Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

“So,” I said after a moment, “we’ll stop at a liquor store and get him a really good bottle of Irish whiskey.”

“Because he’s Irish,” Ian teased, brought out of his thoughts by my ridiculous stereotyping.

I shrugged and his smile was there, curling his lip in a way that made my stomach flip.

He placed his hands on my coat, tightening, pulling me close. He laid his head on my shoulder without loosening his grip. “Stay by me when we get over there, okay?”

“Of course,” I replied, hands on his hips, breathing in his warm, citrusy scent.

He lifted my chin and planted a kiss on me that lasted only a moment but ran through my body like wildfire, heating every cell and nerve ending.

As we got in the car, I was again reminded why Ian driving was always cause for concern. My hand immediately braced on the dash.

“This is what hanging with a stunt-car driver is like,” I groused.

The chuckle made me smile in spite of myself.

IAN THOUGHT we spent too much, but we were arriving late to the party, plus how many times did a guy turn sixty?

The drive out to Marynook took some time even though it was Saturday. Chicago always had traffic—morning, noon, and night. Once I had been going home from a club at 3:00 a.m. and got caught in a bumper-to-bumper snarl. It was best never to assume that we’d make it anywhere on time.

The normally quiet street was loaded with cars, and to find a spot, we had to park a full block away. Once we got close to the house, I saw the front gate open and balloons and streamers decorating the yard.

“We’ll just go in, wish him a good one, and bail, all right?”

“Whatever you want,” I agreed, watching him tense, making me uneasy.

We walked around the side of the house and into the backyard filled with people. They’d set up picnic tables, card tables, those plastic scoop chairs that buckle if you’re not careful, and a wide assortment of other benches, lounges, and folding chairs. The enclosed back deck had space heaters, and guests were walking in and out of the house.

I checked the bottle of Redbreast Non-Chill-filtered 21-Year-Old Irish Whiskey we’d bought, made sure the red bow was on securely and that there wasn’t a price tag on it anywhere before I passed it to Ian. Looking around, I saw his father in a group of men dressed as he was, in a long sleeved T-shirt under a bowling shirt.

When we were close enough, he saw us, and I could tell from the flush of his cheeks and the enormous smile Ian got that he’d been drinking. Normally his father was much more reticent.

“Here’s my boy!” he yelled, spreading his arms for Ian to fill.

Ian took a quick breath and moved fast. The hug was hard, tight, and if it looked as awkward as it felt, I had no idea why Colin held on so long. But he thumped Ian on the back and then shoved him out to arm’s length.

“It’s so good to see you,” he sighed, patting Ian’s cheek. “What’s it been, six months?”

I’d thought, back when Colin told me he couldn’t watch Chickie for a particular weekend, that it was no big deal. I’d asked my friend Aruna and her husband, Liam, to keep the werewolf, and they’d jumped at the chance. But what Ian took that as, was he’d asked his father to do one thing, and that was to be the backup for his dog. So what to me was a nonissue, to Ian was being let down. If Colin had wanted to be there for him, he would have made other plans and kept Ian’s dog. As he had not, Ian made other arrangements. Permanently.

He asked my friends Aruna and Liam to keep Chickie on a daily basis while he and I were at work, and since they actually wanted him, it was a task they willingly took on. Even though Aruna was a new mother, having Chickie around helped. He was her reason to walk to the store and not drive, to feel safe during the day wherever she went, and she could say “fetch the baby” and Chickie would very gently nudge Sajani Duffy in the right direction. The little girl, all of four months, could do what Ian called a commando crawl, but not any serious moving quite yet. She could sort of undulate across a room, and if Aruna was tired, Chickie would bump the baby with his muzzle to get her going. She would, apparently, follow the dog that dwarfed her mother anywhere.

The new arrangement had worked out wonderfully for Chickie, but not as well for Ian and Colin. Without a reason to see his father, Ian didn’t see him at all anymore.