If I Loved You. Leigh Riker

Thomas said. “You can fix yourself anything you like. She was up at six cleaning the mess from yesterday, made me breakfast, then took her second cup of coffee to the office.” Thomas waved toward the backyard.

      Office?

      Thomas’s casual statement told Brig just how little he knew of Molly these days. All he remembered seeing was an old carriage barn at the rear of the property. His mother, the neat freak, had complained it was an eyesore.

      Laila squirmed in his arms and Brig’s shaky parental confidence took another nosedive. Mano a mano with Thomas, he’d nearly forgotten his original mission in coming downstairs.

      “I’d better grab some of that coffee, then get going. I heated the last of Laila’s formula yesterday. Hope I can find the same brand in Liberty. Fast.” If he bought the wrong stuff or used whole milk instead of the prepared infant kind and the baby got sick, Molly would likely be on him in a second. And how had Laila made it through the night without waking him to feed her?

      Thomas took another, longer look at the baby. For an instant Brig was sure he saw yearning cross the older man’s face.

      “Molly went to the corner store for you last night. She fed the baby around eight, at midnight and four, and again this morning. She left another bottle ready on the stove.”

      Wow. Surprised by the information, Brig didn’t know whether to feel guilty because Laila must have kept Molly up most of the night, grateful that she’d let him sleep or relieved that she’d done both. Actually, he felt all three.

      “Thanks,” Brig said, which seemed inadequate.

      “Don’t thank me.” Thomas had turned away and was taking his newspaper into the living room. End of discussion, or so Brig thought. But Thomas wasn’t finished. “Oh. Molly said to tell you her sheriff friend brought your bags and the baby seat from next door before he left the party.”

      Then, as if his feelings had built like a volcano set to erupt, he spun around again.

      “I’m not going to ask why you’re here, Brigham. I guess this baby is answer enough. For now.” Thomas pointed the rolled-up paper at him. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten what happened between you and Molly. She and Ann are the best daughters I could ever have, and Molly’s had enough grief in her life. I swear, if you hurt her—”

      “I don’t intend to hurt her.”

      “—like you did before, you’ll answer to me.”

      Brig had no reply. He’d been a “father” himself for a short time and he was still all thumbs at the job, but, like Thomas with Molly, he knew he would protect her to the death from any threat.

      To Thomas, Brig must represent six feet plus of threat.

      Brig headed for the kitchen, duly warned.

      He would need more caffeine than usual to get through the day in this close-knit family, which he understood even less than he did taking care of Laila. Far less than he might the workings of the Taliban.

      But before Brig exited the room, he got in the last word.

      “I’ll work on finding a key to Mom and Dad’s house. Move Laila next door as soon as I can. That would be best for you—and for Molly.”

      * * *

      MONDAY WAS NOT Molly’s favorite day of the week at Little Darlings, or anywhere else, and sometime between last Friday and this morning she had lost her equilibrium.

      Oh, who are you kidding, Molly? She knew exactly when.

      Around her, toy trucks clashed, the laughter of children shrilled and someone pounded on a drum. She couldn’t term the noise unusual, yet her jangled nerves wanted her to shout surrender. Today her day care center’s proximity to Pop’s house seemed way too close. That was, way too close to Brig.

      She hadn’t been herself since she’d spied him yesterday standing in the doorway with Laila, like a broken dream come back to haunt her.

      No, make that a nightmare.

      At least the rain had finally stopped last night. The clouds had disappeared as if someone had rolled up a rug, and by midnight the sky had been full of stars. Holding Laila, feeding her while Brig slept, Molly had watched the weather improve even as a storm still roiled inside her.

      Fortunately, for the rest of the day, she wouldn’t have another chance to dwell on the situation. Which was a good thing, because without half trying, she could summon the image of Brig’s lean, fit body and handsome, serious face.

      Too bad for her, but he looked better than ever. Any remnants of boyishness in his face were now gone. In their place was an uncompromising set of male features with interesting planes and angles.

      It wasn’t every day that an old love walked back into her life, and when she added Laila to the picture, Molly felt shaken anew. Better to keep her mind on business.

      At the end of the afternoon, many of “her” children had left by the time Jeff Barlow, little Ernie’s dad, arrived dressed in his tan sheriff’s deputy uniform. At the same time, her sister, Ann, who helped with the babies in the nursery, reached the front door from outside after walking baby Ashley Jones and her mother out to their car. Under a darkening sky, she stopped cold.

      Her expression told Molly that her sister’s timing couldn’t have been worse for her. The distinct chill in the air didn’t just come from the freezing wind.

      Molly bit back a sigh. Jeff was one of her favorite people, and she wished her sister would stop giving him the cold shoulder.

      As if he hadn’t noticed Ann’s frostiness, Jeff held the door open for her, but Ann took care not to brush against him as she came inside. She hurried down the hall with just a murmured “Thank you.”

      Jeff raised an eyebrow at Molly. “Hello to her, too,” he said.

      “I don’t know what gets into her,” Molly said, hoping to soothe his feelings.

      But of course she did.

      He looked glum. “I called twice last week to ask her out. Once, for dinner, and then to see a romantic comedy playing in town—don’t most women enjoy a good chick flick?—but she said no. Both times.” He paused. “Not that I’ve been dating enough to be up on what a woman might like.”

      Molly had heard about Jeff’s bitter divorce. Clearly he was wounded. But when he and Ann had started dating a few months ago, Molly had hoped that their relationship would take root and grow, and that Ann could be happy again, as well. Then, all at once, to Molly’s dismay, Ann had pulled back like a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

      “I know she wanted to see that movie,” Molly said without thinking.

      “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Just not with me.”

      She eyed him sympathetically. Jeff was just the latest example of romance gone awry in her sister’s life. Ann didn’t date often or, when she did, for very long. Molly had no idea what—if anything—she should do about that.

      “Ann’s a good-looking woman,” Jeff added, “and she can be very funny when she lets her hair down. We like the same kind of books, Mexican food, sunsets... I don’t understand what happened. I thought we had clicked,” he went on. “I mean, she seemed to enjoy the one dinner we had together. We found a lot to talk about. And we went hiking one weekend with my son—”

      “Daddy! Guess what I made?”

      As if on cue, Jeff’s four-year-old son, his spitting image, raced up to them, his mop of sandy hair flopping into his blue eyes. He thrust a green construction-paper triangle studded with spiral pasta dyed a fluorescent pink into Jeff’s face.

      “Whoa, buddy.” Jeff dodged the pointed artwork that threatened to put out an eye and gathered Ernie up with a grin. A blob of glue dripped onto Jeff’s clean uniform. “This is one great-looking...” He scrambled for a word.