.” He stepped back. “Come in.”
Conall dipped his head and walked in. He followed his brother past the living room to the kitchen, where a woman closed the dishwasher then turned to study him.
“Another MacLachlan,” she said with a small laugh. “Nobody could mistake you.”
He stiffened at that, but only said, “You must be Jane.”
“Yes. I’ll leave you two to talk, but I wanted to meet you.” She smiled and came to him, her hand outstretched. “Hello, Conall.”
She was a beauty. Not like Lia, but definitely classy. She moved like a dancer, toes slightly turned out, had a mass of glossy brown hair bundled carelessly at her nape, and deep blue eyes that were friendly but also watchful.
Suddenly amused, Conall suspected that if Duncan hadn’t been present, she’d have issued dire warnings. Hurt my husband and you’re dead meat. Strangely, he was pleased. She loved his big tough brother, who was a lucky son of a bitch.
Conall took her hand, but instead of shaking it he drew her to him and kissed her cheek. “It’s a pleasure, Jane.”
She eyed his deliberately charming smile with suspicion as she withdrew, heightening his amusement. Yeah, she might even be a match for Duncan. Go figure.
She excused herself, leaving the two men alone.
“Have you eaten?” Duncan asked.
“Yes.”
“Coffee?”
“Thanks.” He sat on one of the breakfast bar stools and rested his elbows on the counter. “Nice place.”
Duncan nodded.
“Baby asleep?”
“Yeah, she just went down for the night.”
“There’s a baby at the place I’m staying.” He didn’t know why he’d said that. “Eight months, I think. Happy little thing.”
“Fiona isn’t quite that.”
He knew exactly how old Duncan’s daughter was. He’d looked at the baby announcement in amazement when it arrived, and later the one photo Duncan sent. Until today, Duncan never commented on the fact that he didn’t hear back from Conall. Into the vacuum he kept sending a very occasional letter, things like the wedding invitation and then the birth announcement, sometimes a Christmas card. Conall had never figured out why he bothered.
Now…he thought maybe they were a trail of bread crumbs, offering a way home. The idea unsettled him, maybe because here he was.
Not home. Not anymore.
It hadn’t been in a long time. The trouble was, he didn’t exactly have a home. He’d never made one.
Didn’t want one.
“I’d like to see her.” Strangely, he realized he really did. See what MacLachlan blood wrought in the next generation.
“How long are you going to be around?”
“I don’t know. It depends on what we find. Or don’t find.”
Duncan inclined his head. He brought two mugs of coffee to the bar and sat, too, a couple of stools away from Conall. “So tell me about it.”
They talked then, both professionals, Conall expressing some of his irritation with the vagueness of the information he’d been given. “You know anything about the people in that house?” he asked.