Beneath Josiah Jr., he had written “Lucas, 40,” and “Emily McBride Davenport, 31.”
He studied those names for a moment, remembering what he’d learned about the eldest McBride brother. Josiah Jr. had apparently been humorless, withdrawn, moody—distant even to his own children. Could Mac’s mother have fallen in love with a man like that?
Apparently there had been something about Josiah that some women had been drawn to. He’d married twice, though the second wife had taken a lover soon after. The lover with whom she had been murdered.
According to Sharon’s timeline, Josiah had been between wives when Mac was conceived. Which might explain why he would start an affair with a Puerto Rican maid in a Savannah hotel, but it didn’t fit with the story Mac’s mother had told him. His father had been a married man, she had explained with an old sadness in her musical voice. Although he had talked about leaving his wife for her, his sense of family loyalty had finally drawn him away.
The guy had never known that he left Anita Cordero carrying his child. Anita had refused to use her baby as a marriage trap.
Was it possible that Josiah’s marriage had been nothing more than a convenient lie? A coward’s way of ending an affair that had lost its novelty for him?
Had Josiah McBride Jr. been Mac’s father? If so, it didn’t seem as if the man had any reputation left to ruin. Apparently, he’d left little respect or admiration behind when he’d died.
He shoved the unfinished family tree aside in frustration. He had no answers yet, and wouldn’t come up with any tonight. Perhaps he would learn more the next time he found an opportunity to discuss the McBride family with Sharon.
Sharon. His mind was suddenly filled with the image of her face. The way she had looked after he kissed her—her skin flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips damp and reddened. She would never know how hard it had been for him to pull away. It had been too long since he’d held a woman in his arms. Since he had lost himself in a kiss that cleared his mind of questions, plans, memories—leaving nothing there but hunger.
He’d told the truth when he said he hadn’t expected to meet her. Even when he’d made the calculated decision to use her knowledge of the McBrides, he hadn’t intended to seduce any information out of her. The kiss had been unexpected, unplanned, and had nothing to do with the McBrides or anyone else except Sharon, herself. He had kissed her for no other reason except that he had wanted to. Needed to.
He hadn’t planned on that at all.
BRAD WAS HOME early Sunday morning, in a more passive than usual mood after his camp-out. The organizers had planned for rain; the festivities had been moved inside a one-room building at the campground that was usually rented out for parties and family reunions. Though he’d probably had only a couple of hours’ sleep, Brad was in a mellow enough mood that he didn’t even complain—much—when Sharon insisted he accompany her to church.
Not that it had done much good, she thought ruefully as the service ended. He’d slept through the entire sermon. She poked him discreetly, and he woke with a muffled snort. “Time to go,” she said.
He gave her a sheepish smile. “Good. I’m hungry.”
She laughed and patted his arm. “Of course you are. You’re breathing, aren’t you?”
>
As usual, it took her a while to leave, because so many people detained her. Among the usual casual greetings, there were still a few who wanted to talk about the incident in Snake Creek. Sharon found it hard to believe only eight days had passed since that night. Maybe it seemed longer because she had chosen not to dwell on the experience.
She’d made a special effort not to think about it at all, though she hadn’t been able to block the images from her dreams. The only thing that had kept those dreams from becoming nightmares had been the mental echo of Mac’s voice, soothing and reassuring her. She’d chosen not to give too much thought to that, either.
Pushing the memories and Mac to the back of her mind, she made her way steadily to the parking lot, where still more members of the congregation way-laid her. Brad waited nearby, shifting from one foot to another, letting out an occasional gusty sigh.
“It’s good to see you looking so well, Sharon,” Emily Davenport said, smiling over the head of the baby girl in her arms. “I’ve thought of you often during the past week.”
Sharon responded appropriately, then tickled little Claire’s dimpled chin. “Hello, sweetie. You get more beautiful every time I see you.”
“Say thank you to Miss Sharon, Claire,” Emily instructed, though the child was only interested in the activities going on around her.
“Where’s Clay?” Sharon looked around for Emily’s thirteen-year-old stepson, then spotted him talking to her brother. “Oh, there he is, with Brad. Goodness, that boy seems to have grown six inches since I saw him last, and it’s only been a couple of weeks.”
“Same with Brad. They’re becoming young men, aren’t they?”
“I’m afraid so,” Sharon agreed pensively. “Is Wade working this morning?”
Emily’s smile faded. “Yes. Someone broke into Discount Motors during the storm last night. They stole a car from the lot and some computer equipment from the office.”
Sharon frowned. It was bad enough that these kinds of crimes were happening in their town, but it especially bothered her that it had occurred so close to where her brother and his friends had been enjoying a wholesome evening of fun. Discount Motors was only half a mile from the campground. That seemed to make the crime even worse, for some reason. “Does Wade think this break-in is related to the one at the Porter place last weekend?”
“He’s certainly pursuing that possibility.” Emily shifted her daughter into a more comfortable position on her hip. “We’re having a cookout at our place next Saturday. Would you and Brad like to come? Clay would love it. There are never any teenagers for him to talk to at our family gatherings.”
“It sounds like fun. We’d love to come.” Though Clay was a couple of years younger than Brad, it was a friendship Sharon wanted to encourage. Clay was a good kid—smart, funny, outgoing. Popular with the good crowd, even if being the police chief’s son earned him no points in other circles. Sharon worried about Brad getting involved with the wrong crowd. Clay Davenport was exactly the sort of friend she wanted for her brother.
“Great. Then we’ll see you around noon on Saturday. Oh, and feel free to bring a friend if you like.”