Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

“What?”

“Gibbons are monogamous. And they don’t fly.”

I smiled. “I forgot gibbons. I saw a pair at some zoo in California.” They’d swung around on their long, flexible arms, playing and flirting until the female had grown bored and climbed a tree. The male had followed, trying to get her attention and generally making a nuisance of himself as she tried to get some peace. Still, after a while she’d given in and they’d gone tree swinging again. Cam and I had watched, rapt, for half an hour. “You looked that up?”

He shrugged as though it was nothing. “I look everything up. My sisters think I’m a space shot, but I’m actually very well informed.”

I raised my brows. “You can be a well-informed space shot.”

He grinned again and leaned against the wall, closing the space between us until I could feel the heat from our bodies. “Come to dinner tonight?”

“Um.” I seemed to be having trouble finding oxygen. “Okay.”

He leaned forward and my breath caught. He drew his thumb slowly over my cheekbone and my heart stuttered to a halt.

He straightened, that charming grin taunting me. “Sorry about that. You had an eyelash.” He placed his hands in his pocket and sauntered down the hall.

I had to lean against the wall to regain myself, and he’d just turned on to the stairs when I pushed upright and shouted after him. “Michael O’Connor! My eyelashes are nearly invisible!”

Only laughter answered me.

* * *

We went out to dinner at O’Malley’s, the one nice restaurant in the village center. It was half empty when we arrived, but after twenty minutes every seat was taken.

“News travels fast,” Kate said without looking up from her menu.

I had to agree. Every person craned their head our way, from a table of weathered old men in low hats and heavy jackets to a group of girls Anna’s age. Only the smallest children seemed to be clueless, crying loudly as their parents failed to pay attention to them.

It only took fifteen minutes before the first person approached, and the noise level dropped noticeably. Mike tossed me a quick smile as a middle-aged man cleared his throat beside Kate. “Mrs. O’Connor?”

She lowered the menu. “Yes.”

He tipped his hat. “I’m Eamon Murphy. Knew your husband when he was a lad.” His gaze flitted toward Mike. “You’re the image of your dad.”

Kate smiled politely. “I believe he mentioned you.”

“Good to have O’Connors back in town again. Doesn’t seem right without you.” He waited.

Kate waved toward them. “My daughters, Anna and Lauren. My eldest, Michael. And this is Michael’s friend, Natalie.”

I heard the thumps of several kicks. A foot smacked into my leg. I couldn’t tell if it had been meant for me or someone else.

“Ah, the archaeologist.” Eamon smiled, wrinkles spreading out over his leathery cheeks and brow. “I hear something’s dodgy with the excavation? You better fix that.”

This time, I was the kicker. Mike winced.

Eamon missed it, as he’d turned back to Kate. “We’ve all been very curious about you. Expected you to come back years ago.”

Kate’s fingers stiffened around her silverware. “Well. I didn’t.”

He didn’t take note of the shortness in her voice. “Lovely city, Boston. I can see why Brian wanted to visit, you know, though we always thought he would settle down here.”

I searched for something to diffuse Kate’s pained look. Anna beat me to it, speaking up in an exact mimic of her mother’s tone. “Well. He didn’t.”

Eamon chuckled, and the talk turned to more mundane things. By the time the food arrived, several other locals had edged up to our table. Everyone was very curious about Brian O’Connor’s life in America, though the curiosity was tinged with a wide array of other emotions—disapproval, excitement, disdain, hurt, vicarious interest. Kate did her best to give succinct explanations, but each time another person approached and asked, “Why didn’t he come home?” she tensed even more.

So it was a relief when we left, retreating to the inn where the only other guests in the parlor were a German couple and a family from County Meath. I figured I’d head to my room, but Kate and Lauren roped me into a game of Go Fish. I was torn, since they were probably only asking to be polite, but I couldn’t help myself. The warmth they radiated was addictive and bone-deep. Anna might be angry, Kate sad, Lauren stressed and Mike protective, but they weren’t cold. They felt warm.