side by side, maintaining some distance from the others. Brendan, she suspected, didn’t want to be here at all. His little brother had talked him into coming out. It was Walker who’d opened up to Conall at dinner the other night, too, she remembered. It was Walker who now asked, “But how come Arturo’s mom doesn’t learn to talk English, since she lives here?”
No mention of dad; in Walker’s world, kids didn’t have a father.
Lia smiled at him. “She might not have been here very long. Or she spoke English when she was at work and Spanish at home. She might have wanted her kids to grow up bilingual. Speaking two languages,” she translated.
“She might even be here illegally,” Conall remarked. He’d stretched out on his side and his head was propped on his hand. It was her he was watching, not the boys. Although his tone was still lazy, his eyes weren’t.
“But if the children were born in this country,” Lia shot back, “they’re American citizens.”
He murmured wordless agreement, but she didn’t like the sharp way he continued to watch her.
“I don’t actually know much about their parents,” she lied to the boys, trying to focus on their faces and not his. “They’re only supposed to be here for a week or two. There was some kind of family emergency.” She shrugged.
“Like their mom is dying?” Brendan asked, in the same tone another kid might have said, Like their mom went to the grocery store?
Pity leapt to her throat. “No, honey. No, their mom will be back.”
“After she wades the Rio Grande,” Conall said sotto voce.
Dear God, he knew. Somehow he knew.
“Do they have a dad?” Conall asked.
“Yes,” she snapped, knowing her cheeks were flushed. “Actually…I’m not sure. It was the mom who…had something happen.” Got deported.
He nodded.
“Mr. Henderson said he has kids,” Walker reported. “Only I guess he doesn’t live with them.” The faintest quaver in his voice said, Why doesn’t he? Do any kids have a dad who cares?
Oh, dear God, how did she answer the unspoken?
She was surprised when Conall sat up and reached for Walker. “Come here.” He handled him with ease, man to boy, scooting him over so they were hip to hip. He kept an arm slung over his shoulder. Not cuddling exactly, but…holding him the only way an eight-year-old boy would accept.
Brendan stayed, stiff and frozen, where he’d been, watching Conall as if he were a timber wolf, creeping through the grass toward Pepito, the Shetland pony.
“Jeff does live with his kids,” Conall told the boys. “He really loves them. You know when we’re upstairs, it gets pretty boring.” Even Brendan nodded. “He talks about them all the time. His wife and kids. He misses them.”
“Then how come he’s not with them?”
“Because this is his job. Sometimes it means being away from home for a few weeks at a time.”
“Do you have kids?” Walker asked.
“No.”
“So you don’t have anybody to miss.”
Conall got the strangest expression on his face for an instant. Not long enough for her to pin down. It was as if…he’d been shocked by some realization.
“No,” he said, a little huskily. “I guess I don’t.”
“That’s good.” The boy’s throat spasmed. “Cuz… Cuz…”
Lia was appalled to realize that her vision had misted. She wasn’t sure she could have said anything, and was grateful when Conall nodded.
“It hurts when you miss someone. I know.”
“How do you know?” The boy looked up at him in entreaty. “If you don’t have anyone? Is it cuz of your parents going away?”
She could see him choking on that one. Over the top of Walker’s head, Conall’s eyes met hers. Bail me out, he was demanding.
“Even if Agent MacLachlan doesn’t have anyone right now… A wife or kids or—” Best let that go. “If you’ve ever loved somebody, you’ve had times you missed them. Like his mom and dad. I miss my parents because they’ve moved to Arizona and I don’t see them very often anymore. That’s not the same as the way you miss your mom, because I know I’ll see them again. But…sometimes I really wish my mom was here, so I could tell her something.”
Walker bent his head. “Oh.”
Conall ruffled his hair. “Hey. It’s getting hot out here.”
It was unseasonably warm, but Lia wouldn’t have described a day in the upper seventies as hot. She was enjoying the feel of the sun on her face.
“You got a sprinkler?” he asked her. “I’m thinking Walker and Brendan need to get wet.” Then he grinned. “Maybe