“Take them off before you go inside,” Lia told them. “Then use the downstairs shower.”
They did, leaving on only their white briefs, their jeans in a sodden heap on the porch. Conall lifted his dark eyebrows. “What about me? Should I take mine off, too? What about you, Lia? Are you planning to drip all over the floor?”
Heaven help her, she was blushing. “I’m not getting undressed in front of you.”
“Aw,” he complained. He was laughing at her, but his eyes were warm, too. Usually even when he smiled, those gray eyes stayed cool, but not now. He was attracted to her, and letting her know.
And she did not dare do anything about it.
“I,” she announced, “claim the upstairs bathroom. Julia and I are taking a shower, too. I think the hot water tank can handle two showers running at once.”
“Wait. What about me?” His smile became cajoling. “What about Arturo?”
She made her own smile evil. “Wait your turn.”
“But…”
Lia paused on the doorstep then turned back. “Thank you, Conall. That was…really nice of you.”
Between one second and the next, he shut down any real emotion. What was left was practiced charm, and she didn’t like it at all. He was still smiling, but it wasn’t the same.
When he didn’t say anything, she nodded and went in, leaving him dripping on the porch with a happy little boy riding his shoulders.
* * *
TRYING TO PRETEND that Henderson wasn’t there, thirty feet away, sitting in profile to him at the window, Conall lay in the dark and stared up at bare rafters. That stupid display he’d put on this afternoon kept running through his head.
From the minute Lia had thanked him, panic had clenched in his gut. He still didn’t know what had gotten into him. Yeah, he’d figured he could be nice to the boys; what would that hurt? But when he had looked up at them standing there, stiff and awkward and sad, some alien force had overtaken him.
He didn’t like that he’d acted so out of character. Sure, he’d spent time with kids before; sometimes when he was playing a part he had to. But this was different. It hadn’t been intentional. He’d been friggin’ possessed.
At a rustling sound, Conall turned his head and saw Henderson stretching before he hunched forward again.
Conall had eaten dinner up here. Brendan had delivered his meal, knocking on the door at the foot of the stairs, the covered plate held with self-conscious care.
“How come you can’t eat with us?” he’d asked, craning his neck to see past Conall.
Conall had forced a smile. “It’s Jeff’s turn. Not fair to shut him up here 24/7, is it?”
“No, but—”
“It’s my job,” he’d said gently.
The boy nodded, turned and walked slowly away.
Conall squeezed his eyes shut now and contrasted that slow, mechanical gait with the joyous run through the sprinkler.
He pictured himself running through it, and for an instant thought he was identifying with the kid. But, no. He was the kid. Scrawny, shorter than Brendan. Laughing, feeling the sensations of hot summer sun, freezing cold water, short spiky grass under tender feet unaccustomed to going barefoot. It was extraordinarily vivid. Niall was there, too, not any huskier but way taller, and Duncan, soaking wet in shorts that clung to his hips and thighs. He was taunting his brothers, chasing Niall, turning back to grab Conall and hold him as the water caught them.
The feelings inside him were powerful. His brothers were including him, doing something because they thought he’d have fun. For that brief hour, he’d been happy.
Oh, man. Conall had a lead weight on his chest. Now he knew who he’d channelled today. Duncan. The ghost of what had been, too rarely. The brother he’d loved so desperately, emulated even as he knew he’d always fall short—Duncan MacLachlan.
Today, he’d acted out a scene from his past. He had to have been about Walker’s age, maybe eight or nine. He’d seen himself in those two boys’ hopeless eyes and he had known how he could reach them.
The weight that kept him from breathing freely grew heavier, not lighter, and the knot in his belly made him regret the beef Stroganoff.