Operation Homecoming. Justine Davis

it was something he couldn’t give her.

      It was barely light out when he finally gave up and staggered into the kitchen. But Quinn was up and, thank God, he had coffee on.

      “You look like hell,” Quinn said, sounding rather cheerful about it.

      “Feel worse,” he said, eyeing the coffeepot.

      Quinn noticed. “Everything’s where it always was.”

      “But this isn’t my home anymore.”

      He was a little startled at the bleak sound of his own voice, although after last night he supposed he shouldn’t be.

      “You’re the one who left,” Quinn pointed out flatly.

      For a moment, Walker studied this man his sister had chosen. He knew little about him. Nothing, actually, other than his name.

       “I thought I’d let you know I’m getting married. In January. His name is Quinn. I love him the way Mom loved Dad. You’d be welcome, but I won’t expect you.”

      That had been the entirety of the message. And the bitterest part of it was that of all the messages she’d left, that was the best one. Much better than “Mom has cancer. It looks bad. You need to come home.”

      He rubbed his fingers over the sore spot on his jaw. Quinn watched him, and Walker didn’t think he was mistaken in thinking there was a certain satisfaction in his gaze. “You pack a hell of a punch.”

      “You deserved it.”

      “Yes.”

      “Still do.”

      “Yes.”

      Quinn lifted a brow, as if surprised at his lack of argument.

      “You may find this hard to believe, but I’m really glad Hayley found someone who loves her enough to...do that to someone who hurt her.”

      Quinn’s expression changed then, his brow furrowing just slightly, as if he hadn’t expected that. “And I’ll do it again, if need be. You’ve put her through hell. I won’t let you add to it. She needs time to figure out how she feels about you, and I intend to see that she gets it.”

      Walker had no doubt the man meant it. He adored Hayley. And vice versa. It fairly rippled off them both. And last night he’d made it clear he wasn’t going to leave Walker alone with his wife and give him the chance to hurt her all over again.

      “What is it you do?” he asked, wondering if Hayley had somehow ended up with a cop. He wouldn’t have thought that possible, given what had happened to their father, but then he wouldn’t have thought the turn his life had taken possible, either.

      “Family business,” Quinn said. “You?”

      He winced inwardly. “Currently unemployed.”

      “That why you’re here? Looking for a free roof?”

      Anger kicked through him. “You pushing for me to return your welcome?”

      “You could try,” Quinn said, clearly unconcerned.

      You might be surprised, Walker thought. He’d learned a bit since he’d left here.

      But then he realized that he couldn’t very well be glad Hayley had found a man who loved her enough to take down anyone who hurt her, and then expect him to act any other way, given what he knew. Or thought he knew.

      “I never meant to hurt her,” he said softly.

      “Good intentions are meaningless. Especially when you cause that kind of pain.”

      “Yes. But they’re all I’ve got.”

      He took another sip of his coffee as he looked at Walker.

      “You’re her brother, so she decides what happens. If she wants you here, then you stay. If she wants you gone, then you go. But I warn you, either way, if you...”

      He held up a hand. “I get it.” He eyed the man who was now his brother-in-law warily. There was something about him that screamed he did not make idle threats. He reminded him, not in looks but in manner, of Tobias Cabrero, the guy who had turned his life upside down when all Walker had been trying to do was be a good citizen. “Let me guess. Ex-fed?”

      “In a manner of speaking.”

      Walker took in his bearing, his calm manner, the air of command and competence. He hadn’t been there himself, but he knew enough of them to recognize the type.

      “Ex-military,” he said, and this time it wasn’t a question.

      “You’re smarter than you’ve acted.”

      Well, there was a double-edged compliment, Walker thought wryly.

      “Did I smell coffee?”

      Walker froze as the female voice came from behind him. Amy.

      “You did.” Quinn sounded much more welcoming. The man reached up and opened a cabinet door, taking out a mug and handing it to her. More than he’d gotten, but then she was a lot more welcome than he was. Amy walked past him without a glance, took the mug.

      “Thank you,” she said as she filled it from the glass pot.

      Quinn nodded, finished his own coffee, rinsed out the mug and stuck it in the dishwasher. Then he looked at Amy, and Walker would swear he was stifling a grin. “I’m off to work. Over to you,” he said to her, and without another glance at Walker, he walked out of the kitchen.

      Amy frowned after him, clearly puzzled by his words.

      “I think,” Walker said drily, “that meant he liked the way you chewed on me last night, and is hoping you’ll take up where he left off.”

      Her expression cleared. “Oh. Well. I could do that.”

      He sighed. For a moment he just looked at her. The glasses were blue today, matching her top, and it made her eyes look even more blue. And the rich, russet color of her hair was a far cry from the carrot-top she’d always been teased about. “I’m sure you could,” he said finally.

      And he was. For there was no denying that while little Amy Clark had grown up, she’d lost none of her intelligence, principles or fierce loyalty.

      Which meant that, in her view, he was probably one step this side of the devil.

      And he couldn’t tell her that she was wrong, that there were much worse devils out there. And he knew some of them personally.

Chapter 5

      Walker heard the steps approaching, but couldn’t pull his gaze away from the framed photograph on the hallway wall. Then he sensed it was Hayley, and was afraid to look at her, anyway. After the scene in the kitchen he’d managed to avoid more encounters until now, needing time to gear up for the rest of what was likely to be another unpleasant day.

      And then he’d noticed this picture, of him and Mom the day after he’d pitched his first no-hitter, him in uniform, her looking proud, happy...and very much alive. The image had once hung in his mother’s corner above the chair where she so often sat, sewing, knitting or any of the other things she always kept busy with.

      Had kept busy. Had. As in never would again.

      He blinked rapidly, but it wasn’t enough and he had to swipe at his eyes.

      “You kept this,” he said, still without looking at his sister. His voice sounded strange even to him, thick with the tears he was fighting.

      “Yes.”

      “Why, when you’re so angry with me?”

      “She loved you.”

      He turned to face her then. It seemed the least he could do.