Kansas City Christmas. Julie Miller

now that the physical mess of reclaiming sobriety had passed, every detail of that morning—every image, every hurt, every blame—stuck in his head with painful clarity.

      He had no business being here, no business making this day any worse for his family than it already was. “Mom, I…”

      Edward tried to withdraw his hand, but Susan held on tight.

      He stared down at their interlocking fingers, resting atop his thigh. He was supposed to say something now. Unlike smoothtalking Holden, or Atticus who’d always been smart enough to figure out what needed to be said, or even Sawyer, who led with his heart and blazed ahead and dealt with the consequences later, Edward wished he was eloquent enough to either compliment his mother’s strength or console her grief. But his instincts about such things were rusty from months of lonely isolation, and the right words wouldn’t come.

      They didn’t have to. Susan Kincaid hadn’t been married to a cop or raised four more for nothing. “I understand that you’re not ready to face a crowd of well-wishers. I’m sure the comparisons to Cara and Melinda’s funerals must be overwhelming. But it means everything to me that you made the effort to be here. For your family.”

      Was simply showing up really enough? He turned his head and looked down into the sincerity shining from her dark eyes. No wonder his father had loved this woman so much. Edward leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Atticus can be pretty darn convincing.”

      Susan stroked the neat, triangular flag that had been draped over his father’s coffin. Stress and sorrow had deepened the crow’s feet beside her eyes as she summoned a smile. “He doesn’t take no for an answer, does he.”

      “Never has.”

      “He’s stubborn, like your father. Smart like him, too.” Her smile faded into a wistful sigh. “Each of you has something of your father in him.”

      Edward absently twirled his dark walnut cane in his right hand in the heavy silence that followed. He was more steel pins than bone from the waist down, his heart and soul gutted. What part of John Kincaid did he have left in him?

      His mother didn’t need to be intuitive to sense his discomfort. She leaned her cheek into his shoulder. “Holden obviously looks like your father—sings like him and has some of that Kincaid Irish charm in him, too. Sawyer has his heart—his gentleness, his compassion—he’s just as eager to right the wrongs of the world as your father was. And you…?”

      When she paused, Edward made a sound inside his chest that might once have been a laugh. “Hard to come up with something nice to say about me?”

      “No. Hard to choose the right words to say so that you’ll believe them.” She turned in the seat to face him. “You’re the leader of this family now—”

      “No.”

      He shrugged away from her grasp and tried to retreat, but she simply followed him across the seat. “I know we’re all grownups. Your brothers are fine men and can take care of themselves. They’ve been taking care of me these past five days.”

      His mother deserved better than an absentee son during a time like this. He should have been stronger. He should have been able to deal with this. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have called. I was busy—”

      “Coming to grips with the loss of yet another person you love.” Laced with a gentle understanding he didn’t deserve, the touch of her hand against his jaw was almost painful. “You were busy getting sober.”

      For a moment, his eyes locked onto hers. “How…?”

      Her pale mouth curved into a smile. “Your clothes smell clean. You trimmed that ratty beard. Your beautiful eyes are clear.”

      “So I’m a bum who ignored my own mother in her time of need.” He turned away from her forgiving touch and intuitive gaze. “And you think I’m the leader of this family?”

      She brushed her fingers across his jaw again, ignoring his sardonic tone. “Your father would be so proud of you today.”

      He could pull away from the gentle touch, ignore the kind words. But the sheen of tears pooling in her eyes and spilling over did him in. Edward caught the first tear with the pad of his thumb and wiped the trail of sorrow from her cheek. “Mom…I…What are we supposed to do? Just because I’m the oldest doesn’t mean I can make sense of any of this. I can’t make this right.”

      “But you can make it better. You have made it better, just by being here.”

      “In a way, I can see one good thing about the girls not being here—I don’t know how I’d explain losing Dad to Melinda. She loved her granddaddy so much. I’m not eight and I wasn’t born with Down’s syndrome. And I still don’t understand this.”

      “They were crazy about each other, weren’t they? John always called Melinda his little angel.” Susan Kincaid leaned her cheek into Edward’s hand. “I hadn’t remembered that. That’s a comfort to know they’ll be together again.” Wishing he had a handkerchief, Edward brushed away the new fall of tears. “Oh, Edward. I miss him so much.”

      Some comfort. His mother reached for him, caught him around the waist and hugged him tight. Edward reacted before he realized what the gesture might cost him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as his brittle defenses crumbled and her grief and confusion and anger flowed into his. “Just cry it on out, Mom. Just cry it out.”

      Several minutes passed before her sobbing sounds became erratic sniffles and then softened into steadier, more even breaths. His shirtfront was damp and streaked with her makeup as she finally pulled away. Her face became lined with a frown of confusion as her fingers probed the front waistband of his slacks. “You’re not wearing your badge.”

      His KCPD badge was locked in a metal box with his guns, gathering dust on the back shelf of his closet until he could decide if he would ever be ready to be a cop again. But that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Kincaids were cops. The call to protect and serve was in their blood. That call had taken everything Edward loved. Today wasn’t the day to explain his guilt, however. A logical excuse would serve well enough. “I’ve been on leave since a year ago Christmas.”

      Confusion briefly morphed into maternal concern. “Your doctor cleared you to go back on duty, right?”

      “If I tended to my physical therapy the way I’m supposed to, then yeah, the doc says I could build up my strength and pass the physical. But I just don’t think I can…” He squeezed his fist around the brass carving on his cane. The stick of heavy walnut had become a mental crutch as much as an aid for the physical pain that would never completely leave his rebuilt joints. Images of Cara’s golden hair and Melinda’s effervescent smile blipped through his mind. His last mental snapshot of his family had seen that golden hair matted with blood and his daughter’s face lying pale and expressionless against the snow. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to forget. But the task proved impossible, and he jerked his eyes open at his mother’s gentle touch on his face.

      “Shh.” Susan Kincaid stroked his cheek and hair as though he was her little boy again, and she could soothe his hurts away with a maternal magic that somehow managed to salvage some pride while still making him feel better. Though this was no skinned knee they were dealing with today. “I’m not asking you to do anything you’re not ready for. I have plenty enough to worry about on my plate. Your brothers are set on investigating your father’s murder themselves.”

      “That doesn’t surprise me.” Sixteen months ago, he’d have been leading the pack to find the killer himself. “Don’t worry about them, Mom. The department has protocols in place. They won’t be able to play any official role in the case.”

      She arched one eyebrow as she pulled her hand away. “It’s their unofficial curiosity that concerns me. We all want to find the killer, we all want justice. But I don’t want to lose anyone else in the process—I don’t want this to impact their careers or their lives any more than it already has.”