got Brendan killed.”
“You know that wasn’t your fault.”
On a burst of self-directed anger, he asked, “Whose fault was it?”
“He’s a kid. They do idiot things like that. Besides—”
Conall was squeezing the bridge of his nose so hard the cartilage creaked. “Besides what?” He managed to get the words out.
“If you left the DEA, you could live a more normal life.”
He laughed in disbelief. “What would I do? Sell cars?”
“Come to work for me.”
This laugh held genuine amusement. “When hell freezes over.”
Duncan chuckled. “I guess maybe that wouldn’t work.”
“It’s a miracle Niall tolerates you as a boss.”
“That might be because we don’t actually have a lot to do with each other on the job.”
“It’s a little weird, though, you’ve got to admit.”
“Maybe.” Duncan went quiet again. “I’m glad you called.”
“Yeah.” Conall swallowed. “Listen, you might check in with Lia. Make sure…” He was hunching his shoulders, as if… He didn’t know.
“She’s okay? Sure.” Pause. “Conall—”
“I’ve got another call coming in,” he lied. “I’ve got to go.”
“All right. I’ve missed you. Don’t make me miss you again.”
“I won’t,” Conall said, and knew he was telling the truth. One good thing: he’d reconnected with his brothers. He hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to lose them again.
He ended the call, thought about checking out his freezer to see if he could find something edible, but couldn’t work up any interest. Lia had spoiled him.
In a thousand ways.
He could stay connected with his brothers long-distance and be okay with that. Suspecting he’d never see Walker and Brendan again…that hurt was unexpectedly powerful.
But knowing he’d never again be able to get up in the morning anticipating the sound of Lia’s voice, never hear her laughing in the kitchen or see her kneeling between the rows in her garden, never again stroke his fingers through the thick silk of her hair as he freed it from the braid… Never kiss her, never touch her, never be touched by her… Conall didn’t know how he’d get himself out of bed tomorrow morning, or the next, or the next.
Pictures of her tumbled through his mind. Sensations, textures, scent. The fit of her body, the feel of her smile against his lips. The extraordinary color of her eyes and the fascinating way it changed depending on light and mood. The recognition that they shared the crippling knowledge that they’d never quite belonged.
Until I took her in my arms for the first time.
Shock struck, followed by pain so acute he doubled over. He might as well have taken a bullet.
He’d been wrong. What he was feeling wouldn’t be wearing off like a bad drug reaction given a few days or, at worst, a few weeks.
Unless passionate, desperate, I-would-give-my-life-for-her love could be subdued by willpower alone.
I used to be good at believing I didn’t give a damn.
He made a raw sound he didn’t even recognize. The trouble was, now he’d figured out that he’d been faking it. After that, sincerely believing became a hell of a lot harder.
But what were his choices?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SORREL’S PARENTS CAME to Lia’s to pick up their daughter.
It was the right thing for them to do. Sorrel showed them her bedroom, introduced them to Walker and Brendan, Pepito and Copper the horse. Lia watched the way she touched everything as she went: doorknob, dresser, footboard on the bed, fence post and soft muzzle. See? This is part of my world.
Goodbye.
The boys cried again when she was gone. So did Lia, but not until after they were in bed asleep.
I can’t keep doing this, she realized drearily, around three in the morning. It hurts too much.
Why she’d once been able to handle it and now no longer was, she didn’t understand. Maybe it didn’t matter. Social workers often suffered burn out. Probably that was all that was wrong with her.
It was time, Lia realized, to look for a job again. That wasn’t to say she couldn’t continue to take in foster kids, but perhaps she’d do it informally. Only the Arturos and Julias, the ones who had been separated from their parents or abuelo y abuela by outside forces, not abuse or knowing abandonment. She didn’t have to get so attached to those children, because they were already loved. They simply needed a temporary place to stay.
Conall had been gone two weeks when she called Walker and Brendan’s caseworker to ask whether she might be considered as an adoptive parent. The caseworker, a man, was surprisingly receptive. If she was serious, he said, they could begin the process.
Yes. She